Halloween 2024: September 16th

Looking for Mr. Goodbar (1977)

When I was a young teen, I picked up my sister's paperback copy of "Danse Macabre," Stephen King's collection of essays about the horror genre. I tore through the whole book in a single night. The next day, I used it to make a pencil-and-paper list of movies and books I needed to watch or read. On that list was "Looking for Mr. Goodbar." King gave it high notices, especially an ending he called chilling. However, the movie isn't often considered part of the horror genre, more commonly listed as a drama. Moreover, it's not widely discussed today, as music licensing issues have kept it off disc and streaming. These are the primary reasons I've not watched the film before now. However, HD recordings from recent television broadcasts do circulate online and a few other Letterboxd users classify it as horror. I guess what I'm saying is: This is the year I decided to stop looking for Mr. Goodbar and actually find him.

Theresa Dunn is a shy and reserved young woman, studying to become a teacher for deaf students. She lives with her browbeating Catholic parents, always in the shadow of a livelier older sister and a traumatic surgery she had as a child. She loses her virginity to her married English professor, the subsequent stormy affair leaving her shaken. Afterwards, she moves into an apartment in a sleazier part of town. While carrying on the respectful image of a schoolteacher by day, she begins to live a second life at night. She trolls the singles clubs for action, hooking up with different men and doing a lot of drugs. Some of the men she brings back home are dangerous. Some are deadly. It's not long before her salacious nightlife intrudes on her waking world. 

Having now seen "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," I think a case can be made for it being a horror movie. (Not to mention a predecessor to the erotic thriller genre that would emerge in the next decade.) Without knowing the film and book are based on a real life murder, an unsettling ambiance still floats over the entire story. Practically every interaction Theresa has with a man is haunted by the threat of violence. Her father is a bully. Her professor is prone to emotional outburst, striking Theresa at one point and saying horrible things to her after sex. A coked-up hustler she hooks up with named Tony – Richard Gere in one of his earliest screen roles – swings a switchblade around her room in an unpredictable fashion, which he seems to think is a cute way to flirt. An interaction with a drug dealer in a bar bathroom is tense with uncertainty. When things do turn terrifying for Theresa, when Tony becomes a violent stalker or she brings home a lunatic in the final act, it's the climax of a mood of uneasy, growing tension maintained throughout the whole movie. From the first moment, the feeling that all of this is going to end badly is unavoidable and colors every scene that follows.  

Both the book and the movie were wildly controversial in the seventies, sordidly depicting the club culture that went mainstream that decade. It's easy to see this sex and drugs lifestyle as another rejoinder to the traditionalist, all-American, family values that died in the late sixties. Women's lib is referenced all throughout, usually derisively by the various men in Theresa's life. Some saw the movie as a criticism of second wave feminism, showing a woman discarding family life and pursuing sexual liberation until it kills her. However, the movie strikes me as much more complicated than that. Every man in Theresa's life, from her dad on down, takes out their personal problems on the women around them. Her professor vents the stresses of his crumbling marriage at Theresa, always ending up disgusted with her and himself after they have sex. Tony thinks he can live a sexually free lifestyle but expects Theresa to be under his control. The nicest guy she meets, a landlord played by Will Atherton, eventually reveals himself to be an emotionally manipulative jerk that takes pleasure in talking down to her. The final man she meets is a self-hating homosexual who attacks Theresa after he can't maintain an erection. In fact, sexual inadequacy seems to drive a lot of the violence – usually from men, against women – in the film. 

And it's not like the movie depicts traditional married life as any better. Theresa's mom is always silenced by her bellowing father. Her sister – an Oscar-nominated Tuesday Weld – is trapped in a cycle of failing marriages and terminated pregnancies. To call "Looking for Mr. Goodbar" a social horror movie is not wrong. The liberated lifestyle – which Theresa's sister introduces her to via her swinging friends – doesn't seem to make anybody very happy. Such unhappiness is merely a symptom of a wider disease effecting American life, centered in misogyny and repression. William A. Fraker's bleak but depth-filled cinematography frames religious symbols over Theresa literally every time she's in her parents' house. We are often privy to her sexual fantasies and imaginings. She envisions herself as a streetwalker at one point, seeing all expressions of sexuality as a freedom that has long been denied her. She's naïve and shows poor judgement, in the drugs she takes and the men she sleeps with, but the film is thoroughly on Theresa's side. The criticism it directs is at a sexist culture and the controlling, unreasonable men that occupy it. 

The same year Diane Keaton would play the prototypal manic pixie dream girl in "Annie Hall," she gave a much more introspective performance here. Her expressive face and meaningful body language brings Theresa's rich inner life to the surface. Keaton is absorbed totally in the role, seeming to be a completely different person by the story's end. That end is when the film's slowly simmering tension boils over into full-blown terror. A sweating, terrifying Tom Berrenger grows more and more unhinged before the apartment is lit by a strobe light. The audience's stomach sinks as the flashing images drag us totally into a bloody, screeching nightmare of a conclusion. It's an audio-visual descent into Hell, the film closing more and more into Theresa's disturbing fate until her face is the only thing on-screen.

The result is a chilling, complicated film. The cast is accomplished, full of up-and-coming actors before they were stars. The cinematography captures the grittiness of the setting and the intimacy of the story it's telling. The musical score is mournful, a dirge foreshadowing the eventual nightmarish fate it ends with. (That is when the soundtrack isn't filled with a litany of recognizable disco hits, resulting in the complicated mess of song rights that keeps the film trapped on VHS.) It might be unconventional viewing for this time of year, the movie beginning around one Christmas and ending shortly after another, yet it still manages to chill and horrify me with its uneasy mood, complex themes, and unsettling climax. [9/10]

Children of the Corn IV: The Gathering (1996)

As I said last time, Dimension Films would sequelize the hell out of any recognizable property they got their hands on. Especially if it could be exploited with cheap, quick follow-ups pitched directly at the most indiscriminate video store customers of 1990s America. They made eight "Hellraisers," five "Halloweens," five "Scary Movies," five "Prophecies,'" four "Crows," three "Mimics," and two "Highlanders." Of all the titles the Weinsteins happily drove into the ground, "Children of the Corn" has to be the most baffling. How do you get eight movies out of that premise, Bob? But they did. The churn-em-out years of this starch heavy series started with 1996's "Children of the Corn IV: The Gathering." The directorial debut of Greg Spence, the post-production supervisor for several previous Dimension horror sequels, the film was released on October 8th of '96. Just in time for the harvest, I guess.  

Grace Rhodes returns to her home town of Grand Island, Nebraska to take care of her agoraphobic mother and two younger siblings, James and Margaret. (Margaret secretly being Grace's child.) She resumes her work at the local clinic as a strange virus sweeps through the children of Grand Island. After high fevers and a loss of teeth, the kids awaken with altered personalities and ask to go by different names. This is the work of Josiah, a deathless child preacher who cursed the town in the fifties and has now risen again. He has entranced the local children, swaying them to murder adults. Grace must unravel Josiah's weakness and save her siblings/daughter before the Children of the Corn overtake the town entirely. 

