Halloween 2026: September 14th

 

The Bride! (2026)
 

On the page, she was less of a character and more of a plot device. In chapter 22 of Mary Shelley's novel, Victor Frankenstein's creation demands his “father” make him a companion. At the last minute, Vic gets the jitters and tears the un-animated flesh homunculus apart. That was the extent of the character's original appearance. When William Hurlbut very loosely adapted the story to cinema in 1935, she was at least given a pulse, a swan's hiss of a voice, and an iconic hair-do. Her screen time also maxed out at about four minutes and she was still without name. She was The Monster's Mate in the credits. On the marquee, and in the public consciousness, she'll always be The Bride of Frankenstein. As men often do, we became enamored despite only getting a glimpse. Despite the briefness of her roots, the Bride has often reappeared alongside her groom. Sometimes she gets a name of her own too, like Eva or Pandora or Lily. Feminist readings of Shelley's work are, obviously, common. This has lead to many attempts to provide such a reading of a character who has always been known as an extension of a man. A big budget attempt arrived in March of 2026, emphatically entitled “The Bride!” Some accused it of being a fiasco, others admired it, a few said it was a future cult classic. Obviously, as a bit of a “Frankenstein”-head myself, I was waiting to formulate my own opinion. 

In 1936 Chicago, the spirit of Mary Shelley possesses a gangster's moll named Ida. She is pushed down the stairs, snapping one leg and dying from a blow to the head. Not long afterwards, Frankenstein's monster seeks out a doctor named Cornelia Euphironius. He asks of her to make him a companion, after being alone for a hundred years. They dig up Ida's body and reanimate her. She has only brief remains of her memory and is furthered scattered by Shelley's spirit continuing to randomly speak through her. Frank tells her that she's his bride. After some jerks assault her outside a night club, the monster gruesomely murders the men. The reanimated corpses are now fugitives. Their bond grows as they travel the country. They see a bunch of movies starring Frank's favorite song-and-dance man, Ronnie Reed. Ida, now convinced her name is Penelope, accidentally triggers a revolution of feminist rage. Sometimes, they kill some more people. A detective named Jake Wiles, along with his hyper-confident secretary Myrna, pursue the monsters. He has a connection to Ida's past, which the newly christened Bride will soon uncover herself. 

Most of the negative reviews of “The Bride!” high-lighted the film's biggest swings. The movie quite sincerely begins with Mary Shelley's ghost announcing herself as the author of “Frankenstein.” Multiple visions or dream sequences are featured. Sometimes these will roll over into the stated reality of the film without warning. There are multiple musical numbers. Sometimes featuring willfully anachronistic song choices, at least two of which are songs already associated with “Frankenstein.” The climax is a slo-mo shoot-out. It is, to say the least, bold. It is also a lot. The performances are pitched at Nic Cage-ian levels of over-the-top from the first minute and never really calm down. The dialogue is laced with screamed profanity. There are several frantic monologues. When violence and sexual assault occur, it's graphic. The script rarely stops to give the audience much time to catch up with some of its narrative choices and the thematic ideas are often endlessly jumbled atop each other. The film is coming at you so hard, all the time, that the result is both impressive and embarrassing for everyone involved. 

Sometimes, the film's full-throated belief in its own ideas left me staring in disbelief. Such as whenever Mary Shelley's ghost interacts with the title character, which usually results in her spitting out loosely linked words. One of those aforementioned dance numbers has the main duo being backed up by the people around them going into bone-crunching, spasmodic gyrations for no particular reasons. Other times, I found myself enjoying the film's unbalanced amalgamation of various thirties film genre. Frank's love of classic musicals is a cute reoccurring detail, the ultimate outsider imagining himself as a smoothly moving star on the screen. The film most finds its footing when the monster couple emerge as undead Bonnie and Clydes, road tripping across depression era America and causing trouble whenever it suits them. Jessie Buckley and Christian Bale's theatrical vamping can sometimes be overbearing, both performers very aware of how much Acting they are doing. Penelope Cruz, meanwhile, is operating on the exact right level of stylized camp as a fast-talking, hyper-observant “His Girl Friday” type character. Maybe Maggie Gyllenhaal should have just made the whole movie about her instead. 

