Halloween 2026: September 13th

 

Psycho III (1986)
 

Of the role of Norman Bates, Tony Perkins once said "I know this story. I should. I've lived with it – and sometimes tried to live it down – for more than 20 years." It's true that Perkins was frequently reluctant to embrace his status as a horror icon. Right after "Psycho" came out, he moved to Europe specifically to avoid typecasting. At the same time, the character of Norman Bates was too emblematic of the man himself: A smiling, sensitive boy-next-door being eaten alive by the secret he can't totally conceal. Perkins would always insist that it was the quality of the screenplays for the "Psycho" sequels that convinced him to return to the role. The star was supposedly enthusiastic about Charles Edward Pogues' script for "Psycho III" but another factor surely convinced him to put on Mother's dress for a third time: He would get to direct too, a strategy often effective in luring reluctant stars back to the franchises that both blessed and cursed them with immediate stardom. 

Though released three years after "Psycho II," the story is set a mere month later. Following part two's events, the local police are sympathetic to Norman and business is booming for the Bates Motel. Norm has to hire help, a drifter named Duke, to assist with running the place. None of them know that the taxidermied corpse of Emma Spool has taken Norma Bates' place in the rocking chair. A journalist arrives in town and is drawn to Spool's disappearance, convinced Bates has something to do with it. She's not the only stranger in Fairvale. Maureen is a nun who, after accidentally pushing another sister from a bell tower during a crisis of faith, fled into the desert. She ends up at the hotel too, inflaming Norman's lust and activating "Mother's" possessiveness. An intended shower murder instead turns into Norman rescuing Maureen from a suicide attempt. The two attempt a relationship of sorts but blood will soon be shed again...

When Universal first announced they were making a sequel to “Psycho” in the early eighties, I'm sure some folks fully expected a trashy slasher flick that would be an embarrassing stain on the legacy of Hitchcock's masterpiece. “Psycho II” decidedly was not that movie but “Psycho III” kind of is. Norman slashes a young woman's throat as she sits on the toilet after urinating. One of Duke's one-night-stands thrusts her breasts into the camera before being stabbed to death inside a telephone booth. The sex and nudity the original could only imply are on full display here. (Which would've included some male frontal nudity too, if Jeff Fahey hadn't been squeamish.) While some critics would surely be bothered by this, I happen to enjoy a trashy slasher sequel. “Psycho III's” blood lust is well engineered, with quality special effects and a certain ferocity to the violence. If you can swallow Norman Bates acting a bit more like Jason Voorhees than usual, you will find plenty more here to like too. 

For his directorial debut, Perkins was clearly trying to bring his trademark character into the modern age. Carter Burwell's score features none of the familiar themes and is largely synth-driven. Cinematographer Bruce Surtees was primarily Clint Eastwood's D.P. up to this point, which is probably why “Psycho III” focuses on the wide flatness of the desert around the motel more than the previous films. Or the clinging sweat to the actor's face, emphasizing the heat of the Arizona nights. But westerns were not the key visual inspiration here. Rather, the sequel is heavy on neon lighting and askew camera angles. This pairs well with a plot that grows increasingly outrageous as it goes on. Improbable reversals of previous plot twists, a little blackmail, religious awe, and a dead body in a freezer are some of the additions grafted onto the “Psycho” premise here. It's all quite over-the-top and the sequel is aware of that. Perkins embraces the Hitckcockian tradition of winking, naughty, pitch black humor. “Psycho III” notably features a cut to a darkened room, a woman grunting and walls trembling... Before revealing that she's just struggling to open a freezer. Oh, what a scamp you are, “Psycho III!” 

The extra layer of sleaziness atop “Psycho III” is not strictly for its own purpose. After her suicide attempt, Maureen visits a priest, asking him about the nature of sin and carnal thoughts. Accordingly, the sequel surrounds its characters with temptation. Duke, a total sleazeball who nearly assaults Maureen in his first scene, is always looking to get laid. The partiers celebrating the sports team ask Norman to join them. Of course, Norman isn't merely being tempted by sex. The minute he catches a glimpses of Maureen, he is transfixed and terrified. When he sees that her initials are the same as Marion Crane, he has to leave the room. Upon learning that Duke has put the girl up in Room 1, he is drawn to the familiar peep hole on the wall. It's almost as if the world is actively pushing Norman's buttons, urging him to return to his old, murderous ways. That's how any addict or ex-con feels: You are forced back into a society fully expecting you to still be bad and countless opportunities to do so are placed right in front of you. Almost as if they are set-up to fail, ya know?

Through this set-up, “Psycho III” builds on the second film's themes of forgiveness. The first sequel asked if someone like Norman Bates can ever be forgiven for such salacious crimes. Or if such a judgemental attitude is ultimately fair to a person forged into a killer by an abusive parent. The community of Fairvale seems ready to forgive their local notorious murderer. The narrative hands Norman a girlfriend who is happy to match his freak, a female returning his attraction for the first time in the series' history. Ultimately, as much as Norma Bates' control over her son extends beyond the grave, Norman is the Master Bates of his own destiny. He must forgive himself, must let go of the pain of the past and accept that a hopeful future is possible, if he's ever going to put his stabbing days behind him. 

And if “Psycho III” is a meta movie as much about Perkins' own career as about the character, maybe that conclusion has a personal resonance. Is this the actor/director accepting that he can't resent his association with this character? If we presume an even deeper connection, is this some sort of statement by Perkins on his own, often scrutinized sexuality? It's hard to say. (Especially since he would deny his queerness shortly before dying from AIDS-related complications.) The film must conform to the expectations of a grisly horror flick. Norman's love is ultimately doomed, in a way as overheated and knowingly absurd as the rest of the film. While the sequel plays coy for a while, it ultimately does give Bates-in-Drag his rock star reveal. The sequel is happily to escalate things, most notably in a tense sequence that puts Norman in the front seat of a car as it goes into the swamp. The twist on the last movie's twist that part three provides, intentionally or not, suggest that evil is hereditary. Which means Norman doesn't have any choice over his actions. This is further supported by the before-the-credits teaser, a last minute addition because Universal execs feared the ending wasn't “scary” enough. 
 

If part three is not the sturdiest film on a thematic level, that doesn't effect its ability to entertain. It turns out, going full coked-up DePalma was the right choice for this series. “Psycho III” is knowingly ridiculous and absurd but is clearly having so much fun with that. The stylish visuals and pulsating soundtrack makes this all the more of a sleazy head-trip. Perkins' performance is at maximum twitchiness, Norman stuttering from the first scene. Any movie that begins with a nun plummeting to her death is already daring the audience to accuse it of going too far, the sequel continuing to press those buttons as it goes along. If “Psycho” was always doomed to just become another slasher series, at least those in-charge were determined to make sure they had fun with it. The film also belongs to one of the most delightful of horror micro-genres: Movies that got tie-in music videos where the “monster” pursues someone in new footage. Irresistible. [8/10]

 

The Ape Man (1943)  

Silver Age comic nerds know that it's a fact – or at least an anecdote repeated so frequently that it's become a fact – that books with some sort of ape on the cover moved more copies than non-ape festooned comics. B-movie producers of the forties and fifties seem to have been aware of this phenomenon as well. You could easily fill an entire day with Poverty Horror films from that period, featuring a gorilla. A few referred to the primates as “monsters,” surely disappointing cinema goers assuming that word means something a little more exotic than a well-studied and understood animal. Maybe it was just the lingering impact of “King Kong.” Or maybe it was because you can buy a gorilla outfit at any costume shop in the country, making them a cheap “monster” to put on-screen. Bela Lugosi starred in a few movies like this. 1943's “The Ape Man” is one of them, though it at least features a mad scientist having a questionable hair day. It was the fifth of the widely distributed but rarely lauded nine films Lugosi starred in for Monogram Pictures and the second to directed by William “One-Shot” Beaudine. 

