OSCARS 2025: Nosferatu (2024)

Robert Eggers certainly has an instantly recognizable style. His fascination with folklore, historical details, tendency to cook multiple themes into his work, and a droll sense of humor has made him among the most easily imitated of the modern wave of horror directors. Having such a distinct approach has also made him divisive, some finding his commitment to historical accuracy dorky or inauthentic somehow. From most accounts, the guy has always been like this. As a boy, he was such an obsessive fan of F.W. Murnau's “Nosferatu” that he adapted it as a school play. In other words, making a new “Nosferatu” movie has been a lifelong ambition of his. We've heard rumors of such a project for years, Anya Taylor-Joy or Harry Styles being attached at various points. After being in and out of development for a long time, Eggers' vision of “Nosferatu” finally solidified into an actual movie. The public's appetite for classic monsters and gothic horror seems to unpredictably come and go. However, the new “Nosferatu” would become a surprise box office success last December, spawning internet memes along the way, and re-introducing a new generation to this story. Now, despite being part of the genre rarely acknowledged by the Academy, it's nominated for four Oscars. 

Eggers' remake does not stray far from Murnau's film nor the Bram Stoker novel that proceeded it. The classic narrative is maintained: Thomas Hutter is a real estate agent in Wisburg, Germany, circa 1838, recently married to a troubled young woman named Ellen. He receives an assignment to travel to an obscure castle within the Carpathian mountains, in order to finalize a purchase of a derelict property in Wisburg. The buyer is Count Orlok and he is, obviously, a vampire. He imprisons Thomas and travels, via boat, to Germany, bringing the plague with him. A sickly Hutter, having survived and made the journey back home, teams up with the owner of a near-by insane asylum and a professor of the occult to save his wife from the thrall of this vampiric count. What Eggers adds is a new subplot about Ellen, haunted by otherworldly visions her whole life, having a prior history with the vampire... Which the undead count hopes to rekindle, whether she likes it or not. 

The Academy has nominated Eggers' “Nosferatu” for its cinematography, costumes, production design, and make-up. This speaks to the exactness the director and his team bring to the film in fulfilling a very specific image. “Nosferatu” is a gorgeous shadow show. The historical details in the costumes and sets are clearly meant to capture as accurate a version of Germany in the middle 1800s. This is paired with a highly stylized visual approach, the film rich with darkness and shadows. The film swings between naturalistic lighting in interiors that range from cozy to forebodingly sterile to sternly controlled expressionistic swings. The latter invokes a dream-like ambiance, visible in moments where Hutter, in all but a dream state, seems to float into a carriage. Multiple times throughout the film, cinematographer Jarin Blaschke – Eggers' go-to D.P. since “The Witch” – often employs an observing, smoothly moving approach. As if we, the audience, are also floating just outside the film and watching these events play out. It's all so perfectly arranged, the remake successfully unfolding like a gothic dreamscape. 

“Nosferatu” doesn't employ this style simply because it looks cool and successfully updates the classic horror visuals for the modern age. (Though it does do both of those things.) Bram Stoker's novel is a story of Victorian suppression, of polite and pure English maidens being at the mercy of a distinctively foreign monster. Count Dracula's attacks on Mina and Lucy invoke episodes of sleep paralysis, of a phantasmic incubus appearing at the girl's bedside to enforce his appetite on them. Or, worst yet for the morals of the day, awaken lust within them. How much of this was intentional on Stoker and how much was simply invoking folkloric traditions is hotly debated to this day. Whatever the case, Eggers' “Nosferatu” makes this the central thesis of the story. From the very first scene, Ellen is entuned with otherworldly forces. She invites in a comforting spirit, to bring her peace from the things she sees and feels and dreams about. Instead, she gets Count Orlok, a monster who physically uses her body. The Victorians, and presumably their German equivalents, insisted on keeping their lower needs in the shadows, pushing them into the subconscious. Our animal sexual urges are older than the spoken word, inevitably linked to ancient and pre-Christian beliefs. This means that lustful desires, the dreams and nightmares our sleeping mind weaves, and the occult are all one and the same. It's far from a new observation but it is a powerful one.

That's hard for Ellen, who wants to be a proper lady. She discusses her father finding her, naked in the woods, and accusing her of being "sinful." She's been shamed her whole life for the connection she has with the spiritual world. Throughout the film, she flies into hypnotic states, often gyrating wildly, spreading her legs, and lasciviously rolling her tongues around as if in orgasmic throes. Professor von Franz, the Van Helsing stand-in, accurately identifies these episodes as oracle-like states of higher being. (Both Ellen and von Franz are associated with cats, showing their feline-like intuitive links to the occultic realm.) This frightens Ellen, who has been told to suppress her otherworldly abilities as she suppresses her natural sexual desires. As she suppresses the latent queerness that is implied to be shared with Anna, the Lucy parallel. Presumably the same undercurrent of queerness that leads the Count to feed on Hutter, his body pumping and trembling as he does. It is also her power. Eggers' “Nosferatu” centers the Mina stand-in as the story's heroine, who ultimately destroys the vampire by embracing the tendencies she's been told to deny her entire life.

Many adaptations of the “Dracula” story play up the Count's connection to an unleashed libido by, simply put, making him hot. He seduces the maidens into his arms and they often get into it quickly enough, if they don't outright desire him to begin with. Eggers does everything it can to make Count Orlok a grotesque horror. (Which hasn't stopped the monster fuckers of the internet from lusting after him.) He also resists the commonly employed tactic of making the Harkers'/Hutters' marriage a sexless one, in order to make the vampire into the more attractive option. Thomas loves Ellen. He desires her. The two kiss passionately throughout and he goes through Hell to be with her again. When she is at her most desperate moment, writhing in a mad state, he loves her still. That is very honorable. However, Thomas Hutter is still a man. He is still of the world of man. Ellen hates Orlok. She wants to be with her husband. However, unavoidably, there is something about her that only the vampire can understand. “Nosferatu” is not a love story, at least not between the heroine and the monster. That doesn't stop its bloodsucker from having a certain irresistible allure. 