If “The Bride!” was just an overly ambitious mash-up of Frankenstein, classic gangster flicks, and old-time musicals high on its own supply, it would probably have been better received. However, Gyllenhaal's film also had to be a grand feminist statement. By which I mean, the film contains a half-formed subplot that is basically “Joker For the Ladies.” Ida/Penelope seems able to intrinsically or psychically feel other women's trauma. This leads to a scene of her listing off grievances in a crowded dance hall. It seemingly inspires women all over the country to paint their faces and tongues like her ink-splotch pattern and go on violent rampages against men, while screaming out catch-phrases and slogans taken from Ida's ramblings. It's another willfully anachronistic element in the film, as it's difficult to imagine a Fourth Wave Feminist uprising like that appearing in 1936. Much the same way “Joker” featured its murderous clown protagonist inspiring indiscriminate violent protests that did not seem to have any actual political ideology or rationale behind them, this subplot comes across as vague gesturing at broad social injustices. In this case, Women Be Persecuted, that has no depth nor any actual scruples behind it.

We can tell that “The Bride!'s” womanly rage is, if not insincere, at least poorly thought out. From the moment the Bride and Frankenstein meet, he is constructing their past together. He invents stories about how they met, how they got married, their sex lives, and more. He's been lying to her and manipulating her. When Ida discovers this, she's understandably upset and decides to call off their relationship... Before the last act essentially sees her take him back through a convoluted series of events. This dovetails with the detective subplot, which has Peter Sarsgaard – Gyllenhaal's husband, it must be noted – apologizing for all his past grievances against specific women and women in general. The way that thread resolves itself feels like one long asterisk on the movie's man-hating philosophy. Yes, personal and social boundaries between men and women are very complicated. Where love and desire fit in throughout true equality between the sexes and reparations against the historically awful treatment of women is a lot to consider. At the same time, stopping your diatribe against the mass abuse of womankind to insert a few “#NotAllMen!” moments feels curiously wrongheaded. 

Then again, “curiously wrongheaded” is probably an apt description for “The Bride!” overall. In addition to all its other high-minded ideas and various pastiches, I think the movie is also a meta-textual riff on the creation of “Frankenstein” itself. Making Mary Shelley a character suggests that the story of “Frankenstein” exists as both a fictional narrative and a real event within the film's universe. Light spoilers here, possibly: I think the ending of implies that somehow the knowledge of these events was sent back in time and inspired the writing of the novel in the first place? It's not very clear. Tie these weird narrative swings together with the bizarre tonal shifts, ruminations on men and women that are both way too obvious and contradictory, and a general tendency for the movie to be nutty or abrasive a lot of the time... It's not surprising many critics were simply baffled by “The Bride!” At the same time, I can't entirely dismiss the movie simply because it is so bold and so specific. Gyllenhaal had Some Thoughts and Feelings and this motion picture is an expression of them. It is confused mess, the kind of campy spectacle that begs people to hate it, but I can't dismiss it either. [6/10]

 

Bates Motel (1987)

“Psycho” becoming a multi-media franchise is kind of funny, when you think about it. It's a story of murder and sex, considered so shocking and upsetting in 1960 that it nearly changed the direction of horror single-handedly, and based on an extremely gruesome true crime case. How does that end up on lunch boxes and doing cross-band synergy with Hello Kitty? However, the facade of the hotel and Bates house have been part of the Universal Studios tram tour since 1964. While the theatrical “Psycho” sequels were a little more respectable to the legacy of the original, this cannot be said for all the cinematic extensions of the Bates brand. In the late eighties, “The Hitchhiker” creator Richard Rothstein would attempt to build a similar quasi-anthology show around “Psycho's” most infamous landmark. The pilot was poorly received and NBC burnt it off as a TV movie in the summer off-season of 1987. I'm fascinated by ill-conceived spin-offs of beloved properties, which meant I obviously had to write about this.

Well, everyone knows Norman Bates was paroled in 1983 and resumed his stabby shenanigans shortly afterwards. What “Bates Motel” presupposes is... Maybe, while institutionalized, he would befriend a young psycho-in-training named Alex West. The two would become so close that, after his passing, Norman would will the family hotel and home to this guy. With Norman's ashes in hand, Alex heads to Fairvale fully intending to honor his late friend's wishes. He learns that, in addition to the reputation of Norman and his mom's murders, the motel is also said to be haunted. He instead finds a struggling actress named Willie squatting in the derelict hotel. The two misfits become pals and Willie helps Alex re-launch the business. That's when a suicidal woman named Barbara arrives and rents the room, encountering some ghosts of her own.