“Gland doctor” James Brewster has vanished and this is apparently headline news A group of reporters gather at the dock to interview Brewster's sister, a ghost hunter named Agatha, as she steps off a boat. She meets with Dr. Randall, Brewster's colleague, who informs her that the story of the man's disappearance is a hoax. Instead, the truth is much stranger: During their experiments with a gorilla, Brewster transformed himself into a human/ape hybrid. He now hides in the underground lab, sleeping in the same cage as the ape test subject. Injections of spinal fluid can momentarily undo the change but the samples most come from freshly dead donors. After Randall makes it clear that he's unwilling to kill for his friend, Brewster decides to do it himself. His gorilla bunk mate does the throat crushing and Agatha helps cover it up.. Reporter Jeff Carter, and his newly assigned female photographer Billie Mason, end up investigating. 
 

Monogram and Beaudine made these movies so quickly and so cheaply, that it's genuinely hard to say what tonal choices were intentional or not. Like the slightly later “Voodoo Man,” “The Ape Man” can charitably be described as goofy. To convey his character's transformation into a gorilla hybrid, Lugosi hunches his shoulders downward and limps around in an oddly skipping fashion. He often grows annoyed with his gorilla minion, played by an actor with awfully soulful eyes in an extremely shitty looking gorilla suit. This results in multiple sequences of Lugosi attempting to intimidate or whip the beast back, the result only being comical. There are long stretches without dialogue, where Lugosi and his gorilla buddy are wandering around and making faces at each other. It becomes utterly impossible not to imagine sarcastic dialogue between the two in these moments. When combined with awkwardly framed moments, like Lugosi and his monkey minion sneaking up on multiple people, I found myself laughing at a lot of “The Ape Man.”

Also like “Voodoo Man,” some of this silliness was intentional. The movie has a definite comedic streak. Wallace Ford plays our journalist hero and, in typical Wallace Ford fashion, he's prone to making smart-alack remarks. Most of these asides are sexist comments directed at Louise Currie's heroine. Ford's character seems to find it difficult to accept that a woman could be a photographer and he often denigrates her presence. That's funny mostly because it's such a defined relic of antiquated he-man chauvinism, though the film seems to consider it witty romantic banter. The first scene also features a vagrant in a hat, who seems oddly well informed about everything that's happening around him. He reoccurs a few times, watching actions from the distance. At one point, he redirects a potential victim of the villain to spare her life. Who the hell this guy is or why he's here is not revealed until the final scene and it's another fourth wall breaking punchline. None of these elements are as funny as the sight of Lugosi lumbering around with a very Hasidic looking beard. However, they were obviously put in the movie on-purpose. “The Ape Man” wants us to giggle at least a little. 

Again, it's hard to give the makers of “The Ape Man” too much credit for making a self-aware horror/comedy. The film is exceedingly cheap, most of the scenes taking place in a collection of mundane looking rooms and offices. Beaudine's direction is utterly flat, most of the sequences being staged like community theater. While cinematographer Mack Stengler throws in one or two neat shots of shadows on the wall, the film is mostly extremely boring to look at. Plot wise, “The Ape Man” is basically a re-trend of Lugosi's earlier “Murders in the Rue Morge.” Dr. Brewster describes feeling more bestial and ape-like at times, as if his sanity is slipping away. His gorilla-assisted murder spree is implicitly a result of his unstable mind. However, the lack of money and creativity denies Lugosi a proper chance to play a full Jekyll and Hyde or werewolf scenario. He does however make several Frankenstein-like growls. “The Ape Man” was released in theaters about a week after “Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman's” Hollywood premiere, so it's hard to say which one was filmed first. Was this a test-run for Lugosi's one-off tenure as Frankenstein's Monster or was that character simply on his mind from playing it recently? 

As a Bela fan, “The Ape Man” is honestly a somewhat depressing watch. The scene where Lugosi sits in a chair and ruefully talks about the mistakes in his life that led to this point is the most soulful bit of acting he does. Knowing the financial and personal failures that led him to starring in movies for Monogram, it's hard not to read a sad level of real life subtext in that line. He does get one other good line, when threatening his sister, but mostly the goofy physicality defines the role. Also like most of the Monogram 9, the pacing drags and the plot wanders around without clear direction a few times. I don't think we needed all those scenes of Wallace Ford trying to figure out how to open the secret passage way behind the fireplace. The villain's sister being a ghost hunter, most of the newsroom banter, and war-time references never genuinely effect the plot. This is, in other words, a bad movie, cheap and derivative and sloppy and not notable for much at all. But I did laugh a lot and that final scene is really baffling, so I won't call this time entirely wasted either. [6/10]

Ghost Story: The Dead We Leave Behind
 

During last year's Halloween shenanigans, I mentioned an obscure anecdote. In Stephen King's “Danse Macabre,” he credits an episode of obscure, short-lived seventies anthology “Quinn Martin's Tales of the Unexpected” with giving him the proper willies. However, the scene he describes is actually from an episode of a different obscure, short-lived seventies anthology. It's actually from “Ghost Story's” first non-pilot episode, “The Dead We Leave Behind.” Park Ranger Elliot Brent resides in a cabin in the woods with his much younger wife, Joanna. The two do not seem to enjoy each others' company and she spends most of her time glued to the TV. This irritates Brent. After a spirited argument, he accidentally throttles his wife to death. Rather than take responsibility for the crime, he buries her body in the woods. Afterwards, he begins to have unsettling visions via the same television Joanna favored so much, of his victim rising from the dirt for revenge. He ends up putting some other bodies in the ground, similar mysterious dreams – or are they premonitions? – following. 

While writing about “Shadows of Fear” yesterday, I made the observation that it was a worthwhile piece of television despite starting deeply unlikable characters. “The Dead We Leave Behind” also follows a terrible person. Jason Robards plays Park Ranger Brent as a man perpetually in a grumpy mood. I don't know why he married Stella Stevens, as he seems to actively resent her presence. Granted, a TV buzzing inane bullshit all day would grate on my nerves after a while too. However, Brent would rather listen to the squawking cacophony of his CB radio instead. Is that any better? In general, the script doesn't give the protagonist much depth. Robards has a certain gravelly charisma but mostly the episode made me wonder why I should care about this asshole's life at all.

