Halloween 2023: September 24th

Skinamarink (2022)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe (1970)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cabinet of Curiosities: Pickman's Model

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

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

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

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

Chucky: Doll on Doll

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

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

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

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

Halloween 2021: September 26th

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984)

There's debate over whose idea it was to kill off Jason. Some speculate that Paramount was increasingly embarrassed by the continued success of the “Friday the 13th” series and wanted to wash their hands of it. Frank Mancuso Jr. claims it was his idea, as he was tired of getting no respect for his work on the franchise. Yet other sources simply conclude that Paramount was aware of the slasher genre's waning popularity by 1984. I personally believe that the producers figured part three's 3-D gimmick would be hard to top so another gimmick – the death of the central villain – would be needed to bring in audiences. Whoever made the decision, the fourth “Friday the 13th” would make its intentions clear, from the subtitle on down. Jason Voorhees was finally going to die, for realsies-no-take-backsies this time. Part four was intended to be the last entry in the franchise. That was the intention anyway.

Joseph Zito, previously of excellent indie slasher “The Prowler,” directs while Barney Cohen, who would go on to co-create “Forever Knight,” provides the script. In some ways, you can see they weren't too concerned about specifics here. The fourth “Friday the 13th” has the vaguest plot yet. Jason shrugs off an axe wound to the head and wanders back to Crystal Lake, in the span of a day. (Which means this entry is actually set around Sunday the 15th, which is not as catchy a title.) He finds his way to the Jarvis family cabin, who live near Crystal Lake, and the pack of horny teens who have rented the home next door. I guess news travels slow in 1980s New Jersey, as these kids don't seem aware of the two separate massacres that just happened a little further up the lake. But I feel worst for Mrs. Jarvis and her kids, who apparently live in this hot bed of death.

If the premise had little thought put into it, Zito and Cohen deserve points for adding depth to some of the characters. A random backpacker named Rob seems, at first, to be nothing but a love interest for final girl Trish. That's before we learn Rob is actually looking to avenge the murder of his sister. (Who was apparently Sandra, one half of the impaled humpers in Part II.) That adds a little more intrigue to your standard slasher plot. The film also introduces a final boy, in the form of Trish's precocious little brother Tommy. Tommy is a monster kid who makes detailed masks and special effects in his bedroom. Tommy is obviously something of a stand-in for the enthusiastic horror fans in the audience. This is why his ingenuity and immediate grasping of the series lore makes him the hero. Yet he suffers a great deal of trauma for his heroism and the film ends by making us wonder if Tommy's sanity will be another causality of Jason's rampage, to surprisingly chilling effect.

This is still a “Friday the 13th” sequel, so most of the cast is completely indistinct. I often loose track of which pretty brunette is Samantha, the one who can't stop banging her boyfriend, and which one is Sara, the one who desperately wants a boy to bang her. Perhaps you can owe my face blindness to a pair of literal twins, who might as well be identical in personalities as well as looks, being in the movie. Most of the guys are equally generic Jason fodder... With a few exceptions. Meet Jimbo and Teddy. Ted often teases Jim for his lack of skills in the bedroom, in the most obnoxious way imaginable. You actually root for Jim's exceedingly awkward attempts to get laid. When he's successful, and can throw it in Ted's face, you kind of cheer for the guy. Or maybe it's just because Jimmy is played by the legendary Crispin Glover, whose spasmodic dance moves immediately went down in cult movie history. Either way, Glover's oddball energy, and the strange chemistry he shares with Lawrence Monoson as Ted, makes these guys the de-facto heroes of the movie for me. They're certainly more memorable than Kimberly Beck's Trish, among the franchise's most forgettable final girls.

Joseph Zito knew he was making an exploitation film, so he makes sure to include lots of nudity and sex. (Samantha’s decision to skinny-dip in a freezing cold lake at night seems egregious, even by this series’ logic.) Yet “The Prowler” was among the best looking films of the first wave of American slasher flicks. Zito invites back his cinematographer from that film, former porn photographer João Fernandes, insuring “The Final Chapter” looks equally as good. The night shots are frequently moody, with a blue tint. Shadows are utilized nicely, such as when Rob is seen lurking outside his tent just as Trish is snooping around. Zito also has a hilariously theatrical obsession with shattering glass. When Jason pulls a girl through a window and she lands on the roof of a car, the windshield explodes out dramatically. Later, Trish makes a similar slow-motion dive through a window, this time to her own safety. Yet this is actually a reprise of a totally random, and utterly hilarious, earlier scene devoted to the family dog doing a similar slow-mo dive through a window. I'm glad the dog had the good sense to get the hell out of there as early as possible.

Eighties slasher killers, and Jason specifically, are frequently seen as the avatars of Reagan-era reactionism. That they are punishing horny teens for transgressing against traditional American morality. But if this is the case, why does Jason skewer a random banana-munching hitchhiker? All she did was say a bad word. Why does he spend the last third of the movie trying to kill Tommy, a literal child? His only sin was spying on some teenage hanky-panky. Surely, these crimes wouldn't be on Jason's radar. Is he better compared to a very creative bear, a force of nature, who murders anyone who wanders into his territory? Is Jason symbolic of the random chaos of the universe, that ends lives for no reason at all? The more of these movies I re-watch, the more I realize youth being cut short senselessly is the real motivating factor behind them. 

