Halloween 2026: September 7th

 

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978)
 

The idea of what American culture was like during the childhood of people who grew up in the fifties and sixties – yanno, boomers – is based on nostalgia. And nostalgia isn't a true reflection of reality but rather an idealized fantasy filtered through collective memory and cultural cliches. There certainly were plenty of cheesy B-movies playing at drive-ins and on late night TV around that time. Aside from truly oddball outliers like "The Killer Shrews" or "From Hell It Came," there actually weren't that many low budget horror flicks in which comically un-serious threats became society threatening monsters. People are scared of regular sized bugs and lizards, so big ones are extra scary. Bug-eyed alien invaders, radioactive dinosaurs, and evolutionary throwbacks all represent real social anxieties about war and science. However, the idea of some obscure B-movies from the recent past in which random bullshit is rendered enormous and homicidal propagated through parody. A sketch comedy segment, background gag in a sitcom or cartoon, or ambitious commercial is really where ideas like these emerged. That's the same environment that John DeBello and Costa Dillon's "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" sprouted from, beginning life as an amateur short in 1976. That must've generated enough interest for the same team to expand the idea into a slightly less amateur feature film two years later, kicking off an improbable franchise of produce-themed yuks and mock-terror. 

Somewhere in California, a woman is murdered in her kitchen by an autonomous tomato rising from her sink. This is the first of many such attacks, in which the edible berry of the tomato vine inexplicably claims lives around the country. Press secretary Jim Richardson is told to calm public panic while secretly assembling a team of experts to get to the bottom of this gazpacho affair. Intelligence agent Mason Dixon and Wilbur Fenletter lead the covert operation, reporter Lois Fairchild soon becoming involved as well. They work together to find the responsible party and stop the tomato uprising. 

"Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" is undoubtedly better known as a title than an actual motion picture. I know this is the case. As recently as my childhood, I can recall hearing people mistaking the film for a deeply misguided but sincere attempt at a horror movie rather than an obvious parody of them. People probably saw the title in an ad, on a marquee, or at a video store. They had a healthy chuckle at such an absurd premise for a motion picture, moving on without bothering to actually watch it. If the original film can be said to have any greater cultural impact beyond its goofy title, it's probably that goofy theme song. Playing over the opening credits' images of splattering tomatoes, the song is undeniably catchy. The name is sung with operatic gusto alongside silly rhyming verses. The thumping military-style march melody embeds itself in your ear drums. Truly, a classic of Halloween party mix tapes and Dr. Demento compilations. 

There's another reason why the title and associated song are better known than any actual jokes inside "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes." The film has a couple of good gags. An establishing shot of what is blatantly, obviously San Francisco is captioned as "Washington D.C." There's a brief line about submarines that always makes me giggle. A military meeting occurring in a tiny closet is some okay physical comedy. The film comes the closest to actually spoofing the melodrama of classic B-movies when a scientist studying an oversized killer tomato grimly states that this is merely a cherry tomato. (A possible homage to "Gorgo?" Probably not.) Other than that, DeBello's film has a lot of long stretches without any solid laughs. The film lacks the specificity of "Young Frankenstein's" homages or the social critique of "Blazing Saddles." 

Without that, the film relies on two style of jokes. The first of which are the kind of good taste pushing gags that the Zucker brothers would employ a lot more skillfully in their better films. A Japanese man being badly dubbed, the sudden appearance of someone dressed as Hitler, and a blunt dropping of a homophobic slur are less "jokes" so much as they are half-hearted attempts to goad laughter out of viewers with shock value. Fenletter displays the kind of macho disregard for the feelings of women could've been commentary on the casual sexism of fifties sci-fi if it was deployed with any sharpness. Instead, it feels more like we are simply supposed to laugh at one of the heroes calling a woman a "strumpet" for no reason. Edgier jokes like these exist alongside a general sort of zaniness. Each members of Dixon's team have a silly outfit, such as Fenletter's always-deployed parachute. Another is always in scuba gear, another dressed like an Olympic gymnast. The fourth member puts on that Hitler outfit, among other unlikely disguises. There are car chases, foot chases, manic misunderstandings, random pogo sticking, and deliberately crappy pop songs. Each of these bit lack an essential snappiness. Coming across as both too desperate to amuse and too lethargic to be convincingly fun. The impression is of a script that was largely improvised on the spot. Not in a way that pulls from the chemistry and energy of the cast but, instead, feels like the filmmakers just throwing around stupid, unfunny bits in order to get their movie to feature length. 

This is most apparent in the movie's three musical numbers. The second of which is an embarrassingly un-energetic song and dance from the military, a scene that is indicative of the movie's overall comedic fatigue. The first of which is delivered by the head of an ad agency, about how they cook up the slogans and campaigns that drive public opinion. This is part of an extended dunk on Gerald Ford's Whip Inflation Now campaign, a then relevant government boondoggle that has faded completely in the public consciousness. You might notice that this joke has nothing to do with Killer Tomatoes. In fact, the murderous fruit story line and the wacky gang of special operatives don't interact much. Most of them are disposed of after a few scenes. Dixon's investigation eventually bends in a direction unrelated to the perilous produce before circling back around. That's because most of the characters in the film were recycled from another of De Bello's shorts, a spoof of silent films and spy movies called “Do They Accept Traveler's Checks in Babusuland?” 

