Halloween 2023: September 30th

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958)

Ray Harryhausen really became a star of special effects technology through the series of black-and-white creature features he made for Columbia Pictures in the fifties. “20 Million Miles to Earth,” “Earth Vs. the Flying Saucers,” and “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms” are monster kid classics. Yet one suspects that maybe Ray was a little tired of the stock monster movie plots of these films. Perhaps, he wanted to do something more epic. After all, the wonder and awe Harryhausen's trademark “DynaMation” techniques inspired in audiences would serve the mythic genre. Thus, a new phase in Harryhausen's career would begin with “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.” Now, including this movie in a Halloween marathon is a little bit of a cheat... But it's got crazy monsters attacking people and that's good enough for me.

While on the way back to Baghdad, to marry his girlfriend Princess Parisa, Sinbad the Sailor and his crew stop by on the island of Colossa. There, sorcerer Sokurah is having some trouble with an angry cyclops stealing his magic lamp. Sokurah blackmails Sinbad into returning him to Colossa by shrinking Parisa and saying that egg shells from the massive Roc bird are the only thing that can reverse the spell. This is a ruse, of course, as Sokurah is only interested in the magic lamp. Sinbad endeavors to escape the island's various monsters, rescue the princess, and defeat the evil magician. 

Despite the title, “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” draws more from some of Sinbad's other voyage. The bits with the Roc come mostly from the second and fifth voyages while the Cyclops is drawn partially from the third adventure. Otherwise, “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” is an intriguing amalgamation of different cultural mythologies. A sequence where Sinbad has to block his ears while his mutinous crew are lured by singing demons on a coast recalls Odysseus and the Sirens. The way the cyclops is blinded also recalls “The Odyssey.” The genie in the magic lamp is a generic middle eastern fantasy trope largely taken from other “One Thousand and One Nights” stories. The plot is a standard fantasy adventure set-up, with an evil sorcerer, a dashing hero, and a damsel in distress. It's interesting that such a Westernized premise is being brought to a traditionally Middle-Eastern story, with characters that openly talk about Allah and Celiphates. 

Considering this type of set-up, it's not surprising that “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” functions largely in archetypes. Sinbad, as played by the stout-chinned Kerwin Mathews, is an always virtuous swashbuckling good guy who consistently makes the right decisions and never fails to overcome any challenges. His love with Princess Parisa is defined solely by emotional purity, without a shred of sexual tension between them. She's played by Kathryn Grant, the future Mrs. Bing Crosby, who has the exact girl-next-door purity you'd expect. Meanwhile, Torin Thatcher's Sokurah is only missing a mustache to twirl to be an obviously villainous swindler and power-hungry schemer. “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” operates in these kind of immediately recognizable, storybook tropes probably because it was largely intended for children... But it supports the idea that the movie is a fairy tale writ large, an adaptation of an ancient plot meant to invoke those same sort of universal feelings. 

All of this is interesting but it doesn't point towards the reason people remember “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.” Harryhausen's stop-motion work had a way of taking over every movie it was in. The satyr-like cyclops has become iconic, with its perpetually sneer, pimply skin, horned head and pointed ears. Yet I think I like the two-headed Roc and the quadrupedal dragon from the final act the most. Each of these creatures move in a stunningly life-like fashion, with realistic quirks that lend each of them a personality of their own. The dragon, with the way its chained up and pushed along by Sokurah, makes me think of an abused attack dog. The film also features a single living skeleton warrior, the prototype for the far more famous skeleton army in “Jason and the Argonauts.” I can see why audiences latched onto that guy, as he's pretty cool.

“The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” would be a hit for Harryhausen and Colombia, prompting the animator to bring his “DynaMation' effects to a string of other family-friendly fantasies. This would, fifteen years later, include two more “Sinbad” movies. The gap makes it hard to call those sequels exactly but it's clear that Harryhausen knew the Sinbad stories were a rich source for filmmakers. Without Harryhausen's effects, “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” would probably hold little interest. With them, it becomes a simply magical adventure that enchants and entertains to this day. [7/10]

Subspecies 4: Bloodstorm (1998)

During the Video Zone featurette for “Subspecies III,” Charles Band referred to the third installment as the last film in the series. This is despite a fairly open-ended conclusion that hardly wrapped up Michelle's story. In that same documentary, Band acknowledges that, if enough fans demand it, a fourth movie might be made... This apparently proved to be the case, as “Subspecies 4: Bloodstorm” would arrive on video shelves in 1998. Of course, the Full Moon Pictures of the late nineties was not the same beast it was earlier in the decade. Band was making about half the amount of movies he was during the company's heyday. David Allen's charming stop-motion effects had been replaced by super cheap rod puppets and lots of stock footage. A desire for theatrical equivalent looks on a direct-to-video budget gave way to increasingly limited sets. This drop of production values is all too apparent when you watch “Subspecies 4” directly after its immediate predecessors. 

Last we left them, Radu's flaming corpse was impaled on a tree and Michelle had been zipped up in a body bag by her sister and their friend from the American embassy. In the tradition of lackluster sequels, “Bloodstorm” quickly undoes these plot points in as sloppy a fashion as possible. Becky and Mel die in an off-screen car crash, while Michelle is discovered by Ana, a female doctor, and taken to a local clinic. Radu, meanwhile, just kind of scurries out of the sunlight and back into his crypt, despite being very dead last time. Anyway, Dr. Niculescu, a vampire who has augmented his condition with science, attempts to cure Michelle. Yet it's not long before Radu is trying to lure her back to the dark side. Soon, the vampire prince is seeking support from Ash and his followers, his fledglings introduced in “Vampire Journals.” Power plays between the vampires ensue as Michelle holds onto the last shred of her humanity. 

It's not as if the writing in the previous two “Subspecies” movies were especially deep or anything but we did care about Becky and Mel. Part four beginning by killing them in an especially lackadaisical manner gets the film off on a sour note. Without an established human heroine and leading man to focus on, “Bloodstorm” occupies itself with increasingly inane subplots. It's hard to be too invested in Ioana Abur's Ana, as she wanders into the story early on and is never given time to be properly developed. Dr. Niculescu is obviously evil and his alliances seem to shift from scene to scene. A sequence devoted to him creeping on a sleeping Ana seems like an especially blatant attempt to pad out the story. “Bloodstorm” also brings back Ian Haiduc as the eccentric Lt. Martin, now a vampire in a subplot that goes absolutely nowhere.

The sequel developing such uninspired threads as these is further proof that Ted Nicolaou and the gang didn't have many ideas for a fourth “Subspecies” installment. Intertwining the cast of “Subspecies” and “Vampire Journals” is a natural enough idea, as they are both set in the same world. Yet all this does is occupy “Bloodstorm” with the same sort of tiresome undead politics that filled “Vampire Journals'” runtime. Radu barges into Ash's lair, demands to be given a place to stay and hot babes to suck. Ash is Radu's fledgling, so he's compelled to obey but annoyed by the request. That's why he sends Serena in as a double agent, seducing Radu and earning his trust. By the time Radu is asking for control of Ash's criminal enterprises, this shit could not get more perfunctory. 

