Halloween 2025: October 13th

 

The Horror Show (1989)

If you are an American horror fan who grew up during the later stages of the video store era, for many years there was a question that gnawed at your mind. You'd look through the Hs and find “House,” “House II: The Second Story,” and then... “House IV!” Where was “House III?!” No store had a copy in stock and no clerk could locate it. Why did this franchise skip the number three? Eventually, the well-spring of all knowledge that is the internet would resolve any confusion. “House III” is “The Horror Story,” James Isaac's killer-returns-from-the-grave slasher from 1989. The film would begin life as the third installment in the wacky horror/comedy haunted house series, producer Sean S. Cunningham in tow. Partially due to “The Second Story's” box office take and simply because of how the script developed, the decision was made during production to turn “House III” into more of a serious horror movie. The result was so different in tone and story – including not featuring much of a haunted house – that it was released stateside as “The Horror Show.” Overseas, however, the film would maintain the “House” branding. Whether you call it “The Horror Show” or “House III,” either title is equally relevant to the plot. 

Police detective and family man Lucas McCarthy is finally the one to bring in “Meatcleaver Max” Jenke, a serial killer that has been terrorizing the country. That's only after Lucas sees Jenke murder his partner and decapitate a little girl. He continues to have nightmares about the killer, concerning his wife and two kids. McCarthy attends the execution of Jenke to make sure he's dead. Jenke takes two volts from the electric chair and threatens to get his revenge on Lucas. Afterwards, the horrifying dreams continue and McCarthy begins to see Jenke tormenting him throughout the day. When his teenage daughter's boyfriend is found dead in the basement, Lucas is the main suspect. Instead, a doctor studying the nature of evil reveals, the truth is far stranger: Evil exists as an electric frequency and, via micro-dosing himself with shocks throughout his life, Meatcleaver Max has returned from the grave as a phantasmic being.

Exploitation filmmakers were ready to leap on the success of “Halloween,” slashers full of masked murderers flooding cinemas by 1980. I guess they took longer to catch on to Freddy's status as the next horror icon. Whatever the reason, four separate movies released between 1987 and the end of the decade would be about vengeful killers returning from the electric chair to kill again. Two of them were blatant Freddy wannabes. Both Craven's “Shocker” and “The Horror Show” make a serious mistake in emulating the Freddy movies. Part of what gave “A Nightmare on Elm Street” a universal appeal was its simplicity. Freddy can only get you in your dreams and, if you die in the dream, you die for real. “The Horror Story” can't seem to make up its mind about what rules govern Max Jenke. Sometimes, like “Shocker's” Horace Pinker, he exists as a living electrical signal, jumping around various appliances. (And, in a blatant imitation of the “Nightmare” films, spends a lot of time in the basement furnace.) Other times, he seems more like a classic ghosts. Jenke also appears in Lucas' dreams and visions. At least once, something that happens in the dream rolls over to waking hours, a wound appearing on Lucas' chest. Jenke is also able to manifest in reality, becoming a physical threat again in the last act but still using some of his supernatural powers. The explanation cooked up, about the abstract concept of evil being an electric wavelength and volts being both Max's weakness and the source of his power, clears nothing up. 

Adding further to this confusion is “The Horror Show's” inability to pick a tone. The filmmakers clearly intended Max Jenke to be a wise-cracking Freddy-like figure. He has a trademark, a nasally chortle. At one point, he appears in the guise of a TV stand-up comic, cramming half-a-dozen lame one-liners into a single scene. At the same time, the script tries to make Jenke into a vile serial killer. He gruffly croaks out profanity at his enemies. I mean, he cuts off a little girl's head early on. That's fairly extremely. There's an obvious degree of sexual menace in his interactions with McCarthy's wife and daughter. When he drags Lucas' wife into his power plant lair at the end of the movie, the implication of what he plans to do to her are obvious. Other scenes, that focus on McCarthy being in court-appointed therapy or being investigated by internal affairs, feel like something from a grittier cop-versus-killer thriller. In general, “The Horror Show” feels pulled between wanting to be a farcical horror/comedy, a grim gore-fest, and something more like a typical eighties cop flick.

It's easy to imagine the script for “The Horror Show” beginning life as another “Dirty Harry” imitator, something closer to “Cobra” than “Nightmare on Elm Street.” Lance Henriksen stars as McCarthy, his voice as gravelly as ever. He grimly swears and pulls his gun when pursuing the killer, acting a lot how you'd expect Lance Henriksen to perform in such a role. Brion James, himself a vet of action flicks, is Meatcleaver Max. Like in many an action movie, the bond between hero and villain seems deeper than mere hate. Jenke is obsessed with Lucas, to the point that he returns from the grave for him. The two men make repeatedly references to “getting their ass” and “nailing” each other. In the last act, while holding McCarthy's wife hostage, Jenke demands the cop crawl over to him and kiss his feet. When paired with a scene where Jenke pretends to be his enemy's teenage daughter and tricks her boyfriend into stripping for him, or dresses in drag as McCarthy's wife, points towards a casual homoeroticism. This seems to be a natural side-effect of the movie's heavy-handed machismo, of the plot device of two men being totally obsessed with each other.

The manly longing Jenke has for his archenemy is more interesting than the movie's horror elements. Brion James goes way over the top as Jenke, in a way that straddles the line between fun and overbearing. Lance is a reliable hero. The cast playing his family play their notes at a cartoonish level, especially Aron Eisenberg as the would-be con artist son. The movie does cook up some memorable special effects gag. A noteworthy sequence has Jenke's face appearing in a roasted turkey, the cooked bird becoming some freakish Brion James/fowl hybrid. That was cool. An early scene, where Lance stalks the killer through a dinner littered with severed heads and hands, looks cool as hell. Mac Ahlberg, Stuart Gordon's regular D.P., does the cinematography and creates some moody, foggy, deep blue night shots. There's a lot of ingredients here that should work, simply put. 

Instead, as all too often happens: It's the Script, Stupid. “The Horror Show” simply doesn't have a compelling story. As a slasher flick, it never quite delivers, most of the beheadings happening off-screen. I guess because it's ostensibly a “House” movie, most of the film is confined to the McCarthy home. This limits the creativity of the set-pieces the movie can cook up. The inability to figure out what the villain can and can't do, as well as how the viewer is suppose to feel about what they are seeing, keeps this from being better. Despite making him look like Jason on the U.S. one-sheet and multiple advertisement's comparing the film to Freddy, Max Jenke did not become a Halloween costume. I guess the film is a little less annoying than “Shocker,” if not as gloriously camp, and not quite as generic as “Destroyer,” if you want to compare it to the other electric chair themed revenge-from-the-grave flicks. Ultimately, perhaps it's for the best that this was destined to be the “House III” most of us wouldn't know about. “The Horror Story” can't compare to the giddy heights of “House II” or the reliable creature feature fun of the original. [6/10]

Nightmares Come at Night (1970)

Les cauchemars naissent la nuit
 

Is there a single European country Jesús Franco didn't make a movie in? I mean, probably. However, there's no denying that ol' Jess sure did get around. He worked in Spain, Germany, France, Italy, England, Belgium, Portugal, and Liechtenstein. Yes, Liechtenstein, the semi-constitutional monarchy, all of sixty-two square miles wide, that is wedged between Austria and Switzerland. Despite its relative tininess, Franco would actually make a couple of movies within the country. Most of these fall more on the sexploitation side of his style but at least one is classified more as horror. That would be “Nightmares Come at Night,” which started out as a fragment Franco made sometime in 1970 that was then padded out to feature length with some additional scenes. It was one of Franco's more unseen film during his glory days but, like everything the prolific cult director touched, would eventually get DVD and Blu-Ray presentations far nicer than the grindhouses it was designed for.