This speaks to another element of the film. Throughout the story, its male heroes employ logic as often as they can. Dr. Sievers is a man of science, who is reluctant to embrace the supernatural explanation. Harding, Hutter's friend and Anna's husband, eventually has his patience stretched pass the breaking point and dismisses any announcement of the paranormal. This stands in contrast to Ellen, with her somnambulant fits of mania, and Anna, who is at least willing to entertain the possibility of the otherworldly. Even their daughters identify a “monster” in their bedroom, which Harding sets out to slay. The men of this story want to impose the walls and barriers of their city on the natural world, shown beautifully in the contrast between the boxed-in visuals of Wisburg and the wide vistas of the Carpathians. What method has been more effective in taming the wild, the subconscious, than the forces of capitalism? The need to provide for his wife, to be a good worker, is what ultimately sees Hutter signing over Ellen to Orlok, like Judas trading Christ for silver. He instinctively feels it is wrong but does it anyway, to serve the order he has been told is the proper path. Women remain more in-tune with their emotional states while men are told to deny all emotional needs and strictly be practical. That's another reason why all the guys in the film are powerless to stop the ancient threat of Orlok, something only a woman can do.

Eggers' “The Witch” more-or-less kicked off the modern folk horror revival. This obviously means that his “Nosferatu” draws a lot more from classical Slavic legends about vampires than Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee. Count Orlok, as presented here, is a festering corpse. His sickly pale body is covered with tumorous growths and bony protrusions. His mere presence seems to feel wrong to everyone around him, Hutter being visibly disturbed simply by being in the same room with the Count. His easily imitated method of speech – truly, the Bane voice of 2024 – includes a constant wheezing rasp. Orlok is death incarnate. He controls the storms, manipulates the shadows, and brings with him the plague. The film is doing everything it can to dispel the modern notion of the sexy, romantic vampire. This Dracula is a deformed, hideous monster who himself denies an ability to feel love. Human emotions is beyond him and it's hard to imagine that he was ever human. Eggers has put a strictly folkloric vampire on the screen, including showing us Romani rituals for dealing with the undead. 

Bill Skarsgård, buried under mounds of make-up and adapting a wild accent, is unrecognizable as the vampiric count. This Dracula does not go to the theatre or don evening wear. He has a bushy mustache, accurate to the source material, and wears rigorously researched Hungarian attire.  He seemingly can only occupy the shadowy netherworlds of nightmares. At the same time, there is something tragic about him. When we do see Skarsgård's eyes, like Max Schreck's before him, they are wide and glaring... And sad too. Orlok is as drawn towards Ellen as she is to him. His methods are vile, eating babies and insisting spiritual contracts be fulfilled. However, as he dies to the morning crow of the cock, his story feels a bit inevitable too. The inhuman hunger that is his entire reason for being ultimately destroys him, like so many have been destroyed by their need for sex, companionship, and to have a desire fulfilled. 

As much as has been written about Eggers' commitment to period accuracy, his “Nosferatu” is undeniably a work of expressionism too. The performances are theatrical and high-strung. Lily-Rose Depp writhes wildly throughout the film, reminding us more than once of Linda Blair in “The Exorcist.” Willem Dafoe barks the script's most baroque dialogue, screaming towards the rafters in utter delightful fashion. Nicholas Hoult spends the entire movie bathed in flop sweat while Simon McBurney, as the Renfield stand-in Herr Knock, gloriously hams it up as a raving lunatic. This exaggerated style unavoidably bends towards humor at times. Ralph Ineson as Dr. Sievers is repeatedly a source of dry comedy, responding with understated horror to what he witnesses. The full-born sexuality of the vampire's invasion results in some snickering chuckles, strictly from the contrast between the stately setting and what is being done and said. Lots of people are coming in lots of different ways. I don't know how any one can accuse “Nosferatu” of being stuffy or lifeless, when it's overflowing with red-blooded theatricality in its acting. That adds a suitably bigger-than-life feeling to the film, matching its dream-like visuals and the Revelations-esque atmosphere to the scenes of Wisburg being consumed by the plague.

The story of “Dracula” has been told a hundred times before and will be told a hundred times again. This isn't Hoult or Dafoe's first brush with the material. It's not even the only “Nosferatu” movie that came out last year. However, when I re-read the book not that long ago, the movie I saw in my head was startlingly similar to Eggers' “Nosferatu.” While the remake has as many vocal deniers as Eggers' other work, I was obviously always going to love this. Motion pictures like this are what made me fall in love with the medium. It's nifty that the Academy noticed its artistry and I'm happy that the zoomers liked it too. It's a gloriously gothic retelling, as fascinating and intense as Herzog and Murnau's takes before it. Dracula and all his disciples will live forever, this film being proof once again that the story can always be reinvented and reinterpreted in exciting ways. [9/10]

Halloween 2024: October 15th

Fear (1996)

In 1997, former Funky Bunch leader, underwear model, and hate crime enthusiast Mark Wahlberg gave a vulnerable, meaningful performance in "Boogie Nights." It proved that the brawny pretty boy from Baastan was, in fact, a talented actor. In the years since then, Wahlberg has become a huge star, a Hollywood big shot, and earned two Academy Award nominations. Still, he's rarely returned to the level of depth and angst he showed as Dirk Diggler, usually insisting on sticking to his tough guy persona in-between attending Mass, investing in cricket teams, and making insensitive comments about 9/11. A year before his breakout performance, Wahlberg had his first starring role in tawdry, uncreatively entitled thriller "Fear." While the film was dismissed by most critics in 1996, it was a hit with teenagers and has since developed a cult following, receiving a few reappraisals over the years. Time for me to investigate further. 

16 year old Nicole lives in the woods outside Seattle with her security expert dad Steve, her step-mom Laura, and stepbrother Toby. While out with friends, she catches the eye of the mysterious David McCall. His good looks and sensitive words entrance Nicole and the two are soon professing their love for each other. However, after seeing her hugging a platonic male friend, David becomes violent. Nicole breaks up with him but is soon won back over. Steve is cautious of the boy, especially after discovering his daughter is having sex with him. After Nicole spies David coercing her troubled friend Margo into sex at a crack party, she dumps him permanently. David doesn't take rejection well and begins to terrorize Nicole and her family, insisting she belongs to him. Things come to a head when David and his hoodlum friends descend on the house.