“The Dead We Leave Behind” also doesn't have the clearest internal logic. There are references to local beliefs about burying the dead as soon as possible, least their spirits rise. That is the only set-up for the supernatural events that follow. The episode is clearly trying to play out like a nightmare, a man's guilt over his actions manifesting as bad dreams. However, Robards' character doesn't seem to feel any remorse for his actions, so that doesn't work. The repetitive nature of his visions get boring fast, spoiling any creep factor it has. We need a little more pulp to this set-up for it too work as some “Tales from the Crypt” style supernatural comeuppance. I do like Sebastian Cabot as “Ghost Story's” host in framing device. I also enjoy the suggestion here that the hotel he oversees is less a regular hotel and more some sort of afterlife. But “Ghost Story” remains an inconsistent series and this episode is one of the weaker ones. Sorry, Uncle Steve. [5/10]

 

Friday the 13th: The Series: A Cup of Time
 

“Friday the 13th: The Series” attempts to tie together several seemingly unrelated ideas. Someone in town is murdering homeless people. They goad them into drinking from a cursed tea cup, after which they mysteriously suffocate to death. Meanwhile, pop star Lady Die is in town, preparing for a big concert. Bertie, an older woman who seems to have a crush on Jack, is desperately trying to attract him despite his lack of interest. (The show seems to treat her as someone we should recognize but this is her first appearance.) However, after getting one look at Lady Die, she seems to recognize her as an old friend. Yes, Lady Die is the tea cup murderer, which gives its owner renewed youth in exchange for a regular supply of victims. Also, there's a homeless little girl that Micki quasi-adopts for the reminder of the episode but that's not so important. 

“A Cup of Time” is the first episode of “Friday the 13th: The Series” to actually remind me of the movies it is named after. The beginning is a P.O.V. shot of someone prowling through the underbrush and sneaking up on a napping person. Nearer to the end, there's a sequence of someone getting chased through the forest by an unhinged old woman. While murder is prominently featured, there's no resemblance otherwise to the slasher roots of this program. “A Cup of Time” is another “Friday the 13th” episode that is heavy on the goofiness. Once again, the premise itself is underwhelming. A tea cup is not a scary prop. The effects used to bring its evil actions to life are extremely creaky stop-motion sequences of vines creeping out of the cup and strangling the drinker to death. That the villain must convince everyone to drink from the cup in order to facilitate these murders further stretches plausibility. At one point, she tempts someone by saying that a cup of hot tea is comforting on a warm night. To whom, exactly? 

This is paired with another weirdly prevalent trope in Canadian eighties genre TV: Highly unconvincing fictional pop stars. Naming your pop-punk princess Lady Die is clever. Unfortunately, the music we hear her sing is dreadful. Her big single is a Casio rock version of “I'm a Little Tea Pot.” It's as intolerable to listen to it as that sounds. It's also hard to believe that such an act would develop a die-hard fan base of New Wave kids. While there's some definite meat on the bone of idea of connecting a homicidal desire for youth with the pressures of the entertainment industry, “A Cup of Time” never finds any substance. Its plot threads feel unrelated. Also the make-up used to turn Lady Die into an old hag looks like a cheap Halloween mask of Grandpa from “Texas Chain Saw Massacre.” This is the third episode in a row to feature Jack putting on a disguise and unconvincing voice, so I guess that's going to happen a lot. Needed more inappropriate flirting between cousins. [5/10]

Halloween 2026: September 12th

 

Psycho II (1983)

“Psycho” irreversibly changed the horror genre and, some would surely argue, not necessarily for the better. While Hitchcock's original remained respectable, the imitators that followed Norman Bates focused more on his habit of piercing exposed flesh with bladed instruments than the shadows of his perverted psychology. By the time the slasher boom of the eighties was rolling, surely some professional critics were starting to think that maybe Hitch opened a real can of worms when he yanked that shower curtain back. Robert Bloch certainly seemed to think so. While the order of events is not entirely clear on if Universal was seriously considering a continuation to “Psycho” at the time or not, the author would publish his own sequel in 1982. Bloch's “Psycho II” is a book clearly designed to not be easily adapted to celluloid. Furthermore, it's an obvious reaction to what the horror film had become by the eighties, disgusted by the perceived sexual sadism in the slasher film and seeming especially unimpressed with Italian directors whose first name's end with the letter O.

Whether Bloch was spurned on by the news of a cinematic “Psycho II” or if Universal began to consider a “Psycho II” after the publication of the book, it was evident that Bloch's book was not going to have anything to do with the forthcoming movie. And what filmmaker would have the balls to attempt to follow up Alfred Hitchcock? A sequel to a film as revered and imitated as “Psycho” was going to be judged harshly, no matter how it turned out. Universal seemed to have low expectations for the project too, initially planning on sending the sequel direct-to-cable-TV. Possibly starting Christopher Walken, if Anthony Perkins was unwilling to return. A sharp script from Tom Holland, merely the writer of “The Beast Within” and not yet the director of “Fright Night,” did convince Perkins to return. Perkins' presence and Richard Franklin – a literal student of Hitchcock whose previous work had been positively compared to him – in the director's chair got “Psycho II” upgraded to a theatrical release. While the sequel was still hotly debated at the time, history has been kind to it. 

After two decades in a mental institute, Norman Bates has been deemed fully rehabilitated. His release is protested by Lila Crane, Marion's surviving sister who is now Lila Loomis. His shrink thinks it's a bad idea but Norman insists on moving back into the old Bates house, still standing behind the notorious motel. Norman gets a job working in a local diner and quickly makes a connection with Mary, a waitress with boyfriend problems. Norman's post-imprisonment life is not smooth. The sleazy jerk who currently owns the hotel is harassing him. Most pressingly, he is receiving phone calls and letters from someone claiming to be his Mother. It's not long before someone is lurking around the hotel in a dress and wielding a butcher knife. Norman fears that his sanity is slipping again. He doesn't know that “Mary” is actually Lila Crane's daughter and they are conspiring to drive him back into the mad house. But the question remains: Is Norman truly cured or does his perverse desires and murderous alter-ego remain?

Here in America, we are not great at rehabilitating criminals. Our justice system ostensibly operates under the assumption that everyone is innocent until proven guilty, that anyone can be a functioning member of society again after doing their time. The truth is that the stigma of being an ex-convict makes most people pariahs, exactly the kind of societal undesirables who usually end up doing illegal things. Norman Bates wasn't just a killer but the titular psycho too. This makes him a lot more like a sex offender or drug user, where his previous actions are seen not as a circumstance of his situation but as an innate rot within his soul. This is, perhaps, an understandable reaction. Murder leaves family members grieving for the rest of their lives. How do you forgive someone for taking a person you care about away from you, before their time? It is a task easier said than done and the temptation to believe that once a killer, always a killer is difficult to overcome. Rather than merely being a cash-in slasher sequel, "Psycho II" instead asks an intriguing question: Does Norman Bates deserve to be forgiven for what he's done? Is it possible for him to change his ways?