Anna worked as an exotic dancer in a nightclub in Zagreb, often dissatisfied with her work and feeling a growing sense of de-personalization. That is until she notices a beautiful woman, visiting the club to watch her every night. The woman introduces herself as Cynthia and, after meeting Anne in her dressing room one night, the two began a passionate love affair. That was some time ago though. Now, Anna is in the grips of a serious mental health crisis. She has haunting dreams every night, which often seem to cross over into her waking hours. Her live-in doctor does not seem to be helping her fracturing psyche any. Growing increasingly frustrated and cold with Anna, Cynthia begins to bring home other lovers. Anna begins to have murderous dreams, beginning to wonder if she has taken a life in reality as well. Or is something more sinister going on?

I've had mixed feelings about the Franco flicks I've seen in the past, enjoying his gothic horror flicks over his trippier doses of erotica. “Nightmares Come at Night” falls squarely on the latter side of the equation. Franco's “Vampyros Lesbos” muse, Soledad Miranda, has a small role here as the often pantless next door neighbor. This film is also about a lesbian tryst between two strippers, another frequent reoccurring element in Franco's work. There's quite a lot of scenes of Diana Lorys and Colette Giacobine in stylish outfits, in various states of undress, lounging in bed, taking showers, or rolling around with various partners. These scenes play out against a smooth jazz score from frequent giallo composer, Bruno Nicolai. The story is extremely loose, the film operating more as a series of set pieces set at often undetermined points in the past. The pacing is languid, to say the least. 

Given the above description, you would expect me to find “Nightmares Come at Night” as tedious as I found “Vampyros Lesbos.” Actually, I ended up liking this one quite a bit. Partially because, unlike “Vampyros Lesbos” mixing of elements from “Dracula” and “The Awful Dr. Orloff” into its stew of dreamy eroticism, this one never pretends to have much of a plot. From the beginning, it's apparent that this film will be a wash of the main character's memories, dreams, and hallucinations. That “Nightmares Come at Night” centers so much on its main character is what, I think, made it work for me. The film features quite a lot of voice over from Anna, which further puts us in her mindset. As she recalls her time at the night club, she describes her feeling of being treated like an object. No wonder she is starting to lose her grip on reality. Everybody around her wants and desires her but nobody is interested in actually knowing her. When the complicated nature of her mental health makes itself known, Cynthia smacks her, yells at her, and starts sleeping with other people. When Anna finds brief solace with a man, it's because he makes her feel realized and doesn't seem to want anything from her. It's a ruse, of course, another person lying to Anna to use her. “Nightmares Come at Night” ends up getting a pass for its sleepy pacing and barely existent story by taking place solely inside the head of its fractured protagonist.

Considering it was one of the Franco productions to be somewhat cobbled together, that's another reason why “Nightmares Come at Night” borders incoherent at times. A subplot about a bank robbery emerges in the second half, that never amounts to much at all. Some characters come and go with little warning. A series of last minute plot twist makes one wonder if this was supposed to be a giallo at some point. As you'd also expect from Franco, the visual approach is quite slapdash at times. There's lots of handheld footage and some rough zooms. More than a few times, the camera actually goes out of focus as it roams around the lovers wrapping their arms around each other and kissing or while Lorys cries on a bathroom floor. I watched the Blu-Ray release and it is still overly dark in spots and quite grainy throughout. While normally these would be the elements that distract me when watching Franco's films, it all blends together to make an intoxicatingly dream-like brew here.

Existing within that nightmare headspace, when your mind is groggy and your memory is foggy, when dreams and wakefulness blend together, causes a lot of “Nightmares Come at Night's” bugs to become features. Perhaps I'm warming up to Franco's particular strain of bullshit. Or maybe the girls were extra sexy enough to keep me watching. Either way, the slowness and choppiness of “Nightmares Come at Night” actually worked its spell on me. Sometimes, you simply want to slip into a fuzzy, relaxed, sleepy world of sex and murder and madness. That cool score from Nicolai doesn't hurt either. I can't decide if the English title is mildly poetic or simply redundant. When else would a nightmare come but at night? [7/10]

 

Mostly True Stories: One Armed Killer

A very long time ago, before TLC became a non-stop freak show devoted to individuals of unusual physical dimensions, child beauty pageants, quickie marriages, family with lots of kids, or popping zits, those letters actually stood for something: The Learning Channel. If you turned on the channel around 2002 or so, you might actually acquire some knowledge. That's when the network starring airing “Mostly True Stories: Urban Legends Revealed,” a series all about exploring the likeliness, history, and meaning of those scary and ironic tales we call urban legends. Host Natasha Henstridge would present five stories, which where then presented as dramatic re-enactments. Experts and historians would then expound on whether there was any truth to the story and why such legends endure. The series had a good balance of spookiness, humor, rationality, and laid-back basic cable charm. In other words, I loved it and the show was surely a factor in heightening my fascination with modern folklore. 

Not every story explored on “Mostly True Stories” was macabre or horrific in nature. The third episode also discusses the story of an unfaithful husband being caught at a surprise party in his birthday suit. However, as urban legends often do, the tales tended to veer towards the horrific. The episode discusses the tale of a choking Doberman revealing the presence of a home invader, a woman buying a new coat and being bitten by the baby snakes that hatch within, an actual mummified corpse hanging up as a prop in a carnival fun house, and what is probably the most iconic urban legend of all: Teenage lovers driving their car to a secluded spot for a romantic evening only to be interrupted by news of an escaped killer with a metal hook for a hand, who might be closer than either of them realize. 

As an educational program, “Mostly True Stories” is well done. The segment on the Hook legend links its likely origins back to the infamous Moonlight Murders that plagued Texarkana in the forties. (The same case that inspired “The Town That Dreaded Sundown.”) It contains an interview with an actual doctor with a real prosthetic hook hand, who makes the case that the story propagates harmful stereotypes about the disabled. Most fascinating to me, the program gets into the cultural meanings behind this story. The Hook is deconstructed as a fable about teenage girls needing to be cautious with handsy boys and their own sexuality. My favorite part is when Dr. Susan Block, quite a colorful looking character, compares the hook itself to a “twisted phallic symbol,” pointing to the subtext of a premature withdraw and castration symbolized in the image of the car peeling out and the hook's bloody fate. All the other legends are given a similarly thorough reading. The facts of the mummy in the fun house – an actual true story – are detailed. An actual coat company CEO is brought in to debunk the snake eggs one. The show was always honest about the harmful elements of these stories too, pointing out the racist qualities of the Choking Doberman. 

