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 2024: September 8th

The Strangers: Chapter 1 (2024)

Upon release in 2008, Bryan Bertino's “The Strangers” certainly seemed primed to launch an on-going series. Its premise, of a trio of masked home invaders terrorizing people at random, is an endlessly mutable set-up that a long string of sequels could follow. And it certainly didn't hurt that the movie made 82 million dollars against a mere 9 million dollar budget. Instead of us getting a new “Strangers” every year, it took a decade for “The Strangers: Prey at Night” to arrive. Part two didn't blow the box office up but it still more than tripled its production budget. After Lionsgate acquired the property not long ago, they clearly didn't want to wait that long to make more “Strangers” movies. The company immediately announced an ambitious plan to reboot the concept as a trilogy, directed by Renny Harlin. The company is so intent on turning "The Strangers" into a regularly scheduled series that they made the risky move to shoot the three films simultaneously. This unorthodox scheme, to engineer a horror franchise through sheer brute force, kicked off back in May with “The Strangers: Chapter 1.”

The press material described “Chapter 1” as a reboot while its subtitle implies it's a prequel. This is despite the new “Strangers” clearly being a remake of the old “Strangers.” It follows Maya and Ryan, a couple celebrating their fifth anniversary with a road trip. Their car breaks down in Venus, Oregon. Since the autoshop says they won't receive the necessary part until the next morning, the two find an Airbnb to spend the night in. At first, Maya finds the experience rather romantic. However, a strange girl knocking on their door and asking if someone named Tamara is there unsettles her. That's the first of many terrifying events that night. Soon, the two realized they are being stalked by a trio of masked intruders, ready to play a deadly game with their randomly chosen prey. That is, if you didn't notice, basically the same premise as the original. Imagine how I feel, knowing that a movie I saw in theaters as a teenager is now old enough to get a remake...

For all its flaws, 2008's "The Strangers" did generate a grim tension. It never left any doubt in the viewers' minds that the central couple were doomed from the get-go, that nothing was stopping the intruders from piercing their inner sanctum, and that everything that followed was a sadistic ritual on their behalves. That Bryan Bertino has repeatedly shown a talent for generating eerie soundscapes and a mounting sense of dread was clearly a factor in his original film working so well. Harlin's version, on the other hand, can never capture that same foreboding feeling. It's heavier on the jump scares, with most of the Strangers' sudden appearances on-screen being accompanied by a loud shriek on the soundtrack. The remake trots out the well-known modern cliché of there being no cell service out in the country. "Chapter 1" mostly drops the ball on the sense of isolation that was so important to the original's success. This is largely because the script draws a lot more attention to there being a town around the solitary home the protagonists shack up in. At one point, Ryan jumps on a motorcycle, rides up to a food truck, and gets himself a burger. It definitely diminishes the sense that no one is coming to help these kids if a bustling little town is a short drive away. Making the location an AirBnB makes our heroes feel more connected to the outside world, not alone and vulnerable. 

In fact, there is this lingering suggestion that the townsfolks are somehow connected to the Strangers. The redneck mechanic is excessively creepy, in a way familiar to anyone who has watched lots of backwoods set horror flicks. The kids on bikes passing out religious literature, simply background color in Bertino's film, now have a bigger presence. Suggesting some weird religious shit is going on in the town, which feels like it could link back to the cult-like vibes the Strangers possess. That a waitress points the couple to the central location also hints at a bigger connection. Moreover, Richard Brake – well established as the premiere creep character actor of the moment – has a mostly silent bit part as the town's sheriff. One assumes that a recognizable actor wouldn't be in such a small role unless this preconceived trilogy had future plans for him. You don't cast Richard Brake as a background character, you cast him as a crook or a psycho. Considering a big part of what made the Strangers scary in the first place was how ineffable they were, their motives unknown, their crimes random, their identities unrevealed, all of this feels like a misguided addition. Or, to be brutally honest, a sweaty, desperate attempt to build up a mythology around a trio of villains who were intentionally thinly sketched. To turn Michael Myers from the original "Halloween" into Michael Myers from "Halloween 6." 

