Welcome to the film-related musings, complaints, and comments of Zack Clopton, an amateur film-critic, scholar, and screenwriter. Featured here are Director's Report Cards, essays, and other reviews. Enjoy!
Last of the Monster Kids
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Somehow, it has been more than twenty years since the term “The Splat Pack” was coined. It referred to a loosely connected group of filmmakers making gory horror movies around the turn of the millennium. The likes of James Wan and James Gunn have become immensely successful, both within the genre and outside. Others, like Eli Roth and Rob Zombie, still put out a newmovie every once in a while. Most of them never quite broke through with the mainstream and have largely stuck to the indie scene, like Neil Marshall and Greg McLean. Alexandre Aja, being European, has always been slightly apart from the others. He has obviously done very well for himself, with "Crawl" being his last big hit, even if his later work has perhaps not lived up to the promise of "Haute Tension" and "The Hills Have Eyes." A lot of his work continues to slip through the cracks though Aja came back this year with “Never Let Go,” which was mostly lost in the constant shuffle of new movies coming and going from theaters. I'm the thorough type so it's time to see if this one is a hidden gem or rightfully overlooked.
Deep in the forest, young brothers Samuel and Nolan live with their mother. Their entire lives, Momma has told them that the world was destroyed by a great Evil. That this force worms its way into your body and possesses you with a single touch. The family, and their dog, live in a cabin made of blessed wood. The only way they can protect themselves when outside the cabin is by holding onto a rope that connects them to the house. As their food supplies run out and their mother announced they'll have to eat the family dog to survive, Nolan becomes increasingly skeptical about the existence of the Evil. Sam remains a true believer, however. The brothers' disagreement over the beliefs they grew up with will only grow more intense as their situation gets increasingly desperate.
The world of fiction has presented us with a thousand different takes on the premise of people forced to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. Too often, the genre is worn down to survivalist fantasies about being free to run amok in a world without society's rules or getting to rebuild a "better" world than the one that exists now. "Never Let Go," at the very least, defies either of these trite set-ups. Instead, this is a film very clearly about how surviving in the world after the fall of polite society would definitely suck. The family survives on a meager garden. When a rough winter renders that useless, they turn to eating bugs and tree bark. When mom threatens to kill and cook their dog, she is planning to cannibalize only the fourth other living thing these boys have other known. The actors look emaciated and sunken eyed, a good depiction of individuals on the brink of starvation. "Never Let Go" is not a doomsday prepper's wish fulfilment fantasy. This is a harsh existence for these characters and not one to envy.
As we've seen a thousand stories about surviving after the end of the world, that means we've seen a thousand different ways to end the world. "Never Let Go" does manage to find a somewhat novel approach to this idea as well. Zombies, disease, environmental or economic collapse, nuclear war or alien invasions are all avoided. Instead, the outside threat that has seemingly ended society as we know it is supernatural. The nature of this Evil is kept vague throughout. It can manifest hallucinations of dead loved ones and strangers in order to belittle or tempt the survivors. (It reminds me a lot of the First Evil from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," though slightly more offensive.) This brings a clear religious connotation to mind, of demonic forces luring the righteous off the blessed path, though this idea also isn't expanded on too much. It's something different, I'll say. "Contagion-like demonic force" is a new one I can add to my list of possible ways the world can end.
The real reason why "Never Let Go" doesn't expand more on the origins of its demonic force is simple: That movie isn't truly about that. Instead, the film represents Alexandre Aja trying his hand at another well-worn, if less popular these days, style: The Southern Gothic story. It is never specified where this story takes place. Judging from the accent Halle Berry adapts at Momma, we can assume it's somewhere in the American South. The thick trees of the surrounding forest, with its willowy branches and entangling vines, suggests rural Alabama or the less swampy parts of Louisiana. (The movie, of course, like so many low budget genre films, was shot in Canada.) Wherever the story takes place, the isolation the characters live with clearly connect it to the Southern Gothic tradition. The sins of the past, regrets, familial anxiety, religious fanaticism, all out in a dilapidated country home besieged by outside forces and colored by distinct accents: Yes, we are for sure in Tennessee Williams country here.
Whether "Never Let Go" is a good example of a Southern Gothic story is much more debatable. It makes good use of its desolate, isolated setting. However, the more blatant attempts to capture a particularly "Southern" feel comes off as a bit campy. The modern horror cliché of an old song, played on a rickety viola, eventually being subverted for creepy ambiance is used. The song this time is "Big Rock Candy Mountain," another choice that feels more goofy than scary to me while also overemphasizing the deep south setting. The film is structured like a novel, with on-screen chapter breaks, which gives the impression that this is an adaptation of regional novel. It's not. Kevin Coughlin and Ryan Grassby wrote the script on-spec, under the title "Mother Land." Mostly, the accents the actor adopt – Halle Berry especially – feel very put-on and cartoonish to me. In other words, this does not feel like a story influenced by actually living in the American South but more movies and books set in that region.
Despite some flaws, "Never Let Go" does do some things well. Like the best science fiction or horror stories, it roots its fantastical premise in an emotion all of us can understand. Nolan and Samuel are growing up. Nolan is at the age where he's beginning to question whether his mother truly does know everything about the world. He's testing boundaries, developing an independent mind, and setting out on his own. Which is made especially dangerous thanks to the very specific circumstances he lives in. Forced to hold onto a rope that always connects you back to your mother, and the womb-like home you share, is some not so subtle umbilical cord symbolism. When Nolan cuts the rope, he frees himself but also terrified a mother that believes she must cling to her babies to protect them. It's not a bad metaphor for trying to break free of a smothering parent, and make your own life.
The boys' mother is, from any perspective, abusive. She makes her sons prayer to the house and its holy wood every night. She often tossed them into an underground cellar and forces them to stay there, until they've pushed any influence the Evil might have on their minds out. Despite these extreme methods, the simple fact remains that the boys still love their mother. Samuel, on the other hand, begins to hear the Evil whispering in his ear too. Divorced of its fantastical content, this is the story of a mentally ill parent that has passed her condition onto one child, while the other struggles to correlate how someone he loves, who genuinely loves him, has treated him so badly. Its climax is one of acceptance and love, in spite of these flaws. In a genre landscape where "elevated" horror films foreground their metaphors to the point of practically excluding the scary stuff, "Never Let Go" must be commended for being the slightest bit subtle about this.
Unlike a lot of the would-be Jordan Peeles or Robert Eggers out there, Alexandre Aja is definitely not afraid of making a horror movie. In some ways, "Never Let Go" harkens back to the kind of films the director got his start with: Gory throwbacks to seventies and eighties horror. The film's cabin setting, story of demonic possession, and central role for a trap door brings a clear influence to mind. This is Aja paying homage to "The Evil Dead." When the rotting, bile spewing spectre of the boy's grandmother appears and begins to bleat like a goat, you definitely feel the Raimi influence. Sometimes, this works well too. The finale features some stylized camera angles and brutally edited attack scenes, recalling Aja's best work. A scene where a little girl becomes a contorting, multi-limbed human centipede is, ya know, a clever visual. There's some good spurting blood too. Unfortunately, "Never Let Go" does not maintain those frantic thrills throughout. In fact, quite a lot of scenes involving screeching, twitching undead visions strike me as more silly than scary. Sometimes a horror director makes a swing and it ends up on the wrong end of the absurd/unsettling chasm.