As a make-shift horror anthology, your mileage may vary with “Mostly True Stories.” The production values for the dramatic re-enactments were extremely modest. The acting from the usually silent actors was often quite campy. However, that didn't stop the show from occasionally producing a striking image. The Hook sequence is actually kind of creepy. The silhouetted shot of the hook man lurking in the shadow or the boyfriend's own hand being replaced with a hook are actually quite well done. When discussing the Phantom Killer, the sudden appearance of a gun-wielding figure in a hood genuinely frightened me as a kid. The other segments are anywhere near as creepy as that one but shots of a cadaver in the lighting of a dark ride or baby snakes slithering out of a coat pocket aren't without their value. Henstridge's host segments are inessential but I do like the smoky, dark set she hangs out in. While most of the shows I watch this time of year are things I'm revisiting from childhood or seeing for the first time, I'll be totally honest and admit that “Mostly True Stories” is one I've re-watched quite frequently. Something about this show is extremely cozy to me. I love this stuff. [8/10]

 

Take An Easy Ride (1976)

As far as I know, nobody in the Year of Our Lord 2025 hitchhikes anymore. This is after nearly every pop culture recreation of the activity has depicted it as utterly fraught with danger. No matter what end of the wheel you're on, you are either getting picked up by a psycho or picking up a psycho, it seems. I guess teenage girls hitchhiking to rock concerts and never being seen again was a big problem in the seventies. “Take An Easy Ride” began life as a Public Information Film, those notoriously grim British educational films largely shown in schools, intended for television by director Kenneth F. Rowles. That's when exploitation producer David Grant offered to give the film theatrical distribution if lots of sex was inserted. This is how “Take An Easy Ride” took form as a cautionary pseudo-documentary about the dangers of hitchhiking and also a super sleazy sexploitation flick, with leering camera work and copious nudity. The film follows several storylines, of young women hitchhiking to a rock concert. Some of them are picked up simply by a creepy guy. Another is lured into a hotel room with alcohol. One pair is attacked and assaulted. While another set of young women prove as dangerous as the men picking them up.

This bizarre back-and-forth is what makes “Take An Easy Ride” an interesting cinematic experience. Man-on-the-street interviews, presumably staged, have random people being asked about whether they think hitchhiking should be banned. The film's intention is made repeatedly clear by the stern-voiced narrator repeatedly telling us how unsafe this activity is. As with any PIF, the presentation is stately and frills-free. The acting is often ropey, perhaps even amateurish. Cutting between multiple different scenarios so often furthers the feeling that this was a production by largely inexperienced newbies just happy to get the intended message out there. That's paired with documentary-like footage of the Isle of Wight rock festival, which gives us a fly-on-the-wall peek at seventies hippy culture as it was happening. 

This clumsy, if seemingly sincere, attempt to warn the youth at large not to go hitchiking, you friggin' dummies, is paired with an extremely sleazy approach. I think every single actress in the movie get naked on-camera, often for no particular reason. There's a stop over in a sex club, with a strip tease captured on-camera alongside lots of footage of porno tapes. When the sexual violence occurs, it's photographed with extremely pervy angles that glare at the actress' exposed body. The story of a woman intoxicated and manipulated by a charming man does not seem to show much sympathy to the victimized woman. When combined with the strict moralizing tone, the effect feels like the film is chastising the characters as much as it is any perspective viewers. It adds up to create a particular viewing experience, the dissonance between the intended message and the way it's delivered properly baffling the viewer. Sleazy and uncomfortable, “Take An Easy Ride” played in British grindhouses for years, where I can't imagine it informed too many people about the threats of hitchhiking but did provide them with the cheap thrills they were looking for. [6/10]

 

Halloween 2024: September 13th

Children of the Corn (1984)

In the early eighties, Stephen King was really pumping 'em out. In the first four years of the decade, he released nine novels. If you round down by excluding the three published under the Richard Bachman pseudonym, that's still an astonishing output. This constant stream of new King Kontent still wasn't enough to satisfy a public ravenous for the author's work. 1983 saw three feature adaptations based on his writing, with another two following the next year. While most of these King movies were high-profile studio projects, one was more low-key. “Children of the Corn” was made for a little over a million dollars by Hal Roach Studios and distributed by New World Pictures. The actual budget was supposedly lower than that, after King demanded more money following his own script being rejected. Either way, the investment would pay off. “Children of the Corn” grossed over 14 million at the box office, became a VHS rental sleepover party favorite, and has remained a cult classic among genre enthusiast.

Nestled deep within Nebraska's corn country is the small town of Gatlin. The parents totally unaware, the children in the town begin worshiping a pagan deity they call He Who Walks Behind the Rows. One day, the pint-sized cultists murdered everyone over the age of 18 in the town. Three years later, soon-to-be-doctor Burt and his girlfriend Vicky are driving through Nebraska. They run over a boy on the road, soon discovering that the boy was already dead from a slit throat before they hit. The couple arrive in Gatlin looking for any sort of help. Instead, they find the Children of the Corn. Burt and Vicky do what they can to escape this small town hell, helping out Job and Sarah, the only kids in town rebelling against Isaac and Malachi, the cult's leader. 

There are, of course, many horror movies about kids who kill. “Children of the Corn” wasn't the first movie about whole gangs of murderous children either, predated by earlier shockers like “Devil Times Five,” “Who Can Kill a Child?,” and “Bloody Birthday.” It's not difficult to figure out why writers and filmmakers have repeatedly returned to this idea. We think of children as innocent, mischievous at most. Seeing tow-headed little munkins go on homicidal rampages is an easy source of shock and horror. And it probably doesn't hurt that some of the most iconic films in the horror genre use this gimmick, namely “The Exorcist” and “The Omen.” (Whose score clearly inspired “Children of the Corn” composer Johnathan Elias.) Director Fritz Kiersch does, indeed, get some mileage out of this contrast. An early scene devoted to the kids massacring a whole diner full of people, presumably their parents and relatives, is when the film comes the closest to reaching an unsettling fever pitch. 

Like a lot of his work, Stephen King's short story exploits a revulsion of Christian fanaticism, which is carried over into the film. Whatever religion the Children are practicing, it's a weirdo cross pollination between Bible-thumping fundamentalisms and a Earth-worshipping paganism. The icon of the crucifix is warped into the image of a dead body strung up on a cross made of cornstalks. Isaac and Malachi are teenage Fred Phelps, spewing hellfire on anyone that has transgressed their moral code. But I think whatever power “Children of the Corn” has comes from another idea. Namely, what's the matter with kids these days? That the corn cult springs up under the parents' noses, germinating naturally among the youths, speaks to any moral panics about young people getting involved in something frightening that grown-ups don't understand. We, as a culture, can't escape this fear that the Kids Aren't Alright. That young minds are vulnerable to insidious ideas, which turn them into killers. 

While “Children of the Corn” has some potent ideas within it, the execution leaves something to be desired. You often feel the strain of a short story being expanded into a feature film. Multiple additions are made to King's narrative. Two virtuous children are added among the villagers. Sarah has psychic visions of the future, which manifest as creepy pencil drawings. Job narrates portions of the movie, which don't connect with Burt and Vicky's half of the story. An unnecessary subplot is added about an old man and his dog, who run the last autoshop outside of Gatlin. This scene seems to exist to add the cliché of a old man with a warning and to up the body count. By the second half, the pacing starts to sag. Vicky and Burt are dragged back and forth between the cornfield and an empty home. Meanwhile, in-fighting begins among the Children, another subplot clearly added to beef up a story not quite long enough to support a feature length runtime.

Despite being a cult classic among the kind of horror fan circles I tend to run in, I've never loved “Children of the Corn” much. Re-watching the film brings it flaws to light. There's quite a lot of goofiness on display here. An obvious dummy is creamed by a car. Corny optical effects proliferate in the last act. The acting, especially from the younger performers, veers towards the overblown and stilted. John Franklin as Isaac has a nasally voice that makes him hard to take seriously as a threat. Courtney Gains, as Malachi, delivers his lines in a stilted, sweaty fashion. On the page, it's a lot easier to take killer kids and malevolent cornstalks seriously. On-screen, the inherent silliness of these ideas become more apparent. Especially once Burt smacks Malachi around or gets entangled in some roving corn silk. Ultimately, the editing and cinematography in the film can be quite shaky at times.