"The Strangers: Chapter 1" isn't as scary as the original or as creatively pulpy as the second. However, it's also not without its own merits. Renny Harlin has made plenty of bad movies but he's also not without skills. A scene of Maya navigating a crawlspace, trying to avoid Pin-Up Girl's detection, and running her hand through with a stray nail. That's a decently engineered moment of suspense. As is a later scene of the couple being cornered in a vehicle while the killers plow into them with their truck. Overall, as the movie goes on, it gets a little better at building tension. Harlin has always specialized in pyrotechnic-filled spectacle and he throws some of that in here too, via the motorcycle going up in flames. And that's not a half-bad scene. José David Montero, previously of "Hell Fest" and a lot of undistinguished schlock, is the cinematographer here. He makes the movie rather moody at times, with some heavy fog in the wooded scenes and a general good use of cool blues, blacks, and earthier tones. 

The biggest problem with the original "The Strangers" is that the imperiled couple were not the most likable characters. Their relationship was crumbling, causing there to be tension between them before the masked murderers showed up. The remake, meanwhile, has its protagonists deeply in love with each other. Maya and Ryan's interactions are sexy but also relaxed and comfortable. The script tries to mine drama out of his disinterest in getting engaged but the two seem fairly happy nevertheless. Madelaine Petsch and Froy Gutierrez have decent chemistry together, both displaying a kind of friendly cluelessness that compliment each other. Maybe both of them having Golden Retriever energy was necessary because – as in the original – the victims make some questionable decisions. When Ryan has a shotgun pointed right at a Stranger's head, he rambles on long enough for another to attack, instead of pulling the damn trigger. Before that, he crinkled a water bottle loudly and gave his location away. In general, it feels like any reasonable person would have gotten the hell out after seeing the first signs of a home invasion. Instead, Ryan comforts Maya and convinces her to stay. I know we wouldn't have a movie otherwise. Characters acting dumb in the horror genre isn't anything unusual. But if I had been assigned a remake of "The Strangers," I would've tried to boost the leads' intelligence as well as their affability. 

The original film ended on a distressing, cruel note that felt like a culmination of everything that came before. The inevitable kill that follows after a predator finishes toying with its prey. Since "Chapter 1" lacks that same level of dread, its ending instead feels like some gross, torture gore tagged on as a final, unsuccessful attempt to wring some scares out of this material. That a "To Be Continued..." message appears right before the credit can't help but leave the film feeling unfinished and the audience feeling unsatisfied. The flaws of "The Strangers: Chapter 1" are mostly based in it following the original so closely and sticking to this ill-conceived trilogy gimmick. If Renny Harlin had simply made a "Strangers 3," unburdened from setting up two more installments and not standing so totally in the shadow of Bertino's work, this probably would've been a decently entertaining, junk-slasher sequel. Lionsgate made the movie for 8 mil and it grossed over 40 at the box office, so at least the already-in-the-can other two parts probably won't be a sunk cost. Whether "The Strangers: Chapter 2" will build on what worked here or dig deeper into the flawed elements remains to be seen. Thus the seemingly easy task of making another "The Strangers" becoming a struggle goes on... [6/10]

The Long Hair of Death (1964)

I lunghi capelli della morte

Of all the sixties horror stars, Barbara Steele always seemed the most mysterious, the most remote. Maybe this is the result of the kind of otherworldly beauties she so often played, those piercing eyes projecting an elfin quality that can't easily be pinned down. That she has a much smaller body of work than most of her contemporaries – a row of Gothic Italian chillers in the sixties, a couple of cult classics in the last seventies, sporadic appearances since then – adds to this image as well. She wouldn't discuss her genre work for years afterwards, suggesting she was more ambivalent to it than the Hammer boys. That has thankfully changed in recent years, with Steele becoming a regular on the convention circuit. (Though she always cancels whenever she's scheduled to head to my corner of the globe...) The point of this rambling introduction is that, despite doing fewer films than Lee or Price, Steele's impact on the horror genre would be no less significant. She was basically the face of Italian Horror in the sixties. Look no further than "The Long Hair of Death," her other collaboration with Antonio Margheriti. (Whose name I didn't intend to pop up this much this September but here we are.) 

In 15th century Europe, Count Humboldt has ordered Adele Karnstein to be burned at the stake for witchcraft. The real reason for this is Adele turned down the Count's sexual advances. When Adele's oldest daughter, Helen, offers herself to the Count in exchange for her mother's pardon, he kills her too. The youngest Karnstein daughter, Lisabeth, is accepted into the Humboldt court. Years later, she has grown into a gorgeous maiden. The Count's scheming nephew, Kurt, desires her. After forcing Lisabeth into marriage with him, a mysterious beauty named Mary – who looks just like Lisabeth's late, older sister – arrives at the castle. Kurt is immediately smitten with her. He quickly pulls Mary into a scheme to murder Lisabeth. Yet both women are more than they appear to be. 