Another clear example of “Subspecies 4” running on fumes is Radu and Michelle's relationship. Denice Duff spends the first half of the movie laying on a slab, partially catatonic. When Radu attempts to capture her from the hospital, the movie briefly becomes interesting... Before settling back into the old routine of Radu attempting to make Michelle his perfect vampire mate. This is more-or-less the same pattern that played out in “Subspecies II” and “III,” causing “Bloodstorm” to feel fairly repetitive. Yet it's also the most interesting thing about the sequel, if only because we actually have investment in these two. Anders Hove's strange, smoldering intensity and Duff's mixture of vulnerability and sensuality make these moments easy to watch, played out as this particular dynamic might be.

“Subspecies 4: Bloodstorm” ends in such a way as to assure audiences that Radu is really most sincerely dead. One imagines that Ted Nicolaou made it this way so as to prevent Charles Band from roping him into another installment further down the line. Considering the minuscule budgets Band was working with at this point in his career, it's not surprising that “Bloodstorm” is short on the authentic locations and gothic atmosphere of the previous three. There's some cool shots of shadows gliding over buildings but I think some of them might be stock footage. “Subspecies III's” ending was far from conclusive but part four's uninspired content makes it clear there wasn't much anywhere else to take this story. This is more a tepid epilogue than a grand finale. [4/10]

One Step Beyond: Emergency Only

Being a supernatural anthology series that purported to draw its stories from true accounts, several episodes of “One Step Beyond” feature premonitions. In fact, both the second and third installments focused on visions of the future. In “Emergency Only,” the latter, Arthur Douglas is enjoying a dinner party at a friend's apartment. A woman named Ellen Larrabee is said to have a party trick: The ability to see future events, usually tragedies. Falling into a trance, she sees Arthur getting on a train, meeting a pretty woman, encountering a snake, and dying in a collision. Arthur dismisses it but, after his flight is delayed and he's forced to catch a train, he finds the premonition seems to be coming true after all.

“Emergency Only” is the second highest rated episode of “One Step Beyond” on IMDb. At first, I attribute this to a prominent role for Jocelyn Brando, Marlo's older sister and an actor of some renown herself. (She's pretty good in her one scene, for what it's worth.) Initially, the episode proceeds quite drolly. Arthur is told at a party that certain things are going to happen. They then proceed to happen, in an orderly fashion, without much deviation from the forewarning. Each prediction coming true is followed by a dramatic musical sting and a repeat of Ellen's vision in voice-over, in an attempt to build suspense. It feels a little like someone telling us that they are going to do a thing and then being forced to watch while they do exactly what they announced. Not very exciting, right? 

Yet, as it stretches on, “Emergency Only” does start to build a bit of tension. This is largely thanks to Lin McCarthy's performance as Arthur. After he encounters a distinctive woman with a snake-shaped ring on the train, he starts to sweat. He gets increasingly frenzied as he fears his fate might have been sealed. It helps that Paula Raymond, as the eye-catching lady passenger, has no idea why McCarthy is freaking out so much. This results in “Emergency Only” actually getting a little suspenseful on its way to a very predictable ending. And every time I watch an episode of this show, I'm reminded why sleepy, cordial John Newland is not remembered in the same breath as other anthology show hosts like Rod Serling or Alfred Hitchcock. He's so bland! But the episode's not bad. [6/10]

The Munsters: Herman, Coach of the Year / Happy 100th Anniversary

The relationship among the Munsters family come into focus in this two sets of episodes. “Herman, Coach of the Year” begins with Eddie returning home from school, despondent. The other kids on the track team are mocking him by calling him “lead foot.” Herman decides to train the boy to be the best runner he can, while Grandpa conspires to use magic to improve Eddie's chances. “Happy 100th Anniversary” has Herman and Lily both attempting to surprise each other for the titular celebration. They withdraw money from the bank at the same time to buy a gift for each other, resulting in both checks being rescinded. Lily and Herman, totally unaware, both take secret night jobs at a shipyard to afford a gift. Shenanigans ensue. 

“Herman, Coach of the Year” represents “The Munsters” at its broadest, which is no small feat. Wacky physical gags take up most of the episode. You're going to see Herman smash through numerous structures and bop himself over the head multiple times here. The effects of Grandpa's magic on Eddie, a stray cat, and the track team's reaction to Herman also results in typical silliness. Among the better jokes is the reaction of an incredulous husband after his wife's car gets repeatedly pleated by the objects Herman throws. 

What I found most interesting about this episode is Herman and Grandpa's opposing approaches to victory. The father believes that hard-work and training is the only honorable way to win a competition, while the vampire thinks winning at all cost – including doping with advantage-boosting pills – is what's important. It's a good thing Mockingbird Heights Elementary School doesn't do random drug test on their student athletes, I guess. Then again, Herman does have a past as a professional baseball player, so maybe the school would expect his son to excel at athletics... 

“Happy 100th Anniversary” has about the most sitcommy premise a sitcom could have. From the minute Herman and Lily both secretly plan to buy the other an anniversary gift, it's clear this is going to progress in an O. Henry, “Gift of the Magi” style direction. “The Munsters” being the kind of show it is, this premise is taken to its absolute most absurd extreme. Herman and Lily getting the exact same job, where they just happen to have their faces covered, under the exact same circumstances, would push plausibility in a show that didn't star monsters. Luckily, the script plays up the ridiculousness of the scenario, leading to a unlikely payoff and cute resolution. Honestly, the best joke here might involve a random scene of Grandpa torturing some marshmallows though. [Herman, Coach of the Year: 6/10 / Happy 100th Anniversary: 7/10]

Halloween 2023: September 29th

Suicide Club (2001)

Every time it happens, people wonder why. How can a person so young, with their whole lives in front of them and unlimited possibilities, kill themselves? And yet it happens, over and over again. Artists and filmmakers have long grappled with these questions. Japan, in particular, is a country with a complicated relationship with the idea of someone taking their own life. Samurai tradition wraps the act up in certain glorified terms. Modern societal pressures, notorious in a culture obsessed with perfection and responsibility, have led to a high suicide rate among the young and old. I'm not surprised that this cultural obsession produced a horror movie entirely centered on the idea. “Suicide Club” is the film that would bring Sion Sono fame and attention around the world and make him one of the most distinctive filmmakers of the wave of Japanese directors making a name for themselves in the new millennium. 

On May 27th, 2001, fifty-four Japanese school girls leap off a subway platform and into the path of an oncoming train. Others suicides soon follow, young people especially taking their own lives in very public manners. The police – especially the three detectives on the case, Kuroda, Shibusawa, and Murata – are baffled. They receive anonymous tips from a computer hacker, linking the deaths to a strange website. Phone calls from a wheezing child provide cryptic clues. Lengths of human skin, stitched together from multiple sources, turn up at the crime scenes. As the cops try and figure out the source to this epidemic of suicide, a student named Mitsuko begins her own investigation.

