Halloween 2026: September 8th

 

TimeCrimes (2007)
Los cronocrímenes

Nacho Vigalondo had a good thing going for a while, didn't he? One of his early short films was nominated for an Academy Award. His Spanish language features received positive notices on the festival circuit. He was soon a talked-up name in the indie and genre press. He began to make movies with big Hollywood stars, like Elijah Wood and Anne Hathaway. The guy seemed primed to really break through. Instead, he's mostly worked in television in the last decade. Perhaps he decided Hollywood wasn't for him. Either way, the film that really made Vigalondo's name was his 2003 feature debut, "TimeCrimes." (Whose original Spanish title, "Los ChronosCrimeses," sounds even cooler.)  The film marked its director as part of a wave of interesting, buzzy filmmakers coming out of Spain at the time. It remains something of a cult favorite to this day, though that might just as much have to do with its bitchin' poster. Horror fans love a creepy guy in bandages and a ratty trench coat. We really do.

Héctor is moving into a new home in the countryside with his darling wife, Clara. A very normal day is soon intruded upon by odd occurrences. He receives a strange phone call. While idly looking into the woods through binoculars, he spies a naked woman. After his wife leaves for the store, he goes into the forest to investigate. He soon discovers the nude woman unconscious. He's then attacked by a man in bloody bandages, clutching a pair of scissors. He flees to a near-by research facility, picking up one half of a pair of walkie-talkies. On the other side is a scientist, who warns him that the killer is still pursuing him. Héctor follows the voice's instructions, arriving at a lab containing a large vat full of viscous fluid. This is a time machine and Héctor is instructed to climb inside. He travels an hour backwards in time and unwittingly kicks off a series of events with paradox-inducing, deadly consequences.

"TimeCrimes" is the kind of science fiction that grapples with high-minded, perhaps headache inducing ideas of time travel, causality, and events folding in one themselves. However, Vigalondo's script smartly doesn't get too lost in its own sauce. The technology and mechanics behind time travel are not explained, nor are they important. While there's a single monologue describing how this paradox stuff works, it's not delve into too deeply. Instead, "TimeCrimes" allows the viewer to get their brain around the premise by presenting it simply as a matter of choice. Every day, we are given a hundred inconsequential choices that send us down different paths. Héctor sees a beautiful, partially naked woman in the woods. He makes the decision to follow her and figure out what's going on. I asked a friend of mine. If an attractive, partially undressed lady where to appear at the edge of his wooded property, would he follow her? The answer was yes and I imagine would be true for most anyone. By choosing to look for the young woman, Héctor sets off a chain reaction of events. The dominoes start falling at that point, one singular choice leading to a dozen others, each with consequences of its own. It's the butterfly effect put to use in a narrative, the flutter of an insect wings causing a man's entire life to slowly undo itself, one unfortunately choice at a time.

This is the most ironic thing about what happens to Héctor: He makes the prison that encircles him through his own hastiness. More than once, the scientist operating the time travel machine - played by the director himself, in what was either a deliberately meta choice or a simple lack of casting options working out nicely - tells him not to use it. He does so anyway, insisting that he can make right what went wrong before while only screwing it up more. This is understandable and the film does a good job of making its protagonist not too much of an idiot. Instead, it's more so an inability to resist his own curiosity paired with a chance to undo mistakes, something we'd all probably leap on. What makes this especially ironic is that Héctor ends up performing certain actions because he knows his past self made a certain choice because of them. It's the ripple effect of a stable time loop in action: This person must be standing here or do this thing or else the future events that lead back to this moment would not occur. In other words, Héctor is responsible for all his own misfortune in a very literal sense. This is, perhaps obviously, a good metaphor for all of our lives. The rotten situations we end up in are usually the result of our own bad decisions.

We must also consider the possibility that Héctor makes the choices he does because he's, like all men, potentially a creepazoid. We never see Héctor say anything rude to a woman, assault them in a sexually aggressive way, or make outwardly sexist statements. Him and his wife seem to have a pretty healthy love life. However, the fact that it's his decision to look for a topless and decidedly younger than him woman that leads to everything that happens brings an unavoidable sexual air to the film. A guy that seems relatable enough is eventually forcing a woman to strip at knife point, not for reasons that are sexual within the context of the whole picture but because the circumstances bizarrely dictate upon them. As previously established, its his own movements that cause this trap to take shape. In a way, it seems like some unspoken sense of inner perversity is the engineer of Héctor's predicament. Vigalondo runs with this undercurrent further, in how two women end up being mistaken for each other at a key moment or in the suspiciously white and slimy liquid within the time machine. The psycho-sexual thread makes the unfolding story seem more like a bad dream come true for its main character.

To pull off the narrative balancing act "TimeCrimes" is attempting requires an extremely well organized script. When a time displaced character reappears in a later scene, asserting he was actually always there, it's inviting the viewer to rewind and re-watch the earlier moment. Luckily, this is a circle circling back on itself that doesn't cheat. The script immediately draws the viewer in with that salacious inciting incident and pushes us along for every screw-up and bad turn that follows. When a seemingly insignificant object ends up contributing to a detail established earlier, it feels like the puzzle pieces brilliantly snapping together. All of the movie is like that, a well oiled series of gears doing a very tricky alignment that somehow never misses. The cinematography swings between gritty and intentionally plain, with unexpected bursts of movement like a sharp zoom-in almost feeling like visual punchlines. This is supported by a precisely chosen cast. Karra Elejalde truly does seem like an average joe while also being able to summon a degree of menace and seriousness in later scenes.

Vigalondo has admitted that the seed of an idea that grew into "TimeCrimes" was a simple slasher movie. That's probably where that cool image, of some crazy with scissors in pink bandages, came from. However, blending that set-up with a lo-fi take on time travel produced something a lot more interesting than a mere body count movie. (Coming from a professed lover of body count movies.) As far as debut calling cards for up-and-coming directors go, "TimeCrimes" is about as sturdy an example as you could get. It shows an intensely clever creative mind at work, while managing to be thrilling, consistently interesting, grim, and unexpectedly funny a few times. An American remake has been bandied about over the years, David Cronenberg supposedly involved in some capacity at one point. While Cronenberg's involvement surely would've resulted in something interesting, I can only see an American studio making this story a lot less weird and exciting. The only feature Vigalondo has made since 2016 is also about a man foolishly perusing a woman through unconventional means, this time lucid dreaming. I'll have to check that one as, clearly, these are themes that the filmmaker excels at. As for "Los ChronosCrimeses," it's still a good time. [8/10]

 

Return of the Killer Tomatoes (1988)

Never underestimate the power of a funny title and a catchy theme song. "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" was not an especially funny comedy. However, that memorably absurd name and wacky poster art probably pushed a good number of VHS rentals. And that unforgettable theme song lodged the title in the memories of everyone who saw the movie, even those that fell asleep after the first ten minutes. As I'm fond of saying, the eighties is the decade where fluke one-off horror movie successes became on-going horror franchises. "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" wasn't a horror movie but it was a horror parody, ostensibly, and that was close enough. Clearly, whatever success the original had was enough to justify John DeBello and Costa Dillon getting back together to do it again a decade after the first.

Ten years have passed since the Great Tomato Uprising. In that time, the red fruit has been outlawed in America, forcing pizzeria and Italian restaurants to get creative. (Or else rely on the active tomato smuggling underground.) One such business is owned by veteran of the conflict, Wilbur Finletter. Among his employees are his nephew Chad and Chad's roommate, would-be ladies' man Matt. Chad delivers a pizza to the home of mysterious scientist, Dr. Gangrene, and immediately falls for the doctor's shapely female assistant, Tara. But looks can be deceiving because Tara is actually a tomato transformed into a human. Yes, Dr. Gangrene was the secret mastermind behind the produce revolution and his plan has evolved. Now, using different types of music to trigger the process, he can change everyone's favorite pasta ingredient into obedient humanoid slaves. Tara has a change of heart after Gangrene decides to kill an adorable fuzzy tomato creature. She flees to Chad's place, as he is the only other person she knows. While he's overjoyed to have a hot chick suddenly very interested in him, it soon becomes clear that Tara is no ordinary blonde....

