Halloween 2025: October 9th

 

Watchers (1988)

Dean Koontz will likely always be regarded as the Dollar Store Stephen King, the sting of which is surely easy to ignore when you've supposedly sold 500 million books. Serious horror fiction fans dismiss Koontz but, I don't know, I've liked the couple of books of his I've read. In fact, I really liked “Watchers,” the fifty-second or so novel the prolific writer had published. The 1987 tale of three misfits – a burnt-out former soldier, a secluded woman, and a super-intelligent dog – forming a family and fighting off the genetically engineered monster and government agents on their trail struck me as surprisingly heartfelt, despite its ridiculous premise. The novel must've struck someone in Hollywood too: It's been adapted four times, starting the year after the book was first published. I reviewed Jon Hess' “Watchers” during 2016's Halloween Horror-Fest Blog-a-Thon, which I am distressed to see was nine years ago. If I'm going to take in this whole dog-and-monster show, I better start at the beginning. I'll try not to repeat myself. 

An explosion at a top secret government research lab results in two escapes. The first of which appears be an ordinary golden retriever. The second of which is a Sasquatch-ian monster obsessed with ripping people's eyeballs out. The first victim the monster claims is the father of ordinary teenage girl, Tracey Keeshan. He's killed in a barn, shortly after Tracey sneaks her boyfriend Travis out. As he's driving away, the same dog leaps into Travis' truck. He immediately notices how intelligent the animal, that he names Furface, is. The two quickly bond and Travis convinces his single mom, Nora, to let Furface stay. However, the super-smart dog is desired by cold-blooded government agent, Lem. Most pressingly, the murderous monster has a instinctual drive to hunt down the dog and destroy it, ripping apart anyone it meets along the way. Soon, Travis and his mom are hiding out in the woods, preparing to protect the dog they've come to love and to fight off the killer beasts on its trail.

While Koontz' novel ultimately succeeded due to imbuing its goofy premise with utmost sincerity, the film adaptation has no such luck. The script by Damian Lee, of “Abraxas: Guardian of the Universe” fame, breathlessly explains its own premise. Both an oddly knowledgeable news report and a lengthy conversation between Lem and his boss gives us all the information we need on the dog and OXCOM, the monster tracking it. Lee also changes Koontz' army ranger hero into a teenage boy who only wants to be reunited with his girl and his dog. This does not stop him from demonstrating some bad-ass action hero abilities in the last act, taught to him by a totally off-screen father. The movie truly doesn't find much narrative meat on these bones. To fill time and up the carnage, a number of very goofy supporting characters are inserted. An Australian handyman with a crush on Travis' mom, a female deputy who talks too much, a busy-body Russian woman who owns a hotel, a kid on a bike with a hideous mullet and the overweight peer he calls “Piggy:” All enter into the story merely to give OXCOM someone to kill until he can finally catch up with the primary boy and his dog. 

As disconnected from the source material as this “Watchers” is, it does get one detail right. That super-smart dog is very charming. Furface – who had the less insulting name of Einstein in the book – is played by a precious pup named Sandy. Her big expressive eyes are exactly as heart-melting as they are meant to be. Sandy's ability to bark on command, tap a book cover with her nose, or hold a pencil in her mouth are simply delightful. That Travis would immediately become attached to the dog is the least absurd thing in the film. As I've said before, I'm a total dog guy. I was a total dog boy earlier in my life. I was never a Corey Haim type, whose performance operates largely on a “gee shucks!' level even when he's supposed to be a horny or rebellious teen. However, I will always relate to the story of a bond between a boy and his dog. When Furface uses a Scrabble board to spell out a message for Travis, asking him to leave and not endanger himself any more for his sake, that plucks the weathered, frayed heart-strings in my chest. The appeal of a super-smart dog that can do your homework for you is obvious but the appeal of a loving, unfailingly loyal fuzz-butt with a wet nose and wagging tail is universal. 

The scenes focused on Travis and Furface together feel like something out of a goofy family movie. Especially when the dog sneaks his way into the boy's school or demonstrates his ability to his disbelieving mom. This stands alongside the gory creature feature “Watchers” also is. This was only director Hess' second feature but he knew enough to keep the mediocre looking ape-monster suit mostly in the shadows. Instead, the beast is mostly portrayed as a point-of-view monster that frantically chases people through buildings or hallways. If nothing else, the film convincingly portrays the OXCOM as a rage-driven killer. The scenes of it throwing kids off bikes, reaching a claw through a window to slash at a random lady, or bashing down a wall are silly but convey a sense of danger. As a monster movie, “Watchers” is competently executed. No great stakes but gets just a little bit of tension up.

The subplot involving Michael Ironside and Blu Mankuma feels half-formed. A twist regarding Ironside's character has never made much sense to me. Despite that, Ironiside is naturally an intimidating, colorful presence that enlivens the film every time he's on-screen. The film dumbly removes the dog from the action at the end, becoming a fairly colorless “Predator” rip-off instead. That was silly, seeing as how the link between Travis and Furface was the best thing this one had going for it. Hess' “Watchers” has none of the pathos of Koontz' book, obviously. The downgrade is most evident in the monster, which goes from a self-loathing lab-made misfit that hates to be observed and despises the genetic brother that has everything it wants to a generic beastie. Still, corny and silly as it is, 1988's “Watchers” does have a cute dog, a convincingly relationship between it and its hero, and enough eighties horror flair for me to give it a mild thumbs-up. [6/10]

 

Dead Sands (2013)

Fans that are old enough to remember will recall a time when the zombie film was a niche subgenre adored only by die-hard gore-hounds and those obsessed with the history of the horror movie. Look back far enough on some truly ancient horror fan-sites to unearth writers bemoaning how obscure the zombie premise had become. It all seems rather ironic in light of the last twenty-five years, where zombies have remained a regular presence in popular culture. The popularity of shambling, undead gut-mucher is global too. In the past, I've covered zombie movies from places as far apart from each other as Cuba and Nigeria. Having said that, discovering that there is a Bahraini zombie movie still surprised me. The island nation of Bahrain is the smallest country in the Middle East and seems to be known, on an international scale, more for the government's human rights violations than anything else. People have dreams of making movies everywhere, however, and a filmmaker named Ameera Al-Qaed would achieve their's with the 2013 release of “Dead Sands,” her nation's first zombie movie. 