“Suicide Club” is clearly a film saying specific things about Japanese culture, that probably go over my ignorant American head. Yet some themes are universal. An eeriness floats over all of Sono's film. As much as these places – schools, apartments, subway stations – look familiar, there's something distinctly wrong about how they feel. All these people are close together yet no one seems to actually hear each other. There's little in the way of genuine communication here. People speak in vague terms, their emotions just under the surface. Interactions are strained and awkward. People seek pleasure in hollow distractions like bubblegum pop music or internet chat rooms. Yet it brings them no closer to legitimate human connections. Few concrete answers are provided to the film's mysteries but the overwhelming sense of isolation that floats over all of it seems the most likely answer to the cycle of deaths.

Like many horror films that came out of Japan around this time, “Suicide Club” does not have a straight-forward plot. Its story follows multiple subplots all at once, few of them ever coming to any sort of traditional climax. The characters are kept vague, their personalities and backstories often only hinted at. As “Suicide Club” winds closer to its conclusion, a new question is raised for every one that is answered. This type of storytelling is liable to frustrate and annoy some viewers, especially as the origins of the film's threat is never totally defined. Yet, if you're willing to go along with “Suicide Club's” uneasy atmosphere and stream-of-consciousness plotting, you're likely to get a lot out of it. 

And even if you can't get your brain around “Suicide Club's” story and themes, the movie does offer something else: Seriously fucked-up gore. The film's opening barrage of death is a grisly statement-of-purpose. The exaggerated squelching noises and exploding heads can't help but feel like an act of outrageous gore comedy. Yet the intensity with which teenage blood flies through the air is furious. “Suicide Club” somehow manages to make every gory set-piece that follows equally startling. Teenagers leaping spontaneously from the roof of their high school, a mom preparing dinner chopping her fingers off, and a stand-up comic stabbing himself on-stage all straddle this uncomfortable line between shock humor and genuinely unsettling horror. Even when the special effects are far from perfect – as they frequently are – the ferocity with which the film deploys its violence remains impressive. 

One of the strangest things about “Suicide Club” is the role music plays in the movie. A pop group made of prepubescent girls called Dessert – as in something sweet and frothy – is heard all throughout the movie. Their upbeat, insanely catchy music fits right in with any J-Pop bands, while their strange lyrics point at something darker. A central scene in the film has a wannabe glam-rock cult leader singing an interesting number while strumming on his guitar. Sono directs all of these sequences with the same visual preciseness as the gore moments, making “Suicide Club” into an oddball musical of sorts. This contrasts with the almost total lack of a traditional score, these silences and musical numbers playing off each other in interesting ways. 

J-Horror from the turn of the century is, in general, known for being one of two things. Dream-like plotting that was heavy on the ambiance and mysteries and grotesque violence. “Suicide Club” manages to exists in both of these modes, the two complimenting each other in interesting ways. Whether this combo works for you is a matter of taste but I found myself sucked in by Sono's disturbing, beguiling movie. [8/10]

Vampire Journals (1997)

Ted Nicolaou has made a lot of movies for Charles Band. His association with the producer goes back to his Empire Pictures days, where Nicolaou would direct cult favorites like “The Dungeonmaster” and “TerrorVision.” He made “Bad Channels” during the Full Moon era, alongside a number of flicks for Band's kiddie label, Moonbeam. (Including a duo of films devoted to disturbingly realistically duck people.) Yet, out of all the work he would do under the auspice of this producer, it's clear that the “Subspecies” movies were his baby. He wrote the scripts for each one, in addition to directing, clearly showing an affection for these characters and the world they inhabit. This commitment would make itself even more obvious when, in 1997, Nicolaou would actually direct a spin-off to the “Subspecies” movies. Yes, “Vampire Journals” is set in the world of Radu and the Bloodstone, without centering on either of them. I'm not sure anyone was demanding such a thing but here we are. 

The vampire writing these journals is named Zachary. Two hundred years ago, he witnessed the woman he loved turned into a bloodsucker by the same undead master that sired him. Developing a conscious, he decapitated them both. Wielding a magical sword, he's spent the century hunting down and executing every member of the same vampiric bloodline. In the modern day, he's pursuing a powerful vampire named Ash. Ash has set his sights on beautiful concert pianist Sofia, determined to bring her under his spell. Zachary instantly becomes enamored of Sofia as well, seeking to protect her from his bloodthirsty enemy. He navigates the seedy underworld of vampire society in hopes of saving Sofia and destroying Ash.

I've said numerous times that the lore and backstory of the “Subspecies” movies is absolute bullshit. Truly, does anyone actually care about the origins of the Bloodstone, its nebulous powers, or the convoluted in-fighting of the Vladislav clan? An utterly committed cast, likable characters, fast pacing, and a degree of campy excess allowed the first three entries in the series to overcome these shortcomings. “Vampire Journals,” only being adjacent to the proper “Subspecies” movies, lacks many of these positive qualities. This is a movie exclusively concerned with vampires brooding in darkened rooms, while wearing fancy clothes, contemplating their long histories, and bemoaning their conditions as immortally beautiful bloodsuckers. With far too many named characters, each with their own uninteresting subplots, “Vampire Journals” plays out like a painfully slow and drab undead melodrama. 

No matter how goofy the movies might get, we at least cared about charismatically evil Radu and his reluctant fledgling, Michelle. None of the characters in “Vampire Journals” are that interesting. Our protagonist, Zachary, is kind of a whiny dork honestly. If most of Full Moon's movies can be described as knock-offs of bigger budget films, “Vampire Journals” is obviously inspired by “Interview with the Vampire.” But David Gunn is no Brad Pitt. The voice-over narration he reads off is often uninteresting, sometimes simply describing what's happening on-screen, and it goes on for quite some length. Similarly, without Radu's grotesque appearance and Anders Hove's bewildering charm, Jonathon Morris as Ash strikes the viewer as a fairly dull antagonist. He's just another asshole vampire, doing asshole vampire things. 

By the late nineties, Full Moon's deal with Paramount Pictures had fallen through. This caused most of the movies the company made to be extremely low-budget, low rent schlock without even the humble production values that made their glory days notable. That continues to be true to this very day. Despite being made after Full Moon went into decline, “Vampire Journals” at least looks decent. This is still a Romanian co-production, meaning much of the movie takes place among genuine Budapest locations. Even if a sprawling amphitheater and vintage casino aren't as cool as ancient castles and ruins, they do add something to the movie. Moreover, Nicolaou and his team do their best to ensure “Vampire Journals” at least looks decent. Shadows and fog are used nicely throughout, providing a pinch of decent atmosphere. Even if the majority of the movie is still devoted to vampires angsting and arguing among themselves. 

