Halloween 2023: September 27th

Burn, Witch, Burn (1962)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bloodstone: Subspecies  II (1993)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cabinet of Curiosities: The Murmuring

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

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

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

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

Chucky: Chucky Actually

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

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

 

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

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

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

Halloween 2023: September 26th

Subspecies (1991)

After the fall of the Soviet Union, Romanian producer Vlad Păunescu was eager to establish a film company in his native country, with an eye towards attracting Western productions. To accomplish this, he would team up with that purveyor of eighties and nineties genre schlock, Charles Band. This was the humble beginnings of Castel Films, which remains quite a successful business in Romania. (“Cold Mountain” and “The Nun” are perhaps their highest profile projects.) Yet the very first product of this partnership was the “Subspecies” series. Recycled from an unrealized idea Band had in the eighties called “The Subterreans,” the vampire movie would hit video store shelves in 1991. It quickly became a healthy success for Full Moon and Band, spawning perhaps the company's most beloved franchise that doesn't involve murderous puppets or toys. 

For centuries, the noble king of the vampires has kept the Bloodstone – a magical relic that produces blood, which the vampires won after protecting the Transylvanians from the invading Turks – from his wicked son, Radu. Finally fed up with waiting, Radu murders his dad and steals the stone. At the same time, a trio of college students – Michelle, Lillian, and Mara – arrive in Prejmer to study local history and folklore. They wander into Castle Vladislas, attracting Radu's attention. Michelle also develops a relationship with Stefan, Radu's virtuous and half-human brother. In order to spite his brother and consolidate his power, Radu sets his sights on turning the three girls into his latest brides. 

“Subspecies” does something that normally wouldn't work for me. It's a genre film very invested in its own mythology. We hear repeatedly about how the vampires helped saved the village from the Turks, from both the man renting the girls their room and a Roma medicine woman. There's much talk of the importance of the Bloodstone, though never quite a clear explanation of what it does exactly. Radu's rivalry with his handsome brother is talked up a lot as well. Normally, I'd roll my eyes at such attempts to get the audience to care about convoluted bullshit like this. Yet, by shooting in actual Romanian castles and villages, “Subspecies” manages to imbue its bullshit with a fitting mythic quality. When you have real folk customs happening, among genuine ancient locations, it goes a long way towards making your whispered-about backstory more plausible. 

It also helps that, in its best moments, “Subspecies” feels like it could be a Hammer film from the sixties. This is still clearly a Full Moon production. There's a little bit of sex and nudity. Radu creates some little, demonic minions from his own blood, filling the studios' quota for pint-sized terrors. Mostly, the writing recalls cheesy comic books. Stefan and Michelle immediately fall in love, despite knowing little about each other. Her friends are never defined much and the plot is fairly loose. Yet when you've got vampire girls lunging at a brave, old hunter or digging themselves out of their graves, it scratches a certain itch. “Subspecies” concludes with a strong sword fight between the vampiric brothers and puts some clever spins on the bloodsucking premises. Such as packing a shotgun full of Rosary beads as an improvised defense against the undead.

“Subspecies” can never quite overcome its low budget roots. The movie features several strange fades-to-black, as if it's a TV show. All three of the lead actresses give stiff performances. Yet director Ted Nicolaou – a veteran of Charles Band productions, by this point – does his best to elevate the material here. The shots of floodlights shining through the trees, against rolling fog, set the right mood. Brief shots of Radu's shadow cast on the floor, or the vampire rising from his dramatically lit casket to sulk around his castle, look great and fill that need for gothic dread. More than anything else, Radu proves to be a compelling horror villain. The “Nosferatu” inspired make-up is memorably grotesque. Anders Hove slithers and slinks through every scene, delivering all his dialogue in a raspy whisper that proves creepy. 

All of these components combined to make “Subspecies” a surefire cult classic. I'm not shocked that the same video store audiences that ate up Band's other Full Moon Pictures would turn this one into a small scale success too. Not quite as sturdy as the best “Puppet Master” movies, and quite far away from the movies Band made with Stuart Gordon in the eighties, it nevertheless has considerable charm. Like I said, a bad-ass looking villain and some nifty locations go a long ways. The stop-motion effects used to bring the little goblins to life are decent and the score is also surprisingly strong. Low budget schlock with aspirations of being slightly higher budgeted schlock, “Subspecies” still satisfies to this day. [7/10]

The Blackbird (1926)

The films Tod Browning and Lon Chaney made together are still among the most discussed movies of the silent era. “London After Midnight” remains an object of unlimited curiosity for classic horror fans and endlessly sought by cinema archivists. “The Unknown” might be the best work that both men ever did. While “London After Midnight” remains, and likely always will be, lost, a surprising number of their collaborations survive. Among the more overlooked of these collaborations, that doesn't get discussed nearly as much, is “The Blackbird.” While residing soundly to the crime and melodrama genres, I think I can make the argument that the 1926 7-reeler fits in nicely with this season.

Set in London's Limehouse district, Chaney plays Dan Tate, a notorious criminal known in the area as the Blackbird. The opposite of Dan in every way is his twin brother, a crippled and deformed man whose kindness and charity has caused him to be known as the Bishop of Limehouse. Unbeknownst to anyone, Dan and the Bishop are actually the same person. Dan poses as his own brother as a cover for his crimes. Dan is in love with Fifi, a performer in a music hall. A high-class gentleman thief named Bertam is also in love with Fifi, soon winning her heart. They go to the Bishop to get married, who reveals the truth of Bertie's profession to his bride-to-be. The thief promises to go straight but the Blackbird plots to discredit and destroy his romantic rival. 