Now, complaining about the messy plotting in a movie called “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” obviously makes me the idiot here. But it points to the film's general lack of coherence. To learn that this was an expansion of a short is unsurprising. It has that sweaty discomfort, of an amusing enough idea for a gag tediously stretched out to feature length. I would never besmirch the appeal of some solanum lycopersicum going on a rampage, that absolute banger of a theme song, or the legendary poster art. However, the actual experience of watching the original “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” is considerably less amusing than simply learning of its existence. [5/10]

 

Bhoot (2003)

The ghost is a concept that exists in all cultures. The exact appearance, behavior, and tangible quality are different around the world but the general premise is the same. Wikipedia provides the usual definition of "the soul of a deceased person, spoken of as appearing in a visible form, and often restless or perturbed." Perhaps we owe the universal quality of this folklore to its hopefulness. The belief in ghosts insists that human existence is more than physical, that there is a spiritual quality to ourselves that persists after death. Frightening though they may be, ghosts are an ultimately optimistic answer to any uncertain questions about mortality. As old as a belief in ghosts themselves is the understanding that a noisy spirit can be appeased or contained. That food or wine left out can satisfy them. That binding the corpse or performing a mystical rite can expel them. Or that solving an unsolved murder can set the wandering soul free. This too is a hopeful idea, showing that the actions of the living can reverberate into the afterlife or that the guilty can't always get away with it. In India, ghosts are called bhoota and belief in their existence is an integral part of Hindu and Buddhist religions. Unsurprisingly, this means the topic has come up in Indian cinema from time to time. If I'm going to try and get a little more culturally specific  with Bollywood horror – as both of my previous two journeys into this territory were remakes of American films – why not start with a movie so emblematic of local folklore that its title literally translates to simply "Ghost?" The success of "Bhoot" in 2003 is credited with reviving interest in the horror genre in India. Sounds like a good pick to me. 

Vishal is looking for a new home for himself and his wife, Swati. He finds a stylish apartment in a high-rise building, selling at an unusually low price. While touring the residence, he learns why the rent is so reasonable. The previous tenant, a woman named Manjeet, murdered her child there before leaping to her death from the balcony. Vishal hides this information from his superstitious wife and they move in. Soon afterwards, Swati begins to see strange things and act oddly. Doctors dismiss her as simply sleepwalking but, after a night watchman is found killed, Vishal comes to believe that his wife is possessed by Manjeet's restless spirit. At the urging of the family maid, he seeks out an exorcist to get to the bottom of this. 

Like I said, my previous two entries in this region during my Horror Around the World series were unofficial remakes of American slasher movies. I wanted something a little more inherently Indian than Bollywood guys riffing on "A Nightmare on Elm Street" or "Scream" this year. "Bhoot" probably fits the bill but the film is still indebted to some international hits. Modern medicine failing to help a woman, her husband seeking out a supernatural expert instead, and the spiritualist confronting the entity as the host is tied to a bed clearly recalls "The Exorcist." "Bhoot" was also released during a boom period in horror, and ghost stories especially, across multiple Asian film markets. Manjeet's spirit is a vengeful spectre with long black hair, a local variant on the archetypal Asian ghost girl. The haunting taking place in a modern metropolitan area, consuming a young woman, and specifically a spooky ghost boy tagging along seem to recall Takashi Shimizu's "Ju-On" series. Director Ram Gopal Varma has never spoken on any similarities and "Bhoot" was only released a year after "Ju-On: The Grudge" became a breakout hit. So it could be a coincidence but I don't know, man. 

The cliches about Hindi films is that they have long run times and contain random musical numbers. Their characters and stories are archetypal, and the tone can randomly shift towards theatrical action, melodramatic romance, or shrill comic relief without warning. This is not always true and "Bhoot" defies the something-for-everybody masala style in several ways. It's less than two hours long. Though songs were composed for the film, only one plays during the end credits. This is a non-singing-and-dancing movie, with no car chases or broad slapstick. The intention is instead to scare and unsettle the viewer. This is literally announced in the first scene. "Bhoot" begins with the disclaimer that, due to his strong personal convictions, the director wishes to stress that the movie in no way endorses a belief in the occult and that its only purpose is to scare you. And "Bhoot" does an okay job at that at times. A sequence where Swati is approached at the beach by the ghostly woman, the spectre looming still and watching, renders a bright and crowded area as frightening. The final sequence also generates a nice little chill up your spine. In general, the camera work often suggests an otherworldly presence watching the characters within a cramped apartment with modern – which also means quite cold and impersonal – architecture. There's also one surprising jolt that genuinely caught me off-guard, even if it's quickly revealed to only be a dream sequence. 