As I probably mentioned in my first review, nearly ten years ago itself, I became acquainted with this motion picture after my buddy got it in an old four-pack with some other horror comedies. Among those films was fellow late New World release, "Elvira: Mistress of the Dark." Like that one, "Return of the Killer Tomatoes" seems like it should be a raunchy comedy. Tara bluntly describes herself as Gangrene's personal courtesan. There's no ambiguity about her ideas to treat Chad similarly. The couple visit a sex shop at one point, during a montage set to a double entendre filled love ballad. Matt is always trying to get laid, topless beach bunnies are a running gag, and Karen Mistal provides some foggy shower door obscured semi-nudity. As outwardly horny as "Return of the Killer Tomatoes" appears, like the aforementioned "Elvira," the movie can't help but come off as weirdly innocent. This is PG-rated ribaldry, a sex farce that feels designed for children. While the male leads are obsessed with the idea of fucking, I can't imagine any of them actually doing it. Fornication is a far-off hypothetical for this gang, just like it would be for the twelve year old boys the film was written for and possibly by. While Matt's methods veer towards the underhanded, a movie about transmogrifying tomatoes into people is too silly to read as sleazy. 

Refocusing the premise around two guys naively trying to score does help center the scattershot spoofery of the original. The sequel's form-shifting premise does largely remove the central gimmick of marauding, enormous tomatoes. However, the sequel commits to being a horror spoof in other ways. Dr. Gangrene is a stereotypical mad scientist, with wild grey hair and a white lab coat and a collection of bubbling beakers. He has an Igor and hangs out in a spooky old mansion too. However, both of those expectations are playfully subverted. This Igor is a tall, blonde, John Tesh-looking type who hopes to become a TV reporter. The mansion, meanwhile, is usually represented as an intentionally fake looking matte painting, with water sprinkled on it to simulate rain fall. Both gags represent a willingness to poke fun at audience expectations around classic horror trappings and its own filmic status. In fact, the entire conceit of "Return of the Killer Tomatoes" is a meta one. The opening scene presents the movie as a TV broadcast on some cheesy local station, a program unflatteringly called the "One Dollar Movie." This is the first of several times the film makes its lack of a budget part of the joke. The use of stock footage from part one is commented on. One of the best running gags involves money dwindling halfway through, forcing the film to rely on blatant product placement. While making a "bad" movie on purpose is a slippery slope, "Return of the Killer Tomatoes" is likably self-assured in its willingness to be the butt of its own jokes. 

The feeling is a bit like hanging out and goofing around with some friends. The cast certainly supports this. Anthony Starke emphasizes Chad being a very non-Chadly dweeb who is never entirely comfortable with Tara's sexual pliability, a good decision to keep him from coming off as a creep. George Clooney as Matt definitely is a bit of a creep but Clooney's already established persona of being a self-aware handsome guy makes that easier to swallow. Karen Mistal's unblinking robotic quality goes hand-in-hand with the movie's technical naughtiness coming across more as innocent tomfoolery. She is a tomato sex-droid but also a pure-of-heart naif who knows nothing else about the world. A character like Dr. Gangrene is, naturally, the type of broad silliness that John Astin specializes in. (Inevitably, the guy hanging out in a creaky old mansion leads to an "Addams Family" reference.) When the film brings back more cast members from the original, with their one-note joke premises, is honestly when it starts to flatter a little. The last third devoted to Finletter and his old war buddies creeping around the mansion are a lot less amusing. The new cast is a lot more charming and far more capable of carrying the wacky energy necessary for a spoof like this. 

Aside from Astin, nobody does more heavy-lifting in the cast than F.T., the fuzzy tomato creature that helplessly flops around multiple scenes. That this is a squeaking, immobile plush toy getting thrown back and forth is clearly another self-aware jab at the sequel's lack of budget. He is also a mockery of highly merchandisable eighties movie critters like Gizmo or E.T. While poking fun at how the Ewoks and ALFs of the decade were blatantly toyetic creations, F.T. is charming too. His overall fuzziness is genuinely adorable and his never-say-die attitude, despite his lack of eyes or mobility, makes you root for the little guy. That's a good example of how part two improves on the original's mostly lame jokes. The gags here, like Tara's oddball obsession with toast or the appearance of a belligerent mime, are funny and weird in a way the original's formless satire was not. There's some of that here. Part one's villain reappears, now in an awfully cozy prison. The reoccurring jokes about gross pizza toppings aren't the best. Things really start to flag during the last act, probably peaking during a Friedberg/Seltzerian "look at this reference" series of celebrity impersonator cameos. 

If "Return of the Killer Tomatoes" can't keep up a zany verve until the end, that certainly doesn't make it unusual among sight gag-centric comedies like this. The sequel has enough reliably silly bits and a cast we enjoy hanging out with. That's the ideal compliment to its winking sense of loose goofiness. The original was clearly aiming at that but could never quite achieve it, making this a big step-up as far as sequels go. Also, the movie ends with a grandmother figure demanding the audience stay behind and watch the credits, as a tribute to all the people who worked hard on the movie. This is, in fact, why I like to watch the credits too. Hey, all these folks made this thing. Least I can do is acknowledge their names. Also also, DeBello or someone on his team really had a knack for composing theme songs that are unforgettably catchy despite the chorus being nothing but the overly descriptive title being repeated. "When Those Big Breasted Girls Go to the Beach (and Take Their Tops Off)" is almost as much of an ear worm as the classic "Killer Tomatoes" theme song. [7/10]

 

Wednesday: If You Don't Woe Me by Now
 

Since “Wednesday” is a typical serialized streaming series, it follows the typical serialized streaming structure of dragging a plot thread out for multiple episodes before actually starting to resolve it an hour or two before the end. In “If You Don't Woe Me by Now,” Uncle Fester stops by Nevermore Academy and helps Wednesday out with her investigation. It turns out the monster she's been pursuing is called a Hyde, a shape-shifting murder-beast who becomes bound to a human master. Xavier is acting increasingly suspicious and soon becomes Wednesday's number one suspect. She becomes more certain of it after spying him sneaking through the woods and into Dr. Kinbott's car. After she confronts her therapist about her possible connection to the Gates family and the murders, Dr. Kinbott ends up being the Hyde's next victim. The mystery heating up occurs alongside other subplot distractions: Someone attempts to murder Thing. Tyler actually convinces Wednesday to go on a date with him, which she is receptive to in her frosty way. Her schism with Enid continues and then resolves itself off-screen, Wednesday's room mate simply deciding to move back in. How interested do you think I am in any of that shit? 

I'm beginning to see why Netflix, or whoever the production leaders on “Wednesday” were, looked at “The Addams Family” and decided to turn it into this kind of show. It's a highly recognizable brand, with enough lore to build on but not so much that the public has a highly specific perception of it. It's technically based on a comic book and Fester can generate electrical currents from his body. Hey, it's basically a superhero show then! This is, of course, a gross misreading of the material but that's the takeaway I can see some galaxy brained exec having. Thus, “Wednesday” reinterprets Fester as a cross-country back robber who sparks bits of Force Lightning from his hands. He's introduced here with a sword fight with Wednesday. That moment is very silly in its melodrama but the episode soon tops it. Thing, a disembodied hand, dying via stab wound and needing to be revived via Fester's make-shift defibrillator is an utterly absurd image. Instead of playing up the obvious comedic potential here, “If You Don't Woe Me By Now” barely nods at how wacky this is. In fact, Wednesday almost tears up at the thought of Thing finger-shuffling off this mortal coil. 

