Halloween 2026: September 2nd

 

The Wailing (2016)
Gokseong

Religion is kind of a worldwide phenomena, ya know? I think it's human nature to assign events to the actions of a higher power or otherworldly forces. We also tend to think of faith as following international borders. Those who write history have worked very hard to paint the Americas and the Anglo corners of the world as the Christian nations, middle Asian countries as Islamic, India as Hindu, and so forth. The East Asian parts of the world, from an ignorant American perspective, seem mostly characterized as a mix of Buddhist, Shinto, and ill-defined local mysticism. This is not accurate, of course. In South Korea, for example, 20% of the population identify as Protestant and 11% as Catholic. While Christianity has a decent sized congregation in the country, local shamanic beliefs are also commonly practiced, sometimes hand-in-hand. This interesting spiritual breakdown is reflected in Na Hong-jin's 2016 film, "The Wailing." Critically acclaimed, the film is what largely brought Na's name to Western fans' attention.

Jong-goo is a policeman in the South Korean village of Gokseong, a small community surrounded by mountains and forest. He is sent to investigate an unusually grisly murder, a man covered in strange boils and scars having brutally dismembered his wife. This is the first of a number of reported violent crimes in the area, often of someone murdering the other members of their family. Many of these incidents seem to link back to the appearance of a Japanese stranger in the village. Jong-goo begins to have nightmares about this unusual man. Shortly afterwards, his daughter Hyo-jin begins to exhibit increasingly strange, violent, and vulgar behavior. Jong-goo is convinced the stranger has possessed his daughter and is prompted to seek out a traditional shaman to exorcise the spirit. While this has some effect at first, the curse falling over Jong-goo and his family can not be so easily defeated. 

I'm pulling from a comparatively small sample size here and also making the same mistake I chastise others for in my opening paragraph, of grouping all Asian cultures together mindlessly. Having said that: A curse that easily passes from person to person seems to crop up in horror movies from that corner of the world sometimes. That's kind of how the mechanics of the haunting in “Ringu” operate. A more recent example would be “The Sadness” from Taiwan, where a literal virus prompts people to indulge their most depraved, violent impulses. In “The Wailing,” evil is similarly a communicable virus. It seemingly begins with the Japanese man coming into the village. He is said to commit sexual assaults, crawl around the forest in his underwear, or eat rotten meat. If this is patient zero for a corrupting otherworldly force is hard to say but, either way, it's spreading through this village. We see individuals in a zombie-like trance, rotting and covered in sores. Meanwhile, in the case of Jong-goo's daughter, the curse acts more like a traditional possession. Whatever the symptoms, this is a demonic outbreak that works very much like a pandemic. If one person in town has caught it, odds are good someone else has it too. 

This is a cool set-up for a fright film, seemingly mixing the familiar tropes of the zombie movie with a degree of demonic horror. However, it's only the jumping-off point for the themes “The Wailing” explores over its two and a half hour runtime. The film operates a lot like a detective mystery, with Jong-hoo attempting to track down the person responsible for these events. It's clear that he is caught in a chain reaction whose trigger event happened some time ago. This is evident in a well done sequence where the shaman performs an elaborate ritual, with a lot of dancing and physical movement, to cast the spirit out. This mostly results in Hyo-jin screaming in pain as her body contorts. As the story progresses, characters learn conflicting information about who is the source of these events and what to do about them. A Catholic priest concludes that the Japanese stranger – a cultural outsider who may be a mere scapegoat? - is a demon. The shaman believes a ghost is responsible. The media blames the consumption of psychedelic mushroom. Ultimately, it doesn't matter to Jong-goo because his daughter is still sick, isn't getting any better, and his home seems careening towards disaster. If all religion is merely an attempt to put a system of cause-and-effect on a universe that is merely random chaos, “The Wailing” is a good depiction of that. Its protagonist is the middle of the falling dominoes, with no chance of stopping the collapse even if he can trace things back to a source. 

A key moment occurs when Jong-hoo and his partner are investigating the home of the supposed demonic individual. Someone points out that a key object was casually picked up, contaminating the forensics and ruining any chance of it becoming evidence in the court of law. When compared to an earlier scene of Jong-hoo cowering from a ghostly image in the police station, the conclusion is difficult to avoid: This guy isn't a very good cop. As he grows more desperate, he uses violence and intimidating frequently to get what he wants. When combined with the dysfunction in his home life, another theme seems to emerge. The family calls on the shaman, under the belief that he knows what to do. He is revealed to be as clueless as anyone else. Doctors can't stop the spread. The Catholic priest is confused too. There is a systematic failure of authority in “The Wailing,” men who are stupid or irresponsible or corrupt or selfish being assigned power they cannot be trusted to wield. This outbreak of demonic influence is their fault and trusting them to stop it seems like a doomed effort. It feels a lot like, oh, every government in the world ever. How can we expect a system that caused these problems to then resolve them? 

Tying these ideas together is Na Hong-Jin's mastery of ambiance and ability to deliver a good shock. The scenic locations, beautifully captured by Hong Kyung-pyo's cinematography, only make the cast seem more isolated and alone as things get worst. Several sequences in “The Wailing” begin with seemingly normal circumstances being disrupted by unusual events that grow more disturbing. A lightning crash and black-out precedes the appearance of a shadowy spectre. A visit to the woods is disrupted by the strange man appearing, who crawls closer and closer. A nose bleed escalates to a torrent of vomit. A frantic drive down a freeway is disturbed by a swarm of bugs pelting the windshield. The movie does a fantastic job of staring at events as they grow more ominous, looking evil right in the face as it plays out in front of us. The result is the viewer feels as trapped with these unsettling revelations as the characters do. These aren't mere jump scares, that jolt the audience and then fade as the adrenaline dies down. These are sturdier chills, nightmare imagery that sticks in the mind and becomes harder to forget.

 

Good shit, in other words. Na Hong-Jing doesn't seem to have attracted the reputation as a lot of other South Korean horror filmmakers. His previous films, “The Chaser” and “The Yellow Sea,” got strong reviews. His follow-up to this one, “Hope,” got scooped up by Netflix and dropped on their streaming service with little promotion, as Netflix is prone to do. I'm definitely going to have to go back and check those out though. (Na also penned a film for Thai filmmaker Banjong Pisanthanakun that started life as a sequel to this one before turning into a stand-alone project. I'm considering making that my stop in Thailand on this year's world tour.)“The Wailing” is a potent dose of dread, featuring strong performances and heady ideas in service of fantastically directed scenes of horror. [8/10]

 

House of the Black Death (1965)
 

In the various circles of schlock movie perdition, Jerry Warren surely resides somewhere on the lower tiers. Ed Wood's surreal dialogue and irrepressible fetishes made his films cult classics. Andy Milligan's deeply felt misanthropy transformed Z-movies into windows to his personal hell. Coleman Francis created stifling works of highly quotable anti-art. I've never seen a single person who express anything but ironic enjoyment of Jerry Warren's work. His films, usually composed of thoughtlessly cut apart and reassembled international movies with utterly lifeless new footage providing the thinnest of connective tissue, have little camp factor and few merits of their own. So how bad does a movie have to be when Jerry Warren is called in to save it? Lora Crozetti, an early female writer in the world of sci-fi fandom, wrote a book called “The Widderburn Horror.” In 1965, director Harold Daniels attempted to adapt it into a movie. Reginald LeBorg apparently also shot some footage of people wandering around the woods. The producers deemed the project incomplete and brought in Warren to shoot additional material and cut it together into something releasable. Whether he succeeded is debatable. However, the film, now entitled “Blood of the Man Devil” and eventually re-titled again to “House of the Black Death,” did play in theaters before paying audiences. Which is something, I guess. 