That "Thriller"-esque title card also warns that pregnant women shouldn't watch the film, should it frighten them too much. This might be some William Castle-like hucksterism, and cultural standards are different everywhere, but it is difficult to imagine this film frightening anyone to death or into premature labor. Most of the attempts at scares in "Bhoot" struck me as very corny. The film uses a goofy looking stuffed toy as a reoccurring sign of the ghost child's presence. In general, most of the scenes with the spectral boy simply involve the kid stepping on-screen while sinister music plays. Another scene where Swati experiences a vision while at a movie theater watching, of all things, "Spider-Man" veers into the comical quickly. While "Bhoot" is less exaggerated than the other Bollywood films I've seen, it's no less melodramatic. The presence of numerous characters who exist only to give ominous warnings – the family maid, the night watchmen, the apartment landlord – lays it on a bit heavy. A subplot involves the doctor attempting to help Swati being pulled away because his daughter is dying of some terminal condition. This is a rather weighty topic to introduce only to keep a side character occupied. The involvement of a police officer is another subplot that feels too dramatic. It exists mostly so all the back story around what really happened can be explained in excruciating detail. This all builds towards a conclusion that starts off decently but then pulls back on the throttle (while utilizing some cheesy special effects) right when events are coming to a proper climax. 

This points towards a problem I've experienced with other Indian-made horror movies. The country's equivalent to the MPAA can deny films a commercial screening licenses if any nudity, sex, violence, and political or religious themes are deemed offensive. That last sticking point seems to enforce a very limited moral view point on "Bhoot." The denouncement awkwardly prevents any body but the villain from doing questionable things, seemingly not to offend any moral guardians. The reveal that people are more dangerous than ghosts, while not a terrible writing choice, also seems included more to tiptoe around the story's obviously darker or more violent ideas. There's this unavoidable sense in "Bhoot" that the filmmakers are too conservative, or too timid, to address more complicated issues. From the beginning, the obvious implication is that Vishal and Swati's marriage is doomed. He lies to his wife about the truth concerning their new home, which obviously endangers Swati. The script frames his mistake more as not believing in ghosts than manipulating his wife, the couple reuniting at the end only now minus an angry spirit. In general, these two bicker a lot. Swati is patronized and her concerns are not taken seriously. Ghosts or possession as a metaphor for a marriage crumbling would be standard stuff for the horror genre. Instead, the film does not seem to recognize the existing problems in this relationship before the spooky shit starts happening. 

All of this seems to suggest some cultural differences at play here. "Bhoot" was popular in its home country. Varma would make several more horror movies afterwards, with the genre in general becoming more common in India afterwards. A direct sequel would follow in 2012 and an in-name-only reboot came around in 2020. People who watch a lot more Bollywood movies than me seem to say this one is pretty good. Maybe my perspective as a vulgar American used to bloodier, sexier, and more morally grey entertainment is getting in the way. There's some okay atmosphere in "Bhoot," some interesting ideas, one or two good shocks, but the movie can neither come together to be as scary or intriguing as it clearly longs to be. [6/10]

 

Wednesday: Quid Pro Woe

The sixth episode of “Wednesday” shows a stark divide in what this show does well and the incomprehensibly boring bullshit it wants to be instead. “Quid Pro Woe” is set on Wednesday's birthday, which the series seems to place on the 13th of November. The different people in her life have different reactions: Her parents send her a taxidermy kit with frozen dead squirrels. Enid gets matching snoods for the two of them. A group of her school mates throw a surprise party at a tomb. That moment, in particular, climaxes in the image of Thing wearing a little birthday hat. We also get flashbacks to past childhood birthdays, which include Wednesday's first electric chair and a pinata full of spiders. See, this is the shit “The Addams Family” was made for! While the writing remains as debatable as ever, Jenna Ortega has a way with a deadpan one-liner and her chemistry with Emma Myers remains dependable. The terse discussion/flirting between them during the snood scene is actually momentarily charming. 

Unfortunately, “Quid Pro Woe” is also a very plot-heavy episode and that is, by far the stupidest part of this program. We've got Wednesday doing seances with her identical ancestor, who delivers vague hints about her destiny. Her psychic superpowers get more screen time. She is now referring to herself unironically as a detective, pushing the focus on the so-called mystery to the forefront. I simply cannot imagine any self-respecting Addams snooping around a spooky old mansion for any reason other than it amuses them. (Similarly, Wednesday has a key moment where she expresses a desire to save Nevermore Academy. I'm sorry, I do not believe this character would desire to “save” an institution as oppressive and standardized as a fucking prep school.) Instead, this show has Wednesday sneaking into the Mayor's car and unraveling leads. I don't care about that. I especially do not care about the lore dump we get concerning the Gates family. This thread was not important two episodes ago. Now the series is clearly building up to the Gates being a rival family to the Addams or something. They couldn't have named them the Hillard family at least? Show some respect for real “Addams Family” lore, you cowards. 