“The Blackbird” fits snugly among Chaney's most famous films. Yes, this is yet another movie where the great silent star plays a crippled wretch that desires a woman who doesn't return his love. Much like “The Unknown,” Chaney is only pretending to be disabled, one among several secrets he keeps. As in “The Shock,” the film shows Chaney's ruthless criminal eventually softening towards the woman he cares about. Yet “The Blackbird” is possessed of a nicely grimy atmosphere, present from its opening shots of Limehouse's faces. The story is set among sleazy dance halls and crime ridden inns. The divide between the world Dan inhabits and the world Bertram lives in are sharply focused on throughout. This, in some ways, makes “The Blackbird” feel like a more gothic, socially conscious version of “The Penalty.” 

While the film lacks many of the obvious macabre features of Chaney and Browning's better known work, the central deception proves most interesting. While Chaney is ostensibly playing the same character, the Blackbird and the Bishop feel like two alternate personalities. The way he contorts his body, bending and twisting and hobbling on a crutch, represents a grotesque transformation of sorts. That the outwardly healthy Dan is the villainous one, while the physically decrepit Bishop is the virtuous personality, is an interesting idea. This proceeds an ironic twist at the climax – excuses spoilers for a 97 year old movie – where Dan is rendered actually disabled. This proceeds a tragic but hopeful ending, the ethical personality winning out. From this perception, “The Blackbird” becomes an intriguing variation on the “Jekyll and Hyde” formula.

Chaney, of course, is excellent. The scene when he decides to let Fifi go, realizing Bertie is the better man and has earned her love, is a great bit of subtle, touching physical acting that only Chaney could do. “The Blackbird” has a few, strong moments like this. Yet in order to get to them, you're going to have to sit through a lot of heavy-handed melodrama. Dan also has a regretful ex-wife, still trying to get him to change his wicked ways. The machinations of his villainous plot are a bit convoluted, with several important events occurring off-screen. The truth is, it's hard to care too much about any of this stuff. It feels like the drabbest, most lifeless type of silent film melodrama you can expect, far too typical of the time and place.

So it is with “The Blackbird,” a movie containing some fascinating ideas, a great central performance, and some cool ambiance inside some really lame bullshit. As you'd probably expect from a movie about Limehouse made in the 1920s, it's also kind of racist. A certain slur for Chinese people is thrown around casually. Ultimately, I guess it just depends on your tolerance for the unfortunate clichés of the silent era how much you'll be able to get out of this one. [6/10]

Cabinet of Curiosities: The Viewing

As “Cabinet of Curiosities” nears the end of its first season, the most buzz-worthy installments were saved for last, with Panos Cosmatos' “The Viewing” surely being one of the most anticipated of the lot. Set in 1979, it concerns a group of seemingly unrelated people being gathered together at the home of mysterious millionaire, Lionel Lassiter. They are music producer Randall Roth, expert in extraterrestrial life Charlotte Xie, successful novelist Guy Landon, and supposed telepath Targ Reinhard. Lassiter ushers the quartet into his elaborately designed home, alongside his equally eccentric physicist. The six of them talk about their field of expertise, listen to music, and are pushed into doing expensive drugs, before the millionaire reveals the purpose of this viewing. A very mysterious object sits in a near-by room and it's of interest to all of them.

If you've been familiar with all the various directors recruited for “Cabinet of Curiosities,” each episode certainly contained trademarks unique to each of them. Yet none of the installments have been nearly as distinctive as “The Viewing.” From the very opening minute, this is scored to chilly synth music. Esoteric topics like psychic phenomenon, alien life, ancient civilizations, and Muammar Gaddafi are weaved in and out of the script. As the party enters the mansion, we are presented to a pyramid like shot seemingly designed to fuck with Illuminati conspiracy theorists. The chamber most of the episode takes place in is a highly stylized set. It all ends in a kaleidoscope of psychedelic gore and mind-bending body horror. Much the same way “Beyond the Black Rainbow” and “Mandy” combined all of Cosmatos' influences – prog rock album covers, death metal, his dad's eighties action movies, drugs, Lovecraft, Cronenberg, Fulci – so does this hour long TV episode. Only Panos Cosmatos could have directed this. 

On a narrative level, there isn't much to “The Viewing.” Most of the hour is made up of people sitting in a circle, doing drugs and talking about some weird shit. Yet a hell of a cast is assembled here. Peter Weller, as Lassiter, delivers his stylized dialogue in a clipped, terse, slightly stoned cadence. Sofia Boutella's otherworldly quality is well utilized as his guru-like doctor. Steve Agee and Charlene Yi play to type, as a loud-mouthed and caustic braggart and an awkward nerd. Eric Andre, meanwhile, gives a surprisingly deep performance as a musician doubting his creative choices. Having such an accomplished cast and giving them some intriguingly weird dialogue to trade, within an insanely elaborate building, is absolutely enough to entertain me for an hour.

