Halloween 2024: September 26th

Battle Royale (2000)

Batoru rowaiaru

When I was but a humble high school student, I learned about this crazy Japanese movie called "Battle Royale." The premise immediately caught my attention but the film itself was, the internet told me, never officially released in the U.S. While at a book store, I started picking up the manga adaptation. Shortly afterwards, I bought and read Koushun Takami's original novel. I was so fascinated with "Battle Royale" that I wrote a few chapters of my own version of the story, placing myself, my friends, and other school mates in such a scenario. (Which, in retrospect, was a very weird thing to do!) As deep as my "Battle Royale" fandom ran, the movie that caught my attention remained out-of-reach for much longer. In the days before I became a regular convention attendee and user of torrent websites, it was a lot harder to get a hold of a film without a standard DVD release. For reasons I still don't understand, Netflix – only a by-mail rental service at the time – started carrying a Korean Region 0 disc, finally allowing me to see "Battle Royale."  Despite the grainy transfer and faulty subtitles, it was immediately apparent that Kinji Fukasaku's film was the best version of the story. Today, "Battle Royale" is readily accessible. Right now, it's on Tubi, meaning you don't have to pay anything to see it. Despite the significance the film has to a part of my life, I haven't watched it since then. Time to see if this picture, once considered so shocking, holds up after 20 years. 

In a totalitarian version of Japan, violence among young people has reached an epidemic. The government's solution to this problem is the BR Program: Once a year, one out of all the high school classes in the country is selected. They are transferred to a deserted island, each student outfitted with explosive collars. They are given rations of food, water, and a randomly chosen weapon. The students are told to fight to the death, until only one remains. Average teen Shuy Nanahara is thrusts into this situation, his friends and classmates either turning into cold-blooded murderers or dying around him. He forms a friendship with Noriko, the crush of his late best friend, and Kawada, a mysterious transfer student and "won" a previous game. The trio attempt to survive and find a way out of this hopeless scenario.

“Battle Royale” was controversial in Japan, to the point that the National Diet decried it. I don't think this is because of the severity of the film's violence. More violent films have existed in Japan, before and after. I think it's because “Battle Royale” targets that violence at young people. It's interesting that this should make “Battle Royale” a lightning rod for controversy, when the cruelty adults show towards children is the entire point of the film. All throughout the movie, authority figures, like the students' teacher, tells the kids how they are no good. In a difference from the novel or manga, Kitano has a personal grudge against these kids, clearly taking his anger out on them personally. This is an extension of an entire society fixated on “punishing” young people for their disobedience. “Battle Royale,” throughout its runtime, gives us daily updates on the casualties. Students are reduced to a number, as the announcement of their death is coldly read off. This is paired with dispassionate on-screen text. This makes the audience complacent in the violence against the kids. We get caught up in “the game” too. We laugh at the campy instructional video, featuring a chipper idol style actress. We sit back and watch these kids die too, becoming part of the system the film so viciously criticizes. 

Rumors persist that part of why “Battle Royale” was unreleased in America for so long is because Toei feared how America, with its very fucked-up culture of violence against children, might react to the film. There's no doubt that teenagers carrying guns in school, using them against teachers and other students, have very different connotations over here. However, I don't think school shootings were on Fukasaku or Takami's minds when conceiving the story, as they're all but unheard of in Japan. Instead, “Battle Royale's” images of teenagers being dropped in a South Pacific island, tossed rations and guns, and told to go out and kill brings something else to mind. Fukasaku drew from his own experiences of being a munitions factory worker as a boy, during World War II. The island setting reminds me of the Vietnam War, these kids only a little bit younger than the average soldier drafted for that or any other conflict. Such comparisons make it obvious that the system's abuse and disregard of young people is by no means a new phenomenon. Governments have been willing to use the blood of teenagers to make their own, far-off points since the beginning of time.

As much as “Battle Royale” is a film about the injustices visited upon young people by an apathetic, often willfully sadistic system, it's also a rip-roaring piece of pulp. By thrusting high school kids into this life-or-death situation, it blows up the petty melodramas and rivalries of teenage years to epic, bloody size. Characters often speak of crushes like they are the loves of their lives. Considering how short their lives are going to be, maybe they are. Mean girl Mitsuko becomes a psychopath on the island, confronted by a former friend whose boyfriend she seduced or smirking at Noriko, coldly saying “Die, ugly” before shooting at her. A proto-incel demands a girl's virginity before attempting to assault her, leading to a particularly brutal stabbing. A nerd rambles off math equations while pulling a trigger. A fat kid climbs atop a hill and tries to snipe people with his crossbow. All of the dynamics of school, of social outcasts being preyed on by popular kids and childhood crushes seeming like the most important thing in the world, come into much sharper reflect when life and death is on the line. This sometimes extends to cartoonish levels, such as the school's basketball hero also being a revolutionary hacker that takes down the island's computer system. Other times, the red hot melodrama of the film can be quite effective, such as when a lighthouse full of teenage girls violently turn on each other in the course of minutes.

“Battle Royale” is definitely operating in broad archetypes. Shuya is a fairly bland protagonist, given a tragic backstory but little in the way of personality. Noriko is only a little better. Kawada is the hardened veteran of the trio, seeming a bit like a teenage Rambo at times. When you have over forty characters in the film, it's hard for any of them to be too distinct. At the same time, “Battle Royale” resists making some of its characters two-dimensional. Ko Shibasaki is intensely creepy as Mitsuko, possessing a fantastic psycho smile. However, the character has a traumatic past, giving us insight into why she is like this. Similarly, Takeshi Kitano's villainous teacher is weirdly the most empathetic figure in the film. He's despised by his own children, resents his students, and seems largely apathetic about his role in the game. The final reveal, that he has a possibly romantic fascination with Noriko, makes him into a pathetic figure, a broken old man looking up to a teenage girl.

There is a push-and-pull in “Battle Royale,” between wanting to gift its villains with more depth while also playing them as cartoonish monsters. This is most apparent in Masanobu Ando's Kiriyama, who acts more like the Terminator than a teenager. He never speaks, communicating largely through evil smiles or cackles, while wielding an Uzi with a seemingly unending magazine. He's a ridiculous figure, a predatory supervillain brought into the games by the government presumably to make it more interesting. (An element “The Purge” series would swipe somewhat.) It does feel like an intended piece of social commentary that most of the kids on the island have no interest in murdering their friends. Only a few psychopaths in the class are “playing the game.” Some attempt a truce, leading to one of the most gloriously bloody scenes in the film. Kinji Fukasaku – who, after all, came to fame for his deconstructive yakuza epics – seems equal parts fascinated and disgusted by the movie's bloodshed. He's way too good at engineering intense sequences not to play them for cheap thrills. The movie is full of intense shoot-outs, suspenseful stalking, and all the arterial spray you could want. There's a grenade shoved in a decapitated head at one point, so there's no doubt “Battle Royale” embraces its own status as an exploitation film. These fantastically engineered moments of cool movie violence stand side-by-side with pointed social commentary, the two never quite gelling. 

If “Battle Royale” isn't able to blend its thematic ideas, sometimes uneven screenplay, and its brutally effective execution of horror/action tropes, that does nothing to diminish the film's power. Sometimes the parts truly are greater than the whole. The manga is so explicit in its sex and violence as to become a work of guro pornography, while stretching the story out endlessly and making its characters more exaggerated. The novel – or at least the English language translation I read – is more childishly simplified and half-formed. Meanwhile, the inevitable American rip-offs had no convictions behind their beliefs and no scruples in its depiction of violence. Fukasaku's film is simply the best execution of the idea, finding something of a balance between its various elements. With strikingly gritty cinematography from Katsumi Yanagishima and a classical score that emphasizes the operatic elements of the story, “Battle Royale” remains an utterly absorbing and grimly thrilling piece of cinema. [9/10]

The Return of Dracula (1958)

Of the 12 feature films and over 160 episodes of television Paul Landres directed before 1957's "The Vampire," not a single one fell into the horror or supernatural genres. Despite that, "The Vampire" must've been successful enough for Landres to quickly return to it. (Though not so quickly that the prolific filmmaker couldn't direct four feature westerns and 25 TV episodes in-between the projects.) The next year, Landres would direct another bloodsucking chiller for United Artists. While his previous monster movie was merely about a vampire, his next one would turn its attention towards the most famous vampire of all. "The Return of Dracula" would be another attempt in the late fifties to move Bram Stoker's notorious count into the modern age. 