Whatever his reasons, "The Final Chapter” respects Jason as a mythic figure. Veteran stuntman Ted White plays Jason as exceptionally pissed-off. The hockey-masked one doesn’t stumble around nearly as much as in previous entries. Instead, a palatable fury is visible in his movements, as he busts through doors and windows. He’s never been this intimidating before and it creates a real tension in the last act. Trish smashes a TV over his head and slams a claw hammer into his neck but he simply refuses to stop. At least until Tommy enters in his Kid Jason cosplay, reminding the murderer that he was once youthful too. This gives him pause. If Barry Cohen's original ending – where Jason fondles Trish's breasts as he dies – had been maintained, it would have added even more poignancy to the brute's death. As if he had a dying revelation that he really isn't all that different from his victims after all. 

Matching Jason's rage are Tom Savini's gore effects, which are truly among his nastiest work. Bone-sawing a horny coroner's throat is not enough, as Jason has to ratchet his head around afterwards. Slamming a meat clever into Crispin Glover's face does not satisfy Jason's sadism. So he violently mocks the kid first, by driving the corkscrew he was looking for through his hand. Zico's sharp direction and editing combine with Savini's effect to even make a head-crushing appear utterly brutal. Even a simple axe through a door gag or a butcher knife in the head are spruced up, with an air cannon effect behind the splintering door or blood splattering on the white projector screen behind Teddy's head. But the real showstopper is Jason's death. The hideously deformed killer has never been more sympathetic than when doing the machete brain-pan slide. His tongue wiggles out of his mouth, his eyes bulge out, he grunts in agony. In death, Jason is as scared and innocent as any of the teenage meat he so effortlessly cleaves through. 

In other words, "The Final Chapter" has it all: One or two endearing characters, a bit of weird humor, some grim tension, grisly gore effects, a frightening but interesting Jason, decent photography, and more than enough T&A to satisfy. This is why the film has reminded a fan favorite among "Friday" heads. I vacillate on whether this one or the campy thrills of parts three and six are my preferred flavor of "Friday the 13th." But there's no doubt that "The Final Chapter" cuts to the bone. [8/10]

Diary of a Madman (1963)

Two Halloweens ago, I reviewed A.I.P.'s beloved cycle of Edgar Allen Poe adaptations, most of which starred Vincent Price and were directed by Roger Corman. Though Corman was emulating Hammer's classic monster movies, his movies would end up begetting their own set of imitators. In 1963, the same year “The Raven” and “The Haunted Palace” were released, producer Richard E. Kent and United Artists would put out two of their own Price-starring horror pictures adapted from literary sources. Six months before droll Nathanial Hawthorne omnibus “Twice-Told Tales,” U.A. put out “Diary of a Madman,” an adaptation of Guy de Maupassant's classic horror story “The Horla.” 

After the funeral of magistrate Simon Cordier, his journal is read. It tells the story of Simon, a man still traumatized by the death of his wife and son, who went to visited a convicted murderer one day. The man spoke of an invisible force that commanded him to kill. After the convict's death, Simon finds himself haunted by the same force. At first he fears he's gone mad but soon becomes convinced what he's experiencing is real. Calling itself the Horla, the unseen but corporal entity mocks Simon as he attempts to court a young woman. Soon, the Horla sets out ruining his life and eventually forcing him to kill as well. 

de Maupassant's “Horla” is a literary horror classic. It's an effective story because it plays largely on a sense of paranoia. Throughout most of the story, we are never entirely sure if the Horla is real or if the narrator has gone insane. The story also contains a hint of cosmic horror, suggesting that humanity coexists with an invisible – but superior – race that is preparing to harvest us. (This is why it was a notable influence on Lovecraft.) “Diary of a Madman” brings these heady ideas down to Earth quickly enough. The film toys briefly with the suggestion that Simon is insane and imagining everything. However, this ambiguity is quickly spoiled by the Horla talking directly with Simon, something it definitely didn't do in the story. The creature heckling and conversing with the protagonist makes “Diary of a Madman” feel like a hokier, less intense brand of horror than what existed on the page. This is maybe not surprising, considering the film was directed by Reginald Le Borg, who made a number of Universal Monster movies with Lon Chaney Jr. in the forties. 

Still, “Diary of a Madman” does have a few things in its favor. First off, you can't undersell the value of Vincent Price. This movie allows Price to play to both of his strengths. In the scenes where Simon is flirting with Odette, the young model he falls in love with, he comes off as suitably charming. The romantic subplot between these two provides the film with a lot more pathos than it otherwise would've had. Price also gets to rant and rave with the entity that is haunting him. A scene where his paranoid narration climaxes with him yelling out in frustration is classic Price. Watching this guy ham it up is never not fun.

Even if the Horla itself is kind of a dud, “Diary of a Madman” still manages to entertain in some other ways too. After the creature takes possession of Price's mind – shown with the charmingly cheesy effect of shining a green light on his eyes – he dons a fedora and cape. Scenes of Price of stalking a woman through the streets of Paris, wielding a knife and dressed like a classical villain, undeniably scratch a certain itch for me. The film also has at least one really cool idea in it. Simon is a sculptor and he meets Odette when he asks her to pose for him. The sculpture he makes of her head becomes the key image of the movie, with the Horla's invisible hands changing the smile to a scowl. Later, the same sculpture is used in a way that recalls Corman's “A Bucket of Blood.” That's such a neat image that it made all the posters.