"The Gathering" drops any connection to the previous installments. Surely to the dismay of hardcore corn heads everywhere, there's not much maize in this movie at all. "The Gathering" is instead a weirdo blend of a science fiction reinvention of Stephen King's premise and general folk horror vibes. Josiah – this sequel's version of Isaac/Micah/Eli – doesn't sway the children to his ideology via magic or cult indoctrination. Instead, the murderous impulses spread through a virus, which seems linked to the bloodlines of the community somehow. Somehow, it also is magic in some unexplained way. Meanwhile, Josiah is the result of local legends and hidden shame, an illegitimate child who was raised by travelling showman preachers but eventually given over to darker forces. Anxieties about Christian fundamentalists being connected with otherworldly evil is what most makes this a "Children of the Corn" movie. Tying this premise into a small town's shameful past – a mythic local history discussed by old women sitting in dark, drafty farmhouses – is the most interesting idea "The Gathering" has. It brings the folk horror elements of the series, of ancient rituals and folktales arising again in the modern age, to the forefront.   

You can tell Spence was going for something with "The Gathering." Richard Clabaugh, one of four cinematographers credited on the film, creates a brooding atmosphere. The interiors are full of shadows. The nights are dark. The cornfields are foggy. That gloomy, green-tinted visual approach that was so hot in horror during the post-Fincher nineties is definitely present. Close-ups, askew angles, and frantic editing tries to create a disorienting feeling during the attack scenes. Bizarre touches like a hospital gurney outfitted with an enormous blade, blood samples overflowing and spreading across the floor, and telepathically flung syringes show up. The result is almost creepy, if the film didn't constantly spoil its own ambiance with loud jump scares. Any time "The Gathering" started to work for me, settling into a weird and spooky folk horror vibe, the face of a shrieking demon child is flung right at the camera. It's hard to build a disquieting experience without the "quiet" part. 

One gets the impression that, while the filmmakers behind "Children of the Corn IV" had some interesting ideas and an understanding of the fundamentals of horror, they didn't have enough time to properly develop them. Long before becoming a two time Academy Award nominee, Naomi Watts had her first top-billed role here. Watts tries to add some pathos to Grace's arc, of reconnecting with her mentally ill mother and the child she left behind. (Which is clearly meant to parallel, however awkwardly, with Josiah's origins.) However, the script spreads itself too thin, focusing on numerous side characters. A lot of time is devoted to Donald, the father of one of brainwashed kids, running from the cops. This subplot is introduced without feeling natural. Karen Black as Grace's mom, bringing the campy vamping we expect of her, is important to the story until she abruptly is not. By the end, any chance to develop the heroes is lost as the plot pivots to quasi-mystical gobbledygook about magic blood and Josiah's weakness to liquid mercury. An 85 minute runtime simply isn't enough to support the plethora of subplots, most of which exist to introduce more bodies that can then be hacked up with scythes. 

Considering "Children of the Corn IV" was rolled out merely a year after the last one was released, it's easy to guess that every aspect of this production was expedited. Maybe complaining that a direct-to-video slasher sequel doesn't develop its characters much is missing the point. Still, the filmmakers clearly had ambitions higher than making a simple gore-fest. Any invoking of deeper ideas or attempts at making real scares ultimately falls short. Compared to the campy humor of part two and the elaborate special effects of part three, "The Gathering" is an unsatisfying slog. By the way, a deleted scene was going to reveal that Josiah was, in fact, He Who Walks Behind the Rows all along. This was probably a way to connect a largely unrelated plot to the other movies. I'm glad this information was removed. The eldritch, pagan entity worshipped in the last three movies actually being a child preacher from the fifties who can't age is a big letdown. I'd rather He stay as a big freaky worm monster. [5/10]

Mystery and Imagination: Sweeney Todd

As displayed with “Lights Out” and “Suspense,” horror/thriller anthologies have aired on American television almost as long as the medium has existed. It took the rest of the Anglosphere a while to catch up. As far as I can tell, the earliest British horror anthology program was “Tales of Mystery” from 1961, which adapted the stories of Algernon Blackwood. Like a lot of early U.K. TV, no episodes survive. Other early candidates – “Out of This World” from 1962 and “Out of the Unknown” from 1965 – have suffered a similar fate, only a handful of episodes being preserved. “Mystery and Imagination” began airing on ITV in 1966. Each installment was a feature length “television play” based on a classic work of eerie fiction. As you've probably guessed, most of this show is gone too. However, the 1968 and 1970 seasons survive. Which brings us to “Sweeney Todd,” the penultimate episode of the program. 

"Mystery and Imagination" follows the general outline of "The String of Pearls," the penny dreadful that introduced this grisly tale into British pop culture, while shaving away (sorry) the many subplots. For those who don't know the story: In a barbershop on Fleet Street, across from St. Dunstan's Church, resides Sweeney Todd. When a rich fellow carrying a string of fine pearls comes into the shop, Todd murders him by activating a trap door under the barber's chair, dropping the man head first into the cellar below. It's a regular habit of Todd's, who slits the throats of any survivors with his trusty straight razor. The bodies are then taken to Mrs. Lovett's pie shop, who bakes the flesh into her meat pies and makes unwittingly cannibals of all her customers. Todd attempts to sell the priceless pearls, while snooping cops and a rather androgynous young man (actually the murder victim's bride-to-be in disguise) come into his shop. It's not long before the horrifying truth is uncovered. 

In the original serial – officially uncredited, though usually attributed to Thomas Peckett Priest and James Malcolm Rymer – Sweeney Todd is never anything more than a dastardly villain. He physically abuses his young assistant, hates dogs, and kills only for greed. He is so obviously a dangerous lunatic that it's hard to believe his barbershop could've operated for any amount of time. Like most adaptations, "Mystery and Imagination" makes Todd a lot more sympathetic. In fact, the film is devoted largely to showing us how someone could be molded into such a ruthless killer. After sending his assistant away to a horrible asylum, a flashback reveals that Sweeney was raised in a similarly atrocious environment. Mrs. Lovett rejects his romantic advances, only being interested in the pearls' monetary value. After hiding in a den of thieves and counterfeiters, he is dismissed by other criminals too. He's been abused and isolated his whole life, resulting in an unhinged man more than willing to slit the throats of anyone around him. 

