Of the role of Norman Bates, Tony Perkins once said "I know this story. I should. I've lived with it – and sometimes tried to live it down – for more than 20 years." It's true that Perkins was frequently reluctant to embrace his status as a horror icon. Right after "Psycho" came out, he moved to Europe specifically to avoid typecasting. At the same time, the character of Norman Bates was too emblematic of the man himself: A smiling, sensitive boy-next-door being eaten alive by the secret he can't totally conceal. Perkins would always insist that it was the quality of the screenplays for the "Psycho" sequels that convinced him to return to the role. The star was supposedly enthusiastic about Charles Edward Pogues' script for "Psycho III" but another factor surely convinced him to put on Mother's dress for a third time: He would get to direct too, a strategy often effective in luring reluctant stars back to the franchises that both blessed and cursed them with immediate stardom.
Though released three years after "Psycho II," the story is set a mere month later. Following part two's events, the local police are sympathetic to Norman and business is booming for the Bates Motel. Norm has to hire help, a drifter named Duke, to assist with running the place. None of them know that the taxidermied corpse of Emma Spool has taken Norma Bates' place in the rocking chair. A journalist arrives in town and is drawn to Spool's disappearance, convinced Bates has something to do with it. She's not the only stranger in Fairvale. Maureen is a nun who, after accidentally pushing another sister from a bell tower during a crisis of faith, fled into the desert. She ends up at the hotel too, inflaming Norman's lust and activating "Mother's" possessiveness. An intended shower murder instead turns into Norman rescuing Maureen from a suicide attempt. The two attempt a relationship of sorts but blood will soon be shed again...
When Universal first announced they were making a sequel to “Psycho” in the early eighties, I'm sure some folks fully expected a trashy slasher flick that would be an embarrassing stain on the legacy of Hitchcock's masterpiece. “Psycho II” decidedly was not that movie but “Psycho III” kind of is. Norman slashes a young woman's throat as she sits on the toilet after urinating. One of Duke's one-night-stands thrusts her breasts into the camera before being stabbed to death inside a telephone booth. The sex and nudity the original could only imply are on full display here. (Which would've included some male frontal nudity too, if Jeff Fahey hadn't been squeamish.) While some critics would surely be bothered by this, I happen to enjoy a trashy slasher sequel. “Psycho III's” blood lust is well engineered, with quality special effects and a certain ferocity to the violence. If you can swallow Norman Bates acting a bit more like Jason Voorhees than usual, you will find plenty more here to like too.
For his directorial debut, Perkins was clearly trying to bring his trademark character into the modern age. Carter Burwell's score features none of the familiar themes and is largely synth-driven. Cinematographer Bruce Surtees was primarily Clint Eastwood's D.P. up to this point, which is probably why “Psycho III” focuses on the wide flatness of the desert around the motel more than the previous films. Or the clinging sweat to the actor's face, emphasizing the heat of the Arizona nights. But westerns were not the key visual inspiration here. Rather, the sequel is heavy on neon lighting and askew camera angles. This pairs well with a plot that grows increasingly outrageous as it goes on. Improbable reversals of previous plot twists, a little blackmail, religious awe, and a dead body in a freezer are some of the additions grafted onto the “Psycho” premise here. It's all quite over-the-top and the sequel is aware of that. Perkins embraces the Hitckcockian tradition of winking, naughty, pitch black humor. “Psycho III” notably features a cut to a darkened room, a woman grunting and walls trembling... Before revealing that she's just struggling to open a freezer. Oh, what a scamp you are, “Psycho III!”
The extra layer of sleaziness atop “Psycho III” is not strictly for its own purpose. After her suicide attempt, Maureen visits a priest, asking him about the nature of sin and carnal thoughts. Accordingly, the sequel surrounds its characters with temptation. Duke, a total sleazeball who nearly assaults Maureen in his first scene, is always looking to get laid. The partiers celebrating the sports team ask Norman to join them. Of course, Norman isn't merely being tempted by sex. The minute he catches a glimpses of Maureen, he is transfixed and terrified. When he sees that her initials are the same as Marion Crane, he has to leave the room. Upon learning that Duke has put the girl up in Room 1, he is drawn to the familiar peep hole on the wall. It's almost as if the world is actively pushing Norman's buttons, urging him to return to his old, murderous ways. That's how any addict or ex-con feels: You are forced back into a society fully expecting you to still be bad and countless opportunities to do so are placed right in front of you. Almost as if they are set-up to fail, ya know?