“The Viewing” isn't just composed of this round table conversation though. It does lead up to a bizarre climax, that explains little but certainly doesn't disappoint. While the exact nature of the otherworldly threat remains vague, as does the particularities of what it does. However, who can complain when there's an avalanche of intense gore and insane special effects unfolding on-screen? There's few visual metaphors for the mind-melting power of forbidden knowledge than literal melting faces and exploding heads. And the script totally makes the right choice about which of these characters deserve to survive. In other words, “The Viewing” is a stylistic triumph and an insanely entertaining hour of television. [9/10]

Chucky: Goin' to the Chapel

“Chucky” brings most of its lingering plot threads together in this penultimate episode, directed by John Hyams. Dr. Mixler makes a deal with Jake and his friends, shortly after Kyle, Nica, and Glenda show up at the school. Father Bryce agrees to perform an exorcism on the “Good” Chucky – which has been a ruse the whole time – so that the piece of the original Charles Lee Ray's soul in Nica can go back into the doll. The exorcism goes horribly wrong, especially when the corrupt nun rushes into the chapel with a gun to Lexy's head. Glenda gets a confrontation with her father, Andy seemingly finishes his business with the murderous doll, and it all seemingly wraps up... Until Jennifer Tilly and Glen arrive out front.

While I've been critical of “Chucky's” original characters throughout this season, “Goin' to the Chapel” does sneak in some good development in-between its bloody climaxes. Father Bryce does confession for each character before the exorcism, which Hyams shoots in moody black-and-white. This allows us to touch base with all the principal characters, even giving Bryce a surprisingly deep moment of backstory. This episode also resolves Lexy and Nandine's friendship is a surprisingly touching way. I'm honestly surprised at how good Alyvia Alyn Lind and Bella Higgenbotham's performances turned out to be in this scene. Glenda also has a confrontation with their doll dad that proves surprisingly potent as well. 

This is still an episode of “Chucky” though. There's plenty of cutesy reference to horror classics, “Silence of the Lambs” and “The Exorcist” obviously. Even as everyone confronts their relationship with the murderous doll, Chucky himself remains a mean bastard to the end. He schemes, swears, and murders people like he always does. It all leads up to a gloriously bloody climax that would've been a satisfying ending to this entire saga... Of course, it's not the end. An extended epilogue piles on some more twists, in order to set up one more episode. Yet it shows that “Chucky” can build towards cathartic moments when it wants to. 

Showing that cable TV stations can do almost whatever they want these days, as long as it airs after watermark hours, “Goin' to the Chapel” is also gloriously gory. It features at least two shockingly sudden bodily explosions, both of which are delivered with surprising blunt force. A knife to an eye and a slow motion dive through a hail of bullets are all some impressively bloody moments. John Hyams obviously excels at cinematic violence like this, making him a great choice to bring this hour to life. The subplot about the crazy nun thinking Chucky is Jesus was still completely useless though... [7/10]

Halloween 2023: September 25th

The Outwaters (2022)

If “Skinamarink” was the first break-out indie horror hit of 2023, the second has to be “The Outwaters.” Coming out only a few weeks after Kyle Edward Ball's film got a theatrical release, Robbie Banfitch's found footage mind-bender followed a similar release path. A micro-budget forcing the filmmakers to rely largely on the power of suggestion, “The Outwaters” received some rave reviews on the festival circuit, a few hailing it as the next scariest movie ever made. From there, it got a limited theatrical release proceeding a debut on a horror-themed streaming service. (In this case, Shudder rival Screambox.) And if “Skinamarink” was divisive, “The Outwaters” would prove to be even more-so. Once again, the time has come for me to judge for myself. 

“The Outwaters,” belonging to the “Blair Witch” tradition, presents itself as the recovered footage from camera memory cards discovered in the Mojave Desert. Filmmaker Robbie, his wife Angela, and his brother Scott head into the desert to film a music video for singer Michelle, a mutual friend. As they wander further into the arid landscape, the group begins to notice strange things. They hear thundering noises at night, see an unusual light in the sky, and while high pitched sounds echoing from within a rock. The next night, the quartet are attacked by a bloody, naked man wielding a hatchet. From there, Robbie – clinging to his camera – spirals headfirst into otherworldly terror. 

What the hell exactly is happening in “The Outwaters” is left intentionally vague. Late in the film, Robbie spots some evidence that suggests he might've stumbled into some sort of government testing ground. Yet even this could be easily missed. What “The Outwaters” is really doing is giving the viewer a first-person perspective on a journey into cosmic horror. Time and space unwind and circle back on themselves. Sounds and visions from Robbie's memories manifest as he futilely attempts to hang on to his sanity. The man and his friends are reduced to childish wails, their brains shattering under the weight of such an occurrence. Strange creatures from another world – resembling screaming lengths of intestines or roaring hunks of toothed, burnt meat – are quickly glimpsed. Pools of red water and swirling tunnels full of stars put in appearance, further suggesting that we're seeing a hellish trip through some sort of worm hole. “The Outwaters” is clearly attempting to replicate having a personal encounter with uncanny terrors beyond human comprehension, bringing Lovecraftian horror as close to us as possible. 

In order to visually convey such a mind-altering experience, Banfitch's film pushes the found footage format as far as it can. This means long stretches of “The Outwaters” are devoted to a handheld camera fumbling around through the dark. There's lots of shot of Robbie's feet and hands. We see briefly illuminated shots of bloodied faces, smeared viscera, and weird creatures. There are memorable images, mostly playing off the flat, wide, still landscapes of the desert. Yet whether or not you find “The Outwater's” almost experimental relationship to traditional visual coherence compelling or irritating will depend entirely on taste. If “Skinamarink” can be dismissed as 100 minutes of the camera pointing at the corner of a hallway, “The Outwaters” can be dismissed as nearly two hours of some asshole dropping his camera in the desert night.