The moment Nolan begins to doubt his mother's version of events, "Never Let Go" presents a clear question to the audience: Was the Earth genuinely brought to its knees by a malevolent, supernatural force or is Momma simply insane, imagining it all and wrapping her sons up in her delusions? That nearly the entire movie is set within the cabin and the surrounding wood certainly leaves things open to interpretation, as we never see the rest of the world. Narrative structures like this can be tricky. On one hand, if you can weave ambiguity like this into the themes of your story, it can make for a very rich experience. Alternatively, if you fumble it, the result is a script that tries way too hard to deceive and mislead the viewer to almost always underwhelming results. There's one moment in "Never Let Go" that keeps the audience guessing in the best way. The boys are alone at the house and a hiker approaches them, asking if they need help. Nolan wants to accept the man's offer and get out of there. Sam is convinced he's a manifestation of the Evil, pointing a crossbow at him. This is a genuinely tense moment, the viewer uncertain which of the brothers is right, either decision having dire consequences.
A better film could have kept that question lingering in the air longer, leaving us increasingly unsure of what is actually happening in such ways as to up the suspense. Instead, the script spoils its own ambiguity by showing us what is actually happening here. In the ever-more frustrating last third, the script then repeatedly backtracks on what exactly the truth is. "Never Let Go" wants its cake and to eat it too. Or, rather, wants to add some psychological complexity to its setting while still providing the monster movie thrills the audience wants. The film continues this flip-flopping right up to the final second, making me roll my eyes hard right before the credits roll. Put some convictions behind your premise and respect the audience's intelligence rather than tying your own story in knots to prove how clever you are.
Tempting as it is to dismiss "Never Let Go" as another disappointing half-assed measure from a once promising director, I do think Alexandre Aja and his team were working very hard to make a good movie here. Aja's regular cinematographer, Maxime Alexandre, does handsome work. He makes the forest look properly foreboding. Fog and the extremely green foliage adds a lot of depth to each frame, presenting the idea that anything could be out there nicely. French electric artist rob also collaborates with Aja again, creating a decent score that knows when to ramp up the ominous strings and doesn't lean too hard on the increasingly worn-out synthwave sound. The cast does decent work. Despite that wavering, unsure accent, I do think Halle Berry adds some complexity to the role of the mother, showing her fear and uncertainty but also a warmth and love. Percy Daggs IV and Anthony B. Jenkins, as Nolan and Samuel, give sturdy performance. Daggs does especially well, more-or-less carrying the movie on his own in the second half, allowing the boy to come off as both brave and frightened. Jenkins doesn't get to express quite as much depth but he, at least, avoids the obnoxious clichés of the creepy kid subgenre. There's also a neat looking monster in the finale, which appears to have been made entirely through practical make-up.
This makes a certain conclusion unavoidable: "Never Let Go" is most let down by its script and its willingness to find one version of the truth and stick with it. Aja probably could've made the movie scarier and a number of other aesthetic choices might have been improved but, with a stronger script, other flaws would have been more easily overlooked. Still, this is a better movie than the similarly divided "Horns" and "The 9th Life of Louis Drax," while also probably proving more memorable than "Oxygen" was. I don't know if Aja will ever make pulp as gloriously messed-up and beautifully engineered as his best movies but he's clearly still has some fight in him. If only he could select better screenplays to work on... "Never Let Go" is well done in many respects and has intriguing ideas but its unwillingness to be genuinely ambiguous, instead of keeping back and forth between different conclusions, keeps it from being a lot stronger. [Grade: B-]
The Disney Corporation's quest for absolute cultural dominance has been on-going for a long time now. When I was a kid, the studio sought to extend the awareness and popularity of their hit films through spin-offs on other platforms. This took the form of mountains of merchandise, direct-to-video sequels of mostly unremarkable quality but also television shows. "The Little Mermaid: The Series," "Aladdin," "Hercules" and a few others are recalled with some degree of fondness. Getting to see the characters you loved in the movies every week on TV is, admittedly, a fun idea. Even if these shows never quite lived up to the source material. That kind of continuation has mostly fallen out of favor lately, as Disney has shifted focus to big-budget, theatrically released sequels and remakes... At least until they launched their own streaming services a few years back, eager to attract subscribers with programs set in their beloved Marvel, "Star Wars," and animated universes.
That was the form a follow-up to "Moana" was initially planned to take. The original film's storyboard artist, David Derrick Jr., would direct "Moana: The Series" with most of the cast from the movie coming back. Notably absent was songwriter Lin Manual-Miranda, replaced with a duo whose previous successes include an unofficial "Bridgerton" musical, a gag musical for Taco Bell, and popular TikTok videos. Not to devalue the talent of any of the above artisans, nor certainly the animators and designers who would work on the series, but it seemed like the kind of step-down in talent you would expect from a straight-to-streaming spin-off. That "Moana: The Series" managed to secure the involvement of Dwayne Johnson – also starring in the inexplicable live action remake of "Moana," entering development at the exact same time – was honestly surprising and, perhaps, a reflection of his own dwindling box office cred. But if a TV continuation didn't quite live up to the movie it spawned from, that would not be a massive shock, right? Film and TV are different mediums with different expectations.
Maybe the Disney producers don't realize that though. Back in February, it was announced that the already well underway "Moana: The Series" would instead be coming to theaters as "Moana 2," the streaming series shifting into a movie. CEO Bob Iger explained that this decision was made after execs were supposedly impressed with the footage they had seen for the show. That Disney has had several high-profile flops recently, like "The Marvels" and "Wish," surely had nothing to do with this seemingly last minute decision to rush a sequel to a previous success into theaters. Jason Hand and Dana Ledoux Miller would join the directing team, presumably to further along this change in direction. Only ten months after the announcement of its existence, "Moana 2" is in theaters and viewers everywhere can judge whether it measures up to the original or if its origins as a TV show are all-too-evident.
A few years after leaving her island home Motunui, meeting the demi-god Maui, and restoring balance to the ocean, young adventurer Moana has turned her attention towards another goal: Exploring near-by island systems in hopes of discovering other cultures and communities, out of a fear that her village is too isolated. When she finds a relic on such an island, it's proof to her that such a quest isn't fruitless. This is when Moana receives a vision from an ancestor. Centuries ago, storm god Nalo separated the different cultures by sinking the island Motufetu to the bottom of the sea. Moana assembles a team – mechanic Loto, artist Moni, and farmer Keke – as she sets out on this perilous new journey to Motufetu and raise it back to the surface, opening the cultures back up to each other. Along the way, she will encounter Maui again plus new faces that seek to help and hinder her.