Truthfully, the episode paints Sweeney Todd as a pathetic figure, suffering from some rather Freudian psychosis. The flashback shows Todd as a boy begging for his mother. The way the warden gets right up in his face and teases him brings an unseemly suggestion of sexual abuse into the story. This has led Todd, as an adult, to an obsession with "purity" and youth. When he gives Tobias away, it's because the boy is maturing and starting to grow facial hair. He falls in love with the disguised Johanna because she has no hair on her chin. (Todd seems to implicitly recognize her as a woman, unconvincingly acting as a boy. Or the British censors somehow looked right past the pedophilic, homoerotic undertones.) Todd takes revenge on Mrs. Lovett not because she rejected him but because she's not as "pure" as his new love interest. It all seems to suggest that Sweeney Todd's homicidal tendencies are born out of childhood abuse locking him in a regressed state, where maturity is associated only with cruelty. 

It's an interesting take on the material. Freddie Jones plays Todd as a soft-spoken introvert that switches between pathetically mumbling under his breath and violent rages. Jones' performance is rather stagey, as is all the acting in the film. Look at Heather Canning's gasping death scene as Mrs. Lovett for another good example of that. This stilted, stage bound qualities somehow only adds to the eeriness of the production. The sets are quite artificial looking. When Todd is down in the cellar, his own thoughts echo throughout the scene. Primitive photography effects bring his visions of skulls in a mirror to life. It all adds up to create a dreamy, bleak quality that suits a story as internal and nihilistic as this. The production doesn't run from the stage play style either, as it bookends each section with on-screen text announcing the act number. I guess the British took the idea of a "television play" rather literally in the early seventies. The more vintage British TV I watch, the more its stilted, uncanny style appeals to me. 

"Mystery and Imagination" adds a twist ending to the "Todd" story which, as far as I can tell, isn't present in any other version. Normally, I'd dislike a rug-pull ending like this. Somehow it suits a take on the story that focuses so much on what happens in the killer's mind, that shows him as more broken than threatening. It's quite a nuanced and interesting version of the oft-told narrative. Among the other surviving installments of "Mystery and Imagination" are adaptations of "Dracula" and "Frankenstein," which I'm intrigued to check out now. Though this episode also makes me wonder why Hammer never took a shot at "Sweeney Todd." Such a bloody, bawdy tale would have fit right in at that studio. Easy to imagine Peter Cushing in the title role, ya know? I guess this psychological but still macabre 70 minute interpretation is the closest we'll ever get to that pipe dream. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Halloween with the Addams Family

I regard both shows about equally but one way "The Addams Family" is unquestionably superior to "The Munsters" is that the latter never did a Halloween special! The Addams, meanwhile, were celebrating October 31st in their seventh episode. "Halloween with the Addams Family" has the kooky, spooky clan gearing up for the big day. Granmama takes Wednesday and Pugsley trick-or-treating – dressed as square Americans in suits and glasses – while everyone else prepared for a grand party. On the same night, two bank robbers named Claude and Marty are on the run from the cops. The Addams mistake them for trick-or-treaters and invite them inside. While the robbers mistake the family for simply really being into the holiday, they soon realize that their hosts are genuinely ghoulish. 

When pitching the idea of the Addams family on Halloween, there were a few routes to go. Perhaps they could've turned their noses up at the holiday, as the one night every one else embraces the lifestyle they live every day. Or maybe they could've continually horrified the neighbors by taking the macabre nature of the celebration beyond traditional taste. Instead, the original sitcom chooses a third, more charming option: The Addams love Halloween and they do most all the normal things we associate with the day, simply a little stranger. They bob for a live crab, instead of apples. Morticia's punch is mixed like a mad scientist's potion and smokes like a witch's cauldron. The main idea, it seems, is that Halloween is to the Addams as Christmas is to the average American family. This is evident in a reading of a "Halloween poem," which sounds a lot like a spooky version of "The Night Before Christmas. Honestly, as a big advocate for Halloween carols, I love that. Everyone should read spooky, goofy poetry on October 31st!

The episode also finds a fun spin on the show's biggest reoccurring gag, of normies being scared by the Addams' style. Once Claude and Marty get the spooks, they want to leave. The presence of the cops in the neighborhood forces them to stay, repeatedly exposing them to the Addams' eccentric celebration. Don Rickles and Skip Homeier play Claude and Marty. While casting Rickles as a straight man is a little disappointing, the set-up still presents plenty of laughs. Such as Gomez' reaction to their bag being full of money, the two thugs trying to explain hide-and-seek to a very confused Gomez and Morticia, and Thing swapping Marty's gun for a banana. In fact, Thing is quite mischievous in this one, locking the door before the robbers try to leave and preventing from grabbing a bat. 

Honestly, "Halloween with the Addams Family" works simply because this cast is so good at playing these characters. Jackie Coogan's weirdo body language turns Fester posing for a jack-o'-lantern into a great gag. Or Gomez and Morticia having a conversation about Richard Styx, an old boyfriend of her's. The expected gag of one of the outsiders mistaking Lurch's face for a mask is elevated totally by Ted Cassidy's dead pan reaction. I know we all adore the interpretation of Wednesday as an extremely sardonic, mildly homicidal, grim super-goth. Yet Lisa Loring's performance, as an otherwise precious little girl with extremely morbid hobbies, might honestly be more subversive at this point. I love her little line here about wanting to play "autopsy" with a new knife her dad ordered. Don't you love to see kids interested in science? The running joke about Kitty Kat being timid is reused but this episode does find a fresh spin on Fester's lightbulb trick. [7/10]

Halloween 2024: September 15th

J.D.'s Revenge (1976)

Back in March, we lost prolific character actor Louis Gossett Jr. Gossett, of course, was best known for being the first black man to win an Oscar in the Best Supporting Actor category. However, Gossett was also the kind of actor who was clearly happy to be working, appearing in projects of wildly varying levels of prestige over his long career. Sometimes, this meant roles in critically acclaimed projects like "An Officer and a Gentleman" or "Roots." More often, it meant undistinguished schlock like "Bram Stoker's The Mummy," "Firewalker," "Delgo," and a string of "Iron Eagle" sequels. Despite that, and probably because the height of his fame came after the seventies ended, Gossett only appeared in one proper blaxploitation movie. Luckily for the purpose of this marathon, it happens to be part of the short-lived trend of blaxploitation horror. In fact, I'd say 1976's "J.D.'s Revenge" is among the most underrated of this particular niche. 

Ike is a modern black man in 1970s New Orleans, studying to become a lawyer while working a day job as a cab driver. He shares a loving relationship with his wife, Christella. While out on the town with some friends, Ike is hypnotized as part of a nightclub act. Afterwards, something strange happens. Ike suffers from headaches and wild personality shifts, performing violent acts he has no memory of. He assumes the persona of J.D. Walker, a small time gangster who died under mysterious circumstances in the forties. Walker's unhinged spirit has possessed Ike's body, determined to take revenge on the men who seemingly murdered him: Elijah Bliss, a boxer turned gospel preacher, and his shady brother, Theotis. Can Christella unravel this mystery before her man is forced to do something terrible? 