Holland's script adds on to this set-up in a way that Hitchcock perhaps might have approved of. You could never make a “Halloween” sequel where Michael Myers is a sympathetic anti-hero. Rob Zombie tried and it was not well received. “Psycho II,” meanwhile, actually puts Norman Bates in the victimized role for most of the runtime. The audience figures out quickly that someone is trying to gaslight Norman into killing again. That others are pressuring his blood-thirst to flare up once more. That's apparent from the moment Lila Crane protests his release hearing. The suspense of the sequel is dependent on whether or not “Mother” will act up again. Or in the ambiguity of how many of Norman's experiences are genuine hallucinations and how much are people fucking with him. It's a good idea, not only because it centers the story around the most compelling character in the “Psycho” narrative anyway. Not only because it begets conversation on difficult ideas like justice, forgiveness, and responsibility. It's also simply good writing, that nicely strings the viewer along and keeps us wondering about the pay-off right up until the end.

What most elevates “Psycho II” above the trashy slasher sequel it might have been is a surprisingly strong cast. There's an unavoidable meta quality to Anthony Perkins returning to the role of Norman Bates after twenty-two years. Perkins' casting in the original was a subversion of his boy-next-door persona that worked so well it rewrote his entire career. For the rest of his life, he vacillated between fighting against and embracing this perception. When we see Norman trying to reintegrate back into society, we're also seeing Anthony Perkins trying to re-establish himself as a respectable leading man. However, the aura of depravity remains around him. He stammers during normal conversations, an anxiousness over looking “normal” and functioning properly always under the surface. There is a real sincerity in “Psycho II's” treatment of Norman. It wants him to be a good person, to heal from his traumatic upbringing and leave the spectre of Norma and shower slayings behind him forever. However, Perkins does a lovely job of always hinting at the shifting instability underneath, making both a compelling protagonist and adding to the suspenseful layers of the story.

This is especially true of the relationship with the girl. Hitchcock's “Psycho” never quite convincingly teased out the idea that Norman and Marion Crane had any sexual tension between them. The dinner scene is fraught with uneasiness. She's not going to run off with this weirdo, not even if he wasn't destined to murder her while wearing a dress. The sequel is different, despite the female lead having much more cause to be distrustful of Norman. Meg Tilly's elfin quality, in her Tinkerbell haircut and big ol' doe eyes and soft voice, is well suited the sort of kind soul who might actually forgive a man like Norman. The audience knows she's there to gaslight him into going mad again, long before the script reveals that information. However, when they share scenes together in the isolation of the Bates home kitchen, you feel a pull between them. We only know a shade of Mary's story but the feeling is that, perhaps, she's a bit of a lost soul too. When she cradles weirdo Norman, Perkins turning the twitch up as he rambles about “toasted cheese sandwiches,” it's still sort of sweet. Norman never had a mother figure that actually allowed him to be vulnerable. Here's a woman willing to offer kindness. Whether it could ever be romantic is questionable. Tilly's performance has a level of gentle sensuality to it, emphasized by a body double-provided shower scene and a tight tank-top. But Norman needs platonic acceptance more than sexy time. Nevertheless, the two have a quirky chemistry together. The real tenderness to their interaction is tinged with uncertainty and suspense over what each parties' true motivations are

This dramatic tension inevitably bends towards the implausible. The climax of “Psycho II” is pretty silly and contrived. That's the main issue with the sequel. It's a follow-up to a film regarded as one of the all-time greats in its genre. Everyone making “Psycho II” knew they had no chance of topping the original. Instead of trying to one-up Hitchcock's style, Richard Franklin and cinematographer Dean Cundy actually dial it back a little. The film is wonderfully shot but with less noir lighting than the first, taking a more grounded approach in general. “Psycho II” coming out knee-deep in the slasher boom means the film also has to juggle expectations. Do you embrace the flesh and blood approach the original spawned or do you aspire to a more subtle style? Franklin does his best to engineer suspense. The most blatantly slasher-y scene, teens sneaking into the fruit cellar of the Bates house to screw around and then being stalked by a knife-wielding fiend, aims to create tension over tossing around the red stuff. Later scenes are more blatantly gory. Two gags, in which a butch knife is inserted into a sensitive orifice or impales someone in unlikely circumstances, are a lot of fun to the Fangoria crowd. They also feel like unavoidable concessions to the horror conventions of the time. It's hard to say if Franklin's heart is actually in the slaughter or not.

What is apparent about those two moments, and the film's epilogue, is that the filmmaker is well in-tune with the twisted sense of humor inherent to Hitchcock. The finale operates like a visual gag, a shovel coming down on the back of the head like a punchline. There's also certainly a kinky, teasing absurdity to a murder like deep-throating a knife. Every positive review of “Psycho II” had a begrudging air about it. Critics expected a bullshit slasher stain on the reputation of the original, which could never be topped. Instead, they got a respectful and well orchestrated follow-up with more skill behind it and more on its mind than expected. Horror fans being the contrarian dweebs they are, you've had some people emerge and say they prefer part two to the iconic original. I wouldn't go that far. Saying “Psycho II” is not as good as one of the best films ever made doesn't preclude it from still being a good movie in its own right. Richard Franklin had an impossible task but proved up to the challenge. Triumphing over low expectations is not the most impressive sounding of feats but “Psycho II” deserves its roses anyway. [8/10]

 

 

Alucarda (1977)
Alucarda, la hija de las tinieblas

Film, like any artistic medium, tends to go in cycles. A picture is released, becoming popular or sinking into obscurity. It is then dug up, usually to be showcased in a new format, only for that technology to fade out of usage and take the title with it. Maybe the next time the picture is rediscovered, its reputation as a classic will stick. I certainly had never heard of “Alucarda,” when Mondo Macabra released it on DVD in the 2000s and splashed ads for it all over Fangoria magazine. However, the 1977 religious horror picture would soon climb up the list of beloved cult classics after that, some going so far as to call it the best Mexican horror movie ever made. In the decade since then, the film has fallen out of discussion a little bit. The standard definition disc is still easily found but no Blu-Ray or 4K reissue has followed. I'm sure, once Arrow or Vinegar Syndrome or somebody like that locates a decent print, Juan López Moctezuma's tale of religious madness will be thrust back into the spotlight of cult movie circles. I never forget a title, however, so I'm happy to make this one my Mexican pick for this year's Horror Around the World tour. 

Minutes after giving birth to her, Alucarda's mother donated the girl to a Catholic convent in hopes of protecting her from demonic influence. She has remained there ever since, growing into a spirited but lonely teenager. That's when Justine, another orphan Alucarda's age, arrives at the home. The two quickly become inseparable. Shortly afterwards, they stumble upon the place where Alucarda was buried and her mother died. At their next Mass, the two girls begin to act strangely. They profess loyalty to Satan, attack the resident padre, and drive the nuns into fits of self-flagellation. Father Lazaro declares that an exorcism must be performed, the girls being tortured during the processed. A more enlightened priest named Oszek arrives and stops the ritual, claiming that such practices are barbaric... But Satan is indeed among the them. 