Many of the Disney Animated Features have become generational classics because they tell fundamentally simple stories. This is why the company has so often returned to fairy tales, mythology, and classic literature for source material. The ideas communicated in these tales are universal and will resonate with anyone, despite contexts as far flung as medieval China or African pridelands. Simplicity, however, does not always lend itself to the kind of long-form storytelling and world-building that entertainment conglomerates like Disney are now obsessed with. The sequels that Disney is increasingly focused on these days – as well as films like "Wish," which attempt to establish some sort of shared universe between the classic films – have all suffered from the same problem: This feeling of desperation to build an expansive lore, not dissimilar to what "Star Wars" or Marvel already has, around characters meant to carry much more universal themes. Thus, Wreck-It Ralph is now connected to the entire internet, Elsa is now part of an elemental quartet of magical deities, and the wishing star from "Pinocchio" is at the center of a tapestry of connected back stories.
Being set in the world of Polynesian and Māori mythology, “Moana 2” ostensibly has a rich source of characters and stories to pull from. Which it sort of does. A period of time in Polynesian history known as the Long Pause, wherein no seafaring discoveries took place for two centuries, inspired the premise. The antagonistic storm god Nalo and his sidekick, flying fox goddess Matangi, are loosely inspired by figures from actual myths. However, the other concepts in the sequel appear to be the invention of Disney writers. And they are underwhelming. Far too much of “Moana 2's” plot hinges on magical visions with the spirits of ancestors, glowing vortexes that take our heroes to other dimensions, and magical plot devices with loosely defined rules. Coming shortly after “Wish's” plot full of similarly fantasy novel nonsense like this, it's hard to avoid the suspicion that Disney is using A.I. writing programs. Your story being a mishmash of plagiarized bullshit randomly spit out by a robot is not a feeling you want your big budget sequel to have.
“Moana 2's” underwhelming story may be a result of it being originally intended as a streaming series. There are other signs that a story meant to be much longer was cut down to 100 minutes. Namely, the primary villain of Nola never actually appears on-screen throughout the film proper, existing only as an angry face within a giant storm. This leaves the sequel entirely without a proper antagonist, making the plot feel increasingly shapeless as it goes on. Other elements of the god's scheme, such as the reason he resents humanity so much, are never elaborated on. The climax depends on a sloppy deus ex machina, with many story elements being explained through bloated expositionary dialogue. A Marvel-style, mid-credit teaser – something else we'd expect to see leading into a second season – does more to expand on the villains than anything in the actual movie. It feels like connecting scenes and episodes, that would've filled out a streaming season, got left on the cutting room floor.
Another sign that “Moana 2” hastily cut together a set of scripts intended for serialized television into a feature film is the lack of development for tis new characters. Moana gets a whole host of sidekicks for this journey. She has a little sister, which stays back on the island. Moni is an enthusiastic Maui fanboy – leading to the first utterance of the word “fanfic” in a Disney cartoon – that mostly exists to provide comic relief. This is the same purpose Keke, the grumpy old farmer, brings. These are characters defined by single gimmicks and lacking actual personalities. Loto, the tomboy engineer that builds the raft, has more potential but there simply aren't enough scenes to truly expand on her. When the film already has enough characters, it introduces a speedy coconut friend. Matangi is introduced with a big musical number that contributes very little to the story, also not given any definition beyond her affinity for bats. A series would have provided a lot more screen time to develop this raft full of new characters, which a movie simply lacks.
That “Moana 2” loads its story down with so many new companions for its heroine is frustrating, as the first movie had entirely too many of those already. Any fans of Pua the pig or Heihei the chicken or little tattoo Maui or the anthromorphized ocean itself will be disappointed. All of them are reduced to a handful of scenes. Maui himself, despite the Rock's prominent placement in all the advertising, is only in about half the film. Part of what made the first movie work was watching the young heroine bounce off all these other characters. The chemistry between her and Maui, the vainglorious hero who learned a valuable lesson from his time with the girl, especially drove the first film. Maui is here to provide the muscle during the climatic action scenes, which inexplicably involve cutting lightning bolts in half. Having difficult finding anything else for him to do, the film throws in a pep talk between the demigod and the adventurer, a sweaty attempt to justify why this guy is in the story at all. When paired with repeating center jokes from the first movie and call-backs to previous events – such as those cocoanut guys showing up again - “Moana 2” increasingly feels like a sequel designed mostly to remind the viewer of what they liked about the first one.
Where does that leave Moana herself? Disney Princesses and pseudo-princesses like Moana – which is joked about here – are defined by a simple to understand purpose, usually laid out in their “I Want” Song. Moana got what she want in the first film, exploring past the reef and defining herself. In the sequel, she's given the goal of wanting to reach out to other cultures, while also juggling the responsibility of having far more to lose this time. That is the intended purpose of the little sister. (Aside from a new little girl Disney can sell baby dolls of, of course.) This weight of responsibility is never truly felt. With so many new characters to introduce and old elements to revisit, Moana's arc feels rushed through and half-finished. She is pushed around by the plot, not a protagonist that directs it.
While I've heard many reports that the animation in the sequel is a visible stepdown from the original, another consequence of being a Disney+ upgrade, I don't think “Moana 2” looks all that bad. The film does presents some decently engineered action sequences. A confrontation set inside an enormous clam, something that actually does have a basis in Oceania folklore, is one of sequel's highlights. While the finale is far too heavy on twirling storms and flashing lights, a chase involving the raft and a sail is well done. While “Moana 2” does a decent job on the spectacle side of things, it's seriously lacking in the chuckles. The sequel has a disappointing reliance on gross-out gags, attempting to draw laughs from characters being covered in slime, sneezed on, or even a fart joke. Such desperate comedy stylings does little to dissuade the notion that “Moana 2” exists more as an extensions of Disney's brand name than as a story that actually needs to be told.
You could have criticized the first “Moana” for being overly reliant on the Disney fairy tale formula. However, at least those songs were incredibly catchy and memorable. I have my own problems with Lin-Manuel Miranda's Broadway stylings, not yet having discovered what so many other people see in “Hamilton.” However, Miranda knows how to write an unforgettable hook and remembers that songs in a musical most always flesh out the characters or move the story forward. The new team of Abigail Barlow and Emily Bear do not give me the same impression. “Beyond” is the new ballad for Moana and it's okay. “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?” is Maui's new number, a clear attempt to repeat the success of “You're Welcome,” that never captures the same energy or catchy rhythm. “What Could be Better Than This?,” which helps establish Moana's new friends, has a similar stop-and-start fashion to it that keeps a clear melody from forming. “Get Lost,” Matangi's introductory song, is trying hard to be a break-out pop hit but is similarly forgettable. The sequel simply can't form many emotional melodies or a memorable lyrics, the songs mostly falling flat.