Compared to some of the classic Price starred in throughout the sixties, “Diary of a Madman” definitely stands among his more forgettable efforts. It certainly doesn't compare flatteringly to anything from the Poe Cycle. This is probably United Artists and Richard E. Kent made only one further attempt to copy that style. For whatever it's worth, “Diary of a Madman” is a lot better than “Twice-Told Tales.” It's not as painfully long or self-serious as that one. The truth is, even a mediocre Vincent Price flick has things to recommend about it. I don't know if I'll remember much about “Diary of a Madman” in a few days – and it certainly pales in comparison to the short story that inspired it too – but it's also not worth throwing out entirely either. [6/10]

The Twilight Zone (1959): Nightmare at 20,000 Feet

Earlier this year, Richard Donner – one of the greatest directors of popcorn movies – passed away. Donner began his long career in television and his most distinctive early work is six episodes of “The Twilight Zone.” The first of which is “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet,” undoubtedly the most iconic episode of the entire series and probably one of the most iconic single episodes of American television period. You know the story but I'll recap it anyway: Robert Wilson is recovering from a nervous breakdown, seemingly triggered by his phobia of flying. He is boarding a plane for the first time since his treatment and, despite the reassurance of his wife, is exceedingly nervous. That's when, midway through the flight, he spots a strange, humanoid creature on the wing of the plane. As the gremlin tears up the engine, he tries to convince everyone else on the plane what is happening but only convinces them he's going crazy.

“Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” has been so widely referenced and parodied that it's easy to forget what an economic piece of storytelling it is. The script – from the brilliant Richard Matheson, of course, based on his own story – sets up everything we need to know about Wilson and his wife in only a few minutes. That Mrs. Wilson loves her husband but is, in no way, prepared to handle his emotional state. (She tries to sleep while her husband is obviously having a full-blown anxiety attack.) And neither is anyone else on the plane. The engineer placating Wilson's apparent fantasy is the best approach but, the minute he realizes what's happening, Wilson just feels like an asshole. As someone who's had some emotional episodes while out in public spaces, I relate a lot to this.

Donner makes the limited television budget work in the episode's favor. He emphasizes the cramped interior of the plane by mostly using close-ups, on faces, food service carts, and windows. Music is used sparingly, the natural humming sound of the airplane engines slowly building tension throughout. The shaggy, droopy-faced gremlin is, perhaps, not the most convincing of special effects. Yet even this works in the episode's favor, as the dream-like effect of the gremlin effortlessly floating on and off the plane wing fits in with the possibility that the entire incident is Wilson's paranoid fantasy. While I'm normally a fan of ambiguity, I admire “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” for revealing at the end that the gremlin is actually real. It fits the narrative of a man who is having a normal reaction that is simply misunderstood by all those around him.

The most famous part of this episode, more famous than even its shag carpet monster, is William Shatner's lead performance. Shatner is often mocked for being hammy and I suspect much of “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet's” infamy is owed to his theatrics here. Yet Shatner's mannerisms are actually perfect for this story. He's a tightly-wound man desperately trying not to loose it. And failing. There is humor in this episode but it comes from the monster so totally fucking with Wilson, smoothly sliding out of view every time Wilson asks someone to look. Shatner's sweaty, gasping performance keeps the suspense building, as we relate to this man who is afraid he's loosing it but desperate to help. All the elements combine to make “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” a tense, highly entertaining twenty-five minutes of television. [8/10]

Godzilla Singular Point: Enfattico

Episode six of "Godzilla Singular Point" opens with the striking visual of hordes of Rodan, followed by the mysterious red dust, invading Manhattan. This is seen largely from the perspective of a young boy, looking out the window of his skyscraper apartment. From there, the episode shows more kaiju encroaching on the world of man. Jet Jaguar, piloted by Goro, attempts to fight off the surly Anguirus. A giant harpoon to the chest momentarily stuns the creature but it takes Yun and his A.I. system, using his inexplicable genius with physics and robotics, to kill the beast. Meanwhile, the Japanese Navy is utterly powerless to stop a group of Manda from swarming into Tokyo Bay... Along with another, even more intimidating aquatic reptilian monster.

Yes, after six episodes – half of the show's season! – Godzilla has finally appeared in "Singular Point." But don't get too excited. First off, the monster only appears on-screen for a minute. Secondly, this seems to be some sort of larval form of Godzilla that more heavily resembles Titanosaurus. In fact, if it wasn't for the show playing Akita Ifukube's beloved theme music when the monster leaps into the air, you probably wouldn't know it was suppose to be Godzilla at all! 

Despite its continued irksome habit of just giving us fleeting glimpses of the monsters, "Enfattico" is a decent episode of "Singular Point." Despite its flaws, the show understands the point of the kaiju genre: The world of man being totally at the mercy of these giant monsters. Aside from that opening, we have Angurius knocking Jet Jaguar's head off, JSDF machine guns harmlessly bouncing off the monster's spines, and the aquatic monsters just swimming pass several battle ships. The best moment occurs when a local politician poses for an interview in front of Anguirus's seemingly dead body... Only for the armored dinosaur to reawaken right behind the cluelessly prattling man. If Anguirus then stomped the guy or ate him, that moment would've been even better.

"Singular Point" being the show it is, there's plenty of technobabble. Mei uncovers the notes of Professor Aisihara, which seem incomprehensible at first. With the help from a reporter, who points out quotes from William Blake and Walt Whitman in the notes, Mei realizes that Aisihara proved that the Archetype molecule can bend space/time's symmetry. I feel like the show could've gotten to this point a lot faster and with a lot less science jargon. Did we need six episodes to get to the reveal that there's a magic molecule that fucks with the space/time continuum? This stands alongside more minor characters, including that overly poetic journalist, discussing more theories and backstory. It's tiresome. It's also beginning to bug me that Yun and Mei are so uniquely brilliant that they can science out most of the story's problems by themselves. They are beginning to feel less like people and more like plot devices. But at least there's some cool kaiju action in this episode, so I'll give it a [6/10].