Before making “Alucarda,” Juan López Moctezuma would produce Alejandro Jodorowsky's first two features. Which means he was definitely aware of the international film making scene. Despite being a wholly Mexican production, “Alucarda” recalls many European horror flicks of the decade. There are shades of Jess Franco, in the mixing of girl-on-girl eroticism and gothic tropes. (Not to mention several crash-zooms.) The mixing of intense, sometimes campy violence and Catholic imagery makes me think of Lucio Fulci. The script is partially based on “Carmilla,” it seems unlikely “The Exorcist” wasn't an influence, and references are made to the same historical events that inspired “The Devils.” “Alucarda” feels a lot like what you'd probably get if Franco, Fulci, Ken Russell, and Terence Fischer all took passes on the same material. The tone vacillates between artsy, cheesy, sleazy, and creepy. Sometimes within the same scene, such as the Satanic orgy full of frontal nudity that ends with the potent imagery of a demonic goat leering over the girls' faces. “Alucarda” is vile and blasphemous but also classier than your usual nunsploitation flick, feeling more in-tune with literary traditions and folkloric ambiances. 

A film drawing from all those divergent influences and styles, unsurprisingly, is not the most cohesive. Nor the most narratively coherent, as the story is a bit formless and new characters pop in the last third. For whatever flaws “Alucarda” does have, a lack of intensity certainly isn't one of them. The film taps into a real sense of malevolence at times. The vision Justine and Alucarda have in their bedroom, bending her spine backwards before a demonic envoy appears, has a properly spiritual vibe to it. This is contrasted with a nun floating into the air in a fit of religious frenzy. Shortly after that, the film turns its eye on sadistic violence. The exorcism sequence focus on the pain and suffering the girls' feel. That forbidden air bends towards camp before the end. The climax is a succession of nuns bursting into flames, a gloriously silly and over-the-top spectacle sure to stimulate the third eye of any cult/horror dweeb. However, in its sickest moments, “Alucarda” does give the impression of actual having the devil in it. Or at least an incensed fury at abuses performed by religious authorities.

That thread is probably the part of “Alucarda” that left me the most puzzled. Clearly taking some inspiration from “Witchfinder General” and “Mark of the Devil” too, the film shows an outrage at the torments performed in the name of God. When Dr. Oszek decries exorcism as an arcane practice from a less enlightened age, the movie certainly seems on his side. Any movie that sets this many nuns on fire is clearly pissed at the Catholic Church. At the same time, the possible ambiguity about whether something Satanic is going on in this convent is dispelled long before the end. Faith, when paired with isolation and mania, can convince anyone they or someone else are possessed. However, even the skeptical Oszek has his mind changed before the end. “Alucarda” is neither a condemnation of religious persecution nor an unironic invoking of Satanic Panics past and future. It is indecisively balanced between the two. 

“Alucarda” could have grounded its images of demonic hysteria and willfully sacrilegious violence a little easier. As far as adaptations of le Fanu's “Carmilla” goes, this is a very loose one.  However, the bond between the girls is still central to the movie. Alucarda and Justine's relationship freely crosses back and forth between best friends, sisters, and lovers. Maybe it's just because I've watched “Poison for the Fairies” and 'Don't Deliver Us From Evil” in past Halloweens but I found myself wishing that relationship was more fleshed-out. Maybe it's because “Alucarda” was filmed sans sound and dubbed in post, like so much other EuroSleaze before it, but the performances are tricky to get a bead on. I like Tina Romero and Susana Kamini in the roles. Jean Rollins' certainly got deeper feelings of romantic longing and freedom of expression out of less talented actresses. Still, “Alucarda” never quite allows the viewer to feel the warmth between these two and the passion that drives their bond.

I was feeling a bit uncertain about “Alucarda” before that explosive final act made it clear that I was won over. The dusty and crumbling locations, fake blood heavy special effects, and unpredictable tone are all hard to resist. The film has invited political and sociological readings over the years, as you'd expect from any movie that challenges religion and accepted sexuality this much. I'll have to get more familiar with Moctezuma's work over all before I can make any judgements about the sincerity of those interpretations. Still, this one has got the stuff. Lots of images here that would make fine heavy metal album covers and I must respect that. [7/10]
 

 

Shadows of Fear: Sugar and Spice
 

Here's another obscure, short-lived British anthology show from the seventies. I watched an episode of “Shadows of Fear” two years ago, thought it was pretty good, and have been curious about the rest since. The second episode, “Sugar and Spice,” is set on a stormy night as Anne awaits the arrival of her children and husband. Her daughter, Judy, arrives home with no sign of her younger half-brother. She is acting strangely but Judy always acts odd, so her mother thinks nothing of it. As more hours go by and Michael, the boy, still has not come home, she begins to worry. Judy then tells her mom that dad left her brother with Elizabeth, his mistress that he had promised to stop seeing. Victor – her husband, Michael's father, and Judy's step-dad – arrives home late and drunk. The two argue about his past and possible current infidelity, the mysterious whereabouts of the boy, and Victor's shitty behavior towards Judy. (He calls the 12 year old a “bitch.”) It's not long before the argument gets heated and things turn violent, the girl listening intently from her room upstairs. 

“Sugar and Spice” is not an easy hour of television to like. It's mostly devoted to listening to a married couple argue with each other. Victor is a cheating drunkard and clearly resents the presence of his step-daughter. Anne is unwilling to forgive her husband for his affairs. She has no reason to, as the man never apologizes or seems to feel regret over seeing another woman. This is a good example of a couple that assuredly never should've married, so clearly unable to communicate or resolve any problems. Listening to them shriek and bicker is not the most pleasant experience. I did find myself wondering why I was watching these two miserable people be hateful to each other. However, I will say that “Sugar and Spice” does a good job of depicting the kind of petty resentment and stubborn bitterness that has lead many a marriage to collapsing into hatred. 

“Sugar and Spice” also manages to grasp a grim sense of tension very quickly. Music is used sparingly and most of the episode is scored to the sounds of the rain storm outside. Or the nervous thumping of Anne's heart, emphasized in a striking moment where the movement of the camera is timed with the heartbeat. The continued unknown whereabouts of the little boy provides a feeling of unease throughout. Especially since it's evident that Judy knows more than she's letting on. Suzanne Togni plays the girl, her elfin features and pigtails drawing attention to how innocent she looks... Innocence that is sure to be subverted. What exactly the girl is planning isn't made clear until the ending but isn't too hard to guess. How grim the situation gets still creates suspense, as you're left wondering how far the show will go. Moreover, if Judy is plotting to turn her parents against each other, you can't blame her. Her stepdad is obviously a jerk and her mom smacks her around at some point. If her insistence that her daughter cover up when she's only wearing pajamas in one scene is any indication, maybe she sees her own daughter as a rival. These are the kind of unfortunate situations that can fester underneath a family and that's what “Sugar and Spice” is exploring. A grim one but worth watching. [7/10]

 

Friday the 13th: The Series: Cupid's Quiver
 

Aside from its stubborn refusal to feature a guy in a hockey mask, "Friday the 13th: The Series" has another claim to fame. Mostly because it was made in Canada, the series would see a few notable directors based in the country at the time passing through its gate. Around the same time he was doing random episodes of the eighties editions of "The Twilight Zone" and "Alfred Hitchcock Presents," Atom Egoyan would helm the third episode of "Friday the 13th." The episode begins in a seedy bar, where a guy is trying to pick up a girl already dancing with another man. After pointing a creepy cupid statue at her, she's suddenly leaping into his arms. That doesn't stop him from murdering her after hooking up at a sleazy motel. Later, the statue resurfaces at a frat house. That's where a stalker with a camera and a crush on a girl named Laurie gets his hands on it. Once he determines the statue's mechanism, he sets out making his obsession into his lover. Micki, Ryan, and Jack are on the case. 