This is the sad case with much of “Moana 2.” The circumstances of its production, being a rush job conversion of a straight-to-streaming mini-series to a full-blown movie, are difficult to overlook. It lacks the songs, the jokes, and the memorable characters that made the first one good. While there's some decently executed animation or one or two clever idea, the sequel simply never comes to life in its own right. The unfortunate feeling, that Disney's animated features exist more to raise stock numbers and sell toys and theme park memberships, is getting increasingly difficult to dismiss. “Moana 2” has cleaned up at the box office, meaning Disney shareholders and executives got exactly what they wanted. I imagine that superfluous live action remake, which has even less of a reason to exist than this sequel, will pull in the dollars too. Will anyone remember them in a decade? Will their songs become standards sung by kids across the generations? It's hard to say but, in the case of “Moana 2,” I seriously doubt it. [Grade: C]
I don't live in a neighborhood that sees much trick-or-treating which, for many years, made Halloween night the major anticlimax to the season. Luckily, I have a friend who does live in a bustling suburb and he happily invited me over to help every year. Donning a plastic werewolf mask and some rubber dinosaur hands, I venture over to join the frivolity before heading back home to feast on fun-sizes candy bars and horror movies all night.
Recently, while at a Spirit Halloween, I spotted adorable plush toy versions of Freddy Krueger and Pennywise for sale. Making children's toys based on monsters that kill children is somewhat morbid. (Not that these toys are meant for kids so much as adult collectors.) At the same time, it follows a long cultural tradition of horror movie villains inevitably getting watered down into something soft and cuddly for children. Honestly, I'm fine with the existence of Count Chocula and Monster High and other extensions of this habit. Kids love horror and deserve to have age appropriate entry points. Another such example is Deborah and James Howes' 1979 children's book, "Bunnicula, a Rabbit Tale of Mystery," which introduced the world to a vampiric fluffy bunny rabbit that sucked the juices from vegetables. I read it as a kid and enjoyed it too, though my monster loving habits were already well established by then. What I didn't know until very recently was that the book was adapted into an animated special in 1982, produced by Ruby-Spears for ABC Weekend Special block. I like to kick off my October 31st with a vintage Halloween special and, seeing as how a kind soul has uploaded "Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit" to YouTube, decided to give this one a look.
My memories of the Howes' original book are admittedly fuzzy, seeing as how I was probably six when I read it but this adaptation still struck me as rather loose. The hook is maintained: Harold the dog and Chester the cat, pets of the Monroe family, are our protagonists. The two boys bring home a rabbit one day, asleep in a box full of soil and containing a note that reveals his name to be Bunnicula. Shortly afterwards, vegetables that have been rendered white by having all their juice sucked out begin to turn up. Chester, an avid reader, suspects Bunnicula is a vampire while Harold is more skeptical. To this simple story, Ruby-Spears added an entire subplot about the factory the family dad works out closing down due to an apparent haunting and the neighbors coming to believe that the Monroe's new pet rabbit is responsible for their vegetable gardens being raided.
Despite being produced in the eighties, "Bunnicula" feels much more like a product of the previous decade. The character designs are uninspired, with the human characters looking utterly generic. The animation is unimpressive, frequently stiff and often rather flat as well, with dull colors and unimaginative framing. The cheapness is evident in the notable continuity errors. Such as the writing that came with Bunnicula interchangeably being referred to as Russian or Romanian. Or the rabbit – his design sickeningly cute – making noises that sound a lot more like monkey chatters than rabbit squeaks to me. The result is a 29 minute presentation that feels a lot like Hanna-Barbera's "Scooby-Doo" series from the time, though lacking the occasional dopey charm of that franchise. What I'm saying is that "Bunnicula" is lacking in Halloween vibes, instead betting much more heavily on wacky animal antics to keep the kiddies entertained.
This is most evident in how the special treats the title character. Despite getting top-billing, Bunnicula doesn't do much throughout the brief runtime. Mostly, we only see the little bunny sleeping in his box or being carried by the other animals. If any tension can said to exist in the story, it presumably comes from Chester and Harold's disagreement over Bunnicula's true nature. That is kind of ruined by this special being subtitled "The Vampire Rabbit," don't you think? If you're looking for an adorable cartoon lagomorph doing vampiric acts, "Bunnicula" will let you down as well. It's not until the finale, in which the animals investigate that bizarre subplot about the factory being haunted, that Bunnicula does anything at all. The results prove underwhelming, this vampire lepus seemingly having the power of telekinesis via red glowing eyes. One suspects that was chosen so that Ruby-Spears could very cheaply animate the climax, which inexplicably reveal a pack of wolves to be responsible for the ghostly activities around the factory. Surely, even a child would realize that a wolf could never be mistaken for a ghost, much less responsible for similar activities.
Like far too much underachieving children's media, "Bunnicula" is most concerned with imposing a moral on any young viewers. The literary "Bunnicula" is about jealousy and acceptance, Chester the cat learning to overcome his suspicions of the new family pet and greet him as part of the family. This is still somewhat present in the cartoon, Chester eventually expressing sympathy for the animal he suspected if being nosferatu. (Or, perhaps, nos-fur-atu.) However, this is muddied largely by the other stupid shit added here. The subplot about the neighbors blaming Bunnicula for their drained crops makes little sense, existing seemingly only to include a shot of the classic horror cliché of a mob with torches and pitchforks. The conclusion bends towards a totally different moral too, one of responsible pet care.... However, the final scene mostly has me wondering how the parents allowed a bag of vegetables to sit on the counter, in a grocery bag, for two weeks. When combined with the bullshit with the factory shutting down because of a wolf infestation, it gives the impression that "Bunnicula" was written in a weekend.
Considering "Bunnicula" was produced by the same studio that brought us such esteemed products as "Chuck Norris: Karate Kommandos" and "Rubik the Amazing Cube," perhaps my expectations where too high. But, I don't know, guys. I kind of think kids deserve slightly higher quality programming than crap like this. James Howe, after Deborah's passing, would write six more books about Bunnicula, as recently as 2006. The books would also inspired a three season animated series that aired on Cartoon Network and Boomerang from 2016 to 2018. From what I've seen of it, that "Bunnicula" looks aggressively manic but I'd wager it's still a lot better than this subpar production. In other words, if your kid is a fan of vampires and soft fuzzy bunny rabbits, skip this cartoon and go straight to the book. By the way, the YouTube upload includes the original commercials. The ads for Nintendo Cereal and Connect Four probably have more cultural value than "Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit." [5/10]
Universal would kick off the American horror genre as we know it in 1931, with the one-two punch of “Frankenstein” and “Dracula.” Horror would then fall out of popularity later in the decade, before the 1939 release of “Son of Frankenstein” led to a second wave. This time, studios besides Universal and the Poverty Row guys were starting to churn them out. Columbia teamed up with Boris Karloff, RKO gave Val Lewton free reign to create a legendary run of films, with Paramount and Warner Bros making a few notable titles too. Republic Pictures, a mini-major best known for their serials and westerns, decided to take a stab at the genre with some classy monster flicks starting in 1944. As if to guarantee success for the film, Republic would pull from Universal's pool of talent and adapt Curt Siodmak's novel, “Donovan's Brain” as their first chiller of the decade. “The Lady and the Monster” has been eclipsed by later versions of that same story but I've long been curious about it.