RECENT WATCHES: Hotel Room (1993)

Though “Twin Peaks” was a substantial ratings success, however briefly, its co-creators had trouble replicating its popularity. Mark Frost's follow-up, documentary series “American Chronicles,” only lasted one season. David Lynch's next TV show, retro sitcom “On the Air,” was axed after all of two episodes aired. (The rest resurfaced in Japan, where “Peaks”-mania was more long-lasting.) Next, Lynch would be lured to premium cable. HBO, who already had “Tales from the Crypt” on the table, hoped to create another hit anthology show, this one even hipper and sexier. Lynch and his “Wild at Heart” co-writer Barry Gifford delivered “Hotel Room.” Three episodes were produced, aired together on one night, and viewership was such that HBO declined to make more. “Hotel Room's” three half-hour installments were later released on a single VHS tape, making it easy to mistake the show for a movie. I'm going to review it as if it was one anyway.

The premise of “Hotel Room” is that each episode would depict a different event that took place in Room 603, across the long life-span of Manhattan's Railroad Hotel. In “Tricks,” set in 1969, square Moe brings hippy prostitute Darlene up to the room. His mysterious friend Lou soon arrives, further complicating the situation. In “Getting Rid of Robert,” set in 1992, Sasha books the room to dump her boyfriend, a smarmy Hollywood talent agent. Things don't go the way she planned. “Blackout,” set in 1936, depicts married couple Danny and Diane arriving at the hotel during a city wide blackout. Diane is recovering from a debilitating mental trauma, which is only worsened by the long dark night.

After “Hotel Room's” swift cancellation, Barry Gifford would rewrite his unused scripts as stage plays. This points to a pretty serious issue with the show. By confining the premise to a single hotel room, the scope of the stories you can tell are seriously limited. Worst still, the series does not resist its stage-like restrictions. Each of the episodes are largely devoted to people standing around and talking. In “Tricks,” characters monologue right into the camera. “Blackout” is almost entirely devoted to its leads sitting on a bed, having a quiet conversation in close-up. Though almost anything can happen in a hotel room, the show seems fixated on the delivery of bad news. “Hotel Room” seems to take the most boring route with every opportunity it is given.

You can see David Lynch struggling to make his stories more cinematic. The show begins with silhouetted images of people stepping into a white light, a cool visual, while Lynch delivers some typically vague narration. Each episode starts with a shadowy image of the room number, a nice touch. “Tricks” concludes with the very neat image of red lights outside the windows, the only time the artificiality of the set is used for much. There's a nice shot of a candle flickering in the dark room in “Blackout.” yet even Lynch's peerless imagination seems somewhat defeated here. The second episode's director – James Signorelli, previously of “Elvira, Mistress of the Dark,” “Police Academy 2,” and a ton of episodes of “Saturday Night Live” – seems even more disinterested in stretching the limits of the show's singular setting. His episode is flatly-lit and features only the most minor of visual touches.

Of the three episodes, "Tricks" is probably the best. This is largely thanks to the cast. Harry Dean Stanton plays Moe and he's always compelling. His talents are well-utilized in the role of an uptight sad sack who is definitely hiding something. His monologue about a teenage pizza delivery that went steamy, and is clearly emblematic of his lifelong sexual frustration, is the highlight of the entire series. The arrival of Mac, play the fittingly spacey Freddie Jones, takes the episode in a surprisingly kinky direction. The generational difference between the hooker and her john is of minor interest. Yet the episode is still filled with overly vague dialogue, pointing towards a directionless story. Only the last minute twist points thing in any sort of satisfying direction.

“Getting Rid of Robert” doesn't even rise to the minor levels of the first episode. This segment is largely devoted to catty dialogue between its three female characters. Despite all the talking, we don't get an idea of who any of these characters are. When Robert himself appears, more than halfway through, the script meanders a bit more before arriving at some sort of point. There's a decent switch-a-roo and that's where the episode's few laughs especially a moment involving a maid – arrives. The conclusion is mildly surprising and made me chuckle a little. You'll notice none of this is high praise. “Getting Rid of Robert” is, at least, well cast. Debra Unger is appropriately bitchy while Griffin Dunne gets off a few zingers as the titular boyfriend.

The episode of “Hotel Room” I was most looking forward to was “Blackout,” due to its star. David Lynch and Crispin Glover have complimenting eccentricities. After their incredibly bizarre collaboration in “Wild at Heart,” I was excited to see what weird shit they'd come up with together this time. Disappointingly, “Blackout” is easily the worst episode of “Hotel Room.” Gifford's script really lets us down. Most of Diane's dialogue is semi-coherent babbling, the disturbed woman being difficult to follow. That the people they are discussing have such odd names names the conversation even more indecipherable. After listening to the whole exchange, you still only have a vague idea of what happened. Casting Glover as the sane spouse really underutilized the actor's manic talent. He spends the whole episode reacting calmly to Alicia Witt – otherwise known as Donna's piano-playing sister on “Twin Peaks” – as she rambles in a wide-eyed, unhinged way. “Blackout” is “Hotel Room's” longest episode, at forty some minutes. With the circular dialogue and still camera movement, you feel every minute of it. 