That “Children of the Corn” ends on a big, cheesy jump-scare after a monster movie finale speaks to its weaknesses. In its best moments, the film gathers up some midwestern dread. In images of knife-wielding little psychos casting their shadows on an unmoving car. Or the emptiness of corn fields stretching on in all directions as far as the eye can see. There is something mythic and unnerving about the old ways, the worship of the gods of the soil and fields, re-emerging in the modern age. Unfortunately, Kiersch handles it in an often clumsy fashion. The film does, at least, improve on the short story in one regard. Peter Horton and Linda Hamilton are a young couple in love with some minor commitment issues, much more likable than the bickering husband and wife on the page. Ultimately though, this “Corn” never matches the visceral thrill of the diner sequence or lives up to the deeper ideas present in its premise. [6/10]

The Diabolical Dr. Z (1966)

Miss Muerte

It seems to me that Jesús Franco spent his career bouncing back and forth between two modes: Gothic horror and artsy-fartsy eroticism. The two tones often influenced each other but one usually took precedence. As censorship restrictions became more lax in Europe through the sixties and seventies, Franco started making a lot more films like "Vampyros Lesbos" and fewer films like "The Awful Dr. Orloff." This is what I've observed as a relative novice to Franco's staggering body of work, having only watched three of the over two hundred movies he made. From the brief tastes I've had, I think I definitely prefer his black-and-white horror flicks over his softcore fantasmas. This is why, in my latest attempt to familiarize myself with the director's many cult classics, I picked up  "The Diabolical Dr. Z" from 1966, seemingly a direct attempt to recreate the success of "The Awful Dr. Orloff."

The sickly Professor Zimmer has been working on a machine that can separate the good from the evil within human beings. His sadistic daughter, Irma, convinces him to test the robotic mechanism on a recently escaped murderer, Hans. The result turns the man into an obedient slave. Zimmer tries to present his findings to his peers but they laugh at him, causing him to die of heartbreak. Irma fakes her own death (burning her face badly in the process) before beginning an elaborate scheme of vengeance. She kidnaps a burlesque dancer named Nadia – stage name Miss Death – and programs her to seduce and kill the men she blames for her father's passing. 

Like fellow EuroSleaze icon and gothic devotee Jean Rollin, Franco's films are often variations on the same set of themes. Much like "The Awful Dr. Orloff" – who Dr. Zimmer claims to have studied under, making the connection explicit – this is the story of a mad scientist with a lumbering manservant. Though Hans isn't mute or blind like Morpho, the two are still quite similar. Also like the earlier Franco flick, this one shows an obvious debt to "Eyes Without a Face." The brief subplot where Irma burns her face, going under the knife to restore her beauty, obviously recalls Georges Franju's classic. To the point where I expected Irma's vanity to start motivating the killings. Like Franco's later films, there's an element of stylized eroticism too. This is most evident in the bizarre stage show Nadia performs, where she wears a spider-themed body suit and a mask of a skull. (This act is what gives the film its Spanish title, "Miss Muerte," a more descriptive title considering Dr. Z dies shortly after the opening credits.) You can see this lingering desire in "Diabolical Dr. Z" to fuse the shadowy past of horror with the quickly emerging future of European exploitation, where sleazy sex and psychedelic imagery would take precedence. 

As someone who finds the clichés of classic horror fascinating, not infuriating, I can certainly appreciate what "The Diabolical Dr. Z" sets out to do. However, the film's story still feels like an undisciplined mishmash of different plot elements. The opening, of a strangler escaping a crypt-like prison, suggests one movie before he collapses at Dr. Z's gates. The mad scientist plot moves forward next, featuring a bizarre device with robotic arms driving needles into people's spines. This then crashes into the idea of a brainwashed exotic dancer killing men with her poisonous fingernails. How exactly Irma decided this complicated path is the best way to avenge her father, I don't know. Meanwhile, Irma's face getting burned is a element that never truly effects the story, thrown in seemingly for the hell of it. Hot on the murderesses' trail is an eccentric police detective, exhausted because his wife recently gave birth to triplets. This comedic touch feels like it's from yet another type of movie. The writing in "The Diabolical Dr. Z" is silly and senseless, such as in two separate scenes where Irma convinces two different women to be alone with her after talking to them for a few minutes.

Narrative coherence was, I'm beginning to understand, never a priority for Franco. A messy plot that throws together many divergent concepts and idiotic characters doesn't much distract from the main reason to watch this movie. Namely, that it looks fucking cool. The black and white cinematography is supremely stylized. The opening sequence, of the strangler escaping his castle prison, features the crashing lightning, iron gates, stone corridors, and crazed faces that defined the classic horror film. The murder and seduction scenes relish in shadowy, dream-like imagery. A scene where Miss Muerte seduces her prey on a train, their eyes lit while their faces are in shadows, is brilliant. While Franco and cinematographer Alejandro Ulloa are influenced by gothic thrillers and film noir of the past, their camera work is very modern. "The Diabolical Dr. Z" often features delirious tracking shots and free-floating angles that amble alongside the characters as they move or fight through the darkness drenched sets. While the tacky crash zooms that would eventually take over Franco's work are here, they are used more sparingly, as exclamation points on shocking moments or movements. 

In short, "The Diabolical Dr. Z" is cheapie, sleazy Eurotrash that happens to look great. The puerile attitudes that would largely drive Franco's work are present, such as when a clueless hitchhiker decides to go skinny dipping with our murderous scientist. Or extended sequences of Hans stalking scantily-clad distressed damsels. The gore and brief nudity – Nadia has several prominent disrobing scenes – where assuredly quite salacious for 1966. The jazzy, discordant score similarly roots the movie to a specific time and place. No matter how dumb, derivative, and mixed-up I found the writing, the gorgeous images, evocative shadows, and dream-like cinematography greatly elevates the experience. Franco would remix the "Orloff" story many more times after this and I'll probably check some of those out down the line. Yet I'm really beginning to wonder if the guy didn't lose something in the leap from black and white to color. Without its monochrome visuals, "The Diabolical Dr. Z" would be a largely tedious experience. With them, it's damn near a classic. [7/10]

‘Way Out: I Heard You Calling Me

A few years back, I reviewed an episode of "'Way Out," the first anthology series hosted by Roald Dahl and one of the few horror shows legitimately canceled because the public thought it was too scary. That first episode was quite good and I've been wanting to get back to it. "I Heard You Calling Me" begins with Freda checking into what she describes as an "unfancy hotel." She is waiting for George, who is leaving his wife to go to America with her. Freda begins to receive phone calls from a threatening woman who insists that she knows what her and George are up to. That Freda will be leaving with her instead. The hotel operator insists no calls are incoming but the phone keeps ringing. Freda grows more terrified as the caller reveals she's on her way. Further clues suggest that, whoever this woman is, she's not alive... 

"'Way Out" clearly didn't have the production values of "The Twilight Zone" or "Thriller" and all the surviving episodes are rather grainy and washed-out. Despite that, "I Heard You Calling Me" remains a very compelling half-hour of television. Confining itself largely to Freda's hotel room, we watch an already nervous woman crack up more as the threatening calls continue. The episode builds suspense through what is surely one of the oldest techniques in horror fiction. Someone is told that a force is coming to get them, that it's useless to fight back, and all they can do is wait for it. This tension is amplified by Constance Ford's genuinely fantastic performance, as a woman growing increasingly terrified. Every time she calls down to the operator, she's greeted with the cheeriest old woman, with a whimsical British accent, saying "Numba' pleese!" George has no idea what's going on either, each clue Freda reveals baffling him. It's like the whole universe is mocking Freda, as she is given nothing to do except anxiously dread the arrival of whoever it is that's after her.