The Desard family's legacy is one of witchcraft, devil worship, black magic, and arcane curses. At the family's foggy estate resides the bed-bound Andre, the eldest member who is deeply protective of the Desard's dark secrets. His brother, Belial, works with a coven of loyal followers to undermine Andre and claim the family's powers for his own. Andre's children, Paul and Valerie, arrive at the home to discuss these terms. Belial's followers kill their dog and go about attempting to activate a much discussed curse, that will turn Paul into a werewolf. Paul, his sister, a skeptical doctor, and dear old dad talk about ancient spells and tomes. Meanwhile, the literally horny Belial has his followers perform striptease outside the house as part of dark rituals, I guess.

“House of the Black Death” qualifies as a motion picture only on a technicality. It begins with a montage of the main players, their names and roles in the story being introduced by an off-screen Satanic voice. If that seems didactic, it's practically dynamic compared to how the rest of the movie plays out. Most of the film's thankfully short 74 minute runtime is devoted to people standing around within the undistinguished rooms of the family home. They ramble on about the family's demonic heritage and history of lycanthropy, often repeating the same points again and again. The visibly bored actors are usually in the center of the frame, footage cutting back and forth with the subtly of a power saw, as they talk about this incomprehensible bullshit. The word “coven” is repeatedly pronounced in such a manner as not to rhyme with oven, man. It is lifeless, feeling like stilted amateur theater unwisely committed to celluloid for all time. 

Considering his pedigree, I would expect these endless scenes of inane dialogue to be Mr. Warren's work. The exact breakdown of who shot what seems lost to the ages. We do know that Warren brought in his regular Katherine Victor, who appears in scenes of the cult bickering among itself. Otherwise, we can only speculate. The multiple scenes of female Satanists gyrating around in their lingerie before a demonic alter represents exploitation film making at its most desperate, throwing half-naked bodies on-screen in hopes of diverting audience attention for a second longer. Sure, the girls are attractive. Among them is legendarily proportioned British pin-up girl Sabrina, in her final film credit. Their dance routines are recorded without a sense of eroticism or basic energy. It's like “Orgy of the Dead” with all the fun parts cut out. Much like that particular piece of cheese, “House of the Black Death” links its tedious conversations and titillation-free lap dances with hokey horror movie atmosphere. There's a stone altar shaped like a saddle, the topic of several conversations. A rusty gate, a cardboard tombstone, a blanket of fog over the floor. Even someone with as much affection for elementary school Halloween party set-dressing as myself can only find so much here to be charmed by. The scene where someone finally turns into a werewolf – a split-second shot of foam gurgling through a gorilla mask – and Lon Chaney transforming into a paper skull instantly made me chuckle a little. But that's it.

I watched “House of the Black Death” because of its over-the-hill stars. As always, John Carradine and Lon Chaney Jr. are professionals. Carradine never blinks or stutters when reading reams of droll exposition. He is one of the few actors in the film that actually do anything meaningful, called upon to perform a mostly off-screen fiery incantation at the end. It's impossible to care about any of it and I doubt Carradine did either. However, he does his best. Chaney was well into the drinking-himself-to-death portion of his career. He hams gratuitously for the camera, smiling wickedly and staring with evil lust at the various girls on display. The little horns on his head are kind of cute. These are, to say the least, the most modest of pleasures. The two horror legends never directly interact. You'll have to watch “The Black Sleep” for that, a movie that's also quite lame but is still considerably better than this one. 

I genuinely do try and find the best in every movie I watch. I've sat through some dire stuff simply because an old monster movie guy was propped up through a scene or two. I've seen films that tested my patience more than “House of the Black Death,” I suppose. However, it is an hour and change stunningly devoid of value. Many pieces of interesting cinema have been dismissed because “nothing happens” within them. This is a genuine description of “House of the Black Death.” It “moves,” and therefore is a movie, only because live humans were recorded for it. If you swapped them out, even the esteemed Mr. Carradine and Chaney, with motionless cut-outs, the film would be fundamentally unchanged. I feel no hatred towards it, only indifference, perhaps the most damnable sin of all. [2/10]

 

Wednesday: Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe

The idea of Tim Burton being involved with some new version of “The Addams Family” is, to generalize, hack shit. To quote a sort of wise man, it's too obvious, a hat on a hat. This is so true that Burton had already been attached to a reboot of the property years before. However, the most obvious programming possible is what Netflix specializes in. This is presumably why the new series would revolve around Wednesday Addams. The upbeat, cheery little girl of the sixties sitcom has now been utterly eclipsed in pop culture by Christina Ricci's interpretation of her as an extremely sardonic, glaring, sadistic goth girl. Wednesday now exists more as a Halloween costume, the phenotype upon which a hundred OnlyFans providers have built their brand on, than as a character. Again, this made a show about her having adventures the most obvious choice. Nevertheless, none of this prevented Netflix's “Wednesday” from becoming a pop culture phenomena back in 2022, turning Jenna Ortega into a cult icon overnight. After watching the original “Addams Family” series over the last two years, I've decided to give this iteration a shot. 

And so I must grapple with the most ChatGPT-coded angle on “The Addams Family” you could imagine. In “Wednesday,” Gomez and Morticia's daughter has psychic powers. She has grim premonitions of the past and future upon touching someone, like she's in “The Dead Zone” or some shit. After filling her high school's swimming pool with piranhas to avenge Pugsley getting bullied, Wednesday is shifted off to Nevermore Academy. This is a private boarding school for monsters and freaks, which is where Gomez and Morticia met each other as teens. Meaning this premise is also “Harry Potter,” right down to the student body being sorted into four different groups. Wednesday's class mates include werewolves, sirens, gorgons, a telekinetic descendant of a witch hunter, and actual actual actual vampires. Having the Addamses exist along side literal monsters kind of defeats the purpose of them being the kookiest, spookiest family in town, does it not? Dropping Wednesday into Monster High is the definition of redundant. 