What makes the juxtaposition between the sitcom simplicity of these characters and the CW show plotting of “Wednesday” is that it still has to show some fidelity to the source material. Fred Armisen is brought on to play Fester and he does a fairly close impression of Jackie Coogan. He's riding around on a dalmatian themed motorcycle, slurping ketchup like it's chocolate syrup, trying to eat Eugene's bees, and making lots of dorky callbacks to previous shenanigans. This occurs alongside utterly earnest sequence like Wednesday's first date, info-dumps about the monster, and the bloody cliffhanger. Surely I can't be the only person who sees the obvious disconnect between these two tones?

But, once again, I think this improbable mix could have worked, with a less hacky approach. The cast remains pretty strong. Ortega's big eyes actually got me feeling sad for Wednesday in a few scenes. Her falling for such a blatant normie – and the inevitable reveal concerning him – is still lame garbage but their date scene borders on cute. Armisen's manic energy is a good wall for her to bounce off. The scene where Wednesday and Enid talk it out is utter nonsense but the yuri baiting in their interactions is definitely captivating. The production design in this series is still top tier and this installment throws in some Elfman-esque willowy choirs on the soundtrack. The episode wisely puts all the garbage about Nevermore's history, the various secret clubs and conflicts with the town, on the back burner. The lingering D-plots about Siren Girl's mom or whatever are all but forgotten, the fate they deserve. Trying to turn a Mr. Hyde style transformation into a stock monster type, even going so far as to call it a Hyde, is exactly the kind of shit I would do. I would also take more steps to distinguish it from a werewolf, which this show really doesn't. If separated from the more aggravating tropes of the medium and format, I probably would've dug this show. At least there's only one more hour left. [6/10]

The Outer Limits: The Form of Things Unknown
 

Among monster kid types like myself, "The Outer Limits" is best remembered for its variety of bug-eyed monsters and otherworldly entities. ABC insisted that these monsters-of-the-week, which head writer Joseph Stefano nicknamed "bears," were necessary for the show's broader appeal. Show creator Leslie Stevens preferred to focus on more philosophical sci-fi concepts. This means that a handful of "Outer Limits" are bear-less. Such as the season one finale, "The Form of Things Unknown." The episode concerns rich ne'er-do-well Andre, who seems to have manipulated two women into being his lovers. They are the young and anxious Leonora and the older and more assured Kasha. Andre plans to blackmail Leonora's father and insist the women help him. Kasha hatches a plan to murder the man by mixing a poisonous plant into his cocktail. The scheme seemingly works and Andre falls dead at a pond. The women load his body into the trunk of their car. A thunderstorm blows in as they prepare to dispose of the corpse, Leonora becoming convinced that Andre is still alive. She flees into the woods, followed by Kasha, and the two arrive at a stately manor. The occupants are a blind man named Colas and a scientist named Tone Hobart. Hobart is an eccentric who believes he can "tilt" backwards through time via a process involving a room full of magnetic wires and countless clocks. That he himself previously returned from the dead via this process. Leonora reveals the horrible guilt she feels over murdering Andre and Hobert takes it upon himself to "tilt" the past so that the man is alive again. This has unforeseen consequences for all involved. 

While the monsters are my favorite, two other elements are heavily associated with "The Outer Limits" in my mind. The first is the show's frequently shadowy, stylized cinematography. Conrad Hall photographed the episode a year before receiving the first of his ten Academy Award nominations. (Three of which he won.) He takes this hour of television as hard as possible in a moody, noir influenced direction. The result is certainly impressive. "The Form of Things Unknown" is characterized from its opening minutes by askew angles, close-ups on panicked or stern faces, brooding silhouettes, and crisscrossing patterns of light and darkness. The interior of the house becomes a series of surreal hallways, all jagged angles and arching ceilings. The result is so striking as to be unmooring. The episode is clearly seeking to put the viewer in Leonora's anxious, partially hypnotized mindset. It succeeds maybe too well, disorientating the viewer as often as it impresses. Yes, "The Form of Things Unknown" looks cool, creepy, dreamy, and compelling. It's also overbearing at times, self-consciously impressed with its own artistry. 

The second thing I associated with "Outer Limits" is writing fixated on high-minded ideas and science fiction philosophy. As an episode without aliens or space ships, Stefano's script instead zeros in on everyone's fixations. Andre can't go a minute without talking about his plans of blackmail and murder. Leonora is so racked with guilt that she becomes hysterical, spending the entire hour mid-breakdown. Kasha is stone-faced in her attempted control over the situation. Tone is such a weirdo as to appear inhuman and his seemingly blind butler is a figure of grave announcements. The dialogue is extremely arch and stilted. When the doctor reveals the Freudian trauma that birthed his obsession with time travel, I was not intrigued so much as left wondering why he felt the need to share that information. The mechanics of "tilting" and resurrection appear more like alchemy than science, furthering the feeling that this is all one big brain tangler to unravel. 

The result is an hour of television that I found a bit confounding. In practice, the episode plays a bit like a group of people dicking around a spooky mansion. While they broadly exclaim their thoughts and feelings, and casually say things like "Thanatos means death in Greek," everyone also seems to be keeping dark secrets of their own. The effect is that you are constantly wondering where this is going. Not in a suspenseful way but a slightly irritating way. Like does Hobert have some connection to the dead man? Is that why he's lurking around like a creep so much? What's the deal with the blind guy? Is this building towards some time travel induced identity switcharoo? Following the obvious debt this story has to "Les Diaboliques," does Kasha have schemes of her own and is Leonora merely her pawn? The answer to most of these questions is a big fat no, making the end of the episode feel anticlimactic. The performances are decent. David McCallum makes a good creepy doctor, Vera Miles is adept at the appearance of slowly cracking up control. Striking as "The Form of Things Unknown" is, I was flummoxed. I'm gonna go ahead and say that this one could've used by a big scowling, rubber bugbear or two. [6/10]

Halloween 2026: September 7th

 

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978)
 

The idea of what American culture was like during the childhood of people who grew up in the fifties and sixties – yanno, boomers – is based on nostalgia. And nostalgia isn't a true reflection of reality but rather an idealized fantasy filtered through collective memory and cultural cliches. There certainly were plenty of cheesy B-movies playing at drive-ins and on late night TV around that time. Aside from truly oddball outliers like "The Killer Shrews" or "From Hell It Came," there actually weren't that many low budget horror flicks in which comically un-serious threats became society threatening monsters. People are scared of regular sized bugs and lizards, so big ones are extra scary. Bug-eyed alien invaders, radioactive dinosaurs, and evolutionary throwbacks all represent real social anxieties about war and science. However, the idea of some obscure B-movies from the recent past in which random bullshit is rendered enormous and homicidal propagated through parody. A sketch comedy segment, background gag in a sitcom or cartoon, or ambitious commercial is really where ideas like these emerged. That's the same environment that John DeBello and Costa Dillon's "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" sprouted from, beginning life as an amateur short in 1976. That must've generated enough interest for the same team to expand the idea into a slightly less amateur feature film two years later, kicking off an improbable franchise of produce-themed yuks and mock-terror. 

Somewhere in California, a woman is murdered in her kitchen by an autonomous tomato rising from her sink. This is the first of many such attacks, in which the edible berry of the tomato vine inexplicably claims lives around the country. Press secretary Jim Richardson is told to calm public panic while secretly assembling a team of experts to get to the bottom of this gazpacho affair. Intelligence agent Mason Dixon and Wilbur Fenletter lead the covert operation, reporter Lois Fairchild soon becoming involved as well. They work together to find the responsible party and stop the tomato uprising. 

"Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" is undoubtedly better known as a title than an actual motion picture. I know this is the case. As recently as my childhood, I can recall hearing people mistaking the film for a deeply misguided but sincere attempt at a horror movie rather than an obvious parody of them. People probably saw the title in an ad, on a marquee, or at a video store. They had a healthy chuckle at such an absurd premise for a motion picture, moving on without bothering to actually watch it. If the original film can be said to have any greater cultural impact beyond its goofy title, it's probably that goofy theme song. Playing over the opening credits' images of splattering tomatoes, the song is undeniably catchy. The name is sung with operatic gusto alongside silly rhyming verses. The thumping military-style march melody embeds itself in your ear drums. Truly, a classic of Halloween party mix tapes and Dr. Demento compilations. 

There's another reason why the title and associated song are better known than any actual jokes inside "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes." The film has a couple of good gags. An establishing shot of what is blatantly, obviously San Francisco is captioned as "Washington D.C." There's a brief line about submarines that always makes me giggle. A military meeting occurring in a tiny closet is some okay physical comedy. The film comes the closest to actually spoofing the melodrama of classic B-movies when a scientist studying an oversized killer tomato grimly states that this is merely a cherry tomato. (A possible homage to "Gorgo?" Probably not.) Other than that, DeBello's film has a lot of long stretches without any solid laughs. The film lacks the specificity of "Young Frankenstein's" homages or the social critique of "Blazing Saddles." 

Without that, the film relies on two style of jokes. The first of which are the kind of good taste pushing gags that the Zucker brothers would employ a lot more skillfully in their better films. A Japanese man being badly dubbed, the sudden appearance of someone dressed as Hitler, and a blunt dropping of a homophobic slur are less "jokes" so much as they are half-hearted attempts to goad laughter out of viewers with shock value. Fenletter displays the kind of macho disregard for the feelings of women could've been commentary on the casual sexism of fifties sci-fi if it was deployed with any sharpness. Instead, it feels more like we are simply supposed to laugh at one of the heroes calling a woman a "strumpet" for no reason. Edgier jokes like these exist alongside a general sort of zaniness. Each members of Dixon's team have a silly outfit, such as Fenletter's always-deployed parachute. Another is always in scuba gear, another dressed like an Olympic gymnast. The fourth member puts on that Hitler outfit, among other unlikely disguises. There are car chases, foot chases, manic misunderstandings, random pogo sticking, and deliberately crappy pop songs. Each of these bit lack an essential snappiness. Coming across as both too desperate to amuse and too lethargic to be convincingly fun. The impression is of a script that was largely improvised on the spot. Not in a way that pulls from the chemistry and energy of the cast but, instead, feels like the filmmakers just throwing around stupid, unfunny bits in order to get their movie to feature length. 

This is most apparent in the movie's three musical numbers. The second of which is an embarrassingly un-energetic song and dance from the military, a scene that is indicative of the movie's overall comedic fatigue. The first of which is delivered by the head of an ad agency, about how they cook up the slogans and campaigns that drive public opinion. This is part of an extended dunk on Gerald Ford's Whip Inflation Now campaign, a then relevant government boondoggle that has faded completely in the public consciousness. You might notice that this joke has nothing to do with Killer Tomatoes. In fact, the murderous fruit story line and the wacky gang of special operatives don't interact much. Most of them are disposed of after a few scenes. Dixon's investigation eventually bends in a direction unrelated to the perilous produce before circling back around. That's because most of the characters in the film were recycled from another of De Bello's shorts, a spoof of silent films and spy movies called “Do They Accept Traveler's Checks in Babusuland?” 

Now, complaining about the messy plotting in a movie called “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” obviously makes me the idiot here. But it points to the film's general lack of coherence. To learn that this was an expansion of a short is unsurprising. It has that sweaty discomfort, of an amusing enough idea for a gag tediously stretched out to feature length. I would never besmirch the appeal of some solanum lycopersicum going on a rampage, that absolute banger of a theme song, or the legendary poster art. However, the actual experience of watching the original “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” is considerably less amusing than simply learning of its existence. [5/10]

 

Bhoot (2003)

The ghost is a concept that exists in all cultures. The exact appearance, behavior, and tangible quality are different around the world but the general premise is the same. Wikipedia provides the usual definition of "the soul of a deceased person, spoken of as appearing in a visible form, and often restless or perturbed." Perhaps we owe the universal quality of this folklore to its hopefulness. The belief in ghosts insists that human existence is more than physical, that there is a spiritual quality to ourselves that persists after death. Frightening though they may be, ghosts are an ultimately optimistic answer to any uncertain questions about mortality. As old as a belief in ghosts themselves is the understanding that a noisy spirit can be appeased or contained. That food or wine left out can satisfy them. That binding the corpse or performing a mystical rite can expel them. Or that solving an unsolved murder can set the wandering soul free. This too is a hopeful idea, showing that the actions of the living can reverberate into the afterlife or that the guilty can't always get away with it. In India, ghosts are called bhoota and belief in their existence is an integral part of Hindu and Buddhist religions. Unsurprisingly, this means the topic has come up in Indian cinema from time to time. If I'm going to try and get a little more culturally specific  with Bollywood horror – as both of my previous two journeys into this territory were remakes of American films – why not start with a movie so emblematic of local folklore that its title literally translates to simply "Ghost?" The success of "Bhoot" in 2003 is credited with reviving interest in the horror genre in India. Sounds like a good pick to me. 

Vishal is looking for a new home for himself and his wife, Swati. He finds a stylish apartment in a high-rise building, selling at an unusually low price. While touring the residence, he learns why the rent is so reasonable. The previous tenant, a woman named Manjeet, murdered her child there before leaping to her death from the balcony. Vishal hides this information from his superstitious wife and they move in. Soon afterwards, Swati begins to see strange things and act oddly. Doctors dismiss her as simply sleepwalking but, after a night watchman is found killed, Vishal comes to believe that his wife is possessed by Manjeet's restless spirit. At the urging of the family maid, he seeks out an exorcist to get to the bottom of this. 

Like I said, my previous two entries in this region during my Horror Around the World series were unofficial remakes of American slasher movies. I wanted something a little more inherently Indian than Bollywood guys riffing on "A Nightmare on Elm Street" or "Scream" this year. "Bhoot" probably fits the bill but the film is still indebted to some international hits. Modern medicine failing to help a woman, her husband seeking out a supernatural expert instead, and the spiritualist confronting the entity as the host is tied to a bed clearly recalls "The Exorcist." "Bhoot" was also released during a boom period in horror, and ghost stories especially, across multiple Asian film markets. Manjeet's spirit is a vengeful spectre with long black hair, a local variant on the archetypal Asian ghost girl. The haunting taking place in a modern metropolitan area, consuming a young woman, and specifically a spooky ghost boy tagging along seem to recall Takashi Shimizu's "Ju-On" series. Director Ram Gopal Varma has never spoken on any similarities and "Bhoot" was only released a year after "Ju-On: The Grudge" became a breakout hit. So it could be a coincidence but I don't know, man. 

The cliches about Hindi films is that they have long run times and contain random musical numbers. Their characters and stories are archetypal, and the tone can randomly shift towards theatrical action, melodramatic romance, or shrill comic relief without warning. This is not always true and "Bhoot" defies the something-for-everybody masala style in several ways. It's less than two hours long. Though songs were composed for the film, only one plays during the end credits. This is a non-singing-and-dancing movie, with no car chases or broad slapstick. The intention is instead to scare and unsettle the viewer. This is literally announced in the first scene. "Bhoot" begins with the disclaimer that, due to his strong personal convictions, the director wishes to stress that the movie in no way endorses a belief in the occult and that its only purpose is to scare you. And "Bhoot" does an okay job at that at times. A sequence where Swati is approached at the beach by the ghostly woman, the spectre looming still and watching, renders a bright and crowded area as frightening. The final sequence also generates a nice little chill up your spine. In general, the camera work often suggests an otherworldly presence watching the characters within a cramped apartment with modern – which also means quite cold and impersonal – architecture. There's also one surprising jolt that genuinely caught me off-guard, even if it's quickly revealed to only be a dream sequence. 