Themes of philandering men being punished for their infidelity or other twisted desires are common in gothic horror. Few films, however, attack these ideas with the ferocity of "The Long Hair of Death." The men of this unnamed, vaguely Germantic kingdom are especially wicked. The Count and Kurt both coerce Helen and Elisabeth into their beds, both women proclaiming they hate them as the men have their ways with them. Both guys are all too willing to murder to cover up their sexual improprieties. Each only seem to see other people as pawns to use, stepping stones towards acquiring more power and feeding their insatiable lusts. That both men get away with it for so long paints a grim painting for women in this time... And maybe in any time, as men in position of power still misbehave gravely. It's hard to read "The Long Hair of Death" as feminist, since the archetypes it employs are so embroiled in the sexual politics of 1960s Italy. (Lisabeth still can't bring herself to betray her husband, despite being horrible to her.) The scumbag men do get what's coming to them by the end, the women ultimately functioning as avatars of otherworldly justice. The message, as always, is clear: Even the powerful will face the consequences of their crimes, if it's only in death. 

This mythic story structure, of the wicked being punished by otherworldly machinations their own crimes set in action, recalls classical folklore and fairy tales. Which doesn't disguise that "The Long Hair of Death's" plot is basically a hodgepodge of the other gothic horror flicks Steele had starred in before this. Like in "Black Sunday," Steele had a duel role as both a virginal victim and a scheming seductress from the other side. The film features a sequence of a corpse regenerating and crawling out of its grave that is clearly reminiscent of Bava's classic. The opening burning at the stake scene is also indebted to that seminal film. Like Margheriti's earlier "Castle of Blood," Steele is one half of a pair of mysterious sisters. As in "The Horrible Dr. Hichcock," a young woman being gaslit by her evil husband is a plot point. Like "The Ghost," Steele gets to be part of the conniving couple. The story blending human horrors with the supernatural does distinguish it a little bit. Yet, ultimately, "The Long Hair of Death" doesn't deter the presumption that most of Steele's movies are blatantly imitative of each other. (And would continue to be, as the movies Steele made after this one also features many of these ideas.)

A derivative plot is almost besides the point though. "The Long Hair of Death," like so many of the Italian gothic chillers of this time, is thick with ambiance. Riccardo Pallottini's black-and-white cinematography is thick with foreboding. Though lacking the foggy atmosphere of Margheriti's "Castle of Blood," the film still gets the most out of its deep shadows, dusty hallways, and moldering crypts. A sequence showing how the plague has torn apart the village is easily the most dream-like, shadowy sequence in the movie. The film was mostly shot in an actual medieval castle – Castello Massimo in the Roman province of Arsoli – which no doubt added to the movie's foreboding feeling. There are plenty of memorable visuals here. Such as a corpse seemingly squirming to life, from being plump with rats. To the climatic uses of an effigy of death, which graces most of the poster. 

Naturally, Barbara Steele is fantastic in the film. Despite her actual voice being (badly) dubbed over, her chilling and captivating gaze breaks through all language barriers. Steele's one-of-a-kind screen presence could simply elevate a dusty old ghost story like this with ease. Halina Zalewska is also strikingly gorgeous as the more innocent Lisabeth. George Ardisson and Giuliano Raffaelli are both suitably despicable as Kurt and the Count. While the pacing sags a little bit in the middle, the strength of "The Long Hair of Death's" prologue and climax are enough to easily recommend it to fans of this particular subgenre. It's neither Steele's strongest nor weakest film but will surely satisfy any of her fans. [7/10]

Climax!: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

In August of 1954, CBS ended “Suspense,” an anthology designed to thrill and excite, often based on well-known stories and starring recognizable faces. In October of 1954, CBS began airing “Climax!,” an anthology designed to thrill and excite, often based on well-known stories and starring recognizable faces. The series did not focus solely on macabre stories – the most famous episode is “Casino Royale,” giving us the first on-screen depiction of James Bond – but it did feature horror stories sometimes. Such as probably the second most famous episode, a version of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” Aside from the notoriety of the source material, the episode is an early screenwriting credit of Gore Videl. 