If "Fear" was a smarter, more perceptive film, it would be about how young women, so often conditioned to be submissive, ignore obvious red flags and their better judgement when around guys who are obviously bad news. A few days after they start dating, David is already ordering Nicole around. He tells her to get him a drink and starts walking around her father's house like he owns the place. He ignores curfews and personal boundaries, pushing her into more sexual acts. What's especially infuriating about this is how much Nicole's stepmom approves of David's obviously manipulative behavior. Laura wants Nicole to like her, to rely on her when she's feeling down, which means accepting her boyfriend. Who is, by the way, older than her and a high school graduate while Nicole is a sophomore. When David gives Nicole a black eye and beats her friend up, everyone is far too willing to forgive him. His route to forgiveness involves some pathetic begging, gifts, and an insincere apology. All of this, sadly, is all too common an experience in reality. Boys behave badly, girls are told directly or indirectly to accept it, and obvious signs of abuse or manipulation are ignored. If "Fear" told that story in the context of a trashy thriller, it could've been pulpy fun while carrying a deeper, more relevant message. 

That's not the movie "Fear" is though. Producer Bryan Grazer pitched it as "Fatal Attraction for teens." The film falls right into the clichés of the domestic thriller format, in which an unhinged outsider upsets the equilibrium of suburban tranquility. Considering this, perhaps it should be unsurprising that Nicole – despite ostensibly being the protagonist – is not centered in her own story. No, "Fear" is actually about her dad. In his first scene, Steve comments on Nicole wearing a short dress. Later, her stepmom calls her a slut for wearing make-up. Dad wants his daughter to go to a James Taylor concert with him but she chooses to hang out with her ruffian friends instead. While the push-and-pull of being a parent with a growing teenager, eager to establish independence, is fertile ground for a thriller, "Fear" doesn't go in that direction. The night David takes Nicole's virginity, he steals a bracelet that says "Daddy's Girl." Later, he defaces it to say "David's Girl." Steve constantly watches his daughter on a security monitor. After he suspects that her boyfriend is beating her up, the adult man confronts the teenage boy in a verbal battle of macho wills. (Which includes, of course, David questioning the man's sexuality and virility.) Later, he vandalizes Steve's midlife crisis mobile, with a gross note referring to "popping both your cherries." Not Nicole's cherry, her father's. By the time we get to the last act, where David repeatedly asks Nicole to choose between him or her dad, the implication is clear. "Fear" is about how young women belong to men, either their fathers or their lovers. Ultimately, how they control their own sexuality and life choices, the film seems to say, should be up to their dads. Did a purity ball organizer write this? This unseemly subtext is paired with multiple scenes of teenage girls in the shower, their bathing suits, or their underwear. The result is a movie that feels disconcertingly obsessed with the sexuality of young girls and how they are perceived, not by themselves, but by the men in their lives.

But I'm the idiot here, expecting sensitive politics from a cheesy nineties movie. The domestic thriller is, inherently, a conservative genre. It values the integrity of the 1 man/1 woman/2.5 kids household above all else. The minute the threat is defeated, and Steve reestablishes himself as the alpha male of the household, "Fear" ends with images of its family hugging one another. The evil has been vanquished, balance is restored. It's a story type built on the most hysterical of insecurities. This is likely why movies like this so often veer towards high camp. "Fear" was directed by James Foley, who made classy movies like "Glengarry Glen Ross" and "At Close Range" before the success of this film led him to similar schlock like "Perfect Strangers" and the latter two "Fifty Shades" movies. The first act of "Fear" suggests it might've been a prestigious film too, as the cinematography and editing are slick. The infamous sequence where David gives Nicole her first orgasm on a rollercoaster pushes the movie into the realm of erotic thriller. It only grows seedier from there. David's gang of hooligans are cartoonishly evil, blowing crack smoke into Alyssa Milano's face as she gives one a lap dance. The sequence where David makes his first kill features the bad guy flipping someone through the air like a pro-wrestler. The last third moves "Fear" totally into the realm of overheated horror. David tattoos Nicole's name on his chest before leading a "Straw Dogs" style siege on the home. Once it becomes a totally trashy home invasion thriller, I was finally able to enjoy "Fear." There's a good, gross shock involving a doggy door. A little kid runs someone over. An electric drill is weaponized. When a shadow of an intruder moves over a window like "Nosferatu," Foley and his team finally find the right balance between sensationalism and professionalism. If "Fear" has operated in this mode its entire runtime, it might have reached the campy heights of "The Hand That Rocks the Cradle."  

Perhaps "Fear's" melodramatic emotions is exactly why it appealed so much to teenagers. Everything feels more intense at that age, when petty disagreements between young lovers become living soap operas. "Fear" operates like an R-rated afterschool special, with its reductive moral, exaggerated anxieties, and Carter Burwell's thundering score. The youth demographic is also obvious in the fashion and soundtrack, which scream 1996. There are certainly signs that the film is in on its own joke. Mark Wahlberg, with his usual douchebag posturing and overpowering Masshole accent, makes David the sketch comedy version of a teenage stalker. (Most apparent during a hilarious scene where he spits threats through a keyhole.) Milano and William Petersen, as the dad, give similarly sweaty performances. Reese Witherspoon – who viciously subverted gender politics like this in "Freeway" and "Election" – is going for more realism. Which is a choice, I guess. Maybe if I saw this as a teen, at a sleepover where everyone thought Marky Mark was hunky, I'd have nostalgia for it. Watching as an adult, I find the script more gross than fun and its approach more often silly than amusing. I like plenty of similar trash so I understand why it's a fave for some but I couldn't embrace "Fear." [6/10]

Fangs (1981)

Anyab

Most of us can wrap our brains around the idea of a foreign knock-off of a popular domestic product. It follows that people in another country would be interested in a cheaper, locally produced version of an internationally renowned name. In the film world, this makes plenty of sense too. Countries like Italy or India, with their extensive movie industries and broad distribution networks, could cash-in on the popularity of global blockbusters for a fraction of the cost. Moreover, productions such as these allow filmmakers in other countries to reinterpret popular themes through their own cultural identities. However, what do we make of foreign language rip-offs of unpopular films? Though an enduring cult following has made it the longest running movie of all time now, "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" was notoriously commercially unsuccessful upon initial release. "Rocky Horror's" rejection of gender conformity and heteronormativity surely made it a difficult movie to export in conservative countries where homosexuality is outlawed. Such as, say, Egypt. In spite of that truth, for years, I have heard of the existence of an Egyptian version of "Rocky Horror." That "Anyab" – translation: "Fangs" – is real proves that Richard O'Brien's queer musical must have resonated with someone in the Land of the Pharaohs. The lack of behind-the-scenes information on director Mohammed Shebl and "Fangs" leaves many questions unanswered but the film survives and, in many regards, speaks for itself. 