The set-up of the episode couldn't help but remind me of that old joke about The Viper. "I Heard You Calling Me" easily could've resolved its story in an equally mundane way. Perhaps Freda is imagining all of this and it's her guilt, over running off with a married man, that is driving her batty. The script, from Sumner Locke Elliot, more than implies such a possibility. However, "'Way Out" was committed to its status as a horror series. The conclusion is macabre and the circumstances are clearly supernatural. Really the only thing that distracts from this taunt little half-hour is the final line, a twist that is a little too on-the-nose. Well, that and the constant ads for L&M Cigarettes, which Dahl also puffs on during his extremely sardonic host segments. His rambling introduction is a lot closer to the Crypt Keeper than Rod Serling, with a humor a shade blacker than Hitchcock's. His opening joke is also kind of sexist, which is the other indication that this episode is from 1961. Despite that, I still recommend this one to fans of vintage genre TV. [8/10]

The Addams Family: Gomez, the Politician

“Gomez, the Politician” reveals that the Addams family has a history of getting involved in local politics, using their wealth to always drive candidates to loose spectacularly. Upon hearing that Sam L. Hilliard, the truant officer from the first episode, is running for town council, Gomez decides to back him. They especially enjoy his focus on swamp-related topics. The family promises to donate generously, though Hilliard wants nothing to do with the eccentric family. They continue to campaign for him anyway, in their own chaotic way. This has predictable results on Hiliard’s results on Election Day. 

A goofy sitcom like “The Addams Family” doesn’t provide much in the way of biting, political commentary. However, there is a surprisingly sharp observation in “Gomez, the Politican.” When Gomez hears that Hiliard promises to “drain the swamp" – a term a lot older than Trump, it seems – the family takes it literally. And the idea of dreary, gloomy swamps being removed horrifies Morticia. Of course, Gomez also knows that politicians never keep their promises, assuming Hiliard has no intention on touching the swamps. It’s a wacky case of reverse psychology to play on a would-be city councilman. A family sitcom suggesting that a figure of authority might be dishonest or misleading showed that “Addams Family” really was trying to subvert some of the establishment morality of the day. 

All things considered, “Gomez, the Politician” has some good gags in it. Hiliard insisting the Addams give him less money with each offer they make provides some solid laughs. An idea for a television campaign ad centering around Lurch is probably the funniest moment in the episode. Makes good use of Ted Kassidy’s utterly deadpan stiffness. However, I did like Morticia giving advice to Gomez to shorten a speech he’s written, until literally the entire paper is torn apart. The show is definitely returning to the idea of Fester powering a light bulb in his mouth a bit too often though. This episode is also notable for the first in-show appearance of “Kitty Kat,” the family’s pet lion. I also believe this is the first time the show has acknowledged Gomez’ day job as a lawyer, always working to make sure his clients go to jail. Thing also gets some good moments here, though I’m still getting used to him being isolated to a box. [7/10]

Halloween 2023: October 2nd

Vampyros Lesbos (1971)

Once again, it is time for me to attempt to pierce the void and decide if the films of Jesús Franco are for me or not. I previously explored Franco's version of “Dracula” and “The Awful Dr. Orloff” and managed to find some things to like in both. Yet tales of gothic horror like that are not really what the director's cult following is built upon. Instead, Franco's reputation is mostly founded upon cheap, sleazy but stylishly directed erotica with horror themes. Among the most highly regarded of this particular strain of Franco features is “Vampyros Lesbos.” Hey, I like vampires. I like lesbians. Maybe I'll like this? Let's give it a try and see if Tim Lucas knows what he's talking about. 

Linda Westinghouse is a lawyer living in Turkey who is having dreams of a strange woman, beckoning to her. While at a night club with her boyfriend, Omar, she sees the woman from her dreams performing an erotic striptease. Linda is next called to a remote Turkish island and meets the woman again, who is named Countess Nadine Carody. The two begin a love affair before Linda seemingly finds Nadine dead in a swimming pool. Linda awakens in an asylum, where it becomes clear that the Countess is far from dead. She is a vampire and calls to Linda still.

On a narrative level, “Vampyros Lesbos” doesn't make much sense. Characters come and go from the story without much introduction. Back story and motivations are explained in big chunks of dialogue. The pacing is languid, the movie moving sleepily from one scene to the next without much coherence. In its best moments, “Vampyros Lesbos” captures a fittingly dream-like atmosphere, the audience slipping in and out of dreams and reality, memories and present events, much the same way Linda is. In its worst moments, the film is an extremely slow collections of incidents that the audience never has much reason to understand or be invested in. I'll admit, I was fighting sleep at times during the dull bits on our way to the more stimulating moments.

It's clear that Franco had aspirations of high art with this one. “Vampyros Lesbos” is fascinated with the notion of repressed female sexuality. The opening scene depicts Nadine doing an erotic night club act, which involves dancing around a nude woman standing as still as a mannequin. It is a genuinely sensual moment, the unspoken longing between the two women clearly being expressed. When the more explicit sexual moments come, they are handed with a certain delicacy. Linda's erotic fantasies of the vampire countess pass like a dream, clearly speaking to how she can't express these feelings in her waking life. In the movie's final moments, it remains unclear how much of what has happened is reality, dreams, memories, or hallucinations. Whatever the film is trying to say on these topics is unclear. Nadine is still a killer and a bloodsucker and Linda eventually rejects her advances. Yet the ideas contained within are interesting. 

“Vampyros Lesbos”' pretensions go hand-in-hand with its status as an exploitation movie. Every central female character gets fully naked, Franco never missing a chance to show off the cast's bodies. More traditional horror movie moments are inserted at random. The Countess has a silent servant, Morpho, the same name that the similarly quiet murderer in “The Awful Dr. Orloff” had. He dispatches those that displeases the Countess. An otherwise unimportant subplot introduces a madman who ties up Linda, threatening her with a bone saw. The combination of artsy-fartsy eroticism and Z-movie schlockiness is awkward, to say the least. 

That awkwardness infects every aspect of the film. Franco's direction is preoccupied with tacky crash-zooms. For every eye-catching visual he engineers, like blood dripping down a window, there's another shot that inspires giggles from its stiffness. The plot weaves in references to “Dracula” – a Dr. Seward, a Renfield-like madwoman, the count being mentioned by name – in a way that only muddles things further. When combined with the often repetitive story structure, it just gives the impression that the entire movie was made-up as the filmmakers went along. No matter how easy on the eyes Soledad Miranda might be, as the Countess, her performances are never anything less than wooden. Ewa Stromberg is a little better as Linda, her wide blue eyes conveying a certain expressiveness, but her performance is also quite stiff as well.

Perhaps I am overthinking it. Maybe “Vampyros Lesbos” is meant to wash over the viewer like an album. The psychedelic soundtrack – which, inexplicably, became a top ten alternative hit in mid-nineties England – is full of crunchy guitar solos, grooving bass lines, backwards speech, and barely audible rumblings of desire and love. The music is almost more the star of the film than any of the actresses. This goes hand-in-hand with the exotic locations and stylized sets. The Countess' chateau, with its many red decorations, or the tapestries hanging on the asylum's walls, all seem like products of the same swingin' decade. All of this implies something else: That perhaps the viewer should smoke a joint before watching the movie to get the most out of it. “Vampyros Lesbos” aggressive grooviness, eroticism, and dreamy qualities only go so far to make up for its campier, more awkward aspects. [6/10]

All Hallows' Eve (2013)

I make a habit of going to at least one horror convention every year, usually the local Monster-Mania events. Going out and mingling with other freaks like me provides a good idea of what characters and films are popular with your average horror fanatics. Over the last decade, I've noticed this distinctive black-and-white clown showing up a lot through cosplay, fan art, and merchandise. As you probably already know, that would be Art the Clown. He's the creation of indie filmmaker Damian Leone. While Art would become a fan favorite through the “Terrifier” movies, his first appearance in a feature was actually the 2013 anthology “All Hallows' Eve.” I'm the thorough sort so, if I'm going to get to know Art, I plan on watching all of his appearances. 

