Halloween 2025: September 5th

 

Clown in a Cornfield (2025)

In 1981, Fortean writer Loren Coleman coined the term “phantom clown.” This describe alleged sightings of weirdo clowns scaring kids, that have reoccurred with enough frequency that a specific term was needed to describe the phenomenon. In 2014, a trio of filmmakers in Northampton, England would start to dress up as a clown and lurk around town. They attracted enough attention that copycat clowns started to pop up around the world. By 2016, this escalated into a full-blown public panic, fueled largely by social media making it easy to spread videos and accusations. It got to the point that law enforcement was getting involved and corporations stop selling clown masks. All of this suggest that the idea of a clown that spreads fear, instead of laughter, that performs devious acts, instead of jolly pranks, is a premise deeply ingrained in our culture that isn't going away any time soon. No matter how overexposed and overdone the trope might be. In 2020, author Adam Cesare was inspired by these events to write the novel, “Clown in a Cornfield.” Not long ago, “Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil” director Eli Craig would helm a film adaptation of Cesare's book which saw release back in May. So let's see if Craig and Cesare brought anything new to the well-worn premise.  

Seventeen year old Quinn and her recently widowed dad move to the town of Kettle Springs, Missouri. For a hundred years, the Bayben Corn Syrup factory – and its mascot, Frendo the Clown – have been the centerpiece of the community. But the factory recently burned down and the town is starting to struggle. The group of kids Quinn falls in with have started using an evil version of Frendo as an unhinged serial killer in the internet horror shorts they make. After one such prank, Quinn spots an unknown individual dressed as Frendo in the background. Soon, a very real murderous version of Frendo begins to knock off the teenagers. It climaxes at the anniversary after-party the kids have in the cornfield every year. That's when multiple Frendos appear, wielding weapons and ready to dismember any young people they set their eyes on. 

Since at least 2018, film producers both big and small have been making repeated attempts to modernize the eighties slasher movie premise for today's batch of teenagers. “Clown in a Cornfield” represents another such example. It keeps the basics: Young people, who maybe drink too much and sneak off for hanky panky, are in an isolated area, being gorily murdered by a masked lunatic. Otherwise, most of the cliches are dispensed with. There is a focus on modern technology. Quinn is always looking at her cell phone, much to her father's dismay. The friends she makes are entrenched enough in online culture that making Youtube videos is their primary past time. Like most of these zoomer slashers – zlashers??? – there's also a passing attempt to acknowledge the progressive sexual identities a lot of young people have embraced these days. I don't think the film does an especially good job of capturing the modern zeitgeist – there's a reference to “cat videos,” already a decade old shout-out when Cesare wrote his book – but “Clown in a Cornfield” at least represents a good natured attempt by horror nerds in their thirties and forties to reach out and relate to the young'ins. 

At the same time, “Clown in a Cornfield” isn't truly for the teenagers of 2025. From earlier on, the film adopts a blatantly obvious theme: The older generation always resents and fears the younger ones. The teachers are assholes to the kids, giving Quinn detention for no reason. The sheriff is always giving the youths a hard time. The father of Cole, Quinn's apparent love interest, is the town leader. He clearly has little affection for his boy. This proceeds a narrative turn that is so heavily foreshadowed that it's difficult to call it a twist. “Clown in a Cornfield” is trying to make a statement about how generational gaps are universal. Previous Frendo the Clown massacres took place in the twenties, sixties, and nineties, the feared subculture of the day always been the target. However, the film never truly addresses why all these grown-ups think the kids are no good. Mayor Hill makes empty platitudes about how Kettle Falls is a beacon of old fashioned, American values. The function of nostalgia for an idealized time and displacing of blame onto an easily scapegoated demographic is not considered. The adults of Kettle Falls simply hate the youths because it serves the plot.

I'm not entirely convinced that Craig and Carter Blanchard's screenplay is as on the teenagers' side as it claims. There are easy jokes about young people not being able to operate a stick-shift drive or a turn-dial phone. The references to online culture are shallow and never truly inform any of the characters' personality. The queer element is thrown in almost as a punchline, an observation that appearances can be deceiving. It's not that the teens are all that annoying or badly portrayed. Katie Douglas makes Quinn into a likable, even-headed heroine that we can root for. (Though her traumatic backstory is as perfunctory as can be.) Ultimately, no attempt is made to elevate the rest of the kids above archetypes. They are still the dumb blonde, the jock, the teenage playboy, the black guy, if they get that much development. Half-assed measures are made to give the casts some individual quirks or depth but it never amounts to much. 

Which points to another element of “Clown in a Cornfield” that lets me down: Why a clown? Pop culture is awash with evil clowns these days. You can always tell which writers and filmmakers are actually engaging with the concept and which are simply trying to cash in on our wide-spread cultural coulophobia. The Joker tells jokes. Pennywise danced and performed pranks. The Killer Klowns incorporated a circus theme into every aspect of their operation. Stitches committed murder in the form of elaborate pranks and Art seems perpetually, impishly amused by the mayhem he causes. Frendo doesn't do any of that shit. He leaves a jack-in-the-box as a calling card and wears honking oversized shoes but that's about it, as far as antics go. You could replace the clown get-up in this movie with any other costume and the story would remain unchanged. For that matter, why is a clown a mascot of a corn syrup manufacturer anyway? Make it make sense!

Perhaps Cesare's source novel – which has resulted in two sequels – fleshes out the characters more, digs into the themes of generational conflict, and actually has the clown do clown shit. As for Craig's film adaptation, it only has so much going for it. Katie Douglas seems to be attempting to make a name for herself in the horror genre and she probably has the chops to achieve that. Brian Pearson's overcast cinematography is decent. Though it needed more of that isolated, Midwest, corn country atmosphere to truly sell me. There are refreshingly few jump scares and some okay gore, though nothing truly memorable. Ultimately, “Clown in a Cornfield” has little of the slapstick energy and cuddly warmth of Craig's “Tucker & Dale vs. Evil,” representing a far more half-cocked attempt to fuse “It” and “Children of the Corn,” without the depth of the former or nearly enough of the trashy fun of the latter. [6/10]

 

 

The Uncanny (1977)
 

I've spent my entire life as a dog person, preferring the goofball charms and devoted loyalty of our canine friends. The woman who insists she wants to marry me, meanwhile, has a deep affection for cats. I don't dislike kitties but, admittedly, have found the ones I've previously cohabited with to be assholes. Being engaged to a cat person quickly makes you into a cat person too. As much as felines are fluffy, snuggly little cutie-pies that run the internet and get scared of cucumbers, they also have a distinctly different cultural legacy. The ancient Egyptians and Romans venerated cats as symbols of the gods. As pagan religions were demonized by the rise of Christianity, cats became associated with other, unholy deities. In medieval times, the old and unmarried women who lived on the edge of town and brewed concoctions kept cats to kill the mice that ate wheat and yeast. Thus, cats became the familiars of witches and warlocks, emissaries of the devil said to suckle from hidden third nipples or carry their masters to profane sabbats. Most of the devil-fearing hysteria has been forgotten but we still associate black cats with bad luck and cackling crones. Various cultures around the world have stories of demonic cat beasts, the Celts, the Japanese, the Quechua tribes of South America. Unlike the dogs who stick by their humans, cats are independent creatures who wander off on their own. Who knows what mysterious worlds precious pink toe-beans pitter-patter into? What sights do glowing, ever-watchful, slit eyes observe that we do not? All of which is to say that there is tradition of horror stories about our fuzzy feline friends, including a handful of movies. One such example is the 1977 omnibus feature, "The Uncanny."

Wilbur Gray, an author specializing in the paranormal, arrives at the home of his publisher to present his new manuscript. The book puts forth the theory that the common house cat is actually an otherworldly creature capable of great evil. He supports his case with three incidents: In 1912, London, wealthy governess Miss Malkin intended to leave her considerable fortune to her pet cats. Her maid, Janet, plots to steal Malkin's will and rewrite it so that her nephew – Janet's boyfriend – is the sole recipient. The scheme results in the elderly woman's death, which her cats seek to avenge. In 1975, Quebec, a strange girl named Lucy moved in with her aunt. She brings her black cat, Wellington, with her. Her cousin, Angela, resents the girl's presence. The bullying goes on until Wellington helps Lucy punish her abusers. In 1936, Hollywood, horror star Valentine De'ath engineers an on-set accident to kill his wife. He replaces her with a younger co-star, his mistress. Upon returning home, he discovers his late wife's cat has delivered kittens, which he also disposes of. The mama feline stalks the man to enact her own unfortunate “accidents.”