An opening radio broadcast speaks of an airborne virus that has been reported in the nation of Bahrain. Many dismiss it as no more concerning than the common flu, claiming the experts are panicking over nothing. It certainly doesn't seem to worry a group of young people, all of whom head out for a night on the town. They include soft-spoken music major May, self-centered rich girl Samara, mysterious biker-type Wolf, outcast Friday, his crush Reem, wannabe filmmaker TJ, and a few other friends. This potential good time is ruined when the recently dead begin to rise as flesh-hungry ghouls, who kill and eat the living to spread their virus. The youths are thrown together by circumstance, working together to flee a concert venue. Wolf mentions that one of his clients owns a house boat and the group sets their sight on that as their goal. They are going to have to learn to work together if they have any chance of surviving the night though.

In my time as a fan of low-budget, independent, or exploitation filmmaking, I've come across a number of productions that are fair to refer to as amateurish. There's nothing necessarily bad about being an amateur. Every expert started out that way. Certainly, making movies is an example of an art form where the basic equipment is readily available but the money and skills required to do so properly are much harder to come by. Every cellphone has a camera in it now, meaning almost anyone can technically make a movie. At what point does that make you a filmmaker? All of this is a precursor to me saying that “Dead Sands” is obviously the work of amateurs. The shot composition is bland. The lighting is flat all throughout, giving the entire movie the same washed-up and slightly purple look. The writing is vague, at best. The script is mostly composed of characters having brief conversations of no real importance, giving us the tiniest sliver of who they are and what they want out of life. That is, when you can hear what anyone is saying. The sound mixing in “Dead Sands” is especially poor. The dialogue often sounds like little more than mumbling. Music frequently drowns out what people are saying while the sound effects seem non-existent from time to time. 

“Dead Sands'” writer Ahmed Zayani appears as TJ. He makes sure to include references to George Romero and “Game of Thrones,” as well as standard zombie movie cliches like power-hungry lunatics trying to consolidate power in the end times. What he doesn't remember to include are, well, the zombies. When the undead do appear in “Dead Sands,” it's as people with a little fake blood in their mouths and on their skin with a smattering of make-up on their face. They gurgle and hiss in a distracting fashion. Usually, the undead appears briefly, nibbling on someone, before the characters flee. It's not until the last act that we get anything like a proper zombie horde but its numbers are still quite small. In fact, for a movie supposedly about the fall of society, there's surprisingly little people in “Dead Sands” at all. Every location seems practically empty to begin with. It's hard to get a sense of zombies taking over society when there's both few zombies and fewer signs of society. 

A lack of money and resources is one thing. There seems to be little in the way of official support for budding filmmakers in Bahrain. That “Dead Sands” is lacking any sort of professional sheen or general technical competence is unsurprising. In the past, I've seen movies lacking these qualities that still managed to be charming, usually because the enthusiasm of the people involved still shined through. Unfortunately, everyone in front of the camera in “Dead Sands” seems deeply uninterested in being there. The acting in the film is largely monotone. Most of the performers quietly mumble through their dialogue, without any sense of urgency. You'd expect everyone would be more worried if cannibalistic undead were wandering around. The shapeless script is a collection of minor character arcs, none of which are completed. The story has no sense of direction. I can assume the cast and crew of “Dead Sands” had fun making it but there's little evidence of that on-screen.

The idea of a zombie movie, a familiar premise, being made in Bahrain by filmmakers with cultural specific perspectives is a tantalizing one. There is certainly a little bit of that on display here. Miraya Varma, as Samara, seems to be the only performer in the film that's actually acting. The character is a narcissist who stops in the middle of the zombie apocalypse to redo her make-up, while being more than happy to manipulate those around her if it'll help her. She's basically the film's villain and acts, culturally, very Western. Is Samara's inevitable fate some sort of commentary? At least one of the characters in the film is Muslim. “Dead Sands” ends with an uncertain invoking of the words of Allah. Is this important? Is director Ameera Al-Qaed saying something about traditional values in Bahrain? It's hard to say, as “Dead Sands” feels half-formed in so many ways. Beating up on what was obviously a very low budget production made with extremely limited resources makes me feel like an asshole. I hope more films of note come out of this region of the world and that they are sturdier or at least more entertaining than this one. [3/10]

Urban Gothic: Vampirology
 

British television's fascination with the horror anthology format seems to have waned by the middle seventies. The nineties and beyond did see a few attempts to revive the subgenre, from time to time. Such as “Urban Gothic,” which aired for two seasons on Channel 5, starting in May of 2000. The second episode, “Vampirology,” is a mockumentary about a film crew following around Rex. He is an immortal and thoroughly cynical vampire living in modern day Soho. His ageless good looks finds him work as a model while wannabes pay to have themselves vampirized. (He had his fangs filed down, because they were “kitsch,” and now does the bloodletting with a straight razor.) He hangs out with trendy friends and spends a lot of time in night clubs. The camera tracks him as Rex details his philosophy about life and becomes increasingly desperate as he prowls the streets for the right kind of victim.

A key moment in “Vampirology” has Rex's collection of friends – a model proud of her breast implants, an intellectual, a rich lawyer – each being asked what they think a vampire is. They describe him as a metaphor for AIDS or the predatory nature of capitalism. Rex dismisses each of these theories in quick succession, as cliched and worn out. This is a very self-reflective moment on the writers of “Urban Gothic,” who were surely aware of how malleable a symbol the vampire is. To the various cultural ideas and anxieties the mythological figure has spoken to over the decades. Rex is dismissive of all these ideas because this vampire is a self-absorbed hipster. He smokes constantly, brags about what type of shirts he wears, spends a lot of time in trendy restaurants and clubs. Comparing a person who only comes out at night and preys on other people to a vampire is a fairly fresh angle, I'll admit.