The role of black comedy within Alfred Hitchcock's work has often been discussed and analyzed. Grim as “Psycho” is, it too has shades of a puckish sense of humor within it. This makes the idea of a comedic “Psycho”-inspired series not as unexpected as it sounds. However, that doesn't explain the logic behind the decision to turn “Bates Motel” into a full-blown farce. And not like a good, Marx Brothers farce either. The tone throughout much of “Bates Motel” is that of hacky, eighties sitcom buffoonery. Billie is introduced in a colorful chicken mascot costume, a gag that comes back several times. Billie's aggressively eccentric shenanigans includes dropping a plate while making meatloaf and leaving the shards of porcelain in with the meal. An earlier scene has a pair of bums – Buck Flowers and Carmen Filip, forever type-cast – attempting to drink the urn of Norman's ashes, mistaking it for a liquor bottle. The opening montage establishes a flippant tone, aggravatingly self-aware of its own corniness. This is consistent throughout, resulting in a “Psycho” spin-off that feels like an episode of “Three's Company” or something. 

It is a very odd tone to attach to what is ostensibly a sequel to one of the all-time great horror films. It is far from the only odd choice made here. The perspective “Bates Motel” series would have featured something like a “Fantasy Island” or “Love Boat” type set-up. While Alex and Billie would presumably be reoccurring characters, a new motel guest every week would bring with them a new B-plot. This element of “Bates Motel” doesn't appear until the movie is half-way over, after nearly an hour devoted to Alex buying and refurbishing the motel. The result is a lumpily paced film that randomly introduces a new story in the last third. The plot itself is of debatable merit. Khrystyne Haje is a suicidal woman whose depression manifests more as bursts of moping, that quickly turn around when people are nice to her. She encounters a group of partying teenagers with a strangely fifties style about them. It's obvious immediately that these kids are ghosts, youngsters who took their own lives and have returned from the great beyond to convince someone on the edge to do otherwise. The script approaches a very morose premise with nothing but a detached sentimentality, making it clear that a depression so crushing that someone considers ending themselves was not being taking very seriously. Sling-shoting from the slapstick comedy of the first half to the maudlin, if deeply insincere, melodrama of the second is baffling

I suppose one must also consider the validity of the premise, of the Bates Motel becoming a nexus point of supernatural activity. I mean, stupider premises have supported longer running shows. However, a nostalgic party of ghostly teens does seem like an odd companion piece to a story of serial murder and repressed sexuality. The other horror element of the film does feature a approximation of Mrs. Bates, wielding a knife. The conclusion of which is rather “Scooby-Doo”-ish, in both execution and resolution. Whether Alex and Billie could support a weekly series is also questionable. The recently passed Bud Cort, with his diminutive form and bug eyes, could easily bring an air of weirdo menace to the part. Instead, he plays Alex as almost childish in his naivety, such a pure soul that it's weird when you remember the character is already a murderer. Lori Petty plays Billie and it's the typical kind of role you got Lori Petty for. The character is a textbook Manic Pixie Dream Girl, existing only to uplift a socially awkward guy. Petty's always charming eccentric energy is a plus though. A scene where the two share a kiss is one of the few moments when I feel like I was watching actual human beings in “Bates Motel.” 

One cannot be surprised that “Bates Motel” would fail to go to series. The entire film is so stiflingly ill-conceived that I'm a little surprised it made it to air at all. I was left being reminded of the “Star Wars Holiday Special,” a made-for-TV spin-off of a beloved and highly influential film franchise that, rather than attempt to adapt the original's tone to the medium, sticks it within the crushing constraints of then television cliches. It even ends with a fourth wall break, furthering the campy TV artifact atmosphere. Perhaps some musical numbers or unsubtitled Wookie shenanigans would have enlivened this. Unlike that notorious piece of television, Universal has made no efforts to suppress “Bates Motel's” existence. It used to re-air on the Sci-Fi Channel with some regularity and has remained in-print on DVD. And eventually someone did launch a successful “Psycho” TV show named “Bates Motel,” though it was more connected to the film. Now, whether I would rather watch this again or endure more serialized genre television tedium is a question I would rather not consider... [3/10]
 

 

Dead of Night: Return Flight
 

Another partially lost BBC horror short-runner from the seventies, the two episodes of “Dead of Night” I previously wrote about are among the eeriest horror television I've ever seen. “Return Flight” is the last of the series' installments know to still exist. It concerns Captain Hamish Rolph, an airline pilot whose wife has recently died. On a late night flight, he must suddenly steer the plane to avoid colliding with another plane... He seems to think it was a WWII bomber but that couldn't be possible, could it? His boss and friend Frank Warley tries to check on Hamish's mental health. He longs for his dead wife, resents his absent daughter, and is nostalgic for his brief days as a pilot in the war. He's also having reoccurring visions of events from the Blitz, as if the past is interrupting the present. Further investigation shows that a landing strip used to exist near where Hamish had his incident. This has deadly consequences. 