On Halloween night, Sarah babysits the two kids of a friend of her's. The boy receives an unmarked VHS tape in his treat bag. Despite Sarah's protests, he insists on watching it. Contained within are three tales, each featuring a creepy clown named Art. The first involves a woman being abducted at a subway station, awakening chained to another woman in a dank basement. The girls are stalked by monsters and ushered into a demonic ritual. The second features the wife of an artist, moving into their new house in the country. The quiet evening is interrupted by a close encounter of the third kind. The final tale sees Art taking center stage, chasing a young woman who catches him brutally dismembering a gas station attendant. The films frighten Sarah but the terror doesn't end at the TV screen....

“All Hallows' Eve” is, more-or-less, a compilation of short films Damien Leone directed independently of this anthology. Only the second segment and the wrap around were filmed specifically for this production. The first episode is “The 9th Circle,” Leone's debut short that he completed in 2008. And, well, to be blunt, it's not very good. The premise shifts three separate times, from the woman encountering Art in the subway, to the “Saw”-like scenario of her chained to other victims, and finally to the Satanic ritual scene. The monster make-up is decent – Leone has been working as an effects artist since 2005 – but the fake blood looks watery. The settings of grimy basements and the acts of bodily dismemberment and demonic violation feel like a teenager trying to freak us out with how edgy he can be. You also see this attitude in the derivative, jump-scare editing used throughout. 

The second segment is, at the very least, a little more self-assured. It's a near plotless chase scene of a woman in a house being hunted by an extraterrestrial. The alien make-up isn't the best and the actor's movement is pretty silly. The attempt to link the short to the rest of the movie feels like a last minute addition. Yet Leone does have a certain talent for using cramped locations to generate a sort of fatalistic tension. As the alien pursues the woman through the house, closing in on her, I was grooving with the film. The internal logic of the segment isn't the strongest. What the alien wants, why it's targeting the woman, or whether her cellphone works or not, is never solidified. Yet it's alright.

The final sequence in the film is the twenty minute prototype for “Terrifier.” The short continues Leone's clear aptitude for stalk-and-slash theatrics. The isolated locations, which range from a dirty gas station to desolate back roads, provide a certain ambiance. Art's dogged pursuit of the unnamed final girl does generate a grim sort of tension, a feeling of hopelessness closing in. And there's no doubt that the grisly special effects are well done. Yet the same issues that effect much of “All Hallows' Eve” are apparent here. What exactly Art can do, whether he's supernatural or simply a serial killer, is never consistent. The same sort of try-hard edginess present in “The 9th Circle” is also here. Leone applies a fake film grain to the movie, despite the characters using cell phone. Meanwhile, the final image is tasteless in a way that isn't especially fun or insightful. It ends an otherwise decent slasher homage on a very sour note.

“All Hallows' Eve” was obviously a very low budget production. The acting is a bit ropy from everyone. The special effects quality vary, with the end of the wrap-around segment featuring some lousy looking decapitated heads. Maybe it was just the version that's streaming on Tubi but I also found the sound quality not to be the best, degrading at random times. The compilation obviously proves that Damien Leone can do some things well, while obviously having weakness too. The director himself has offered some criticism of “All Hallows' Eve” as well, so at least he's self-aware. [5/10]

Thriller: A Good Imagination

Some of the best regarded episode of “Thriller,” a horror/suspense anthology series Boris Karloff hosted in the sixties, were written by “Psycho” scribe Robert Bloch. Another such episode – currently ranked as the program's third best on IMDb – is “A Good Imagination.” The plot revolves around Frank Logan, a seemingly mild-mannered book seller, and his adulterous wife, Louise. He's taken up the habit of murdering her partners, the wife none the wiser. While vacationing at an isolated country home, Louise starts seeing local handyman, George. When Frank spies on the couple, he concocts a new scheme to take revenge on them both... And draws a little inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe.

Yes, by some considerable coincidence, this is the third iteration of “The Cask of Amontillado” I've watched this year. Though Poe is merely paid homage to by Frank's final method of murder. Much like the “Suspense” adaptation, the episode tacks on a final moment that restore some moral balance to this story. Up to that point, the highlight of “A Good Imagination” is watching Frank slowly turn the screws on both his wife and the man she's seeing behind his back. The way the nerdy fellow manipulates them both, while subtly displaying how much of a threat he actually is, manages to build some decent tension. It also helps that director John Brahams, at least in these final moments, makes the most of the shadowy basement the scene is set in.

Mostly, “A Good Imagination” is worth seeing because of its performances. Edward Andrews is delightful as the cuckold with a taste for homicide. From the opening scene, where he confronts another of his wife's beaus, down to that climax, Andrews never stops slithering with utterly self-assured sinister intent. His nerdy appearance allows him to catch everyone off-guard, it seems, allowing him to lure each guy into a drawn-out game of cat and mouse. Patricia Barry, as the cheating wife, and Ed Nelson, as the dim-witted repairman, are also well-cast. Bloch's trademark sense of dry humor is present all throughout the episode. While hardly groundbreaking, “A Good Imagination” shows that you don't need much more than some strong actors and a good script to create an entertaining hour of television. [7/10]

The Munsters: John Doe Munster / A Man for Marilyn

“The Munsters” touches on some especially hoary clichés in the ninth and tenth episodes of the second season. But it at least has fun doing it. “John Doe Munster” begins with a safe falling on Herman's head while buying a new kite for Eddie. This results in him getting amnesia. After Lily petitions the state to adopt this “John Doe,” he takes to his role as the new kid in the household. The family does everything it can to reawaken Herman's memory. “A Man for Marilyn” has Marilyn loosing another suitor after he gets a look at the rest of the family. While everyone else is out at the movies, Marilyn locks herself out and catches the attention of a young man, who assumes she's being held prisoner. Herman mistakes the terrified Good Samaritan for a frog Grandpa previously enchanted to turn into a prince for Marilyn. 

A character getting bopped on the head and loosing their memory, just to have it easily restored before the episode ends, is among the goofiest – and most widely discredited – sitcom tropes. I'm not surprised “The Munsters,” already being a farce, touched on this idea. Herman is frequently characterized as a man-child already, so to have him acting like a big kid is a natural enough idea. It does lead to a few honest chuckles, such as Herman's jealousy of his own son. (And Fred Gwynne happily hams it up even more as usual.) The way Herman regains his memory is even sort of sweet. Among these are mildly amusing gags about the court system reacting to the Munsters' appearances and, unfortunately, a scene where Grandpa tries to change his appearance to look like Rudolph Valentino and instead ends up looking more like he's wearing yellow-face.