Like all blaxploitation films, "J.D.'s Revenge" is beholden to the social ills of the decade in which it was made. Instead of concerning a black hero rebelling against white authority, it grapples with what it meant to be a black man in the seventies. Ike plays football, has a ridiculously deep voice, and wears disco suits in the evenings. He's also a sensitive intellectual, more thoughtful than his crass friends. He also turns down sex from his wife, something you can't imagine Shaft or Slaughter ever doing. J.D. Walker, meanwhile, was a violent sociopath. While under control of J.D., Ike terrorizes a rich white woman in his cab and has rough sex with Christella that borders on assault. It's hard to say if "J.D.'s Revenge" is merely doing a riff on a split personality story, Ike's braininess simply meant to contrast with J.D.'s brutal nature, or if it's actually commenting on the perspective of black masculinity at the time. 

Ike's possession is obviously a bad thing. There's also an uncomfortable sense that J.D.'s violent actions and forceful sexuality makes him more of a "man" than his calmer host. Like most blaxploitation movies, "J.D.'s Revenge" doesn't treat women the best. Christella's ambiguous assault is simply something that happens. The racist stereotype of black men hitting their wives is also invoked. This was the penultimate blaxploitation flick for director Arthur Marks. As in Marks' previous entries in the genre, "Friday Foster" and "Bucktown," the film flirts with a deeper social commentary without committing to it. Whether "J.D.'s Revenge" is concluding that it's good that black men are no longer defined by violence, greed, and sexual exploitation or if it's merely a half-assed, funk-infused version of "Straw Dogs," is hard to say. The subplot of a boxer leaving his bloody past behind to become a preacher at least suggests the former, even if the film is treating gospel ministry as a somewhat insincere act.

Despite its shaky attempts at serious themes, "J.D.'s Revenge" is still an effective horror movie. It helps that the film is not merely an urban update on a familiar monster story. It's not about a black Dracula, a black Frankenstein, a black Dr. Jekyll, or a black Linda Blair. Its ideas of loss of identity to a violent, spectral intruder are more unsettling. The film makes us familiar enough with Ike that whenever J.D. assumes control, the shift is sudden. The violence is intense and frenzied. The scene of Ike terrorizing the woman in the cab is especially unhinged. The sexual violence is depicted in an disturbing fashion, focused on the performers' faces as Christella's mixture of terror and arousal grows and Ike/J.D.'s lust reaches beastly levels. Disturbing moments like these are accentuated by aggressive, almost dream-like editing choices. There are frequent cuts away to a butcher shop, animal flesh chopped up and bled. Flashbacks to J.D.'s final moments are also common, a slashed throat repeatedly playing out in slow motion. By the time J.D.'s laughing, wicked face is staring at Ike from a mirror, the film has successfully captured a feverish tone. 

The movie's violence and twisted editing collide with another unavoidable factor in these movies: Unintentional camp. Like most blaxploitation films, "J.D.'s Revenge" was made by white filmmakers, resulting in a warped perspective of black culture. The script is rich with amusingly goofy "street" slang. It goes without saying that the film is absolutely filled with dated fashion,  with enough polyester to fill a warehouse. This is meant to contrast against the zoot suits, wide brimmed hats, and greased hair of J.D.'s era. In effect, both seem like relics of equally bygone decades. The performances are silly and overheated. Glynn Turman never seems entirely comfortable as Ike. His reverberating voice is especially at odds with what is supposed to be a nerdy character. David McKnight goes wildly over-the-top as J.D. This results in Turman playing the possessed state in a totally overheated fashion. Gossett adapts the exaggerated swagger you associate with a preacher of this type, making those scenes hilarious too. Nestled in-between all this sweaty overacting are moments of nuance. Gossett is actually really good in the quieter scenes with his brother, suggesting the pastor act is a put-on. Joan Pringle is similarly sincere, playing a devoted woman who doesn't understand what's happening to the man she loves. 

There's also a love triangle, with Christella's ex-husband still holding a torch for her. This seems to parallel the pregnancies, betrayals, and long lost offspring that are revealed in J.D.'s past. All together, it's a fascinatingly uneven blend of creepy horror and retro camp, of ideas high-minded and lusty. Blaxploitation's mainstream popularity was fast fading by 1976, which might explain why nuttier movies like this were starting to pop up. (Marks did make one final crack at it, with "The Monkey Hustle.") I don't know if "J.D.'s Revenge" comes together into a coherent whole but I sure had fun watching it. It's not as sturdy as "Blacula" or as experimental as "Ganja & Hess" but remains an intriguing fusion nevertheless. By the way, for those that remember the entire month I did devoted to blaxploitation movies and the accompanying checklist of tropes, "J.D.'s Revenge" features all of them except a homophobic caricature and a racist authority figure. We were so close! [8/10] 

Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest (1995)

While the production company behind "Hellraiser III" and "Children of the Corn II"  rose from the ashes of New World Pictures, both films were distributed by a name that would largely define horror going forward into the nineties: Dimension Films. In fact, the aforementioned titles were the first and third projects Dimension released. And the Weinstein's genre label was very savvy about capitalizing on any hits they had, especially on the then thriving VHS market. "Children of the Corn II" made seven million in theaters, against a 1.3 million budget. Not the worst of returns but it must've done better in video stores. That's where the third entry in this suddenly on-going series, "Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest," would debut in 1995. James D.B. Hickox – brother of Anthony – was brought in to direct, with effects from monster experts Screaming Mad George and Kevin Yagher. A good pedigree for a direct-to-video horror sequel from the middle nineties but does the film live up to it?

After their father disappears mysteriously, Joshua and his younger brother Eli are adopted by William and Amanda Porter. This moves the boys from Nebraska's corn country to the mean streets of Chicago. Joshua makes friends at school quickly, as well as getting the attention of a girl named Maria. Eli, meanwhile, spends a lot of time in the abandoned warehouse next door, cultivating a strain of hyper-resistant corn. At school, he begins to preach about the immortality of adults and the virtues of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. The boy gathers an entranced following of fellow students, while his strange behavior disturbs Amanda and his teachers. (William, a commodities trader specializing in – you guessed it – corn, is more interested in the hearty maize Eli is growing.) It's not long before the people who challenge Eli start to gruesomely die. After their foster mom perishes in a horrible accident, Joshua starts to realize how dangerous his little brother is.