Egoyan directed “Cupid's Quiver” several years before “Exotica” establishes his reputation for artistic eroticism. However, you can see that interest appearing in this episode. This is obviously a story dealing with themes of desire, obsession, and love-as-possession. The script remains shallow. Ross Fraser plays Gerald, the stalker, as a sweaty, leering nut. No reason is ever provided for why he's so fixated on Laura. Carolyn Dunn, who strikes me as Molly Ringwald's Canadian Non-Union Equivalent, is likable enough but whether these two have some past relationship or if it's a totally unfounded obsession on his behalf is never fleshed-out. The episode becomes a rather tawdry chase scene in its last act. The script is totally on the magical, love-forcing powers of the Artifact of the Week by that point, discarding any possibility for a deeper examination of these ideas or concepts. 

There's no getting around that justifying why a bunch of characters are carrying around a statue of cupid is hard to do. That inserts an unavoidable corniness into the episode. That is also apparent in the statue's head turning and grinning wickedly before inducing any of its fatal flights of erotomania. That campy streak is most apparent in some backseat heavy petting that randomly involves honey, a hilarious choice. There's also two sex scenes in the episode. Despite any fleshy bits being kept totally off-screen, you still hear an awful lot of moaning. That is kind of surprising and it also shows that the director's interest were already established by this point. There's also some artsier camera angles here, shots randomly being framed from high or low angles. That was cool. The frat house subplot is inessential, at best, but it does see Jack going undercover as a bar tender and accidentally becoming a random kid's confidant for the night. That made me laugh. Also, the show writers seem to be deliberately teasing a romantic tension between Jack and Micki, despite them being cousins. This is probably just the sloppiness of eighties TV at work here but it still made me laugh. [6/10]

 

Halloween 2026: September 11tth

 

undertone (2026)
 

For six years, me and my buddy JD did a podcast. Very quickly into this process, I discovered I hated the sound of my own voice. I felt an obsessive need to cut every awkward pause, half-formed thought, stammered word, repetitive filler phrase, weird breath, and all the gross crackling, clicking, and slurping sounds your mouth sometimes makes as you talk. This led to the episodes sounding extremely choppy and only coming out two or so times a month. It would sometimes take me twelve hours of editing or mixing to produce an hour long podcast, an amount of labor that in no way was rewarded by the paltry listeners base we slowly developed. I bring this up to say that I know exactly what it's like to stare, bloodshot and dead-eyed, at a computer monitor while chipping away at a wave form. It is, I hope I'm illustrating properly, not a very cinematic experience. When it was announced that A24's hot shot indie scare-fest this year attempted to generate frights from this exact same hobby, I was skeptical. "undertone," insistently not capitalized, received the same wave of hype as A24's other horror flicks as well as the usual much more divisive reaction from wider audiences. Time for me to catch up and see if this one actually did get scares out of slouching over a mouse and keyboard, isolated behind headphones, as you glare at Audacity for God knows how long.

Evie currently lives in her childhood home and takes care of her catatonic mother. There's no chance for improvement and all Evie can do is watch over mom until her body catches up with her non-functioning brain. Evie also co-hosts a popular podcast called the Undertone. Her and co-host Justin investigate eerie and unusual audio they find online. The show is sent an email containing a string of incoherent text and ten audio files. The recordings seem to document a young couple, expecting their first baby, as the mother-to-be experiences sleepwalking episodes and nightly disturbances. Distorted nursery rhymes, backwards speech containing strange messages, and other odd noises accompany the audio. Evie plays the skeptic to Justin's true believer. He insists he hears the rambling noise invoking Abyzou, a Semitic demon said to cause miscarriages and drive expectant mothers to madness. Evie thinks it's all a hoax until she begins to have disturbing nightmares, hear strange things, and have other unsettling incidents. Evie is also, she soon learns, six weeks pregnant.

Early within "undertone," Evie and Justin have a conversation about how children's nursery rhymes contain secret, macabre messages. This is a widely held but mostly overstated belief that the film unironically buys into. It regurgitates a dubious myth that "London Bridge is Falling Down" contains references to child sacrifice before inventing a really goofy "dark" meaning for "Baa Baa Black Sheep." This occurs alongside the script's fixation on demonic messages being backmasked into reverse speech and random groups of letters. The spooky audio files includes a baby screaming, a creepy old pull-string doll, and banging in the middle of the night. All of this is set off by the creepypasta-like premise of very stupidly listening to audio they've been warned not to. This is mirrored in the opening scene by Evie choosing to watch a supposedly cursed YouTube video of a warped face. All of this reads as extremely corny to me, to the point that it probably sounds like a joke. However, the film seems to be playing it all very seriously. Much the same way it picks a rather silly sounding name for its demonic threat. Yes, Abyzou is a name actually taken from the Key of Solomon and surrounding folklore but the name being continuously repeated only draws attention to how goofy the pronunciation is. When paired with repeated references to infanticide, sometimes bluntly stated as “women killing their babies,” “undertone” starts to feel like a horror movie conceived by an eleven year old kid with misconceptions about what is and isn't actually scary. 

Clearly, motherly instincts being twisted into murderous ones is meant to run parallel to Evie's own mommy issues. We never learn too much about her relationship with her mom but it would seem ma's devoted Catholic beliefs fucked up her kid. Clearly, Evie is terrified that she'll mess up her own child, bad parenting being passed down to the next generation. I wish writer/director Ian Tuason leaned into that element harder. Not only because it would've made the script a lot richer, creating actual depth and not merely the suggestion of it, but it also inadvertently reveals the film's best idea. By living in her mom's house, Evie is surrounded by Catholic iconography. However, she finds no comfort in it. A lingering shot of a disinterested Christ or a little statue of a grimacing saint suggests that, if a higher power does exist, it is ambivalent or actively scornful of us. One assumes this is meant to tie into Evie's status as the podcast's resident skeptic. “undertone” doesn't seem to have too much to say on this topic other than the standard horror moral of a non-believer being punished. Which doesn't say much about the role of spirituality in the modern world, technology supplanting religion, or the question of why evil is so active but good seems non-present. 

Tuason originally intended “undertone” to be an audio drama. This perhaps points to the story being secondary to the primary focus as a technical experiment. The film's sound designs is, indeed, very well done. Whenever Evie slips her headphones on, an eerie silence overtakes the film and draws the audience's attention to what they are listening to. Utilizing the viewer's imagination does make the off-screen paranormal activity a lot more compelling than it otherwise would be. A chilly, isolated ambiance is quickly engineered, via some howling wind outside. The steady wheeze of the mother's breath or the crackle of the microphone are strongly used When the creepy shenanigans ramps up, “undertone” does a good job of deploying louder sounds without the constant jumps getting annoying. While an evil laugh or demonic bellow are misplaced, the film's soundscape is usually effective. 