In truth, "Fangs" only follows the first act of "Rocky Horror" before going off in its own direction, sidestepping most of the queer elements altogether. Nevertheless: A narrator in an office introduces us to Ali and Mona, who are young and in love. They set off on a road trip before they catch a flat in a thunderstorm, seeking shelter in a near-by mansion. They are invited inside by a hunchback, who informs them that a party is ongoing. The master of ceremonies is none other than Count Dracula himself, who soon expresses an interest in Mona. The young lovers will learn much about the nature of the world during the long night.

"Rocky Horror" was obviously the main inspiration for "Fangs." Not only does it apes the beginning, it is also a musical. Several of the songs share the same purpose as their counterparts. A pair of red lips introduce us and the story's themes. Ali and Mona express their feelings for each other during a duet not dissimilar to "Damnit Janet." The couple sing about searching out a light as they approach the mansion in the pouring rain, with the hunchback getting a solo. There's no "Time Warp" or "Sweet Transvestite" equivalents, though Dracula's party guests do perform a dance number and the count gets an introductory song. Once Dracula appears, "Fangs" begins to owe more to Bram Stoker. What with the subplot of the vampire attempting to seduce the virtuous maiden, a shot of the count climbing up the castle, and a shout-out to Christopher Lee. Much the same way O'Brien's musical freely mixed his angst about his own sexual identity with his love of vintage rock 'n' roll and campy sci-fi/horror, "Fangs" is a similarly intriguing jumble of pre-existing pop culture. It's more blatant about what it steals from. "The Munsters" theme appears alongside the soundtracks to "A Clockwork Orange," "Jaws," "For a Few Dollars More," and "The Man with the Golden Gun." The film keeps many of the same horror tropes that "Rocky Horror" used and combines them with the romantic love triangles and status quo reinforcing melodrama. (There's also a training montage that might've been inspired by "Rocky.") Meanwhile, the fashion is strictly of the late seventies and early eighties, with quite a few disco beats, velour jumpsuits, brightly colored leotards, and KISS-style face paint. In other words, "Fangs" is a fascinating remix of all sorts of pop iconography that was still ricocheting around the globe at the time. 

At the same time, one feels as if the movie reflects a specifically Egyptian identity. First off, a chicken is slaughtered during the opening credits, the kind of thing you'd not expected to see in a Western production. Secondly, the film leans much more on the idea of naïve innocents facing a world that threatens to corrupt them. Ali and Mona are said to have an outlook that is "pink," while the narrator and the villain warn that the world is more "black" than that. A lengthy sequence in the middle begins with the narrator saying vampires are only fictional before Dracula breaks the fourth wall. We are then treated to a half-hour long series of fantasy scenarios, wherein Ali and Mona's future wedded bliss is repeatedly assaulted by another type of bloodsucker: Businessmen. Dracula appears as a plumber that charges outrageous amounts for a quick fix. He also takes the guide of a skimping butcher, a shifty used cars saleman, a greedy landlord, a flint-nosed cabdriver, a cheating doctor, on and on. The repetitive scenarios each conclude with the vampire flashing his fangs, paired with a dramatic sting on the soundtrack, and the narrator laughing him off. It goes on way too long but the message is clear. The real threat to Ali and Mona's "pink" worldview is not so much literal vampires as the crushing financial realities of the world. This theme is obviously universal while the specificity of "Fangs'" allegory reflect an Egyptian viewpoint. (Dracula also compares himself to Hitler, dispelling any unfortunate anti-Semitic stereotypes about vampires. The corrosive elements here are greed and authority, not the Jews.) 

"Fangs" is probably too long. None of its songs are the immediate ear worms we heard in "Rocky Horror," though they're aren't bad in their own right either. The synth and disco infused music has charms of its own. Mostly, "Fangs" fascinated me for the lo-fi Halloween party ambiance it contains. A blanket of fog always floats along the floor of Dracula's abode. The big dance number has the guests donning rubber Halloween masks while shaking it in front of large cardboard cut-outs of the classic monsters. The production design in general is neat, with some high-contrast reds and blacks on display. The classic horror theming continues throughout, in the subplot about the enslaved hunchback desiring freedom and a black-and-white musical number Dracula has. In general, there's a sort of homemade, pop art energy to much of "Fangs." The characters' thoughts sometimes appear as comic book word balloons. Colorful graphics and text appear on-screen at various intervals. A bizarre dinner sequence has Dracula pausing and restarting time itself. It's much more refined than "Witchdoctor of the Livingdead's" kids-playing-in-the-backyard chaos while maintaining the same sort of do-it-yourself value. 