"Urban Harvest" takes "The Omen" influence shown in the second film further. A spell book from He Who Walks Behind the Rows grants Eli magical powers, which he uses to engineer elaborate deaths for anyone who displeases him. He sometimes speaks with a demonic, reverbed voice. While he maintains the trademarks of this series' villains – preacher clothes, a wide brim hat, an Abrahamic name – the script clearly paints him as an Antichrist-like figure, with the way he antagonizes a priest and subverts Christian imagery. The Satanic chanting on the score is ramped up too. The sequel goes out of its way to make this kid seem as sinister and wicked as possible. In other words, "Children of the Corn III" continues to move away from the roving band of killer kids that defined the original, in favor of a centralized villain with magical powers and devilish vibes. Subsequently, the cult element is lessened, with Eli's followers being more brainwashed thralls than willing participants in organized bloodshed.

You can argue about how "Children of the Corn III" strays from the purity of Stephen King's original premise. At least it has fun doing so. Once you see Screaming Mad George's name in the credits, you know you're in for some wild shit. The film quickly delivers. Within minutes of the opening credits, a man's eyes and mouth are sewn shut by magical forces as he's transformed into a human scarecrow. The cornstalks become deadly tentacles, driving into a homeless man's eyes. Eli enchants a woman's lighter, so she inhales the flame and her face melts like a bloody candle. A head cracks open like an eggshell, cockroaches rushing out. A stalking through the corn rows ends with a surprisingly graphic impaling. Joji Tani's unique talent for gooey, rubbery sequences of body horror is really shown during the movie's best scene: Those pesky cornrows grip a guy's head and pull it off his body, his spinal cord still attached and seemingly stretching to an impossible length. It's creative, surreal bloodshed for sure, appealing to fans of rubber and latex mayhem.

Truthfully, it's Tani's demented monster kid aesthetic that drives the film more than anything else. Not to say that Hickox does a bad job directing the movie. Those shots from the preacher's pulpit are nicely lit. (Though James Hickox is as easily distracted as his brother, the film leaping across multiple subplots.) However, the sequel leans towards the kind of surreal, special effects driven set pieces that reflect Tani's punk rock music video style. Such as a nightmare sequence Amanda has, which features green slime gushing from people's mouth and ends with her being swallowed up by the earth. Or when the movie throws in a homicidal scarecrow. This becomes truly apparent in the last act. After two movies of being portrayed as an ominous cloud or crackling flashes of light, He Who Walks Behind the Rows properly appears on-screen at the film climax... As a giant, multi-tentacled worm monster. The movie descends into total chaos at that point, the eldritch abomination turning on its own followers and rampaging through the single, dark set. When the monster starts swallowing people – the effect looking a lot like Barbie dolls being scooped up by a hand puppet – I knew the sequel had fully committed to its wacky tone of gooey excess. The kind of shitty digital fireballs fit this mood too, more like something that would play on-stage behind a hardcore band than a narrative film.

That's a weakness too though. I honestly admired "Children of the Corn II" taking its story in as many directions as possible. Part three isn't that versatile. The first half mostly draws on standard devil child tropes, of Amanda being freaked out by her new kid's creepy behavior and her husband being clueless. I suppose the main story thread is Joshua and Eli, inseparable at first, growing apart. There's certainly a deeper resonance here, in an older brother drifting away from the younger one as he discovers girls. Ya know, if Eli doubled down on the corn cult shit as a reaction to Joshua ignoring him, that would've been interesting. (Missed opportunity not to name the boys Cain and Abel.) However, Eli is so obviously evil from the beginning that it never works. Moving the story from a rural to an urban setting is certainly an idea. There are some embarrassing black youth stereotypes here, though the film falls short of being "Children of the Corn in Tha Hood." Though the realization that, ya know, there aren't cornfields in Chicago leads to the rather hilarious narrative leap of Eli growing super strong corn in the abandoned warehouse coincidentally next door.

The sequel was actually filmed in 1993, directly after the second one, and sat on a shelf for two years. This suggests that a producer somewhere wasn't happy with the finished product. Maybe releasing the movie direct-to-video was more about burying it than taking advantage of the profitable rental market. However, for the third entry in a series of corn-based horror films, "Urban Harvest" is still probably better than it has to be. Aiming directly for the Fangoria market, those hungry for gory spectacle and campy writing, was likely the best approach. By the way, supposedly among Eli's followers here is a young Charlize Theron in her debut role, though I didn't spot her. I'll live it up to sharper-eyed corn heads than me to find her. [7/10]

Tales to Keep You Awake: The Birthday

Historias para no dormir: El cumpleaños

Obviously, there are lots of horror/thriller anthology shows from English speaking countries. It stands to reason that programs like these exist in other parts of the globe. Humans everywhere like scary stories in bite-sized packages. However, foreign language television isn't often exported. With horror and suspense being niche categories, the "Twilight Zones" of other countries rarely make it over here... There are exceptions though. Before directing cult classics "The House That Screamed" and "Who Can Kill a Child?," Narciso Ibáñez Serrador would create and host the series "Historias para no dormir" – "Tales to Keep You Awake" – for Spanish network Primera Cadena in 1966. The series helped popularize horror in Spain, making Serrador something of a Rod Serling or Hitchcock figure in his home land. The show never made many international waves though. At least not until Severin released it on disc in 2022, finally giving American fans a chance to see these "Tales."

Like many anthologies, "Historias para no dormir" installments were based off stories by well-known authors. Debut episode "El cumpleaños" – "The Birthday" – is from a story by Fredric Brown. It concerns Roberto, a bank teller about to turn fifty years old. He plots to murder his wife of eleven years, for the crimes of being "vulgar" and too organized. After stuffing her body into a wardrobe, he intends to empty a vault at work into a suitcase and flee to South America. As their apartment building will be empty that night, he plans to stab her to death as she stoops over to unlock their door after returning home from dinner. However, there's one thing Roberto's meticulous scheme didn't consider... 

There's almost no dialogue in "The Birthday." Instead, the brief, 18 minute long episode is devoted largely to the protagonist narrating his thoughts. We hear the man consider every aspect of his murderous scheme as he goes about his mundane day. This imbues ordinary objects – a bread knife, a wardrobe, a front door – with sinister connotations. Rafael Navarro's cold, calculating voiceover sees him mocking his coworkers as he waves hello to them or describes the contempt he has for his doting, loving wife. No good reason for his crime is revealed, Roberto planning to kill his wife for the pettiest of motives. It seems murdering his spouse, stealing from his job, and running away to a foreign country is his version of a mid-life crisis. This reveals a frightening truth: We can never know what other people are thinking. Smiling faces can conceal homicidal thoughts. A person who seems friendly and good-natured could be a cold-blooded murderer. We can't truly know, can we?