That "Thriller"-esque title card also warns that pregnant women shouldn't watch the film, should it frighten them too much. This might be some William Castle-like hucksterism, and cultural standards are different everywhere, but it is difficult to imagine this film frightening anyone to death or into premature labor. Most of the attempts at scares in "Bhoot" struck me as very corny. The film uses a goofy looking stuffed toy as a reoccurring sign of the ghost child's presence. In general, most of the scenes with the spectral boy simply involve the kid stepping on-screen while sinister music plays. Another scene where Swati experiences a vision while at a movie theater watching, of all things, "Spider-Man" veers into the comical quickly. While "Bhoot" is less exaggerated than the other Bollywood films I've seen, it's no less melodramatic. The presence of numerous characters who exist only to give ominous warnings – the family maid, the night watchmen, the apartment landlord – lays it on a bit heavy. A subplot involves the doctor attempting to help Swati being pulled away because his daughter is dying of some terminal condition. This is a rather weighty topic to introduce only to keep a side character occupied. The involvement of a police officer is another subplot that feels too dramatic. It exists mostly so all the back story around what really happened can be explained in excruciating detail. This all builds towards a conclusion that starts off decently but then pulls back on the throttle (while utilizing some cheesy special effects) right when events are coming to a proper climax. 

This points towards a problem I've experienced with other Indian-made horror movies. The country's equivalent to the MPAA can deny films a commercial screening licenses if any nudity, sex, violence, and political or religious themes are deemed offensive. That last sticking point seems to enforce a very limited moral view point on "Bhoot." The denouncement awkwardly prevents any body but the villain from doing questionable things, seemingly not to offend any moral guardians. The reveal that people are more dangerous than ghosts, while not a terrible writing choice, also seems included more to tiptoe around the story's obviously darker or more violent ideas. There's this unavoidable sense in "Bhoot" that the filmmakers are too conservative, or too timid, to address more complicated issues. From the beginning, the obvious implication is that Vishal and Swati's marriage is doomed. He lies to his wife about the truth concerning their new home, which obviously endangers Swati. The script frames his mistake more as not believing in ghosts than manipulating his wife, the couple reuniting at the end only now minus an angry spirit. In general, these two bicker a lot. Swati is patronized and her concerns are not taken seriously. Ghosts or possession as a metaphor for a marriage crumbling would be standard stuff for the horror genre. Instead, the film does not seem to recognize the existing problems in this relationship before the spooky shit starts happening. 

All of this seems to suggest some cultural differences at play here. "Bhoot" was popular in its home country. Varma would make several more horror movies afterwards, with the genre in general becoming more common in India afterwards. A direct sequel would follow in 2012 and an in-name-only reboot came around in 2020. People who watch a lot more Bollywood movies than me seem to say this one is pretty good. Maybe my perspective as a vulgar American used to bloodier, sexier, and more morally grey entertainment is getting in the way. There's some okay atmosphere in "Bhoot," some interesting ideas, one or two good shocks, but the movie can neither come together to be as scary or intriguing as it clearly longs to be. [6/10]

 

Wednesday: Quid Pro Woe

The sixth episode of “Wednesday” shows a stark divide in what this show does well and the incomprehensibly boring bullshit it wants to be instead. “Quid Pro Woe” is set on Wednesday's birthday, which the series seems to place on the 13th of November. The different people in her life have different reactions: Her parents send her a taxidermy kit with frozen dead squirrels. Enid gets matching snoods for the two of them. A group of her school mates throw a surprise party at a tomb. That moment, in particular, climaxes in the image of Thing wearing a little birthday hat. We also get flashbacks to past childhood birthdays, which include Wednesday's first electric chair and a pinata full of spiders. See, this is the shit “The Addams Family” was made for! While the writing remains as debatable as ever, Jenna Ortega has a way with a deadpan one-liner and her chemistry with Emma Myers remains dependable. The terse discussion/flirting between them during the snood scene is actually momentarily charming. 

Unfortunately, “Quid Pro Woe” is also a very plot-heavy episode and that is, by far the stupidest part of this program. We've got Wednesday doing seances with her identical ancestor, who delivers vague hints about her destiny. Her psychic superpowers get more screen time. She is now referring to herself unironically as a detective, pushing the focus on the so-called mystery to the forefront. I simply cannot imagine any self-respecting Addams snooping around a spooky old mansion for any reason other than it amuses them. (Similarly, Wednesday has a key moment where she expresses a desire to save Nevermore Academy. I'm sorry, I do not believe this character would desire to “save” an institution as oppressive and standardized as a fucking prep school.) Instead, this show has Wednesday sneaking into the Mayor's car and unraveling leads. I don't care about that. I especially do not care about the lore dump we get concerning the Gates family. This thread was not important two episodes ago. Now the series is clearly building up to the Gates being a rival family to the Addams or something. They couldn't have named them the Hillard family at least? Show some respect for real “Addams Family” lore, you cowards. 

The episode concludes with such a misguided sequence, that I don't know how it made it into the final cut. Wednesday is moping about being alone. Our anti-social queen?! Someone must have realized how miscalculated such an admission is, as they have to justify it with a hoary line in her interior monologue. Combine that with the growing need to tie everything together, via the mess of back story and prophecies and romantic tension that make up this program, and it becomes truly dire. No, I do not give a shit about the siren girl and the one prankster guy possibly getting together. Why is that scene in this episode, if not a single living soul could ever be invested in it? Ya know, it sucks that so much of this series is utter grey bland bullshit because... That scene where Wednesday and Enid are hiding in a dumbwaiter while a monster tries to get at 'em? Not half bad. I don't hate the idea of an “Addams Family” variation actually going into full-on horror territory. Unfortunately, “Wednesday” is not that show either but rather a Teen Supernatural Romance Season-Long Mystery Cliffhanger-a-thon for Harry Potter Adults. [5/10]

‘Way Out: William and Mary

Roald Dahl's children's literature is beloved for its imagination and whimsy but also well known for its underlying cynicism and cruel streak. It should not be surprising then that his slightly less well known horror and thriller fiction is especially acerbic. (Or that his erotica is downright antisocial.) Only one episode of the Dahl-hosted, largely forgotten but quite good anthology series "'Way Out" adapted the author's work. That would be the first, "William and Mary," which was supposedly so gruesome by 1961 television standards that viewers complained. The titular characters are William Pearl, professor of philosophy and noted author, and his timid, submissive wife. William is dying from an ailment of the body, which does not stop him from criticizing and belittling Mary for everything she does and does not do. As the end draws near, a doctor proposes an experimental treatment. Why should William's healthy, brilliant mind die with the rest of his sickly body? Dr. Landy has a treatment to remove the brain from the skull, attach it to a machine that will pump fresh blood to the organ, and keep William's consciousness going. His only link to the outside world will be a single eye, floating in a basin of nutrient fluid. His sole method of communication will be an EKG, reading off his brain waves and alerting others to his emotional state. While Pearl finds the idea ghastly at first, he agrees to it because it'll give him a way to torment his wife from beyond the grave. Mary, however, has other plans...

Bitterness and spite are, indeed, powerful emotions. Anyone who has visited a terminal ward for the elderly has likely observed that impending mortality only makes some people bigger, even more entitled dickwads. A desire to annoy, burden, or further observe someone fail can keep a weakening heart beating for a bit longer. "William and Mary" presents the viewer with a perfectly despicable example of such a person right away. Mary wears an unnoticeable amount of lipstick, which is still too much for her griping husband. He tells her to leave him alone before changing his mind and instructing her to sit down. But not in that chair, the one over there! What an insufferable prick. It's no surprise that news of his death causes Mary to play loud music and dance. 