And so the question is raised: Did it work for me, personally? Well, sort off. There are definite moments when “The Outwaters” is unnerving. The film's sound design is well done, especially when the dialogue fades and only strange echoing sounds are heard in the soundtrack. Once the cosmic freak-out begins, the movie definitely gets in some good shocks. The first appearance of those shrieking intestine worms, for example. Or a sudden cut to blood being vomited onto the desert floor. In its creepeist moment, “The Outwaters” successfully captures the feeling of sanity slipping and reality falling apart. Robbie's desperate mumbles, attempting to hold onto his identity when not slipping into juvenile muttering, definitely sells that feeling.

Yet there's a big problem facing “The Outwaters.” You never really care about these characters. The best found footage movies use the naturalistic interactions of the characters, serendipitously caught on camera within the film's universe, to establish who these people are. Banfitch takes this idea to its furthest point. The first fifty minutes of “The Outwaters” is devoted to these characters just... Doing stuff. They talk, they drink, they party, they mess around with the camera. While hints at relationships and their collective past are hinted at – Robbie having a deceased father, for one – we never really get a sense of who these people are. Without a sense of personality to ground the audience, the second half feels like weird shit happening for no reason. When the movie descends into outrageous gore in its final moments, you feel like the filmmakers have exhausted all the tools available to them. 

By the way, “The Outwaters'” classification as analog horror strikes me as debatable. The in-universe events are shot on digital cameras, so there's not much analog about that. While audio distortion is important to the film's atmosphere, it doesn't really subvert or touch on the use of technology to make its point. I think the film is better classified as straight found footage. I think the movie grips the label largely because the director uses an in-universe Tumblr blog and several shorts to expand upon its lore, much in the manner of creepypastas and other works of internet horror fiction. As for “The Outwaters” itself, it is a mildly interesting, sometimes tedious, occasionally creepy attempt to reinvent the found footage format. [6.5/10]

The She Beast (1966)

In his brief life, Michael Reeves directed three horror icons. Before making “The Sorcerers” with Boris Karloff and “Witchfinder General” with Vincent Price, he was just a film-obsessed kid who ran away from home to show up on Don Siegel's doorstep. This gumption got Reeves a job as on Siegel's next movie, the first of several such gigs. While functioning as an assistant director on “Castle of the Living Dead” – starring another genre giant, Christopher Lee – he would impress producer Paul Manlansky. Manlansky would fund Reeves' first feature as a director, “The She Beast.” It would star another well-known horror luminary, Barbara Steele. Steele was paid one grand for one day, which stretched on for 18 hours, much to her annoyance. The film received little attention, at the time, but it would begin Reeves' short, fruitful career as a distinctive filmmaker.

200 years ago, in Transylvania, a hideous witch named Bardella is executed by a Christian mob. With her dying breath, she curses the village, promising to return and seek vengeance on their descendants. In the modern day – 1966 – married couple Phillip and Veronica are vacationing the same area. Following a nasty experience at a sleazy motel, they are involved in a traffic accident, the couple's Volkswagen crashing into the same lake Bardella was executed in. The witch's spirit trades places with Veronica's body, soon rising again to fulfill her prophecy. The thoroughly baffled Philip teams up with the alcoholic last member of the Von Helsing family to reserve the curse, while butting heads with local Communist authorities. 

It takes a while to reveal its true intentions but “The She Beast” is actually a sarcastic rebuttal of the typical Italian gothic horror flicks of the time. The plot, clearly inspired by other Steele films like “Black Sunday,” is primarily set in the modern day, instead of the 1800s. The Van Helsing character, explicitly identified as a member of the same family that fought Dracula, is depicted as a drunken lay-about who comes off as more eccentric than wise. Moving such a story into the modern day places this Transylvanian tale squarely into Soviet territory. Which means Von Helsing has been disposed of his royal title and wealth, forced to drive around in a comically small car. The heroes must deal with a group of buffoonish Communist cops as they attempt to hunt the evil witch. A witch, by the way, who is not really all that threatening. She mostly shrieks goofily while trying to surprise her victims. She spends several long scenes stored in a vegetable crisper and unconscious on the floor of a van. 

Stories that place ancient horrors in the then-modern context of Soviet Europe are not totally unheard of. Yet any attempt at political subtext in “The She Beast” is muddy, at best. Bardella murders the sleazy hotel owner with a sickle, which she then tosses aside and lands perfectly on a near-by hammer. That seems to align the witch with the restrictive government, praying on Romania's citizens. Yet she's opposed by the Communist law enforcement too and her victims are equally unsympathetic, making it unclear where the film lies on the issue of socialism. One thing is obvious though: “The She Beast” does not paint a very flattering picture of life in a Soviet bloc country. The hotel owner spies on Veronica and Philip as they get intimate, before later attempting to rape his niece. The cops are incompetent and absurd, the truck drivers are criminals, and all the surroundings are dingy and rundown. 

Apparently, the comical car chase scene was shot by a second unit director without Reeves' knowledge, who had neither the time nor budget to re-shoot them. I imagine Reeves was well aware of how goofy and campy much of his movie was though. Still, there are several striking and notable scenes in “The She Beast.” The opening, where the witch is impaled and dunked in a lake, recalls the witch-hunting sadism of the director's best known film. Several shots are quite striking. Such as the camera peering out of Bardella's tomb or a slow tracking shot backwards, revealing her curling clawed hand. The final moment even proves a little chilling, as the evil is seemingly vanished before Barbara Steele's distinctive eyes and wicked grin suggests otherwise.