The conclusion “Vampirology” seems to come to is that, when you see other people as nothing but food, it tends to leave you alone and miserable. Rex surrounds himself with people he know he won't get too attached to, that he won't feel bad about bleeding. Similarly, his human hanger-ons consider their vampire pal more of a status symbol than a meaningful relationship. At one point, when presented with an apathetic youth who is totally content to be drained by him, Rex flies into a rage. He says he wants to hunt humans, to feel some sort of challenge. However, he later dismisses potential victims for having too much facial hair or too much garlic in their blood. (He isn't allergic to garlic, he just doesn't like the taste.) This vampire is a pretty shallow guy. No wonder he ends up alone and covered with blood, thinking more and more about suicide as an escape from his ceaseless life.

“Vampirology” strikes me as heavily inspired by “Man Bites Dog,” aping its hand-held documentary visual style and interview-heavy format. That link is most evident when we finally see Rex kill someone. It's a drawn-out sequence that ends up painting both the perpetrator and the victim as pathetic figures. In fact, the longer “Vampirology” goes on, the clearer it becomes that Rex is the butt of the joke here. A scene where he visits a video store sees him comparing cinematic portrayals of Dracula to different James Bond actors. Lee was the Connery of Draculas, Lugosi was more like Roger Moore. However, he seems quite enamored of Ingrid Pitt... Which sets up a later moment where, after a potential biting date stands him up, Rex happens to run into Pitt. She is utterly unimpressed with this real vampire, leaving him embittered and humiliated. It's a funny idea, starting the half-hour out with the vampire as utterly desirable to everyone and ending it by revealing he's kind of a loser. [7/10]

 

Suspense (1913)

When we think of the silent era of horror, what comes to mind is probably the surrealism of German expressionism or Universal's early gothic melodrama. We probably don't think of home invasion thrillers, a subgenre that wouldn't really come into vogue until the seventies. However, from 1913, here's exactly such a film, likely the first such example in cinema history. “Suspense” follows a woman and her infant child, unknowingly left home alone when the maid quits without notice. Her husband calls to inform her he's staying late at the office. That's when a homeless vagrant begins to stalk around the property. He discovers the key left under the mat by the maid and enters the home. The woman calls her husband as she barricades herself in the bedroom, the tramp advancing up the stairs with a knife. The man races home, hoping he can make it back before it's too late.

“Suspense” isn't only surprisingly modern in terms of subject matter for a 112 year old movie. A good amount of this one-reeler is shot in the stage-like, vertical technique that was common in these primitive days of filmmaking. There are some camera techniques here that must've seemed utterly cutting edge at the time. A three-way split screen is used to show the woman on the phone with her husband, while the tramp is sneaking into the house. Later, there's a high-speed car chase, as the hero hitches a ride with some cops in an motorized buggy, that feels a lot more fast-paced than you'd expect from something over a century old. Better are the P.O.V. shots, from the woman's perspective, as she makes eye-contact with the sinister hobo. A shot of him starring up at her through a window is actually quite creepy. 

“Suspense” manages to live up to its name too. It's a simple enough equation. We see the vagrant making his way up the stairs, knife in hand. The wife hides in the bedroom. The husband does everything he can to make it back. These are the foundational building blocks of cinematic tension, a vulnerable woman and child, a threatening villain, a race against time. There's a shot of the home invader busting his hand through a locked door too. “Suspense” definitely isn't free of the stodgy cliches of the time. A shot of a car speeding off, via undercranked camera movements, is silly looking to modern eyes. As is the rather hammy acting. “Suspense” proves surprisingly effective and well done for something so antiquated. By the way, IMDb says a random guy smoking a cigarette is played by Lon Chaney. It does kind of look like him... [7/10]

Halloween 2024: September 9th

In a Violent Nature (2024)

For the time being, Jason Voorhees remains buried in the cold, cold ground, defeated by a force far more insidious than a thousand final girls: Legal red tape. Even when the copyright entanglements surrounding ol' hockey head are sorted out, people still can't seem to make new projects about him. However, Victor Miller and Sean S. Cunningham hardly have a trademark on the concept of a big, ugly dude in a mask killing people in the woods. And so, a hero emerges to fill the Jason shaped hole in our collective horror fan hearts. Chris Nash, formerly of “ABCs of Death 2” bright spot “Z for Zygote,” brings us “In a Violent Nature.” The film puts a novel spin on the tried-and-true wooded murder-fest premise, by telling its familiar story largely from the perspective of the lumbering killer. This arthouse approach would divide viewers earlier this year.

Somewhere in the forest of Northern Ontario, a group of friends explore a collapsed fire tower. One of them, Troy, steals a small locket from the structure. Afterwards, the ground stirs and a man digs himself up from the site. The undead being in his tattered clothes wanders the woods, brutally killing anyone he comes across. Soon, he dons a vintage firefighter's mask and grabs a hook on a chain, continuing to pursue the partiers camping nearby. As he goes about his gruesome work, we learn some things about him. This is Johnny. He is the result of a curse that has lingered over these woods for half a century, linked to that locket and the lumber town that once stood here. He has killed before and he will kill again.

Among those that hated "In a Violent Nature," the most commonly voiced criticism has been that this is a movie largely composed of watching a guy walk around the woods. Indeed, there are many scenes devoted to Johnny tromping through the underbrush, the camera focusing on his back as he goes. It's a bit like playing one of those deconstructionist video games. "Walking Simulator 2k" or what have you. Still, I would say those accusing "In a Violent Nature" of being "slow cinema" are exaggerated a bit. This isn't the horror version of "Satantango." The walking scenes are meant to put us thoroughly in the head of this silent, forest-dwelling maniac. They are accompanied by more contemplative scenes, of Johnny looking in a mirror and reflecting on his childhood. Or gazing at a toy car with an expression that reads something like quiet glee. When you think about it, Jason Voorhees' life would be very lonely, dedicated to wandering the forest and watching his potential victims. The tedium of waiting for the perfect time to strike invokes something else, an existential loneliness, a sense of always being outside that bubble of warmth, friendship, and human interaction. "In A Violent Nature" explores what the "Friday the 13th" films have only been allowed to hint at before: That this killer has a soul, that he has thoughts and feelings. If not "just like the rest of us," then at least enough like us to recognize him as human. 