The episode concludes with such a misguided sequence, that I don't know how it made it into the final cut. Wednesday is moping about being alone. Our anti-social queen?! Someone must have realized how miscalculated such an admission is, as they have to justify it with a hoary line in her interior monologue. Combine that with the growing need to tie everything together, via the mess of back story and prophecies and romantic tension that make up this program, and it becomes truly dire. No, I do not give a shit about the siren girl and the one prankster guy possibly getting together. Why is that scene in this episode, if not a single living soul could ever be invested in it? Ya know, it sucks that so much of this series is utter grey bland bullshit because... That scene where Wednesday and Enid are hiding in a dumbwaiter while a monster tries to get at 'em? Not half bad. I don't hate the idea of an “Addams Family” variation actually going into full-on horror territory. Unfortunately, “Wednesday” is not that show either but rather a Teen Supernatural Romance Season-Long Mystery Cliffhanger-a-thon for Harry Potter Adults. [5/10]

‘Way Out: William and Mary

Roald Dahl's children's literature is beloved for its imagination and whimsy but also well known for its underlying cynicism and cruel streak. It should not be surprising then that his slightly less well known horror and thriller fiction is especially acerbic. (Or that his erotica is downright antisocial.) Only one episode of the Dahl-hosted, largely forgotten but quite good anthology series "'Way Out" adapted the author's work. That would be the first, "William and Mary," which was supposedly so gruesome by 1961 television standards that viewers complained. The titular characters are William Pearl, professor of philosophy and noted author, and his timid, submissive wife. William is dying from an ailment of the body, which does not stop him from criticizing and belittling Mary for everything she does and does not do. As the end draws near, a doctor proposes an experimental treatment. Why should William's healthy, brilliant mind die with the rest of his sickly body? Dr. Landy has a treatment to remove the brain from the skull, attach it to a machine that will pump fresh blood to the organ, and keep William's consciousness going. His only link to the outside world will be a single eye, floating in a basin of nutrient fluid. His sole method of communication will be an EKG, reading off his brain waves and alerting others to his emotional state. While Pearl finds the idea ghastly at first, he agrees to it because it'll give him a way to torment his wife from beyond the grave. Mary, however, has other plans...

Bitterness and spite are, indeed, powerful emotions. Anyone who has visited a terminal ward for the elderly has likely observed that impending mortality only makes some people bigger, even more entitled dickwads. A desire to annoy, burden, or further observe someone fail can keep a weakening heart beating for a bit longer. "William and Mary" presents the viewer with a perfectly despicable example of such a person right away. Mary wears an unnoticeable amount of lipstick, which is still too much for her griping husband. He tells her to leave him alone before changing his mind and instructing her to sit down. But not in that chair, the one over there! What an insufferable prick. It's no surprise that news of his death causes Mary to play loud music and dance. 

 

Despite the obvious toxicity of this relationship, she is loyal to him, cowed by cultural standards about what a "wife's duties" are and years of endless abuse. Of course, William's eventual fate provides a suitably ironic example of the tables being turned. Watching the expression on Mary's face change as she realizes that she has all the power over her husband now is delightful. There's a degree of sexism in the premise. William notes that he didn't curse Mary with any children but it's evident she wanted a kid, as she immediately sees her disembodied husband as a forever-baby. Women, am I right? Despite that, it is still deliciously satisfying watching such a loathsome curmudgeon finally get a taste of his own medicine from the person he's tormented the most. 

Dahl's macabre fiction rarely featured obviously supernatural scenarios. While the exact details strain credulity, certainly for the time, the situation William is put in does seem to exist on the fringe of plausible science. Fritz Weaver, in his first of many appearances in classic genre television, seems overjoyed as he describes William's mind being trapped in an immobile vat, unable to speak, hear, taste, or touch anything with only a static perspective of the universe. "Has science gone too far?" is a common, usually hysterically presented fear in classic sci-fi. Weaver does a good job of displaying the enthusiasm scientists can have for advancement paired with an apparent obliviousness to the ethical concerns. He describes a mind being unmoored from physical sensation and bodily autonomy as a limitless chance at cerebral exploration when it actually sounds like a great way to drive someone completely insane. He talks about only being able to stare up at the same spot on the ceiling, forever, like it'll be neat. Henry Jones can similarly bite into all the vicious dialogue he's given, while Mildred Dunnock plays Mary as so used to it that she takes it all with a smile. The quality of acting and writing certainly makes up for the subpar surviving prints of "'Way Out" and the limits of early sixties television. Seeing people constantly smoking, mandated by sponsors Liggett and Myers Cigarettes, does create the suggestion that William is dying of lung cancer. Probably an association the corporate sponsor did not intend... [7/10]

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Forest Warrior (1996)

As a fan of low budget filmmaking – especially when it spotlights new voices or contains a subversive message – I do not believe there is any shame in going "direct-to-video." ("Direct-to-VOD" or "Direct-to-Tubi" being the modern equivalent.) It is a totally valid release strategy for a number of worthwhile movies. However, especially during the Blockbuster Video peak years of the nineties, the bias against films foregoing a theatrical run wasn't entirely unwarranted. Many lazy cash-in sequels, unambitious action flicks, horror films of debatable merit, and exceedingly lame kids movies were released in this manner. You'd think, with a steady TV gig on “Walker, Texas Ranger,” Chuck Norris wouldn't need to do any of that stuff circa 1995. I guess not, as the former karate champ starred in “Forest Warrior,” his first direct-to-video release, around that time. To add to that indignity, this latest collab with his brother Aaron was strictly within the kiddie camp. The resulting film is widely regarded as a low point for a star whose work rarely attracted critical praise in the first place. 