Steele, by the way, only appears at the beginning and the end. Most of the movie is devoted to Ian Oligvy and John Karlson, as Philip and Von Helsing, bumbling after the almost comically ineffectual witch. The movie definitely could've used more of Steele's unforgettable screen presence. As goofy as “The She Beast” is, you can see some of the intensity and style that would make Reeves' later films cult classics. Had he not died at the age of 25, who knows what the filmmaker might've achieved. He left behind a short, distinctive filmography and this is certainly an off-beat, if not wholly successful, start to it. [6/10]

Cabinet of Curiosities: Dreams in the Witch House

When I compared  Guillermo del Toro's “Cabinet of Curiosities” to “Masters of Horror,” I did it without realizing both series featured takes on the same Lovecraft story, the oft-adapted “Dreams in the Witch House.” Though it seems unlikely anyone would consider Catherine Hardwicke – of “Twilight” infamy – the same sort of master as Stuart Gordon. The episode follows Walter Gillman. When he was a young boy, he watched his twin sister die and her spirit dragged away to a spectral forest. This gave him a lifelong obsession with spiritualism. He finds most mediums to be fakes but, upon taking a mind-expanding drug, discovers travel to the other side is possible. He takes up residence in the home of a notorious 17th century witch named Keziah Mason. As Walter endeavors to save his sister's soul, he becomes a target for the still hungry spirit of Keziah. 

Mika Watson's script takes little from Lovecraft's story, almost to the point of being an in-name-only adaptation. Howard Phillip's concept of mathematics as witchcraft and visions of non-Euclidean alternate dimensions are mostly discarded for fuzzily defined magic. The script here devotes entirely too much time to explaining every single thing that is happening. The drug Walter does is named and its effects repeatedly described. The exact nature of the nether realm his sister is trapped in is breathlessly elaborated on. Right before the last act kicks in, yet more details concerning the magic ritual are dumped on us. Not a single moment of ambiguity or mystery is allowed to exist within this hour. 

Here in 2023, I know we've all come around to understanding that the backlash to the “Twilight” phenomenon was partially driven by sexism. Surely, we can also acknowledge this as true while also admitting that original movie is still not very good, right? Because “Dreams in the Witch House” functions about as well as you'd expect from the director of “Twilight.” There's one effective moment here, where Walter has a nightmare of the witch looming over his bed. Otherwise, the scares here range from hammy to laughable. There's a focus on dodgy CGI effects. The witch's human-faced rat familiar is in full sight from his first appearance, often speaking in a comical Scottish accent and motioning directly to the camera. The witch floats and shrieks at the camera, summons CGI vines to ensnare people, while the little sister glimmers like glowing hologram.

Even though Hardwicke has made other movies, I couldn't stop thinking of “Twilight” during this laborious hour. “Dreams in the Witch House” is really structured like a Y.A. adaptation. There's a magical MacGuffin introduced strictly to defeat the villain, deployed in a climatic moment. All the cinematography is highly color-graded and overly dark, in a way that reminds me of the perpetually overcast vampire romance. Even the fact that this stars Rupert Gint, forever known for his role in the “Harry Potter” films, make this connection unavoidable. By the far the worst moment occurs when our heroes take shelter in a church and a nun swears at the witch as she approaches. I'll admit, Netflix crashed a few minutes before the episode finished but it was so shitty that I really had no desire to watch the rest of it. I'm shocked that a Lovecraft devotee like del Toro would be comfortable putting his name on this truly unfortunate adaptation. [4/10]

Chucky: He Is Risen Indeed

Picking up where the last episode left off, “He Is Risen Indeed” begins with Devon and Lexy discovering that Andy is still alive, tied down and slowly being cannibalized by an unhinged Chucky calling himself “The Colonel.” It also becomes apparent that Dr. Mixter, the therapist that recommends the kids come to Incarnate Heart, is revealed as working with Chucky. The Colonel heads back to the school to deal with Buff Chucky, currently being worshiped by the nun who has mistaken him for an incarnation of Christ. The teens gather together to defend against the inevitable attack from the dolls. Meanwhile, Glenda and Kyle deal with the original Chucky's spirit inside Nica. 

“He Is Risen Indeed” represents that inevitable, somewhat insufferable point in the serialized horror TV show season where all the subplots start to get cleaved through. Plot lines and peripheral characters are dealt with in quick succession. The different Chuckies floating around are whittled down. Certain characters that probably aren't so important are pushed to the side. (If not killed off, since this is that kind of show.) This has the side effect of revealing which events in this series were essentially unimportant diversions introduced to fill the eight hours of time this show has in a season. Stuff like this is why I don't usually watch TV shows like this. 