By forcing us to consider "Johnny" in an empathetic light, "In a Violent Nature" also contemplates what role such a being plays in this world. One of the earliest episodes involves Johnny coming across a dead animal, rotting away in a trap. This is paired later with a lengthy monologue, essentially the film's climax, that tells a rambling anecdote about a bear attack. The comparison between Johnny (and the cinematic archetypes he is a part of) and wild animals is clear. These things exist. They amble through the forest. They attack and kill. They are part of a natural cycle of death and decay, ultimately inscrutable and beyond human comprehension. And if Johnny is a bear, then "In a Violent Nature" is a twisted nature documentary, giving us a day in the life of a slasher. The lack of a musical score, which causes the excellent sound design to fill the void, and the frequent use of wide shots and long takes fits this mood as well. By placing such brutal executions among the stillness of nature, it makes Johnny and all the masked murderers before him an expected part of the ecosystem. You go into the woods, you risk getting killed by a bear or a Jason. That's what happens when you intrude on a realm not meant for you. 

As much as "In a Violent Nature" is about its Jason stand-in's status as a solitary outsider or an animal-like force of nature, Nash and his team also understands something fundamental about the "Friday the 13th" movies and all its imitators: These films are folklore. A key scene tells us Johnny's origins around a campfire, a moment present in almost all the eighties Jason movies. There are other references throughout to a lengthy history. The park ranger that confronts Johnny obliquely mentions how he's the latest in a generational line of park rangers to fight this killer, how this is not his first encounter with the monster. Johnny grabs his equivalent to the goalie mask – a Vajen-Bader style "smoke helmet" that looks like a cross between antique diving equipment and an executioner's hood – from a small museum dedicated to the park's history. The simple act that awakens the killer, the removal of a significant locket, further hints at past events. "In a Violent Nature" feels like one episode in a long series of them. It drops us into the middle of a myth that is still on-going, still evolving. Stories like this are as much a part of the natural world as the trees or beasts. 

Approaching the slasher concept as a nature documentary results in one of two approaches to the violence throughout the film. There are multiple God Eye views of Johnny offing his victims. The result can't help but be chilling, contextualizing the brutal death of innocent people as another manifestation of nature's utter indifference to human life. It makes us complacent in that cruelty too, having us watch patiently as Johnny dismembers a guy with a snail-paced log splitter or pulls a swimmer under Not-Crystal Lake. However, sometimes "In a Violent Nature" gets down in the guts of the matter too, in the earthy rot of these crimes. Such as a show-stopping special effects scene that has Johnny truly testing a yoga girl's flexibility. While there is certainly a degree of puerile shock value to these kill scenes, I think this is different from "Terrifier" or a hundred other hyper-gory slasher flicks. The goal isn't only to make us flinch or ooh-and-aww at the novel special effects. An attempt is being made to depict this violence as part of the natural world, to have us ponder on humanity's place in the food chain. 

The only problem with that approach is that most of Johnny's victims are deeply unsympathetic. They are frequently obnoxious to each other and speak mostly in overly vulgar, elaborate insults. Since the movie progresses from the killer's perspective, we never get much of a grip on any of these people's lives. Maybe the victims are so annoying because we're seeing them as Johnny sees them, as extensions of the bullies that tortured him as a boy. Or maybe they are simply phone-obsessed zoomers. I don't know. Despite this flaw, "In a Violent Nature" is still the first time someone has done something truly new with the slasher concept since at least "Behind the Mask." But can you imagine if this was an actual "Friday the 13th" movie? Fan boys would be so pissed and then everyone would acknowledge it as a masterpiece twenty years later. Nash getting to apply this treatment to the symbols and trademarks of an iconic franchise would've been something. Taken as a standalone film, "In a Violent Nature" remains a relentlessly bold reinvention of familiar territory. [9/10]

The Trap (1922)

It's not easy being a fan of Lon Chaney the Elder. Many of his films are a century old at this point. Despite being perhaps the most iconic son of the silent age – I don't think there's any other actor of that generation getting action figures made of them in 2024 – a good chunk of his filmography remains lost. If you're really into Chaney for his horror and horror adjacent roles, it's worse. Discounting a dusty print miraculously turning up in a private collection somewhere, classic monster nerds will forever be teased by "London After Midnight" and "A Blind Bargain" remaining lost to the ages. Pictures like "Road to Mandalay" and "Thunder" survive only as fragments, giving us a frustrating taste of what once was and is now no more. And so we must overturn every fossil in Chaney's career, looking for something that might appeal to our macabre sensibilities. Let's give "The Trap," a one-hundred-and-two year old melodrama, a try this September. 

"The Trap" takes us to that most nightmarish of locations: Canada. Chaney plays Gaspard, an illiterate but kind-hearted trapper. The future is bright for Gaspard. He's inherited a mine shaft and hopes to propose to his sweetheart, Thalie. A greedy prospector named Benson provides papers that prove Gaspard doesn't own the mine. He then seduces and marries Thalie. This betrayal drives Gaspard mad and he spends the next six years plotting his revenge. He destroys the mine in an avalanche. He engineers a bar room brawl that gets Benson thrown in prison for attempted murder. The final phase of his scheme involves kidnaping Benson's child and luring the man into an elaborate death trap. Can the love of an adorable moppet and a sweet school teacher reawaken Gaspard's latent good nature? 