Again, the writers and producers of “Wednesday” were not inclined to resist the most obvious choices. This means that Wednesday's room mate is a perky and upbeat modern teenager, addicted to social media and prone to brightly colored accessories. This at least leads to the first episode's funniest moment, when Wednesday literally divides their room up. Another obvious writing choice here is to have Wednesday come into conflict with the local normies, which include the suspicious town sheriff. I was fine with this idea in the abstract until she started kung-fu fightin' some bullies. One of two way over-choreographed fight scenes here. I am less okay with the other choices here. The entire point of the Addams family is that they love and adore each other despite their outwardly morbid appearance. Here, Wednesday has teenage angst with her parents. She believes Gomez and Morticia are trying to turn her into a perfect copy of them and resents them for it. How trite. (Wednesday is also woke now, something I don't object on its face so much as it's difficult for me to imagine the Addams having an opinion on any modern political divides.)

I am trying my best to give this show a fair shot but, unfortunately, I can already see all the tendencies of streaming television that I despise at work. A dozen potential subplots, that can bounce back and forth over the next seven hours, are set up here. Despite her repeated insistence that she is not interested in such things, the first episode laboriously sets up multiple love interests for Wednesday. There's the straight-laced guy who works at the coffee shop, the handsome classmate with some connection to her, the skinny dweeb in the fencing class. Several rivals to lovers paths. There's implications about a dark family secret, connected to her parents' school days. Clearly, Wednesday's principal and court-mandated therapist are Up to Something. At least two potential villains with a grudge appear. There's a mystery to resolve too, a brutish beast with bulging Burton eyes introduced shortly before the credits roll. Such standard serialized drama elements is a rough fit for the farcical style of the Addams Family. How are characters such as these meant to function in a world where things like murder have actual legal consequences? 

The worst part of it all is the cast seems well chosen. At first, Jenna Ortega is doing a fairly straight impression of Ricci's work in the Sonnenfeld's films. However, as the hour goes on, she proves adapt with the kind of corny, morbid one-liners that made the original sitcom so much fun. Ricci herself is here, as is Riki Lindholm, and both seem like they fit in. While the verdict is still out on whether I agree with their characterization, I also like Luis Guzman and Catherine Zeta-Jones as Gomez and Morticia. At least their devotion to each other and their family is intact. Shifting the focus from the familial unit to one member being in a strange location changes the key interaction, in such a way that I find rather boring. In general, I found “Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe” quite boring. I'm going to try and stick it out for at least the first season but if the rest of the show is this bland, I'm going to skip season two. [4/10]

 

NBC Matinee Theater: The Fall of the House of Usher

I don't pay for regular television anymore and I know I'm not alone in that regard. From what I've gathered from sitting in waiting rooms, daytime television is now dominated mostly by chat programs, game shows, and endless reruns. Things have changed a lot since the mid-fifties, when NBC deemed daytime audiences so valuable a demographic that they invested in a pricey, daily anthology series, filmed in color and broadcast live. That would be “NBC Matinee Theater,” which run for 650 episodes over the course of three years, a number that seems improbable today.  The series has faded utterly into obscurity in the years since but a handful of notable episodes still float around online. Like a lot of early anthology programs, “Matinee Theater” often drew from classy literary sources for material. This usually precluded anything spooky or macabre but the series delved into the accepted canon of respectable horror stories from time to time. One example is a version of “The Fall of the House of Usher” that aired in August of 1956. 

Adapter Robert Esson and director Boris Sagel maintain the broad strokes of Poe's story. The protagonist, named David here, arrives at the crumbling family estate of his old school mate, Roderick Usher. Roderick is gripped by a powerful melancholy and a malady that makes him sensitive to all sights and sounds. He attributes this to a family curse that has driven every Usher before him mad. His sister, Madeline, is also quite ill and dies while David is visiting. You probably know what happens next. This “House of Usher” underplays the isolation of the story by adding more characters: A faithful family housekeeper, a doctor called in to tend to the sick Madeline, and a police constable. It also ventures outside the titular location into the near-by town for a scene, which I think tellings of this tale probably should not do. 

While the producers of “Matinee Theater” sought to save money where they could by utilizing small cast and limited staging, the best thing about this “Fall” is its set. We never see the exterior of the home in full. Only a creaky gate, a sign bearing the family name swinging ominously in the wind. Roderick's room has an overflowing book shelf, an ornate throne, a window waiting to be dramatically thrown open. The family tomb, a pivotal location in any version of this story, has the neat detail of a wall of caskets. The shot of Roderick and David descending into this inner most chamber, lit by candlelight, is a good one. The reading of “The Haunted Palace” also ranks among the episode's better moments. It's not much but I think the producers did an okay job of summoning some gothic ambiance with the set dressing that was afforded to them. 

Otherwise, the tone of this take on “Hosue of Usher” veers more towards the hokey and melodramatic. Tom Tryon, best known to me from “I Married a Monster from Outer Space,” plays Usher at maximum staginess, bellowing his cries of misery and putting all his feelings into the character's descriptions of his mental agony. Marshall Thompson as the protagonist is so straight-laced and blandly heroic as to appear out-of-place in this tale. Probably owing to its TV-bound roots, the darker suggestions within Poe's text are downplayed. Madeline is introduced clawing at the walls of her room, making the family madness as broad as possible, and all the subtext of incest and depravity is gone. The image of Madeline's arm rising from her newly interned sarcophagus reminded me too much of Disney World's Haunted Mansion. And then the episode revisits that visual about three more times. It comes across as fairly defanged and hammy. Considering there's a dozen other adaptations of this story out there, the “Matinee Theater” version counts as inessential. The show did most of the public domain horror standard greatest hits (plus an occasional deeper cut, like The Queen of Spades or The Bottle Imp) and one imagines they are of a similar pedigree as this: Serviceable but a bit weak sauce. [5/10]

 

Halloween 2025: September 2nd

 

The Monkey (2025)

How does an otherwise mundane object acquire a sinister reputation? The earliest ads for a toy inspired by the organ grinder's monkey are from 1932, advertising a product from Louis Marx & Co. Starting in the fifties, Japanese companies would begin to produce mechanical toys depicting a small ape that banged cymbals. The most iconic example was made by Daishin and sold as the Musical Jolly Chimp. The primate wore a yellow vest and striped pants, banged its cymbals, bopped its head, bulged its eyes, flared its lips, and screeched. While that sounds innocent, these toys were a frequent source of terror for people who grew up with them. The sudden noise of the cymbals, the jerky mechanical movements, the deranged facial expression and obnoxious sounds combined to create an uncanny, startling appearance. In the decades since, such toy monkeys have often appeared in pop culture, almost always as an ironic source of fear. They've pop up in video games, an especially freaky example appeared on the "Monkey Shines" poster, and Disney used it as a minor antagonist in "Toy Story 3." 