 

Despite the obvious toxicity of this relationship, she is loyal to him, cowed by cultural standards about what a "wife's duties" are and years of endless abuse. Of course, William's eventual fate provides a suitably ironic example of the tables being turned. Watching the expression on Mary's face change as she realizes that she has all the power over her husband now is delightful. There's a degree of sexism in the premise. William notes that he didn't curse Mary with any children but it's evident she wanted a kid, as she immediately sees her disembodied husband as a forever-baby. Women, am I right? Despite that, it is still deliciously satisfying watching such a loathsome curmudgeon finally get a taste of his own medicine from the person he's tormented the most. 

Dahl's macabre fiction rarely featured obviously supernatural scenarios. While the exact details strain credulity, certainly for the time, the situation William is put in does seem to exist on the fringe of plausible science. Fritz Weaver, in his first of many appearances in classic genre television, seems overjoyed as he describes William's mind being trapped in an immobile vat, unable to speak, hear, taste, or touch anything with only a static perspective of the universe. "Has science gone too far?" is a common, usually hysterically presented fear in classic sci-fi. Weaver does a good job of displaying the enthusiasm scientists can have for advancement paired with an apparent obliviousness to the ethical concerns. He describes a mind being unmoored from physical sensation and bodily autonomy as a limitless chance at cerebral exploration when it actually sounds like a great way to drive someone completely insane. He talks about only being able to stare up at the same spot on the ceiling, forever, like it'll be neat. Henry Jones can similarly bite into all the vicious dialogue he's given, while Mildred Dunnock plays Mary as so used to it that she takes it all with a smile. The quality of acting and writing certainly makes up for the subpar surviving prints of "'Way Out" and the limits of early sixties television. Seeing people constantly smoking, mandated by sponsors Liggett and Myers Cigarettes, does create the suggestion that William is dying of lung cancer. Probably an association the corporate sponsor did not intend... [7/10]

Halloween 2026: October 6th

 

Scream 7 (2026)

Perhaps there will come a time when we can discuss "Scream 7" only within the context of being another sequel in a long-running franchise. Unfortunately, the circumstances around its production are impossible to ignore. How Michelle Barrera, the star of the last two entries, was fired after making pro-Palestine statements. How this led to an entire retooling of the next installment. How director Christopher Landon boarded the project and quickly left, amid harassment from fans. Whether it was even moral to go see the film was hotly debated in the months leading up to its release. With no other ideas on how to continue the story, I guess, series creator and now director Kevin Williamson went with the creatively bankrupt decision of focusing on Neve Campbell's Sidney. Simply put, "Scream 7" is a movie that shouldn't exist beyond the general reasons yet another slasher sequel probably shouldn't be made. None of this controversy stopped "Scream 7" from becoming the highest grossing title in the series' history. While all the bullshit had me skipping the film in theaters this past February, my dorky need to watch and review the entirety of a horror series has led me to finally judging "Scream 7" for myself. (And if you must know, I didn't pay to watch it, meaning the producers received no monetary gain from my viewing.) 

After years of being pursued by Halloween costume clad killers, the former Sidney Prescott has settled in Pine Grove, Indiana. She is now married to a cop named Mark and works at a local coffee shop.
They have three kids, with teenage Tatum being the oldest. Despite having moved on, Sidney's history has led to tension between her and her daughter. This gets a lot worst when Sidney receives a video call seemingly from Stu Macher, one of the original Ghostfaces whose final fate has long been uncertain. Two of Tatum's friends are attacked and killed by a masked murderer at her school. After the town goes into lock down, a Ghostface sneaks into Sidney's home and attacks her and her family. Gale Weathers soon arrives in town, with "Scream VI" survivors Mindy and Chad in tow, to report on the breaking story. Sidney works with her old friend/rival to unravel this latest mystery and keep her daughter safe. Meanwhile, rebellious Tatum and her own friend group decide to take matters into their own hands. 

Aside from Ghostface's victims, another casualty of "Scream VI" was my interest in this series. It seems to me that, for quite some time now, "Scream" has been a series in search of a defining thesis. The original film is a deconstruction of the cliches of the eighties slasher movie. The second one does the same for the expectations around a slasher sequel, a phenomenon in its own right. Rather than evolve with the the times and take on whatever the current trend in horror was at any given moment, the later "Scream" movies have been content to simply eat their own tail. "Scream 3" was about nothing but "Scream's" own self-reflective nature. This was also true of "Scream 4," which gave some passing mentions to the found footage genre before inexplicably revealing itself to be about reality TV. While the fifth "Scream" found some relevance in discussing reboots and legacy sequels, while nodding at the "elevated" horror style, it wasn't about examining horror tropes and their relationship with the real world either. It was about "Star Wars" actually. The sixth film represented the series at its most self-indulgent yet. With the behind-the-scenes kerfuffle shifting seven's focus back to Sidney Prescott, there was almost zero chance of "Scream 7" on focusing anything other than the series' own backstory and unearned sense of self-importance. 

Well, I have some good news. "Scream 7" isn't another "Scream" movie about "Scream." Compared to sixth's masturbatory fixation on referencing past films, this one has fewer shout-outs. Unfortunately, "Scream 7" is also not a continuation of the original's premise of examining slasher stereotypes and the debatable effects fiction has on the real world. There's almost no mention of the "rules" or audience expectations, much less any mention of what is or isn't currently hot in the horror genre. All of which begs the question of what "Scream 7" is about. Well, I'm not sure it's about anything. However, that ever-present cultural boogeyman of "trauma" is mentioned. That Sidney's lingering scars from years of being targeted by serial killers might have had some effects on her own kids is brought up. This mostly manifests in limp arguments between our heroine and a typically temperamental teenager. Tatum resents living her life in the shadow of her mom's pain, which includes being named for the friend who had an unfortunate run-in with a garage door opener back in 1996. Generational trauma is certainly an idea worth discussing, especially as we millennials start to reach the same age our parents were when these movies first started getting made. However, I don't think the esteemed director of "Teaching Mrs. Tingle" has any interesting insight on this idea. The mother/daughter conflict in "Scream 7" mostly feels like petulant whining from Tatum.

 

Instead, the only interesting idea inside the sequel revolves a lingering fear every parent has: That they can't protect their kids. Sidney has moved away from Woodsboro, stopped writing books about her life and disconnected from the true crime world. Neither that, nor marrying a cop or building a safe room in her house, does much to protect her daughter from the latest Ghostface. The only time the seventh film comes to life is when Sidney is desperately racing to the coffee shop, to save Tatum. Via an app in her phone, she can access the security cameras at the business. This is how she sees her daughter being stalked by a killer, while trying to talk her through it in a call. This recalls parents helplessly watching as news trickles in about a shooter at their kids' school, unable to do anything but watch or listen through phones and cameras. That's at least a reflection of our current world. "Scream 7" stubbornly resists developing this into coherent commentary. Instead, it merely exists alongside other indicators of modern anxiety, such as AI or the fear that your daughter's boyfriend might be a future mass shooter.  
 

"Scream 7" is uninterested in reinventing the wheel. The sequel seems to address, and hopefully bury, the incredibly dumb fan theory that Stu Macher somehow survived getting a big ass CRT TV dropped on his head thirty years ago. (While still bringing Matthew Lillard back for an easy pop from the fans.) That's in addition to a largely disconnected opening that sees the Macher house now having become a tacky tourist trap. Which could have been a commentary on the commodification of true crime or how all popular series are wrung out for every dollar until they are a pale imitation of themselves. Williamson doesn't do that either. The eventual reveal of who the Ghostfaces are this time, and the motivation for their murder spree, is somehow the least inspired element of the film, a thrown together twist that is delivered like a half-hearted sigh. 