I've been curious about “Hotel Room” for years. The show has never been released on DVD but bootlegs, sourced from a Japanese LaserDisc with scratchy audio, are common enough. (And, of course, it's on Youtube.) It's the only Lynch related project nobody seems to talk about much. Having seen it now, I understand why. It's a forgettable trilogy of stories, a word that can be applied to nothing else Lynch has had a hand in. “Hotel Room” is so lame, I wonder if Dave did it as a favor to Gifford or something. Normally, I would bemoan a big network like HBO canceling a Lynch-created project after a single evening but, in this case, I think they might've made the right decision. [5/10]

Director Report Card: David Lynch (1990) Part Two

6. Wild at Heart

David Lynch was definitely having A Moment in 1990. While working on the pilot of “Twin Peaks,” he was offered a chance to produce an adaptation of “Wild at Heart: The Story of Sailor and Lula,” a then-unpublished novel by Barney Gifford. Lynch quickly decided he didn't want to merely produce the film but write and direct it as well. The film would premiere at the Cannes Film Festival, where it received discordant reactions. Yet, with “Twin Peaks” having become a full-blown phenomenon by that point, it was decided that Lynch was the defining filmmaker of the time who had reached full maturity as an artist. “Wild at Heart” would win Canne's top prize, the Palme d'Or, a move which was met badly by some people. “Wild at Heart” remains among Lynch's most divisive features.

Lula and Sailor, two youths that aren't much more than teenagers, are in love. Lula's mother, Marietta, does not approve and sends a man to kill Sailor. When Sailor violently beats the attacker's head in, he goes to jail. After getting out, Sailor and Lula break parole and tear on down the road. Further enraged, Marietta sends her two lovers – a private detective and a mafia hitman – after them, to retrieve her daughter and kill the boy she loves. Lula and Sailor will soon confront the darkness of the world as they try to find a way for themselves and keep their love burning bright.

The very first image in “Wild at Heart” is a flame igniting. Blazing fires reoccur throughout the entire film. This is fitting, as “Wild at Heart” is burning with emotion. In a key moment, Lula becomes so excited by the idea of dancing, that she stomps her feet rhythmically on their bed. The two protagonist frequently dance in a wild, violent fashion. During a heavy metal concert, we see people slam-dancing in the most intense manner. Characters scream, in agony and pleasure. Moans, of sexual ecstasy, terror, and everything in-between, are frequently heard. Sailor vacillates between passionate love for his girlfriend and an intense rage that turns him into a monster when fighting someone. This is the world of “Wild at Heart,” where every emotion – but love most of all – is always at the most fever pitch. Characters fuck, fight, and feel at maximum intensity.

It's only fitting that “Wild at Heart's” characters should act in such an extreme manner. Lynch has referred to the film as a tale of lovers in Hell. And the film's world is hellish. During a key moment, Lula is driven into an anguished frenzy by a series of news stories referencing rape, homicide, and necrophilia. This is, by far, Lynch's most vulgar and violent film. Characters frequently swear and scream. The first scene has a man's head being smashed into bloody pulp. The finale features another man's head being shotgunned off and bouncing into a wall. Bloody bodies are found on the side of the road and violent gangs roam the streets. Random characters are surrounded by half-nude women. There's talk of pornography and sexual assault, torture, and despair. It's a graphic film.

Especially graphic is its depiction of sex. Sailor and Lula's passion for each other is such that they can't keep their hands off each other. The screen often goes warm and orange during these moments, as if their lovemaking is causing heat to radiate off the screen. The character's vocally voice their enjoyment of each other's bodies. Sailor describes his first sexual conquest in graphic detail. “Wild at Heart” is definitely interested in the sweaty, visceral effects of sex, during and after. One of the film's nastiest moments shows an abortion Lula had as a teenage, after her uncle raped her. (Which we also see the disturbing aftermath of.)

Yet, for all its nudity and semi-graphic fuckery, “Wild at Heart” is akin to Lynch's earlier films. Despite their actions, with each other and against other people, Lula and Sailor are still innocents of sorts. They are basically big kids, way over their heads in a world with mean intentions for them. “Wild at Heart” is ultimately a story about their love for one another being tested. They have the violent machinations of Lula's deranged mother, pursuit by a hitman, and violent crime in their path. It's true that the course of true love never ran smooth, especially here. They stumble towards maturity as they attempt to survive this wild world and keep loving each other. In that sense, “Wild at Heart” is a classic story of young lovers on the run together, learning a lot about life along the way.

“Wild at Heart” continues some of Lynch's other themes too. If “Blue Velvet” and “Twin Peaks” showed him subverting images of Americana by exposing its dark underbelly, “Wild at Heart” has him chewing up classic American concepts and vomiting them back up as nightmares. Sailor, much like Nic Cage himself, is obsessed with Elvis Presley. Lula is obsessed with “Wizard of Oz,” a story that is referenced throughout the film. Marietta becomes the most nightmarish version of the Wicked Witch of West. Lynch, rather knowingly, cast Sheryl Lee – Laura Palmer herself – as Glenda the Good Witch. The film is a classic road trip story, an idea aided further by its classic cars and retro fashions. By sticking such well-known American iconography in such a hellish situation, Lynch is twisting the ideas they represent in a new light.

As interesting as “Wild at Heart” is, it's also a deeply flawed film. The road trip pacing races ahead, fast and furious, until the characters arrive at Big Tuna. There, the pacing screeches to a halt. Moreover, there are times when “Wild at Heart” just feels like our protagonists encountering a succession of increasingly bizarre characters. At a roadside dinner, they run into a helium-voiced man for no particular reason. The entire subplot around Harry Dean Stanton's Farragut doesn't amount to much. Hotel managers with snooty accents and cast on their feet show up. There's a long memory devoted to Lula's exceedingly eccentric Cousin Dell, played by Crispin Glover at his most bizarre, and his very strange habits. Once in Big Tuna, we meet Jack Nance as a crazy man ranting about an invisible dog, a pair of eloquently spoken hicks, and a collection of naked obese women. It never pays off too much and often feels like Lynch just throwing in weird, goofy stuff because it amuses him.