At the very least, “Vampire Journals” only features a little bit of the dodgy special effects that would increasingly define Band's latter day productions. There's also a fair amount of sex and nudity, if that kind of thing interests you. Sadly, “Vampire Journals” is a bit of a snooze. Its archetypal, and frequently whiny, characters do little to endear themselves to the viewer. The story's melodrama is not particularly novel or compelling. Most of the supporting cast members and subplots introduced feel more like a way to pad out of the (short, 81 minute) runtime than anything else. It's far from the worst movie to creep out of the Full Moon factory in the last twenty-six years. Honestly, by those meager standards, it might be one of better movies they've made. However, it's still only going to interest those vamp-heads most desperate for some bloodsucking content to occupy themselves. This one really needed a mummy or some little stop-motion demons, let me tell you. [5/10]

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: Man from the South

Among the many episodes of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” a few penetrated deeper into the pop culture zeitgeist. I've long been curious about the season five episode, “Man from the South,” for two reasons. First off, it's one of seven installments written by Roald Dahl, based on his own short stories. (And later adapted again for Dahl's own anthology series, “Tales of the Unexpected.”) Secondly, and most pressingly, the episode was extensively referenced in Quentin Tarantino's segment in “Four Rooms.” I've never actually seen “Man from the South” before now, so I say it's about time I remedy that. 

For those who don't recall, “Man from the South” centers around a young gambler, attempting to chat up a pretty young lady in a Las Vegas bar. That's when a strange man named Carlos approaches him with a bargain. If he can successfully light his cigarette lighter ten times in a row, he'll win the other man's convertible. If he fails, Carlos will chop his pinkie finger off with a meat cleaver. The gambler takes the bet but soon finds himself wondering if it was a good idea. A passerby is called upon to serve as witness, while a bellboy provides the necessary tools. 

“Man from the South” is not among the episodes of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” actually directed by Hitch himself. Norman Lloyd, a frequent producer and somewhat less frequent director on the series, handled this one. Despite that, Lloyd acquits himself well with the material. There's little music here, forcing the audience to focus largely on the characters as they tersely discuss the deal they've made. The camera focuses in on the details of the situation, on the nails hammered into the board, the string tied around the gambler's hand to hold it still. The scenario creates suspense so naturally. Every time the protagonist goes to activate the lighter, you can't help but tighten up a little at what might happen. The meat cleaver is raised before each flick, never letting us forget what is at stake here.

After such a captivating set-up, and such a tense execution, it's somewhat inevitable that “Man from the South” has a slightly disappointing ending. The denouncement deflates things a bit, even if it leads to one of Dahl's typically morbid twist endings. (Revealed perfectly in the final image.) Yet the performances really sell the entire ordeal. Peter Lorre, looking as toad-like as ever, plays Carlos with a perfectly detached psychopathy. He calmly proposes the morbid deal, going about each step – including bribing the bellboy to get the necessary tools – while speaking quietly. Steve McQueen is ideally cast as the young gambler, perfectly capturing a sense of youthful cockiness while also hinting at the apprehension he's surely feeling. An eye-catching Neile Adams is also wisely chosen as the female witness, whose horrified reactions help further the tension. I can see why Tarantino remembered this episode so vividly. It's an effecting half-hour, framed as always by sardonically droll host segments from Hitchcock himself. [7/10]

The Munsters: Bronco Bustin' Munster / Herman Munster, Shutterbug

It seems many episodes of “The Munsters” began with the writers' room looking at what occupations they hadn't stuck Herman in yet and advancing from there. “Bronco Bustin' Munster” begins with Eddie excitedly telling his dad about a contest at a local rodeo, to last several minutes on a bucking bronco. Determined his father can pull off such a task, and afraid to disappoint his son, Herman and and Grandpa cook up a wacky scheme where the vampire will transform himself into a horse for his son-in-law to ride.”Herman Munster, Shutterbug” sees the undead dad taking up photography as a hobby. While out snapping photos, he unknowingly snaps a shot of two robbers leaving the bank they just robbed. The two crooks show up at the home, holding the family hostage in order to snatch the incriminating photograph.

“Bronco Bustin' Munster” looks like it'll be another episode largely devoted to normal people reacting in outrageous fright from the family's macabre appearances. There's one gag like that, of a rodeo cowboy being thrown from a bull and then willing throwing himself back onto the bull after seeing Lily Munster. (Which is accomplished by playing the footage in reverse.) Otherwise, the laughs here come from Herman's childish personality and Grandpa's goofy scheme. A long scene involves the old man turning into different animals. Probably the funniest moment comes when Herman talks to a random horse, thinking it's Grandpa, and when the vampire unknowingly turns back into his human-like form. The pay-off of this set-up – Herman successfully staying on the bronco, unaware that it's not Grandpa and unknowingly proving his bravery – is totally expected. Yet, as always, I enjoy watching this cast and these characters pull it off. 

If the first of these two episodes isn't quite as heavy on broad physical gags, “Herman Munster, Shutterbug” more than makes up for it. The sequence devoted to Herman taking photographs around a park results in two different people fleeing in overblown terror from him. Once the crooks show up at 1313 Mockingbird Lane, it doesn't take long for them to realize the family is more intimidating than they are. These jokes are easy to predict, so only have so much comedic value. However, the exact way Grandpa tricks the robbers is worth a chuckle. Memorable character actors Joe De Santis and Herbie Faye are, if nothing else, well cast as the rapscallions. Overall, not the sharpest two episodes of this show, though the first is preferable. If nothing else, both these episodes give Spot the pet dragon some amusing moments. [Bronco Bustin' Munster: 6/10 / Herman Munster, Shutterbuy: 5/10] 

Halloween 2023: September 28th

Strangers on a Train (1951)

Nowadays, Patricia Highsmith is associated with urbane, psychological thriller novels that explore the darker impulses of higher society living, often with a focus on meticulous killers or homoerotic undertones. In other words, she was exactly the kind of storyteller you'd expect Alfred Hitchcock to appreciate. Back in 1951, however, people barely knew who Highsmith was. Her first novel, “Strangers on a Train,” was published just the year before. The book clearly caught Hitchcock's eye. He purchased the film rights to the novel without disclosing his name, to keep the asking price fairly low. After “Strangers on a Train” was released to commercial success – and, after the initially middling reviews faded, the reputation of a classic – Highsmith was supposedly quite annoyed. Yet, I imagine, the fame of having your name attached to one of cinema's greatest directors probably helped Highsmith sell a lot more books in time.

Tennis pro Guy Haines is currently caught in a highly publicized scandal. Everyone knows that he's dating Anne Morten, the daughter of a senator. That includes his wife, Miriam. While on a train ride, he happens to encounter an eccentric man named Bruno Antony. Bruno, who is under the thumb of his dictatorial father, suggests the two “exchange” murders. That Bruno kills Miriam and then Guy knocks off Bruno's dad. Guy is disgusted by the idea, even though Miriam refusing to grant him a divorce makes him wish she was dead. Bruno goes ahead with the deal anyway, hunting Miriam down and strangling her to death. When Guy is reluctant to fulfil his end of this bargain, Bruno goes about framing him for the crime and blackmailing him into committing the killing. 