Having said that, there are some good moments here. The relationship between “Charlie” and Dr. Mixter is clearly interesting and something I want to see more of. Andy's fate is especially fucked-up. The Colonel proves to be an amusingly bizarre character, with his exit from the show giving me a good laugh. “Good Chucky” is clearly the most interesting plot line the show has going at this point, especially in the conflict he feels between the innocent personality that has developed and the murderous instincts that are still inherent in him. Good Chucky's interactions with Dr. Mixter are definitely a highlight. That builds to a nice, climatic moment, one of the few times a murder scene on this show has genuinely surprised me and bummed me out. I'm still entertained by “Chucky” at this point but the show definitely needs to arrive at the point soon. [6/10]

Halloween 2023: September 24th

Skinamarink (2022)

Late last year, the most organic of indie horror success stories started to bubble up from social media. Mostly young people on TikTok and Reddit began to discuss a mysterious motion picture called “Skinamarink,” talking about it in much the same tones as they do creepypastas and other urban legends. A micro-budget production made by a Youtube filmmaker known as Kyle Edward Ball, a festival screener leaked online and horror fans slowly found their way to it, making the film into a truly viral phenomenon. “Skinamarink” quickly got official distribution, scooped up by IFC Midnight, and Shudder put it in front of a wider audience. The merits of the film immediately became hotly debated, some hailing it as a bold new vision for the horror genre and others dismissing it was totally pretentious hogwash. Along the way, the film became a meme of sorts and really kicked off “analog horror” as a movement within the genre. 

“Skinamarink's” narrative is vague. An opening title card establishes the year as 1995. The setting is an average seeming home, with our two protagonists being little children by the name of Kaylee and Kevin. Their father leaves them alone with their mother one night, at which point the windows and doors allowing anyone to exit the house vanishes. Their mother is soon purloined by an unseen force, Kaylee following shortly afterwards. As Kevin is left alone in the house, with only some old cartoons on a VHS tape to keep him company, an inhuman voice starts to beckon him upstairs. It soon becomes clear that a malevolent intelligence of unlimited power is playing a very cruel game with the small child. 

What “Skinamarink” sets out to do is, to me, fairly obvious. As a child, did you ever have a horrible nightmare? Did you ever wake up in a cold sweat, alone in your bedroom? And were you gripped by a fear that the terrible dream wasn't over? That the monster chasing you in your sleep would follow you into your childhood bedroom, where all your toys and your favorite teddy could do nothing to protect you? That is the feeling “Skinamarink” is meant to invoke. That is why what little story the film does have centers on the most frightening thing a little kid can imagine: Their parents completely disappearing from their lives. This is why so much of the movie is made up of lingering shots of the corner of a room, toys thrown out on the floor. That's what you see from your little bed, when you're too scared to go back to sleep. That's why Kevin and Kaylee attempt to seek solstice in the glow of the TV, the only thing that can make this damnable endless night pass faster. Ball sets out to take the viewer right back to that primordial place of childhood terror. 

Since we live in a time that is consumed by millenial and zoomer nostalgia for bygone media and formats, it's tempting to dismiss “Skinamarink”s analog presentation as simply another example of a hipster filmmaker being too fond of tape grain and scan lines. Yet “Skinamarink's” visual presentation is in-line with its goals. The low, cryptic angles replicate the way a child sees the world. The childish protagonists of the story are never fully on-screen, the audience mostly only seeing their feet or the back of their heads. We more-or-less assume their perspectives. Lastly, the graininess of the film recalls the way the human eyes adapt to darkness. “Skinamarink” lives in that twilight space between sleep and waking, when everything around you is slowly coming into focus and the specifics of your surroundings are bathed in obscuring darkness. 

The retro-leaning presentation serves another purpose too. Setting the movie in the mid-nineties allows Ball to fill it with visuals short-hands of this era. Like the wood paneling on the wall, the decidedly retro television, the clicking of the VHS player, and a toy phone that every kid had. These images are meant to specifically invoke the childhoods of people the same generation of Kyle Edward Ball, those of us in our thirties. Essentially, the film weaponizes millennial nostalgia, turning signifiers of our youth – symbols that should invoke warmness and good memories – into objects of fear. Just like those sleepless nights in your bedrooms as a little kid, “Skinamarink” turns the familiar into the uncanny. 

To what end does Ball so faithfully craft a childhood nightmare? Who or what is behind the film's events are never revealed. The only hints at its motivations we get appear via the public domain cartoons the kids watch on the TV. While no doubt a budget saving measure, the predatory hunger of “The Cobweb Hotel's” villainous spider and the mischievous sadism of proto-Bugs Bunny in “Prest-O Change-O” make its intentions clear. The entity trapping the children in this home is seemingly all powerful. It manipulates time, space, and matter. The spatial lay-out of the home changes. The night stretches on forever. The children never age and the rules arbitrarily change, the kids sometimes able to communicate with the outside world and sometimes not. It's simple: The Skinamarink is playing with these kids, pulling cruel tricks on them, inflicting its sadistic whims as it pleases. 

The kids are, of course, totally helpless against such a force. And that's, I think, the secret to “Skinamarink” being so frightening. When you're a kid, you are powerless against adults. Your parents protect you. Mom and dad and your childhood home are your whole world. Yet that also means they control your lives. In “Skinamarink,” the absolute control of a parental figure is perverted. The entity trapping Kevin in the house demands to be obeyed, insisting the child go upstairs when called. Or, in the film's most sickening moment, commands the boy to harm himself. It even makes the toilet disappear, seemingly just to make the child more uncomfortable. The implication – of a sexually or physically abusive authority figure – floats over the entire movie. “Skinamarink” is a childhood nightmare but it's the waking nightmare, of someone a child is supposed to trust the most betraying them, too. 