An obscure 1984 horror movie called "The Devil's Gift" made such a monkey into a demonic force of evil. (The film was later recycled as a segment in the anthology feature, "Merlin's Magical Shop of Mystical Wonders," which was mocked on one of the last episodes of "Mystery Science Theater 3000" to debut on the Sci-Fi Channel.) However, "The Devil's Gift" lifted its premise from a 1980 short story by Stephen King called "The Monkey," providing the cover image for King's collection, "Skeleton Crew." Which is how this old toy worked its way into my childhood nightmares. Frank Darabont wrote a script for a feature adaptation of "The Monkey" in 2007 but it wasn't until earlier this year that the foreboding chimp finally appeared in theaters. As director Osgood Perkins' follow-up to "Longlegs," and given a similarly clever advertising campaign, "The Monkey" received a good deal of hype and opened to solid box office back in February.

Twin brothers Hal and Bill Shelburn were raised by their single mother. While going through their absentee father's possessions, they discover a drum playing mechanical toy monkey. The monkey banging its drum seems to trigger horrible accidental deaths. While mad at Bill, Hal cranks the monkey's key and hopes it'll target his brother's. Instead, their mother dies of a freak embolism. Attempts to destroy the monkey are unsuccessful and the boys decide locking it in a box and tossing it down a well is their best bet. Years later, an adult Hal remains distant from his brother and his own son, Petey. During what was supposed to be his final weekend with Petey, before surrendering custody of the boy to his mom and step-dad, horribly fatal accidents begin to happen around Hal. The monkey has returned and it's banging its drum more often than before. Attempts to locate the cursed toy leads Hal back to his now reclusive brother. 

Why those old chattering monkey toys unsettled so many people seems partially based in their tendency to go off unexpectedly. King's story largely used that randomness as a symbol of the chaotic nature of life and death. Perkins' film jumps off from that point. The monkey – its cymbals traded out for a drum due to some Disney copyright screw job – doesn't merely foretell bad luck, as in the text. Instead, its drumming always sets off a chain reaction that causes horribly violent fatalities. You never know who the malevolent magic of the monkey will strike, only that death will surely follow its drumbeats. Its arm raised above its head is very much like the sword of mortality hanging over all of us. We've all got a limited amount of time on this globe, with no say in when the end might come. Not all of us are going out peacefully in our sleep but in tears and blood and random accidents. "The Monkey" was sold with the astute tagline "Everybody dies and that's fucked-up." Indeed it is. Perkins' film finds a potent stand-in for the ever-unpredictable, and often cruel, finger of fate in the teeth-baring toy simian. The jolly music and lifted lips of the Monkey seem to mock us, taking joy in engineering horribly elaborate outcomes for any person unlucky enough to be hit by its bad juju. It can't be destroyed. It can't be reasoned with. It can only be delayed. 

Oz Perkins' screen icon dad died of AIDS while still publicly denying his homosexuality. His mother was on American Airlines Flight 11 the day it was hijacked and crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. If anybody knows about how fucked-up fate can be, it's him. If “Longlegs” found chills in the tension that arises from the secrets parents keep from their kids, “The Monkey” digs through the debris of childhood trauma. Theo James as Hal – excellent audio-book voice, by the way – narrates much of the film, providing us with a reflective tone to begin with. The childhood sequences are set in 1999 and include plenty of visual signifiers of the time. Such as a Goosebumps poster, hip hugger jeans, and CRT TVs. The toy monkey itself, of course, hearkens back to an older time. When the boys are adopted by their aunt and uncle, we see facial hair and clothing fashions that recall the seventies. While the modern scenes feature air buds and smart phones, the dingy motels, a bus full of retro cheerleaders, and “Halloween Ends'” Corey with a Ramones haircut continues a feeling of unmoored time. When combined with a story swimming with childhood resentment and long-buried feelings, “The Monkey” feels like digging through the past in search of some sort of answer to the random chaos of the universe. 

From its somber and reflective subject matter, you might get the impression that “The Monkey” is a pretty serious horror movie. This was apparently the tone of Frank Darabont's first script. When Perkins rewrote it, however, “The Monkey” became an extended act of gallows' humor. The death scenes go for outrageous gore comedy, the first scene featuring an unspooling length of intestines and the movie only getting wilder from there. “The Monkey” clearly delights in elaborate undoings of the body, weaponizing unlikely objects and impaling, melting, and flattening human flesh. In fact, “The Monkey” bends towards cartoonish splat-stick almost immediately. People explode like water balloons, tossing limbs and blood in an exaggerated downpour.

Much like in the better “Final Destination” flicks, “The Monkey” engineers its elaborate death scenes like vicious Rube Goldberg machines, often deriving a sick sort of amused anticipation. Sometimes the intention is to make you cringe, sometimes laughs are the only objective. Either way, Osgood Perkins' trademark style that he's built up over his last four features is still present. Nico Aguitar takes over the cinematography but maintains the deep fields of vision, wide frames, and precisely placed set dressing of “Longlegs” and “Gretel & Hansel.” Such a tightly controlled visuals work great for creating an unsettling feeling of dread. What about for comedy though? Well, it mostly works but sometimes – during the wackier beats, most notably during a visual gag in the last scene – feels a bit awkward. A few fantasy or dream sequences are inserted, placing the monkey's face in unexpected places, which are probably the scenes in the film that struck me as most off-balanced. 

Still, “The Monkey” is a good time at the movies for horror nerds like me. Perkins' script captures King's authorial voice, using specific language and odd turns-of-phrase to good effect. Theo James makes for a compellingly anxious lead, while Tatiana Maslany brings some heartfelt pathos to the ill-fated mother. In the most recent wave of King adaptations to release over the last few years, I'd put this one way above “The Boogeyman” or the “Pet Sematary” remake. We're talking a solid, mid-level “Silver Bullet,” “Cat's Eye” flick here. Lastly, I suppose the titular toy primate is suitably creepy. I don't like his toothy smile. It makes me uncomfortable. [7/10]

The Sorcerers (1967)

In 1968, via the fictional proxy of Byron Orlok in the film “Targets,” Boris Karloff observed that the modern day horrors and social upheaval of the late sixties made the kind of so-called scary movies he used to star in totally irrelevant. It was meaningful commentary on a world that seemed like it had changed an awful lot in not an especially long amount of time. Despite this statement, Boris Karloff actually had an extremely good sixties. In the last decade of his life, the star would re-emerge as a respected elder statesmen of the genre who was sought out by up-and-coming filmmakers like Roger Corman, Mario Bava, and the aforementioned Peter Bogdanovich. Another such example was Michael Reeves. In-between his debut with Barbara Steele and the iconic “Witchfinder General” with Vincent Price, Reeves would direct Karloff in “The Sorcerers.” In its own way, the film comments on the rapidly changing times as much as “Targets” did the next year. 