Professor Mueller, deep within his castle laboratory in the Arizona desert, has been working to preserve a brain's lifespan outside of the skull. With the help of his assistants, Dr. Patrick Cory and the young and beautiful Janice, he hasn't seen much success thus far. During a stormy night, news breaks that a plane has crashed near-by. Inside was millionaire industrialist William H. Donovan. Mueller illegally extracts Donovan's brain from his body, blackmailing Cory into helping him. The duo successfully keep the brain alive afterwards. However, that is when Cory begins to act strangely. He hears voices, pursues goals that aren't his own, and grows increasingly violent and unhinged. It turns out Donovan's brain, separated from his body and amplified by the machine, has telepathically taken control of Cory's body. Janine wants the brain destroyed but Professor Mueller won't let his experiment come to an end.
“The Lady and the Monster” – not to be confused with Paramount's “The Monster and the Girl” from a few years earlier – was directed by George Sherman, who had a long career of mostly undistinguished work. However, the film also happened to have John Atlon as its cinematographer. Atlon would come to fame for his work on noirs later in the decade before winning an Oscar for photography “An American in Paris.” Atlon makes sure that “The Lady and the Monster” looks brilliant. Every sequence set in Mueller's laboratory is thick with atmosphere. The shadows of the equipment are cast huge on the towering walls, the mad scientist glowering in the shade of his work. Whenever the brain is seen floating in its vat, it's backlit in such a way as to look far more ominous. There's more than a few noir-esque shots of men framed by the shadows of window shades too. Basically, the film provides exactly the type of monochrome ambiance that I desperately crave from classic horror films.
If only “The Lady and the Monster” told a story as sharp as its visuals. As opposed to Siodmak's novel, where Dr. Cory is the sole scientist on the experiment, this adaptation adds far more characters to the story. The addition of Professor Mueller brings with it more melodrama, such as him harboring a crush on Janice and often abusing his maid. The film also focuses far more than was necessary on the mechanics of Donovan's fortune, his scheming widow after the riches, and the murder case tangled up with the incident. To put in the words of a far more observant man than myself: There's too much plot getting in the way of the story. This results in a 86 minute runtime, which is still short by any ordinary standard but about twenty minutes longer than most forties monster movies. The overwritten script is also evident in the strange reoccurring voice-over from an omniscient narrator in a few scenes, an odd inclusion.
Erich von Stroheim is probably better remembered as a director but, in his lifetime, he was more successful as an actor. Probably inspired by his villainous turn in “The Great Gabbo,” von Stroheim would star in a few horror flicks, such as this, “The Crimes of Dr. Crespi,” and “The Mask of Diijon.” He never grows the fangs shown on the poster and only wears the fedora and overcoat in one scene. Nevertheless, Stroheim makes for a fine mad scientist. His ability to make only a look menacing, without having to raise his voice, is well utilized. As Cory, Richard Arlen is a likable enough heroic type. However, when the persona of Donovan takes over, he does quite well as an aggressive, threatening villain. This is most apparent in the film's climax. Czech ice skater Vera Ralston, as part of a concentrated effort by Republic to turn her into a movie star, gets top-billing as Janine. It's easy to see why Ralston's acting career never quite took off as she's rather wooden here, with a thick accent and incredibly stiff body language. Her lack of chops is a big detriment towards the film being better than it is.
Ultimately, you win some and you lose some. The 1953 version of “Donovan's Brain” is more faithful to the source material. However, it certainly lacks the riveting, expressionistic cinematography of this take. I'm going to be honest with you guys. “The Lady and the Monster” is probably a fairly leaden attempt at a horror film, especially compared to the pulpy fun of Universal's flicks at the time and the psychological complexity of Val Lewton's work. However, all those glorious black-and-white visuals go an awfully long way with me. When combined with a strong beginning and ending and a pair of decent performances, it's easy for me to overlook the dragging middle section and give this one a recommendation. [7/10]
A while back, I was reading an old article from Bogleech in which he discussed his favorite monsters from fifties B-movies. Being a seasoned classic horror nerd, I had seen or at least heard of most of the movies high-lighted in that list. Except for one. That would be “The Woman Eater” – entitled merely “Womaneater” on most prints – a creature feature made in England in 1958. Upon further research, I discovered something else about the movie. It is one of the few monster flicks out there about murderous plant life. Outside of the Pods, Audrey II, and the Triffids, that's not a style of beastie you see too often. Simply knowing that there was another cheesy monster movie out there I hadn't seen was enough for me to want to seek out “The Woman Eater” but knowing it was a killer tree picture? Oh yes, that's a fine addition to anyone's Halloween marathon.
Five years ago, Dr. Moran travelled into the depths of the Amazon Rainforest in search of an elixir known to the local tribes. The potion is said to be able to bring the dead back to life. Moran spies a secret ritual in which a beautiful woman is fed to a carnivorous tree, which supposedly produces the miracle drug he is after. In the present day, Moran and Tanga – a member of the aforementioned tribe – have relocated the woman-eating tree to his lab in London. The two abduct women to feed to the monster, much to the concerns of his housekeeper and the attention of the local police. Meanwhile, mechanic Jack meets dancer Sally, the two quickly falling in love. Jack sends Sally to work for Moran, unaware of the doctor's murderous habits. She gets the job but will this means she is doomed to become the next victim of the Woman Eater?
One of the great – if you'll excuse my flagrant abuse of the word “great” – laughably goofy monsters of fifties B-movies is the Tabanga from “From Hell It Came.” In fact, the perpetually scowling visage of that creature is the whole reason to see that movie. “The Woman Eater” is also a movie about a murderous tree. For what it's worth, this creature is not as silly looking as the Tabanga. In fact, it's fuzzy branches and insectoid claws are slightly creepy. When you look at the Woman Eater, you can't be entirely sure what you're seeing at first. Adding to the uncanny element of the titular beastie is that it's never specified how exactly this carnivorous tree devours people. The fact that a murderous tree, by its very nature, is an immobile threat that can do much probably made it a hard monster to build a story around. This probably explains why the creature is not in nearly enough of the movie. However, I do think it's an interesting idea for a cinematic critter.
As a horror movie from 1958, “The Woman Eater” is also from that odd transitional time for the genre. It is beholden to the conventions of the previous decade, with its big rubber monster and mad scientist villain. At the same time, the film shows signs of the more salacious direction horror would go in only a few years later. The title promises us women being eaten and that is mostly more implied than shown. At the same time, the movie still features lots of shots of women in low-cut dresses being hypnotized and pushed into the flesh-eating tree. I don't know why Moran feeds his tree exclusively on beautiful women but it provides lots of opportunity for shapely actresses to appear in the film. None are more shapely than Vera Day, whose proportions bring Mamie Van Doren to mind. A notable sequence has her sitting in the passenger seat while her boyfriend fixes a car, her breasts framed perfectly in the shot. She's also introduced in a hula skirt. Director Charles Saunders was clearly enamored of her or at least of the way she looked.