Probably my favorite of Alfred Hitchcock's reoccurring quirks and obsessions was his perverse desire to get the audience to relate to a murderer. “Rope” and “Psycho” created sympathetic killers with deeply Freudian fixations pushing them to kill. “Frenzy” simply forced the audience to align with the strangler, by giving them no other option. “Strangers on a Train” represents something of a compromise between these two approaches. Bruno is clearly a conniving psychopath from the minute we meet him. Yet he's undeniably charismatic too, Robert Walker's performance have a certain poise to it. If nothing else, Bruno is more likable than Guy, a blustering and short-tempered fellow who is badgering a woman shortly after he's introduced. He's clearly the hero, and gets more sympathetic the further into Bruno's sick game he's drawn into. Yet the audience can't help but gravitate towards Bruno, just because he's more interesting.

There's another layer to the relationship between the two men. Guy – whose very name implies upright maleness – is embroiled in a relationship with two women, leaving his heterosexuality in little doubt. Bruno, meanwhile, has his nails done by his mother. He lounges around his home in a bathrobe, resenting the traditional masculinity of his father. Eventually, Bruno's plot draws Guy into his bedroom. This is after the killer says to Guy, while touching his shoulder, “I like you.” It's evident that Bruno's latent queerness – played up by Walker's foppish performance – represents a threat to Guy's hetero existence. He has to repeatedly prove to the police that he didn't kill his wife, that he cherishes woman and doesn't regard them. Yet the dysfunction apparent in Guy's normative love life makes it clear that Bruno's life style is attractive, no matter how depraved he may be.

Its subversive themes aside, “Strangers on a Train” also represents Hitchcock at his strongest as a precise visualist. The film contains some of the most tightly designed shots of the director's career. The opening tracking shots of both men's shoes sets up the parallel between them immediately. The murderous man is often bathed in shadows, further suggesting the darker world he inhabits. One of the most brilliant moments in the film has Bruno appearing at one of Guy's tennis games, focusing in on his face in the crowd as he stares ahead in concentration, while everyone else watches the ball bounces back and forth. Robert Burks' cinematography indulges in a number of visual tricks, such as a punch right to the camera or askew angles to disorient the viewer.

No doubt the most spellbinding sequence in the film involves Bruno stalking Miriam through a carnival. The sequence is littered with sexual suggestion, with the woman seductively licking an ice cream cone or Bruno proving his potency by doing better at a carnival game than her dates. It climaxes with a legendary shot of a strangulation reflected in the fallen frames of her glasses. Hitchcock delights in misdirecting the audience, stretching the stalking scene as long as possible, hinting at the murder to come without satisfying that morbidity immediately. “Strangers on a Train” plays with this format out throughout its run time. When Guy descends the stairs in Bruno's home, the killer stretches his hand into a sewer grate to retrieve a distinctive lighter, or a heroic mechanic crawling under an out-of-control carousal, the screws are tightened. The suspense ratchets up. You remain riveted throughout, in anticipation to how this might play out.

The film is peppered with the director's puckish sense of humor too, represented mostly by the curious younger sister of Guy's girlfriend or the comedic straight man of the detectives pursuing him. The film's repeated use of rear projection repeatedly creates an artificial feeling to the proceedings, furthering the complete control over the visuals that the filmmakers have. I'm sure that all of the points I've made above have been studied and examined by film scholars better read than me. No director's filmography has been more overturned and dug into than Hitchcock's. Yet I'm continuing impressive by how damn good his movies are all these years, how effective his manipulations are even after they've been endlessly imitated and referenced. [9/10]

Bloodlust: Subspecies III (1994)

During the behind-the-scenes VideoZone featurette on "Subspecies II" – which I dutifully watched as part of my research while writing my review – actress Tracy Scoggins is interviewed. (She was promoting “Dollman Vs. Demonic Toys,” a totally different Full Moon movie.) There, she compares working for Charles Band to filming TV shows. Charlie was really cranking 'em out – he produced 13 movies in '94, through Full Moon and its sublabels – so I'm sure the pace was similar. I wonder if Band would've even questioned this comparison. “Bloodlust: Subspecies III” begins with a recap of the previous movie's events, similar to the “Previously on...” bumpers you'd see at the beginning of any serialized TV show at the time. Cut out the blood and boobs and the “Subspecies” movies wouldn't feel too out-of-place in-between “Tales from the Dark Side” and reruns of “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” 

“Bloodstone” concluded with Radu's mummified mother dragging Michelle back into the crypt. She quickly resurrects her vampiric son, who immediately gets back to work trying to turn Michelle into the perfect sire. She resists his plans at every turn. Her sister, Becky, is still in Transylvania. Working with Mel, the contact at the U.S. embassy she befriended, the two set out to rescue her seemingly cursed sister. He calls in a special ops agent to help them in that mission. But will it be enough to break Radu's bloody grip over Michelle? 

While I compared Full Moon movies to TV, I suspect Charles Band would rather have his work be more like comic books. (And if anyone could be called the Stan Lee of direct-to-video horror, it's him.) “Bloodlust” emphasizes the outrageous comic-style elements even more than the second one. Including a beret-sporting commando – amusingly given the mundane name of “Bob” – in the story feels exactly like something that would've happened in the anything-goes world of nineties comic book. That brings blazing machine guns, a grappling hook, and a magic dagger flying through the air. When the sequel climaxes with maybe the most grisly gore gags in the entire series, that mood is further sealed. 

As campy as “Subspecies III” gets at times, the primary focus here remains to the dysfunctional relationship between Radu and Michelle. Radu is clearly utterly enamored of Michelle, starring at her with absolute desire while reminding her frequently that he loves her. Yet, being a murderous vampire, Radu's idea of “love” means transforming Michelle into the perfectly subservient bloodsucker and he's willing to sacrifice as many random victims as possible to achieve that goal. Michelle rebuffs her would-be master every chance she gets, claiming she only wants to die and be freed of this curse. Yet she also clearly covets the powers her condition gives her and struggling with a newfound blood lust. Anders Hove, as raspy and whispery as ever, manages to make Radu even more expressive, strangely pathetic and sympathetic, than ever before. Denice Duff has a good mixture of vulnerability, confusion, and sexiness as Michelle. 

It's a good thing that “Subspecies III's” vampire melodrama is so compelling, as the sequel clearly has a smaller scale than its predecessor. There's less of the shadowy cinematography that distinguished part two. Most of the movie is set inside the same tombs and dusty, underground tunnels. There's fewer of the genuine castles and ruins that classed up the last two entries. Radu's stop-motion henchmen don't even appear until the very last scene of the movie. Yet, in spite of the obvious budgetary shortcomings, “Bloodlust” never feels any less fleet-footed or delightfully schlocky than the previous installments. Whatever flaws they may have, you've got to hand it to these classic Full Moon movies for getting in and out in under ninety minutes every time.