Near the Tanglewood forest, a group of children composed of Austene, Justin, Lewis, and brothers Logan and Brian gather around a camp fire. An old man named Clovis relates a local legend to them. The story goes that, back in the frontier days, a man named Jebediah McKenna lived in the woods. His wife, a Native American woman, grew sick and he rushed off to retrieve some medicine for her. This is when he was attacked by bandits in the woods, physically beating them back but still being gravely injured. Rolling into the river and near death, the forest spirits revived McKenna. They gave him the ability to change into animals and made him the ghostly protector of the forest. The kids think its only a story. The next day, the youths discover a fort in the woods and make it their new club house. At the same time, a logging company owned by the greedy Travis Thorne intends to cut the forest down, much to the protest of the locals. It's not long before the loggers and the kids come into conflict. Luckily for the children, the spirit of Jebediah McKenna is there to protect them and defend the forest. 

For most of its runtime, “Forest Warrior” is an almost insufferably mawkish presentation. The kids are all wide-eyed moffats, their actions and dialogue calculated for maximum adorableness. They spent much of the movie interacting with a bear cub they name Rags, who seems to rarely share actual screen-time with the child actors. Every facet of their lives and existence seem tied to this forest and their club house. Only Austene's life gets any additional depth. She has an often absent, usually intoxicated father. This subplot crops up for a few scene, an attempt to add even more syrupy emotion to the story, before the business in the woods is returned to. The villains are all two-dimensional bad guys, cartoonishly dumb and wicked who never pause at the thought of attacking or blowing up kids. Travis Thorne makes sure to announce that he doesn't intend to hire locals for his mill, because he cares so little about the near-by town. The bone-deep corniness of this writing peaks during the climatic montage of the youths sabotaging the baddies' vehicles, sticking potatoes in their tail pipes and boards with nails under their tires.

That hokey quality penetrates into every aspect of “Forest Warrior.” The musical score by Bill Elliot is composed of a few melodies that are repeated throughout. Every time the villains or the mill are introduced, a thumping Dr. Robotnik-esque theme plays. Every time Chuck kicks into action, a hard rock theme picks up for a few minutes. Most of Elliot's prior credits are Disney Channel Originals, which is what this music sounds made for. The film is often broken up by reaction shots of various animals or repetitive montages of the inner workings of the mill, all evident attempts to pad the run time out. The writing is preachy and awkward, with the opening prologue going on for ten whole minutes. The lameness of the film seems to suck down the talent of everyone involved. João Fernandes has long since proven himself a talented cinematographer, doing good and sometimes great work on past Chuck Norris gigs. However, even his skills seem half-hearted here, “Forest Warrior” often looking flat in its imagery with blanket lighting.

That is what ninety percent of the experience of watching “Forest Warrior” is like, overly cutesy kids movie antics supported by writing and production values that can best be described as workmanlike and worst as tedious. The remaining ten percent, however, is composed of moments so preposterous, that they can't help but be amusing. This largely means the action scenes. A red tail hawk swoops towards some logging company stooges only to turn into Chuck Norris delivering a flying kick. The film then immediately launches into a fast-paced action sequence, scored to that corny rock riff, and suddenly feels injected with caffeine. Other highlights include Chuck stopping a chainsaw blade with his bare hand and turning into bear via some underwhelming digital matting. He also grabs a bad guy and stares intensely into his eyes, until the film inverts, in what I can only compare to Ghost Rider's Penance Stare. The only non-Chuck related moment of goofy awesomeness in “Forest Warrior” is when an extremely underwhelming rock song on the soundtracks prompts all the lumberjacks to play their tools of deforestation like instruments. The fight scenes aren't great or anything. As in “Top Dog,” we are thoroughly in the era where Chuck's kicks, spins, and leaps mostly seem to be shot in long shots, close-ups on feet or fists, or with his back otherwise turned to the camera. However, these brief flashes of absurd actions still represent the few times “Forest Warrior” awakens from its sleepy, listless ambiance. 

There's only one other mildly interesting thing about “Forest Warrior.” Much like “Top Dog,” the film represents a now bygone time when even right-wing types like Chuck Norris could agree with the libs on certain topics. After fighting racists and Nazis, Chuck is now here to defend the environment. It's a natural extension of the star's ongoing Native American mysticism gag, which “Forest Warrior” is unsurprisingly heavy on. He's protecting the woods and animals here, like some kind of gosh darn tree-huggin' hippy. He goes so far as to theatrically snap a rifle in half, something I think would get you ex-communicated from the Republican party in 2026. Not that “Forest Warrior's” environmental message is especially well thought-out. When your loggers are cartoonishly evil buffoons, it doesn't leave room for any genuine insight. I think “FernGully” is a deeper reflection on the deforestation issue. Still, the film does represents a more innocent time. When macho ass-kickers were also rugged, salt-of-the-earth, cowboy, forest hermit types that acknowledged you shouldn't cut down every tree or slaughter every animal, before internet con-men completely took over that corner of the American psyche. 

Not that Chuck seems all that invested in “Forest Warrior.” For much of the film, he looms in the distance, watching over the children and trees, like some sort of fur-wearing, high-kicking Jesus. When called upon to speak any dialogue, Chuck's delivery is of a stiffness not seen since the “Way of the Dragon” days. A random moment when he teaches a kid how to kick someone in the head represents the sole time he has any spark in his eyes here. Maybe he did this one as a favor to Aaron? There are some notable names in the cast. Roscoe Lee Brown is the storytelling old man, his sagacious voice managing to make this stupid bullshit sound half-way believable. Terry Kiser plays the main villain, mugging and hamming up to such a degree as to make his performance in “Friday the 13th Part VII” seem subtle in comparison. Michael Beck is the main kid's alcoholic dad, Loretta Swit shows up as someone's mom, George Buck Flower is briefly here. It all suggest that “Forest Warrior” had enough money behind it to not look and feel so drab and boring for most of its runtime. 