In other words, “The Woman Eater” is positioned between between a nastier type of exploitation movie and a hokey rubber monster movie. This is also apparent in the casual sexism of the script. Our hero falls for Sally upon seeing her in a swimsuit. Later, he repeatedly mocks her for a perceived lack of intelligence, which she seems to think of as charming flirting. Moran wants to possesses the girl the minute he lays eyes on her too. This angers his housekeeper, who is in love with him. When he cruelly rejects her, she becomes unhinged and violent. Bitches be crazy, am I right? “The Woman Eater” pairs its misogyny with a fair bit of racism too. The indigenous shaman who becomes Moran's sidekick is always treated as an intimidating presence. He seems to have no issue with feeding random women to the tree. As wicked as Tanga is, he's also untrustworthy among the villains. Not that I'd recommend going to fifties B-movies for sensitive politics but “The Woman Eater” is especially egregious.
When put it aside a ridiculous threat like an killer tree, “The Woman Eater's” political incorrectness only come off as camp. George Coulouris is a perfectly despicable villain as Dr. Moran. Despite the way the script treats her, Vera Day is utterly charming. The entire movie wraps up in seventy minutes, with the bad guys punished, the monster destroyed, and moral relativity restored to the universe. In other words, this gave me exactly what I want from a forgotten B-movie about a tree monster that devours ladies. Sometimes, an easily digested – pun intended? – cheapie with a wacky monster and some sleazy sex appeal is all you need. If nothing else, it's a lot better than the vaguely similar “The Creeping Terror.” By the way, actual myths of flesh-eating trees have popped up over the years, though usually in the jungles of Africa and not South America. [7/10]
Who doesn't love the carnival? It's wholesome fun for the whole family, right? The perfect place to enjoy some rides, play some games, eat some funnel cake, and get harassed, attacked, and murdered. The dangerous, otherworldly atmosphere of the circus has inspired its fair share of horror stories. The carnival has many of the same features but is sleazier by far, being more of a fly-by-night operation staffed by nomadic con men. Beneath the promise of harmless amusements, there's simply an air of depravity about the carnival, ya know? Unsurprisingly, many horror movies have sought to play off this idea. Among the stranger examples resides genuine seventies oddity, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood.” Thought lost for years – I only became aware of the film while reading, of all things, a retrospective on the career of Hervé Villechaize – the film was unearthed for Arrow's American Horror Project, exposing it to a far wider audience than ever before.
Johnny Morris disappears while at Malatesta's Carnival, a local amusement park that has recently reopened. His parents and sister, Vena, arrive at the carnival under the pretense of looking for jobs. They meet with one of the two managers, the mysterious Mr. Blood, before parking their RV on the camp grounds. In truth, the family is there to locate their missing son. Vena sneaks out to meet up with Kit, the boy who runs the shooting range booth that she's taken a liking too. Soon, the daughter uncovers the horrible truth. This is no ordinary carnival. Malatesta and Mr. Blood are vampires. Most of their employees are cannibalistic ghouls and the bloody accident in the park are no accidents at all. They live in the tunnels under the carnival, performing bizarre rituals, with Vena soon chosen as their next sacrifice.
“Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” is the sole credit of writer Werner Liepolt and the only narrative film made by director Christopher Speeth. Liepolt is a mystery but Speeth was well known in the Philadelphia theater scene. Supposedly, he pulled the film together to provide work for actors between seasons. One imagines that Speeth and his humble team – his brother did the special effects – chose to make a horror film because it's a profitable and cheap genre to work in. You can certainly see the vestigial outline of a traditional horror movie here. The idea of a carnival run by vampires and staffed by zombies is simple enough to understand, the kind of premise any monster kid would imagine. A family looking for their missing child is a totally normal prompt for the story too.
However, none of that prepares the viewer for the aggressively strange atmosphere “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” engineers. One of the first things you'll notice about the film is its bizarre sets and art direction. The Tunnel of Love has walls lined with what appear to be feathers, random objects, and fleshy expanses. In the tunnels under the carnival, a Volkswagen has been hung upside down with an enormous mouth built into it. Vena is kept inside a a bubble-like structure at one point. The ghouls often gather in front of an enormous screen, showing clips from silent horror movies. Paired with these odd images is a sound design that is more surreal. Strange humming noises, overlapping dialogue, and discordant fragments of music combine to create a truly nightmarish feeling.
From any sort of traditional perspective, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” probably could not be classified as a “good” movie. Its plot is directionless and vague. The dialogue is often incoherent, the characters never being anything but loose ideas. The acting is stilted. The special effects are unconvincing, the zombies often being actors simply wearing greenish face paint. Somehow, this lack of professionalism works in the film's favor. When combined with the home-made sets and creepy soundtrack, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” genuinely captures the feeling of a bad acid trip. The violence, crude as it is, always seems to hit with a genuine sense of sudden sadism. The roller coaster decapitation, no matter how fake it looks, feels quite uncomfortable. The camera angles are off enough that simple scenes, like the daughter running through the woods or the father exploring the tunnels, feel so strange. Side characters included a hook-handed man named Mr. Bean and little Hervé as someone named Bobo. When the characters talk about how they have many faces or arcane rules that must be obeyed, it feels like “Malatesta” has accidentally touched on a degree of cosmic horror. As if the whole movie is a transmission from another dimension.
The actual abandoned carnival “Malatesta's” was filmed at, from the glimpses we get at it, seems to be genuinely run-down and sketchy. The ending is deeply downbeat, a sense of indifference from a cruel universe emerging. When combined with the lo-fi effects, weird acting, and a story that progresses lucidly from one set-piece to another, the result is a deeply trippy motion picture. Whether intentionally or not, it mirrors the look and feel of a nightmare better than a lot of other movies that actually aim for that goal. Supposedly, Speeth and his team saw little profit from the film and it was said to be booed off the screen by most audiences. It is difficult to imagine a rowdy, drive-in crowd appreciating the particular mood captured here. However, decades after the fact, “Malatesta's Carnival of Blood” can be enjoyed as the bizarre indie experiment it is. Put this one in the love-it-or-hate-it pile but I'm definitely among those that loved it. [8/10]
In 1982, when the slasher genre was nearing the apex of its oversaturation, director Jim McCullough Sr. made a little movie in Louisiana called "Mountaintop Motel." The next year, it played a few drive-ins in the American south, without receiving much attention or doing any notable business. In an alternate universe, that was probably the end of it and the film was confined to the dustbin of genre history. In reality, however, New World Pictures picked the movie up two years later. They demanded reshoots, to make it gorier, and slapped a catchier, more descriptive title on all prints. What ended up absolutely selling "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" was a new poster, featuring a mad-eyed old woman with bloody hands glowering from behind a door, and an immediately catchy tagline: "Do not disturb Evelyn. She already is." It didn't matter that the woman on the box didn't look anything like the actress in the movie or that the new title and tagline promised a far more salacious experience. That image was enough to turn "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" into a minor cult classic among eighties horror fanatics and slasher aficionados. Despite having walked by the VHS box or poster probably a hundred times, I've never made time for "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" before now. That changes on this unseasonably warm October night....