Videl condensed Robert Louis Stevenson's novella somewhat to be confined largely to two different sets, since “Climax!” was broadcast live. The biggest change made to the source material is the beginning, with Mr. Hyde being shot dead by the police in Dr. Jekyll's lab. His personal journal is then read, the story being told via flashback. Michael Rennie, of “Michael Rennie was ill” fame, plays the title part. Cedric Hardwicke appears as Utterson, the doctor's confidant. Mary Sinclair plays the unnamed barmaid – the script obliquely clarifies that she's not a prostitute – that Hyde becomes obsessed with. The episode limits Hyde's wicked acts to harassing that poor girl, picking fights in the bar, and eventually murdering someone. Still, the spirit of the novella is there. Considering how wildly off the mark cinematic “Jekyll and Hydes” tend to go, this one earns points for sort-of sticking to the text. 

When judged on its own merits, this “Jekyll and Hyde” is fairly entertaining. Rennie is no Fredric March but gives a solid performance. The moment when Jekyll looses control over his transformation, and he signals to Sinclair that he's Hyde now through only a change of expression, is a highlight. The make-up used to create Hyde is underwhelming. Rennie is given a unibrow, a mole, some polish on his face, and slaps on an unflattering whig. The sequence when he first takes the potion remains interesting. The camera starts to jostle side to side and there's a really cool shot of the walls bubbling and pulsating. 

Being an example of early, live television, there's a few noticeable slip-ups. Rennie flubs a line in one of his first scenes. A stage hand is seen pulling a curtain closed at one point. Of course, like a lot of shows from this era, “Climax!” also had a corporate sponsor. That would be Chrysler Motors. A lengthy segment is devoted to host William Lundigan showing off some new cars. I don't know how any vintage TV shows managed to build any suspense with required moments like that. Still, on the long list of “Jekyll and Hyde” adaptations, this is a sturdy one. It stands better on its own, and less as a novelty, compared to many of the other really old TV episodes I've watched. [7/10]

Chucky: There Will Be Blood

Chucky might have bit the dust in the previous episode but “Chucky: The Series” is far from done. “There Will Be Blood” has the spirit of Charles Lee Ray arriving in the afterlife, which takes the form of the White House. He meets with Damballah himself, who appears to Chucky: The Man as Chucky: The Doll. On account of his audacity for murdering a president, the god gives the serial killer one more chance. In the corporeal White House, Warren Pryce prepares a cover-up that will officially kill off President Collins and put the vice president in control. Pryce also orders Jake, Lexy, Devon, and Grant locked up. Experts in the paranormal arrive at the White House to investigate. The séance they perform only gives Chucky's ghost a chance to cause more chaos, Jake coming up with a crazy scheme to stop the serial killer once and for all. Meanwhile, in Texas, Tiffany/Jennifer Tilly's plan to avoid execution goes awry and she faces down lethal injection.

Considering how enjoyably nuts “Chucky” has gotten this season, I'm happy that that show puts a creatively bent take on the concept of the afterlife. Previous victims reappearing, their injuries intact, in a version of the White House inhabited by famous ghosts and decorated with the doll's visage is something else. Hearing Chucky's immediately recognizable voice come out of Brad Dourif's actual flesh-and-blood body is a bit disorientating, I'll admit. It is a delight to see the beloved character actor embodying Charles Lee Ray for the first time in years. Having him play against the doll, Damballah acting as a distracted CEO in plastic form, is such a weird, fun scene. 

That opening sequence is so much fun that “There Will Be Blood” never quite tops it. It certainly tries, though. The title is lived up to, when Ray's ghost fills an elevator entirely with blood. The séance is most fun for the way Dourif fucks with the mediums. “Chucky” certainly gets the most of its access to profanity in this episode. I don't dislike the subplot about Pryce using the presidential double to instill a leader he can control in the Oval Office. However, it does feel like a distraction from what's most interesting in this episode. How all of that plays out can't help but feel like “Chucky” hastily clipping away at subplots as it pulls into the final act of season three. This is certainly an episode whose last few minutes exist to set-up the season finale, meaning it's not as satisfying as some of the better installments from season three.