Navarro is unnerving in the role, his words clearly depicting the character's conceited nature and psychopathic intentions. Alfonso Nieva's cinematography takes us inside the man's head, beginning with a close-up of his opening eye and often centering on the commonplace objects that figure into the plot. Serrador's direction slowly turns the screws, building suspense as we draw closer to the act of violence. When the stabbing arrives, the camera cuts abruptly to the inside of the door, as we watch the man's bloody hand reach for the light switch. This builds and builds towards a twist ending that is so good, I wouldn't dare spoil it. Serrador's lengthy, light-hearted introduction promises to bring the Gothic horror genre into the modern age with this program. "The Birthday" does exactly that, with shadowy photography, a pitch black sense of irony, and a chilling depiction of a modern day sociopath. [8/10]

The Addams Family: Morticia Joins the Ladies League

“Morticia Joins the Ladies League” is one of those episodes with a somewhat misleading title. Yes, the episode does involve the matriarch of the Addams clan attempting to join the local society for women. However, most of this half-hour’s plot is focused on something else entirely. Gomez takes Pugsley to visit an old friend, Oscar Webber. Webber runs a circus that is currently experiencing some troubles, as his star attractions keep changing. While there, Pugsley immediately bonds with Gorgo the Gorilla. In fact, Gorgo becomes so attached to the kid that he follows home. The Addams are happy to take care of Gorgo until Oscar gets back in town, the ape taking on some housekeeping duties. That’s when the B-plot, of Morticia inviting her new Ladies League friends over, circles back around.

“Morticia Joins the Ladies League” is an episode jammed back full of gags. There’s a quick conversation between Gomez and Oscar about the state of his sideshow freaks, fat ladies loosing weight and dwarfs taking height increasing pills. Once Gorgo establishes himself at the Addams home, the episode surprisingly becomes a display for Lurch. See, he quickly gets jealous of the gorilla doing his job for him. Ted Cassidy’s undead grumbles of disapproval or bemused glares are fantastically utilized in these moments. Naturally, these jokes occur alongside the typical “Addams Family” humor, of the family doing torturous things to relax, normies responding in horror to their habits, or Gomez and Morticia spontaneously tangoing. The reveal of Uncle Fester sleeping on a bed of nails still made me chuckle. It must be said that the episode milks the premise of a gorilla waiter for as long as it can.

For fans of classic horror cinema, “Morticia Joins the Ladies League” is notable for another reason. Gorgo is played by George Barrows, an experienced Hollywood stuntman and bit player who donned a gorilla costume across many B-movies and episodes of television. Basically, any time an old TV show needed a gorilla, Barrows was probably in the suit. He played the title role in “Gorilla at Large,” while also getting hairy in titles like “Tarzan and His Mate,” “Black Zoo,” “Hillbillys in a Haunted House,” and “The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini.” Of course, his most iconic role was Ro-Man in “Robot Monster.” Truly, Garrows was a versatile performer. Anyway, “Morticia Joins the Ladies League” is a classic “Addams Family” installment. However, I will criticize the show reusing a joke about Pugsley’s piggy bank from episode two. [7/10]

Halloween 2024: September 14th

Rear Window (1954)

If Alfred Hitchcock is among the most influential filmmakers of all time, then "Rear Window" is certainly his most directly emulated classic. "Psycho" and "The Birds" were the points of origins for whole subgenres but "Rear Window" has become a stock plot among many subsequent films and television episodes. I don't know if anyone calls every slasher movie "Psycho at a camp/high school/suburb/etc" or every animals-run-amok movie "The Birds but with rats/a shark/bats..." Nearly every pseudo-remake or rip-off of "Rear Window" is earmarked exactly as what it is. Having its roots as a short story by Cornell Woolrich, the film so succinctly sums up many of Hitchcock's reoccurring themes that it's surely among the most important films ever made as far as auteur theory goes. It's also probably my favorite Hitchcock feature, so it's surprising that I'm only now reviewing it. 

You probably know the plot of "Rear Window" but I'll remind you anyway. Daredevil photographer L.B. Jeffries is laid up in a New York apartment building during a sweltering summer thanks to a broken leg. With little else to pass the time, he's taken up people-watching the residents of the neighboring building. He gives nicknames to each of them, growing interested in their lives. He's especially fascinated by a traveling salesman with a bedridden, nagging wife... A wife who seems to mysteriously vanish. Jeffries becomes increasingly convinced that the man has murdered his wife, attempting to collect evidence from his window perch. Jeff's girlfriend – the glamorous Lisa, who desperately wants to marry the uncertain photographer – thinks he has gone stir-crazy at first. Until she too becomes involved in the mystery, both their lives soon endangered by this voyeuristic obsession. 

The opening credits of "Rear Window" take place before the titular location, the blinds opening up for us. As Jeff spies on his neighbors, the camera often assumes his perspective. The protagonist isn't merely watching these people go about their lives, writing his own stories about them from the brief glimpses he gets. The audience is invited to do the same thing. Hitch and cinematographer Robert Burks also peer through Jeff's camera lens, making it clear that we are watching as much as he is. While Lisa and Stella, Jeff's sarcastic nurse, warn him not to pry into other people's lives, they too are soon drawn to watch as well. We humans can't help but observe other people, as if they were animals in a zoo, and draw our own meanings from what we see. This is, in fact, why going to movies has been such a popular pastime for the last century or so. The way "Rear Window" makes the viewer into as much of a watcher as its nosy hero can't help but make us study our own relationship with cinema. 

This becomes all too evidence once Lars Thorwald, the murderous husband Jeff becomes obsessed with, discovers he's being watched. He looks right at Jeffries, which means he's looking right at us too, breaking the fourth wall and incriminating the audience in this act of voyeurism. More than once, Jeffries retreats from his window for fear of being noticed. He knows spying and peering like this is perverse. Lisa and Stella and his detective friend all point out that he's casually violating other people's privacy, simply to abate his own boredom. Much the same way a cinema goer looks into a screen – something rather like a window itself – to forget about our own troubles for a while. Most would agree it's a little creepy to watch strangers, unaware of being observed, go about their lives... Of course, "Rear Window" was made long before the rise of live streams, social media, and reality TV. We are all voyeurs now, spying on people with little care for the moral implications of such an act. That Hitchcock and his teams of artisans could anticipate this all too human instinct, merely from the popularity of moviegoing, shows how prescient an artist he was. 

Or maybe Hitchcock was a pervert. "Rear Window" is a movie overflowing with horny energy. Among Jeffries' favorite subjects to watch is the comely blonde he calls "Miss Torso," fond of dancing in her underwear in front of her window. A pair of newlyweds also occupy a room across the courtyard, what they're getting up to all too implied by how their blinds are always down. If the idea wasn't clear enough, when Lisa is curled up in Jeff's lap and kissing him passionately, he's quickly distracted by his new hobby. Despite that Lisa is played by Grace Kelly in a parade of glamorous gowns, so gorgeous a halo of light seems to surround her at all times. No hanky-panky is going on in this apartment, much to Lisa's consternation. The script, full of the kind of playful romantic comedy banter that Hitchcock excelled at, says Jeff's reluctance to marry Lisa is due to the difference in their respective lifestyles. And, sure, it is. But maybe it's also because watching has replaced sex – a very big part of marriage, as the insatiable newlyweds demonstrate – for him. 