"The Trap" is notable as one of the few writing credits of legendary producer Irving Thalberg. Thalberg co-wrote the script with Chaney, Lucien Hubbard, and George C. Hull. Talented men all but their narrative here falls short. "The Trap" resists none of the overheated theatricality we associate with silent melodramas. The emotions throughout operate at the highest of levels. Gaspard begins as the purest of innocents before turning, on a dime, into a wickedly scheming villain. The story's themes, of betrayal and redemption via the power of love, are as broad as possible. A minute with Benson's sickeningly sick son is enough to switch Gaspard back to an utter sweetheart. The plot is full of unlikely events that only make sense in world where everyone leaps to the most overwrought reactions possible. "The Trap" operates in such a heightened reality that many of its characters are reduced to archetypes. Gaspard is literally called "The Good" in the early scenes. Benson's son is only known as The Boy, the woman who takes pity on Gaspard and romances him anew is simply The Teacher. When paired with some verbose title cards, it makes "The Trap" exactly the kind of hokey melodrama that would be widely mocked decades later.  

Lon Chaney was a master of the silent screen and managed to weave heartrending gold out of melodramatic dross like this before. Surely he makes "The Trap" worth seeing? Well, kind of. To emphasize Gaspard's status as a naïve naïf, all of his dialogue is written in a ridiculous, typo-strewn French accent. When the heartbreak arrives, Chaney immediately switches gears into over-the-top villainy. The change happens before our eyes in one held shot, Chaney twisting his face and flailing his arms as Gaspard the Good becomes Gaspard the Wicked. Similarly, when interacting with Benson's kid, Chaney swings back to a clownish wide grin and visible guffaws. It is, to say the least, unsubtle. When dealing with material as overwrought as this, Chaney still has his moments of serenity. As Gaspard finally accepts that Benson has the life he wanted so much, Chaney shows his heart breaking on his face with a sad, resigned glance aside. Nobody could generate pathos with a turn of the head or a furrow of the brow like Chaney. 

The final act of "The Trap," when Gaspard's vengeful scheme reaches its peak, is when the film finally nudges into horror. Gaspard captures a starving wolf. He rigs up an elaborate series of pullies, trap doors, and swinging locks that will stick Benson in a pit with the ravenous animal. I couldn't help but be reminded of the convoluted death traps engineered in the "Saw" franchise, making Chaney the Jigsaw of the Harding administration. Very scary! Of course, "The Trap" being the kind of movie it is, there's a last minute change-of-heart and bloody murder is dramatically averted. Still, these climatic scenes – especially the shots of the little boy crying behind a barred gate or Benson cowering from the wolf – are the parts of "The Trap" that will most interest classic horror fans. Gaspard's madness and the grandness of his revenge does put this one on the marginal edges of the genre. 

By the way, lurking undetected among some school kids, is the cinematic debut of Lon Chaney Jr., marking this as the sole time Creighton shared the screen with his dad. If it had been made later in the twenties or early thirties, when American filmgoers had developed a taste for the macabre, I'm sure "The Trap" would be a darker, grislier story. This one really could have used Chaney sporting one of his trademark deformities or some extra pizzazz in its titular mantrap. Imagine how much better this would've been if Ol' Lon had a scarred face and a club foot, if there was a pendulum in that pit alongside the wolf. Instead, we'll have to be satisfied with a corny melodrama one step removed from "Penelope Pitstop" territory. Kino Lorber did put out this golden oldie on Blu-Ray last year, in a cleaned-up restoration. Surely this is the best "The Trap" has looked in the last one hundred years, making up for years of scratchy, overly dark, public domain prints. Until "London After Midnight" or "The Miracle Man" turns up in a forgotten attic somewhere, we Chaney fans will have to be satisfied with scraps such as these. [5/10]

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: The Right Kind of House

While “Man from the South” is often regarded as the best episode of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” the title of second-best episode is much more up for grabs. However, sorting the series by highest viewer rating on IMDb, points towards “The Right Kind of House.” Mr. Waterbury drives into the small town of Ivy Corners. He is looking to buy a house and has his eyes on a run-down, secluded one. The real estate agents warn him that the old woman who lives there, Mrs. Grimes, is asking for a ridiculously high price. Waterbury goes to ask her anyway. The old woman proceeds to explain why her asking price is so high. The story involves her son, a sudden return home, a little black bag, and an unsolved murder. 

“The Right Kind of House” is based on a short story by Henry Slesar but it could have easily been based on a stage play. The majority of the episode is devoted to two people, Mr. Waterbury and Mrs. Grimes, sitting and talking in her living room. The story relies entirely on these two actors and, luckily, they give strong performance. Jeanette Nolan makes Grimes a woman who is unwavering in her convictions. Her folksy, relaxed voice gives a calming, anecdotal feeling to the tale she tells. Robert Emhardt as Waterbury is outwardly cordial while suggesting something unseemly about the guy. Watching these two talk slowly reveals the information we need to figure out what's actually going on here. The viewer will realize the truth a minute before the characters do but watching all the pieces move into place is so very satisfying. This is a simple game of dominos, each piece setting up the next one, but the chain reaction is quite pleasing. 

That's partly because director Don Taylor – who, aside from a prolific television career, also made some notable genre films – creates an atmospheric environment. The flashback to the murder of Grimes' son is show only from a distance. We see the shadows of the confrontation on the floor and the body fall into a doorway. The present scenes, meanwhile, focus largely on the faces of the performers, adding to the intimate feeling of this conversation. When the twist comes, that takes on a tense new approach as well. There's some comic relief scenes in the early scenes, devoted to the laid-back secretary in the real estate office. Hitchcock's introduction is a sardonic ramble about building homes on the moon. Neither of these (rather amusing) scenes distract from “The Right Kind of House” being a smoothly executed mousetrap of a story. [8/10]

Chucky: Final Destination 

Season three of "Chucky" ends with a bang. "Final Destination" has Jake being injected with a drug that induces death. He heads to the spirit realm, occupied by Chucky's victims and the many different personas of Charles Lee Ray, in hopes of convincing the most innocent and pure part of Ray's psyche to sacrifice himself and destroy his soul forever. Instead, the teens end up providing Chucky with a path back to the land of the living. Meanwhile, Winston Pryce's devious plans for the White House reach their fiery climax and Jennifer Tilly/Tiffany Valentine performs a last-minute escape from the executioner's chamber. It all ends up at the home of Wendell Wilkins, the reclusive inventor of the Good Guy Dolls. 