“There Will Be Blood” is notable for another reason. The episode is largely without a musical score. This gives the hour a much more somber, introspective tone. That is especially apparent in the scenes involving Tiffany Valentine heading towards death row. The climatic moment there – I'm reluctant to assume it'll be Jennifer Tilly's last involvement with this franchise – does generate some pathos. This is an unusually downbeat episode of a season that's been quite comedic so far. The more chaotic, violent set-pieces feel more fatalistic than splatsticky. It's still a fairly unique installment in a season that has continuously swung for the fences. I'm excited to see how it'll be wrapped up next time. [7/10]

Halloween 2024: September 7th

Longlegs (2024)

Probably helped out by being the son of Norman Bates, Oz Perkins has quickly established a specific brand for himself as a genre filmmaker. "The Blackcoat's Daughter" and "I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House" were high on eerie ambiance, isolation, and precise set design. Perkins finally combined that with a compelling narrative and characters with interior lives in "Gretel & Hansel," the first of his films I actually loved. This got me excited for his next feature, "Longlegs," especially once I read that it starred Nicolas Cage as a serial killer. Largely thanks to an effectively creepy marketing campaign, distributor NEON built up a good degree of hype for the film this past July and made it a surprise hit. This is atop some hyperbolic reviews that called the film the scariest to appear in quite a while. Now that the dust has settled, what's my takeaway on this one? 

FBI agent Lee Harker displays ambiguous clairvoyant powers during a manhunt. This causes Supervisor Carter to assign her to the bureau's most baffling case. Since the sixties, there have been a string of incidents where a father would massacre his family before killing himself. At the scene of the crime, an encoded letter signed by "Longlegs" is left, despite no signs of forced entry. Lee studies the evidence and quickly connects the cases, each murder occurring near the 9th birthday of each family's daughter. Further investigation reveals occult symbolism in this pattern, with Harker and Carter uncovering a strange doll patterned after the family's daughter at one of the crime scenes. The deeper into the case Lee goes, the closer she comes to encountering the strange man behind the killings, his otherworldly motivations, and the personal connection she has to these events. 

From a technical perspective, there's a lot to admire about "Longlegs." Once again, Perkins engineers an unsettling atmosphere of quiet dread from the opening frame onward. This is largely accomplished by a sound design full of slowly mounting discordant noise, that constantly leaves the audience on-edge. That's actually a plot point, as a mysterious silver orb that generates ominous whispering appears in several scenes. This is paired with a visual perspective that emphasizes stillness, distance, and isolation. Characters often appear as obscured figures in painting-like landscapes, surrounded by shadows, snow, or stray streaks of light. (Frequently via eye-like windows, symmetrically placed as if on a face.) Flashbacks are always framed in tight, Academy ratio, making them appear even more like broadcast from nightmares. That constant stillness is often broken up by assaultive bursts. This may be through sudden acts of graphic violence, a reveal of a grotesque rotting corpse, or red-tinged visions flashing on-screen.

In other words, many of the ingredients for a successfully distressing horror film are present here. And "Longlegs" certainly is creepy, often overwhelming the viewer into a state of discomfort through its visual and aural suggestions. However, as a narrative experience and piece of cinematic art, I found the film to be frustrating. Like Perkins' first two features, the movie takes a vague approach to its own story. We don't learn Longlegs' modus operandi until twenty minutes or so before the end. The mechanics of how the killer operates are fairly simple, by the standard of fictional occult serial killers/black magicians. The script takes a needlessly roundabout way to revealing this, bogging its story down in ritualistic symbols, algorithms, and codes that the protagonist must unravel. Certain elements are left largely vague – such as the nature of Lee's apparent psychic powers – while other parts are explained via lengthy expositonary scenes. All of this combines with glacial pacing, heavy on long silences and meaningful glares. "Longlegs" is paced like a nightmare, it's true. This means it is unsettling and that it is composed of two hours that feel like four.

The film approaching its own material in such a deliberately  evasive manner makes it difficult for the viewer to get a grip on its intentions. The witchcraft element, of Longlegs being an unrepentant Satanist, never quite gels with me. Considering the movie is also set during the nineties – established via that old trick of prominently placing a photo of the then-president in as many shots as possible – it feels like an unironic invoking of the Satanic Panic that never once stops to consider the cultural baggage of that phenomenon. Giving the killer the Zodiac-like gimmick of leaving encoded messages at the crime scene adds a puzzle-like structure, frustrated by the murderer's identity being flatly revealed when he gives himself up to the FBI without a fight. He builds creepy dolls but the movie isn't about creepy dolls, that element merely being more unsettling set dressing on a fairly straightforward story. The specific patterns and rituals of Longlegs' actions suggest he's trying to achieve some ultimate goal, furthered by the cryptic things he says, but that's never revealed. And why does he call himself Longlegs anyway? What the fuck does that mean? Perhaps making us ask "why" is exactly the point but piling your movie up with symbols that never seem to have a meaning results in meaningless symbols. 