If there's any one boundary preventing felines from being a more potent horror trope, it is that cats are, it should go without saying, cute. Bird decimating predators though they may be, our kitty friends have big eyes and chubby bodies and fuzzy faces and they buzz when we hold them. All of "The Uncanny's" segments struggle with this dynamic and none more so than the first. The story features the grisly habit of postmortem predation, which is easily its nastiest shock. However, attempts to create chills from shots of floofy kitties jumping on someone's face do not have the same impact. Any cat owner can relate to their pets trying to trip them as they go down the stairs but that doesn't make for an especially creepy horror movie fate. The first segment is also undone by a largely uninteresting protagonist that is never developed much. Janet spends most of the episode hiding in the pantry from the houseful of killer cats, which does not make her seem like an especially wily or compelling antihero. Though I did sort of like the parallels of her being forced to live off rotting preserves and peanut butter, the same way the cats are forced to eat their former owner's corpse to survive. Regardless, this opening episode can't make cliches like the eccentric old millionaire leaving their fortune to their pets or a much-sought will driving the plot all that interesting.

The second segment at least gives us a main character we can root for, in theory anyway. Lucy is, after all, an orphaned child thrust into a situation where she's resented by someone meant to be her friend, merely because she's taking attention from the other girl and has something she does not. Unfortunately, the young actress playing Lucy – Katrina Holden Bronson, the daughter of Charles Bronson and Jill Ireland – seems to have been dubbed. I think Chloe Franks, as Angela, might have been dubbed too. Which would be weird, since Franks wasn't subjected to that in her other seventies horror movies, such as "Straw Dogs" or "Tales from the Crypt." The result is extremely distracting and constantly took me out of the story. Angela's torment of Lucy includes pelting her with remote control airplanes and bickering with her, which is more annoying than traumatizing. You'll notice the plot makes the spooky cat a secondary feature. The feline comes back into focus at the end, during a rather silly climax that features some less than convincing special effects.

I was ready to dismiss "The Uncanny" as a miscalculated production until the third story finally won me over. That's largely thanks to Donald Pleasence as the murderous movie star. Pleasence goes for full camp in the role, carrying the haughty actor type with an overly elevated sense of importance about himself. He seems to regard murder as more of an annoying inconvenience than a serious criminal act. Exactly the kind of cartoonish jerk we want to see get his comeuppance, in other words. Pleasence brings lots of bitchy charm, playing the guy as so ridiculously vile – he literally flushes kittens down the toilet! – that you can't help but be entertained by him. That silly air finally makes the slightly improbable premise of "The Uncanny" easier to accept. The farcical tone, the somewhat exaggerated gore and the blatantly goofy supporting characters, leads to a properly amusing climax that makes a literary cliche into a literal cliche. I bet that joke was the first thing writer Michel Parry thought of.

Peter Cushing appears in the framing device, also giving an entertainingly hammy performance as the author made nervous by all the cats lurking around. Horror regulars like Cushing, Pleasence, and Ray Milland going the tongue-in-cheek route suggests that each of "The Uncanny's" episodes needed a recognizable actor camping it up. (That was often the strategy of the Amicus anthologies this film is something of an unofficial follow-up to.) The concluding moment is an ironic joke – cats really do control the world, because they tell us what to do, something any cat owner can attest to – and that makes me think all of "The Uncanny" is meant to be taken as comedy. It does not truly work but the final story and the wraparound are worth seeing for Pleasence and Cushing. In the short canon of movies that attempt to make cats scary, "The Uncanny" is classier than "Uninvited" or "Strays" but can't overcome the fact that your common puss-puss invokes warm and fuzzy feelings and not chilling ones. [6/10]

 

 

The Twilight Zone: It's a Good Life
 

Continuing last September's strategy of watching and writing about the episodes of “The Twilight Zone” that are actually well known, here's maybe the second most widely parodied and referenced installment. “It's a Good Life” is set in the small town of Peaksville, Ohio wherein lives six year old Anthony Fremont. For reasons no one can decipher, Anthony is omnipotent and omnipresent, able to hear everyone's thoughts and alter any facet of reality whenever and however he pleases. The first thing he did was either teleport Peaksville to an alternate universe or cast the rest of the world into non-existence. Perhaps thinking it “into the cornfield,” the default and vague punishment Anthony reserves for those things that displease him. Either way, mister and missus Fermont, Aunt Alice, and everyone else have no other option than to constantly think happy thoughts and praise Anthony for every horrible thing he does. The isolation has made life more difficult, supplies dwindling, but still they go on, reassuring Anthony that all his actions are “good.” His parents attempt to throw a birthday party for their neighbor, Dan Hollis. Dan, well fed up with living under Anthony's reign of terror, gets drunk and starts verbally attacking the boy. This does not go well for him. 

In Jerome Bixby's original short story, Anthony is three years younger than he is here. It's specified in the text that the boy does not always act maliciously. In the past, he has attempted to make the world a better place too. However, he is a child, inexperienced and naive, and even his better-natured acts had unintended, horrific consequences. Rod Serling's adaptation removes any of his sympathetic qualities. However, the intent remains the same. Anthony Fremont is a monster, directly referred to as such in the episode. He casually turns animals into hideous creatures, ending life and warping reality without a second thought. Every adult lives in terror of him, constantly putting on a big, flashy, fake smile. That veneer of bliss is always on the verge of cracking, the absolute hysteria underneath always visible. However, through it all, Anthony remains a little boy. He acts selfishly because he's too young to know better, to know that other people have feelings different from his own or that whatever pleases him isn't necessarily what's best for everyone. Within “It's a Good Life,” the casual sociopathy of children who are still processing the world around them is exaggerated to a state of prolonged horror. It's not too difficult to see a moral in here about not raising your kids to be selfish brats, to inspire a sense of empathy for others inside them, least you get stuck with a little Anthony Fremont of your own.

Rod Serling, however, usually intended a political – or at least socially aware – subtext to his writing. Considering “It's a Good Life” aired in 1961, well into the Cold War and only a year before the Cuban Missile Crisis, it's easy to assume that the townsfolk living in constant fear of an all-powerful figure is meant as a criticism of living under a dictatorship. That all the adults in town must live with the limited supplies of what's left over, while Anthony can get whatever he wants, certainly recalls the life of starving commoners in a country ruled by a selfish tyrant. Or perhaps forced smiles and repeated vocalizations of it all being good is a commentary on the crushing conformity of the Red Scare era. Whether it was Joseph Stalin or Joseph McCarthy that Rod was thinking of, comparing either totalitarianism force to the undisciplined whims of a child makes Rod's feelings about such men clear.

However, watching “It's a Good Life” tonight, another thought occurred to me. Anthony is essentially a god, knowing all and seeing all. The adults around him praise his actions, putting up with them no matter how awful they might be. They insist that the TV broadcast Anthony wills into being – footage of stop-motion dinosaurs fighting to the death – is better than any of the original options for entertainment. They do this because they fear displeasing him and the subsequent wrath. Thus, we have a population forced into a code of living that they do not agree with but follow because they'll be smited otherwise. Is Anthony Fremont the Old Testament God, demanding constant praise despite raining nothing but death and destruction on the world? What kind of “loving” God operates on a “love and praise me unconditionally and uncritically or else” philosophy? Through this lens, “It's a Good Life” becomes an indictment of the idea that people do good only because the moral codes of society instruct them to. In his drunken rage, Dan Hollis begs someone to smash Anthony's head in with a fire poker. Nobody does it. Perhaps because of the fear that, if Anthony dies, everything else will go with him. What kind of freedom is that, forced to appease a petty and vengeful God only because you would cease to be without him? I think I'd take the cornfield over that.