Marcus Monserrat is an elderly scientist who has sought out the psychological and medical uses of hypnotism. Alongside his wife, Estelle, he is about to launch his most groundbreaking research yet. Dr. Monserrat heads into a common bar and meets Matt Roscoe. Matt is a young man bored of London's night life and in search of new experiences. The old man promises him one. Roscoe is taken back to his lab and exposed to a bizarre test. The experiment establishes a hypnotic link between Monserat and the younger man, enabling the former to psychically control the latter from afar. Marcus wants to keep the procedure as scientific as possible but Estelle – who discovers she can share the psychic link by touching her husband's hand – has other ideas in plan. She uses the younger man's body to act out her repressed impulses. It's not long before, by seeing through someone else's eyes and willing him to act, that Estelle develops a taste for murder. Dr. Monserrat does what he can to stop his wife before she's totally out of control.

Notoriously, Michael Reeves would die far too young, after completing his third motion picture. However, over his short filmography, he did show some interesting reoccurring themes. “Witchfinder General” saw a tyrannical older man using his position of power to abuse those lower on the social ladder than him with impunity. In “The She-Beast,” the spirit of an ancient witch would possess a younger woman. “The Sorcerers,” meanwhile, is also about the older generation literally taking control of someone younger than them. While the Monserrats insists that their reputation has been ruined by his highly publicized past failures, they still seem to live a fairly comfortable life. Roscoe is someone plucked randomly, after the two scheming old people decide any younger person would do for their purposes. In its own way, this is a clear depiction of the generational divide that was all too evident in 1967, of an older generation desperate to maintain control over youths that were deemed wild and unruly. 

“The Sorcerers” makes this gap apparent in other ways. The title brings a story of witchcraft and ancient rites to mind. This stands in contrast with a story that very much set in the modern day. Though ostensibly presented as a scientific experiment, the Monserrats' powers are indistinguishable from magic or any other supernatural ability. Despite that, the film makes multiple attempts to represents its modern day setting. The process that puts Roscoe under the doctor's control is a psychedelic light show of swirling, wild colors. The film takes place in the swingin' rock clubs of the time and the gritty back allies of the modern city. It's easy to see “The Sorcerers” as a condemnation of the wild in the streets youths of the sixties. However, that the young man is forced to kill at the sadistic impulses of an old woman reveals the truth: It's not that society has abandoned any sense of morality. These tendencies to violate ethical codes have always existed within mankind and our only brought out by a change of circumstances. Roscoe is kind of an asshole but he's not a bad guy. Estelle realizing she can abandon all restrictions and run amok in another human's body reveals her as a much more insidious threat. 

The original screenplay for “The Sorcerers” was written by John Burke, a prolific writer of short horror stories and film and TV novelizations. Supposedly, his script was greatly rewritten by Reeves, to the point that Burke would only receive a story credit. Among the changes made, reportedly, were done on-set to make Boris Karloff's character more sympathetic. The film repeatedly implies that Dr. Moserrat does get some pleasure out of taking over the mind and body of a younger man. The contrast between his fragile old body and the virile young Roscoe is too obvious. His wife takes it way further, becoming the Lady MacBeth in this story and eventually making her husband a prisoner in their home. It's hard to find Karloff sympathetic, playing a rather Dr. Frankenstein-ian role of a scientist who looses control of his own creation. Making his wife the film's villain might've been a weird sexist move and it might still be. Luckily, Catherine Lacey makes Estelle into a deliciously depraved character. She shows so much long-buried venom coming to the surface as she's given a chance to unleash her darker desires. It is an at-times chilling portrayal of an unchecked id set loose to act out its worst tendencies.

Much like “The She-Beasts,” “The Sorcerers” still feels quite rough around the edges. The story is a bit shapeless at times. Roscoe and his young friends are never given much personality or depth. Especially since he spends most of the movie as a literal cipher for somebody else's wants. His day job at an antique shop – amusingly called The Glory Hole – feels like an afterthought. There's more scenes of a slightly off-note singer grooving and crooning in the clubs than I'd think necessary. There's some tacky crash-zooms. Mostly, the film feels held back by an inability – either a creative choice or the pressure of censorship – to get nastier. The idea of infirm old people invading the mind of a young man, let loose to fuck and kill however they want, can never be as fully explored as the material demands. Still, “The Sorcerers” is an interesting one. Karloff is as sturdy as ever, Lacey is fiery and unforgettable. The film is overflowing with ideas, some better utilized than others. The ending struck me as abrupt but leads into a haunting final image. It's a real shame Reeves died so young, as he was clearly only beginning to come into his own as an interesting filmmaker. As it is, “The Sorcerers” is definitely a unique and interesting snapshot of the horror genre in transition. [7/10]

Tales of Tomorrow: Frankenstein

In August of 1951, “Tales of Tomorrow” debuted on ABC. It was the first science fiction anthology series to air on American television and was, like many such programs at the time, broadcast live. The series adapted contemporary sci-fi writers like Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Philip Wylie, Lewis Padgett, and Fredric Brown. The show delved into classics sometimes too, condensing “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” or Wells' “The Crystal Egg” to a half-hour runtime. One such episode was a version of “Frankenstein.” The show grabbed Lon Chaney Jr. to play the reanimated corpse which probably seemed like a great idea... But this was Chaney in the twilight of his career, when he often showed up to set sloppy drunk. Supposedly, he was so sloshed while starring in “Tales of Tomorrow” that he mistook the live broadcast for a dress rehearsal. When scripted to smash some furniture, he is said to have gently placed it down instead and mumbled “Save for later.” I first read this trivia as a kid – probably in the Crestwood Monsters books or something by Daniel Cohen – and it always sounded a bit far-fetched to me. This particular episode of “Tales of Tomorrow” survives and can be easily found online, meaning it's time for me to see if there's any truth to this oft-told tale. 

This iteration of “Frankenstein” has little to do with Mary Shelley's novel. Set in the modern day, this time Baron Frankenstein is depicted as operating out of a castle on an obscure island. He talks passionately about creating artificial life, which spooks his fiance Elizabeth, her dad, and her little brother. That's because the Baron has already assembled his creation, bringing the stitched-together being to life with a jolt of electricity. The hideously ugly monster breaks out of confinement, frightening the servants and child before throttling the butler's wife to death. Horrified by his own creation, Frankenstein sets out to destroy the beast. However, the only thing that can stop Frankenstein's monster is the same thing that brought it to life: A bolt of lightning. 

To sate anybody's curiosity: Yes, ol' Lon does pick up a chair and a table, shakes them as if he's about to throw them, before slowly putting them back. I didn't catch him mouthing anything about smashing the furniture later, so I'll say this urban legend is only mostly true. I can't say if Chaney was actually drunk. He spends the entire episode thrusting his hands out, scowling, screeching and grumbling. It's not his proudest moment but it's also a totally serviceable take on the Frankenstein monster. Despite the extremely abbreviated take on the material, I do like that the script repeatedly emphasizes that the creature is an innocent rejected by the world for reasons he has no control over. A scene where he encounters the little boy in the middle of a spirited playtime, the kid quickly comparing the monster to the ugly invisible enemies he's fighting off, illustrates that nicely. Chaney was excellent at making his monsters equally pitiable and threatening and we get a little bit of that here, despite the rushed execution of the material. 