This makes “Skinamarink” fully tactile, emotionally responsive filmmaking. It doesn't compel through narrative, pacing, or the forward momentum of the moving picture. It almost defiantly lacks all these things, sealing its fate as a movie that some people will find utterly intolerable. It is, to use the parlance of the youths, “vibes” based movie making. This is why the movie is best experienced late at night, all by yourself, preferably watched from a laptop screen with ear buds in. If you're willing to immerse yourself in “Skinamarink's” world, you might find it a bone-chilling experience. Whether Ball proves to be a one-trick pony or a truly innovative filmmaker, “Skinamarink” will remain a stirringly personal and deeply unnerving motion picture. [9/10]

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe (1970)

I don't think any actor has been more associated with the works of Edgar Allan Poe than Vincent Price. Through the popular Poe adaptations he starred in for Roger Corman, Price became practically synonymous with the author's work. This link was such that Price would star in in-name-only Poe movies, like “The Conqueror Worm” and “The Oblong Box,” as well as lending voice-over narration to projects like “Spirits of the Dead.” Kenneth Johnson, a producer on The Mike Douglas Show in the late sixties, was certainly aware of this. He asked Price to read “The Tell-Tale Heart” after a recording. The audience reaction was so positive that Johnson and Price decided to develop a one-man show out of Vincent reading Poe stories. Sam Arkoff and James Nicholson, who had produced the movies for A.I.P., was talked into funding the project. “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe” would debut on television at the start of the seventies.

Sitting, standing, and raving about simple sound-stages, with costumes provided by Price's wife, “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe” sees the horror icon reading slightly abbreviated versions of four Poe classics. Accompanied only by a chair and a bed, Price performs “The Tell-Tale Heart.” Sitting at a lavish dining room table – while drinking some wine, of course – he acts out “The Cask of Amontillado.” The most elaborate performance is saved for last, as Price sits in a dungeon and wails out the text of “The Pit and the Pendulum.” Also included is a more obscure Poe story, “The Sphinx,” about a man vacationing in the Hudson woods seeing a strange creature. 

On a technical level, there isn't much to “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe.” Price is literally the only actor in the film. It runs all of 54 minutes. Since each segment consists of the star performing each story, it feels quite a lot like a filmed stage play. Director Johnson makes a few attempts to elevate the simplistic production. “The Tell-Tale Heart” features a few close-ups of Price's starring eyes. “The Cask of Amontillado” occasionally imposes the image of a skull on-screen. “The Pit and the Pendulum” is by far the most luxuriant sequence. Silhouettes of the Inquisition judges appear. We get brief glimpses of Price strapped to the torture table and of the rats swarming. There's even a rather comical shot of Price falling through a crudely presented wall of flames. The camera movements are, in general, somewhat rough. The presentation is grainy overall. This was clearly not an expensive production, made by a inexperienced crew. (This was notably Johnson's first directorial credit.) 

“An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe's” simplicity and lack-of-frills are almost besides the point though. Vincent Price, one of the undisputed icons of the genre, reading the words of Edgar Allan Poe, one of the foundational authors of all horror, should be enough for anyone. Price, of course, hams it up to the rafters. During “The Tell-Tale Heart,” he rants and quivers, throwing the chair around and falling to his knees. (How he makes the bed again after describing smothering the old man with the mattress is a nice touch.) He shouts and wails even more while acting out “The Pit and the Pendulum.” In contrast, his reading of “The Cask of Amontillado” is comparatively subdued. Price smirks with evil delight as he relates how he walled up Fortunato, each word dripping with sinister intent. Even at his campiest, Price is utterly captivating. I found myself carried away by his unmistakable voice as he reads through each of Poe's perfectly constructed sentences, my heart honestly beating with excitement as I was caught up in each performance.

Such a stripped-down production as this allows you to focus on Poe's storytelling. “The Cask of Amontillado” really is a nasty little piece of work, isn't it? There's no moral to it, no greater narrative beyond a man enacting a cruel revenge on his most hated enemy. We don't even have the specifics of why our narrator hates Fortunato so. It's simply a gruesome revenge fantasy committed to the page, a real venom and cruelty apparent in its words. “The Tell-Tale Heart” involves a little more actual story but is still mostly devoted to taking us inside the mind of someone who commits murder. “The Pit and the Pendulum” is the weightiest of all these stories yet it continues to expose Poe as a writer far more interested in experience than narrative. It's a story mostly about inflicting the terror the main character feels in this perilous situation on the reader. Out of all of these, “The Sphinx” is definitely the most light-hearted, with a comedic denouncement and a simple moral about perception and superstition. (Though it is kind of fun, until the twist, to interrupt the story as an early account of cryptozoology.) 

Kennith Johnson would go on to a long career in television, directing the original “V” mini-series, "Short Circuit 2," and two beloved Disney Channel Original Movies. (He also directed “Steel,” but let's not dwell on that.) “An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe” was probably destined to be forgotten. I can't even find any information on when it first aired or what networks broadcast it. Being part of the A.I.P. library, it was acquired by MGM and eventually released as part of their Midnite Movies DVD collection in the 2000s. It has since appeared in later Vincent Price Blu-Ray collection, the film playing as something of an honorary addition to Corman's more famous Poe cycle. This has made the short television special the minorest of cult classics, proving that all horror fans really need to be entertained is one master enacting the words of another. [7/10]

Cabinet of Curiosities: Pickman's Model

I'll admit, the fifth episode of “Cabinet of Curiosities” was the one I anticipated the most, as it's based on one of my favorite Lovecraft stories and stars my favorite character actor. Even if director Keith Thomas – previously of “The Vigil” and the poorly regarded “Firestarter” remake – is the filmmaker in this line-up I'm least familiar with. Set at Miskatonic University in the 1900s, “Pickman's Model” follows an art student named Thurber. His figure drawing class is joined by a mysterious man named Richard Pickman, whose illustrations are macabre and vivid. Thurber is fascinated but terrified by Pickman's disturbing paintings. The two becomes friends of sorts, despite Thurber being haunted by Pickman's work. Years later, the two are reunited when Pickman gets a gallery display of his own, which prompts Thurber to dig even further into the man's unnerving family history.