"Fangs" lacks the outright transgressive queerness of its primary inspiration for obvious reasons. However, the movie is subversive in a sense. The bloodsuckers are vanquished in surprisingly gruesome fashion while the young lovers look forward to a bright future, on the steps of the Great Pyramids, well aware of the darkness of the world but staying optimistic. Honestly, I kind of like that ending better than Brad and Janet sinking into hedonism and emptiness. Drac's other sidekick also shadow-boxes while in the shower, so maybe the movie is gayer than I gave it credit for. The film is an off-beat camp artifact that boldly steals from way more famous movies. At the same time, this is more than refitting a Hollywood movie for local sensibilities, the way "Mahakaal" was. "Fangs" is weird and quirky and personal and funky in a way that I can enjoy, an ideal type of overseas rip-off that uses the far more well-known source material as a jumping-off point for the director's own ideas. This is my first exposure to Egyptian genre cinema and it has me excited to check out more movies like this. [7/10]

The Twilight Zone (2002): Upgrade

The 2002 version of "The Twilight Zone" rarely impresses but I include every other version in this marathon, so it seems rude to leave it out. "Upgrade" at least has a suitably "Zone"-ish premise. Annie is moving into a new home with her family. Her teenage son and daughter are always arguing. Her husband isn't the most helpful. Csonka, the family dog, christens the place by whizzing on the fireplace. In a moment of desperation, Annie wishes for a better family. That's when Csonka is replaced with a well-behaved poodle. When Annie notices this, her husband insists Csonka has always looked like this. Soon, much to Annie's horror, everyone in her family is replaced with "perfect" alternatives. Is she experiencing a breakdown or is something stranger going on here?

"Upgrade" functions on a notice that every version of "Zone" has considered at least once: Be careful what you wish for. The idea of Annie getting what she wants, only to be horrified with the results, is a potentially intriguing idea. Unfortunately, "Upgrade" rushes into it so quickly that we never get a chance to feel much of an impact. There's one or two scenes with her obnoxious teenage kids before they are replaced with idyllic new versions. We get a few more scenes with her husband – played by the rapist from "Thelma & Louise" – before he's replaced. Tthe episode never truly digs into Annie's deeper wants and needs. Her old family doesn't seem that bad, which could've been part of a point. Simply because we love someone doesn't mean they don't do things that annoy us. Any minor resentment she has towards them is barely established before the change happens. A change, by the way, which doesn't have any evident downside of its own. The new family is perfect and the horror of the situation comes from Annie not knowing why this shift is happening. Which is a valid enough idea. The people we see everyday inexplicably changing appearances and personalities would be very distressing. However, a little more time spent with everyone before the weird shit begins, to give us a better idea of what is being lost, would've improved this tremendously. 

This being the 2002 version of "The Twilight Zone," there's not a degree of subtly at work here. Every shift is accompanied by a dramatic whooshing noise, happening exactly when you expect them too. I think the tension is supposed to arise from us wondering why this is happening. Is Annie having a psychotic break, from the stress of moving into a new home? Was a supernatural bargain struck at some point or is this a reality shifting, Mandela Effect type thing? The answer is revealed in the final minutes and it's very stupid, disregarding everything that was interesting about the idea up to that point. In spite of its flaws, "Upgrade" still almost works based on a decent performance from Susanna Thompson as Annie. She conveys a convincing amount of panic and confusion as a woman whose life is transforming around her for no reason she can detect. "Upgrade" is too shallow, in its execution and ideas, to truly impress. However, Thompson doing a good job of freaking out at least gives this rushed half-hour a bead of pathos. [6/10]

Hair-Raising Hare (1946)

The golden age of American animation and the classic era of horror just so happen to occur at the same time. Accordingly, there were quite a few cartoons from the thirties and forties goofing on the then-contemporary monster movies. Perhaps the best of them all is Chuck Jones' "Hair-Raising Hare." It begins with Bugs Bunny rising from his burrow, when he sees a shapely female rabbit. He follows the curvy bunny into a spooky mansion, only realizing too late that she's a wind-up doll. That's when the mad doctor in the castle, who looks a lot like Peter Lorre, reveals the true reason he lured the rabbit to his lair: To feed him to the big, red, hairy monster that lives in his basement. A wacky chase ensues. 

The horror-adjacent Disney shorts made around this same time were more about putting a whimsical spin on the classic iconography of the genre. Chuck Jones and the Merrie Melodies, meanwhile, used the monster movie premise as set-dressing for a series of progressively sillier gags. It starts with the ominous castle having a neon sign out front and builds to Gossimer's own reflection being scared off by the sight of him. The elastic stretch-and-squish of cartooning is eventually applied to reality itself. In "Hair-Raising Hare," the Fourth Wall is repeatedly transgressed, the audience eventually invited to participate in the story itself and, indirectly, saving the day at the end. The horror trappings of the short – the spooky castle, the Lorre-esque villain, a trap door, a suit of armor with a glistening axe – are more ingredients to blend into the freewheeling absurdity of the piece. 

Gossimer, himself, is the greatest gag of the film. Bugs compares him to both Frankenstein and Dracula, yet Gossimer draws from no specific legacy of monsters. Instead, a big menacing mound of brightly colored hair, topped off with the absurd visual of colorful nails and bright white sneakers, makes him a generic idea of a "monster" that later works like "Sesame Street" would run with. Despite being nearly eighty years old, "Hair-Raising Hare" remains sharp and funny. That's largely because Bugs Bunny, the ever anarchistic smart-ass, remains a highly amusing hero. After all, he gets into this situation for reasons most any male can relate too: He sees an attractive partner and has a momentary lapse in judgement. From there, Bugs pulls schemes that range from packing up a golf bag and running for the door, turning a suit of armor into a locomotive, and stops to do his enemy's nails. By the end of these seven minutes, most any concern for narrative has gone out the window, the mad scientist that instigated this plot not being seen again. Instead, "Hair-Raising Hare" is dedicated to making the viewer laugh with zanier gags, as noble a cause as any other I can think of. The result is a classic bit of cartooning that stands the test of time. [8/10]

Halloween 2024: September 26th

Battle Royale (2000)

Batoru rowaiaru

When I was but a humble high school student, I learned about this crazy Japanese movie called "Battle Royale." The premise immediately caught my attention but the film itself was, the internet told me, never officially released in the U.S. While at a book store, I started picking up the manga adaptation. Shortly afterwards, I bought and read Koushun Takami's original novel. I was so fascinated with "Battle Royale" that I wrote a few chapters of my own version of the story, placing myself, my friends, and other school mates in such a scenario. (Which, in retrospect, was a very weird thing to do!) As deep as my "Battle Royale" fandom ran, the movie that caught my attention remained out-of-reach for much longer. In the days before I became a regular convention attendee and user of torrent websites, it was a lot harder to get a hold of a film without a standard DVD release. For reasons I still don't understand, Netflix – only a by-mail rental service at the time – started carrying a Korean Region 0 disc, finally allowing me to see "Battle Royale."  Despite the grainy transfer and faulty subtitles, it was immediately apparent that Kinji Fukasaku's film was the best version of the story. Today, "Battle Royale" is readily accessible. Right now, it's on Tubi, meaning you don't have to pay anything to see it. Despite the significance the film has to a part of my life, I haven't watched it since then. Time to see if this picture, once considered so shocking, holds up after 20 years. 