Somewhere in Europe, a painter named Bellac Gordal prepares to travel to America to stay with his cousin, Cora. Unfortunately for him, a notorious vampire is fleeing a cabal of hunters. The undead villain kills Bellac and assumes his identity. Shortly afterwards, "Gordal" arrives in the small town of Carleton, California. The stranger integrates himself into the family, charming Cora and her young son Mickey. He especially catches the eye of her teenage daughter, Rachel. Rachel works part-time at a clinic, where a blind patient she's befriended mysteriously dies. An immigration agent stops by the home and ends up dead shortly afterwards too. Soon, Rachel must face the horrible conclusion, that the visitor to her home is not who he claims to be. Bellac Gordal is actually Count Dracula and he intends to spread his undying curse to Carleton. 

While Landres' "The Vampire" put a sci-fi spin on the gothic archetype, "The Return of Dracula" relocates the classic story to a then-modern setting. Carleton is an idyllic small American town. The church and authority are respected. The family unit is a symbol of stability and warmth. Rachel has a boyfriend, a cocky teenager next door named Tim, but their relationship is totally chaste. The standard tropes of the story are respected. "Bellac Gordal" turns into mist, a bat, and a wolf. He's repelled by the cross, doesn't cast a reflection, sleeps in a coffin during the day, and must be destroyed with a stake through the heart. Other elements are given intriguing updates. A blind girl takes the place of Lucy, though she still roams the night in a white gown after her death. The vampire hunters now resemble government G-Men, snapping "Gordal's" picture with a camera hidden in a cigarette lighter. Dracula ditches the cape for an overcoat slung over his shoulders. Seeing what the film changed and what it keeps creates an interesting contrast. That Bellac is mostly scared off with a cross shows that religious values were of equal importance to small town America and 1890s England. 

Something else fifties suburbanites and Victorian gentlefolk had in common was casual xenophobia. Having the vampire hunters pose as immigration agents couldn't have been a mistake. "Bellac" speaks with a strange accent, his clearly European nature sticking out in Carleton. Stoker's moral of decadent old world aristocrats corrupting fair English maidens now looks a lot like an Eastern European commie sneaking into the U.S. to undermine our beloved American values, of family and the church. While this was surely the intended reading at the time, through modern eyes, "The Return of Dracula" has a distinctly different undertone. We the viewer know that Bellac is not actually Rachel's distant cousin. She doesn't know that though. Which makes his obvious interest in her – which grows more sinister once he's hovering over her bed and hypnotizing her, in classic Dracula fashion – all the more disquieting. Childish, naive Tim is not much for an older man more experienced in manipulating young women. It's only when he invokes God that Tim can fight this intruder off. All of this, perhaps unintentionally, speaks to the anxieties of the time. 

Like most fifties monster movies, these themes lurk under the surface of an otherwise standard creature feature. Further connecting this film to "The Vampire," Jack MacKenzie is back as director of photography. He ensures another fine looking film, with lots of crisp black-and-white photography and shadowy interiors. The locations – especially the mine shaft where the climax occurs – still have a rather artificial look to them, like sets on a TV show. Still, "The Return of Dracula" produces some decent chills here and there. A sequence where Rachel becomes aware of Gordal's true nature, via a cleverly framed mirror, is well done. The moment of him appearing over her bed concludes with an honest-to-God jump scare, a sudden cut to her little brother's devil mask. (By the way, "The Return of Dracula" is set around Halloween, though the costume party could've had some spookier decorations.) It seems the vampires' casket always have a layer mist at the bottom, which is a nice touch. The best effect in the film is an unexpected shift to color during a pivotal moment, a reminder that this movie was made not long before the fifties became the sixties, when vampire movies were about to get a lot more lurid. 

The film that largely ushered in that new age of bloody horror was also released in 1958. Hammer's "Horror of Dracula" hit American shores shortly after "The Return of Dracula" came out, overshadowing it totally. Comparing the two films makes for an interesting experiment. Landres' film tried to update Dracula by sticking him in a modern setting, to limited success. Hammer did it by shooting the whole thing in vivid color, with as much blood and sex appeal as they could get away with at the time. The latter obviously made a much bigger impression on the public. But "The Return of Dracula" isn't too bad either. The score liberally quotes "Dies Irais" to decent effect. Francis Lederer, with his high cheekbones and curly hair, makes for a decent enough Dracula. Norma Eberhardt is a compelling damsel-in-distress, who wears nothing as revealing as the girl on the poster. Though not as sharp as "The Vampire," "The Return of Dracula" is still worth seeking out for classic horror fans. [7/10]

In Search Of...: Bigfoot

A number of cultural factors, such as the rise of New Age hippy spiritualism the previous decade, would lead to an explosion of interest in the paranormal during the seventies. This would result in hundreds of books, documentaries, and TV specials of dubious scientific merit. Producer Alan Landsburg was behind four such specials, the success of which prompted him to create an on-going show devoted to delving into any and all mysterious topics. After first choice Rod Sterling died and second choice Robert Vaughn walked, Leonard Nimoy would be drafted to host the program. From 1977 to 1982, "In Search Of..." covered subjects like ghosts, the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis, alien abduction, magical powers, prominent disappearances, legendary figures, historical mysteries, strange theories and – naturally – cryptozoology. 

When I was a kid, my mom (a lifelong Trekkie) and I would watch reruns of the show together. "In Search Of..." isn't a horror anthology series but a pseudo-documentary program, that didn't necessarily showcase a spooky topic every episode. However, my young brain more-or-less treated the show as one. The hokeyness of the reenactments and the questionable research went over kid-me's head. Instead, the possibility that such things could be true creeped me out, in the best way. Which is why I'm making room for "In Search Of..." and a couple similar shows this Halloween season. 

It almost goes without saying that my favorite episodes were the ones about monsters. Unsurprisingly, North America's legendary, stinky, hairy hominid would be the focus of one of "In Search Of...'s" earliest episodes. The half-hour covers most of the hallmarks of Bigfoot lore, such as the Patterson-Gimlin film, the 1924 "Battle of Ape Canyon" near Mount St. Helens, and the 1882 Jacko newspaper article. Supposed experts like Dr. Grover Krantz and Peter C. Byrne are interviewed, trying to bolster their beliefs with footprint casts, a Gigantopithecus jawbone, and the rediscovery of the coelacanth. Eventually, after a Washington ordinance against killing Bigfoot is brought up, the show turns towards the debate over whether the creature can be proven to exist without a dead body. 

Mostly, the episode is devoted to people recounting encounters with the creature. And this is when "In Search Of..." really tickles my nostalgia bone. The reenactments feature many first-person-perspective shots of -something- walking through the dark forest, backed by ominous grunting and snorting. The lo-fi creepiness of these moments are paired with aerial footage of the Pacific Northwest and Nimoy's assuaging narration. When combined with the tinny, chiming synth soundtrack, the result is a program I find immensely relaxing. I can't tell you how often I've fallen asleep to YouTube playlists of this show...

What Nimoy, clad in a turtleneck sweater and a hideous striped sports jacket, calls "persuasive evidence" for the existence of Bigfoot is not so much the case. Instead, the average folks recounting their sightings act as ghost stories, especially when depicted through the charming stodginess of a seventies television budget. These are legends that reflect, not literal reality, but our culture's spiritual and psychological needs. This is the same conclusion an Indigenous woman makes at the episode's end, saying Bigfoot can't be proven to exist with science as it resides in an ineffable space of its own. That's where the real value of shows like "In Search Of..." reside, as pop culture reflections of modern folklore and the society that birthed it.  Such presentations as these, no matter how antiquated they may be, fire the imagination by exposing us to deeper wells of the myths that make up our world. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Mother Lurch Visists the Addams Family

The bizarrely named and attributed members of the extended Addams Family are a running joke in the series. The sixteenth episode, however, gives us a look at the family of their faithful manservant. As the title describes, "Mother Lurch Visits the Addams Family" has the towering butler's mom preparing to stop by. In his letters to his mother, Lurch fibbed and said he owned the stately Addams mansion, that he was head of the household. Mortica and Gomez decide to help their beloved employee out by pretending to be the servants and teaching him to act like the master, for a while. The charade becomes difficult to maintain when Lurch's mom, a bossy and obnoxious woman, actually arrives. 