However you interpret it, “It's a Good Life” remains an effectively chilling half-hour of television. That Serling and his team dropped such a bomb of nightmare logic, most of the mechanics behind this scenario left unexplained, the ending distressingly open-ended, shows how cutting edge “The Twilight Zone” was at the time. Most of the truly horrible stuff Anthony does is kept off-screen. He creates a three-headed gopher and then wills it to die, the audience only seeing the facial reactions of the adults watching. Most infamously, grouchy Dan Hollis is transformed into a jack-in-the-box for his tirade. The implication sure seems to be that Anthony stuck Dan's decapitated head on a spring. Such vagueness makes these ideas a lot creepier than seeing the mutations could. The cast is what truly sells this one. John Larch and Cloris Leachman, as the parents, do an excellent job of plastering on smiles over the obvious state of panic and anxiety they live in. Billy Mumy – who later referenced this episode in a song by his weirdo comedy band Barnes & Barnes – balances being a typically smiling and freckle-faced kid with being a wide-eyed, unsettling force. The visuals, simple, shadowy, and stately, convey the feeling of the ordinary disrupted by the inexplicable. It's good, in other words. Real good. I'm real glad I watched this. [9/10]

 

The Addams Family: Morticia Meets Royalty

I don't know why Morticia gets high-lighted in this episode's title when the entire Addams Family meets royalty here. Maybe that sounded catchier? Nevertheless: Gomez's Aunt Millie comes to visit 0001 Cemetery Lane. Her late husband was a prince so, despite him blowing through his entire fortune (save some seemingly useless oil stocks), Millie still insists on being treated like a princess. She demands the entire family fall into line, Morticia assuming the role of lady-in-waiting, Gomez as caviler, Fester as the court jester, and Lurch as the loyal service. Millie also brings along Lady Fingers, her literal handmaiden. Thing is immediately smitten with her. When Millie is eventual offended by the Addams' inability to conform to her vision, she takes Lady Ringers with her. That leaves poor Thing devastated. Gomez and Morticia must think of some scheme to get Millie back to the house and get these hands reunited.

This is clearly an episode where the title came first and the rest of the script flowed from there. Someone – credited writer Leo Rifkin, I guess – figured the Addamses interacting with a snooty would-be princess would lead to some solid gags. And it does. Fester's attempts at playing court jester, telling some corny jokes, got a chuckle out of me. Lurch sewing an accordion into his pants becomes an amusing running gag. Princess Millie is too eccentric for even this famously eccentric brood and quickly gets fed up. That tracks, of course. The Addams Family has no use for monarchs, preferring to keep things individualistic and chaotic. The minute she's gone, Fester and Lurch celebrate in a one-sided fashion that also produced a sensible chortle. When the family must inevitably back-track on throwing Millie out, that leads to the one gag that spotlights Wednesday and Pugsley. Though it's a decent one. 

However, the Addams reacting to a stuffy old royal is a series of gags, not an actual narrative. It's only half-way through the episode that the plot of Thing's attachment to Lady Fingers takes precedence. This definitely struck me as a last minute attempt to flesh out an outline with not much else on its mind. Lady Fingers is shown to emerge from a detached, movable box that is also seemingly bottomless. Last season, I speculate that Thing was some sort of subterranean entity that traveled through a tunnel network in the mansion. This episode now leads me to believe that the boxes that contain Thing's species of disembodied hand-beasts are self-contained little pocket dimensions of their own or at least portals to someplace else. Which raises some very interesting questions about Thing's origins. Don't you love to try an apply logic to silly old sitcom? By the way, that's Carolyn Jones' hand subbing in as Lady Fingers, which looks absolutely dainty and child-like next to Ted Cassidy's giant mitts. Anyway, a handful of decent sight gags aside, this is a fairly middling episode. Elvia Allman as Millie surely ranks among the more irritating guest stars. However, the scene where Morticia inflames Gomez' passion by calling him “bubbe” suggests that Yiddish gets his motor running almost as much as French does. [6/10]

Halloween 2024: September 6th

Stopmotion (2023)

If you've searched around the weird side of Youtube long enough, you've probably run into the short films of Robert Morgan. Morgan has been uploading his bizarre stop-motion animation to the web since at least 2009. Shorts like “The Cat with Hands,” “The Separation,” and “Belial's Dream” are characterized by disturbingly fleshy puppets engaging in unsettling behavior. I find some of his films quite entertaining and some borderline incoherent. Still, there's no denying that Morgan is a unique voice in the genre. Morgan's work has played in theaters before – he contributed a segment to “The ABCs of Death 2,” for one example – but he made his feature length debut this year. As the title indicates, “Stopmotion” utilizes his trademark style of animation into a bigger story. 

Suzanne Blake is a stop-motion animator of some esteem. However, in her old age, she has develop arthritis that prevents her from moving and sculpting the models. She enlists her daughter, Ella, to complete her latest film. When Blake has a stroke, Ella is compelled to finish her mom's work. Moving into an isolated apartment, she gets to work... But is soon visited by a little girl, who encourages her to begin work on a different film. This one tells the story of a young girl pursued by a monster called the Ash Man. The new project takes over Ella's life, the woman going to increasingly disturbing lengths to finish telling this story. Before long, the lines between fact and fiction, reality and hallucination, begin to blur. 

Like I said, Robert Morgan's shorts have an extremely distinctive look, influenced far more by Jan Svankmajer and the Brothers Quay than Will Vinton or Aardman. Even when compared to the stop-motion grotesquery of “Mad God,” Morgan's work is especially creepy to look at. His models have a flesh-like quality to them, always shiny with grease or covered with peach fuzz. They inhabit earthy, desolate environments. Obviously, this same quality is brought to Morgan's feature. The puppets in “Stopmotion” are globs of tumorous meat, with crude little faces, ratty hair, and exposed sinew. This is acknowledged in-universe, as Ella builds her creations from rotten meat and dead animals. Combined with the already eerie twitchiness of stop-motion animation makes these character even more uncomfortable to look at. Building a whole horror movie around such visuals isn't a bad idea at all. The figures in “Stopmotion” are so gross looking that Google automatically blocks images of them as “explicit content,” apparently mistaking the puppets for gory photographs.

Upon this extremely unsettling foundation, Morgan and co-writer Robin King have built a narrative about a descent into madness. As Ella grows more obsessed with completing her film, the more cut-off from other people she becomes. The minute the little girl starts to intrude into Ella's apartment, the audience has an idea of where this is going. While at a night club, she takes some acid and has a creepy vision involving a ventriloquist dummy. “Stopmotion” continues on like that. There's no doubt that the visuals “Stopmotion” employs to show this decomposition are unnerving. Notable moments have Ella's legs turning into clay, her digging through her own thigh, and the Ash Man appearing at her door. Ultimately, “Stopmotion” lacks the sympathetic element similar, but superior, movies like “May” or “Excision” bring to their unhinged female protagonists. Ella is so remote and focused on creating her films, the movie rarely stepping outside her apartment, that we don't get a sense of any other social isolation or awkwardness she might feel. It makes her fall towards madness, murder, and self-destruction a lot less meaningful.

None of this is the fault of the cast. Aisling Franciosi plays Ella. As she displayed in “The Nightingale,” Franciosi brings a great intense to all of her roles. Her eyes stare ahead with a fixed scrutiny, her body language as controlled as the puppets she animates. She becomes enraged at a colleague for plagiarizing her work, you really believe it. Also impressive is Caoilinn Springall as the little girl, who mixes an approprite amount of child-like adorableness with something a lot more foreboding. I do wish the film had given us more of a look at Ella interacting positively with her boyfriend – who seems like a tool – and the other people in her life. She starts the film out in a bad place and it only gets much, much worst from there. 