This relative blend of maximalism and subtly is also present in its visual design. The entire film takes place within Evie's house. The dining room where she sits in front of a microphone is the primary setting. This still shots, almost boxed-in, draw our eyes to the shadows and margins of the frame, making us watch out for any weirdness. When the camera does move, it's in surprisingly fluid, perhaps even “Evil Dead” influenced, shots that roam ominously around the home. The spiral staircase leading up to the bedroom is often decorated with disconcerting shadows, exactly the kind of thing you'd start to see in the middle of the night after listening to spooky bullshit on your computer for too long. 

“undertone” is almost a one-woman show for Nina Kiri, as only one of two characters that actually appear on-screen. She's a sturdy enough actress to carry the film. Her big, expressive eyes are well-suited to a character that is constantly vulnerable. However, the script never goes as far into the character's head as it could have. Evie remains a frustratingly thin character throughout, her feelings towards her mom and quasi-boyfriend too flatly laid out while her inner thoughts never quite become clear. “undertone” is clearly influenced by “Repulsion” but never seems as willing to go into the echoing depths of its protagonist's head. Take the audio angle present here and mash it up with Lauren Ashley Carter in “Darling” and you'd have a much more satisfying film. Despite a dopey script and shallow approach, “undertone” does sometimes work as a horror flick. Not so much as a movie about podcasting, as Evie and her co-host don't seem to never record more than ten minutes of audio in each session but still somehow get an episode out weekly. [6/10]

The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932)

At some point before 1911, Arthur Henry Ward reportedly asked a Ouija board what would make him a fortune. He claimed the planchette spelled out “C-H-I-N-A-M-A-N.” He set out to create such a character and consulted the writings of Bayard Taylor as a reference. Taylor, by the way, referred to Chinese people as possessing “depravity so shocking and horrible, their character cannot be hinted at” based solely on the shape of their skulls. Ward would name his villain Dr. Fu Manchu and the stories and books featuring him, published under the pen name of Sax Rohmer, became an immediate success. The popularity of these tales would influence other pulp fiction in the following years, Dr. Fu Manchu being a creditable pick for literature's first proper supervillain. Rohmer drew from every Yellow Peril cliché imaginable in these texts and probably invented a few new ones. Today, Wikipedia summarizes the character as “a fictional supervillain based on Asian stereotypes.” And so, Rohmer's creation occupies a conflicting place in modern pop culture. His fingerprints are visible on most mad scientists, evil sorcerers, or colorful crime bosses made since. The specific character remains so insanely problematic as to be nearly impossible to use in any modern context. True to form, the number of adaptations of Rohmer's work had white actors playing the character. Boris Karloff was not the first white man to play the character on-screen and only donned the yellow face one time, in 1932's “The Mask of Fu Manchu.” However, his take was so popular as to make Rohmer's villain something of a classic horror mainstay, leading to other genre icons playing the part long after such things should've gone out of fashion. Curiosity has got the best of me, so let's take a look at this deeply problematic relic of the not-nearly-distant enough past. 

Archeologist Lionel Barton has uncovered the legendary tomb of Genghis Khan. The mask and sword within are said to hold magical qualities. British Intelligence warns Barton that criminal mastermind Dr. Fu Manchu is also searching for the tomb, intending to use the ancient relics to incite his people into a race war with all white folks everywhere. Fu Manchu kidnaps Barton and subjects him to various tortures. The man's daughter, Sheila, and her fiance Terry lead the authorities to the tomb but Fu Manchu's spies are hot on their trail. Soon, the villain has captured Terry as well. His equally wicked daughter, Fah Lo See, develops an erotic fixation on the man, who is subjected to brainwashing. The mesmerized Terry leads Sheila and her party right into the clutches of Fu Manchu. Will his dastardly scheme come to fruition? 

“The Mask of Fu Manchu” is a movie so flagrantly racist, as to almost be totally detached from reality. The film uses “Chinese” as a term interchangeable with all people of East Asian and even Middle Eastern descent at times. Fu Manchu's plan is to rattle anyone who looks like him into such a frenzy that they genocide apparently all people of Anglo descend around the globe. (That look being rather demonic, as the make-up Karloff is under features pointed ears, black slits for eyes, sickle shaped brows, and a scarred and leathery face.) Fu Manchu is Luciferian in his wickedness, brilliant but only in service of pure evil. His daughter is a sexual sadist, twisting and bending white men to her will with her exotic sensuality. His henchmen might as well be supernatural zombies, sinewy thugs with perpetually scowling faces that obey their master's word without question. The finale sees an army of pan-Asian individuals assembled in the villain's lair, the camera pausing on their monstrously presented faces. The same scene sees Karen Morley on a slab in only a night gown, contrasted with the antagonist's declaration that his minions spread their genes far and wide. Yes, “they” are coming for our precious white women. The heroes triumph by turning a lightning weapon on this crowd, reducing every Asian person in sight to smoldering ash. The post-script then features a grotesque caricature of the buck-toothed, squinted-eyed, smiling Chinese man-servant. The obvious implication being that the only good yellow man is the docile, unintelligent, submissive one. Any “Oriental” more willful than that presumably deserves to be executed via laser beam, in this film's opinion. 

It is a moral foundation that is, to say the least, troubling. To merely judge and dismiss a film like this, however, closes our eyes on the past. We must consider something like this as “a product of its time” but that's not an excuse to turn your critical brain off either. In that case, what do we learn from "Mask of Fu Manchu?" Namely, that someone has always been happy to profit off portraying outsiders and anyone of a different culture as faceless monsters. Nauseating as the thought is, it's also not difficult to imagine a modern day equivalent treating Muslims or undocumented immigrants or drag queens in much the same way. And the current administration would probably love that. Shining a light on bigoted propaganda such as this reminds us that the past really isn't that different from the present. The desire to demonize any cultural other has always been there. Whether they be Jews in medieval Europe, communists in post-war America, Asians in this film, or any of the current administration's chosen boogie men, the technique remains the same. Reduce everyone of one race or “type” to a faceless horde, with only violent and vile intentions in mind, and push the solution that we must wipe them out before they do the same to us. Don't consider the individual and certainly don't consider what those in power have to gain from you treating an entire demographic this way. 

The most insidious part about bigoted propaganda is a repugnant ideology driving a project doesn't preclude it from being entertaining either. “Mask of Fu Manchu” is a sturdy piece of pulp. The film is fast paced, quite a lot of incident being packed into its hour-long run time. There aren't too many minutes in the film that aren't occupied with an action sequence, moment of suspense, or salacious imagery. This a pre-code film, meaning its franker about sex and violence than you might expect. Fo Loh See's fascination with the hero is characterized as erotic in nature. We see some bar patrons grab a maid, while opium dens and brothels are referenced in dialogue. The various torture methods and death traps are especially focused on, pushing the film comfortably into the horror genre. The male hero is stripped of his shirt, strung up, and whipped repeatedly in a moment that definitely feels like somebody's fantasy fulfilled. Fu Manchu drives his victims to madness by strapping them beneath an enormous ringing bell. Later, he tries to dispose of enemies by putting them on a teeter-tooter above a pit of crocodiles or sitting them between two slowing enclosing spiked walls. (Moments that once again, show the obvious influence films like this would have on later blockbusters in the James Bond or Indiana Jones franchises.) It's not quite the flayings and Satanic orgies of “The Black Cat” but it's on the same wave length. 