Season three of "Chucky" has really felt like a tribute to Brad Dourif's skills as an actor and the history of the franchise. Jake arriving in the spirit realm, which takes the form of a surreal version of the White House. He confronts the spirit of his homophobic father, allowing Devon Sawa to reappear on this show again. Most importantly, every version of Chucky that has appeared on this show returns. Dourif, in the flesh, hams it up in that strangely grounded, charming way of his. Charles Lee Ray argues with a younger version of himself, played once again by Fiona Dourif, in a fantastically profane debate. Seeing father and daughter play off each other like this is so much fun. This lengthy trip to the other side concludes with a nutty homage to "2001: A Space Odyssey" that is so delightfully unexpected. Whatever qualms I've had with this show over the years, it's been worth it to see Dourif inhabit so many parts while still playing this iconic villains he's brought to life for thirty-six years. If this is truly going to be his final on-screen appearance as an actor, it's a good one. 

While the "Child's Play" franchise has had its moments of grim horror, this season proves once again that gonzo camp is what it excels at. Tilly/Tiffany's escape from prison accelerates into a riot, with multiple extended shoots-out and splattering squibs. Powered by a throbbing synth score and some surprisingly slick visuals, it's a hilariously entertaining sequence. Proving that this show and franchise can do almost anything at this point, the White House storyline concludes like an eighties action movie. There's massive pyrotechnics, a rumble between hero and villain, and the cathartic death of a bad guy. Hard to believe that a movie about a killer Cabbage Patch Doll eventually lead to this. Somehow, "Chucky" pulls it off. 

There's plenty of twists and turns in this finale. Zachary Arthur gets to show his versatility as an actor, as Jake has a tearful reunion and undergoes some changes. That is when the episode threatens to eat it's own tail. However, I can't be mad at "Final Destination," as its last act manages to be more bonkers than the rest of the episode. John Waters returns to the series as Wendell Wilkins, doing a lip-curling Vincent Price impersonation. These final scenes deepens the lore surrounding the Good Guy Dolls, in a way that's quite satisfying, while providing some colorful cinematography and set design. It also resets the "Chucky" franchise back to something like a status quo. That would probably be disappointing, if everyone involved – from the writers on down to the cast and crew – weren't clearly having so much fun. This show, and the films it spawned from, are committed to constantly surprising the audience by following its own wackadoo muse. 

In other words: "Chucky: Season Three" has been the best yet. The extraneous subplots common to serials like this, that dragged down the previous two seasons, were infected with the franchise's trademark humor and willingness to go nuts. I actually found myself caring about the First Family by the end here. Mostly, it's been the show's willingness to embrace its wildest impulses that produced such a thrilling, funny, relentlessly entertaining set of episodes. Chucky confronted his mortality in a surprising touching way. The series delved into the spiritual side of its universe creatively. The cast had a great time, especially Tilly and Dourif. All while providing us with the most gruesomely elaborate gore the series has seen. While Syfy has dragged its feet on if a fourth season is happening or not, Don Manchini has already promised us more "Chucky" one way or another. God willing, the future will finally take the killer doll into outer space... If Manchini can keep things as demented and utterly amusing as this season was, I see no reason why Chucky can't keep on killing for years to come. If Brad Dourif shuffles off to see Damballah in real life – he is 74 years old, after all – I think Fiona can inherit the character at this point. Season Three was all about confronting death and finding the renewed energy to keep going, clearly a mission statement for Manchini and his murderous plastic friend. [Final Destination: 8/10 / Chucky: Season Three: 8/10]

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 2022: September 28th

The Sacrament  (2013)

The mumblecore style and the found footage phenomenon both started to peak around the same time, making cross pollination inevitable. Both formats, after all, prioritized improvisation and handheld camerawork to capture a sense of realism. The “V/H/S” series did a lot to further the connection, as well as establishing Adam Wingard and Ti West as the biggest names in this “mumblegore” crossover. West's first feature after participating in “V/H/S” was “The Sacrament,” which seemed to be another found footage project at first. The film, which featured a prominent producer credit from Eli Roth, is better described as a mockumentary, keeping some of the trademarks of the found footage style while discarding others. While “The Sacrament” was positioned as the movie that would take West out of the indie scene and into the mainstream, it instead proved harder to sell than that because of its disturbing subject matter. Ya see, “The Sacrament” is heavily inspired by the Jonestown Massacre. 

Sam, a reporter from Vice, is interviewing a New York fashion photographer named Patrick when he lets it slip that his sister is living in a cult. Eden Parish is a supposedly utopian community out in the backwoods of Mississippi, run by an enigmatic religious leader known only as Father. Sam and his cameraman, Jake, decide to investigate. Immediately, they sense something is wrong, as guards with guns greet them at the gates of the commune. Patrick's sister and everyone else insists everything is great at Eden Parish but Father is defensive when questioned. Soon, Sam and Jake learn why: Horrible abuse is happening there. When a whole crowd of people want to leave the next morning with the reporters, threatening to expose what is going on, Father gives a ghastly order to everyone in the entire cult.

The thought process behind “The Sacrament” seems to be to drop a camera into Jonestown in the hours leading up to and during the horrible day. The film is an often harrowing recreation of that real life tragedy. We see the panic and fear in the citizens of the parish, and the enforcers of the cult leader, as things grow graver. Once the mass suicide order is given, “The Sacrament” becomes a highly uncomfortable watch. Adults and children drink Flavor Aid laced with cyanide. Mothers reluctantly allow their infant children to be injected with the poison. The camera watches unflinchingly as people spasm and die, foam bubbling from their mouths. Those that attempt to flee are gunned down in cold blood. It's stark and horrifying, over a hundred innocent people having their lives ended to satisfy the warped justice of a man gone mad with power. (“The Sacrament” specifies that 179 die in its fictionalized massacre, a fraction of the 918 people who actually died at Jonestown.)