I certainly can't deny that “Stopmotion” is ambitious. Outside of its mixture of live action and animation – surely a challenge of its own – the movie tackles a number of themes. From the beginning, Ella's mother refers to her as “puppet.” This term of endearment barely hides the truth of a controlling mother who sees her own child as nothing but an extension of herself. It's clear that part of Ella's madness is spurned on by the grief of loosing a parent she has a lot of mixed feelings about. The film is also about the artist's relationship with their output. At what point are we controlling our creations and when do they start to control us? Artist routinely sacrifice everything for the sake of their work, suggesting an uneven push-and-pull exists between the maker and the made. When you live and breathe your work, it will consumed you eventually, which “Stopmotion” makes rather literal by the end.

In its best moments, “Stopmotion” is a deeply eerie depiction of art overtaking the artist and psychological baggage with two strongly realized performances at its center. Like Morgan's best short films, it features unnerving visuals that seem to have emerged fully formed from the director's subconscious. Also like a lot of Morgan's work, “Stopmotion” gets a bit lost in its own sauce at times, foregrounding its nightmarish metaphors over telling a more straight-forward – or more personally realized – narrative. Still, we're unlikely to see anything else this year exactly like it and, for that alone, “Stopmotion” deserves a recommendation. I mean, if “Mad God” kicked off a wave of weirdo stop-motion animated horror movies, and this is the second example of that, I can't help but applaud its existence. [7/10]

The Ghoul (1975)

Hammer Studio's greatest stars both always seemed somewhat reluctant to accept their status as horror icons. Christopher Lee eventually grew to resent the studio that made him famous. Though he was always professional about the many genre films he continued to appear in, you often got the impression that he'd rather be playing different roles. Peter Cushing seemed a little more willing to accept his typecasting. In his autobiography, he wrote that “Who wants to see me as Hamlet? Very few. But millions want to see me as Frankenstein, so that's the one I do.” And so Cushing continued to headline monster movies. Such as 1975's “The Ghoul,” a somewhat late attempt to replicate the Hammer formula by Tyburn Film Productions. The comparison seemed deliberate on the studio's behalf, as they got Freddie Francis to direct and Veronica Carlson to co-star. 

Daphne and Geoffrey throw a wild party for their friends in the British countryside. This soon escalates to a car race, in their 1920s automobiles, across the moors. As the fog thickens, the couple get lost and run out of gas. Daphne looks for help and soon ends up at the mansion of a mysterious man called Lawrence. A heartbroken widower, Lawrence is clearly keeping some sort of secret. His Indian housekeeper Ayah gives ominous warnings and prays at a creepy statue. The sleazy groundskeeper, Tom, seems untrustworthy. After staying in the house for the night, Daphne is murdered by an unseen occupant of the home. As Geoffrey and their other friends eventually make it to the house, it becomes clear that Lawrence is keeping a murderous, cannibalistic monster locked up in his attic.

Many a macabre story has benefitted from the setting of the English moors. The foggy, desolate land always emphasizes feelings of dread and isolation. “The Ghoul” adds to this location a sprawling country manner full of secrets. It then fills that house with a ramshackle ensembles of characters, wandering in and out of both its rooms and the plot. Yes, “The Ghoul” is one of those movies were people come and go until things happen to them. Such unlikely events include taking a nap in a car abandoned on the moors, bumping their head on a steering wheel, and stepping into some quicksand. Veronica Carlson's Daphne – ostensibly the film's heroine, up to that point – being killed halfway through was obviously intended as a “Psycho” style twist that would catch audience's off-guard. In practice, however, it simply feels like another example of the movie's haphazard screenwriting. 

The only thing holding this rough assembly of incidents together are two decent performances. Peter Cushing plays Lawrence not as a sinister villain hiding a dark secret but as a heartbroken family man desperate to hold onto the past. Cushing gets misty-eyed when delivering monologues about his deceased wife and his missing son. Within the film, it's all foreshadowing. However, Cushing made this movie shortly after his wife died, a heartbreak that he would never recover from. No wonder Lawrence's tear-strewn desperation seems so raw and realistic. The actor was experiencing the same emotions. Opposite Cushing is John Hurt, only thirty-four at the time but as raspy sounding as ever. The film never quite justifies what Tom is doing at this home, especially since he's clearly a creep. He steals food from the kitchen, harasses every woman he meets, and seems to delight in frightening anyone who comes near him. Hurt goes way over-the-top to play such an aggressively unlikable character, growling and hooting all throughout the film. He's honestly much more of an antagonist than the titular green-faced monster, which only appears in a few scenes.

If Tom's presence in the story speaks to anything, it's a vague subtext towards class division. Lawrence and everyone else that enters the mansion are clearly rich. Tom, who lives in a shack filled with animals on the grounds, obviously is not. That makes the resentment and envy he feels towards the upper class easy to understand. This subtext never connects to the monster or any other element of the film. In fact, the killer is linked to Ayah's Indian heritage in some way that's not fully defined. Ayah doesn't speak clear English and the film treats her beliefs as something strange and exotic. The way she prays to a statue of Kali and lights incense is contrasted with Lawrence's devout Christianity. "The Ghoul" could have commented on cultural clash, xenophobia, and class conflict in 1920s England. Instead, these ideas simply linger around the film, never solidifying into any sort of coherent point.

The ghoul in the attic isn't fully revealed until the final scene. Once you get a look at it, you realize this was probably because of its underwhelming appearance and not to build suspense. The cannibalism element is referenced a few times but you never see the monster munching on any flesh. I'm also not sure that this man-eating habit qualifies this creature as a ghoul exactly, since they traditionally only eat dead flesh. They're also, mythologically, Arabian and not Indian. I doubt the filmmakers cared too much about that. To learn that Freddie Francis directed this one as a favor to his son – who produced it – is not horribly surprising. There's some decent stabbing scenes and Cushing and Hurt do their best to elevate the material. Yet "The Ghoul" remains a supremely underwritten and unfocused attempt at Victorian horror. [5/10]

Creepshow: Something Borrowed, Something Blue/Doodles

“Something Borrowed, Something Blue” is about engaged but broke couple Ryan and Alison. They receive a letter from her estranged father, Frank, an ailing millionaire eager to make amends. They arrive at his mansion for brunch and Alison quickly leaves in a huff. That's when Frank reveals to Ryan that he has an eldritch abomination in his basement, that must be fed every fifteen years or chaos will be unleashed on the world. If Ryan continues to feed the beast, he and Alison will inherit Frank's fortune. And the deadline is their wedding day. ”Doodles” concerns Angela, a struggling cartoonist trying to get hired at famous magazine Timeless. She has her cartoon stolen by another woman in the waiting room. That night, she doodles a gory end on a picture of the woman... Only for that ghastly fate to actually befall her. Angela soon finds her drawings have the power to end people's lives, using this ability to knock off her rivals.

“Something Borrowed, Something Blue” has the classic morality tale style set-up we expect from “Creepshow” and its predecessors. Ryan, a seemingly seasonable man, is given a choice: Commit one amoral act and be on easy street for the rest of his life or stick by his ethics and remain poor.  It's the kind of moral conundrum that anyone can relate to. This also means Ryan going behind his wife's back, or so it seems. The main attraction “Something Borrowed, Something Blue” has to longtime horror fans is that Tom Atkins, genre icon and featured player in the original “Creepshow,” plays Frank. There's definitely some fun seeing Atkins, stately in his old age, play such a nasty guy. Most notably when he gives Ryan an ultimatum. 

While I like the cosmic horror element of this story – an unearthly horror in a pit that must be fed every generation - “Something Borrowed, Something Blue” drops the ball at the end. It takes a circular path to the obvious conclusion to this dilemma, introducing an extra twist that strikes me as unnecessary. This sets up another swerve in the final minutes, which pushes the episode into a more cartoonish direction. I also found Curtis Lum and Kristy Dawn Dinsmore, as Ryan and Alison, to be fairly broad in their performances. Once again, I find Shudder's “Creepshow” trying its hand at a “Tales from the Crypt” style story without understanding the simplicity that made that show work.