In fact, “Wild at Heart” has some pretty serious tonal issues. It's a frequently grotesque film. Sometimes, we are clearly meant to laugh at this grotesqueness. Such as when a dog wanders off with a severed hand in its mouth. This jives badly with the other scenes, where Lynch is clearly creating absurd, grotesque villains to disgust us. Marietta Fortune, as played by Diana Ladd, is nothing short of terrifying. She smears her face with lipstick, screams and weeps. Merietta is a woman at the end of her rope and projecting that ugliness at everyone around her. Similarly vile is Willem DaFoe's Bobby Peru, a sadistic criminal with rotting teeth and snake-like eyes. The moment where he assaults Lula has to be among the most discomforting moments in Lynch's entire career. (No easy feat.) Both actors are incredible playing such revolting villains, though it's still hard to tell what our exact reactions are suppose to be to these excesses.

Still, for all its flaws, “Wild at Heart” has its share of indelible moments, unforgettable scenes that only David Lynch could've conceived. The most effective is when Sailor and Lula come across a car wreck in the middle of the night. They discover a young woman – played by “Twin Peak's” Sherilyn Fenn – who is clearly dying of a grievous head wound. It's a heartbreaking moment, the girl only able to focus on trivial details as she bleeds out. If that scene is deeply sad, “Wild at Heart's” other highlight is frighteningly intense. Johnnie Farragut is captured by Juana Durango, played by a truly unhinged Grace Zabrieskie. Lynch's camera watches intently, with jerky editing, as Farragut is psychologically tortured before being killed. It is a very uncomfortable, unnerving moment. (Supposedly, the scene was originally longer but proved so disturbing, even Lynch decided he had to cut it down.)

At the center of “Wild at Heart's” madness and chaos are two utterly committed performance. Nicolas Cage goes “full Cage,” as fans are fond of calling it. He shouts and points, karate kicks and does handstands, and roars like a wild animal. Yet, as wild and over-the-top as Cage is, he also plays Sailor as a lovable doofus, desperately trying to do the right thing but uncertain of the route. Laura Dern, meanwhile, plays Lula as an especially lusty innocent. She loves her boyfriend, loves to have sex with her boyfriend, loves music. The world has abused and mistreated her and it's caused her hope to fade at times... Yet she keeps holding on somehow. Dern, of course, is perfectly capable of bringing this character to life.

Whatever you think of “Wild at Heart” as a whole, you have to agree that Lynch's instincts as a visual and aural stylist rarely fail him. The frequent shots of burning fires becoming a powerful symbol, the more the movie returns to it. The visual references to "Wizard of Oz" – Mariella appearing as a ghostly witch on a broomstick, images cast in a crystal ball – are certainly memorable. The visual construction of “Wild at Heart” is fantastic, shadows and lights, long shots and close-ups, having their full effect. The encounter between Lula and Bobby Peru is filmed like a stage play, two characters talking in a flat, wide room. The film's soundtrack slides between soft rock and blaring speed metal, rumbling ambient noise and quiet serenity. This is why Lynch is among America's greatest stylist.

“Wild at Heart” received some raves but many baffled, annoyed pans as well. This made it an extremely controversial choice to win the Palme, the announcement being greeted with boos. I don't think the film deserved to win either. It's probably among my least favorite Lynch films. That still means it has some moments of absolute inspired insanity, some strong performance, and a deranged, often disturbing atmosphere that's really not like much else. With “Twin Peaks” being such a big deal at the time, with David Lynch's name actually having commercial appeal at the time, “Wild at Heart” even managed to make a little money at the box office. I can only imagine what mainstream audiences coming off of “Peaks” thought of this... [Grade: B]

Halloween 2019: October 29th

Willard (2003)

For a brief, shining moment, Glen Morgan and James Wong were primed to become the hottest genre filmmakers in Hollywood. The two wrote some critically acclaimed episodes of “The X-Files” before breaking out with the critically and financially successful “Final Destination.” After that, remakes started to emerge as the trend-of-the-day in horror. And the movie Morgan and Wong wanted to remake was “Willard.” For whatever reason, I was really excited for this movie in 2003. I had never seen the original, wasn't super familiar with the cast or crew, and have no special affinity for killer rat movies. Yet, for whatever reason, I was an early champion of 2003's “Willard” and continue to sing the film's praises after seeing it. It's somehow been sixteen years and I still think this movie is underrated.

While reading “Ratman's Notebooks” last week, I was surprised to find the 2003 version of “Willard” was the more faithful adaptation. Morgan's movie excises the protagonist's nickname-lending career as a thief and downplays the office romance. It takes several elements from the original movie, such as Willard's more sympathetic personality, the role of a clock in the family house, Mr. Martin's speech to the office, or a pet cat. Over all, the book's events are modernized and streamlined but a number of minor incidents left out of the previous adaptations are maintained here, such as an encounter with a yapping little dog. This is still the story of Willard Stiles, outcast and mama's boy, befriending rats and seeking vengeance on his mean boss, before Ben turns on him.

What really impressed me about “Willard” in 2003, as an anxious, intensely nerdy teenager, was Crispin Glover's portrayal of the titular character. The film is a display for Glover's quirky acting style. The camera emphasizes the rather rat-like angles of Glover's nose and chin, the actor fully embraces Willard Stiles' awkwardness. He stammers his dialogue, twitches, broods, all with that particular Gloverian elegance. When confronting his boss, he quivers with either fear or overwhelming anger. Crispin delivers at least two brilliant monologues. Glossy with sweat, he rants at an insurance salesman about how his life is nearly over. Later, after Mr. Martin fires him, he slams into a door while having an epic meltdown. It may seem over-the-top but I saw so much of myself in his anxiety-ridden performance, of someone who barely knows how to interact with other people, who can't quite hold it together in public.