The limitations of live television are fairly evident. The entire story is confined to the castle set. When Chaney tumbled through a window and into the lake below, all the falling and splashing occurs totally off-screen. Shoving the doctor's entire arc – of being obsessed with making life, being horrified by his creation and promising to destroy it – into a half-hour feels very rushed. Seven years before hosting “One Step Beyond,” John Newland appeared here as the doctor and does what he can for the limited material. The episode makes decent use of its shadowy setting. I do like the shot of Chaney reaching his hands out towards the camera. However, “Tales of Tomorrow's” take on “Frankenstein” is fairly stagey and abbreviated. I'm glad I was able to finally watch this notorious bit of horror history but it's not that notable outside of Chaney's lack of sobriety. [6/10]

 

The Addams Family: My Fair Cousin Itt

I had a reasonably kooky, creepy time with “The Addams Family” last September so I'm back with season two. The fan favorite extended family member/vocal hairpiece is back in “my Fair Cousin Itt.” For Wednesday's upcoming birthday party, Gomez has written a play full of the required amount of tragedy and intrigue with starring roles for members of the family. Noticing that Itt's self-esteem is a bit low lately, the decision is made to give him the leading role. A director is recruited in the form of snooty professional Erich von Bissell, who is reluctant to accept until he sees the wad of cash Gomez is offering. Von Bissell insists he can't work with Cousin Itt's chattering voice, prompting Morticia to give the walking wig some elocution training. This works too well, as Itt develops a deep baritone and a pretentious actor's attitude along with it.

“My Fair Cousin itt” is perhaps not the most structurally sound episode of “The Addams Family.” The direction of the plot changes several time. Initially, it seems that Uncle Fester and Lurch being jealous of Itt getting the lead role – and plotting to lock him up somehow – is going to be the main gag of the episode. Once von Bissell enters, the direction shifts to a more typical episode set-up. Namely, an outsider being continuously freaked out by the Addams Family. The stiff, egotistical and broke Von Bissell would certainly be a fine foil for Gomez and the gang. He abruptly exits the episode half-way through, at which point the focus turns towards Itt remaking himself into a star of the stage with an inflated perception of himself. That's kind of a lot of premises to cram into one half-hour.

Not that I didn't enjoy “My Fair Cousin Itt.” The gags come fast and frequently. A reoccurring bit about Gomez balancing a succession of unlikely objects on his chin opens the episode before returning at the end in an amusing manner. Ted Kassidy gets some good moments, especially when a surprised Lurch is asked to repeat his mumbled response. The amusement factor in the usually jibbering Cousin Itt speaking with an expressive, theatrical baritone is limited. However, I did like it when he entered a scene on the back of a sheep dog. It's weird that Wednesday motivates the entire plot of this episode but is only in one scene herself though. [7/10]

Halloween 2024: September 4th

Abigail (2024)

After the critical and commercial success of Leigh Whannel's “The Invisible Man,” Universal finally figured out that the best way to reboot their classic monsters for modern audiences is to let promising filmmakers make medium-budget horror movies out of them. Among the many monster projects Universal has announced since then, there was an untitled film to be directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett. This duo, known collectively as Radio Silence, had managed to reboot “Scream” to great commercial success, so they were a solid choice. The project was rumored to be a remake of “Dracula's Daughter” but, when the trailer finally came out, it was called “Abigail.” The retitling might have been prompted by Universal's previous “Dracula” re-imaginings flopping. At the very least, “Abigail” made more money at the box office than “Renfield” and “Last Voyage of the Demeter,” winning more positive reviews too. But what did I, a Universal Monsters aficionado and a Radio Silence skeptic, think? 

While leaving a ballet recital, a young girl is kidnapped by a band of six criminals. They hold her in a secluded mansion, where their contact assures them that, once the ransom is collected in the morning, they'll all be seven million dollars richer. The crew – former military medic Joey, ex-cop Frank, rich girl turned hacker Sammy, dumb muscle Peter, getaway driver Dean, look-out Rickles – expect to have an easy night. Instead, it's discovered that the little girl, Abigail, is the daughter of a crime boss legendary for tearing his enemies apart. That's when the doors and windows are suddenly barricaded. People begin to die violently. The crew try to determine what is happening... Before discovering that Abigail herself is responsible. The little ballerina is a bloodthirsty, invincible vampire. The night only gets bloodier from there.

Having now seen the movie, I understand why "Abigail" wasn't called "Dracula's Daughter." First off, it has nothing to do with the 1936 film of that title, reducing its connection to Bram Stoker's beloved count to an in-joke. Secondly, the film is clearly designed to be seen without the audience knowing it's about vampires. From early on, Abigail is playing her kidnappers against each other, trying to convince Joey that Frank is secretly the brutal crime boss. The identity of the killer is kept a secret for the first half-hour, people being picked off by an unseen assailant. The reveal that Abigail is a vicious vampire, more than capable of ripping her captors apart, is clearly meant to be a twist. The trailers and the entire advertising campaign spoiled that twist. Still, "Abigail" is not done catching the audience off-guard. The film is as much "Reservoir Dogs" as it is "From Dusk Till Dawn," mining tension out of the ensemble's inability to trust each other. Abigail reveals powers that further turn the gang against each other. Before the final act kicks in, more swerves are thrown into the narrative. At its best moments, "Abigail" keeps you guessing, never quite sure where it might go next. At its worst, the writers and directors are preoccupied with throwing in more and more twists. I guess a degree of unpredictability is worth a script that is a bit too self-conscious about its own cleverness. 

It must be said that "Abigail" is a fairly clever take on the vampire premise. The secluded mansion setting, with its secret passageways and elaborate machinery, recalls Radio Silence's own "Ready or Not" but is a neat location for a vampire to run loose in. Among Abigail's suite of superpowers is the ability to psychically control those she's bitten. This leads to probably my favorite sequence in the film, an impromptu dance number in a shadowy alcove set to a classic Danzig number. To a certain subset of horror fans, "Abigail" will win points because it is fucking bloody. When exposed to sunlight, these vampires don't simply simmer and smoke. They explode in a geyser of blood. That goes for individual limbs too. By the final stake through the heart, the survivors of "Abigail" have been covered head to toe in the red stuff. The action choreography, which involves lots of flipping through the air and acrobatic throws, could have been more cleanly assembled. By the end, I think the film had pushed its bloody mayhem as far as it could. Either way, "Abigail" can be commended for its commitment to Grand Guignol theatrics. 