A snippet from an interview where Perkins admits that the film was inspired by his own mother – Tony's longtime beard Berry Berenson, who died in the September 11th attacks – is the closest Rosetta Stone I can find to unravelling "Longlegs." The birthdays of daughters is the reoccurring thread that connects all of the killer's victims. The glimpses we get of Lee's mother, which increase throughout the film, hint at a smothering, emotionally manipulative relationship. When one of the family slaughters occur on-screen in the last act, it feels all the world like a domestic incident performed by an abusive, short-tempered dad. Despite his outwardly effeminate features, Longlegs himself operates as something like a twisted absentee father figure to Lee, as this distant image from her past that sends her letters every once in a while. I guess that means his chosen nickname is short for Daddy Longlegs? As if there's any doubt of this persistent subtext, the killer's favorite music seems to be seventies glam rock, a very Dad-ish genre. None of these ideas seem to convalesce into a coherent meaning to me, acting instead as undercurrents that operate as part of the film's dream logic, connecting some of its twists and turns. 

For Nicolas Cage fans, the film is certainly worth seeing. Cage, glimpsed only in quick flashes or from a distance for the first half, wears a disturbing make-up that makes him look like the cross between a porcelain doll, Tiny Tim, and a plastic surgery addict. He shrieks, winces, twitches, dances, and babbles in a falsetto in a way that only Cage could do and make equally unnerving and hilarious. Maika Monroe, as Lee, is charmingly weird as a woman so hyper-focused on her obsessions and socially awkward that she reads as on-the-spectrum. I would've liked to have gotten more peeks at her inner life. Blair Underwood makes a compelling straight man to the story's weird events, as her supervisor. Alicia Witt, as Lee's mother, probably does the best job of giving her character a complicated inner life, as we learn more about her past.

I guess the kind of emotional coldness that Perkins specializes in is hard for me to jive with. The film's standout sequences of gory special effects are effective. The swallowing atmosphere of dread engineered throughout is impressive. The cast, cinematographer, sound designer, and production artists all do excellent work. However, "Longlegs" so intentionally denying us any insight into its characters, their motives, or the events that starts these dominos falling makes it hard for me to truly connect with the movie. Maybe Perkins' next gig, a mainstream Stephen King adaptation, will work better for me. Maybe this is a filmmaker who needs to place his ideas within a recognizable story structure, like a fairy tale or a Kingian ghost story, for me to link to his work. Because I came away from "Longlegs" admiring it more as a technical achievement than as a piece of storytelling. [7/10]

Shock (1946)

Vincent Price never set out to become best known for playing villains, much less primarily associated with the horror genre. If you look at his early parts, it's mostly handsome leading man roles and supporting characters in various noirs. That all changed with "Shock," a little, noir-tinged psycho thriller that turned a modest profit for Fox in 1946. This proved that audiences most liked to see the actor playing sinister ne'er-do-wells, setting him on the road towards horror stardom. Price never had much positive to say about the movie. In Victoria Price's biography on her dad, she said he derisively referred to the movie as "Schlock." Yet I had never seen it before and decided now was the time to check it out.

While awaiting her prisoner-of-war husband's return home, Janet nervously sits in a hotel room. From the window, she sees a man bludgeon his wife to death with a candle stick. The shock of this sight leaves Janet in a catatonic state. Her husband calls for the doctor staying in the hotel, Dr. Cross... Who happens to be the murderous man Janet saw. Quickly figuring out what happened, Cross has Janet committed to his clinic. Conspiring with his nurse, who is also his mistress, Cross tries to get Janet to forget what she saw. When she starts to directly accuse the doctor of murder, Cross plots to get rid of the sole witness to his crime for good. 

"Shock" is another entry in the long line of films about duplicitous men trying to convince women they are crazy, in order to cover up their own crimes. Considering it came out only two years after George Cukor's "Gaslight," "Shock" was probably directly inspired by it. That term has since passed into common usage, to describe any time a man tries to make a woman doubt her own perception. The film ups the manipulation level by having the gaslighting man be the woman's doctor, giving him even more power over her. Unfortunately, and strangely, "Shock" downplays Janet's role in the story that should have been her's. Anabel Shaw – doe-eyed, good at panicking, fourth billed – spends most of the movie laying in bed, half unconscious. Instead of focusing on the fear and doubt she must feel, trying to convince everyone that she didn't imagine seeing a murder, "Shock" devotes far more scenes to Dr. Cross and Elaine plotting and working to throw doubt on their own role in the murder. This is frustrating, when a more compelling story is right there within the movie, waiting to be explored. 