As disturbing as “The Sacrament” is, one really has to question the intentions behind making the movie. The film is not a proper fictionalization of the real events. Jim Jones, his cult, nor any of the real people involved are ever named or mentioned. Why make a movie so clearly about Jonestown, that sets out to accurately recreate the deaths of countless people, without mentioning the true events? What makes this approach even more discomforting is that “The Sacrament” often operates like a standard horror film at times. A woman setting herself on fire, or the cameraman hiding from a shooter, are designed like standard horror movie shocks. This unpleasant disconnect is most obvious in a scene where a mother kills her own daughter, to spare her being murdered by the faithful cult members. Trying to mine scares from such awful real events is tasteless and disrespectful. Pretending that the movie isn't based on actual people who lived, died, and were murdered doesn't really make it any less so.

The movie makes me wonder why it exists. Yet, if nothing else, “The Sacrament” does a good job of showing how cults work. Patrick's sister is a recovering drug addict. Many other residents of the community are as well. Those that aren't former addicts are disenfranchised from society for other reasons, whether they be elderly or racially persecuted. The message of unity and hope that “Father” preaches gives them the structure and support they need to improve their lives... At the cost of making them dependent on someone else, who insists on a strict system that revolves around praising him and demonizing the outside world. When that power – which also allows the cult leader to indulge the earthly pleasures he decries – is threatened, that's when Father gives the kill order. It must also be said that Gene Jones gives a compelling performance as Jones stand-in, a man who is clearly charismatic but still an intimidating presence. 

“The Sacrament” succeeds at being disturbing but at what cost? I have no problem with a movie basing itself on tragic true events. I'm not even necessarily offended by a genre picture exploiting real life horror for shock value or publicity. Yet “The Sacrament” does not successfully tow this line. Its tone is too grim for cheap thrills but it goes for them anyway. The result can only make me feel uncomfortable, no matter how good the intentions behind it might've been. I'm also bugged that West seems noncommittal to the documentary premise, the score and multiple camera angles disrupting the realism he's otherwise striving for. I think the director should've just made a straight ahead drama about Jonestown, instead of attempting to squeeze this story of historical terror into a conventional genre mold. You can't deny that "The Sacrament" unnerves the audience but it ultimately doesn't sit right with me at all. [6/10]

The Shock (1923)

In cinematic history, Lon Chaney will always be recognized as the first American horror star... Yet that statement always comes with a big asterisk. While “Phantom of the Opera” and “London After Midnight” unquestionably belong to the macabre, horror as we know it today hadn't really solidified into its recognized form by the 1920s. Chaney was a major star during the silent era, which meant the majority of the films he headlined belonged to the most popular genre of the day: The melodrama. The effect this has is, when navigating through Chaney's filmography for stuff to include in these Halloween marathons, I often end up delving into films that barely classify as horror. All of this is a disclaimer for me reviewing “The Shock,” a 1923 silent feature that is 99% melodrama and 1% horror.

Chaney stars as Wilse Dilling, a crippled enforcer working for Chinatown-based mob boss, Ann Cardington. Cardington is the former lover of banker Hadley, who operates out of the small suburban town of Fallbrook. Cardington has engineered an elaborate revenge scheme against Hadley, which involves sending Wilse to spy on his daughter, Gertrude. Wilse quickly falls for Gertrude and finds his hardened heart softening after living in the peaceful town. Having experienced a change of heart, Wilse decides to protect Gertrude's father. Ann's desire for revenge remains and it all comes to a head during the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. 

As the child of deaf parents, Lon Chaney must've related to people with disabilities. He played deformed or disadvantaged so often throughout his career. “The Shock” is yet another example, as Chaney spends the entire movie hobbling around on crutches or using a wheelchair. Since the 1920s were a less enlightened time, twisted bodies usually represented twisted minds. As far as physical frailties go, Wilse's limping gait ranks far below the usual Chaney contortions. This might be why the character is one of the few virtuous cripples the actor played. By the end of the film, Wilse's criminal instincts have totally fallen away and his disability is miraculously healed. (This is directly equated with him embracing the good Christian religion Gertrude encourages.) If this wasn't politically incorrect enough, the film also depicts Chinatown as nothing but a den of sin and crime.

Outdated cultural ideas come with the territory, when you're watching a movie that's nearly a century old. Also to be expected is a degree of contrived histrionics. Yes, there's a love triangle or two. Gertrude is already engaged to another man when Wilse develops feelings for her. The entanglements involving Queen Ann's vengeful plan, not to mention the subplot about banking, only grow more convoluted as the movie goes on. “The Shock's” melodramatic nature peaks during its climax. Wilse prayers to God to intervene, which is when the earthquake occurs and defeats the villains. Yes, a major disaster is depicted as being a divine act, that is also used to represents the formerly criminal protagonist completely turning over a new leaf. But at least the earthquake effects are neat to look at.

Not matter how overheated “The Shock” gets, Lon Chaney is always there to hold it together. As always, nobody excelled at playing these scheming but pathetic wretches like him. The scene where Gertrude introduces Wilse to her fiancée, Chaney manages to express the man's heart breaking and him coming to accept the situation with just a subtle shift of his face. The moment immediately following, where he grabs her boyfriend's arm and tells him that he better not hurt Gertrude, is oddly touching but also Chaney's most malevolent moment in “The Shock.” Lon is so good that you even forgive the film for completely skipping over Wilse going from a heartless baddie to a nice guy. This occurs during a title card, the mere act of moving out of the city and into the suburbs apparently being enough to change his entire disposition. 