More than anything else, “Willard” takes us inside the title character's deeply lonely world. Willard lives in a world without love. His mother, played by a wonderful disgusting Jackie Burroughs, heaps scorn upon him. She makes fun of his name and even spits on him at one point. His boss, played by an amusingly shouting R. Lee Ermy, is a bully that hates Willard because he seems weak. The film has the balls to have its main character consider suicide, in a touchingly direct scene. This is why he immediately bonds with Socrates, petting him and loving him within the first night they meet. The little rat is the first creature to ever show him any kindness. When Socrates is killed, Willard's heart shatters. His revenge is cathartic, his declaration of “liking himself” being bracing. 1971's “Willard,” and even Gilbert's original book, seem to keep the audience distant from Willard's isolated existence. The remake makes us relate, and maybe even love, this sad and pathetic outsider.

2003's “Willard” also leans into the absurdity of the premise more than any other version. The movie might function better as a weirdo comedy than a horror movie. There is an edge of dark humor to Willard's endless humiliation. As in the scenes where he quietly considers his options for exterminating the rats. The way his co-workers also suffer under Martin are mildly amusing. The fate of poor Scully the cat is a sick and twisted joke if I've ever seen one. As a horror movie, meanwhile, “Willard” doesn't have too many tricks up its sleeve. We are so much on Willard's side, that we're never afraid of him. Mr. Martin is such a bastard, that you can't squirm too much when the rats crawl all over him. The scenes of the fuzzy rodents sneaking out of toilets or filling a kitchen might make you uneasy if you have a rat phobia. Otherwise, the film isn't scary nor it is trying to be.

This strange streak of humor is most evident in the power struggle between Willard and Ben. The film smartly combines Ben with a bigger rat that played a small role in the book. Now, Ben is a very intimidating Gambian pouched rat. And he's a shockingly good actor, the rodent glaring with angry intent more than once. Ben constantly challenges Willard's authority, pretty much from the moment they meet. He climbs into a bag, refuses to stay in the cellar, enters the bedroom, chews up a walking stick, and violates Willard's inner sanctuary multiple times. Eventually, as Willard turns on the innocent rats, the film cheekily aligns him with post-9/11 terrorist with nods towards box cutters and Tora Bora. It's a breed of overheated melodrama, as the film never lets you forget this is a man fighting for control with a rat here.

“Willard” was a box office failure. It's almost as if audience weren't interested in a remake of a movie nobody remembers with the star power of the dad from “Back to the Future.” It didn't help that the studio insisted the film be re-cut for a PG-13. The lack of squirm-inducing rat attack gore didn't affect the movie too much. An obviously tacked-on pseudo-happy ending, the finished film's weakest element, certainly did though. In the years since, “Willard” has developed a cult following of sorts and even recently earned a special edition Blu-Ray. I think the film is severely underrated. It's production design is awesome. An Elfman-esque score from Shirley Walker couldn't be more on-point. The performances are fantastic. It's funny, weird, and gruesome in equal measure and an obvious improvement over the original. [8/10]

Macabre (1958)

After almost twenty years spent working as a hired gun in Hollywood, directing television and B-westerns, William Castle reinvented himself as the King of Gimmick Horror. He cemented his legacy by tying low budget but well-made horror flicks like “House on Haunted Hill,” “The Tingler,” and “Mr. Sardonicus” with outrageous in-theater gimmicks with wacky names like “Emergo!,” “Percept-o!,” or “The Punishment Poll!” And that legacy started with “Macabre.” Castle promoted the film, which he partially financed by mortgaging his house, by having each ticket buyer sign a life insurance policy, in case they died of fright during the movie. Actresses playing nurses were camped outside each screening and hearses were often parked in front of theaters. The scheme worked, “Macabre” grossing over five million dollars and launching Castle's career as an independent horror meister.

Dr. Rod Barrett is at the center of quite a lot of small town gossip. His first wife, Alice, died during the birth of their child, Marge. (He quickly became engaged to another woman, named Sylvia, adding to suspicion.) Not long afterwards, his former sister-in-law, the blind and promiscuous Nancy, passed away under mysterious circumstances. On the night of Nancy's funeral, Dr. Barrett receives a threatening fun call. His daughter Marge has been kidnapped and buried alive. He has exactly five hours to rescue her. Along with his nursing assistant Polly and his former father-in-law, the funeral director, Rod seeks to save his daughter before it is too late.

“Macabre” begins in the world of mundane, with multiple scenes set in streets and small rooms of this suburban town. The direction is rather flat, ordinarily looking, in these early moments. Yet, as soon as “Macabre” heads towards its darker story points, the visual design changes. The cemetery is overgrown, the graves pushed together. A thick layer of fog floats over this desolate location. It's a very spooky setting and one that constitutes most of “Macabre's” horror elements. Inside this foggy, classical tableau, Castle occasionally injects startling imagery. These are the times when “Macabre” probably came the closest to the unlikely possibility of scaring its viewers to death. A bleeding corpse appears propped up in a shadowy tomb. A decomposed skull peers out of a small coffin. Most chillingly, a child's teddy bear appears on the steps of her mom, caked with dirt. These moments certainly made an impact on this horror nerd.