Instead, this really is Price's movie. Unlike the campy bad guy roles he'd later become famous for, Vincent mostly underplays it here. There's a moment when someone suggests that Dr. Cross might have had some role in what Janet saw and you can see the sense of panic briefly crosses Price's face. His great talent for saying one thing but clearly feeling another is apparent during a tense meeting with a detective. Despite being a murderer, "Shock" weirdly plays Cross as a sympathetic character. He talks about coming clean multiple times, clearly feeling conflicted about his actions. It's Lynn Bari as Elaine, the scheming Lady MacBeth/femme fatale, that continuously pushes him towards more wicked actions. This points towards "Shock's" less-than-stellar politics, that repeatedly center the men in a story about a woman's plight. That marks this film as truly a product of 1946. As a fan of Vincent Price, seeing a more nuanced, layered take on the type of murdering, bitter husbands he would play many other times is quite interesting. 

If it isn't obvious by now, "Shock" definitely resides more on the noir side of the horror/noir divide. However, there are some moments here to interest fans of the macabre, outside of Price's presence. Early on, Janet has an eerie, misty nightmare where she runs towards a door that keeps bigger and further away. There's a key sequence where a thunderstorm rages outside the mental institution. A disturbed patient escapes, sneaks downstairs, and attacks Elaine in Janet's room. It's definitely the most stylishly directed episode in the film, with some extremely good use of shadows and clever shot composition. In general, "Shock" gets a little more macabre and hysterical as it goes on, even if it never nudges into full-on horror. Director Alfred L. Werk also made "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" and "A-Haunting We Will Go," so he had some experience with horror-adjacent projects.  

"Shock" is in the public domain, so many low quality copies of the film circulate around all over the place. (Often paired with that other Price-starring public domain favorite, "House on Haunted Hill.") Luckily, a nice restored edition was put out on disc as part of Fox's Classic Noir Collection, so you can find a decent looking print of the movie with minimal effort. By no means a classic – and barely qualifying for a marathon of creepy movies – "Shock" is definitely still worth seeking out for Vincent Price fans. You can see the beginning of his style as an actor formulating here while losing out on none of the star presence that made him such an irresistible presence in so many films. Add in some nifty cinematography and it gets a recommendation from me. [7/10]

Creepshow: George Romero in 3D/Baby Teeth

It seems “Creepshow,” or maybe Greg Nicotero specifically, has to pay homage to its forefathers at least once a season. The required referential episode arrives with “George Romero in 3D.” Sarah's brick-and-motor book store is failing, amid pressure from their asshole landlord. That's when her horror nerd son, Martin, discovers a crate containing unpublished comic books written by George Romero. Such priceless collectables could save the business but Martin has to put on the 3-D glasses contained within the comics... Which causes the zombies from within the pages to leap into reality. And they're only visible with the glasses on. Luckily, the pages also contain a facsimile of George Romero himself, who is willing to help the kid.

As far as “Creepshow's” overly meta episodes go, “George Romero in 3D” is less suffocatingly smug than “Skeletons in the Closet” and stands alone better than “Night of the Living Late Show.” The monster kid hero, played by Graham Verchere, is mildly likable and resists dropping a movie title every five minutes. (Though his name, Martin, is one of several obvious Romero homages here.) The central gimmick, the zombies being invisible unless you look at them through the 3D glasses, leads to some interesting gore sequences. The zombies themselves are, like classical Romero ghouls, more intelligent than your average shambler too, allowing the threat level to increase as the episode goes along. Sebastian Kroon plays Romero, as an avuncular but humble figure that peppers his sentence with outdated slang. I also like the “Take On Me” style animation placed over top him. It is kind of weird that they chose comics as the medium here, which Romero didn't work in until much later in his career. What if the kids had found the script for “Diamond Dead” instead? 

“Baby Teeth” begins with teenager Shelby getting her wisdom teeth pulled, the latest in a long line of signifiers that she's growing up. This greatly upsets her clinging, needy mother, Miranda. Miranda demands to keep the extracted teeth in a special box with all of Shelby's baby teeth, part of a life-long belief in the Tooth Fairy. In fact, Miranda's whole house is filled with superstitious iconography: Iron nails sewn into clothes, horse shoes over doorways. Miranda has been a believer in the fair folk her whole life, convinced her mother was taken away by fairies when she was a girl. As part of her teenage rebellion, Shelby rejects these beliefs and smashes the box holding her teeth. This unleashes the spirits her mother has been trying to keep at bay her whole life.