I guess what ultimately makes the “Subspecies” movies more distinctive and memorable than the middle “Puppet Master” sequels is the obvious investment director Ted Nicolaou and his cast have in this world and their characters. The plots are goofy nonsense, the mythology is deeply silly, and the relationships don't amount to much more than an undead soap opera. Yet “Bloodlust: Subspecies III” takes all this ridiculousness seriously, playing it straight, while also satisfying the cheap thrills and low budget, monster movie spectacle the audience has come to expect. Not as stylish or sturdy as “Bloodstone,” this is nevertheless a good time for horror fans nostalgic for 90s video store fair. [7/10]

Suspense: A Cask of Amontillado

As I discussed last year, many early television programs were based on popular radio shows. Much like “Lights Out,” “Suspense” was another horror/thriller anthology series popular during the Golden Age of Radio. In fact, it was one of the longest running, beginning in 1940 and lasting all the way up until 1962 on CBS Radio. Also like “Lights Out,” “Suspense” would make the leap to television in 1948. “Suspense” often distinguished itself by adapting stories by well-known authors, with recognizable actors in the cast. The TV version picked up this trend. A cursorily glance of the episodes brought me to “A Cask of Amontillado” starring Bela Lugosi, which was part of the televised “Suspense’s” second season. 

Since Poe’s original story is short on narrative, “Suspense” adds a lot in its adaptation. The setting is shifted to Italy during World War II. (Which, it’s important to note, was not long in the past in 1949.) Fortanato becomes a stable boy turned Nazi general, while Montressor is the count whose wife he has stolen and sister he has murdered. The count, well aware that the general intends to kill him next, concocts a scheme to trap Fortanato. He lures him down into the vaults under his family mansion, with the promise of tasting a rare Amontillado sherry. If you have any familiarity with Poe’s story, you can probably guess what happens next. 

The audience’s knowledge of this oft-told tale is presumably one reason why “Suspense’s” writers made so many changes to “A Cask of Amontillado.” The episode attempts to build, well, suspense by having Fortanato be an attempted murderer too, threatening to pull his luger on Montressor at any minute. This change, plus the contentious history between the men, also makes Montressor’s murderous actions more justifiable. If the guy getting walled up alive is a Nazi, and was a murdering scum bag even before he became a Nazi, it’s hard not to feel that he’s getting exactly what’s coming to him. Of course, this also removes much of the nasty bite from Poe’s story, which is made all the more disturbing because of its ambiguity. Poe’s “A Cask of Amontillado” is strikingly amoral, while this adaptation removes all that by making the man entombed a bastard and the man doing the entombing somewhat heroic. It even adds a framing device, of Montressor confessing his crime to the authorities, to make sure the audience is absolutely certain of the program’s moral center. 

While not a particularly good adaptation of Poe’s story, “A Cask of Amontillado” is still worth seeing. Largely for Bela Lugosi’s performance as General Fortanato. Obviously, while playing a drunken Nazi general/multiple murder, Bela happily hams it up to amusingly broad heights. Romney Brent is also interesting as Montressor, especially the noir-like narration he uses throughout. The limited budget here shows in the rather flimsy looking sets, such as a staircase which the actors simply walk around on to give the illusion that they are descending deeper into the castle. I find that effect kind of charming though. Similarly amusing are the ad breaks for Auto-Lite Spark Plugs, which are accompanied by whimsical animations and their own laid-back narrator. It must’ve been difficult to build tension when such light-hearted commercials were baked into the program. “A Cask of Amontillado” is mostly interesting as a relic of the early years of television but I’m glad I watched it anyway, for exactly that reason. [6/10]

The Munsters: Herman's Child Psychology / Herman, the Master Spy

Last Halloween, I reviewed all of “The Munsters'” first season. While nobody could ever call the show cutting-edge comedy, the combination of extremely corny humor, a benevolently spooky aesthetic, and an archetypal family dynamic scratched a specific itch for me. The show's first season was successful enough to beat rival series “The Addams Family” in the ratings. Television execs in the sixties didn't believe in shaking up a working formula, so not much changed as “The Munsters” headed into its second season in the fall of 1965... Except for the opening credit. The season two credits are scored to a more boisterous version of the theme song, featuring the family stepping onto their porch. The crash-zooms on the actor's face and the little gags here – Herman storming through the door, Eddie's giant baseball bat – arguably make this the iconic version of the intro. 

The second season kicks off with “Herman's Child Psychology.” A friend of Eddie's mentions wanting to run away from home. When Eddie decides to try the same thing, Herman attempts some reverse psychology on the boy, prompting him to run off. This results in the father going off to look for his boy, with unexpected circumstances. The family hits the beach in “Herman, the Master Spy.” They haven't to be there at the same time a Russian ship is spying on the American coast. While out scuba-diving, Herman is accidentally picked up by the Soviets, who mistake him first for a sea monster and then a spy. Once the U.S. government picks up this information, the stitched-together dad almost ends up causing an international incident. 

“Herman's Child Psychology” is a good example of how “The Munsters” takes a simple, sitcom scenario and slowly escalates it to more absurd places. What's starts off as a typical story of a kid running away from home ends up with Herman bringing an escaped circus bear home with him. When he runs into the mother bear while returning the cub, things go to an even sillier place. Being basically a live action cartoon, “The Munsters” can casually feature a smiling, grunting bear waltzing with a Frankenstein monster with no problem. Fred Gwynne's reactions to the little bear are priceless. This kind of freewheeling goofiness runs alongside genuinely sweet family shenanigans. The conversation Eddie and Herman have as the boy is leaving home is adorably amusing. As always, these kind of simple interactions probably wouldn't be laugh-worthy if the cast wasn't so laid-back and likable.

The first episode widely avoids “The Munsters'” most common running gag: Normal people reacting to the family going about their business with exaggerated horror. The second episode, “Herman, the Master Spy” is largely built around the contrast between the Munsters and quote-unquote normal humans. Yet, even then, there's an unexpected take on it. Instead of being horrified by him, the Russian spies immediately embrace Herman. They are dancing with him, singing songs, telling jokes, performing party tricks. Whether this is just a good bit of comedic subversion or a jab at how weird Americans were suppose to find Soviets in the sixties, I can't say. Either way, Fred Gwynne's utterly charming goofball antics go a long way in these scenes.

Certainly nobody watched “The Munsters” for biting social commentary but its take on the Cold War is surprisingly sharp. The U.S. and Russia go back and forth on whether to believe the story of a ship picking up a monster. The information passing between the two agencies, changing each time like an international game of Telephone, is a good take-down of Cold War tension. This global superpowers are so determined to undermine each other, they can't even keep their information straight! The Soviets are portrayed as pretty laid-back too. Also, this episode features the undeniably kitchsy image of the Munsters in their swimsuits on the beach, a good example of how this show subverted classic Americana imagery and ended up as an example of it too. [Herman's Child Psychology: 7/10 / Herman, the Master Spy: 7/10]

Halloween 2023: September 27th

Burn, Witch, Burn (1962)

Re-titling movies for foreign markets might be a bit of a lost art, at least in America. Back in the exploitation movie days of the sixties and seventies, it was really common. One such example: The 1963 Anglo-Amalgamated production, “Night of the Eagle,” was released on U.S. shores as “Burn, Witch, Burn!” Much like the previously reviewed “Night of the Big Heat/Island of the Screaming Damned,” this is a good example of American marketers realizing that we have no use for the subtly and tact that the British value here in this country. As for the movie itself, it is an adaptation of Fritz Lieber's “Conjure Wife” – formally filmed in 1944 as “Weird Woman” – from two renowned authors of the weird in their own right, Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont. Overlooked for decades, the film has slowly gathered a reputation as a hidden gem in recent years.