Despite its ghoulish advertising campaign, “Macabre” is really only marginally a horror movie. If anything, it feels more like a noir at times. The movie's plot can get a bit convoluted at times. Early on, a mess of red herrings are introduced. There's a nervous mortician with gambling debts and a local cop who is clearly a bit of a bully.A mess of romantic entanglements are slowly revealed. From Dr. Barret's dead wife, to his sister-in-law's affair with that same cop or her caufere, to the doctor's current fiance, nanny, and assistant. Each are cast in a suspicious light from time to time. The shady and gloomy visuals befit noir just as much as they do horror. And it's not like “Macabre's” twisting story of mixed alliances, and eventually moral uncertainly, wouldn't fit in either.

Sadly, “Macabre” ultimately chokes on its own plotting. During a tense scene of Barret and Polly snooping around the spooky cemetery, including ducking into an open grave, the film suddenly lapses into a lengthy flashback, detailing Nancy's back story. It uses the harp sound effect and the gauziness around the frame and everything. There are several of these flashbacks throughout, further detailing Nancy's romantic life or the fate of the doctor's first wife. Eventually, it starts to destroy the pacing. It's hard for the story to feel like it's moving forward – especially when there's pointedly a time limit, emphasized by the repeated looks at a ticking clock – when it's constantly going backwards. By the time we get to the twist ending, things have gotten so knotted that it's hard to follow exactly how we've gotten to this point.

Then again, I suspect we are not meant to take “Macabre” so seriously. The end credits feature goofy animation while Les Baxter's score put an unusually jovial twist on the stereotypical funeral march. “Macabre's” entire existence was based in gimmickry. The novel that inspired it, “The Marble Forest,” was written by “Theo Durrant.” That would be a pseudonym for twelve different authors, each one writing a separate chapter. I don't know how close the film is tot he book but that might explain why the story gets so needlessly complex. “Macabre” is better as a test run for Castle's later, better films, showing that he could pack houses with his crazy gimmicks and generate some spooky atmosphere. I wonder how that remake would've turned out? [6/10]

Creepshow: All Hallow's Eve / The Man in the Suitcase

It seems to me the world is very ready for the return of the horror anthology show. Fake “anthology shows,” that actually devote an entire series to a story, have already proven popular. Various attempts have been made to reboot “Tales” from both the Crypt and the Darkside only for legal entanglements to sink them. “The Twilight Zone” has returned. Hell, even “Amazing Stories” is coming back. Out of this confusion, a hero rises. Greg Nicotero and Shudder had the bright idea to finally fulfill George Romero and Stephen King's dream of launching a “Creepshow” TV series. The Creep is maintained as a silent, ghoulishly grinning host, mostly seen in comic-style wraparound segments. Shudder's “Creepshow” has been a success, driving record-breaking numbers to the streaming service and already receiving a second season order. 

Naturally, the series featured a Halloween episode in its first season. “All Hallow's Eve” follows a group of trick-or-treaters calling themselves the Golden Dragon Club. The group – which includes a sarcastic black kid, a budding romantic couple, and a strangely silent child in a sheet ghost outfit – make vague references to some sort of ritual. They are greeted, at every house they stop by, with expressions of horror and fear. Eventually, it becomes apparent that the Golden Dragons are not of-this-Earth anymore. And that they are seeking revenge on certain people within the town.

The most disappointing thing about “All Hallow's Eve” is that a twist is obviously coming and it's not too hard to see what. Clearly, the townsfolk fear these trick-or-teaters for some reason and it's  difficult to guess why. However, the contrast behind the light-hearted interactions of the kids and the uneasiness they cause everywhere they do is a nice touch. The group of youngsters are all fairly lovable. The sardonic and always hungry Binky is especially amusing. The flashback that reveals the gang's origins is well done, shot in black-and-white save for one element. Considering “Creepshow” is a homage to E.C. Comics, it's only fitting that this story ends up being one of bad people being punished for their misdeeds. The episode's ending is nicely bittersweet too.

The second story of the episode, “The Man in the Suitcase,” comes from director David Bruckner. It's has an amusingly bizarre premise, of a heartbroken stoner discovering a twisted-up man in his airport luggage with a surprising ability. Once again, the monstrous, special effects-filled reveal is heavily foreshadowed early on.  It's still fun to watch the oddball premise unravel itself. Seeing the increasingly sadistic way the suitcase-bound man is increasingly tortured is fun. Much like the first tale, the segment ends by punishing the wicked for their crime in a suitably ironic fashion. Brucker leans harder into the comic book visual style found in the original “Creepshow” film, making the second half of this episode far superior to the first. Even if it lacks the cool Halloween atmosphere. [7/10]

The Visitant (1981)

Sick of the jump scare heavy horror shorts that get passed around the internet these days, I decided to skew slightly older with most of my shorts-selection this year. Such as with “The Visitant.” Made in 1981 by an 18 year old student with all of 500 dollars, the short concerns a man visiting the grave of his late father. He is haunted by the spirit of his late son, which he literally chases through the cemetery. Soon, a barrage of other spectres begin to haunt and pursue the man. Shortly afterwards, it becomes apparent that this is no ordinary visit after all.

Knowing the backstory behind “The Visitant” certainly makes it a more impressive achievement. For such a low budget, amateur production, it looks shockingly professional. The camera work is nicely expressive. There are multiple tracking shots, including a few attached to moving vehicles,  which really impress. The make-up effects look quite good, especially the axe-wielding ghoul with the missing eyeball. “The Visitant” keeps throwing spooky apparitions at the audience, never giving the tension a chance to subside. “The Visitant's” low budget shows in its over-reliance on voice-over narration, which basically explains the plot, and a twist ending that you see coming a mile away. Yet this is a pretty cool little short, all things considered. Director Paul Bunnell has made a handful of shorts and two features since 1981, a few of which are horror or horror-adjacent. I'll have to see if I can track those down. [7/10]