“Baby Teeth” is based in an anxiety most anyone can relate to. Every kid grows up and comes into conflict with their parents. Every parent has to accept that their offspring isn't their little baby anymore. Miranda, played by a nicely neurotic Rochelle Greenwood, is sympathetic as it becomes clear how much of her anxious personality has been molded by a life of loss and abandonment. Her obsessive clinginess is also rightfully off-putting. This makes us feel bad for Shelby, allowing her bratty, rebellious teenager shenanigans to be more tolerable. The way the script slowly reveals the folkloric aspect of its premise are well done. A folk horror spin on the Tooth Fairy is one I'm surprise I haven't seen before. The episode also features probably the gooiest, grossest monster of “Creepshow's” fourth season. Like too many of this season's episodes, it fumbles the ending. This is another “Creepshow” installment that proves John Harrison is probably this series' most consistent director. [George Romero in 3-D: 6/10 / Baby Teeth: 7/10]

Chucky: Panic Room

Having ripped President Collins' eyes out and stolen his access card, “Panic Room” sees Chucky going after the big ones: Nuclear weapons. Warren Pryce replaces the President with a double, as part of a massive cover-up that deeply disturbs the First Lady. (Who is still seeing ghost around the White House.) The fake president and Henry are soon being held at gunpoint by an aging, homicidal doll. On the same day, Lexy manages to talk Grant into letting her, Devon, and Jake come to the White House. They reveal the truth about why they are there, Lexy determined to find out where her sister is before Charles Lee Ray shuffles off this mortal coil forever. It all ends with a tense confrontation in the Situation Room. 

Earlier, I said I hoped season three of “Chucky” would take the White House cover-up angle in increasingly wacky directions. I'm glad to say this has come to pass. When Pryce brings in a look-a-like to play the now deceased President, he reveals that this is not an altogether uncommon experience. That intelligence agencies perform all sorts of operations to insure the government remains running smoothly. Yes, this show is arguing for the existence of the Deep State. (Pryce also says supernatural events are discreetly handled by the government all the time too, so it's also arguing for the existence of the X-Files.) But “Chucky” being a smart-ass comedy, it quickly reveals the presidential doppelganger to be a nerdy, socially awkward actor type just happy to have this chance. That allows Devon Sawa to get some of the biggest laughs he's had over his three years on this show. 

When it was announced that “Chucky: Season Three” would head to Washington, my first thought is that the doll would eventually try and get his tiny, plastic hands on some nukes. “Panic Room” runs with this idea, devoting its second half to Chucky trying to spend his last hours alive starting World War III and becoming the most prolific serial killer in history. I suppose it's natural that the tight, metallic interior of the Situation Room would lead to a rise in tension. As NORAD prepares to launch WMDs, the episode actually gets suspenseful. Knowing how crazy “Chucky” is willing to get, I truly wondered how far they'd take things. Amusingly, the smart-ass doll picks an unexpected third target... I won't spoil things but it leads to easily the best punchline this season has given us yet.

Needless to say: Decrepit, dying Chucky is all out of fucks to give. While this could've seen Brad Dourif take the character in a more nihilistic direction, he remains a sarcastic little bastard up until the end. Watching this pint-sized rubber psycho threaten people and makes quips about pizza cutters, gun safety, and his mother remains delightful to me. No matter how goofy Chucky's one-liners get, the show never undersells what a threat he remains. As he slams a pen into a secret service agent's skull, describing what parts of the brain he is severing, it's a testament to the amount of genuinely sinister energy this absurd character have been gifted over the years. Around the time this episode aired, it was announced that Brad Dourif was retiring from acting. That retirement doesn't extend to any future “Chucky” projects, “Panic Room” still feels like a tribute to the great actor. 

While this episode features plenty of great killer doll action, it does spend a lot of time on the subplots. God help me, I think I'm actually invested in these characters now. Charlotte being increasingly freaked-out by the paranormal activity in the Oval Office allows Lara Jean Chorostecki to do some fine acting. She's got an excellent pair of crazy eyes, I'm now noticing. While Grant is probably the least exciting new character this season, there's a scene here between him and Lexy – where they sit at a piano and sing “Don't Fear the Reaper” – that is genuinely adorable. I think I might actually be rooting for those two now? That “Chucky” wraps up its biggest plot thread with two episodes left to go does suggest season three isn't done making some big swings. I'm looking forward to where this is all going next. [8/10]