Norman Taylor has recently begun teaching psychology at a prestigous British university. Though he and his wife, Tansy, have made friends with several of his colleague, he remains a controversial appointment at the school. Norman believes strongly in logic and reason but his wife, after a frightful encounter in the Caribbean, has developed an interest in witchcraft. When he burns the omens and symbols of protection she's created, bad luck begins to fall upon the household. A student accuses Norman of rape, her boyfriend threatens to kill him, he's involved in a nearly fatal car accident, and Tansy is only acting stranger and stranger. Might there be more to witchcraft and curses than the rational man first assumed? 

One of the most commonly revisited themes in horror is that of rationalism versus superstition. Being the genre it is, too often, stories like this usually have a skeptic being punished for questioning the supernatural. Or, alternatively, they'll go the “Scooby-Doo” route and dismiss all otherworldly events all together. “Burn, Witch, Burn” finds a satisfying balance between these two extremes. Norman's dismissal of the uncanny is what motivates the plot and the film comes down, fairly firmly, on the side of magic being real by the end. Yet “Night of the Eagle” seems to grapple more fully with the question of belief. Are the spells and curses Tansy practices really real? Or does she believe in them so much that they might as well be real? Even during the more explicitly paranormal events, most of what happens in “Burn, Witch, Burn” is explainable through hysteria or pure chance. This raises the question of what “magic” truly is. The powers of the human mind are more than enough to make anything seem real. Our ability to assign meaning and significance to events and the quirks of the mind, through ritual and superstition, is all the magic that needs to exist.

Furthering this theme of psychological shadows making the fantastic real, “Burn, Witch, Burn” features effectively moody and intense visuals. Cinematographer Reginald Wyler – who coincidentally also shot “Night of the Big Heat” – often focuses on the character's faces. The opening credits play over an image of Janet Blair's blinking eye, which proceeds a dreamy POV shot later in the film. The interiors always seem cramped, creating a sense of unease between the characters before anything weird begins to happen. Tracking shots of hands or pistols further this sense of being watched. The frequent placement of a prominent eagle statue overlooking everyone makes it seem like an ominous overseer even before it springs to life in the last act. Shot in striking black-and-white, “Burn Witch Burn” really goes out of its way to wrap the audience up in its paranoid ambiance. 

Continuing its theme of the power of the human mind, director Sidney Hayers and Beaumont/Matheson's screenplay reveals something just as insidious as witchcraft behind the story's events: Resentment among co-workers and the strangled passion of campus life. Though Norman and Tansy are ostensibly accepted among their peers, neither can escape this feeling that they are both outsiders. This becomes especially evident after the professor is accused of assault by a student with a crush on him. All throughout the script, there's this idea of wants and passions deferred by the bounds of professionalism. When this is revealed as the motivating factor for the film's actual antagonist, it falls right in line with the film's worldview. Magic may or may not be real but emotions pushing humans to extreme actions and beliefs is undeniable. 

An uncommonly smart screenplay and some deeply glowering photography allows “Burn, Witch, Burn/Night of the Eagle” to build towards a nicely intense finale. The film is not as well known as the work Matheson and Beaumont did on “The Twilight Zone” but it's of a similar pedigree, ironic twist coming seconds before the final shot included. (And it's easily superior to “Weird Woman,” though that one's not bad either.) Hayers only made a few more movies you could call “horror,” mostly spending the rest of his career in television, which is a bit of a shame. He clearly showed an aptitude for it with this one. By the way, both titles are equally appropriate. The U.S. title is actually a line of dialogue spoken during a fiery event, falling in line with a story about witchcraft. The British title, meanwhile, accurately describes the climatic sequence. I think you can fairly say that night belong to that eagle. [8/10]

Bloodstone: Subspecies  II (1993)

In the early nineties, the booming video store market allowed low-budget producers to build long-running franchises off of fluke successes. (As long as the movies could be filmed in commercially viable places like South Africa or Eastern Europe.) This is why they made so many sequels to “Kickboxer,” “The Howling,” and similarly themed motion pictures. Nobody took more advantage of this than Charles Band's Full Moon Pictures. Clearly, “Subspecies” was a big enough hit for the company to expand on it the way they did the “Puppet Master” and “Trancers” series. Band had such confidence in the vampire saga – which surely had something to do with lucrative deals he made with Romanian partners – that second and third Radu adventures would be filmed back-to-back. “Bloodstone: Subspecies II” would appear on video store shelves in 1993.

Seemingly minutes after the end of the first “Subspecies,” Radu recapitates himself. He immediately takes his revenge on his brother, Stefan, and sets about making Michelle his fledgling. She escapes with the Bloodstone, making it to the near-by city of Bucharest. Michelle's sister, Rebecca, soon arrives in Romania, in search of her sister. While Michelle struggles with her new vampiric desires, Radu teams up with his mother – a mummified witch – in retrieving the Bloodstone and fully bringing Michelle over to the dark side. Rebecca teams up with a local American law enforcement officer and a professor of Transylvanian lore to find and save her sister before it's too late. 

Even more-so than the first movie, “Bloodstone” represents an interesting blending of two styles of horror. This is a Full Moon movie, through and through. There's outrageous gore – like Radu staking his brother and drinking from the fountain of blood that escapes – and gratuitous shower scenes for both of its leading ladies. Having Radu's mom be a literal mummy is exactly the kind of goofy, comic book elements you expect from a Full Moon movie. And yet “Subspecies II” clearly represents an attempt to court the goth/vampire subculture that was flourishing at the time. As in “The Hunger,” Michelle frequents a club where a gothic metal band moans on-stage. Much emphasis is placed on Michelle's angst from being a vampire, regretting her desire to drink blood and her attempts to hold onto her humanity. She does all of this while looking very glamorous in fancy dresses. Meanwhile, Radu attempts to temp her to the side of evil. The eternal beauty but endless agony of being a bloodsucker were such common themes in vampire fiction at the time. “Subspecies II” fits right in.

Much like the first “Subspecies,” “Bloodstone” was shot in the actual Transylvanian region of Romania, utilizing many genuine historical locations. Castles, tombs, and relics ancient with authentic age is the kind of production values that can't be made in any studio. The sequel takes place in the urban location of Bucharest, making great use of the gorgeous scenery and architecture. A glass coffin Michelle sleeps in just the most notable example of a nice production values this location afford the film. Director Ted Nicolaou and cinematographer Vlad Paunescu further attempt to elevate the movie with some shadowy visuals. “Subspecies II” gets a lot of mileage out of Radu casting his grasping shadow, massive and ominous, on stone walls. 