From the episodes that remain, it is clear that “Dead of Night” represented an extremely British style of horror story. Namely, one that favored foreboding atmosphere over any loud shocks or visceral thrills. The chills “The Exorcism” and “A Woman Sobbing” generated existed almost entirely in the realm of implication. Both episodes created an unsettling feeling by focusing in on a protagonist's journeys. They also made the limited settings of a British television budget work for them, creating an enclosing sense of isolation. “Return Flight” is similarly low-key in its attempts at scares. This is an hour mostly devoted to people standing around in rooms and talking. There are no attacking ghosts or obviously disturbing visions. The horror of the situation does not reveal itself until the final scene, which is delivered with the same understated dryness that you expect from those Brits and their stiff-upper-lips. 

Peter Barksworth gives a good performance as Hamish, subtly conveying the complicated mixture of grief and bitterness his wife's death awoke in him. Like many an older gentlemen, he longs for his youth. In particular, he longs for a glorious wartime experience he never got to live out. The war ended right after Hamish got drafted, denying him the chance to kill Nazis or die on the battle field. It's an interesting idea but “Return Flight” is sadly too understated. We are not fully allowed into the protagonist's mind. We only get brief mentions of his absent daughter. Or of how the memory of his wife's first husband hung over their marriage. The script is mostly about other people talking about the man's history. The episode would've done better to actually show us these things. Or, at least, give us more of a peek into the lonely life the man is now living. 

Also in keeping with the style of BBC ghost stories, “Return Flight” never outright explains the circumstances of what is happening. Clearly, this is a story about the past lingering around and refusing to stay dead. This was also true of “The Exorcism” and “A Woman Sobbing,” both tales of past spirits taking control of or beckoning to the living. (From what information we have about the lost episodes, it sounds like this was true of most of “Dead of Night.”) However, those scripts married the premise to themes of class inequality or feminine isolation. “Return Flight” can't quite make the same point about boomer idealization of the golden age or the scars World War II left on London. The result is an installment where it feels like nothing much happens, delivered in such a manner as to feel dull. A little bit of tension rises in the lead-up to the final note, getting at the idea of professionals trying to stay calm and not panic as the situation begins to spiral out of control. Exactly what you would expect the feeling on an airplane about to drop out of the sky to be. “Return Flight” needed more of that. [5/10]

Friday the 13th: The Series: Hellowe'en
 

Every TV show with even a little bit of a spooky vibe about it should do at least one Halloween themed episode. “Friday the 13th: The Series” got to it pretty early, by the fifth broadcast. Ryan throws a Halloween party in the antique's shop. Micki is a little uncertain about having so many people In the building but is reassured that all the evil objects are safely kept in the vault. Jack entertains the guests before some trouble-makers sneak into the aforementioned vault of evil. They awaken a ghastly presence: The ghost of Uncle Lewis. He tricks Micki and Ryan into grabbing a pendent that makes his spirit flesh. With the assistance of a mischievous imp sidekick, Lewis or the demon impersonating him attempts to fulfill a diabolic ritual before the sun rises. 

Five episodes in was definitely too early for “Friday the 13th” to set a story within its own collection of horrific artifacts. The heroes haven't been collecting them for that long! Despite that, Curious Goods is the best location the show has and I don't blame the producers for wanting to take advantage of that. The place looks cooler yet when decked out for a Halloween party. Once again, the scenes of Jack simply vamping in a silly costume and intoning about some bullshit like Tarot or Arthurian lore is the most entertaining element of the show. A shot of a glowing crystal ball or fog billowing across the location's floor, while Jack-O-Lanterns and costumed revelers are near-by, is this show reaching “The Haunted Mansion” levels of corny Halloween vibes. I approve of that. 

Unfortunately, “Friday the 13th: The Series” does not build the entire episode around its Halloween party premise. In fact, that side of the story and most of the October 31st energy is abandoned once Uncle Lewis' ghost shows up. I like the idea of the show centering its nebulous collection of threats around a single villain. Uncle Lewis immediately turning evil after coming back as a spirit seems to run counter to his crisis of conscience in the first episode. I do enjoy R.G. Armstrong getting a chance to ham it up a bit. This is the sole credit of Victoria Deslaurier, the short actress who plays the demonic little person. She's having a good time but I always feel a little bad when a small person gets cast as some sort of fantasy creature. There are some amusing shenanigans in this one, such as when Micki almost gets cremated alive. Jack and Uncle Lewis' ghost have a chant-off at the end, which made me chuckle. I do like how the final scene builds on the lore a little – Jack was in love with Lewis' wife – and ominously points towards the impending Friday the 13th as some sort of climatic event. [6/10]

 

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]