“Doodles,” meanwhile, might be too simple. It rushes through Angela's arc too quickly. She doesn't mean to cause the first two deaths, unaware of the effects her doodles have on the real world. Within the span of a single scene, she comes around to accepting this power, justifying her actions, and being willing to kill again to protect herself. Anja Savcic is likable but the script lets her down. The best thing about this episode is a decent twist ending, making sure evil is done unto evil as always. There's also a gnarly exploding head and some nice, comic book style colors. Which sometimes feels like an afterthought in this show. [Something Borrowed, Something Blue: 6/10 / Doodles: 6/10]

Chucky: Death Becomes Her

“Death Becomes Her” was the kick-off to the second half of “Chucky's” third season, though it's fairly low-key for a “mid-season premiere.” Chucky's declining health has him facing down the existential crisis of his own mortality. Lexy patches things up with Grant. Jake and Devon travel to the voodoo clinic Chucky previously visited, learning that the murderous doll is indeed dying. President Collins begins to see the ghost of his late son, Joshua, around the White House while Charlotte begins to crack under the mounting pressures of the cover-up. Meanwhile, in Texas, Tiffany/Jennifer Tilly continues to plot her escape from prison before a desperate phone call from Chucky ends up giving the doll his most fiendish idea yet.

“Death Becomes Her' is one of those episodes without much of a driving point of its own. It splits up the cast and has a bunch of different characters pursuing different goals. It's very much a middle-of-the-season episode in that regard. Of all these competing subplots, the President seeing the ghost of his dead son and the First Lady being anxious about conspiracies is easily the most disposable. I guess the haunting scenes are mildly creepy – including some decent camera movements and a screaming flag – though I don't know where the show is going with that. At the very least, Jake and Devon's road trip builds up to a nice moment the show has been teasing all season. The two finally consummate their relationship, in a neon hotel room to the tune of “Relax” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. The conversation afterwards is genuinely quite sweet, continuing to show the surprisingly sincere handling of the young queer romance at the center of this show.

Of course, we are here for the murderous doll above all else. “Death Becomes Her” puts Chucky in a position we've never seen him in before: Hopelessly confronting the end of his own life. He's been reduced to a wrinkled, shriveled up visage. He murders a maid with some bleach but admits that it doesn't bring him any particular thrill. As always, Brad Dourif's multilayered vocal performance brings far more depth and soul to these moments than you'd expect. The phone conversation with Tiffany provides more surprise pathos. It's also frequently absurd, of course. The comedy is undeniable and the episode plays that up, with a scene where Chucky rudely dismisses a trio of other killer doll movies. 

It is interesting that, after seven movies and two seasons of a TV show, the “Chucky” franchise has never gotten into the mechanics of its magical rules much. I can't say I've ever had that many questions about the arcane magic that makes Chucky's shenanigans possible. Season three has really devoted itself to figuring these things out. The scene where Jake and Devon meet with the doctor, who continues to be a dryly comedic presence, quickly gets into a conversation about the nature of the soul and spirit. Though I'm betting actual practitioner of Voodou do not find this show to be an especially sensitive portrayal of Damballah. Anyway, “Death Becomes Her' is a middle chapter episode that still has enough funny, interesting scenes to keep me watching. [7/10]

Halloween 2023: September 23rd

Evil Dead Rise (2023)

When a new "Evil Dead" movie was announced, I found myself asking an important question: Is it possible to create a good "Evil Dead" without Sam Raimi or Bruce Campbell? I know it's developed a mostly positive reputation in the years since but I've never been much of a fan of Fede Alvarez' 2013 installment. When Lee Cronin – of the thoroughly underwhelming "The Hole in the Ground" – was attached to the new movie, and Bruce and Sam promised they'd be hands-off with it, I kept my expectations measured for "Evil Dead Rise." Even among the enthusiastic fan response and theatrical upgrade from its intended-for-HBOMax origins, I went in not sure what to expected. Well, "Evil Dead Rise" blew me back away in April and, revisiting it in the sleepy month of September, I'm still impressed with this one. My god, they pulled it off. 

After learning she's pregnant, Beth returns to Los Angeles to spend some time with her sister, Ellie. It's a tense situation. The apartment building Ellie lives in with her three kids – oldest Bridget, middle son Danny, and youngest Kassie – is about to be torn down. Her husband has recently left her and Beth wasn't there to support Elle. When an earthquake rips through L.A., Danny discovers a forgotten vault under the building's parking garbage. Inside is a cursed book bound in human flesh and recordings of readings from its pages. When he plays the vinyl, Danny unwittingly summons an evil spirit that takes possession of his mother's body. Soon, Beth is trying to her nieces and nephews from the ravenous evil now controlling Ellie. 

My biggest issue with 2014's "Evil Dead" is that I found the characters largely unappealing. "Rise," meanwhile, does everything it can to make its cast as likable as possible. The early scenes devoted to establishing Beth and her family have a lot of heart. Each kid has their own hobbies and quirks. Bridget is into social justice, Danny wants to be a DJ, Kassie carries around a doll head on a broomstick to scare off ghosts. They wrestle and goof around the way siblings do, clearly showing through their actions how close they are. Even Ellie and Beth's careers – tattoo artist and guitar tech – have obviously had some thought put into them. (And not just because almost all these elements end up being plot relevant.) There's a specificity to these guys that you don't always get in franchise horror movies. I quickly found myself caring about them. That makes the horrible things that inevitably happen to them all the more effecting. 

Another reason why "Evil Dead Rise" proves to be such a well-orchestrated horror film is the care Lee Cronin and his team took with the movie's look and feel. I was doubtful an apartment building could capture the same feeling of isolation that the original's cabin in the woods does. Yet they pull it off, largely by emphasizing how dilapidated the building is. The elevator is janky, all the doors are shaky, the ventilation is ancient. It helps create the impression of a place that is in disrepair. When the demonic activity begins, both the elevator and the stairs are taken out, further trapping these characters on a narrow floor. 

Moreover, the cinematography, sound design, lighting, and color correction are top-notch. The camera movements invoke the Raimi style of swooping POVs and playful visuals without directly copying them. An extended shot from the peep hole of a door is especially clever. I realized "Evil Dead Rise" was the real deal when Danny climbing into the dusty bank vault, a giant crucifix falling into view for a jump scare, actually creeped me out. "Rise" isn't just a gore-fest. The movie is invested in creating a shadowy atmosphere of dread, with a sound design that is equal parts whispering and thunderous. 

None of this is to say that "Evil Dead Rise" isn't gory. This is an insanely violent movie determined to make the audience flinch. The gross-out gags of milky vomit and spurting pus are maintained from the original. Objects like a cheese grater, a tattoo gun, and scissors collide with the human body in horrifying ways. Each stab, bite, and cracking of twisted bones hits with maximum impact. The meatiness of the human form, the vulnerability of our eyes and hands, are greatly emphasized. By the end, "Rise" follows "Evil Dead" tradition by soaking the main characters head-to-toe in blood with plenty of the red stuff running down the screen too. The ghoulish make-up effects are unnerving and the movie even sneaks in a proper monstrosity by the end. 

"Evil Dead Rise" is definitively invested in engineering a Raimi-style spookablast. A creepy atmosphere and intense gore are paired alongside other forms of chills, like a ghostly apparition or a clever moment involving a ventilation shaft. Yet it's ultimately the theme of family that makes this one so involving. Beth and Ellie have resentments and issues between each other. Yet they still love one another. Bridget and Danny are deeply protective of Kassie. The Evil Dead's goal is explicitly defined as destroying innocence. Fittingly, everyone soon rallies around protecting little Kassie. Motherhood is an important theme here, Beth's pregnancy scare providing the biggest leap in her character arc. Yet the thought that family protects and loves each other, and the ultimate corruption of that, provides the most meaningful idea. 

The only real flaw I can observe in "Evil Dead Rise" is an unnecessary framing device. That exists seemingly so a cabin in the woods can put in an obligatory appearance here. Otherwise, the writing is strong and rewards the audience for noticing everything little detail that is set up in the first act. Trademark lines reappear, alongside a few deliberate homages to past movies, but they never feel self-serving. Each callback is fitting. In short, "Evil Dead Rise" is a fantastically assembled horror movie, worthy of its name. I went in skeptical but ended up loving it. It's a good foundation for sequels too and I look forward to where the "Evil Dead" franchise might go next. [9/10]

Night of the Big Heat (1967)

Terence Fisher, Christopher Lee, and Peter Cushing were quite the team. The trio would make six movies together from 1957 to 1967. (Fisher would make seven more films with just Cushing and five more with just Lee, further cementing the partnership.) Most of these collaborations were Hammer's iconic reinventions of the Universal monsters, many of which went on to become classics. Yet the last film the stars would make with this director wasn't done for Hammer. Instead, Fisher, Lee, and Cushing would re-team the final time under the auspice of little known company Planet Film Productions. It would be an adaptation of John Lymington's sci-fi novel “Night of the Big Heat.” 