What truly makes “Bloodstone” superior to the first film is a surprisingly strong cast. Anders Hove as Radu, speaking solely in a raspy whisper while under grotesque make-up, remains an unforgettable horror villain. Denice Duff steps into the role of Michelle, replacing Lauren Tate from the first film and being a noticeably improvement. Duff projects vulnerability, while seeming to believe totally in the script's overheated melodrama. She's also a creditable seductress, when called upon to be a slinking vampire babe. Melanie Shanter – yes, Captain Kirk's daughter – is a likable co-heroine and has strong chemistry with Kevin Spiritas, as the inexplicably American cop in Bucharest. The movie also earns a lot of points for filling out its supporting cast with quirky characters. Like a Bucharest detective obsessed with American cop shows or a lovably eccentric folklorist, an exposition spouting role truly brought to life by Michael Denish.

I could never go so far as to refer to “Subspecies II” as “classy.” Very few Full Moon movies rose above the juvenile sensibilities of monsters, babes, blood, puppets, and boobs. Yet the crew of “Bloodstone” really tried their damnedest to elevate the goofy, melodramatic mythology it builds around its vampire shenanigans. The movie looks surprisingly good, the cast works way harder than necessary, while the script remains fast-paced. Ultimately, it's a highly entertaining slice of monster movie nonsense. To further that comic book feeling, the movie ends on a cliffhanger that will lead us right into “Subspecies III.” As if to say “Come back next month for more chilling tales, boils and ghouls!” It's hard not to love that... [7/10]

Cabinet of Curiosities: The Murmuring

The first season of “Cabinet of Curiosities” concludes with an episode from Jennifer Kent, her much anticipated return to the horror genre since “The Babadook.” To make it all the more exciting, Essie Davis starred in this hour as well. “The Murmuring” follows Nancy and Edgar Bradley, celebrated ornithologists. They have traveled to an isolated Scottish island to studying the murmurations – elaborate flock formations – of the local dunlins. The Bradley's marriage has gone frigid since the death of their daughter, which Nancy refuses to discus. Staying in the quiet home, the dunlins strangely roosting in the attic, Nancy begins to see and hear strange things. As the haunting grows in intensity, Nancy digs into the home's past and uncovers its buried secrets.

Guillermo del Toro has spoken, at lengths, of his admiration of the English ghost story. He has put his own spin on the genre with “The Devil's Backbone” and “The Orphanage.” “The Murmuring” represents del Toro, once again, setting foot into this style. This haunted house is unusually quiet. Nancy is awoken in the night by unusual whispers, strange voices, and half-glimpsed apparitions. The isolation and solemnness of the home quickly creates an atmosphere of unease. Jennifer Kent is, of course, equally good at creating an ambiance of chilly unrest as well as more full-throated scares. There are some in-your-face, shrieking ghosts here. Yet, even when aiming for bigger shocks, “The Murmuring” never forgets the heartache and guilt that drives the spirits. 

As in the best ghost stories, the unsound spirits and the shadows of the desolate home represent and reflect on the protagonist's own psychological hang-ups.  As in “The Babadook,” this is a story of repressed grief. Nancy has never processed the death of her child and it's destroying her marriage. Edgar wants to renew the passion with his wife, trying to urge her into love-making several times. This also coyly reflects the breeding season the birds they've come to study are in. Yet Nancy grows far more obsessed with the ghost story she's uncovering. That this mystery she's drawn to involves a dead child and an ignored woman is surely why she's so interested. The murmuring of the birds connects with the whispering of the ghosts but also with the thoughts and feelings Nancy can't bring herself to verbalize. 

The backstory of the haunting, slowly uncovered throughout the hour, is classical stuff. There's an affair, a child born out of wedlock, and heartbreak. Unsurprisingly, Kent finds a feminist reading to this material as well. “The Murmuring” is set in the 1950s, a decade when men were not really expected to listen to their wives. More than once, Nancy expresses frustration with her husband. Not just with his need to push his wife back itno physical intimacy, when she's not ready, but with his disregard for her struggles as a woman in a male-dominated profession. Yet “The Murmuring” is, more than anything, concerned with bringing a voice to shunned, shamed feelings. It's a classy, well-produced hour of ghostly atmosphere. [7/10]

Chucky: Chucky Actually

Season two of “Chucky” wraps up with a Christmas episode, which I find horribly distasteful in the tail end of September. But I've come this far, so I might as well wrap it up. Picking up several months after the previous episode, Lexy has just left rehab. Jake and Devon are visiting her mom's place for Christmas dinner. Meanwhile, Jennifer Tilly/Tiffany visits Glen in the hospital, successfully transferring her children's souls into the same doll. Using Dr. Mixler's body, Chucky has once again escaped death. As the holiday rolls around, he plots revenge on the kids. Tiffany arrives at Mayor Cross' home on Christmas Eve as well, looking for the Belle doll that was gifted to Caroline.

“Chucky Actually” is basically an extended post-script to season two, rather than a grand finale. It confirms that Jake and Devon's relationship has been stormy, while implying that they'll stay together. It shows Lexy overcoming addiction. If it doesn't conclude the subplot involving Tiffany, Glen, Glenda, and Nica, it at least brings things to a good pausing point. Naturally, the finale also makes sure that the titular killer doll has survived, with a few lingering storylines that a third season can pick up. Some of these are more promising than others. I really don't care about Lexy's little sister and her possibly growing into a killer strikes me as a desperate story thread to develop. Yet it is nice that the teens have been brought to a satisfactory place. 

 

My tolerance for episodes like this, that exist largely to put the various subplots into position for the next story arc, is usually low. Yet “Chucky Actually” does touch on an interesting theme: Fucked-up parenting. Through a roundabout course of action, Lexy ends up re-conciliating with her enormously selfish mother. Chucky and Tiffany have been shitty parents to their children as well, with Glen/Glenda finally being allowed their own destiny here. The show seems to be moving towards the point that, while our flawed parents may effect how we live our lives, they don't have to define us. 

That's not the reason we watch this show, of course. We watch “Chucky” to see Chucky fucking people up and being a vicious little smart-ass. “Chucky Actually” provides plenty of that too. The episode may, in fact, feature the most fucked-up death scene in not just the series but perhaps the entire franchise. Setting such carnage against the Christmas holiday does provide some novelty as well. (Even if I'm not personally in the mood for December frivolity at this very moment.) Hearing Brad Dourif's gravelly voice put a spin on classic Christmas carols and themes did bring a sick little grin to my face.  [7/10]

And that was “Chucky: Season Two.” Overall, I would say it was a big improvement over the first season. Season two saw the show embracing its own campy spirit more often, taking the characters and settings into wilder directions. Focusing more on established characters from the films made up for the sometimes lackluster melodrama of the younger cast. Introducing multiple different types of Chuckies led to a lot of goofy fun, while expanding the franchise's mythology in more imaginative ways. The program still suffers from a lot of the same bullshit writing choices that hamper most serialized TV shows. Yet season two was, on the whole, funnier, gorier, and nuttier than season one. I'm calling that a win. I hear season three will be set in the White House? Intriguing... [Chucky: Season Two: 7/10]