In a totalitarian version of Japan, violence among young people has reached an epidemic. The government's solution to this problem is the BR Program: Once a year, one out of all the high school classes in the country is selected. They are transferred to a deserted island, each student outfitted with explosive collars. They are given rations of food, water, and a randomly chosen weapon. The students are told to fight to the death, until only one remains. Average teen Shuy Nanahara is thrust into this situation, his friends and classmates either turning into cold-blooded murderers or dying around him. He forms a friendship with Noriko, the crush of his late best friend, and Kawada, a mysterious transfer student who "won" a previous game. The trio attempt to survive and find a way out of this hopeless scenario.

“Battle Royale” was controversial in Japan, to the point that the National Diet decried it. I don't think this is because of the severity of the film's violence. More violent films have existed in Japan, before and after. I think it's because “Battle Royale” targets that violence at young people. It's interesting that this should make “Battle Royale” a lightning rod for controversy, when the cruelty adults show towards children is the entire point. All throughout the movie, authority figures, like the students' teacher, tells the kids how they are no good. In a difference from the novel or manga, the teacher has a personal grudge against these kids, clearly taking his anger out on them personally. This is an extension of an entire society fixated on “punishing” young people for their disobedience. “Battle Royale,” throughout its runtime, gives us daily updates on the casualties. Students are reduced to a number, as the announcement of their death is coldly read off. This is paired with dispassionate on-screen text. This makes the audience complacent in the violence against the kids too. We get caught up in “the game” as well. We laugh at the campy instructional video, featuring a chipper idol style actress. We sit back and watch these kids die too, becoming part of the system the film so viciously criticizes. 

Rumors persist that part of why “Battle Royale” was unreleased in America for so long is because Toei feared how America, with its very fucked-up culture of violence against children, might react to the film. There's no doubt that teenagers carrying guns in school, using them against teachers and other students, have very different connotations over here. However, I don't think school shootings were on Fukasaku or Takami's minds when conceiving the story, as they're all but unheard of in Japan. Instead, “Battle Royale's” images of teenagers being dropped in a South Pacific island, tossed rations and guns, and told to go out and kill brings something else to mind. Fukasaku drew from his own experiences of being a munitions factory worker as a boy, during World War II. The island setting reminds me of the Vietnam War, these kids only a little bit younger than the average soldier drafted for that or any other conflict. Such comparisons make it obvious that the system's abuse and disregard of young people is by no means a new phenomenon. Governments have been willing to use the blood of teenagers to make their own, far-off points since the beginning of time.

As much as “Battle Royale” is a film about the injustices visited upon young people by an apathetic, often willfully sadistic system, it's also a rip-roaring piece of pulp. By thrusting high school kids into this life-or-death situation, it blows up the petty melodramas and rivalries of teenage years to epic, bloody size. Characters often speak of crushes like they are the loves of their lives. Considering how short their lives are going to be, maybe they are. Mean girl Mitsuko becomes a psychopath on the island, confronted by a former friend whose boyfriend she seduced or smirking at Noriko, coldly saying “Die, ugly” before shooting at her. A proto-incel demands a girl's virginity before attempting to assault her, leading to a particularly brutal stabbing. A nerd rambles off math equations while pulling a trigger. A fat kid climbs atop a hill and tries to snipe people with his crossbow. All of the dynamics of school, of social outcasts being preyed on by popular kids and childhood crushes seeming like the most important thing in the world, come into much sharper reflect when life and death is on the line. This sometimes extends to cartoonish levels, such as the school's basketball hero also being a revolutionary hacker that takes down the island's computer system. Other times, the red hot melodrama of the film can be quite effective, such as when a lighthouse full of teenage girls violently turn on each other in the course of minutes.

“Battle Royale” is definitely operating in broad archetypes. Shuya is a fairly bland protagonist, given a tragic backstory but little in the way of personality. Noriko is only slightly better. Kawada is the hardened veteran of the trio, seeming a bit like a teenage Rambo at times. When you have over forty characters in the film, it's hard for any of them to be too distinct. At the same time, “Battle Royale” resists making some of its characters two-dimensional. Ko Shibasaki is intensely creepy as Mitsuko, possessing a fantastic psycho smile. However, the character has a traumatic past, giving us insight into why she is like this. Similarly, Takeshi Kitano's villainous teacher is weirdly the most empathetic figure in the film. He's despised by his own children, resents his students, and seems largely apathetic about his role in the game. The final reveal, that he has a possibly romantic fascination with Noriko, makes him into a pathetic figure, a broken old man looking up to a teenage girl.

There is a push-and-pull in “Battle Royale,” between wanting to gift its villains with more depth while also playing them as cartoonish monsters. This is most apparent in Masanobu Ando's Kiriyama, who acts more like the Terminator than a teenager. He never speaks, communicating largely through evil smiles or cackles, while wielding an Uzi with a seemingly unending magazine. He's a ridiculous figure, a predatory supervillain brought into the games by the government presumably to make it more interesting. (An element “The Purge” series would swipe somewhat.) It does feel like an intended piece of social commentary that most of the kids on the island have no interest in murdering their friends. Only a few psychopaths in the class are “playing the game.” Some attempt a truce, leading to one of the most gloriously bloody scenes in the film. Kinji Fukasaku – who, after all, came to fame for his deconstructive yakuza epics – seems equal parts fascinated and disgusted by the movie's bloodshed. He's way too good at engineering action sequences not to play them for cheap thrills. The movie is full of intense shoot-outs, suspenseful stalking, and all the arterial spray you could want. There's a grenade shoved in a decapitated head at one point, so there's no doubt “Battle Royale” embraces its own status as an exploitation film. These fantastically engineered moments of cool movie violence stand side-by-side with pointed social commentary, the two never quite gelling. 