“The Munsters” has utilized the plot point of Marilyn's inability to keep a boyfriend before, most prominently in “Love Comes to Mockingbird Heights.” At least the potential suitor here is a well-intentioned young man. Instead, the episode wrings easy laughs out of the central comedic misunderstanding here. Herman and Grandpa think the guy is a frog. The guy thinks the Munsters plan to do something horrible to him. Roger Perry makes a solid straight man, reacting with shock to the statements the Munsters make that they perceive as innocent. An interaction he has with Eddie is especially funny. That's a better gag than the usual joke of people fleeing in exaggerated terror. (Though that happens too.) Also there's a good bit in the beginning of Herman and Eddie de-fleaing Spot, which involves exploding cockroaches with a giant bug spray. [John Doe Munster: 6/10 / A Man for Marilyn: 7/10]

Halloween 2022: October 16th

Halloween Ends (2022)

When a series has been running for forty-four years, with countless fans around the world, you're never going to make everyone happy. David Gordon Green and Blumhouse's “Halloween” trilogy has been divisive all along. 2018's “Halloween” was mostly well received, though I thought it played things a little too safe. “Halloween Kills” was liked by some, hated by others, and struck me as intermittently effective but shapeless in other regards. And now the trilogy comes to an end with “Halloween Ends,” a movie even more hotly debated. Those that love it, think it's one of the best films in the series. Those that hate it, hate it so much they're demanding the movie be reshot. Now the time has come for me, just another horror nerd here on the internet, to weigh in. 

Four years have passed since the bloody Halloween night of 2018. Michael Myers has not been seen since but Haddonfield is still abuzz with debate and conspiracy theories around the killer. Laurie Strode, while attempting to write her memoir, decides to move on with her life. Her granddaughter Alison, now working as a nurse, seeks out romance with Corey Cunningham. Corey is a social outcast after accidentally killing a child following a Halloween prank. Persecuted by people in the town, Corey has an unexpected encounter as the end of October draws near: He meets Michael Myers and feels a bond with the aging murderer. Soon, Corey and the Shape are working together on a new murder spree. This causes quite a lot of conflict between Laurie and Alison. 

I know trauma is the biggest buzzword in the horror genre right now but Green's “Halloween” movies really are grappling with the effects horrible events has on someone's life. 2018's “Halloween” was about people still trapped in the trauma of Michael's original rampage. “Halloween Kills” was about the trauma a whole town felt afterwards. “Halloween Ends,” meanwhile, shows the different ways people move on from trauma. Laurie lets go and decides to live her life outside of Myers' shadow, even celebrating the holiday for fun. This is not so easy for the rare victims of the killer who have seen his mask and lived, who are consumed by the bitterness of their pain. Alison deals with it by doing probably the most reasonable thing: Getting the hell out of Haddonfield. And then there's Corey, a man who lashes out in bloody violence to express the feelings his traumatic life have left him with. 

“Halloween Ends” also presents another interesting question. Corey isn't like Michael Myers. He's not a seemingly normal kid who picked up a knife and stabbed his sister one night for no discernible reason. He's a socially awkward nerd brimming with anger and rage at the world that has abused him. There's no rhyme or reason to the Shape's killing, his victims chosen randomly. Corey, meanwhile, is focused specifically on the people who have hurt him. Essentially, “Ends” is dropping a more realistic version of a serial killer into a world where Michael Myers – the killer as avatar of unknowable death – exists. This raises the question of what evil even is. Is it a nebulous, outside force? Or is it something that lives inside us? Was Michael Myers born or made? Could any of us become a remorseless slasher killer given certain circumstances? 

The sequel does seem to want it both ways. There's a moment that suggest Myers' evil is a communicable force, that he spreads to Corey. Afterwards, Corey's eyes are repeatedly compared to Myers' infamous “devil's eyes.” Yet Green and his team also lean into the idea that the Shape could be more human than previously thought. Myers is referred to as “a man with brain damage” by a Laurie skeptic at one point, probably the most realistic explanation for his actions. “Ends” even embraces the fact that Michael Myers is pushing seventy now and isn't as spry as he used to be. All of this is in opposition to the last movie, which increasingly implied Myers is a supernatural force of evil. Yet just asking these questions in the thirteenth installment of a series that has been, more often than not, simply body count films is bold.  

Whether or not you find Corey – a hilariously mundane name for a murderer, that similarly makes you realize that "Michael" is too – compelling will vary wildly. He has a clingy mom, who gets weird about his girlfriend. He dances strangely and generally acts like a spaz in public. I can relate to all that. In contrast to the unmovable Myers, his competency at murder varies. Yet he's an interestingly grounded take on the kind of disaffected youth that become murderers in real life, with Rohan Campbell's performance really working for me. This stands alongside further strong performances from Jamie Lee Curtis and Andi Matichak. Both of whom are allowed to breathe and expand upon the personalities they've already shaped, while Curtis gets some impressive stuntwork too. Laurie Strode remains a fighter. 

Maybe this more character-driven approach is what's alienating some fans, who just want to see Michael Myers fuck people up. Taken as a straight-forward slasher flick, “Halloween Ends” is solid enough. The attempts to give the victims some personality was better executed in “Kills.” Here, the folks that get cut up are mostly assholes who have it coming. This includes a group of obnoxious zoomer bullies, Alison's philandering boss, and a sub-Alex Jones radio host. (This is when the outrageous Danny McBride dialogue, that sometimes bristled against the previous films' tones, is most apparent.) There's some likable style to the bloodshed. The most extended stalking sequence goes down in a junkyard and features some stylish carnage. The film is less bloody and elaborate than “Kills." You get the impression that the murder is not what most interests the filmmakers here. Green, and the burning score from John Carpenter and friends, still do their best to create some thrilling mayhem. 

Honestly, the thing that most surprised and impressed me about “Halloween Ends” is the sense of finality it brings to the series. There's no last minute shock to suggest the story might continues. The final set of shots are a brilliant callback to Carpenter's original. The the second word in the title is lingered upon before the credits run. Obviously, the franchise will continue, in one way or another. Yet I have to admire David Gordon Green for going in a more psychological direction with the final film of his trilogy, really attempting to do something different. I'm not surprised some folks hate it, people will debate the merits of this one for years to come, and that's fine. I, for one, found “Halloween Ends” to be an intriguing exploration of the themes Green has been working with since he first went to Haddonfield. I think it's the best of the trilogy and easily one of the best sequels in the entire “Halloween” experience. [8/10]

The Awful Dr. Orlof (1962)

Gritos en la noche

A few years back, I decided to watch my first Jess Franco movie. When I was first reading about Eurohorror way back in my youth, Franco was a name I heard mentioned often. The director gathered a passionate group of defenders over his long, prolific career. Yet his movies have also been dismissed as the most disposable type of sleazy Eurotrash. I found my previous excursion into Franco country to be somewhat interesting but also extremely trashy. For my second attempt, I figured I'd go all the way back to the beginning. That would be Franco's first movie which is also regarded as some as the first Spanish horror movie period. That would be “The Awful Dr. Orlof.” 

In France, at the turn of the century, someone is murdering young woman. Two separate men are spotted in connection with the crimes: A suave man in evening wear and a strange fellow with an ambling gait and unblinking eyes. The perpetrator is Dr. Orlof, a mad scientist who is using the skin and blood of beautiful young woman to heal his scarred daughter's face. The actual murderer is Morpho, a condemned killer that Orlof has hypnotized into being his slave. Inspector Tanner is on the case but, when he's slow to uncover the truth, his girlfriend Wanda decides to take matters into her own hands. 

From what little I've seen of Jess Franco's movies, I associate his films with tacky crash-zooms and cheap production values. It clearly wasn't always this way. “The Awful Dr. Orlof” actually looks fantastic. The black-and-white photography is rich and immersive. The shadows are thick in the streets of Paris. The interiors of the laboratories and torture chambers are similarly stylish. There's at least one shot of a creeper in a top hat and cape, his shadow cast huge on a wall, that makes an impression. Franco's framing can be quite intriguing at times. There's a great shot of Orlof and Morpho carrying a casket up a hill towards their lair. There's some nice Dutch angles too, especially as Morpho attacks. It all adds up to some strong gothic atmosphere.