This is the biggest problem with "Scream 7." At no point can it justify its own existence. I did not find myself caring about any of the new characters or cast members. Joel McHale is Sidney's husband and he shares some okay chemistry with Campbell. The script frustratingly leaves little room fie McHale's trademark sarcasm. Isabela May is mildly irritating but mostly uninteresting as Tatum, a mildly irritating but mostly uninteresting character. Most of her friends are of little note. The true crime fanatic next door or the boyfriend of debatable merit are nothing but obvious red herrings. Rising scream queen McKenna Grace shows some spark as Tatum's BFF but let's just say she exits the film early. The lack of energy behind the new cast would be somewhat forgivable if the script also wasn't so out of ideas of what to do with the old cast too. As has been the case since the third movie, Neve Campbell seems deeply bored with this character and her world. There's an attempt to build something between Sidney and Gale Weathers' relationship. Courtney Cox does what she can but you can't play off a brick wall much. When the film trots out a few more familiar faces, it feels like nothing more than a desperate attempt to spark another burst of dopamine from the dying, overstimulated synapses of an aging fan base by jingling familiar keys in front of our eyes. 

That a sense of franchise fatigue floats over all of "Scream 7" is disappointing. When taken as a simple slasher flick, it's at least got the required amount of gruel and grimness. Much like the sixth flick, there are some well engineered set pieces. The sequel is adapt at putting its characters in unfortunate situations. A young lady is suspended in a Peter Pan rig in a school auditorium while Ghostface lurks below. A cool shot sees the slow reveal of the killer's hiding place within Sidney's home. This proceeds a decently suspenseful sequence where the two final girls have to squeeze through a hollow wall while the attacker on the other side tries to pinpoint their location. That's a good demonstration of the laws of suspense, in showing the audience something the characters may or may not have figured out yet. A stalk-and-slash through the cramped kitchen of a bar, a plastic filled garage under repairs, a dangling from a chandelier, or the aforementioned coffee shop stand-off aren't bad either. You can tell Williamson studied Carpenter's "Halloween," as he emulates the trick of the villain's distinctive white mask slowly appearing in the shadows over someone's shoulders. From a gore hound's perspective, there's one or two amusing butcherings. A beer tap is used creatively. 

All of this implies that "Scream 7" might have been able to generate some suspense or more than a fleeting sense of same-old-same-old entertainment, if these sequences were attached to something other than a contractually obligated continuation. Instead, these scenes occur within a film with zero fresh or interesting ideas of how to stretch this story out for a seventh entry, anchored by a cast with little personality or desire to be there. The film made plenty of money, meaning an eighth installment is all but guaranteed. Such box office results suggest that the team behind "Scream" has no reason to give this series the drastic reinvention it obviously needs. I imagine Barrera will probably get invited back in time, that her storyline will continue in some form or fashion. However, if "Scream 7's" quality is anything to go by, I can't imagine a Sidney or Carpenter sisters-led future for "Scream" that has any actual guts or hot blood pumping through it. [5/10]

 

Lokis: A Manuscript of Professor Wittembach (1970)
Lokis. Rekopis profesora Wittembacha

The idea of a short story that goes on a bit too much to be called "short" or a novel that maybe lacks a few hundred words feel like concepts as old as literary classifications are. However, the term "novella" actually was invented in 1829. By a Frenchman, of course, sticklers for detail that they are. Prosper Mérimée coined the term and this guy's Wikipedia article is wild, man. Best known today for the story that inspired the opera "Carmen," Mérimée was a real Renaissance man in his day. An influential figure in the Romanticism movement, he was also an archivist, an archeologist, the Inspector-General of Historical Monuments, a folklorist, a translator, a prisoner, a senator, the official advisor to the Empress of Napoleon III, and a catty bitch who loved to start beef with his fellow authors and bureaucrats. He also wrote horror stories sometimes, among which was "Lokis. A Manuscript of Professor Wittembach." Set in Lithuania and inspired by its local legends, the novella was adapted to film in Poland in 1970, by director Janusz Majewski. Since its inclusion in the big folk horror box set a few years back, the film has gained a lot more attention. 

The titular Professor Wittembach is a pastor and writer. He travels to Lithuania to study local folk customs and translate the Bible into Samogitian, an obscure dialect of the region. He is invited to the estate of Count Szemiot, whose library includes many useful old texts. The Count is eccentric, with a history of madness in his family. The family physician, Dr. Froeber, informs Wittembach that the Count's mother went insane following a bear attack, believing her son to be the offspring of the same animal. The professor officiates the Count's marriage to a beautiful young maiden but bad omens persist over the castle. Might Szemiot actually be a were-bear or is he merely a victim of his own beliefs?

Most of the Polish horror and fantasy films I've seen so far have been on the artsier side of the spectrum, usually with a heavy political bent. This remains true with "Lokis." (The title, by the way, is a misspelling of the Lithuanian word for bear.) The film seems especially concerned with the separation between man and beast, which the pastor clarifies as a distinction between our higher, spiritual calling and our more bestial nature. Usually, when were-beast movies delve into this, it's about savagery and sex. "Lokis" touches on that a little bit. The count's backstory seems to link the bear with unleashed sexual frenzy and the story comes to its climax on his wedding night. However, Majewski and his team approach the subject from a sociopolitical angle. "Lokis" frequently contrasts the nobility, and its interest in academics, with the peasantry, who are a more superstitious lot. One of the first scenes is Wittembach and some elegant ladies watching, from a train, a street performance with a bear. This sets up a distance between the haves and have-nots. While the film ostensibly adopts the more "high-minded," scientific perspective of the upper crust, this is a world fairly unambiguously at the mercy of otherworldly forces. For all its pomp and circumstances, the ruling class is as governed as much by animal desires and the whims of the hidden world as those they preside over.

“Lokis” was made three years before “The Wicker Man” but bares some resemblance to that watershed moment in folk horror history. Both films concern a Christian authority figure, quite secure in his monotheistic viewpoint of the world, being continuously challenged by pagan beliefs and rituals. Matching the more intellectual tone of the film, “Lokis” has Wittembach's understanding of a world governed by a logical God at odds with the otherworldly events he witnesses. A carriage driver warns him of the devils that haunt the forest. Only to have a wheel pulled right off their vehicle, the supernatural forces seemingly proving their own presence. Later, the pastor and the count encounter a self-styled witch in the woods. She comes across as merely an eccentric old woman at first before walking across the moss covered surface of a river as if it's a solid object. “Lokis” slots in nicely with the political and spiritual upheaval of the early seventies, when traditional structures were falling apart and a different, more daemon-haunted world was presenting itself. 

All of that probably sounds pretty interesting. And it kind of is, if you're into European folklore. Unfortunately, Majewski's film is almost unbearably slow. “Lokis” is a motion picture composed almost entirely of men standing around in stately rooms and talking to each other. When the back story of the Count's mother possibly having been assaulted by an ursine is delivered, it plays out as a conversation over some paintings and books. The climatic moment of the film occurs entirely off-screen. All of this is delivered with a stilted, mannered approach. The movie can summon a certain dreamy energy in its best moments, such as the sequence with the witch. The score ramps up a few times, to get the heart pumping. However, nothing much actually seems to happen. “Lokis” is a horror movie in theory but everything sinister is implied, not shown. Don't go in expecting any were-bear chaos occurring on-screen, is what I'm saying. 