The film was produced by Avi Lerner, the Israeli-born and South African-based producer who got his start with Cannon before launching his own production company, Nu Image/Millennium Films. Lerner and his company would basically keep making the kind of action schlock that Cannon had success with into the nineties and 2000s, on considerably lower budgets and without much of the flair. “Forest Warrior” doesn't feature the Nu Image logo, being filmed in Oregon rather than overseas, but it still feels a lot like that kind of production. Presumably, Chuck's commitments to “Walker, Texas Ranger” is what kept him from making more shit for those guys. You can cut together about five minutes of amusing moments from “Forest Warrior” but, as a feature length motion picture, it's difficult to recommend. I won't say yet if this is the nadir of Norris' career, as we've still got some dire looking shit to wade through, but it is a fairly steep fall-off from the heights of his eighties cult classics. [5/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 3 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

Halloween 2025: October 16th

 

Kuroneko (1968)
Yabu no Naka no Kuroneko

Near the start of this year's Halloween Horror-fest Blog-a-thon, I talked a little bit about the history of scary movies about cats. In my typically Anglo-centric, ignorant American fashion, I completely forgot to mention that Japan devoted an entire fuckin' subgenre to scary cat movies. They are called kaibyo eiga and Japan has been making them since at least 1910. Ghostly cats obviously first appeared in Japanese folklore and stories about them first became popular in Kabuki theater. As a cinematic genre, these monster cat movies took off in the thirties, reoccurred in waves about every ten years, and finally died out in the sixties. That's when what is the best known example in English-speaking territory arrived. After making psycho-sexual Japanese folk tale “Onibaba” in 1964, director Kaneto Shindō would put his own spin on the ghost-cat movie with “Yabu no Naka no Kuroneko” – “A Black Cat in a Bamboo Grove” – which is simply known as “Kuroneko” abroad. 

Set in the same Warring States era as “Onibaba,” the film begins with a similar set-up. Hachi is off at war. Yone and Shige, his mother and wife, have been left alone. A group of samurai descend on their house, raping and killing them both. Afterwards, both women are resurrected as predatory ghosts who can transform into black cats. They begin to lure every samurai that comes across the gate at Rajomon back to their lair, seducing each one and then tearing their throats out.  On the battlefield, Hachi kills an enemy general and presents his decapitated head to samurai governor, Minamoto no Raiko. Hachi is made a samurai himself and renamed Gintoki. Raiko then tasks him with the mission of killing the ghost cat women that have been knocking off samurai near-by. Shortly after encountering them, Gintoki recognizes the spirits as his wife and mother. Since they've pledged to kill all samurai, the spectral women are conflicted about what to do next. Passion, honor, and a thirst for vengeance ensue.

While “Onibaba” had some extremely moody black-and-white cinematography of its own, “Kuroneko” takes the same visual style much further. The opening sequence, devoted to the women's violation and murder, takes place entirely without dialogue. From the moment the ghostly cat-women appear, the film is arrested by a dream-like tone of other-worldliness. The spectres are dressed all in white, appearing in a shadowy world of high contrast darkness. Their abode is depicted almost as an expressionistic set, vague and square interiors that stretch on into infinity. Figures disappear with a look, their appearances change just as quickly. During confrontations, the ghost women tumble through the air like the bad guy in a kung-fu movie. By the final act, every inch of ground under the actors' feet is covered with swirling white fog. It looks fucking cool, is my point. 

Such stylized visuals immediately evoke the feeling of a traditional folk tale. And the characters in a folk tale don't know they are in a folk tale. There were no cell phones in 16th century Japan, so each samurai falling to the ghost women in the exact same fashion is understandable. When Gintoki comes across two ghostly maidens who happen to look exactly like his dead wife and mom, he must wait several minutes to mention that. When certain conditions of the ghostly curse are broken, this must be explained via extensive dialogue. Most egregiously, the climax involves a strange old woman knocking on Gintoki's door and him letting her in, buying her story when she goes “Oh yeah, I'm totally not the vengeful ghost that's been pursuing you the whole movie.” “Kuroneko's” script is well aware of its status as a traditional Japanese ghost story. Minamoto no Raiko was a real historical figure who is also the main character in a well known myth featuring some crazy monsters. He mentions this to Gintoki, assuring him that tall tales are more politically advantageous than the mundane truth. How this relates to the movie's own relationship with the stereotypical folk tale structure it invokes, I'm not sure. 

In fact, there's a great many things about “Kuroneko” of which I am not sure. Ghost stories about vengeful female spirits are very common all across Japan and Asia, if that wasn't already obvious. As it is any time a horror film features women using their sexuality as a weapon against men, using the desire they inflame in the opposite sex to destroy them, a feminist reading is likely to emerge. While all the samurai that came before him are total assholes who get what's coming to them, Gintoki seems to be a nice enough guy. He loves his wife, is faithful to her, and wants to be with her. Their romance is destined to be doomed and Gintoki's eventual fate, perhaps, is a commentary on the idea that even “good” men benefit from a patriarchal system that punishes women. Like so many revisionist samurai movies made in the fifties and sixties, the inevitable feeling to “Kuroneko”s ending once again suggests that the concept of Bushido honor was actually a self-destructive trap for all who believed in it. 