It's winter in the England. Despite that, the near-by island of Fara is experiencing a record-breaking heat wave. The residents of pub the Swan – novelist Jeff Callum, his wife Frankie, mysterious scientist Professor Hanson – do what they can not to swelter. That's more difficult when Annie – Jeff's on-again, off-again mistress – arrives ostensibly to be his secretary. Things get worse when people and animals begin to literally cook in the heat. Hanson believes he's uncovered the cause of the mysterious heat wave: Aliens! As the temperature and body count rise, the island dwellers do what they can to fight off the unseen invaders before everyone bursts into flames. 

Just as it was in 1989, when Spike Lee made “Do the Right Thing,” it was equally true in 1967: The heat brings out the beast in people. The most interesting moments in “Night of the Big Heat”  play with this idea. Annie, a young woman fond of wearing low-cut tops, shows up to make the island figuratively hot. Yet her unstable fixation on Jeff is exacerbated by the rise in temperature, as is Jeff's reactions to her advances. Soon enough, the scorching neat begins to drive people literally insane. A man attacks Annie, attempting to assault her, while everyone gets increasingly ill-tempered. This builds on a frequently discussed but always fruitful theme: That polite society is fragile and it doesn't take much for the inner savagery of mankind to come out.

Unfortunately, as far as horror movie threats go, overwhelming hotness is a tricky one to illustrate on-screen. Fisher and his crew did their best to convey the effects of the heat wave. The actors are always moist with sweat, their clothes totally covered with unflattering stains. Caps pop off soda bottles, glasses of beer shatter, and TVs and radios burst into flames. Whenever the aliens approach, a high-pitch whine is heard. Unfortunately, when the aliens finally appear on-screen, the effects let the movie down. The creature designs, which recall a stiffer version of “Star Trek's” Horta, do not seem especially intimidating. This was a movie monster definitely better left out of sight. 

Ultimately though, there are bigger problems facing “Night of the Big Heat” than unimpressive monsters. Most of the characters in the film are horribly unlikable. The movie never attempts to justify Jeff's infidelity to his wife. Annie is portrayed as a conniving seductress, while also repeatedly abused and decried as a “slut.” The sexism is off-putting and it makes the film's hero seem like a massive asshole. Christopher Lee exerts the same level of bold-voiced authority that he always did, as Hanson, but the character is kind of one-note. Peter Cushing is a sweetheart as the town doctor but he exits the film early on. Ultimately, this kind of British sci-fi/horror, set in a small town and largely within a pub, really needed a cozy cast you enjoyed spending time with. That's something “Night of the Big Heat” is sorely lacking.  

Then there's the matter of that ending. I won't spoil it but “Night of the Big Heat” seems headed for an utterly hopeless conclusion before the laziest of deus ex machinas appear to save the day, literally a minute before the movie's end. When the film was released in the U.S., on a double bill with “Godzilla's Revenge,” it was given the far more lurid title of “Island of the Burning Damned.” That's arguably a catchier title, especially since “Night of the Big Heat” sounds a little bit like a film noir. I think there's a cool idea for a horror movie here but unlikable characters and sloppy writing let the movie down. [5/10]

Cabinet of Curiosities: The Outside

Of the filmmakers invited to participate in del Toro's “Cabinet of Curiosities,” Ana Lily Amirpour is probably the most divisive. “The Outside,” adapted from a web comic by Emily Carroll, follows Stacey. A socially awkward woman, she works at a bank where all the other glamorous ladies gossip non-stop about their sex lives and beauty tips. A nerdy taxidermist married to an unobservant security guard, Stacey has an embarrassing moment at a Christmas work party. Gifted a bottle of Alo Glo, an expensive skin lotion, she applies it the next morning and immediately breaks out in a rash. Thus begins a strange transformation, Stacey's body and mind changing as she endeavors to find a way to fit in with the other girls. 

“The Outside” is closer stylistically to Amirpour's second feature, “The Bad Batch,” than her more critically acclaimed debut. It's a highly exaggerated indictment of shallowness. The costumes are bright and gaudy. The cinematography, from Jeremy Benning, often situations Kate Miccuci as Stacey at the back of shots, while positioning the other women at the front of the frame. It's as if their golden skin, pushed-up tits, sucked and tucked faces are in 3-D. They trade extremely vulgar dialogue, discussing local gossip and their sex lives in explicit detail. On her television, Stacey is always watching vapid programs like shrieking old cartoons and endless infomercials. It's clear that, in order for this awkward nerd to be accepted by these terrible people, she's going to cast off all her quirky behavior to remake herself into a plastic conformist. It's not subtle, to say the least. 

Kate Miccuci, perfectly cast as dorky Stacey, is given dialogue to make Amirpour's point clear. Martin Starr, as her sweet but unperceptive husband, assures her that he loves her no matter what, that she's perfect just the way she is. Yet Stacey repeats that it's different for men, that they aren't scrutinized and judged for their appearance the way women are. Obviously, “The Outside” is meant to put us inside the world of a woman who feels constantly left out because she's not a classical beauty. Yet “The Outside's” world view is so exaggerated, so cartoonish, that it's hard to take this too seriously. We never feel Stacey's loneliness, all pushed aside by the elevated elements of this story. Even though Miccucci is ideally cast, Stacey never feels like a real person. Nobody does, in this viciously shallow world. 

Other elements of “The Outside” didn't work for me either. The episode is indecisively placed between body-horror and a descent into madness. Stacey having conversations with the Alo Glo salesman on the TV, played by a preening Dan Stevens, puts too fine a point on the story's themes and what's to come. Her (possibly?) hallucinating a perfect female body made of skin lotion is certainly a memorable sight. The body horror is a lot more effective, as Miccuci is covered in a peeling, itchy red rash that just gets worst and worst. The needle drops are cool, if also too obvious. I'm sure I'll be dismissed as a typically insensitive man, incapable of understanding a woman's perspective, for giving this a mediocre score. Sorry. [6/10]

Chucky: Death on Denial

Don Mancini absolutely swings for the fences with “Death on Denial,” as bold an episode of “Chucky” as I could've imagined. Set entirely in Jennifer Tilly's Beverly Hills home, it concerns Glen and Glenda – Chucky and Tiffany's doll child, now living in two nonbinary bodies – coming home for a birthday party. There are several guests: Gina Gershon and Joey Pantoliano from “Bound,” Tilly's sister Meg, and Real Housewife Sutton Stryfe. Jennifer/Tiffany has hired a buffoonish bodyguard/butler to guard Nica's room. After he insults everyone, he ends up dead. The power is cut and the door to Nica's room is left open, the quadruple amputee nowhere to be seen. Jennifer pretends that she's throwing a Murder Mystery Party, as she attempts to uncover what happened. Behind-the-scenes drama intervenes and Glen and Glenda have motives of their own.

“Death on Denial” sees Mancini – who directed this one – completely embracing the camp sensibilities of this franchise. It's structured like a murder-mystery play, with Christie-style chapter breaks appearing on pink title cards. The episode is introduced by Chucky, directly addressing the audience as if he's hosting a talk-show. The meta premise of Tiffany also being the real life Jennifer Tilly allows for some bonkers show-biz satire. The Tilly sisters resent each other and Jennifer is fucking both her “Bound” co-stars, at least within this show. The episode features Nica's Chucky personality taking hold, wielding a gun with prosthetic arms that look like they belong on a medieval suit of armor. By the end, Jennifer Tilly shrieks like the grand dame she is, while someone makes a daring escape via wheelchair.