That glacial pacing does seem to divide viewers of “Lokis.” I've seen some enthusiastic reviews of it, from people fully sucked into its folkloric dreaminess and not too bothered by the slowness. However, others have been seriously let down by how the movie focuses on ideas and ambiance over anything else at all. It's a nice looking film, with strong cinematography and eye-catching visuals. The settings, of a forest with sheltering branches and the strange looking castle, do make for a suitably surreal location. Ultimately though, I found myself fighting sleep before the relatively short runtime wound up. Maybe you'll find it a bit more compelling but, despite some interesting sights and more interesting ideas, “Lokis” was sabotaged for me by a plodding pace. The film did intrigued me enough to add the original novel to my reading list, though that might also be because Propser Mérimée's life story caught my eye too. [5/10]

 

Wednesday: You Reap What You Woe

Netflix didn't cast recognizable actors like Catherine Zeta-Jones and Luis Guzman as Morticia and Gomez only to use them for a bit in the first episode. And so Wednesday's mom and dad come into focus in "You Reap What You Woe." The episode reveals that, while attending Nevermore as teens themselves, Gomez seemingly ran through a romantic rival for Morticia with a sword and dropped him off a ledge. While investigating the recent suicide of the seemingly happy town mortician, Sheriff Galpin uncovers evidence that Gomez did commit murder all those years ago. (How he escaped this conviction originally doesn't come up.) While Wednesday's parents are visiting the school, her father is arrested for the decades old crime. Now their daughter must pause her investigation of the current strangeness plaguing the school to clear her pop's name. Meanwhile, the other students at the academy have their own mama drama to attend to. 

The early flashback reveals that Gomez and Morticia attended Nevermore in the year 1991. Which would put them both in their forties in this show, assuming it's set in the modern day. While the original series did assign specific ages to the Addams, the thought of these two being Gen-Xers doesn't sit well with me. The idea of Gomez growing up during the Reagan administration feels wrong. However, I will say that Guzman and Zeta-Jones are well cast in the part. Guzman even looks a lot like Charles Addams' original illustration. He's certainly capable of bringing the weird gremlin energy of John Astin or the unapologetic eccentricity of Raul Julia to the part. The episode doesn't give him a chance to do that but at least the "Wednesday" show-runners felt no need to subvert the undying devotion and passion the parents have for each other. Zeta-Jones certainly has the demure sensuality and fey glint of the eyes necessary for Morticia. The show continues to play some tension between Wednesday and her mom, which still feels contrived to me. "You Reap What You Woe," in general, heaps on the sentimentality between parent and child. A scene where Gomez and Wednesday talk it out while he's behind glass comes awfully close to being too precious. She has a heart-to-heart with Pugsley too, once again showing how "Wednesday" seems incapable of balancing both the loyalty that defines the family and the sadomasochistic bond between these siblings. 

Despite the program's insistence on sticking intentionally atypical characters into a standard dramatic arc, the guest stars do enliven "Wednesday" a lot. Once again, I like this show the most when it resembles the old sitcom. Gags like Pugsley munching on potpourri with his dad or fishing with hand grenades, or mother and daughter swapping tips on disinterring a corpse, genuinely made me snicker. Almost like this gang was invented to deliver simple visual jokes and not be involved in an elaborate mystery! Speaking of which... "You Reap What You Woe" pushes the ongoing narrative aside for a bit. Eugene was left in a coma by the monster attack, a very annoying reeling back of the previous episode's cliffhanger. The details of what happened back in 1991, that Wednesday uncovers piece by piece, are very stupid. If the solution to your mystery involves mind control potions, you've written a bad mystery. Still, at least the fate of characters we actually care about are at stake here. If the Addams Family must be at the center of some grand intrigue, Gomez having possibly murdered another man for Morticia's affection feels a lot more in-character than whatever bullshit the season is building towards. It also helps a lot that this particular story line is resolved in one hour, instead of being dragged out intermittently for an entire season. 

Actually centering an episode of an Addams Family series on the Addams Family feels like an obvious conclusion. However, it's something "Wednesday" clearly is struggling with, if the subplots of this installment are anything to go by. Enid has a guilting, heavy-handed mother. She eventually gives her daughter pamphlets for "werewolf conversion" camps that will supposedly help Enid embrace her lycanthropic nature. Using a classic monster condition as a metaphor for being gay is an age-old practice. However, I think the allegory falls apart very quickly here. Enid is being told to embrace her inner nature, not deny it. Unlike queer teenagers sent off to abusive "prayer the gay away" camps by bigoted parents, she actually is a werewolf. She also likes boys, in a very traditionally girlish manner, making any attempted parallels seem wrong-headed. Enid's mom is worried about her daughter because she's a late bloomer, not because her lifestyle disagrees with them. It's a weird choice but at least Emma Myers is charming. An additional subplot about the siren girl's mother being in a cult or something is absolutely impossible to care about. More bullshit grist to occupy the runtime with on the way to the A-plot's conclusion, that I'm sure future episodes belabor unnecessarily upon. Who on the writer staff for this show had unresolved mama drama and why did they feel the need to insert it into multiple subplots? [5/10]

Thriller: A Wig for Miss Devore
 

Through no intentional move on my behalf, there's the second classic horror anthology episode I've watched this month to feature John Fiedler. In “A Wig for Miss Devore,” he plays the agent for the eponymous Sheila Devore. A once promising actress, Miss Devore is already washed-up and her looks faded by the age of 31. She is plotting a comeback though and finds a perfect vehicle in the story of Meg Peyton, a 18th century woman hanged at the gallows for witchcraft. Legend has it that Peyton wear a wig woven from the hairs of her victims, which granted her eternal youth and fame as long as she kept it on. Studio head Max Quinke has been keeping the residuals to Sheila's past hits to himself, information Herbert uses to blackmail him into funding the actress' comeback vehicle. Devore secures Meg Peyton's actual wig for the production, wearing it and being as strikingly beautiful again as she once was. Filming goes off without a hitch and the movie is a hit. The director marries Sheila. Yet the men around her seem to keep dying mysteriously. First Max and then her new husband, both of them found with horrible scratches over their faces. Now, what could possibly be the link there, I wonder? 

“A Wig for Miss Devore” is about the fourth episode of “Thriller” I've seen that resolves around a cursed object. Several of those were written by Robert Bloch, while this one is based on a story from fellow Weird Tales graduate August Derlith. I suppose this speaks to the way the pulp writers of the forties and fifties placed classical gothic horror tropes in modern contexts. “A Wig for Miss Devore” has quite a contemporary context, taking place in the world of Hollywood. The story of an aging and somewhat delusional actress recalls both “Sunset Boulevard” and “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” The script doesn't seem to have much insight into the wages of fame or how the shallow film industry treats women though. The episode plays Sheila as both somewhat victimized by the men around her, like the scheming Max and the manipulative husband, while also having her be a femme fatale. (While also implying that she's not that talented, seemingly only known for her looks.) I suppose the idea is that revenge hardens the heart of everyone, even those with justifiable grievances. Or perhaps the story is simply speaking to the cut throat, ruthless nature of the motion picture business. A woman has to resort to witchcraft and murder if she hopes to claw her way back to the top, in an industry that discards any actress for the crime of simply getting a little older.

Trying to dig up too much deeper meaning here is difficult though. Instead, it's a pretty simple fable, of someone with an insatiable vanity that eventually proves to be their own undoing. Patricia Barry does give a fine performance in the titular role, striking the viewer at first as an airhead type before revealing her more calculating, vicious side. The men around her prove to be properly spineless or deceiving. I wish so much of the story's ironic pay-off wasn't shoved into its last minute. I've not read Derluth's story but this feels like an encapsulation of a longer tale. In my experience, what “Thriller” really excelled at was fantastic final shocks and a willingness to be surprisingly grim for the time. “A Wig for Miss Devore” does have a gory final image and, by the standards of 1962, it was probably fairly shocking. It's also not as good as the shock endings we got in “The Cheaters” or “The Hungry Glass.” However, there is a memorable image here. Whenever Miss Devore removes her wig, until the final minutes, all we see are aged, ghastly hands groping through the shadowy air. That's pretty cool. I do wish more episodes of this series had Boris Karloff doing both an intro and an outra, Hitchcock and Sterling style, cause I do enjoy his baroque monologues. [7/10]