Through this set-up, “Psycho III” builds on the second film's themes of forgiveness. The first sequel asked if someone like Norman Bates can ever be forgiven for such salacious crimes. Or if such a judgemental attitude is ultimately fair to a person forged into a killer by an abusive parent. The community of Fairvale seems ready to forgive their local notorious murderer. The narrative hands Norman a girlfriend who is happy to match his freak, a female returning his attraction for the first time in the series' history. Ultimately, as much as Norma Bates' control over her son extends beyond the grave, Norman is the Master Bates of his own destiny. He must forgive himself, must let go of the pain of the past and accept that a hopeful future is possible, if he's ever going to put his stabbing days behind him.
And if “Psycho III” is a meta movie as much about Perkins' own career as about the character, maybe that conclusion has a personal resonance. Is this the actor/director accepting that he can't resent his association with this character? If we presume an even deeper connection, is this some sort of statement by Perkins on his own, often scrutinized sexuality? It's hard to say. (Especially since he would deny his queerness shortly before dying from AIDS-related complications.) The film must conform to the expectations of a grisly horror flick. Norman's love is ultimately doomed, in a way as overheated and knowingly absurd as the rest of the film. While the sequel plays coy for a while, it ultimately does give Bates-in-Drag his rock star reveal. The sequel is happily to escalate things, most notably in a tense sequence that puts Norman in the front seat of a car as it goes into the swamp. The twist on the last movie's twist that part three provides, intentionally or not, suggest that evil is hereditary. Which means Norman doesn't have any choice over his actions. This is further supported by the before-the-credits teaser, a last minute addition because Universal execs feared the ending wasn't “scary” enough.
Though released three years after "Psycho II," the story is set a mere month later. Following part two's events, the local police are sympathetic to Norman and business is booming for the Bates Motel. Norm has to hire help, a drifter named Duke, to assist with running the place. None of them know that the taxidermied corpse of Emma Spool has taken Norma Bates' place in the rocking chair. A journalist arrives in town and is drawn to Spool's disappearance, convinced Bates has something to do with it. She's not the only stranger in Fairvale. Maureen is a nun who, after accidentally pushing another sister from a bell tower during a crisis of faith, fled into the desert. She ends up at the hotel too, inflaming Norman's lust and activating "Mother's" possessiveness. An intended shower murder instead turns into Norman rescuing Maureen from a suicide attempt. The two attempt a relationship of sorts but blood will soon be shed again...
For his directorial debut, Perkins was clearly trying to bring his trademark character into the modern age. Carter Burwell's score features none of the familiar themes and is largely synth-driven. Cinematographer Bruce Surtees was primarily Clint Eastwood's D.P. up to this point, which is probably why “Psycho III” focuses on the wide flatness of the desert around the motel more than the previous films. Or the clinging sweat to the actor's face, emphasizing the heat of the Arizona nights. But westerns were not the key visual inspiration here. Rather, the sequel is heavy on neon lighting and askew camera angles. This pairs well with a plot that grows increasingly outrageous as it goes on. Improbable reversals of previous plot twists, a little blackmail, religious awe, and a dead body in a freezer are some of the additions grafted onto the “Psycho” premise here. It's all quite over-the-top and the sequel is aware of that. Perkins embraces the Hitckcockian tradition of winking, naughty, pitch black humor. “Psycho III” notably features a cut to a darkened room, a woman grunting and walls trembling... Before revealing that she's just struggling to open a freezer. Oh, what a scamp you are, “Psycho III!”