Elderly Evelyn has recently been discharged from a mental institute. She returns to her home in rural Louisiana, where she operates a series of outdoor cabins as a motel. Evelyn is far from healed though: She discovers her daughter attempting to contact the spirit of her late father. This drives the woman into a frenzy and she murders the girl with a sickle. Not long afterwards, a bad storm blows in and a disparate group take shelter at the motel: A hard-drinking traveling preacher, a truck driver, some newlyweds, and a sleazy guy pretending to be a record executive who has picked up two hitchhiking teenage girls. The storm seems to push Evelyn to the breaking point. Using the old tunnels under the hotel, she plants vermin in each room. When this does not satisfy the mournful spirit of her daughter ringing in her head, Evelyn picks her sickle back up and proceeds to slash through the motel guests.
Despite being placed alongside films like "The Burning" or "The Prowler," "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" is an atypical example of the slasher subgenre. If a well-known actress had starred as Evelyn – I'm thinking Patricia Neal or Kim Hunter or somebody on that level – it would've passed as a throwback to the psycho-biddy movies of the sixties. Setting the movie during a thunderstorm in a ratty old motel, hidden out in the deep south, creates an overcast and gloomy atmosphere. That dark-and-stormy night set-up is relied on much more than bloody spectacle to provide chills. Meanwhile – like fellow late-occurring hag horror flick disguised as a slasher, "Night Warning" – much more emphasis than you'd expect is placed in the beleaguered villain's mental state. The best scenes in "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" focus on Evelyn retreating to her creepy inner sanctum, her dead daughter's bedroom that is full of dusty old dolls and creative lighting. We hear the little girl's voice in the old woman's head, prompting her to kill. Anne Chappel – mostly a stage actress who only appeared in one other film than this – gives a sad performance as Evelyn, a disturbed woman haunted by the phantoms of her mind. The scenes focused solely on Evelyn give the impression of what a version of "Friday the 13th" starring Mrs. Voorhees might have looked like.
Despite resisting many elements of the style, "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" is still structured like a slasher flick. It sticks a bunch of characters in an isolated location and has them picked off, one by one. Despite most of the characters being grown-ups, the honeymooning couple and the creepy guy manipulating the two girls still allows for the required sex and nudity. Packing the movie with warm bodies that can be cut up is actually where "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" falters. None of the characters are developed much, beyond the bare minimum idea. Aside from crazy Evelyn, the film can't truly be said to have a protagonist. The boozing preacher seems like he might be a hero but still spends most of the runtime passes out. By frequently cutting between the different guests, before cutting them up, the script feels spread thin between the various mini-melodramas of its plot threads. Isolating the cast in their respective rooms also removes the ensemble energy that powers so many slasher films. In execution, it makes "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" feel less like it has a plot and more like a bunch of different people waiting around for something to happen to them.
And wait around they do. The film takes its sweet time getting to the carnage. Evelyn's initial plan doesn't involve murder at all. At first, she sets a snake, some rats, and roaches loose in the different cabins. This plays on a relatable fear of staying in a sketchy motel, renters left wondering what infestations might be around. The idea that the unhinged owner can access every room whenever she wants via secret passageway is a creepy idea. However, McCullough's direction is rather flat and the film is sleepily paced, meaning few scares or tension is generated. Once the sickle murders do start, the gore is decently pulled off. Throats are slashed, heads are run-through, and a hand is cleaved. Unfortunately, the bloodshed starts so late in the runtime, after many aimless scenes of the characters screwing around (sometimes literally) in their lodgings, that it is hard to find it satisfying. The results is a motion picture that only starts to take-off shortly before it is set to end. "Mountaintop Motel Massacre" ultimately feels like a version of Tobe Hooper's "Eaten Alive," made on downers instead of coke and minus the alligator.
One more thing: Perhaps the word had different connotations in the early eighties. However, I think of a "motel" as a series of interconnecting rooms near a freeway or road, for sleepy motorists to stop in. The run-down cabins of this film, tucked deep within the hills of Louisiana, feel more like an extremely underwhelming campground or resort. I also find the size of the "mountaintop" in question to be inappropriately mountainous. Anyway, New World Pictures definitely had the right idea when they added an edgier word to "Mountaintop Motel Massacre"s" title and threw together that sleazy box art. It's doubtful anyone would remember the movie without the catchy title and catchier advertising campaign. An attempt to fuse a moody psycho-thriller with a body count flick isn't a bad idea but this one can't pull off either idea in a satisfactory manner. It's a bummer that the period when random one-off slasher flicks were getting remade has passed. This one could do with a second stab at it, as long as they kept the tagline the same. [5/10]
The conceit of the found footage style is that this is actual recordings someone has stumbled upon, hence the name. The idea, of discovering something forbidden in an unexpected place, has mutated and permeated over the years. The subgenre has always had links to the mockumentary style, which similarly plays with layers of reality and fiction. This has crossbred with the found footage premise to produce a spat of what I'll call "cursed broadcast" movies: Mundane television programs that suddenly get horrific. Obviously, Orson Welles' "War of the Worlds" broadcast is the grandfather of this premise and inspired direct successors over the years, such as "Special Bulletin" and "Without Warning." None of the attempts to recreate this idea has been more influential than "Ghostwatch." In our modern age, when archiving old television programs and uploading them to the Internet or searching out "lost media" has become a passion for many, the idea of finding some footage of a cursed broadcast has taken root in the genre. Probably inspired by Chris LaMartina's "WNUF Halloween Special," this year brought the most high profile take on the idea in years. "Late Night with the Devil" became IFC/Shudder's highest grossing release earlier this year but I knew, given my affection for this style and it's October 31st setting, I wanted to save it for the final film of this year's Halloween Horrorfest Blog-a-Thon.
In the seventies, one of the many attempts to dethrone Johnny Carson as the king of late night was Jack Delroy. His show, "Night Owls," would be successful in the latter half of the decade. However, following the death of his beloved wife Madeline, Jack would step away from the show for a while. Upon returning, producers would attempt to boost the program's falling ratings with a series of outrageous stunts. This reached its climax with a 1977 Halloween show. Delroy invited on the show medium Christou, debunker Carmichael Haig, and parapsychologist June Ross-Mitchell with her latest subject, Lily. The only survivor of a mass suicide by a Satanic cult, Lily is supposedly possessed by the demon Abraxas. As the broadcast went on, more strange things would happen, driving Delroy into a personal hell.
On one hand, "Late Night with the Devil" is a meticulous recreation of a late-night talk show from the seventies. It has convincing sets and costumes, matching the look and feel of the time. Jack Delroy reflects the avuncular presence of the many attempts to imitate Carson, especially in his banter with his sidekick, Gus McConnell. The film also does a decent job of copying the look and feel of such a program, with the proper amount of film grain, awkward camera movements, and overly long bits. This is probably because "Late Night with the Devil" draws direct inspiration from a number of real events. The main inspiration for the movie was stage magician turned skeptical inquirer James Randi appearing on Australian talk show, "The Don Lane Show," which ended with Lane becoming irate with the guest. Carmichael Haig is clearly based on Randi, copying his facial hair, his rivalry with spoon bender Uri Gellar, and his offer of a cash prize to anyone who can definitively prove the existence of the supernatural. The movie draws inspiration from other true events too. Jack is a member of a Bohemian Grove style gentleman's retreat, which also features spooky, quasi-occult rituals involving an owl idol. "Lily," and the book written about her, are obviously based on "Michelle Remembers," the fraudulent biography that kicked off the Satanic ritual abuse hysteria of the eighties. The cult that birthed her has clear tones of Anton LeVay's Church of Satan while the police stand-off ending in fiery death is taken from the Branch Davidians. In other words, "Late Night with the Devil" pulls from a number of notorious figures and moments in pop history to add verisimilitude.
