How does an otherwise mundane object acquire a sinister reputation? The earliest ads for a toy inspired by the organ grinder's monkey are from 1932, advertising a product from Louis Marx & Co. Starting in the fifties, Japanese companies would begin to produce mechanical toys depicting a small ape that banged cymbals. The most iconic example was made by Daishin and sold as the Musical Jolly Chimp. The primate wore a yellow vest and striped pants, banged its cymbals, bopped its head, bulged its eyes, flared its lips, and screeched. While that sounds innocent, these toys were a frequent source of terror for people who grew up with them. The sudden noise of the cymbals, the jerky mechanical movements, the deranged facial expression and obnoxious sounds combined to create an uncanny, startling appearance. In the decades since, such toy monkeys have often appeared in pop culture, almost always as an ironic source of fear. They've pop up in video games, an especially freaky example appeared on the "Monkey Shines" poster, and Disney used it as a minor antagonist in "Toy Story 3."
An obscure 1984 horror movie called "The Devil's Gift" made such a monkey into a demonic force of evil. (The film was later recycled as a segment in the anthology feature, "Merlin's Magical Shop of Mystical Wonders," which was mocked on one of the last episodes of "Mystery Science Theater 3000" to debut on the Sci-Fi Channel.) However, "The Devil's Gift" lifted its premise from a 1980 short story by Stephen King called "The Monkey," providing the cover image for King's collection, "Skeleton Crew." Which is how this old toy worked its way into my childhood nightmares. Frank Darabont wrote a script for a feature adaptation of "The Monkey" in 2007 but it wasn't until earlier this year that the foreboding chimp finally appeared in theaters. As director Osgood Perkins' follow-up to "Longlegs," and given a similarly clever advertising campaign, "The Monkey" received a good deal of hype and opened to solid box office back in February.
Why those old chattering monkey toys unsettled so many people seems partially based in their tendency to go off unexpectedly. King's story largely used that randomness as a symbol of the chaotic nature of life and death. Perkins' film jumps off from that point. The monkey – its cymbals traded out for a drum due to some Disney copyright screw job – doesn't merely foretell bad luck, as in the text. Instead, its drumming always sets off a chain reaction that causes horribly violent fatalities. You never know who the malevolent magic of the monkey will strike, only that death will surely follow its drumbeats. Its arm raised above its head is very much like the sword of mortality hanging over all of us. We've all got a limited amount of time on this globe, with no say in when the end might come. Not all of us are going out peacefully in our sleep but in tears and blood and random accidents. "The Monkey" was sold with the astute tagline "Everybody dies and that's fucked-up." Indeed it is. Perkins' film finds a potent stand-in for the ever-unpredictable, and often cruel, finger of fate in the teeth-baring toy simian. The jolly music and lifted lips of the Monkey seem to mock us, taking joy in engineering horribly elaborate outcomes for any person unlucky enough to be hit by its bad juju. It can't be destroyed. It can't be reasoned with. It can only be delayed.
From its somber and reflective subject matter, you might get the impression that “The Monkey” is a pretty serious horror movie. This was apparently the tone of Frank Darabont's first script. When Perkins rewrote it, however, “The Monkey” became an extended act of gallows' humor. The death scenes go for outrageous gore comedy, the first scene featuring an unspooling length of intestines and the movie only getting wilder from there. “The Monkey” clearly delights in elaborate undoings of the body, weaponizing unlikely objects and impaling, melting, and flattening human flesh. In fact, “The Monkey” bends towards cartoonish splat-stick almost immediately. People explode like water balloons, tossing limbs and blood in an exaggerated downpour.