"Mother Lurch" plays on a rich comedic premise that's been exploded many times over the years: A switcheroo between employer and employee. Usually stories like this are designed to humble the arrogant bosses. Since Gomez and Mortica are lovable, and Lurch is undyingly faithful to them, the humor instead arises from the butler's awkward attempts to fill the role of master, not servant. Mortica, acting as the maid, goads the unexpressive Lurch into making goo-goo eyes at her, an amusing moment. (I didn't know flirting with the boss was a standard part of being a maid though... Another sign of this show being a product of its time.) When the phone rings, Lurch and Gomez rush to answer it st the same time, a solid bit of physical comedy. Naturally, Lurch eventually becomes too accustomed to his new role as master, Gomez and Mortica soon learning how tiring it is to be at someone's back and call all the time. 

As subversive as "The Addams Family" could be, challenging the status quo of its household was not something it was interested in. No attempts at social commentary or lessons learned from this exercise are shown. Gomez and Mortica don't question if they treat their butler as well as they think they do, nor does Lurch ask if he's treated fairly as a servant. "The Addams Family" may mock the assumed normalcy of the average American family but unending the power roles inherent to the bourgeoisie class wasn't on its agenda. Though if you're willing to read into Lurch -really- loving his time on the wrack and the whole master/servant thing, the program's persistent kink subtext gets stronger... Though I'd rather not consider the ghoul-like manservant's bedroom habits and how that interacts with his role in the family. 

Anyway, "Mother Lurch Visits" loses a lot of its comedic spark once the title character arrives. Ellen Corby, best known as the grandmother on "The Waltons," plays Lurch's mom as a hen-pecking, mean-spirited old woman. She makes outrageous demands of her son's "servants" and insists they be fired. That she's offended by Gomez and Morticia kissing is really annoying. What the butler and maid do in their private time is none of your damn business, lady! The obvious joke, of the intimidating Lurch kowtowing to this tiny woman, is followed as you'd expect. (Though this would explain why he fits into his role of butler so naturally.) It's a shame the episode gets kind of shrill in its second half, as I enjoyed it a lot up to that point. Ted Cassidy's crazy face acting and Carolyn Jones and John Astin's instant charm really made the early scenes sing. [6.5/10]

Halloween 2024: September 25th

Cold Prey (2006)

Fritt vilt

A road into Hollywood, for some filmmakers, has been to make a low-budget horror movie. If the project is a breakout success, the director may have a chance to prove themselves with a big budget studio project. If this really works out, you become an industry titan like Raimi, del Toro, or Wan. If you are merely extremely successful, you'll end up with Adam Wingard, Ben Wheatley, Jon Watts, or David Sandberg's careers. This isn't true only in America. Roar Uthaug is maybe the only director in Norway specializing in effects-driven spectacles. "The Wave" was an Emmerichian disaster flick, becoming the highest grossing movie at the Norwegian box office in 2016. Uthaug recently made "Troll," the country's first kaiju movie. (And, yes, he went to Hollywood too, directing the 2018 "Tomb Raider" reboot.) For Uthaug, it really started with "Cold Prey," a 2006 slasher movie that put the Nordic world on the map as a destination for genre enthusiasts. As a die-hard slasher fanatic, I've heard about this one for years and the time has come to me to finally consider it. 

Jannicke, her boyfriend Elrik, and their pals Mikal, Ingunn, and Morten drive to the Jotunheimen mountain range for a weekend snowboarding excursion. Interested in avoiding crowds, they head to an obscure, snowy region. The day of fast-paced fun is ruined when Morten breaks his leg. The group seeks shelter in a near-by abandoned ski lodge, deciding to shack up there until a blizzard passes. The building clearly has a strange history, as one room features a burnt bed and there's a stash of stolen goods in the basement. After Ingunn disappears, the group soon realizes that they've stumbled into the home of pickax wielding, masked brute. And he doesn't appreciate the company. 

Uthaug's desire to emulate Hollywood thrills was already evident in his first feature. "Cold Prey's" original title translates to "Open Season" – which a shitty CGI cartoon used first over here – but it could as easily be called "The Norwegian Pickax Massacre." Specifically, the film is emulating the 2006 Platinum Dunes version of "Texas Chainsaw." Uthaug and cinematographer Daniel Voldheim apply a washed-out, grayish-green color filter to every scene. The film has the same sense of glossy grime to it as Marcus Nispel's remake, looking more like the car commercial version of a gritty slasher flick. This is perhaps a coincidence, as Uthaug also did extensive work in commercials before directing "Cold Prey." However, his film also copies the shaky-cam and frantic editing during the chase scenes. It layers on the same type of obnoxious jump scares prevalent in that remake, a slamming door or a guy jumping out at his sweetheart being loud examples. From there, some mediocre digital effects are inserted. There isn't a lot of CGI but it's always distracting when it does appear. When you factor in the plot of road-tripping young people falling into a masked killer's lair, the similarities are difficult to ignore. The twenty-somethings aren't quite as underwear model pretty as in the Michael Bay production but the same stink is all over this motion picture. 

Being derivative is never a problem in a slasher movie, as long as all the other mechanics are charming or well done. "Cold Prey," unfortunately, never quite takes off. One thing the movie doesn't take from 2006's "Chainsaw Massacre" is the downbeat gore. In fact, the use of the red stuff is fairly restrained, a lot of the actual killing blows happening off-screen or with minimal bloodshed. The glum visual approach prevents a creepy atmosphere from building. Most prominently, a simply terrible musical score kills all tension. Every dramatic moment or attempt at suspense is undermined by a blaring, sweeping score that projects the most over-sized emotions possible on scenes that should be quiet and eerie.  Look at the climax, where Jannicke is hiding from the killer as he lurks right over her. The score goes for a very loud heroic theme here, instead of something that will build tension. Without suspense, spooky visuals, or entertaining gore effects, what does a film like this offer?  

"Cold Prey" spends more time with its cast than you might expect, given the kind of movie this is. The first murder doesn't occur until forty minutes in, providing lots of time to get to know everyone. This could've been the chance to flesh out the meat sacks into complex human beings. Instead, everyone in "Cold Prey" slots into the standard slasher bait roles. Ingunn and Mikal are the horny couple, the guy eager to get into her pants but the girl putting the brakes on. Morten is the comic relief, his introductory moment being a masturbation joke. His key scene involves struggling with a tin can. Jannicke and Elrik have some route melodrama, with her hesitating to move in with him, that does nothing to make these two seem more real or interesting. What Ingrid Bolsø Berdal, as Jannicke, does  have is a compelling physicality. Once she's fighting off the killer with his own pickax on a mountain top, "Cold Prey" finally seems to come alive... After which, it ends, the movie cutting to black the instant its climax crashes to a stop. The lack of imaginative character building extends to the murderer. A cool looking slasher can go a long way. The script clearly has some investment in the guy, hinting at a vague and tragic backstory throughout. He remains nothing more than a big dude in some furs, with a raggedy hood over his head. NECA can't make an action figure of that! 

Disappointingly, "Cold Prey" doesn't utilize its uniquely Norwegian setting that much. There's some cinematic vistas of the mountaintops but most of the story takes place inside that drab, dingy lodge. It's a real waste of wintry isolation and blowing snow. Should've copied "The Thing," instead of Michael Bay! "Cold Prey" would imitate American slasher pictures in another way too: It spawned a franchise, begetting two sequels. (The U.S. remake rights were picked up too, by WWE Pictures. Nothing has come of it, robbing us of a chance to see the Big Show hack up snowboarders with a pickax.) People tell me the second is good and it wouldn't be the first time a slasher sequel improved on the original. I'll probably catch up with that one some day but "Cold Prey I" left me thoroughly underwhelmed. Derivative in the worst ways and lacking most of the cheap thrills we associate with the subgenre, only a strong final girl and that gnarly broken leg provide a reason to watch this export. [5/10]

The Vampire (1957)

The vampire is, from any reasonable perspective, the most popular of cinematic monsters. The undead bloodsuckers might be the most commonly occurring horror archetype in all of fiction. There likely aren't many years that didn't see the release of a vampire movie of some sort. Due to the sheer number of films dealing with this subject, we've had many variations and unique takes on the idea over the decades. The films on the subject, eager to distinguish themselves from the lot, usually go with a catchy title of some sort. Others, however, choose the most generic option possible. Such as the Paul Landres directed creature feature from 1957, known simply as “The Vampire.” Despite having the most blunt title possible for a film about, well, a vampire, Landres' feature actually put a clever spin on the premise, being one of a small group of movies that attempted to drag the fanged revenants of gothic lore into the nuclear era. 