"Abigail" has been classified as a horror/comedy but it's not a wacky gag fest the way "Renfield" was. Instead, this is a horror/comedy in the way classic eighties genre mash-ups like "Fright Night" and "Return of the Living Dead" were. The humor arises out of the interactions between the characters, the threat being played straight no matter how unlikely it gets. The film does assemble a strong cast to bring its antiheroes and criminal scumbags to life. Melissa Barrera is more likable here than in her "Scream" movies, bringing a more grounded sense of vulnerability to her tough girl act. Dan Stevens repeatedly steals the show as Frank, a shifty fellow who only grows more underhanded as the story goes on. Kevin Durand and the late Angus Cloud both get some decent laughs as the simple-minded Peter and Dean, with Durand bringing a little pathos to his part too. Kathryn Newton – who has really established herself as an underrated Scream Queen of the moment – also shines as a bratty rich girl shoved into this wild situation. Giancarlo Esposito shows up to deliver some basic exposition but he's one of those actors who can easily make a meal out of a thin part like this. The script's expletive laden dialogue is definitely trying too hard but "Abigail" invests far more time and energy in its characters than a lot of horror films do. 

But what of Abigail herself? A monster movie is only as good as its monster after all. When I first saw the trailer for "Abigail," I was admittedly skeptical. Simply because, as "M3GAN" proved last year, I don't think little girls doing TikTok dances make for intimidating villains. It is true that Abigail does ballet all throughout the film, often emphasizing her various deadly actions with a spin or pirouette. It plays a little better in execution than in the trailers, though it still strikes me as silly sometimes. 13 year old Alisha Weir – previously of the film of the musical of the film of the book "Mathilda" – does well enough in the part. The profane dialogue is not convincing coming out of her petite face, making a number of negotiation scenes not entirely effective. Her various shrieks and barrier-busting blows seem a little silly to me. Weir is good enough, and the film around her sturdy enough, to make the sight of a 70 pound preteen girl tossing grown adults around more intimidating than laughable. I still don't know if the world needed two dancing pint-sized murderesses but Abigail ultimately won me over. 

The film features a thematic element of absentee parents belatedly connecting with their children. Like the underwhelming attempts at social commentary in Radio Silence's other films, this is a hopelessly underdeveloped thread introduced to give the movie an artificial sense of depth. I do think "Abigail" is trying too hard in many ways, in its foul-mouthed dialogue, countless backstabs, and narrative right turns. When you step back and look at it, Abigail's scheme is way too convoluted. Despite that, I did find the movie to be an amusing bloodbath. The work of Stevens, Newton, and Durand add more layers to an already decently sketched batch of characters. The story kept me guessing and hooked. "Abigail's" sheer commitment to creative bloodletting impressed me. Tyler Bates' score – built around the overture to "Swan Lake," which works for both the ballet and the "Dracula" elements – is good too. Radio Silence has still yet to make a feature film that has blown me away. I'm still glad that genre films like "Abigail," a little smarter and a lot bloodier than you'd expect, get support from the big studios. It barely qualifies as part of Universal's new wave of classic monster revivals but Leigh Whannel's "Wolf Man" is lurking in the mist so hopefully that knock my socks off. [7/10]

The Devil's Messenger (1961)

In the latter days of his career, Lon Chaney Jr. would often pop on TV. He was frequently a guest star on western throughout the fifties and sixties. However, he was the star of a show once... Not that Americans knew this at the time. In 1959, Chaney would be the host of a short-lived anthology called “13 Demon Street.” He presented tales of the supernatural from a spooky old house. The series was an American/Swedish co-production, only broadcast on Swedish television. It wouldn't be until 1961 that Americans got a peek at a series, when three episodes were edited together into a feature called “The Devil's Messenger.” Chaney would film a new framing device. Both the TV show and the movie are more-or-less forgotten nowadays but the involvement of Chaney and Curt Siodmak – who wrote all three of the episodes used in the film version – makes it somewhat notable to genre historians. 

In Hell, Satan greets the soul of a young woman who committed suicide. Dubbing her Satanya, he commands her to deliver three objects to souls who will soon be damned for their actions. We see their stories: “The Photograph” follows a drunken photographer who attacks a beautiful young woman after taking a photo of a house in the snow. He soon sees her face approaching him, closer and closer, every time he looks at the photo. In “Girl in the Glacier,” a team of archeologists uncover a beautiful woman's body, perfectly preserved in the ice. One of them becomes obsessed with the frozen girl, willing to kill to protect her. “Condemned in the Crystal” has a man facing his fears by entering a house he has reoccurring nightmares about. Inside is a fortune teller, who warns him he's going to die, a prophecy he unwillingly brings to life. 

When episodes of a TV show are edited into a movie, you can usually tell. “The Devil's Messenger's” anthology format might've presented a chance to disguise this but it's still all too evident. The episodes have clearly been cut down, sometimes in weird ways that make them harder to follow. “Girl in the Glacier's” ending is rendered almost incoherent by a curious cut. “Condemned in the Crystal” also seems to have been clipped around, the audience seeing a split second of the first scene before it really starts. Moreover, the boxed-in visual style of early sixties television is impossible to miss. This is very true of “The Photograph,” as the scenes of the man discovering the woman in the snow and attacking her are awkwardly framed. 

Aside from the inescapable feeling that the audience is being cheated, presented with a glorified clip show instead of a proper movie, the stories in “The Devil's Messenger” aren't very good. All three have unlikable protagonists, each one detestable men that think they are entitled to women's bodies. Each of these guys get their comeuppance but you never get the impression that we're supposed to be cheering for their punishment. The protagonist of “The Photographer” is especially obnoxious, a cranky drunk who is always yelling at everyone. Upon seeing the woman preserved in the ice, the scientist in “Girl in the Glacier” immediately becomes an unhinged lunatic. “Condemned in the Crystal” also has a blustering jack-ass for a hero, while featuring far too much story for such a short segment. The plot feels rather directionless in that segment, the scenario seeming to change several times before the predictable ending.

As for its horror content, “The Devil's Messenger” is also underwhelming. “The Photograph” has a potentially creepy premise, an image in a photo coming closer to claim a guilty man. It's also an idea that has been explored in before, swiped from M.R. James' "The Mezzotint" and later put to better use in the pilot movie of “Night Gallery” and Stephen King's “The Sun Dog.” “Girl in the Glacier” at least has an odd premise and a pretty cool death scene involving freezing water. Even if it's set-up is totally free of suspense and whatever weirdness is going on here is never exactly explained, it's still probably the best segment in the film. “Condemned in the Crystal” gets a little bit of mileage out of its old house setting. However, its story doesn't even begin to get interesting until the very end. 