Still, “The Monkey” is a good time at the movies for horror nerds like me. Perkins' script captures King's authorial voice, using specific language and odd turns-of-phrase to good effect. Theo James makes for a compellingly anxious lead, while Tatiana Maslany brings some heartfelt pathos to the ill-fated mother. In the most recent wave of King adaptations to release over the last few years, I'd put this one way above “The Boogeyman” or the “Pet Sematary” remake. We're talking a solid, mid-level “Silver Bullet,” “Cat's Eye” flick here. Lastly, I suppose the titular toy primate is suitably creepy. I don't like his toothy smile. It makes me uncomfortable. [7/10]
In 1968, via the fictional proxy of Byron Orlok in the film “Targets,” Boris Karloff observed that the modern day horrors and social upheaval of the late sixties made the kind of so-called scary movies he used to star in totally irrelevant. It was meaningful commentary on a world that seemed like it had changed an awful lot in not an especially long amount of time. Despite this statement, Boris Karloff actually had an extremely good sixties. In the last decade of his life, the star would re-emerge as a respected elder statesmen of the genre who was sought out by up-and-coming filmmakers like Roger Corman, Mario Bava, and the aforementioned Peter Bogdanovich. Another such example was Michael Reeves. In-between his debut with Barbara Steele and the iconic “Witchfinder General” with Vincent Price, Reeves would direct Karloff in “The Sorcerers.” In its own way, the film comments on the rapidly changing times as much as “Targets” did the next year.
Marcus Monserrat is an elderly scientist who has sought out the psychological and medical uses of hypnotism. Alongside his wife, Estelle, he is about to launch his most groundbreaking research yet. Dr. Monserrat heads into a common bar and meets Matt Roscoe. Matt is a young man bored of London's night life and in search of new experiences. The old man promises him one. Roscoe is taken back to his lab and exposed to a bizarre test. The experiment establishes a hypnotic link between Monserat and the younger man, enabling the former to psychically control the latter from afar. Marcus wants to keep the procedure as scientific as possible but Estelle – who discovers she can share the psychic link by touching her husband's hand – has other ideas in plan. She uses the younger man's body to act out her repressed impulses. It's not long before, by seeing through someone else's eyes and willing him to act, that Estelle develops a taste for murder. Dr. Monserrat does what he can to stop his wife before she's totally out of control.
“The Sorcerers” makes this gap apparent in other ways. The title brings a story of witchcraft and ancient rites to mind. This stands in contrast with a story that very much set in the modern day. Though ostensibly presented as a scientific experiment, the Monserrats' powers are indistinguishable from magic or any other supernatural ability. Despite that, the film makes multiple attempts to represents its modern day setting. The process that puts Roscoe under the doctor's control is a psychedelic light show of swirling, wild colors. The film takes place in the swingin' rock clubs of the time and the gritty back allies of the modern city. It's easy to see “The Sorcerers” as a condemnation of the wild in the streets youths of the sixties. However, that the young man is forced to kill at the sadistic impulses of an old woman reveals the truth: It's not that society has abandoned any sense of morality. These tendencies to violate ethical codes have always existed within mankind and our only brought out by a change of circumstances. Roscoe is kind of an asshole but he's not a bad guy. Estelle realizing she can abandon all restrictions and run amok in another human's body reveals her as a much more insidious threat.