As for “The Shock's” minimal horror content, it's isolated entirely to Chaney's mild deformity and some haunted house-style secret passageways in Queen Ann's lair. Otherwise, this one resides solely within the realm of the melodrama. It's not a particularly good one either. However, Chaney's performance, ever powerful, and the sweet romance he shares with his costar does make the movie worth watching. By the way, this was a Universal picture – one of their Universal Jewels presentations – but to consider this part of the legacy of Universal monster movies seems like a stretch. Maybe I'll get luckier next year when selecting a spooky Lon Chaney flick to watch. [6/10]

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: The Case of Mr. Pelham

When looking up episodes of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” the ones directed by Hitch himself naturally draw the most attention. Among the most critically acclaimed of this lot is “The Case of Mr. Pelham,” from the series' very first season. The titular character is Albert Pelham, a successful businessman. He runs into a psychologist friend at a bar and relates to him a creeping paranoia he's having. Over the last few weeks, it's become apparent a doppelganger of Mr. Pelham exists. He slowly seems to be infiltrating into Albert's life. He grows increasingly paranoid and unsound, trying to dissuade this double at every turn and always finding himself outmatched. It's only a matter of time before the man and his copy come face-to-face.

“The Case of Mr. Pelham” is one of the few “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” episodes that floats into the realm of supernatural horror. The story certainly teases with the idea that Mr. Pelham is having a psychological break of some sort, imagining everything or developing a split personality. Yet, as the episode goes on, it becomes clear that there really is a doppelganger. His butler and co-workers have seen him, believing the copy to be the genuine article. When facing down the double, Albert asks him what power he serves, seemingly confirming the otherworldly connotations. The episode is perfectly paced, slowly escalating the invasion of Pelham's personal life by this duplicate, until he's infiltrating his most intimate inner circle. The copy is undefeated at every angle, Mr. Pelham's attempts to distinguish himself only making him look like the fake.

What makes this idea so scary isn't that the doppelganger simply exists. It's that he's better at Pelham's own life than he is. The perfect copy is better at his job, more popular with his friends, and eventually becomes more successful. That's an existentially terrifying premise. That someone else could easily slip into your own life, take it over, and overcome all of your weaknesses feels utterly nightmarish. Tom Ewell's increasingly panicked performance conveys that feeling excellently. “The Case of Mr. Pelham's” ends on a distressingly ironic moment, that seals the ambiance of a bad dream. Hitchcock's typically sardonic host segments bemoan the lack of murder in this episode but that doesn't stop it from being a nicely chilling experience. [8/10]

The Munsters: Monster Masquerade / My Fair Munster

Popular opinion seems compelled to forever compare “The Addams Family” and “The Munsters.” Both aired at the same time. Both only ran for two seasons but became so popular in syndication, that numerous spin-offs and revivals followed in the decades since. While the general consensus is “The Addams Family” is the funnier, sharper show, I've always preferred “The Munsters.” Maybe it's just because I'm partial to the Universal Monsters, the inspiration for Herman and his brood. Maybe I just prefer dumb-ass gags over more biting observations about polite society. Maybe it was the kick-ass surf rock theme song. I'll probably have to review both shows in their entirety some day but “The Munsters” was always destined to be first. 

“Monster Masquerade” establishes many of the show's running gags. Marilyn, the normal looking niece of the family, has caught the eye of a guy named Tom. In hopes of winning her favor, he invites her entire family to a masquerade party run by his rich parents. Herman, Lily, and Grandpa end up getting into shenanigans at the party. Lily's love life helps drive the second episode's plot too. In “My Fair Munster,” Grandpa invents an attraction potion to help Marilyn's dating prospects but accidentally doses the family breakfast with it instead. This ends up making Herman and Lily irresistible, attracting the attention of the mailman and the stuck-up lady next door. 

“The Munsters” can never be called sophisticated humor because the entire series revolves around one joke: This family of monsters think they are perfectly normal, wholesome folks, while everyone reacts to their macabre habits with shock and fright. “Monster Masquerade” certainly has its share of gags like that. Such as the B-plot, in which the elderly neighbor lady babysits Eddie and is confused by the haunted mansion abode and the boy's howling. The A-plot features Herman accidentally insulting the boy's father by complementing his costume – a Frankenstein get-up – and later shattering a mirror with his true face. “My Fair Munster” double-down on this, with jokes about Eddie's werewolf doll, the boy hanging out in the fireplace, Grandpa playing checkers with a ghost, or Lily making oatmeal in a witch's cauldron. 

I'm a sucker for hoary old gags like these. Yet what makes this show really delightful is the cast. Fred Gwynne's Herman is a lovable goof, who responds with genuine baffled confusion to the normal people's reactions. Al Lewis' Grandpa is gloriously silly, hamming it up when working on potions in “Monster Masquerade” or performing spells in “My Fair Munster.” It's already clear that these performer had perfect comedic timing. Gwynne's reaction to a drink being poured into his suit of armor costume in the first episode, or how he tiptoes through the hallway in the second, get laughs. Yvonne De Carlo's straight-woman status, and way with a simple line like discouraging Grandpa's “smoking,” can also not be undervalued to the series' success. I'm also obviously partial to the set design, as 1313 Mockingbird Lane is clearly the kind of home I wouldn't mind living in. Or at least hanging out in for a while.

Of these first two episodes, “Munster Masquerade” is definitely the funnier. The costume party premise allows the cast to riff on the material more, even if it lead to the inevitable bits about people getting scared. “My Fair Munster” devotes much more time to the bewitched normies – which notably includes John Fiedler, the voice of Piglet himself, as the mailman – chasing the Munsters. The extended chase scene, which involves a lot of sped-up footage and jokes about the spooky house's secret passageways, gets a little too wacky. Yet there are even laughs here, especially in how Fiedler exits the home or the goofy one-liner from Herman that wraps up the show. I have no idea if this strain of silliness will ware out its welcome by the time I've finished mainlining the first season but I'm enjoying it so far. [Munster Masquerade: 7/10 / My Fair Munster: 6/10]