Through this set-up, “Psycho III” builds on the second film's themes of forgiveness. The first sequel asked if someone like Norman Bates can ever be forgiven for such salacious crimes. Or if such a judgemental attitude is ultimately fair to a person forged into a killer by an abusive parent. The community of Fairvale seems ready to forgive their local notorious murderer. The narrative hands Norman a girlfriend who is happy to match his freak, a female returning his attraction for the first time in the series' history. Ultimately, as much as Norma Bates' control over her son extends beyond the grave, Norman is the Master Bates of his own destiny. He must forgive himself, must let go of the pain of the past and accept that a hopeful future is possible, if he's ever going to put his stabbing days behind him.
If part three is not the sturdiest film on a thematic level, that doesn't effect its ability to entertain. It turns out, going full coked-up DePalma was the right choice for this series. “Psycho III” is knowingly ridiculous and absurd but is clearly having so much fun with that. The stylish visuals and pulsating soundtrack makes this all the more of a sleazy head-trip. Perkins' performance is at maximum twitchiness, Norman stuttering from the first scene. Any movie that begins with a nun plummeting to her death is already daring the audience to accuse it of going too far, the sequel continuing to press those buttons as it goes along. If “Psycho” was always doomed to just become another slasher series, at least those in-charge were determined to make sure they had fun with it. The film also belongs to one of the most delightful of horror micro-genres: Movies that got tie-in music videos where the “monster” pursues someone in new footage. Irresistible. [8/10]
Silver Age comic nerds know that it's a fact – or at least an anecdote repeated so frequently that it's become a fact – that books with some sort of ape on the cover moved more copies than non-ape festooned comics. B-movie producers of the forties and fifties seem to have been aware of this phenomenon as well. You could easily fill an entire day with Poverty Horror films from that period, featuring a gorilla. A few referred to the primates as “monsters,” surely disappointing cinema goers assuming that word means something a little more exotic than a well-studied and understood animal. Maybe it was just the lingering impact of “King Kong.” Or maybe it was because you can buy a gorilla outfit at any costume shop in the country, making them a cheap “monster” to put on-screen. Bela Lugosi starred in a few movies like this. 1943's “The Ape Man” is one of them, though it at least features a mad scientist having a questionable hair day. It was the fifth of the widely distributed but rarely lauded nine films Lugosi starred in for Monogram Pictures and the second to directed by William “One-Shot” Beaudine.
“Gland doctor” James Brewster has vanished and this is apparently headline news A group of reporters gather at the dock to interview Brewster's sister, a ghost hunter named Agatha, as she steps off a boat. She meets with Dr. Randall, Brewster's colleague, who informs her that the story of the man's disappearance is a hoax. Instead, the truth is much stranger: During their experiments with a gorilla, Brewster transformed himself into a human/ape hybrid. He now hides in the underground lab, sleeping in the same cage as the ape test subject. Injections of spinal fluid can momentarily undo the change but the samples most come from freshly dead donors. After Randall makes it clear that he's unwilling to kill for his friend, Brewster decides to do it himself. His gorilla bunk mate does the throat crushing and Agatha helps cover it up.. Reporter Jeff Carter, and his newly assigned female photographer Billie Mason, end up investigating.
“Gland doctor” James Brewster has vanished and this is apparently headline news A group of reporters gather at the dock to interview Brewster's sister, a ghost hunter named Agatha, as she steps off a boat. She meets with Dr. Randall, Brewster's colleague, who informs her that the story of the man's disappearance is a hoax. Instead, the truth is much stranger: During their experiments with a gorilla, Brewster transformed himself into a human/ape hybrid. He now hides in the underground lab, sleeping in the same cage as the ape test subject. Injections of spinal fluid can momentarily undo the change but the samples most come from freshly dead donors. After Randall makes it clear that he's unwilling to kill for his friend, Brewster decides to do it himself. His gorilla bunk mate does the throat crushing and Agatha helps cover it up.. Reporter Jeff Carter, and his newly assigned female photographer Billie Mason, end up investigating.