Much like “The She-Beasts,” “The Sorcerers” still feels quite rough around the edges. The story is a bit shapeless at times. Roscoe and his young friends are never given much personality or depth. Especially since he spends most of the movie as a literal cipher for somebody else's wants. His day job at an antique shop – amusingly called The Glory Hole – feels like an afterthought. There's more scenes of a slightly off-note singer grooving and crooning in the clubs than I'd think necessary. There's some tacky crash-zooms. Mostly, the film feels held back by an inability – either a creative choice or the pressure of censorship – to get nastier. The idea of infirm old people invading the mind of a young man, let loose to fuck and kill however they want, can never be as fully explored as the material demands. Still, “The Sorcerers” is an interesting one. Karloff is as sturdy as ever, Lacey is fiery and unforgettable. The film is overflowing with ideas, some better utilized than others. The ending struck me as abrupt but leads into a haunting final image. It's a real shame Reeves died so young, as he was clearly only beginning to come into his own as an interesting filmmaker. As it is, “The Sorcerers” is definitely a unique and interesting snapshot of the horror genre in transition. [7/10]
In August of 1951, “Tales of Tomorrow” debuted on ABC. It was the first science fiction anthology series to air on American television and was, like many such programs at the time, broadcast live. The series adapted contemporary sci-fi writers like Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Philip Wylie, Lewis Padgett, and Fredric Brown. The show delved into classics sometimes too, condensing “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” or Wells' “The Crystal Egg” to a half-hour runtime. One such episode was a version of “Frankenstein.” The show grabbed Lon Chaney Jr. to play the reanimated corpse which probably seemed like a great idea... But this was Chaney in the twilight of his career, when he often showed up to set sloppy drunk. Supposedly, he was so sloshed while starring in “Tales of Tomorrow” that he mistook the live broadcast for a dress rehearsal. When scripted to smash some furniture, he is said to have gently placed it down instead and mumbled “Save for later.” I first read this trivia as a kid – probably in the Crestwood Monsters books or something by Daniel Cohen – and it always sounded a bit far-fetched to me. This particular episode of “Tales of Tomorrow” survives and can be easily found online, meaning it's time for me to see if there's any truth to this oft-told tale.
This iteration of “Frankenstein” has little to do with Mary Shelley's novel. Set in the modern day, this time Baron Frankenstein is depicted as operating out of a castle on an obscure island. He talks passionately about creating artificial life, which spooks his fiance Elizabeth, her dad, and her little brother. That's because the Baron has already assembled his creation, bringing the stitched-together being to life with a jolt of electricity. The hideously ugly monster breaks out of confinement, frightening the servants and child before throttling the butler's wife to death. Horrified by his own creation, Frankenstein sets out to destroy the beast. However, the only thing that can stop Frankenstein's monster is the same thing that brought it to life: A bolt of lightning.
The limitations of live television are fairly evident. The entire story is confined to the castle set. When Chaney tumbled through a window and into the lake below, all the falling and splashing occurs totally off-screen. Shoving the doctor's entire arc – of being obsessed with making life, being horrified by his creation and promising to destroy it – into a half-hour feels very rushed. Seven years before hosting “One Step Beyond,” John Newland appeared here as the doctor and does what he can for the limited material. The episode makes decent use of its shadowy setting. I do like the shot of Chaney reaching his hands out towards the camera. However, “Tales of Tomorrow's” take on “Frankenstein” is fairly stagey and abbreviated. I'm glad I was able to finally watch this notorious bit of horror history but it's not that notable outside of Chaney's lack of sobriety. [6/10]
I had a reasonably kooky, creepy time with “The Addams Family” last September so I'm back with season two. The fan favorite extended family member/vocal hairpiece is back in “my Fair Cousin Itt.” For Wednesday's upcoming birthday party, Gomez has written a play full of the required amount of tragedy and intrigue with starring roles for members of the family. Noticing that Itt's self-esteem is a bit low lately, the decision is made to give him the leading role. A director is recruited in the form of snooty professional Erich von Bissell, who is reluctant to accept until he sees the wad of cash Gomez is offering. Von Bissell insists he can't work with Cousin Itt's chattering voice, prompting Morticia to give the walking wig some elocution training. This works too well, as Itt develops a deep baritone and a pretentious actor's attitude along with it.
“My Fair Cousin itt” is perhaps not the most structurally sound episode of “The Addams Family.” The direction of the plot changes several time. Initially, it seems that Uncle Fester and Lurch being jealous of Itt getting the lead role – and plotting to lock him up somehow – is going to be the main gag of the episode. Once von Bissell enters, the direction shifts to a more typical episode set-up. Namely, an outsider being continuously freaked out by the Addams Family. The stiff, egotistical and broke Von Bissell would certainly be a fine foil for Gomez and the gang. He abruptly exits the episode half-way through, at which point the focus turns towards Itt remaking himself into a star of the stage with an inflated perception of himself. That's kind of a lot of premises to cram into one half-hour.
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