If “Battle Royale” isn't able to blend its thematic ideas, sometimes uneven screenplay, and its brutally effective execution of horror/action tropes, that does nothing to diminish the film's power. Sometimes the parts truly are greater than the whole. The manga is so explicit in its sex and violence as to become a work of guro pornography, while stretching the story out endlessly and making its characters more exaggerated. The novel – or at least the English language translation I read – is more childishly simplified and half-formed. Meanwhile, the inevitable American rip-offs had no convictions behind their beliefs and no scruples in their depiction of violence. Fukasaku's film is simply the best execution of the idea, finding something of a balance between its various elements. With strikingly gritty cinematography from Katsumi Yanagishima and a classical score that emphasizes the operatic elements of the story, “Battle Royale” remains an utterly absorbing and grimly thrilling piece of cinema. [9/10]

The Return of Dracula (1958)

Of the 12 feature films and over 160 episodes of television Paul Landres directed before 1957's "The Vampire," not a single one fell into the horror or supernatural genres. Despite that, "The Vampire" must've been successful enough for Landres to quickly return to it. (Though not so quickly that the prolific filmmaker couldn't direct four feature westerns and 25 TV episodes in-between the projects.) The next year, Landres would direct another bloodsucking chiller for United Artists. While his previous monster movie was merely about a vampire, his next one would turn its attention towards the most famous vampire of all. "The Return of Dracula" would be another attempt in the late fifties to move Bram Stoker's notorious count into the modern age. 

Somewhere in Europe, a painter named Bellac Gordal prepares to travel to America to stay with his cousin, Cora. Unfortunately for him, a notorious vampire is fleeing a cabal of hunters. The undead villain kills Bellac and assumes his identity. Shortly afterwards, "Gordal" arrives in the small town of Carleton, California. The stranger integrates himself into the family, charming Cora and her young son Mickey. He especially catches the eye of her teenage daughter, Rachel. Rachel works part-time at a clinic, where a blind patient she's befriended mysteriously dies. An immigration agent stops by the home and ends up dead shortly afterwards too. Soon, Rachel must face the horrible conclusion, that the visitor to her home is not who he claims to be. Bellac Gordal is actually Count Dracula and he intends to spread his undying curse to Carleton. 

While Landres' "The Vampire" put a sci-fi spin on the gothic archetype, "The Return of Dracula" relocates the classic story to a then-modern setting. Carleton is an idyllic small American town. The church and authority are respected. The family unit is a symbol of stability and warmth. Rachel has a boyfriend, a cocky teenager next door named Tim, but their relationship is totally chaste. The standard tropes of the story are respected. "Bellac Gordal" turns into mist, a bat, and a wolf. He's repelled by the cross, doesn't cast a reflection, sleeps in a coffin during the day, and must be destroyed with a stake through the heart. Other elements are given intriguing updates. A blind girl takes the place of Lucy, though she still roams the night in a white gown after her death. The vampire hunters now resemble government G-Men, snapping "Gordal's" picture with a camera hidden in a cigarette lighter. Dracula ditches the cape for an overcoat slung over his shoulders. Seeing what the film changed and what it keeps creates an interesting contrast. That Bellac is mostly scared off with a cross shows that religious values were of equal importance to small town America and 1890s England. 

Something else fifties suburbanites and Victorian gentlefolk had in common was casual xenophobia. Having the vampire hunters pose as immigration agents couldn't have been a mistake. "Bellac" speaks with a strange accent, his clearly European nature sticking out in Carleton. Stoker's moral of decadent old world aristocrats corrupting fair English maidens now looks a lot like an Eastern European commie sneaking into the U.S. to undermine our beloved American values, of family and the church. While this was surely the intended reading at the time, through modern eyes, "The Return of Dracula" has a distinctly different undertone. We the viewer know that Bellac is not actually Rachel's distant cousin. She doesn't know that though. Which makes his obvious interest in her – which grows more sinister once he's hovering over her bed and hypnotizing her, in classic Dracula fashion – all the more disquieting. Childish, naive Tim is not much for an older man more experienced in manipulating young women. It's only when he invokes God that Tim can fight this intruder off. All of this, perhaps unintentionally, speaks to the anxieties of the time. 

Like most fifties monster movies, these themes lurk under the surface of an otherwise standard creature feature. Further connecting this film to "The Vampire," Jack MacKenzie is back as director of photography. He ensures another fine looking film, with lots of crisp black-and-white photography and shadowy interiors. The locations – especially the mine shaft where the climax occurs – still have a rather artificial look to them, like sets on a TV show. Still, "The Return of Dracula" produces some decent chills here and there. A sequence where Rachel becomes aware of Gordal's true nature, via a cleverly framed mirror, is well done. The moment of him appearing over her bed concludes with an honest-to-God jump scare, a sudden cut to her little brother's devil mask. (By the way, "The Return of Dracula" is set around Halloween, though the costume party could've had some spookier decorations.) It seems the vampires' casket always have a layer mist at the bottom, which is a nice touch. The best effect in the film is an unexpected shift to color during a pivotal moment, a reminder that this movie was made not long before the fifties became the sixties, when vampire movies were about to get a lot more lurid. 

The film that largely ushered in that new age of bloody horror was also released in 1958. Hammer's "Horror of Dracula" hit American shores shortly after "The Return of Dracula" came out, overshadowing it totally. Comparing the two films makes for an interesting experiment. Landres' film tried to update Dracula by sticking him in a modern setting, to limited success. Hammer did it by shooting the whole thing in vivid color, with as much blood and sex appeal as they could get away with at the time. The latter obviously made a much bigger impression on the public. But "The Return of Dracula" isn't too bad either. The score liberally quotes "Dies Irais" to decent effect. Francis Lederer, with his high cheekbones and curly hair, makes for a decent enough Dracula. Norma Eberhardt is a compelling damsel-in-distress, who wears nothing as revealing as the girl on the poster. Though not as sharp as "The Vampire," "The Return of Dracula" is still worth seeking out for classic horror fans. [7/10]

In Search Of...: Bigfoot

A number of cultural factors, such as the rise of New Age hippie spiritualism the previous decade, would lead to an explosion of interest in the paranormal during the seventies. This would result in hundreds of books, documentaries, and TV specials of dubious scientific merit. Producer Alan Landsburg was behind four such specials, the success of which prompted him to create an on-going show devoted to delving into any and all mysterious topics. After first choice Rod Sterling died and second choice Robert Vaughn walked, Leonard Nimoy would be drafted to host the program. From 1977 to 1982, "In Search Of..." covered subjects like ghosts, the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis, alien abduction, magical powers, prominent disappearances, legendary figures, historical mysteries, strange theories and – naturally – cryptozoology. 