Whatever meaning can be taken from “Kuroneko,” one thing is for sure: Kaneto Shindō fuckin' hated samurai. If the same guy makes two separate movies in which a pair of women repeatedly lure in and murder a specific type of warrior from his country's past, that makes his feeling on that particular cultural figurehead unambiguous. Ultimately, I think I found the repressed sexual desires emerging as murderous instincts of “Onibaba” a more satisfying experience than the more straight-forward ghost story structure of “Kuroneko.” Nevertheless, it's certainly a gorgeous movie. Its images are striking and unlikely to be forgotten any time soon while its dream-like tone successfully puts a spell on the viewer. Not as much evil ghost cat shenanigans as the title might make you expect though. [7/10]

Spider (1992)
Zirneklis

From 1944 to 1991, the nation of Latvia was under occupation by the Soviet Union. This brought with it strict regulations over what could and could not be depicted in art. Latvian cinema absolutely existed during this time, with a number of historical epics and crime dramas being produced during those years. However, as in many other Soviet ruled nations, topics of the macabre and supernatural were off-limits. After the establishment of independence in 1991, the first Latvian horror movie would be produced. "Zirneklis," or "Spider" in English, was directed by Vasili Mass and would be released in 1992. It's an artsy fever dream full of nudity and weird sex. One imagines this must have felt like a release of pent-up, repressed fantasies and desires after forty years of Soviet censorship. 

Vita is a young, virginal maiden living in the Latvian countryside with her mother. While attending school, she is approached by Albert, a local artist that has been commissioned by a nearby church to paint a religious scene. He wants Vita to be his model for the Virgin Mary. Upon arriving at Albert's studio, she is met by other nude models, collections of spiders, and erotic paintings. The man begins to hold a strange sway over her, leading Vita to have vivid nightmares and erotic fantasies. While visiting a castle in the countryside, Vita meets a young man that also inflames her lust. As her dreams grow stranger, the young woman finds herself pulled between different men with different intentions for her. 

I suppose it says a lot about the nature of European horror films throughout the sixties and seventies that a movie as aggressively weird and willfully transgressive as "Spider" does not seem as unusual to me as it once might have. The film follows the tradition of erotic, dream-like, dark fairy tales about young women coming into maturity, discovering they are desired, and navigating a world that wants to own and control them while exploring their own budding imagination. "Valerie and Her Week of Wonders" and Borowczyk's "La bete" are the most obvious influences. A scene, where Vita imagines herself prone and naked on a gallows, might be inspired by Laraz' "The Coming of Sin." You can see traces of Vlacil, Franco, and Zulawski here. I fell into "Spider's" groove quickly, understanding immediately that this would be the kind of movie that traipses between dreams, fantasies, visions and reality without warning. 

Some of those dreams are quite a sight to behold, to be fair. The title of "Zirneklis" is presumably a metaphor for the various webs of desire that Vita finds herself entangled in. More literally, it refers to the big-ass spider that is the primary reoccurring figure in her erotic nightmares. We first see it holding her nude figure in its eight arms, almost tenderly. Later, it attacks her in bed and tries to spread her legs apart. This proceeds the film's most infamous sequence, where the girl and the Volkswagen sized arachnid consummate their relationship. When a pulsating ovipositor appears on-screen, the film officially straddles – so to speak – the line between the arthouse and a notorious subgenre of hentai. The audience is never entirely certain if the maiden is a willing participant or not as the giant sized creepy crawler takes her doggy style (spider style?), adding to the idea that she is adrift in her own stimulated fantasy. Say what you will about "Spider's" obvious relationship to the artsy-fartsy kinky Eurohorror freak-outs of the past, I've never seen that before. "Earth Vs. the Spider" sure didn't go there. The film showed me something new. 

The merits of whatever substance “Spider” has is debatable. The pacing is sleepy, the narrative is loose. Before the end, the grotesqury on-display gets a tad tedious. The story of a young girl defining her own sexuality, away from the wants of the men around her, still ends with her being molded by the fantasies of others. Choosing the right guy is her happy ending, not self-realization. Aurelija Anuzhite is gorgeous and wide-eyed, in such a way that you can project your own fantasies and feelings onto her easily. On the merits of style, “Spider” has a lot going for it. Gvido Skulte's cinematography is absolutely gorgeous. Almost every frame of “Spider” looks like it could be a painting. The lighting is perfectly composed in each shot to be warm, glowing, like a dream come to life. A moment when Vita imagines one of Albert's paintings coming to life is stunning, almost Bosch-ian in the depth of its color and the decadence on-screen. When the setting switches to an aged castle in the last half, the movie leans fully into a shadowy ambiance. Visually, “Spider” is fantastic.