Small town doctor Paul Beecher pays a house call to his friend, biologist Dr. Campbell. He finds the man, who had been doing research on vampire bats, dying of a mysterious heart ailment. Before he passes, he gives Beecher a bottle of pills. The next night, while afflicted with a headache, Paul's daughter unwittingly gives her father one of these pills. Afterwards, strange deaths start to pop up around town. People are dying suddenly of a rare blood virus that causes their veins to disintegrate, their necks also marked with two small bite marks. The doctor soon learns that the pills are designed to regress animals backwards on the evolutionary chart. When they run out, Beecher starts to experience unusual blackouts, mood swings, and missing time. He must face the impossible, horrible possibility that he has become a vampire. 

Clearly little thought was put into “The Vampire's” title – to the point that it's not the only film from 1957 called that – the movie actually presents a clever reinvention on the traditional bloodsucking beastie. This vampire is not an undead count that crawls out of a tomb. Instead, it's the result of science gone wrong, Dr. Beecher becoming a neck-biting marauder after taking some finky pills. This puts the film in the same company as the previous year's “The Werewolf,” which similarly put a sci-fi spin on a classic monster, and the next year's “Monster on the Campus,” which had a comparable plot involving cavemen. Scientific concepts like blood diseases, viruses, and vaguely understood points about evolutionary are used to justify the classic behaviors. The result is a script that has more in common with “Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde” than “Dracula.” Paul Beecher appears to be a respected member of his community, a local physician and single father that everyone trusts. He transforms into a vampire against his will, gaining a splotchy complexion and clawed fingernails when he does. If nothing else, it's a clever riff on a well-trotted premise.

“The Vampire” also reminded me of “The Hideous Sun Demon,” another werewolf variation that switched out curses for evolution-tinged mad science. In that movie, the protagonist's monstrous changes were a not-exactly-subtle metaphor for alcoholism. “The Vampire” provides the same level of thin veiling to tell a story about drug addiction. Paul gets a taste of the pills by accident. However, he soon finds himself craving them all the time. When he doesn't get a hit, he becomes moody and nervous, snapping in anger at his daughter or visibly shaking during an operation. His friends and colleagues notice this change in him but are unsure of how to approach it. He begs a nurse to stay with him after hours, hoping she can keep him from relapsing, before stealing from her purse to get his pills back. After Paul comes clean to a co-worker about his pill-popping habit, the other guy tries to lock away the substance.. Only for Paul to attack him and break the bottle out in an unhinged rage. Lead actor John Beal, shockingly good, is clearly invoking the jittery, sweating behavior of a respectable junkie that is loosing his ability to disguise his unseemly habit. That Paul has no memory of what he does when he blacks out, literally becoming a monster when he either gets his pills or goes too long without them, makes the subtext all the more obvious. 

Veteran cinematographer Jack MacKenzie, clearly in another attempt to show how modern a spin the film is on the age-old idea, shoots the movie like a film noir. When talking with a police officer friend of his, Beecher stands in an office that is crisscrossed with shadows. The scenes of Paul admitting his condition are similarly moody, the black-and-white photography creating a distinctly 1950s style of psychology darkness. This is in contrast to the earlier scenes of domestic bliss, when our protagonist is spending time with his utterly wholesome ballerina daughter. (MacKenzie would also shoot 42 episodes of “Leave It to Beaver” later in his career, which these scenes resemble.) The highlight of the film occurs when the vampire stalks the comely nurse as she walks home, before turning his attention to a nosy old woman. There's a classical eeriness to the fleeting shots of the obscured monster leaping behind a tree or peering at his prey. The sequence is surprisingly tense and the film never reaches that level of suspense again. Certainly not in the underwhelming finale, which disappointingly takes place at day. 

Also helping elevate the film is a evocative score from Gerald Friend. The main refrain, with its thumping bass melody, reminds me a bit of the “Jaws” score. Coincidence? Probably. “The Vampire” is the sort of motion picture that benefits from no expectations. Go in expecting a typical vampire movie and be surprised that this is a rather unique riff on the known cliches of the story. That repeated attempts were made in the late fifties to update these old school concepts for the atomic age is fascinating to me, revealing an unwillingness to move beyond the traditional symbols of the genre. When combined with a strong lead and some intriguing comparison between undead blood lust and drug addiction, “The Vampire” is a hidden gem for classic horror buffs. [7/10]

Beasts: What Big Eyes

By overlaying the title over an image of a roaring cheetah, "What Big Eyes" feels like it could be the first episode of "Beasts." It was actually the second-to-last to be both filmed and aired. Nevertheless, it's an intriguing summation of the series' ideas. It begins with RSPCA agent Bob Curry investigating a shady exotic animal dealer. He notices that several "Hungarian Timberwolves" have been sold to an unassuming pet shop. After looking into it, he finds the quaint shop is owned by a timid woman named Florence. It's actually her father, an eccentric geneticist named Leo Raymont, that has been purchasing the wolves. Leo is obsessed with the myth of the werewolf and believes he can scientifically replicate it. He has created what he calls a "Grandma serum" (named after the Little Riding Hood story) from the animals' blood and been injecting himself with it. Bob is disturbed but fascinated, trying to keep Raymont from destroying more wolves and himself. 

Nigel Kneale, the esteemed creator and writer of "Beasts," was fascinated with correlating mythological concepts with scientific ones. Or at least sci-fi ones. "Quatermass and the Pit" had ancient beliefs about demons inspired by medieval man experiencing psychic trauma when contacting alien lifeforms. "The Stone Tapes" explained ghostly haunting as the result of the pain of the dying imprinting on their surroundings. "What Big Eyes"  would see Kneale approaching the werewolf legend from this angle. Dr. Raymont explains that humans and wolves share a common ancestor millions of years ago, before evolutionary paths went separate ways. That the idea of the werewolf myth is a genetic "memory" of this ancient lineage. That stories like Little Red Riding Hood are another example of human minds subconsciously invoking this connection. His work seeks to awaken this long forgotten link, mostly via injecting himself with wolf's blood. As someone fascinated with folklore, especially the way unconnected cultures conceived of similar ideas, this is an interesting theory to entertain. 

Kneale, however, was also a rationalist and "Beasts" was as interested in how human nature reflects animal nature. "What Big Eyes" is also a modern updating of the mad scientist concept. Raymond is an egotistical obsessive. Like all mad scientists, he's much more interested in proving his superiority over his peers than furthering the cause. He's spent his entire life devoted to his ideas, seemingly thinking and talking about them nonstop. In the seventies, a mad scientist didn't have an Igor to assist him. Instead, that duty fell to Raymont's daughter. Who he has an irrepressible contempt for, never letting her forget that she's intellectually "inferior" to him. Unsurprisingly, a lifetime of living under such a hateful man has left Florence a deeply broken person. "What Big Eyes'" climax isn't a moment of monster movie horror. Instead, it's a heartbreaking monologue from Madge Ryan, detailing how Florence suffered all her life from her father's cruelty. The suggestion seems to be that neither legendary curses nor genetic pseudo-science is necessary to turn a man into a beast. Humans do that just fine by how they treat other living things. (A point further emphasized by the cruel way the animal trader in the first scene treats the species he imports.) 

"What Big Eyes" is full of fascinating ideas and strong acting like this. Patrick Magee and Michael Kitchen – who, coincidentally, also both starred in the "Orson Welles' Great Mysteries" episode I watched the other day – share many interesting conversations. Magee conveys the exact right level of conceited opulence as a man totally convinced of his own superiority. Kitchen makes Bob an empathetic man deeply concerned by the welfare of animals, an ideal foil.  These two talking is also almost all "What Big Eyes" has. Previous episodes of "Beasts" cleverly wrote around the show's meager budget, using disturbing sound design to suggest the beasts rather than showing them. We don't see any wolves in "What Big Eyes," other than a rather frail looking one in a cage at the end. There certainly aren't any werewolves either. The episode still accomplishes a lot with a little. If it's basically a filmed stage show between two actors, then it's a very good one. The final scene brings the title around in a tense, tragic way. This still likely ranks among the weaker episodes of this overall excellent series that I've seen, more academic than most and lacking the bone-chilling denouncements that "During Barty's Party," "Baby," and "Buddyboy" had. [7/10]

The Addams Family: The Addams Family Meets the Undercover Man

I think the "Addams Family" writers' room might have thrown together three separate episode premises for "The Addams Family Meet the Undercover Man." Pugsley has gotten into ham radio, even converted the play room into the Code Room. The nature of his messages attracts the interest of CIA agent named Hollister. He recruits the local postman, Mr. Briggs, to spy on the Addams. He's soon scared away, forcing Hollister to recruit a local plumber named Mr. Conkey next. That doesn't work out too well either, especially after Conkey encounters Kitty Kat. Out of ideas, Hollister himself steps into the Addams home and sees why everyone is so timid around these folks. 