Lovecraft's story is mostly a long series of descriptions of horrifying paintings, leading up to a hell of a twist ending. Obviously, it would be hard to get even an hour out of television out of such a premise. Thomas' “Pickman's Model” expands on the source material by focusing more on Thurber's life and his friendship with Pickman. As the two get to know each other, and Thurber learns more about his buddy's history of familial witchcraft, it's obvious that there's something wrong with the guy. I mean, that's always been the case but it's really obvious here, as Thurber has disturbing nightmares, Pickman's paintings seem to move, and strange beasts are half-glimpsed lurking outside his home. That last detail essentially spoils “Pickman's Model's” ending long before it comes, making the episode a drawn-out march towards a foregone conclusion. 

This is not the only way Thomas and his team extend the short story. Since seemingly no Lovecraft adaptation can resist doing so, “Pickman's Model” is connected to Lovecraft's wider cosmology here. This moves towards an apocalyptic ending, essentially further robbing the story's proper climax of its potency. In a seemingly desperate attempt to pad out the run time and make it “scarier,” the episode also has Thurber having nightmares and visions of Pickman's ancestors. These come off as basically jump-scares, overly reliant on special effects, which feel overheated and obnoxious. By the time we get a gory dream of dismemberment, the episode had officially crossed over into the territory of trying-too-hard.

It's a shame that “Pickman's Model” resorts to such campy attempts at horror. The Lovecraftian creature design are cool. The decision to depict Pickman's paintings as squirming and moving –  which foreshadowing things way too much – is at least a good way to illustrate the effect they have on the protagonist. Of course, Crispin Glover as Pickman is spot-on casting. (Glover wouldn't be a bad choice to play Howard Philip himself, should anyone do a traditional biopic.) Glover is certainly believable as an artist of a cursed bloodline. However, he makes the unusual choice of putting on a comical Bostonian accent, which further pushes the episode towards camp. In fact, I think all the cast members get a little too much into the story's New England setting. The episode includes some uncharacteristically Lovecraftian sex and nudity, suggesting this was an attempt to replicate Stuart Gordon's Lovecraft adaptations. Yet Gordon's films were more self-assured than this disappointingly loud and fussy “Model.” [5/10] 

Chucky: Doll on Doll

Returning to Incarnate Lord, Jake, Devon, Lexy, and Nadine continue to struggle with what to do with the Chucky they have successfully brainwashed into being naïve and non-violent. The living doll even strikes down the buff Chucky that previously murdered Trevor. His body is left crucified on the wall, an act Devon is blamed for. Nadine comforts Lexy as she struggles with her addiction and Jake decides to baptize the so-called “Good” Chucky. Lastly, Glenda and Meg Tilly confronts Tiffany Valentine in Jennifer Tilly's body, who has secrets of her own.

I'm a bit surprised to find that “Chucky,” five episodes into its second season, seems to earnestly be grappling with themes of forgiveness and addiction. Jake has taken one of the nun's lessons, about forgiving Chucky in order to forgive himself, to heart. He started to bond with the child-like “Good Chucky.” Meanwhile, Lexy self-medicating her trauma by snorting pills is leading towards self-destruction. She seeks solace in Nadine's arms, who assures her that love and acceptance – and thus self-acceptance – can't be found at the bottom of a pill bottle. This evens seems to dovetails with Tiffany's subplot, who also refers to murder as an addiction. (Which continues one of the best jokes from “Seed of Chucky.”)

Having played the character for thirty-five years now, Brad Dourif's take on Charles Lee Ray has definitely evolved. Yet season two of “Chucky” seems determined to get the most out of the character actor's talent. The different versions of the murderous doll are clearly taking on their own personalities. Good Chucky is genuinely adorable, Dourif's familiar unhinged voice somehow graduating to being soft and vulnerable. Buff Chucky is more in line with the classic version, though even more braggadocios. The episode's final scene introduces yet another variant, that seems modeled on “Apocalypse Now's” Colonel Kurtz. We've always known that Dourif is actually a highly talented actor that can play all sorts of characters. It's still surprising to see so much variety from him while still, ostensibly, playing the same killer doll that has made him a cult icon.

While the show is doing its best to make Jake and Devon's relationship problems compelling – with limited success – the high camp, melodrama of Tilly/Tiffany's subplot remains infectiously fun. The reveal in this episode – that the real Jennifer Tilly has remained locked in the Tiffany doll's body, forced to play online poker and do voice work for Seth MacFarlane to pay the bills – is another hysterical meta joke. Tilly happily hams it up, while having wonderful chemistry with Lachlan Watson as Glenda. Her interactions with Jennifer's real life sister Meg are also highly amusing, the younger Tilly sister giving a surprisingly layered performance despite the ridiculous material. [7/10]