Most everything we learn about the people Jeffries watches so intently is gleamed from he sees. (And, subsequently, what we see.) The audience never knows more than he does. Which means the exact motive behind Thorwald's murdering his wife is never revealed. We can assume it has to do with their constant bickering. Jeff's assumption, that proves correct by the end, that Lars dismembered his wife's body is constantly brought up. When combined with the movie's all-consuming preoccupation with voyeurism, the specifics of such a lurid crime being lingered on makes it feel like kind of a sex thing too. Raymond Burr as Lars has grey hair and wears tiny glasses, projecting an exterior of mundaneness that can't disguise his massive, intimidating frame. Who knows what exactly he does when out of view of Jeff's spying eyes. This is, it goes without saying, potentially true of all of us. What any of us get up to when our blinds are drawn is hard to say. It's not any of our business but, ya know, we are drawn to wonder. To want to see, to observe. To have all our titillating assumptions confirmed.

The tension inherent in this drive to watch and the unavoidable conclusion that it's wrong to do so is exactly why "Rear Window" is such a compelling thriller. Though Lisa tries to dissuade Jeff at first, maybe she's a bigger perv than him. She's the one who actually goes over to investigate, no longer content to simply watch. She must make herself a part of the story she observes. That's when the table turns on Jeff and us. Now, Hitchcock shows us everything, the murderer lingering right outside his door while Grace Kelly sneaks into his apartment. It proceeds the killer coming into Jeff's apartment for the final confrontation, a moment of shadowy suspense so powerful it's almost unbearable. This is when the story's peeping hero must deal with the consequences of his actions. If "Rear Window" is a deeply kinky story of watching, this finale essentially has Jeffries coming face to face with someone freakier than him. Considering the film puts us, the viewer, behind the camera lens so often, this climax is so tense because it feels as if we are being attacked too. 

Of course, it's only a movie. We aren't in real danger. We aren't real perverts. (Not in this context anyway.) The nature of "Rear Window's" visual design is built around making us observers. The elaborate set constructed for the film creates an immediate sense of un-reality. When combined with the utterly gorgeous Technicolor cinematography – why oh why don't movies look this pretty anymore? – the result is a visual experience clearly more dream-like than grounded. Hitchcock abandons this brightness for the shadowy climax, when Jeffries is finally in the same room with his subject. These scenes are shot in such a more intimate fashion than the distant, voyeuristic shooting style of most of the film. "Rear Window" violates the cinematic form it has established in order to create a disorienting, distressing climax. Movies are still dreams, however, allowing Hitch and his heroes and everyone watching to safely indulge their desires. "Rear Window" ends on an angelic note, Jeff finally satisfied and resting. This follows Jimmy Stewart falling from his window via photographic effects that look more artificial than the rest of the movie, the result suggesting floating more than plummeting. If we follow "Rear Window's" erotic subtext further, these moments can't help but read as orgasm and the afterglow. 

Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. If I am, then I certainly wouldn't be the first. Like all of Hitchcock's masterworks, "Rear Window" has been endlessly overturned by scholars and authors. I could go on and on myself. I haven't gotten into Stewart and Kelly's chemistry, so compelling you can't look away from them. Or the way the film truly does get us involved in the mini-dramas of its side stories, of Miss Lonelyheart's search for someone to understand her. It's all masterfully done. You don't need me to tell you that "Rear Window" is one of the all-time great works by one of the all-time great filmmakers but that doesn't make it any less true. [10/10]

Children of the Corn II: The Final Sacrifice (1992)

New World Pictures, as we knew it, would essentially cease to exist by the end of the eighties. The scrappy exploitation studio had grown into a larger beast, moving into TV production, acquiring several small networks, and owning Marvel Comics for a time. The end of the decade saw a major financial slump, leading to a corporate restructuring that not-so-slowly phased out the schlocky stuff. Eventually, the entity that was New World was absorbed into 20th Century Fox, by which point whatever remained of the company had shifted its focus entirely to television. Still, former executive Larry Kuppin was out there, trying to keep the trash cinema dream alive. He quickly formed Trans Atlantic Entertainment with the express purpose of producing sequels to successful New World films. This is why the early nineties saw the release of "Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth," "Angel 4: Undercover" and "Children of the Corn II: The Final Sacrifice." Which brings us to the topic of today's review, the first attempt to franchise Stephen King's tale of kids with a passion for old-time religion, patricide, and agriculture. 

"The Final Sacrifice" lacks Troy and Rowsdower but does have a pretty smart pitch for a "Children of the Corn" follow-up. The outside world discovers Gatlin, Nebraska and especially the mass grave of adults under the town. This attracts the press, including tabloid reporter John Garret who drags his teenage son Danny along with him. The remaining children relocate to the neighboring town of Hemingford, most ending up at a bed and breakfast run by a woman named Angela. (Where John and Danny also happen to be staying.) As the former corn heads seem to be leaving the cult behind, a dark haired youth named Micah is possessed by He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Micah immediately gets the youthful gang back into the business of murdering any adults that besmirch the corn. Noticing the sudden rise in mysterious homicides, John investigates. 

"Tales from the Crypt's" A.L. Katz and Gilbert Adler clearly had several ideas when tasked with writing a "Children of the Corn" sequel. And they used every single one. The set-up of the outside world discovering Gatlin and trying to deprogram the corn-obsessed killers was a solid enough foundation for a follow-up. King's musings on Bible-thumping fundamentalism remains, a hell-and-brimstone preacher screaming through a few scenes and Micah clearly being a Damien Thorn wannabe. To this stew, Native American mysticism – very trendy in 1992 – is added. John meets a man called Frank Red Bear, who introduces him to a indigenous myth about a spirit who protects the Earth. When the spirit feels people aren't respecting Mother Earth, it prompts the children to rise up and kill. This bends towards an environmental angle, with the reveal that Hemingford's massive corn production is tainted by a psychoactive mold. Essentially, "Children of the Corn II" presents three separate origins for He Who Walks Behind the Rows and the kids who love him: Demonic, mystical, or bad corn causing mass psychosis. No attempt is made to correlate these ideas, none of which have much to do with King's vaguely Lovecraftian, folk-pagan premise. 

Adler and Katz go further, introducing a conspiracy subplot. The town elders of Hemingford know the corn is tainted but they cover it up for the sake of profits. The sheriff tries to kill John and Red Bear with a thresher after they discover this. This additional idea points towards an interesting thematic point. The original "Children of the Corn" evoked horror from adult anxieties over what kooky shit their kids are getting into. The sequel, instead, implies that the older generation has failed their offspring. Danny was the result of a teenage fling, John making it seem like he resents his own son. Micah's origin involves a hyper-religious, hypocritical father who punished his son for the same "sins" he covertly performed. Most of the residents seem to consider the children a burden. That the whole town is participating in a cover-up that potentially poisons everyone makes the murderous rebellion seem almost justified. The kid cultists mostly target authority figures, like a doctor, the sheriff, the preacher, a rich old woman in an electric wheelchair. The kids aren't alright but it's not their fault. Maybe they deserve revenge against the adults who resent and doom them. 