Of most interest to classic horror buffs is, of course, Boris Karloff's presence. As he did when playing a more benevolent racial stereotype a little later, he foregoes any offensive accent. Instead, ol' Boris is in full-on diabolic villain mode. The script makes sure to play up Fu Manchu's brilliance, referencing his doctorates and various fields of expertise. Not that this was necessary, as Karloff always brought a sense of refinement to his villain roles. He ramps the wickedness and sadistic glee way up in other scenes. When explaining the torture of the bells or preparing some specialized snake venom, he seems absolutely delighted. When delivering his modus operandi in the climax, why, I practically felt the need to rise up and slay the white devil myself. In other words, he's a fantastic bad guy, intimidating and a little crazy but with a sense of style and concentration about him. The script does not go into Fu Manchu's back story and why he hates the pale-skins so much. However, Karloff plays him with such frenzied determination and focused anger, that you have to assume it's personal and not political in nature. Was Fu Manchu a victim of Western imperialism? Someone more familiar with the source material than myself will have to inform me but that feels like the implication here. 

The film also features some lovely sets and decent black-and-white photography. A sequence of the hero ascending a flight of stairs, contrasted in stark black against a brighter background, looks pretty damn cool. Myrna Loy was supposedly uncomfortable playing Fah Lo See and you can see her reeling back a bit, though her face and poise remains compelling nevertheless. All of this means “The Mask of Fu Manchu” is a film that leaves me with a conflicted feeling, being exactly the kind of golden oldie cinema that I enjoy while also being a vile piece of racist agitprop. The film does a good job of summing up what made the Fu Manchu character interesting in the first place: That he's a damn stylish bad guy, thoroughly wicked but also strangely charming and demure. Everything about the character is also totally inseparable from the white supremacist ideologies that birthed him. I don't know how to untangle any of that shit and wouldn't blame anyone from dismissing the film entirely based on that. Consider this the guiltiest of pleasures for me. Also, we should probably think of a new name for the mustache... [7/10]

Night Gallery: The Waiting Room

The spooky western is probably a fictional trend that dates back to the days of ghost stories being traded out in the actual frontier. While short stories about cowboys wrangling stray dinosaurs or Gene Autry uncovering an underground civilization weren't unheard of, “Ghost Riders in the Sky” becoming a hit single in 1948 presumably gave the premise a big push. Rod Serling would pen a similar tale with “The Waiting Room,” the 18th installment of “Night Gallery's” second season. Gunslinger Sam Dichter rides into an isolated, wind swept town. He spies a dead outlaw hanging outside the town and rides into the only saloon that's open. Inside, a group of cowboys silently play a poker game. They recognize Sam and invite him to play. Slowly, each of the men reveal their name and back stories... And how they died, each taking a fatal bullet in a destined shoot-out. Each man exits the bar with the chime of the clock, Sam refusing to accept why he has been invited to this place as well. 

Most every cowboy song or story notes that the life of a western gunfighter is a short one, destined to end violently. However, “The Waiting Room” still gets a surprising amount of eeriness out of observing this idea. Since it is obvious very quickly that Sam has entered into some cowboy purgatory here. Rather than try and build any suspense from that evident forthcoming reveal, “The Waiting Room” instead plays its set-up for foreboding ambiance. The segment features no music. Instead, the only soundtrack is the wailing wind outside. The western town is empty and black. The glimpses Sam gets of the street outside are hellish and dream-like. The bartender has the Dracula lighting on his eyes. All of this goes a long way towards creating an isolated and shadowy.feeling, doing well at selling the idea that this is the but one hell awaiting those that live and die by the gun. 

Another factor very much in “The Waiting Room's” favor is that it's mostly composed of a cast of veteran character actors trading well-written dialogue in a crammed room. Steve Forrest is all wide-eyed anger as Sam, sinking only deeper and deeper into disbelief and denial as the night goes on. Buddy Ebsen and Jim Davis both get chilling monologues, as they describe the circumstances that lead to each of their demises. Serling's script features some especially sharp dialogue and you can tell he enjoyed the more exaggerated style the horse opera setting gave him to play with. Honestly, some grizzled old guys trading heated words in a spooky saloon is really all you need for a quality half-hour. “The Waiting Game” provides just that, a creepy and intriguing reflection on how the “toughest” guys tend to fall the fastest and messiest. [7/10]

Friday the 13th: The Poison Pen

Having now established its cast and premise, "Friday the 13th: The Series" can fully embrace its "cursed object of the week" format. A series of mysterious deaths at a Franciscan monk monastery attracts Jack's attention. He sends Ryan and Micki to investigate, both going undercover as monks and Micki disgusting herself as a man who has taken a vow of silence. Jack soon joins them, believing that the abbot of the monastery, famous for predicting people's death, is in possession of a cursed pen. When someone's real name and a method of execution is written down, the pen wills it to happen. This is not quite true because the man in possession of the pen is not a monk but rather the scheming sibling of one, who is conspiring to sell the land the monastery resides on. And he is very willing to kill anyone who stands in the way of that goal. 

An actual monastery, inhabited by real monks in old-timey robes and isolated from modern culture, residing in late eighties Canada seems unlikely... But, inexplicably, the lifestyle was kind of on the upswing in pop culture at the time. A record of chanting monks would go all the way to number three on the Billboard chart five years after this episode. This is not the only broadcast from the time I can recall spotlighting the monastic lifestyle. I certainly cannot explain this sudden fascination but, if nothing else, a dusty old monastery makes for a good setting for a horror story. "The Poison Pen" gets some okay ambiance out of that. It also provides some comedy of the intentional kind, as Micki posing as a suspiciously pretty young man is mostly played for comic relief. There is a scene of her binding her breasts but any queer subtext is presumably accidental. Especially since the episode plays a scene of one of the other monks spying on her in the shower, via a "Porky's"-style peep hole, for sleazy tension. Also, when Jack shows up in a hooded robe, he puts on a silly Italian accent.He also later accurately identifies a tarantula as harmless to humans, a subversion I didn't expect from a show like this. 

The whole premise is rather absurd and that allows "The Poison Pen" to play more as intentional camp than the cornier first episode. Colin Fox as the murderous friar really hams it up, especially the closer the heroes come to uncovering his "Scooby-Doo"-ian real estate scam. When asked why he isn't meditating, he pulls a gun and says he was "pre-meditating." Good one, padre. The proto-"Death Note" set-up also allows for an episode structure similar to the show's slasher namesake to take root. There's a pretty decent sequence involving a guillotine the monks have around for some reason. An even better moment has the canape of a bed lowering over the sleeping man and smothering film, featuring the pretty neat visual of his screaming face pressing through the fabric. Pretty macabre stuff for eighties broadcast television standards. Hopefully further episodes are closer in tone to the amusing goofiness of this one than the lamer shenanigans of the premiere. [6/10]