It's not entirely surprising to report that the best thing about “The Devil's Messenger” is Lon Chaney Jr. playing Satan. There was clearly little money to film these new scenes, as Hell seems to be composed of a desk sitting in a cave and a row of people waiting to get in. Karen Kadler is terribly stiff as “Satanya.” However, Chaney – dressed in a simple buttoned down shirt, because the Devil is a humble guy, I guess – naturally hams it up in the part. The final scene of the movie, in which Chaney as Satan declares his latest plan for humanity and speaks right to the audience, is without a doubt the highlight of the movie. Otherwise, “The Devil's Messenger” is exactly as forgettable as I imagined. All of “13 Demon Street” is available in the States now but the quality of the segments in this film isn't pushing me to check it out. [5/10]

Creepshow: Parent Death Trap/To Grandmother's House We Go

Inheritance and greed is the theme of the third episode of “Creepshow: Season Four.” In “Parent Death Trap,” Lyle Veljohnson is the constantly hen-pecked and belittled teenage son of millionaires, Loretta and Archibald. When his prom date – Violet, the daughter of another rich family – stands him up, he goes into a rage and kills both his parents. Instead of finding peace, he's constantly haunted by their ghosts, who continue to nag him from beyond the grave. When he meets Violet – who is now broke after her parents got caught laundering funds – in a grocery store, he begins an honest relationship with her. It seems Lyle's life might finally turn around, Mom and Dad going easy on him... But Violet has secrets of her own.

“Parent Death Trap” represents “Creepshow” in one of its silly moods. This is blatantly comedic episode, with Lyle's parents – Dad holding his decapitated head, Mom's guts dangling out – bickering with their son as much as possible. Loretta Walsh and Shaughnessy Redden's performances are suitably ridiculous, each adopting exaggerated accents. In fact, the ghostly parents are so totally awful, that they border on annoying. You don't really buy their attempt to reconcile with their son, after treating him so terribly in life and death. Following “Creepshow's” E.C. Comics logic, Lyle must be punished for his crimes though. What Violet is actually up to is easy to predict. However, the segment's ending is fittingly ironic enough that it made me chuckle. Throw in a little sex and blood and this would've fit right in on HBO's “Tales from the Crypt.” Director P.J. Pesce  – who previously made direct-to-video sequels to “From Dusk Till Dawn” and “The Lost Boys,” as well as lots of TV – has the right, cock-eyed approach to silly material like this.

“To Grandmother's House We Go” concerns greedy gold-digger Marcia, who marries a rich man strictly for his fortune, much to his elderly sister's chagrin. After he dies, Marica and her newly acquired stepdaughter, Ruby, are left broke. When she receives the news that her sister-in-law is sickly and fading fast, Marcia is overjoyed. Ruby will inherit the family fortune and she'll be on easy street. While traveling up the road to the family estate, their car hits some sort of creature. Soon, Ruby is plucked from the vehicle by what turns out to be a werewolf. Marcia has to survive the night and save her stepdaughter if she hopes to get her hands on that money. 

Marcia, played by an appropriately hammy Keegan Connor Tracy, is not as despicable as any of the characters in the first half of this episode. She's definitely a greedy, manipulative person. At first, she seems to only have a mercenary interest in Ruby. However, as the night of terror with the werewolf goes on, she stands up to protect the girl from the beast. By the end, she seems to have claimed the girl as her own. This compelling character, and the tension inherent in a stand-off with a monster on a dark road, makes “To Grandmother's House We Go” a decent twenty minutes. Director Justin G. Dyck – previously of “Anything for Jackson” and a horde of made-for-TV romances – creates some decently spooky images. Even if the werewolf isn't the best looking I've ever seen. I was so won over by Marcia's spunkiness by the end that I'm not sure I like the required ironic ending. Still, this is one of this season's more balanced couplets so far. [Parent Death Trap: 7/10 / To Grandmother's House We Go: 7/10]

Chucky: Jennifer's Body

The third episode of "Chucky's" third season is devoted to filling in the gaps since last year. Right as Chucky was about to get revenge on Tiffany Valentine/Jennifer Tilly, the cops busted in to arrest her for all her crimes. A high profile trial ensued, Tiff/Jennifer convicted of murder in Texas. Meanwhile, Chucky hits the road with Caroline, his new homicidal apprentice. That's when the killer doll notices something unusual: He's aging. It turns out his exposure to a Christian exorcism last season had him fall out of favor with Voodoo snake god Damballa. Now, his only hope to reverse his newfound mortality is to perform six sacrifices in a house of great evil... Prompting the doll to hatch his most fiendish plot yet. 

My fondness for "Seed of Chucky" – not the most highly regarded entry in this franchise – steams from how it operated as a gonzo sitcom about a family of killer dolls. That promise is almost fulfilled in "Jennifer's Body." (Definitely the most clever of the homage titles so far.) This episode is essentially a bloody comedy about a bloodthirsty plaything with a grudge hitting the road with his new psycho-in-training. The results are played for spectacularly silly humor. Chucky and Caroline's conversation in the back of a cab is misinterpreted by a cranky driver, played by special guest Kenan Thompson, who gets an utterly brilliant credit placement. There's a stop-off at a voodoo-themed clinic, an amusing absurd premise played perfectly straight. A murder in a famous horror landmark – an example of how to do references to genre history correctly – collapses into frustrated squabbling between Chucky and his latest ward. All along, there are bursts of demented gore, elaborate murder scenes that function at just the right middle point between ridiculously goofy and squirm-inducingly gross. John Hyams directed this episode too and he's really in his element here. A point-of-view shot fantastically subverts audience expectations.

Brad Dourif's charismatic, smart-ass performance as the plastic executioner has always been the most special thing about this franchise. Over the decades, he has turned Chucky into a weirdly deep character. That is especially evident here, as the doll now suddenly has to deal with the fact that he's aging. That's a nightmare we can all relate to. Chucky finding threads of hair on his pillow or bags under his eyes humanizes the diminutive villain further. This is paired with his weirdly sincere bond with Caroline. Carina Battrick has fantastic chemistry with Dourif's voice and the doll prop. There is a sense of, dare I say, pathos to the scene where these two have to say goodbye. You get the impression that Chucky and Caroline actually like each other, that he's not manipulating her for his own ends. That she's the daughter he's always wanted. It's a weird thing to say but I'm glad that this series and show has been allowed to evolve to this point. 

The rest of "Jennifer's Body" is devoted to the Tilly trial. Thankfully, this is played as high-speed camp. When we have a quadriplegic with claw hands chasing a little kid through Times Square in a wheelchair, I knew the right tone was established. Jennifer Tilly continues to have a ball playing this unhinged sort-of/kind-of version of herself, using her Kewpie Doll voice and movie star glamour to accentuate and subvert the comedy. Fiona Dourif also gets some highlight moments, showing once again that she's as talented at crazy faces and demented laughs as her dad. That all of this off-beat weirdness is playing out against the stately seriousness of the court room makes it all a better joke. 

As with last season's "Death on Denial," this episode shows that "Chucky" works best when focusing on the dilemmas of being a killer doll, the franchise's established cast, and the mayhem. My only complaint is the somewhat flippant manner it dismissed a long-time hero of the story, though there might be a way to wiggle out of that... We'll see. Either way, "Jennifer's Body" is sure to be a highlight of season three. [8/10]