Whatever high-minded attempt was made to elevate the material, "Children of the Corn II" is well aware of its status as a trashy horror sequel. While Danny makes out with a blonde hottie – played by Jesse's little sister from "Nightmare on Elm Street 2!" – in a cornfield, a corpse says peekaboo as things get heated. Mostly, it's via some elaborate murder scenes that "The Final Sacrifice" shows its true colors. The kids corner the town doctor in his office at night, jabbing him with every sharp object that can grab. An old woman is crushed by her own house, a "Wizard of Oz" homage that is nicely stretched out. Naturally, someone goes through that thresher before the end too. 

The sequel doubles down on the original's "Omen" vibes, ominous chanting on the soundtrack as Micah's black eyes stare and horrible "coincidences" befall people. Showing the general atmosphere of early nineties horror, the death scenes quickly veer towards camp. Micha whittling at a wooden doll causes a guy's nose to gush blood in church. This quickly, excessively, hilariously escalates to his eyeballs splattering on the inside of his glasses. A hurricane tosses a corn stalk like a spear through someone's throat. The best moment comes when the aforementioned wheelchair bound old biddy is directed into the path of an eighteen wheeler, her little body sailing through a picture window. Laughs are clearly the intended target, as these brutal deaths are followed up by sick jokes. Like the kids shoving a lollypop into the dead doctor's mouth or the old lady landing in the middle of a bingo game. 

The tone of camp continues with Ryan Bollman's glaring, sweaty performance as Micah, some dodgy digital effects, and multiple cheesy monster POV shots. Low budget schlock had a higher degree of professionalism in the early nineties, as frequent Tobe Hooper collaborator Levie Issack creates some genuinely moody cinematography. Director David F. Price keeps it rolling along quickly, never leaving too much time between something goofy, bloody, or sexy happening. While any laughs the original had were strictly of the unintentional variety, the sequel is definitely in on the joke. It doesn't top the high-water mark for tongue-in-cheek early nineties sequels to eighties cult classics – "Night of the Demons 2," naturally – but still benefits greatly from the diminished expectations an eight years later follow-up generates. Messy, goofy, and filled with fun and interesting ideas, "Children of the Corn II: The Final Sacrifice" is a good time for any horror fans seeking out some cheap thrills. [7/10]

The Outer Limits: The Man Who Was Never Born

A while back, I watched an episode of "The Outer Limits" that starred Martin Landau and is considered among the show's best. That went well so, this year, I decided to watch an episode of "The Outer Limits" that starred Martin Landau and is considered among the show's best. "The Man Who Was Never Born" begins with an astronaut unwittingly travelling through time. He lands on a future Earth, where a lab-born virus has wiped out most of mankind and rendered the survivors hideously deformed. He encounters Andro, a mutated historian who knows everything about the man who unleashed the plague: Bertram Cabot Jr. They travel back in time with the goal of preventing the outbreak, the astronaut perishing in the journey. Andro, using hypnotic suggestion to hide his true visage and now in the 1960s, meets a girl named Noelle... Who is about to marry Bertram Cabot the First. When Andro realizes these are the parents of the scientist he seeks, he suffers a moral conundrum. It gets worse when he falls in love with Noelle.

At its best, "The Outer Limits" blended classic sci-fi premises with monster-of-the-week thrills. At its worst, the show could be convoluted and heavy-handed. I think both words describe "The Man Who Was Never Born." When you're already using time travel, potential for a plot to go off-the-rails exists. Adding a dead astronaut and hypnotic powers really pushes it for me. The episode is clearly inspired by the old debate over whether it would be ethical to go back and kill Baby Hitler. Whether it's right to sacrifice one innocent life to save a million more. Andro is an extremely self-serious guy, always intoning gravely about what he is here to do. It's hard to believe that Noelle, played as a total innocent by Shirley Knight, could ever fall for a weirdo like this. For the most part, "The Man Who Was Never Born" never lets you forget that it is dealing with important, philosophical questions.

The deeper into the story we go, the more melodramatic it becomes. The episode nearly ends with a fist fight at a wedding and a frenzied manhunt through the forest. Despite its obvious flaws, I still found some things to like. Andro is a ridiculous character but Martin Landau manages, through sheer professionalism, make him a convincing protagonist. Like every episode of "Outer Limits," it's also extremely well shot. The shadowy close-ups of Andro's face suggests the kind of heightened reality where stories like this are suitable. When he hypnotically presents Noelle with a vision of his future, what follows –  ruins rolling over Landau's face – is quite lyrical. The same can be said of the episode's final shot, of a lone figure fading into the vastness of space. The gleaming, retro-futurism of Andro's lair is also such a cool set. If the script focused more on the romance between a hideously deformed mutant – cool make-up, by the way – and a wide-eyed maiden, it would've been more convincing, the conclusion more meaningful. It's not a bad hour of TV but I guess I prefer my sci-fi stories with more monsters and fewer debates about the morality of time travel assassination. [6/10]

The Addams Family: The Addams Family Tree

“The Addams Family Tree” sees Wednesday and Pugsley invited to the birthday party of Harold Pomeroy, the son of another prominent family in the area. After Harold insults the Addams family’s lineage, he receives a black eye. While Gomez and Morticia try to get their children to apologize, they soon get insulted by Mr. Harold as well. They become determined to look into the family history and prove his accusation that the Addams are of low class incorrect. Along the way, they also do some digging into the Pomeroy family tree and uncover some interesting things about their newest rival.

A running gag throughout all “Addams Family” media is the unlikely and bizarre members of the extended family. This episode gives us a peek at that, with mentions of distant relatives with names like Blemish, Slurp, Clot, Bleak, and Grand-Uncle Grizzly. While that’s definitely an amusing joke – especially when Morticia is attempting to paint a portrait of an apparently three-eyed member of the family – “The Addams Family Tree” is notable for being a little weirder and meaner than the previous episodes. Fester threatens to shoot the Pomeroy patriarch in the back with his blunderbuss, a conversation that becomes amusingly circular. Pugsley ties up Harold and chases him with a tomahawk while playing “Indian.” (Maybe a gag that isn’t the most politically correct.) The episode ends by wondering if Kitty Kat didn’t eat someone alive. Pretty dark comedy for 1964 television! I also like the reveal about which of the Addams children punched Harold and an exchange about the family having roots in Salem. Also the first appearance of Gomez’ fencing foil, as far as I can tell. [7/10]