When I was a kid, my mom (a lifelong Trekkie) and I would watch reruns of the show together. "In Search Of..." isn't a horror anthology series but a pseudo-documentary program, that didn't necessarily showcase a spooky topic every episode. However, my young brain more-or-less treated the show as one. The hokeyness of the reenactments and the questionable research went over kid-me's head. Instead, the possibility that such things could be true creeped me out, in the best way. Which is why I'm making room for "In Search Of..." and a couple similar shows this Halloween season. 

It almost goes without saying that my favorite episodes were the ones about monsters. Unsurprisingly, North America's legendary, stinky, hairy hominid would be the focus of one of "In Search Of...'s" earliest episodes. The half-hour covers most of the hallmarks of Bigfoot lore, such as the Patterson-Gimlin film, the 1924 "Battle of Ape Canyon" near Mount St. Helens, and the 1882 Jacko newspaper article. Supposed experts like Dr. Grover Krantz and Peter C. Byrne are interviewed, trying to bolster their beliefs with footprint casts, a Gigantopithecus jawbone, and the rediscovery of the coelacanth. Eventually, after a Washington ordinance against killing Bigfoot is brought up, the show turns towards the debate over whether the creature can be proven to exist without a dead body. 

Mostly, the episode is devoted to people recounting encounters with the creature. This is when "In Search Of..." really tickles my nostalgia bone. The reenactments feature many first-person-perspective shots of something walking through the dark forest, backed by ominous grunting and snorting. The lo-fi creepiness of these moments are paired with aerial footage of the Pacific Northwest and Nimoy's assuaging narration. When combined with the tinny, chiming synth soundtrack, the result is a program I find immensely relaxing. I can't tell you how often I've fallen asleep to YouTube playlists of this show...

What Nimoy, clad in a turtleneck sweater and a hideous striped sports jacket, calls "persuasive evidence" for the existence of Bigfoot is not so much the case. Instead, the average folks recounting their sightings act as ghost stories, especially when depicted through the charming stodginess of a seventies television budget. These are legends that reflect, not literal reality, but our culture's spiritual and psychological needs. This is the same conclusion an Indigenous woman makes at the episode's end, saying Bigfoot can't be proven to exist with science as it resides in an ineffable space of its own. That's where the real value of shows like "In Search Of..." reside, as pop culture reflections of modern folklore and the society that birthed it. Such presentations as these, no matter how antiquated they may be, fire the imagination by exposing us to deeper wells of the myths that make up our world. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Mother Lurch Visists the Addams Family

The bizarrely named and attributed members of the extended Addams Family are a running joke in the series. The sixteenth episode, however, gives us a look at the family of their faithful manservant. As the title describes, "Mother Lurch Visits the Addams Family" has the towering butler's mom preparing to stop by. In his letters to his mother, Lurch fibbed and said he owned the stately Addams mansion, that he was head of the household. Mortica and Gomez decide to help their beloved employee out by pretending to be the servants and teaching him to act like the master, for a while. The charade becomes difficult to maintain when Lurch's mom, a bossy and obnoxious woman, actually arrives. 

"Mother Lurch" plays on a rich comedic premise that's been exploded many times over the years: A switcheroo between employer and employee. Usually stories like this are designed to humble the arrogant bosses. Since Gomez and Mortica are lovable, and Lurch is undyingly faithful to them, the humor instead arises from the butler's awkward attempts to fill the role of master, not servant. Mortica, acting as the maid, goads the inexpressive Lurch into making goo-goo eyes at her, an amusing moment. (I didn't know flirting with the boss was a standard part of being a maid though... Another sign of this show being a product of its time.) When the phone rings, Lurch and Gomez rush to answer it st the same time, a solid bit of physical comedy. Naturally, Lurch eventually becomes too accustomed to his new role as master, Gomez and Mortica soon learning how tiring it is to be at someone's back and call all the time. 

As subversive as "The Addams Family" could be, challenging the status quo of its household was not something it was interested in. No attempts at social commentary or lessons learned from this exercise are shown. Gomez and Mortica don't question if they treat their butler as well as they think they do, nor does Lurch ask if he's treated fairly as a servant. "The Addams Family" may mock the assumed normalcy of the average American family but unending the power roles inherent to the bourgeoisie class wasn't on its agenda. Though if you're willing to read into Lurch really loving his time on the wrack and the whole master/servant thing, the program's persistent kink subtext gets stronger... Though I'd rather not consider the ghoul-like manservant's bedroom habits and how that interacts with his role in the family. 

Anyway, "Mother Lurch Visits" loses a lot of its comedic spark once the title character arrives. Ellen Corby, best known as the grandmother on "The Waltons," plays Lurch's mom as a hen-pecking, mean-spirited old woman. She makes outrageous demands of her son's "servants" and insists they be fired. That she's offended by Gomez and Morticia kissing is annoying. What the butler and maid do in their private time is none of your damn business, lady! The obvious joke, of the intimidating Lurch kowtowing to this tiny woman, is followed as you'd expect. (Though this would explain why he fits into his role of butler so naturally.) It's a shame the episode gets kind of shrill in its second half, as I enjoyed it a lot up to that point. Ted Cassidy's crazy face acting and Carolyn Jones and John Astin's instant charm made the early scenes sing. [6.5/10]

Halloween 2024: September 4th

Abigail (2024)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Devil's Messenger (1961)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chucky: Jennifer's Body

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

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

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

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

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