Yes, "The Addams Family Meet the Undercover Man" is another episode devoted to a square getting an unexpected dose of the Addams Family aesthetic. In this case, it's three different squares and each one reacts predictably. Not to say there aren't some fun gags here. While snooping around Gomez's desk, Postman Briggs uncovers a roaring turtle, a chattering shrunken head, and an exploding letter from a witch doctor. There's an especially amusing bit where Morticia discovers Conkey with a Walkie Talkie in his hand. One of the best one-liners arrives when Hollister, winding up in the stocks after the Addams mistake him for a malicious spy, attempts to bribe Pugsley. The boy's response suggests the Addams have a cop buried in the neighboring cemetery. Now I'm picturing Lurch groaning out "ACAaaaaaB!" 

As sneaky as this show could get about it's subversive ideas, it was still beholden to 1960s attitudes. Not much is made of the idea that the U.S. government is spying on its own citizens like this. The Addams seem totally fine with Hollister's invasion of their privacy, once they confirm he's an actual CIA. I guess it's okay when an American does it? Still funny to imagine there being a folder on the Addams buried somewhere in the CIA's filing cabinets. Another indicator that this episode is from a different time is in the first scene. Pugsley communicates with a Japanese man over his radio, leading to a very unfortunate accent. Ah, these things come with territory, I suppose. 

Though about as standard an episode of this series as can be, "The Addams Family and the Undercover Man" is elevated somewhat by the guest stars. Rolfe Sedan and the very Don Knotts-ian Norman Leavitt are both funny fellows as the postman and the plumber. They don't make sitcom actors like those two anymore, who can get a laugh with nothing but a cockeyed expression. George Neise, as Hollister, also makes a decent straight man, especially when he comes face-to-face with Lurch. The final scene features the expected running gag, of someone's experience with the Addamses scaring them into a different line of work. More notably, the scene also features Gomez and Morticia enjoying a hookah together. Now am I to believe that the Addams are smoking mere tobacco here? I think marijuana is too mundane for them too. Let's assume it's some sort of exotic, probably poisonous strain of herb that would turn a normal person's hair grey after a single puff. [6/10]

Halloween 2024: September 24th

Good Manners (2017)

As Boas Maneiras

We probably think of the werewolf as exclusively the domain of the myths of Europe. At the very least, when it comes to cinematic werewolf stories, we don't often encounter lupine monsters from outside the North American or European continent. Of course, legends about werewolves or creatures like them are prevalent all across the globe. People in every culture fear that, despite being pure at heart and saying their prayers at night, they may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright. Brazil is no different in that regard. The country has its own local variation on the wolfman premise, called the lobisomem. However, this has rarely been put to celluloid. Aside from a 1972 obscurity, the only other Brazilian werewolf movie is relatively recent. That would be “Good Manners” from 2017, which put a fairly unique spin on the familiar legend.

In modern day São Paulo, Clara applies to become a nanny for soon-to-be young mother, Ana. Despite her lack of references, Ana and Clara immediately form a bond. Soon, they become more than merely employer and employee or friends. Clara learns that Ana doesn't know who the father of her child is, that the pregnancy is the result of an unearthly encounter with a strange man. She also sees her sneak out at night in a trance, craving the blood of freshly killed animal. When Ana gives birth – dying in the process – the truth is revealed: Her child is a werewolf. Clara takes the boy in as her own, naming him Joel. She raises him under a strict meat free diet and locks him into a secret vault every night, in hopes that his beastly side will never be unleashed. Unfortunately, Joel is getting older and Clara is struggling to keep her son safe... Or, rather, keep those around him safe.

Most filmmakers would be content with telling a story about two women from wildly different social and economic backgrounds falling in love. And maybe one of them is pregnant with a werewolf cub, sure. “Good Manners,” however, is only getting started with that pitch. Once Ana gives birth, the lycanthropic infant tearing through her belly, this becomes an entirely different movie. The film is on the longer side, running two hours and fifteen minutes. You could snip off this extended prologue and still have a good, feature length movie left. It's clear that “Good Manners” is going for a novelistic approach, seeking to tell both its main plot and the incidents leading up to it. However, the result can't help but feel a little bit like two separate movies being mashed together. It's an odd narrative structure, a film having an additional act at the beginning of its runtime.

Going into “Good Manners,” all I knew is that it was a werewolf story of a nanny and her employer falling in love. The feminist werewolf movie is not a necessarily novel idea. There's been a surprising number of films about women casting off the shackles of heteronormative society and masculine expectations in order to embrace a rawer, animalistic version of femininity. Narratives like these are almost surely build up from the commonly embraced premise of monsterdom as a metaphor for queerness. “Good Manners” earns points for creativity simply for not following that trend. I do believe Clara and Ana being women and being in love is meant to further elaborate upon their statuses as social outsiders, Clara being a woman-of-color with no money and Ana being a single mother. The mere fact that queer women exists means stories like these, any type of story, deserve to be told about them. No justification more than that is necessary. However, it is frustrating that these two story threads are so ultimately disconnected. 

Eventually, “Good Manners” reveals the actual primary metaphor behind its werewolf premise. This is a film about the inevitable fact that all parents lose control of their kids someday, that no one can protect their child from everything. Clara has taken extensive steps to make sure Joel's werewolf side is never unleashed. She trims her son's nails and shaves his bodies whenever his wolfman genes start to kick in. The boy wanting to learn more about his birth parents, which has tragic consequences, begins with a sitter disregarding the dietary restrictions Clara gave her and letting the kid have a bite of steak. Beastly transformations has often been a metaphor for puberty. Joel is younger than most teenage werewolf but it's no mistake that these changes are happening right around this point in the boy's life. You can also see this as a veiled story of what happens when an adopted child starts to become curious about his origins. 

Writer/directors Marco Dutra and Jullana Rojas has claimed their film was inspired by classic Disney animation. In other words, “Good Manners” is meant to be a fairy tale of sorts. This is evident in the movie's visual palette, which favors bright colors over realism. However, it is most obvious in the various touches of magic realism sprinkled throughout the story. The encounter that resulted in Ana's pregnancy is depicted as a series of painted illustrations. Twice in the film, people burst into song with little prompting. The latter portion of the film seems to be set in the future, as an obvious (though nice) matte painting is used to depict a futuristic seeming mall. Any horror fan watching “Good Manners” is ready and willing to accept the werewolf story. However, that is truthfully only the main fantastical element in a film clearly focused on summoning a more otherworldly feeling.

Speaking of horror fans... How does “Good Manners” operate as a monster movie? At times, this feels like one of those dreary domestic dramas that decides to include some horror elements strictly to make itself more marketable. It's a well-acted drama, with Isabel Zuaa and Marjorie Estiano both giving strong performances as Clara and Ana. However, I get the impression that the filmmakers are more invested in their monster movie metaphor. Especially in the way the finale invokes the classical imagery of rioting villagers, chasing down the monster with torches and pitchforks. However, some clumsy CGI keeps “Good Manners” from being more effective as a horror film. Despite a chase through an empty shopping mall being relatively well done. 

Among the many faults a movie can have, being ambitious will always be one of the more minor ones in my eyes. “Good Manners” is a film with a lot of ideas, overflowing with thoughts on various social issues and phenomenon, on mythological archetypes and their deeper meanings. However, that it feels so much like a shorter film and its own sequel slammed together can't help but leave the movie with lumpy pacing. The result is a handsomely shot and wonderfully acted motion picture, that certainly puts a unique spin on the werewolf concept, without functioning as a truly smooth and satisfying experience. [7/10]

Survival Quest (1988)

Movies about camping trips gone wrong and terror among the scenic countryside existed before "Deliverance." However, John Boorman's 1972 classic cast a long shadow. Its story of city slickers being threatened during a scenic hunting trip, with its themes of challenged masculinity and survival among the rough terrain, directly influenced a number of films that followed. Coincidentally or not, the same era saw the rise of adversity-focused outdoor education programs, such as "extreme" backpacking and weekend boot camps. Basically, out-of-work drill sergeants, outdoorsman, and survivalist grifters realized they could make a decent penny dragging pampered city folks, who wanted to prove their "toughness," out into the woods for a few days. In-between the second and third "Phantasm" movies, indie horror auteur Don Coscarelli would get the idea to combine these two concepts. The result was "Survival Quest," which received little attention upon release in 1989 and not much more since then. However, the cult of Coscarelli is such that the film has always intrigued. Time to see if this one is a hidden gem or deserves to be left out in the wilderness. 