All of that stuff is extremely my kind of shit. (Though, as a fellow skeptic, I object to the characterization of the Randi stand-in as a pretentious glory chaser.) If "Late Night with the Devil" had devoted its entire runtime to a presentation of a mythical infamous moment in TV history, it would probably stand along side "Ghostwatch," "WNUF," and "Antrum" as a compelling meta narrative. Instead, directors the Cairness brothers repeatedly break immersion. The film opens with a lengthy documentary-like segment, establishing the backstory of "Night Owls with Jack Delroy." Which I think sets some events up too far in advance but is an understandable addition. More frustrating, however, is the repeated choice to cut away from the live broadcast to black-and-white behind-the-scenes segments, that show us what happened while the cameras were off that night. In other words: The film repeatedly abandons its own conceit. Worst yet, these scenes don't give us any information that wouldn't be better left implied anyway. Jack's involvement with the Grove, his infidelity, and the off-screen death of another guest would all be more shocking if revealed later in the film. The biggest sign of "Late Night with the Devil's" half-assed commitment to its own premise is the much criticized use of AI-generated images for the show's bumpers. This is immediately noticeable, as the images do not match the seventies setting and feature all the tell-tale signs of being made by a fucking robot. Obviously, there's no excuse for the inclusion of anti-human, plagiarized bullshit like that in this film. It puts a stain on the entirety of "Late Night with the Devil."
This is a shame because, otherwise, I did find a lot to enjoy here. The entire appeal of films like this is the sinister and otherworldly interceding on the utterly mundane. There's certainly plenty of examples of live broadcast being interrupted by the tragic or unexpected. The first half of "Late Night with the Devil" is its best, when it balances a realistic recreation of a seventies late night show with darker elements. Such as a strangely unmoving guests in a skeleton costume or Christou going into a seizure during a psychic episode. The film probably pushes it too far during late, more special effects driven moments. Such as the medium vomiting a torrent of black sludge into the camera, the first attempt to contact the demon in Lily, or a hypnosis sequence featuring some very nasty worms. "Ghostwatch" and "WNUF Halloween Special" knew to keep this stuff mostly off-screen, to further the sense that you are watching a normal broadcast gone horribly wrong and not, ya know, a horror movie. These scenes are well done though, especially that bit with the worms. What should have been the film's climax, Abraxas truly making himself known, similarly pushes the visual effects and chaos too far while also being rather nicely pulled off.
That's not the ending though. You can clearly see a struggle within "Late Night with the Devil" to extend what should've been a regular hour of TV into a feature length movie. (Though "The Tonight Show" often ran for upwards of nineties minutes, so that feels like a copout too.) All throughout, as the film frustratingly abandons its own set-up before swerving back, I wonder what the whole point of this was. "Ghostwatch" is about bringing classical English folklore into the then-modern day while implicitly criticizing the media's need to explore, watch, and exploit everything. "WNUF Halloween Special" and its sequel invoke and subvert nostalgia for discarded pop culture while revealing that the power of human belief is much more dangerous than the myths themselves. "Late Night with the Devil's" indecisiveness prevents it from making a deeper point. The final sequence – which also drops the lost broadcast gimmick – does something interesting though. This is Jack Delroy's story. It is a classical Faustian bargain playing out within the entertainment industry, of sacrificing your soul for fame and success. That is why even the James Randi stand-in is a phony. Everyone in TV is merely hungry for fame and power. David Dastmalchian plays Delroy as a sad, anxious man who is barely holding onto his public persona while his inner demons take hold and he makes the final scenes, of the devil coming to collect what is owed to him, better than they would be otherwise. I don't think a story of how showbiz destroys minds and reaps souls is as compelling an idea as using the medium itself to criticize the messages it propagates. It exposes "Late Night with the Devil" as a bit of a fraud itself, as this story could have been told as a traditional narrative without the catchy gimmick. But at least it's an idea, a sign that this is more than a mere technical exercise and a compilation of decades-old bits of moral panics and TV detritus.
Ultimately, "Late Night with the Devil" left me very conflicted. Technically, it is well done. The special effects are slimy and gross. Colin and Cameron Cairness are clearly talented at engineering effective shock scenes. The cast is strong, especially Dastmalchian and Ingrid Torelli, who is extremely creepy as the possessed girl. In many ways, this movie is exactly the kind of thing I should love. However, the film's disappointing need to constantly undermine its own strengths makes it a much more frustrating watch. Not to mention the AI bullshit, which is simply inexcusable. (Also, its unwillingness to acknowledge the much more complicated Gnostic origins of Abraxas, which is treated as simply another scary demon. But I'm pretty used to screenwriters doing stuff like that...) In other words, "Late Night with the Devil" could have been a much better movie if not for a few baffling decisions the creative team made. It is stuffed full of Halloween ambiance though and, obviously, a good choice to watch in the middle of the night, despite falling short of giving me the kind of high previous, superior attempts at this kind of thing gave me. [6/10]
The other day, I was in a Target. Despite Halloween itself being neigh, the department store was already all decked out for Christmas. I know I should be used to this by now but seeing the fake evergreens and Santa suits overtake the Jack-o'-lanterns and skeletons bummed me out. When you think about Halloween all year round, and actively celebrate it for two months, what should be the climax of the season instead feels like the dispiriting end of something nice. I sure do like it when everything is decked out in orange and black, bats and ghouls looking at me from every angle. Feels nice, ya know? Seeing that tapper to a close, swallowed up by all that holly-jollyness, is a bummer.
However, it is important to remember something: Halloween doesn't come from a store. Halloween means a little bit more. While standing on a friend's lawn, pretending to be an automaton, and successfully frightening some small children, I remembered that. I can wax philosophically about what this season means to me for pages on end. Somehow, I've made it to this stage in my life without loosing the child-like wonder this time of year invokes in me. As always, thank you, Halloween. Thank you for reminding me that the flesh decays, the leaves turn brown and fall to the ground, and our spirits shuffle off this mortal coil but that some ideas are forever. Being scared, thrilled, or gross out reminds you that are alive. That this life is yours and should be invested with glee as much as possible. That, in spite of the inevitable end of all things, joy and love can be found everywhere. Thank you, Halloween.
Alright, enough sentimentality. I watched 127 feature films, 101 TV episodes, and 19 shorts over the course of two months. In other words: I did it. I lived the Halloween season to the fullest. Let us face down November 1st with a lifted spirit and a clean conscience. Hey, witches and black cats and candy corn and 12 Foot Tall Skeletons: It's not goodbye forever, it's goodbye for now. Let us slip into our coffins full of earth and sleep for another year, to reawaken next autumn as sure as the changing of the seasons and the rising of the sun.