Also like “Voodoo Man,” some of this silliness was intentional. The movie has a definite comedic streak. Wallace Ford plays our journalist hero and, in typical Wallace Ford fashion, he's prone to making smart-alack remarks. Most of these asides are sexist comments directed at Louise Currie's heroine. Ford's character seems to find it difficult to accept that a woman could be a photographer and he often denigrates her presence. That's funny mostly because it's such a defined relic of antiquated he-man chauvinism, though the film seems to consider it witty romantic banter. The first scene also features a vagrant in a hat, who seems oddly well informed about everything that's happening around him. He reoccurs a few times, watching actions from the distance. At one point, he redirects a potential victim of the villain to spare her life. Who the hell this guy is or why he's here is not revealed until the final scene and it's another fourth wall breaking punchline. None of these elements are as funny as the sight of Lugosi lumbering around with a very Hasidic looking beard. However, they were obviously put in the movie on-purpose. “The Ape Man” wants us to giggle at least a little.
As a Bela fan, “The Ape Man” is honestly a somewhat depressing watch. The scene where Lugosi sits in a chair and ruefully talks about the mistakes in his life that led to this point is the most soulful bit of acting he does. Knowing the financial and personal failures that led him to starring in movies for Monogram, it's hard not to read a sad level of real life subtext in that line. He does get one other good line, when threatening his sister, but mostly the goofy physicality defines the role. Also like most of the Monogram 9, the pacing drags and the plot wanders around without clear direction a few times. I don't think we needed all those scenes of Wallace Ford trying to figure out how to open the secret passage way behind the fireplace. The villain's sister being a ghost hunter, most of the newsroom banter, and war-time references never genuinely effect the plot. This is, in other words, a bad movie, cheap and derivative and sloppy and not notable for much at all. But I did laugh a lot and that final scene is really baffling, so I won't call this time entirely wasted either. [6/10]
During last year's Halloween shenanigans, I mentioned an obscure anecdote. In Stephen King's “Danse Macabre,” he credits an episode of obscure, short-lived seventies anthology “Quinn Martin's Tales of the Unexpected” with giving him the proper willies. However, the scene he describes is actually from an episode of a different obscure, short-lived seventies anthology. It's actually from “Ghost Story's” first non-pilot episode, “The Dead We Leave Behind.” Park Ranger Elliot Brent resides in a cabin in the woods with his much younger wife, Joanna. The two do not seem to enjoy each others' company and she spends most of her time glued to the TV. This irritates Brent. After a spirited argument, he accidentally throttles his wife to death. Rather than take responsibility for the crime, he buries her body in the woods. Afterwards, he begins to have unsettling visions via the same television Joanna favored so much, of his victim rising from the dirt for revenge. He ends up putting some other bodies in the ground, similar mysterious dreams – or are they premonitions? – following.
While writing about “Shadows of Fear” yesterday, I made the observation that it was a worthwhile piece of television despite starting deeply unlikable characters. “The Dead We Leave Behind” also follows a terrible person. Jason Robards plays Park Ranger Brent as a man perpetually in a grumpy mood. I don't know why he married Stella Stevens, as he seems to actively resent her presence. Granted, a TV buzzing inane bullshit all day would grate on my nerves after a while too. However, Brent would rather listen to the squawking cacophony of his CB radio instead. Is that any better? In general, the script doesn't give the protagonist much depth. Robards has a certain gravelly charisma but mostly the episode made me wonder why I should care about this asshole's life at all.
“The Dead We Leave Behind” also doesn't have the clearest internal logic. There are references to local beliefs about burying the dead as soon as possible, least their spirits rise. That is the only set-up for the supernatural events that follow. The episode is clearly trying to play out like a nightmare, a man's guilt over his actions manifesting as bad dreams. However, Robards' character doesn't seem to feel any remorse for his actions, so that doesn't work. The repetitive nature of his visions get boring fast, spoiling any creep factor it has. We need a little more pulp to this set-up for it too work as some “Tales from the Crypt” style supernatural comeuppance. I do like Sebastian Cabot as “Ghost Story's” host in framing device. I also enjoy the suggestion here that the hotel he oversees is less a regular hotel and more some sort of afterlife. But “Ghost Story” remains an inconsistent series and this episode is one of the weaker ones. Sorry, Uncle Steve. [5/10]
While writing about “Shadows of Fear” yesterday, I made the observation that it was a worthwhile piece of television despite starting deeply unlikable characters. “The Dead We Leave Behind” also follows a terrible person. Jason Robards plays Park Ranger Brent as a man perpetually in a grumpy mood. I don't know why he married Stella Stevens, as he seems to actively resent her presence. Granted, a TV buzzing inane bullshit all day would grate on my nerves after a while too. However, Brent would rather listen to the squawking cacophony of his CB radio instead. Is that any better? In general, the script doesn't give the protagonist much depth. Robards has a certain gravelly charisma but mostly the episode made me wonder why I should care about this asshole's life at all.