The titular Survival Quest is an Outward Bound style camping program, opened to people of all ages, genders, and backgrounds. Led by a back-to-nature type named Hank Chambers, the program is designed to teach survival skills in the forests and mountains while fostering personal improvement and group bonding. One such trip is assembled for a weekend in the Sierra Madres. It's a diverse group, made up of youths, an older gentleman, a recent divorcee named Cheryl, and a quiet ex-con known as Grey. At the same time Hank is leading this gang into the mountains, a rival group of weekend warriors, led by Jake Cannon, are camping in the same area. What begins as childish harassment between the two groups soon becomes more dangerous, when both Hank and his competitor are seemingly killed by a trigger-happy protégé of Cannon. Determined to destroy evidence of their crime, the wannabe soldiers decide to hunt and kill everyone in Survival Quest. The campers will have to put aside their differences if they plan to make it back to civilization alive. 

Going into "Survival Quest," I was under the impression it was about a group of teenagers on such a trip, something like a coming-of-age version of "Southern Comfort." This isn't the case but I understand how people could get that impression. "Survival Quest" is an R-rated movie, with occasional profanity, some slashed throats, and brief nudity. (Via a lake bathing scene, not unlike a similar moment in Coscarelli's "Beastmaster.") Despite that, its tone veers more towards a boys adventure story than the brutality of "Deliverance." The characters seem a lot like teenagers, even if most of them aren't. There's farcical moments, like the practical joker of the bunch playing with a baby bear or a comical trust-building exercise involving falling off a building. These scenes clash badly with moments that recall Coscarelli's more blatantly horrific work. Roaming Steadicam shots, hunting knife murder, and a plot about individuals being picked off amid the wilderness makes "Survival Quest" feel a bit like a slasher movie at times. The movie also features shoot-outs and some pyrotechnics, making it an example of low-budget action filmmaking too. Instead of these competing tones complimenting each other, they co-exist uneasily. The result is a violent, quasi-horror movie that feels like it was made for kids. 

It is easy to see why Coscarelli would be compelled to tell a story like this. The "Phantasm" movies regularly feature its heroes cobbling together deadly inventions to defend themselves – as does his "Masters of Horror" episode – suggesting these kinds of improvised survival techniques are an interest of his. The "Phantasm" movies also indecisively rest between a kid-centric attitude and explicit content. That series largely gets away with it but centering in on adolescents on the edge of adulthood (And their overgrown, man-boy equivalents.) That creates a boys club type atmosphere, half manly bonding and half juvenile shenanigans. Though "Survival Quest" features ostensibly strong female characters – in the form of Traci Lind's Jade, who becomes the group's leader – it still feels this way. This is especially true of the subplot about Hank and Cannon being forced to work together. The two men often glare at each other, their faces pushing closer and closer. There are multiple scenes of them being shirtless together, covered in mud and blood. When combined with a standard arc of rivals earning respect for each other, and the script's hyper-macho posturing, the homoeroticism starts to become unavoidable. The men must rely on each other to survive. And who's to say what else two guys will get up to when left alone in the woods, ya know? 

"Survival Quest" probably would've been better if it had focused squarely on Chambers and Cannon's "Brokeback" weekend. That's largely because Lance Henriksen and Mark Rolston are two colorful performers that the audience can immediately latch on to. Henriksen projects a kind of uncle-like warmth, a cross between Grizzly Adams and Rambo that drops nuggets of wisdom in-between eating worms and cauterizing a bullet wound with a red hot knife blade. Rolston, meanwhile, goes way over-the-top as the cartoonishly evil Cannon, an asshole bully character that is easy to root against. These two parts speak to the overall archetypal characters in the film. The roles can be sorted into easily understood stereotypes: The old man, the woman eager to prove she's as tough as the dudes, the comic relief, the black guy. Grey, played by a mildly charismatic Dermot Mulroney, reminded me a lot of Napoleon Wilson from "Assault on Precinct 13" or Riddick, a seemingly heartless criminal whose skills make him a dependable asset in a dire situation. The villains, meanwhile, are all thinly developed caricatures that you won't mind seeing blown away. The cast is decent – a young, buck-toothed Catherine Keener is the other female in the group – but the characters are too many and too forgettable to become invested in. 

That's the story with "Survival Quest." A survivalist thriller directed by Coscarelli and starring Lance sounds like it should be a hoot. Every once in a while, it is, especially when focused on the reliable character actor stars or the grislier set pieces. However, weird tonal issues and a generic ensemble leaves the movie in the middle of the road. It wouldn't be long after this one that Coscarelli would return to the Tall Man and his silver orbs, where his demented creativity was put to better use. (By the way, Reggie Bannister has a brief part here as a helicopter pilot.) "Survival Quest" isn't totally without its moments but you're better off just watching "Southern Comfort" or "Surviving the Game" again. [6/10]

Shadows: The Waiting Room

"Shadows" was the "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" of the middle seventies, assuming you lived in Britain anyway. The series aired spooky tales for kids on ITV from 1975 to 1978. I watched an episode two years ago and found it effective enough, so how about another one? "The Waiting Room" sees teenage brother and sister Gerry and Sue arrive at a creepy train station in a downpour. Having missed the last train, they decide to wait until the next car pulls in at 5:30 AM. The drafty, dusty waiting room – lit only by an oil lamp – is off-putting to the youths. Soon, a railway man arrives and claims to be a veteran of the Great War. He references another train arriving at 1:30 AM, which isn't on the schedule Sue consulted. As evidence mounts, the siblings soon realize they are caught in a ghostly re-enactment of tragic events that unfolded fifty years prior. 

As seems to be the standard across all the British genre programs I've watched this year, "The Waiting Room" is extremely modest in its production values and subtle with its ideas. Like the previous episode of "Shadows" I reviewed, it's confined largely to one location. Nearly the entire half-hour is devoted to the two teenagers talking amongst themselves or with their guests. The ghostly activity occurs without any banging of doors or loud scares. The railwayman is rather affable, if clearly still traumatized from his memories of the war. The sense of horror comes more from the teens realizing what is going on and the inevitable calamity you can feel approaching. It's easy to guess where these events are headed, especially once an incoming phantom train is referenced. "The Waiting Room" even goes so far as to utilize the cliché of the triggering tragedy occurring exactly fifty years ago to this night. 

Paul Henley plays Gerry as a whiny little brother, making him not the most likable presence. A teenaged, button-nosed Jenny Agutter is more palatable as Sue. Despite an irritating lead character, a predictable script, and ghostly activity so low-key it almost doesn't register, I still dug "The Waiting Room." This episode of "Shadows" really earns its name, as the location is almost impenetrable dark at times. What little sound design there is mostly appears as the wind howling outside, always an eerie touch. The ending is surprisingly downbeat for a children's program, definitely leaving the viewer with a slight chilly feeling. I guess that's an example of the English stiff-upper lip, isn't it? I can't imagine modern day kids sitting still through "The Waiting Room," or finding much value in it, but its dreary atmosphere worked for me. [7/10]

The Addams Family: The Addams Family Meets a Beatnik

Another very literally entitled episode begins with, having seemingly picked up the art bug from the last episode, Morticia painting a portrait of Fester. This family activity is interrupted by a crash from outside. A young man wielding a guitar has wrecked his motorcycle on the Addams' doorstep. A counterculture type named Rocky, he's at first horrified by the family's particular ways. However, their kindness and generosity win him over quickly. Turns out Rocky is the son of a millionaire industrialist and running from his dad's envisioned future for him. The guy also has a birthday coming up and, unaware of the acrimony between father and son, the Addams invite his dad to the party. 

Before the hippy absorbed their place in the pop culture recollection of the sixties, the Beatnik was the easily mocked youth movement of the time. "The Munsters" also did an episode mocking them, so clearly the Beatnik was an easy target for sitcoms in 1964. However, Rocky doesn't meet most of the stereotypes we associate with beatniks today. He doesn't wear a beret, write meandering stream-of-consciousness poetry, play bongos or appears to be high on drugs. All Tom Lowell, affable enough in the part, really does is throw around some goofy jive speak slang. Otherwise, he seems to be more of a generic biker type, without the grungy toughness we associate with that subculture today. Maybe to the Hollywood screenwriters of 1964, the Beats and the Hell's Angels might as well be the same thing. 