Aside from its black-and-white ambiance, the second most interesting thing about “The Awful Dr. Orlof” is its uncertain relationship with women. The premise of a deformed lunatic and a mad scientist killing beautiful young women for their skin certainly sounds sexist. The movie was notable in 1962 for its few scenes of nudity, which were often cut out depending on what country you were watching it in. Yet “Dr. Orlof” is a little more complicated than that. Wanda identifies the killer very early on, after just getting one good look at Orlof. Her words are ignored by her boyfriend and the police. She goes undercover in the dance hall where Orlof picks his victims. This might just be an excuse to get the lead actress – the beautiful Diana Lorys –  in a tight, skimpy outfit. It still makes the film a little more interesting than it otherwise would be, suggesting women weren't believed in the 1900s either.

What makes “The Awful Dr. Orlof” worth watching isn't its story. The premise is obviously taken from “Eyes Without a Face,” with Edgar Wallace's “Dark Eyes of London” also being an inspiration. Unlike Georges Franju's masterpiece, the deformed daughter isn't given much focus. In fact, she's barely a character at all, spending the entire movie in a catatonic state. The detective storyline is mostly used as an excuse for comic relief, with Tanner and his witnesses functioning as incompetent goofballs. Despite all the trappings it throws on, “The Awful Dr. Orlof” is basically a monster movie. Morpho, whose frozen face makes him look like an evil puppet person, is the murderous beast that turns on his master eventually. The film even includes a “Caligari”-inspired ending, where the sleepwalking killer abducts the beauty and takes a climatic dive off a tower. 

From what I've read, this kind of set-up – generic horror movie tropes with some stylish direction – is what Jess Franco excelled at. The director was clearly fond of “The Awful Dr. Orlof.” He made several semi-sequels and quasi-remakes featuring some of the same characters and themes. “Orlof” was a sizable enough hit to spawn a couple of knock-offs unrelated to Franco's work as well. The rich black-and-white photography and a few oddball touches – which includes a jazzy score – goes a long way towards distinguishing what is a standard collection of mad scientist/gothic horror clichés. But I'm a sucker for some bitchin' gothic atmosphere, so obviously I loved this. I'm happy to add weird ol' Morpho to my collection of freaky monsters. [7/10]

Are You Afraid of the Dark?: Tale of the Night Shift

“Are Afraid of the Dark?” – a show I've never been all that impressed with but retains a devoted cult following – would wrap up its original five season run with “Tale of the Night Shift.” Set in a hospital in the middle of the night, it follows a teenage volunteer nurse named Amanda. While deflecting the advances of pushy guy, Colin, she discovers empty packets of blood. Shortly after that, another teenage worker – a janitor named Felix – mysteriously ends up in the morgue. After which he's alive again and attempting to drink Amanda's blood. The teenagers are soon trying to survive against a shape-shifting vampire who has taken up residence in the hospital. 

“Tale of the Night Shift” has a great idea for a horror story. In a hospital, a vampire would have easy access to blood and immobile victims, who everyone expects to die anyway. There's plenty of hiding space for a coffin, in the spacious basements and such. As the son of a night shift nurse, I know how empty hospitals are at night and how draining the job is on the nurses. A vampire would be a good metaphor for that kind of pressure. The best parts of “Tale of the Night Shift” plays on these ideas, focusing on the shadowy isolation of a ward in the middle of the night. 

“Tale of the Night Shift” also, by the standards of this show, has a fairly scary villain. Giving the vampire the ability to assume the appearance of anyone leads to one or two alright shocks, while also catching the cast members off-guard. The bloodsucker also has a suitably grotesque appearance, with green skin, red eyes, and yellow teeth. Granted, some of the malevolence is drained once he starts to talk in a goofy accent. Yet just a look at that guy would probably be enough to scare the crap out of a five year old. The fiery mode of his demise is also surprisingly intense.

Sadly, the rest of “Tale of the Night Shift” is the typical kids-glove nonsense I expect from this show. The musical score is awful and clownish, drawing far too much attention to every moment. This is apparent in how the camera constantly cuts to the bite marks on people's necks. The acting is mostly goofy, especially from Jorgito Vargas as Felix. As you'd expect from a show for children, most of the bite is taken out of the vampire premise. As soon as the threat is dispelled, everyone returns to normal with no memory of what happened. I also find this show's continued focus on teenage romance really distracting. It's still too cutesy for me but a strong premise and an above-average villain still ranks this as one of the better “Are You Afraid of the Dark?” episodes I've watched. [6/10]

The Munsters: Herman's Raise / Yes, Galen, There is a Herman

“The Munsters” wrapped up its first season with more of what you expect. “Herman's Raise” has Lily asking her husband to request a pay raise at work. Instead, the owner of the funeral parlor fires Herman, information he tries to keep from his wife. He tries out a number of jobs but he can't stop Lily from uncovering the truth. In the awkwardly entitled “Yes, Galen, There is a Herman,” Herman finds a little boy with his head stuck through a fence on his walk home from work. After he helps the kid out, both are excited to get to know each other better. Neither the other Munsters nor Galen's family believe the stories of their encounter at first, prompting visits from both parties. 

The “Munsters” writers must've decided to use up all their remaining “What if Herman did [X]?” jokes at the end of the season. “Herman's Raise” features a typically ridiculous montage of Herman trying out various jobs, each one ending with people fleeing in exaggerated terror. The lengthiest scene is devoted to him working in a Chinese Laundromat. (Which features a not-exactly-sensitive portrayal of an Asian business owner.) That's a scene that just gets getting bigger and sillier, an escalation that admittedly got me to smile. Especially once Herman decides to quit and his later reaction to a ringing phone. Honestly, Grandpa's snide remarks about his son-in-law's intelligence probably got the most consistent chuckles out of me. You could always count on Al Lewis for those. This episode is also notable for John Carradine's first appearance as Herman's boss, which the veteran star puts some deadpan effect into.  

Harvey Korman makes his second appearance on “The Munsters” but as a different character. He plays the child psychologist Galen's parents hire to address his supposed fantasies. Korman having increasingly shocked reactions to the Munsters' household, while speaking in a goofy accent, makes up most of the episode's second half. Other than that, this episode feels a little more shapeless than your typical “Munsters” installment. Herman's childish bond with Galen is cute, though the boy happily walking home with a strange man – literally a seven-foot tall Frankenstein – probably isn't something any child should do in real life. There's a long bit of the family watching Grandpa's home movies – stock footage from the Universal vault – which is unfortunately fairly lifeless. It's definitely something of a weak note to take the first season out on. [Herman's Raise: 7/10 / Yes, Galen, There is a Herman: 6/10]

After speeding my way through the first season of “The Munsters,” I think I can easily say that this is a comfort show for me. You always know what you're going to get when you watch one of these. The punchlines are predictable and the set-ups often contrived. Yet it's simply cozy for me. The characters, simplistic archetypes they might undeniably be, are just nice to spend time with. Ya know, I'm just saying, I'd love to visit 1313 Mockingbird Lane and hang out with Herman and the gang. I'm sure my reviews where not the most insightful. I find comedy challenging to write about in general and it's not like these half-hours give me much depth to dig into it. Yet I absolutely enjoyed it. I'll definitely be packing season two into next year's Six Weeks.