“Friday the 13th: The Series” attempts to tie together several seemingly unrelated ideas. Someone in town is murdering homeless people. They goad them into drinking from a cursed tea cup, after which they mysteriously suffocate to death. Meanwhile, pop star Lady Die is in town, preparing for a big concert. Bertie, an older woman who seems to have a crush on Jack, is desperately trying to attract him despite his lack of interest. (The show seems to treat her as someone we should recognize but this is her first appearance.) However, after getting one look at Lady Die, she seems to recognize her as an old friend. Yes, Lady Die is the tea cup murderer, which gives its owner renewed youth in exchange for a regular supply of victims. Also, there's a homeless little girl that Micki quasi-adopts for the reminder of the episode but that's not so important.
“A Cup of Time” is the first episode of “Friday the 13th: The Series” to actually remind me of the movies it is named after. The beginning is a P.O.V. shot of someone prowling through the underbrush and sneaking up on a napping person. Nearer to the end, there's a sequence of someone getting chased through the forest by an unhinged old woman. While murder is prominently featured, there's no resemblance otherwise to the slasher roots of this program. “A Cup of Time” is another “Friday the 13th” episode that is heavy on the goofiness. Once again, the premise itself is underwhelming. A tea cup is not a scary prop. The effects used to bring its evil actions to life are extremely creaky stop-motion sequences of vines creeping out of the cup and strangling the drinker to death. That the villain must convince everyone to drink from the cup in order to facilitate these murders further stretches plausibility. At one point, she tempts someone by saying that a cup of hot tea is comforting on a warm night. To whom, exactly?
This is paired with another weirdly prevalent trope in Canadian eighties genre TV: Highly unconvincing fictional pop stars. Naming your pop-punk princess Lady Die is clever. Unfortunately, the music we hear her sing is dreadful. Her big single is a Casio rock version of “I'm a Little Tea Pot.” It's as intolerable to listen to it as that sounds. It's also hard to believe that such an act would develop a die-hard fan base of New Wave kids. While there's some definite meat on the bone of idea of connecting a homicidal desire for youth with the pressures of the entertainment industry, “A Cup of Time” never finds any substance. Its plot threads feel unrelated. Also the make-up used to turn Lady Die into an old hag looks like a cheap Halloween mask of Grandpa from “Texas Chain Saw Massacre.” This is the third episode in a row to feature Jack putting on a disguise and unconvincing voice, so I guess that's going to happen a lot. Needed more inappropriate flirting between cousins. [5/10]
“A Cup of Time” is the first episode of “Friday the 13th: The Series” to actually remind me of the movies it is named after. The beginning is a P.O.V. shot of someone prowling through the underbrush and sneaking up on a napping person. Nearer to the end, there's a sequence of someone getting chased through the forest by an unhinged old woman. While murder is prominently featured, there's no resemblance otherwise to the slasher roots of this program. “A Cup of Time” is another “Friday the 13th” episode that is heavy on the goofiness. Once again, the premise itself is underwhelming. A tea cup is not a scary prop. The effects used to bring its evil actions to life are extremely creaky stop-motion sequences of vines creeping out of the cup and strangling the drinker to death. That the villain must convince everyone to drink from the cup in order to facilitate these murders further stretches plausibility. At one point, she tempts someone by saying that a cup of hot tea is comforting on a warm night. To whom, exactly?
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