Anyway, "The Addams Family Meet a Beatnik" begins utilizing the standard structure of this show. Namely, an outsider comes into the Addams' household and is shocked by their weirdness. We get pretty standard gags about Gomez mistaking a bike chain for a flail, Rocky meeting Cleopatra and Thing, and ending up in the stockades for an injury. However, I'm glad the writers recognized that a counterculture type like this would probably befriend the Addams quickly. He especially bonds with Wednesday and Pugsley. This results in many cute scenes of the kids trying to cover for their new friend or not tell him about his upcoming surprise party. The episode concludes on an unexpected sentimental note, Rock's father coming to accept his son's individuality. Kind of a weird episode but I did chuckle a few times. [6/10]

Halloween 2024: September 23rd

Children of the Corn (2020)

The year was 2020 and the world was in the grips of a pandemic the likes of which hadn't been seen in a hundred years. But someone knew exactly what was needed during this troubled time, to bring us all together and heal our hearts: A new "Children of the Corn" movie. Yes, Kurt Wimmer – the visionary filmmaker who boldly answered the question of "What if Paul W.S. Anderson's movies were shittier?" – believed so much in this idea that he forged ahead after the threat of COVID-19 put a stop to most film productions. Thus are the risks you take for art! In all seriousness, a remake of "Children of the Corn" had been bandied about as soon as people forgot one already existed. With the death of Dimension Films putting the rights up for grabs and the box office success of "IT" making King adaptations hot again, time was probably right for a new one. Unfortunately, the bad luck that began with filming during a pandemic continued as, after one screening, the movie basically disappeared for two years. Shudder dug it up, dusted off the corn silk, and slapped the reboot onto their streaming service last year. How does the latest entry in this inexplicably long-running franchise stack up? 

2020's "Children of the Corn" does make a clever choice I'm surprised the franchise hadn't done before. Instead of taking place after the killings have already happened, it shows the child uprising as it plays out. In a small Nebraskan town, Eden's older brother leads a revolt among the local children that results in a whole crowd of kids being killed via poison gas. Eden is then adopted by a pastor living in nearby Rylstone. The town's livelihood of corn is failing, prompting an idea to destroy the crops and take a government subsidy. Local teenager Bo is against this idea, thinking a long term strategy is better. Eden is horrified too but that's because she's begun to worship an entity living in the cornfields called He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Having gathered a following among the town's children, Eden leads a bloody revolt against every adult. Bo stays behind to save her father and break the hold the cult has on her younger brother. 

Dropping the Christian fanaticism and pagan rites of every previous iteration, this "Children of the Corn" instead posits another explanation for the murders: Maybe the adults had it coming. Eden convinces the local kids to wipe out the grown-ups by speaking to genuine grievances the youths have with the prior generation. Kids have been abused, ignored, mocked, and left to live in a world without a future. The bloodshed starts with a mock trial against the town's leaders, which ends with a whole crowd being buried alive in a mass grave. When Eden promises that Rylstone is only the beginning, that she's going to lead a bloody revolution against all grown-ups everywhere, it speaks to the idea that children actually are an underclass that have suffered throughout human history. A charismatic leader radicalizing an overlooked social caste by speaking to the resentment in their heart is probably a more plausible modern cause for this story than brainwashing by Old Testament moralizing or eldritch nature deities. 

While Wimmer's film has some bold ideas, the scares simply aren't there. Everyone having cell phones and internet connection remove the small town isolation pivotal to the other films. An overall drab, earthy visual style removes any chance at atmosphere. There's a curious cruelty to the death scenes, too sadistic to function as cathartic fake violence but not realistic enough to be disturbing. More than anything else, these children aren't creepy. They're kind of goofy actually, playing pirate or "Alice in Wonderland"-themed make-believe games before graduating to mass patricide. The sense of strict social structures or cult-like devotion present in previous iterations of the story isn't here, the audience never feeling the sway Eden's beliefs have over the other kids. This shaky uncertainty is paired with some ghastly CGI jump scares that truly undermine any tension.

At times, it feels like this "Children of the Corn" is toying with removing the supernatural element from the story altogether. The movie is filled with some vague anti-GMO undertones, pointing out that the townsfolk have used fancy pesticides and lab-grown seeds in hopes of saving their dying town. In the first scene, Bo points out that toxic molds can grow on dying corn and that such an outbreak probably led to mass hysterias like the Salem witch trials. Both ideas are basically dropped in the second half, when it's revealed that He Who Walks Behind the Rows is real. And he's a giant CGI cornstalk monster. All of the "Children of the Corn" movies have struggled with how to depict the unseen god referenced in King's story. A knock-off PS4 Swamp Thing proves no more convincing than a cloud of red graphics or a fireball in a grain silo. After this reveal, the reboot abandons its killer kid gimmick to become an uninspired monster movie, building to an extremely stupid gotcha ending. 

An influence from 2017's "IT" – and the inspiration that film took from "Stranger Things" – is certainly felt. Elena Kampouris, as Bo, has a Sophia Lillis vibe about her with her tomboy fashion and curly bob. Like that film and show, this "Children of the Corn" attempts to invest us in the young characters' lives. Bo's father seems to have been recently left by their cheating mother, though the exact nature of this split is never defined. Her brother is annoyed that she's leaving town to go to college, feeling abandoned. Both of these subplots are dropped long before the end and none of this half-formed melodrama hooks the viewer anyway. It's a bummer too, as the young actors aren't bad. Kampouris has a certain girl-next-door charm about her that's paired with a spunky, can-do attitude. While I'm mixed on the character of Eden in general, finding her more annoying than creepy, I do think Kate Moyer did a decent job. Her anti-adult rants are convincing enough. She shows a cold brutality, which comes from a place of genuine contempt for the grown-ups around her.

With a better fleshed-out script and a director more interested in creating a foreboding atmosphere than playing with CGI bullshit, I think this "Children of the Corn" probably could've been a good movie. Taking more from the childhood resentment of "Who Could Kill a Child?" was a better idea than referring back to any of the previous sequels. It has some strong ideas and solid leads. As ridiculous as the notion of a corn-centric horror series is, clearly something about this premise resonates with people. They wouldn't have made eleven fucking movies if it didn't. So I'm sure He Who Walks Behind the Rows, in whatever form he takes next, will rise from the cornfield again at some point in the future. Until then, 2020's "Children of the Corn" represents an interesting attempt at reinventing the story that never fully wins you over. [6/10]

Your Vice Is a Locked Door and Only I Have the Key (1972)

Il tuo vizio è una stanza chiusa e solo io ne ho la chiave

Too often, the word "giallo" is thrown around to refer to any Italian horror movie that doesn't have zombies in it. Listen, people, please: "Suspiria" is not a giallo. This is all the sillier since gialli are easily identified by their titles. The more lurid and long-winded the Italian title is, the likelier the film is to contain black-gloved murderers, stylish directions, unusually observant detectives, and a smattering of eroticism. I kid, of course, as outliers with one-word titles, like "Autopsy" or "Libido," do exist... You might think of "Torso" as a simply-named giallo but Italian prints are known as "The Bodies Bear Traces of Carnal Violence!"  Sergio Martino directed that one. He also made my favorite example of a sleazy killer-thriller whose name functions as a short story on its own, 1972's "Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key." 

Oliviero's mother was a successful actress, famous for playing Mary Scott. Upon her death, she left her riches, her estate, and a boatload of mommy issues to her son. Once a popular novelist, Oliviero has fallen into alcoholism and perversion. He takes his sexual and creative frustration out on Irina, his much-abused and long suffering wife. Irina is also tormented by her late mother-in-law's cat, nicknamed Satan. When Oliviero's mistress and the house's maid are brutally murdered, Irina begins to suspect that her husband is a killer. The arrival of Oliviero's comely niece, Floriana, inflames everyone's passions further. The three are soon entangled in their own schemes, as the bodies pile up in the wine cellar. 

"Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key" isn't an especially representative title. The words are taken from an earlier Martino gialli and the script is another loose adaptation of Poe's "The Black Cat." Not that there isn't plenty of vice here! In fact, the film possesses an impressively depraved atmosphere. Within the opening minutes, Oliviero has been sexually racist towards his maid, invited a hippy chick to dance naked on his table, and brutally assaulted his wife. Incest, voyeurism, prostitution, piquerism, animal cruelty, and dirt bikes all weave their way into the plot. Did I mention that Floriana is bisexual and easily seduces Irina too? The film's twisted soul is most reflected in the character of Oliviero. An always sweaty, always hirsute booze hound who is also always horny despite his implied impotence, he spends the entire movie ranting and raving at everyone while holding an unseemly obsession with his dead mother. That's the world "Your Vice..." takes place in, one where psychological hang-ups have long since calcified into aberrant fetishes and shrieking madness. The murder is a natural side effect of such an environment, where wanting to fuck your niece feels like one of the more reasonable things the male lead tries to do. 

Despite an incredibly lurid plot,  "Your Vice" isn't only a sleazy exploitation movie. While Oliviero is all raging id and libido, Irina spends nearly the entire movie in a state of hysterics. Considering she lives with an abusive monster and is even terrorized by the family cat, you can't blame her for going a little crazy. Setting this story in a crumbling villa is fitting, the shadows of the dilapidated building reflecting the broken minds of its characters. Like any gialli worth its salt, the story has multiple twists, turns, and double-crosses. Presumed innocents will be revealed as schemers before being betrayed by yet another conniving femme fatale. The most sympathetic angle of the script, that it's about putting us inside the head of a deeply traumatized woman, is lost before the end. I suppose that's only fitting, as the obscuring shadows of madness also deceive the eyes. In a movie this grimy, everyone has blood on their hands by the end. 

It's not as if a few narrative loose ends are atypical for films like this. All the gaps are filled with the stylish visuals we expect of the subgenre. This is my third Sergio Martino and his strength for voyeuristic eroticism is already apparent. We often watch over people's shoulders as murder, sexual encounters, or eavesdropping occurs. Martino and cinematographer Giancarlo Ferrnando apply soft-focus sensuality or lecherous leering to the nude scenes. The shocking scenes, meanwhile, are heavy on the crash-zooms and latex skin being slashed open. These elements veer towards the tacky at times. However, a sequence where a dead body tumbles down the stairs is a showstopper. By the time we get to the frenziedly edited climax – which cuts between a motorcycle ride around twisting cliffs, close-ups on a provocative billboard, and the killer's preparation while Bruno Nicolai's intoxicating score swirls around it all – I knew the movie had fully won me over. 

A killer clad in a fedora, white stocking mask, black gloves, and wielding a billhook always pairs nicely with a flashy direction and a kinky plot. What truly puts "Your Vice is a Locked Door and Only I Have the Key" over-the-top is a trio of operatic performances. Luigi Pistili operates at eleven throughout the entire runtime, making Oliviero as big of a bastard as possible, never letting a mere look or whisper do when a wild glare or bellow is better. Edwige Fenech gets top-billing despite not appearing until twenty minutes in, looking almost painfully gorgeous. Her eyes always sparkle with the perfect mix of playful innocence and seductive scheming. Anita Strindberg plays Irina as a woman far pass her limit, long since broken down by constant abuse. She switches – effectively, I'll add – into a gleaming seductress at times. However, when the Poe-inspired conclusion arrives and she wails "SATANA!!!" to the heavens, the film is re-centered around her sad, shaken up persona. 

Of Martino's work I've seen so far, "Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key" is easily my favorite. The murder scenes maybe aren't as gorgeously stylish as those seen in Bava or Argento's best work. However, the twisted script and psychological darkness drew me in as the visuals and music get more and more hypnotic. When the Poe component comes back around at the very end, I realized I was smiling ear-to-ear. This sick little feature had found the key to my locked room. Or maybe Martino's other movies only needed to put Edwige Fenech in a pageboy haircut and hot pants to make me love this much. Either way, this is essential viewing for Italian horror devotees, a gory, sleazy, campy, and intoxicating experience. [9/10]

Orson Welles Great Mysteries: The Monkey's Paw

I always thought Orson Welles would've made a perfect host for an anthology series. His resounding voice, eloquent delivery, and distinctive screen presence made him an ideal master of ceremonies for any presentation of the macabre or unusual. A particular radio broadcast proved that. During the frozen peas era of his career, he'd also lend his talent and reputation to any commercial or talk show willing to pay his bill, born out of a desire to fund his serially unfinished passion projects. My suspicion that Welles must've hosted his own "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" at some point was correct. It didn't air in this country though. "Orson Welles Great Mysteries" was broadcast on ITV during the 1973-1974 season. Wearing what looks like the same fedora and cloak from "F for Fake," Welles would introduce tales of mystery and suspense, often adapted from the works of well-known authors. Not every episode dabbled in the uncanny but a few did. Such as the eleventh, a take on W.W. Jacob's oft-told "The Monkey's Paw." 

If you read the story during high school English class, this adaptation will present few surprises. Other than moving the setting into the modern day, it follows the text closely. Elderly retirees, the Whites, are visited by an old friend, Major Morris. Morris has acquired an enchanted monkey's paw while in India, claiming it can grant three wishes but always at a horrible price. Not taking these warnings seriously, the Whites' son encourages his dad to wish for a thousand pounds, to pay off the mortgage. The next day, Herbert is horribly killed in an accident at work. The factory owner offers the family a thousand pounds in compensation. Two wishes remain, the Whites attempting to undo the horror the cursed paw has wrought and only making things worse in the process. 

Jacob's story is so iconic and influential throughout pop culture that it's hard to believe it didn't always exist. Even today, you see memes and jokes about the finger on the monkey's paw curling. The premise of getting whatever you want, but only in the most horribly ironic way, feels mythic. As does the story's climax, in which seemingly the resurrected but hideously mangled corpse of the son bangs at the door unseen. It's the kind of classical ghost story intrinsic to the human imagination, endlessly retold and parodied. Like all timeless tales, it carries a moral too: Be careful what you wish for, as it might come true. Welles' introduction centers in on the ideas of coincidence and destiny, questioning whether we are to take the story's supernatural elements at face value and how much control we have over our own fate. 

As for this dramatic presentation, it is a serviceable telling of the tale. Patrick Magee, making one of his many appearances in British genre entertainment of the time, is properly ominous as Morris. In fact, his warnings are so grave that it's hard to imagine the family brushing them aside. The episode is well directed by Alan Gibson, a vet of British television who also directed the final two Christopher Lee Dracula flicks. The dissolve from the spinning gears of Herbert's bicycle to a clock's face is clever, emphasizing time clicking down in the boy's life and suggesting the industrial accident that will take it. The final act is set up by the wind blowing outside, establishing a properly eerie mood. The banging on the door never builds much suspense but the final shot – a slow pull-out in the open door, mist blowing through the air,  surrounded by darkness – is quite striking. Not bad! By the way, Welles hosted another anthology series later in his career, though "Scene of the Crime" veered more towards the procedural side of things and is even more obscure. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Art and the Addams Family

The pop art movement was rolling along in the early sixties, so it's not surprising that "The Addams Family" would obliquely comment on it. "Art and the Addams Family" sees Granmama getting into modernism. When a local art critic turns his nose up at her work, Gomez decides to hire a teacher. He tries to call Pablo Picasso and instead gets in contact with Sam Picasso, a nobody from Spain. Sam is, at first, overjoyed to be taken in by the rich Addams. Soon, however, he finds himself terrified by the family's unusual habits. 

"The Addams Family" cloaked its humor in campy, classic horror trappings which allowed it to sneak some surprisingly dark jokes onto sixties television. "Art and the Addams Family" introduces Sam Picasso as he's about to put his neck in a noose. Later, he becomes convinced that the Addams intend to torture or murder him, as he's locked in the dungeon and sees Fester walk in carrying a sword. There's jokes about Kitty Cat eating a zookeeper and Wednesday decapitating all her dolls, both delivered with perfectly innocent verve by Lisa Loring. I'm not going to say any of this was cutting edge, even at the time. Still, I'm surprised at what this show was able to get away with. It was a lot edgier than its competition. 

Otherwise, it's a pretty standard episode of "The Addams Family." Vito Scotti is an amusing straight man as Sam. His attempts to manipulate Gomez backfire, as the patriarch agrees to his every outrageous demand. Scotti's increasingly horrified reactions got a chuckle or two out of me. If nothing else, the show is building nicely on many of its established aspects. Cleopatra the African Strangler plant and Pugsley's habit of digging tunnels are both utilized in amusing moments. It's also kind of odd to think of Pablo Picasso as a contemporary to the Addams Family. He was 82 when this episode aired and was still painting. I wonder if he ever saw it? [6/10]