In other words, it's absolutely delightful. Mancini, clearly inspired by hag-horror classics like “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” and “Sunset Boulevard,” indulges in all sorts of cinematic visual touches. There's split screens, to establish all the potential “suspects.” Split diopter shots place both a lip-stick stained wine glass and a TV in the foreground. There's dramatic silhouettes and inverted camera angels. The cast is absolutely hamming it up too. Gershon puts on a number of ridiculous accents, while Pantoliano goes to gloriously sleazy heights. Lachlan Watson debuts as Glen and Glenda and immediately makes a strong impression. Everyone is on exactly the right joyously campy wavelength. 

The episode concludes with Chucky shattering the fourth wall some more, doing what you'd expect him to do while mocking cable censorship standards, and promising to get back to the regular plot in the next episode. Honestly, though, I think I'd prefer it if this show was like this every week instead. “Death on Denial” sees “Chucky” doing something different and operating on an entirely stronger level than I'm used to. [9/10]

Halloween 2022: September 24th

Nope (2022)

This past summer, the “Let people enjoy things” guy had a tweet go viral when he decided Jordan Peele must be the greatest horror director of all time, after only three feature films. Peele himself dragged the guy while humbly acknowledging his own influences. Hyperbole aside, the sketch comedy star turned Oscar-winning filmmaker is on an extraordinary run right now. Following the critically adored "Get Out" and cleverer, scarier "Us," Peele brought the people "Nope." From its vague title to its mysterious marketing, the project was Peele's most beguiling picture yet. Finally sitting down to watch it, I tried to go in knowing as little as possible and was soundly impressed. While declaring him the "greatest horror director of all time" is hopelessly premature, "Nope" proves again that Peele's past successes are not flukes. He really knows what he's doing. 

OJ Haywood and his sister Emerald Haywood inherit a historic horse ranch in California following the mysterious death of their father, whose familial roots in Hollywood go back to the very beginning of film. The ranch has fallen on hard times and OJ has turned to selling horses to Ricky "Jupe" Park, a former child star and owner of a near-by western amusement park. While OJ and Em debate what to do, he notices something strange in the skies above. It soon becomes apparent that a flying saucer – or something that looks like one – is camping out in an unmoving cloud overhead and has been abducting their horses. OJ recruits an electronic surveillance specialist and a grizzled Hollywood cinematographer to try and document the phenomenon, in hopes that this will bring them the funds needed to save the ranch. Soon, they'll uncover the horrifying truth of what exists above them. 

Peele's last two films were set in small towns and cities, showcasing idyllic suburban settings hiding disturbing conspiracies. "Nope," meanwhile, is all about the isolation of the American southwest. The wide, flat landscapes of Southern California stretch on in all directions, the Haywood ranch seeming small and alone. The seclusion of this area is an ideal location to create unsettling moments of horror. Peele and his team lean even more into the dream-like visuals of "Get Out" and "Us." "Nope" begins in the realm of the quietly creepy, with a scene of ape-like "aliens" creeping around a horse stable. As it goes on, it escalates to primal nightmare imagery like blood pouring from the sky and the fear of being devoured alive. Hoyte van Hoytema's cinematography is both wide in scope, invoking countless westerns, while also shockingly intimate at times, putting the viewer right in the seat of the terror the film's victims feel.

Among "Nope's" most unsettling moments is a flashback to Jupe's childhood, when his chimpanzee costar on sitcom "Gordy's Home" brutally attacked the actors. (A scene likely inspired by the infamous Travis the Chimp incident.) Though clearly still haunted by this memory, Jupe is happy to capitalize on the incident's notoriety. He sells admissions to a secret "Gordy's Home" museum to die hard fans. Similarly, upon realizing there's unidentified aerial phenomenon happening over the ranch – which is responsible for the death of their father – OJ and Em immediately see it as a means to make money. They aren't doing this to be exploitative, merely because they have to survive. Unexpectedly, disposable popcorn movie "The Scorpion King" forms part of the backstory here, as OJ and Em's horse trainer dad worked on the film... In fall of 2001. "Nope" seems to center on a generation who have grown up in the shadow of constant tragedy, who are now forced to exploit their childhood trauma just to survive.

The theme of commodifying tragedy is far from the only idea floating around inside this ambitious motion picture's head. Running throughout the screenplay is the often erased contribution black talent has made to the history of film, humanity's hunger for spectacle and fame in an era when everything is watched, and the tendency to assume we can control unpredictable wild animals. As heady and layered as "Nope" is, it's also the story of two siblings learning to rely on each other again. The quiet OJ was always given more opportunities by their traditionalist father. Emerald, eager to be in the film industry her whole life, has always resented him for it. Throughout this strange adventure, they put their heads together to invent a crazy plan to capture something extraordinary on camera. They also come to understand that, no matter what, they have one another's back. Daniel Kaluuya's brooding performance and Keke Palmer's irrepressible energy further bring these characters, and their down-to-earth arcs, to life. 

That "Nope" is partially a statement on spectacle is fitting. It's Peele's biggest budget movie yet, with a plum summer movie release date and clearly influenced by the films of Steven Spielberg. The film is doubtlessly a technical achievement, with gorgeous cinematography and a tension raising score. (Which is often assisted by some bold needle drops that twist innocuous faire like "Sunglasses at Night" and "Purple People Eater' into surprisingly creepy audio landscapes.) The film's most impressive spectacle is its creative reinvention of the flying saucer premise. The film slowly reveals the exact nature of its otherworldly threat, which is designed to dispel whatever preconceived notions you might have about the flying saucer premise. "Nope" subtly hints at the nature of its beasts all throughout its run time, with images of round, reflective objects – which even the prominent O in the title seems to recall – and an emphasis on eating, food, and predation. This doesn't demystify the threat but rather makes it more intriguing. The exact origins of the threat are still kept ambiguous, with some people extrapolating a religious or cryptozoological explanation. The nature of the thing, its relationship with color and the jellyfish-like way it transformed, has to make it among the most creatively engineered sci-fi threats in recent memory. 

With strong supporting performances from beloved character actors Keith David and Michael Wincott,  "Nope" is a layered and fantastically executed motion picture experience. Full of ideas and concepts, it's arguable that "Nope" doesn't catch every ball it throws up in the air. Yet it remains an endlessly entertaining, scary, and inventive genre experience all throughout. Honestly, I think it might be my favorite of Peele's films so far. I don't think I'd call him the "greatest horror director of all time." I don't think that's a title one person can really hold onto it. But I do think Peele has continued to establish himself as one of the genre's brightest, biggest stars right now and with good reason. I look forward to whatever he cooks up next. [9/10]

The Devil's Men (1976)

I'm prone to think of the seventies Satanic panic movie as primarily an American thing. The United States' puritanical roots has caused Devil hysteria to periodically recurred throughout our history, while uniquely American manipulators like LaVey or Manson have been happy to set off the powder keg again. Sorry, that's my narrow, U.S.-centric worldview showing. The truth is "The Exorcist" was a global phenomenon. Knock-offs appeared in places as far-flung as Turkey, India, or Brazil. Other devil movies hailed from all over Europe. In 1976, Greece – not a nation especially known for its horror movies – would throw its horned hat into the cloven-hooved ring. That's the year director Kostas Karagiannis would unleash "The Devil's Men." U.S. distributors would trim the film by three minutes to get a PG rating and released it as "Land of the Minotaur," a title that actually represents the story a little better. 

A pair of archaeology students visits their friend, Irish Catholic priest Father Roche, at his monastery in the Greek countryside. Against his warnings, they go to investigate a near-by dig site. There, the duo runs afoul of a pagan cult who sacrifice them before a stone statue of their deity, the minotaur. Disturbed by the disappearance, Roche hires an American private investigator named Milo Kaye to investigate. The two men, alongside Milo's girlfriend Laurie, soon discover that the entire near-by town is under the sway of the minotaur. The cult's ringleader, a British expat named Baron Corofax, and Father Roche are soon in a fight over the souls of everyone near-by.

Seventies Satanism movies fascinated me because they so clearly reflect the cultural anxieties of their time. Films like "The Omen" have downbeat endings where evil essentially wins. In these stories, the devil is very real and very powerful. God, meanwhile, is nowhere to be seen and can do nothing to stop the Satanic forces. “The Devil's Men,” despite coming from the same era, is very different though. Father Roche fights off the devil-worshipers or breaks their spells just by saying a prayer or flashing a crucifix. The cultist can shrug off bullets or survive getting run over by a car but fear the smallest mention of God. In the climatic scene – spoiler alert for an obscure, 46 year old movie – some splashing of holy water and the Lord's prayer is enough to make the pagan evildoers literally explode! Even the kids in the cult are spared because, as Father Roche explains, they are just children and still have time to change their minds. Our God is truly a mighty and merciful one. “The Devil's Men” takes the ideas in “The Exorcist” even further by making the Catholic priest practically a super-powered action hero.

“Land of the Minotaur” isn't without its visual quirks. When the minotaur statue speaks to its followers, a gravelly, radio D.J. voice rumbles the lines. Director Karagiannis is fond of crash-zooms on people's eyes and faces. That technique is often used to punctuate drawn-out sequences, making them feel like violent intrusions. If this was the intended effect, it's an interesting one. Considering how stilted and oddly shot the rest of the movie is though, I'm betting it's just sloppily edited. Adding to this disorientating ambiance is a droning electronic score from Brian Eno. Yes, that Brian Eno. While the spacey, warbling music definitely adds to the movie's off-beat tone, it becomes monotonous quickly. I don't know what a music legend like Eno was doing, working on low-budget schlock like this. Considering how half-assed the score is, maybe he didn't know either. 

The reason I watched “The Devil's Men” is, I suspect, the reason most people seek it out. Donald Pleasence and Peter Cushing star and both are cast against type. Pleasence plays the heroic Catholic priest while Cushing is the wicked cult leader. Cushing gets several quality moments, when brandishing a shotgun and authoritatively ordering people around. He seems a little bored during the demonic sermons though. Pleasence, sporting a goofy Irish accent, is adapt at bemoaning the evil of the devil and the glory of God. This is, in many ways, a precursor to Dr. Loomis. The rest of the cast includes a hard-boiled but indistinct Costas Skouras, as the detective, and a pair of leggy blondes in extremely tight, revealing jean shorts.

The repetitive music only emphasizes that not much happens here. This is one of those horror movies were most of the runtime is made up of people walking from one location to the next. The story is thin, essentially a series of encounters before the hero and villain face off, and the presentation is flat. Cushing and Pleasence do their best to elevate lackluster material and there's occasionally a bizarre, surprising sight. Yet “The Devil's Men” is mostly a tedious experience. One more thing: The longer cut includes a title song, a grunting bit of devil funk. The composition is sung by a Paul Williams and IMDb seems to think it's that Paul Williams. The man who wrote “The Rainbow Connection” did not sing the line “You're tempting the skies with your devil thighs!” It's actually the Paul Williams from British prog-rock band Tempest. Am I going to have to make an IMDb Pro account just to fix this? [5/10]

Creepshow: Time Out / The Thing in Oakwood's Past

The fifth episode of “Creepshow's” third season finds the series in an unusually ambitious mode. In “Time Out,” law student Tim inherits a wardrobe that belonged to his grandmother. He soon discovers that time passes slower outside the wardrobe then inside it. Tim uses this magical object to put in extra hours at work, which leads him to a successful life. Years later, after marrying his college sweetheart and fathering a son, he learns the gift comes with a terrible price. “The Thing in Oakwood's Past” follows news anchor Mac as he interviews Marnie, a town historian. On the eve of a historical anniversary, in which a time capsule will be opened, Marnie digs into Oakwood's disturbing history. Her and Mac attempt to stop a cycle, of the town disappearing off the map, from repeating itself.

“Time Out” has to rank among “Creepshow's” most thoughtful installments. It's a story without monsters or gore, feeling more “Twilight Zone” than “Tales from the Crypt.” It instead poses a question I think we've all grappled with: What if we could add a few hours to the day, to get some extra stuff done? I know I make that wish all the time. While the time-stopping wardrobe allows Tim to achieve his goals, the downside of such an invention – you wouldn't stop aging inside – is unavoidable. Ultimately, “Time Out” is asking the viewer how they measure success: By having leisure time to spend with your loved ones or by making money and advancing professionally? The weight of a capitalistic society that demands constant success and profits ends up pushing Tim to be his own undoing. It's a weighty, intriguing premise that is well executed. The old age make-up Matthew Barnes wears in the lead role is a little overdone, though his performance is good. The ending is easy to predict, though unsettling nevertheless. This definitely ranks among the show's best installments, if not its best.

The most notable aspect of “The Thing in Oakwood's Past” is that it's a cartoon. The animation is more expressive and fluid than the motion comic style since in the previous animated “Creepshow” episodes. (Though it's still fairly stiff but most standards.) It's a compelling narrative, that is reminiscent of those Stephen King stories inspired by Lovecraft. I enjoyed the flirtations between Mac and Marnie, lively voiced by Ron Livingston and Danielle Harris. Throughout “The Thing in Oakwood's Past,” I was wondering why exactly it was animated though... This becomes apparent in its finale, filled with a whole mess of elaborate demons and multiple methods of gory dismemberment. While not groundbreaking, “The Thing in Oakwood's Past” is spirited in its telling and the animation adds some novelty. [Time Out: 9/10 / The Thing in Oakwood's Past: 7/10]

Chucky: Little Little Lies

“Chucky” is at the point where Jake, Devon, and Lexy are all aware of the killer doll stalking them. The melted Chucky doll is tossed out by Caroline/Lexy's mom. The trio track down the doll and seemingly destroy it for good. Caroline's dad get her an identical Good Guy Doll off the internet but it appears to be harmless. Of course, when no one was looking, Chucky used the soul-swapping abilities he gained in “Cult of Chucky” to simply leap into the new doll. I hope you saw that movie because this episode also catches us up with Tiffany, Chucky's equally murderous bride currently residing in Jennifer Tilly's body... And another part of Chucky's soul, inside the body of Nica Pierce, the protagonist of the last two movies. 

I knew the direct-to-video “Chucky” sequels were well received but I was still surprised when a TV show continuation went into production. This episode reveals why. Jake, Devon and Lexy leap onto their bikes to rush through their suburban town, on a quest to stop a supernatural evil. Yes, this show is another member of the kids-on-bikes revival that “Stranger Things” kicked off. At the very least, “Chucky” has found a novel angle to explore a style that's quickly getting overexposed. The growing chemistry between Jake and Devon are nicely handled. When they hold hands or kiss for the first time, it's adorable. I never would've expected this, of all shows, to feature a heartfelt queer romance.

Yet that's probably not the main attraction this episode has to long-time fans of this franchise. As I mentioned above, “Little Little Lies” goes all-in on the series lore. Tiffany and Nica appear suddenly and the exact nature of their situation isn't immediately elaborated on. It's not until Nica briefly regains control of her body that she dumps exposition on a random victim. Yet Fiona Dourif's vulnerability and Jennifer Tilly's quirky energy add so much to these oddball scenes.  (Least we forget, Tilly is sorta-kinda playing herself here.) I also enjoy the flashback scene, where Fiona very convincingly plays her own dad. Though Brad dubs his voice onto the younger Dourif's lips, which is a bit distracting.

Bringing in some familiar faces, and letting the kids bounce off each other, keeps this episode fun... And it's a good thing, because those subplots continue to drag the show down. Hey, Junior's mom has terminal cancer! Who gives a shit! Lexy's mom, the town mayor, is revealing herself to be an abusive bitch who unironically says “thoughts and prayers.” Hoo-ray for obvious political commentary! It really seems like she's going to be the Murder of the Week. Instead, the school principal gets decapitated, while The Yeah Yeah Yeahs play. Obvious needle drop aside, at least it's a hell of a moment. I also like the scene where the melted Chucky doll looks in, longingly, at Caroline and the fresh Good Guys doll. Major “Toy Story 3” vibes. Anyway, this show is good when it gets out of its own way. [7/10]