I suppose “Spider” should also be commended for successfully capturing an older feeling. If not for a random appearance from a Walkman, there would be no way to know when exactly the film is set or made. It's in Russian but, drawing so much from other European films means it's hard to pinpoint the film as specifically Latvian. Not that I'd know what a Latvian movie would look like off-hand, I suppose. A couple of other horror films have been made in the country since this one, so “Spider” does not stand alone as the sole example of Latvian horror. The movie is absolutely worth seeing if only because there's no other film that shows you the mating habits of giant spiders and that gorgeous cinematography. The lack of depth in the rest of the film keep this from a higher recommendation, despite the strength of those images. [7/10]

Nite Tales: Ima Star

Despite being a self-taught musical prodigy who can play fifteen instruments, Flavor Flav will always be remembered as the goofy guy in Public Enemy who wore the big clock. Mr. Flav certainly did this perception no favors during his re-emergence into pop culture in the late 2000s. He parlayed an appearance on an embarrassing reality show and a brief relationship with Brigette Nielsen into several other embarrassing reality shows. After that but before his go at restaurant ownership, Flav would give being a horror host a shot. “Nite Tales” started life as a made-for-TV horror anthology film on BET, with the Public Enemy hype-man playing a macabre M.C. called “The Time Keeper.” The movie must have gotten decent ratings for the network, as “Nite Tales: The Series” followed shortly. The series presumably did not get decent ratings, as it lasted all of six episodes. Nobody has thought about this show in 16 years but my continued quest to find ever-more obscure horror anthology programs has led me here. 

The star of “Ima Star” is Ray J, best known for his appearance in the Kim Kardashian sex tape. He plays a wannabe rapper named Stormy O. His audition before some record execs go wrong when present big shot, Z Diddy – that's a reference that aged great! – dismiss his rhymes as whack. Dispondant, Stormy hits the club for a rap battle in hopes he'll regain his confidence. Instead, he looses the contest. Right as Stormy is about to give up on his rap dreams, he is met by an agent eager to sign him. What Stormy O doesn't know is that this agent is in deep with some sketchy types and has to make some money soon. The publicity stunt cooked up to make Stormy's record a hit – the rapper faking his own death – ends up going horribly wrong. 

The production values for “Nite Tales” were slightly higher than “Strange Frequency” and “Hollywood Off-Ramp.” This episode actually has about three different sets! The record executive's room, the rap club, and a funeral home. Either way, you'll probably notice that an awful lot of “Ima Star's” runtime is devoted to the main character showing off his rap skills. As the whitest of white boys, I have no ability to judge the abilities on-display but I did find this sequence mildly amusing. However, these moments being focused on suggest that there wasn't much of an idea for a narrative here. “Ima Star” doesn't really become a horror story until its very end. 

It's clear that “Ima Star” is more farcical than grim. The record execs repeatedly answering their cell phones during the audition, the goofy P. Diddy parody, a supporting part for Kel Mitchell: It all points towards comedy. The ending makes the entire episode feel like the wind-up for a punchline, which ends up being a simple gag about rapper's LPs selling better after their untimely death. The twist is extremely easy to predict and rather poorly pulled off. This is true of all of “Ima Star.” The cinematography is quite shaky, with multiple long montages of honies shaking their ass on the dance floor. Ray J's acting ability extends no further than goofy mugging. The host segments are devoted to Flavor Flav in a silly Dracula costume doing his typical shtick in front of a green screen. It's not very good. If I had been aware of this show when it aired, I probably would have watched every single episode and told all my friends about it. [6/10]

A Rose for Emily (1983)

 

Of all the trademarks that clarify the gothic tradition, none is more persistent than a fascination with death. A morbid fixation on the end of life and all the trappings around it is, most probably, the primary characteristic of the genre. This extends to what we call Southern Gothic, the local off-shoot of the same literary movement that draws from a distinctly American version of being obsessed with that which has passed and is no longer. Rather than the moldering tombs and churches of old Europe, it focuses on is the fading niceties and blatant racism of Antebellum and early Reconstruction life in the Southern states. William Faulkner is the scribe most associated with Mississippi, a really rather southern state. Naturally, that means he penned a few entries into the Southern Gothic subgenre himself, none more well-regarded than “A Rose for Emily” from 1930. 

You might have read the story in high school English class, where it's often used as a way to demonstrate shifting tenses and non-linear sequence of events. If you read the story as a teenager, you might have also watched the 1983 made-for-TV short film adaptation starring Angelica Huston. It follows the plot of Faulkner's story closely: A funeral director reflects on the life of Emily Grierson, the daughter of a rich old family settled in Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha county, shortly after her passing. She was left traumatized by the death of her belligerent father upon her 30th birthday, refusing to give up his corpse to the mortician for several days. Afterwards, she became a recluse and a frequent topic of small town gossip, as the estate she lived in began to crumble and age. One of her few interactions with the outside world was the courtship of a Yankee foreman named Homer Barron. After a brief but seemingly intense romance, Homer is never seen again. It is widely assumed he skipped town. Searching through Emily's cobweb strewn home after her death, the far more unsettling truth is discovered. 

If the gothic story type reflects an inability to let go of the past and to linger on the dead and dying, that means themes of necrophilia commonly occur there as well. What better metaphor is there for being unable to move on from an event than continuing to treat a deceased lover as if they were still alive? This provides the final morbid twist in “A Rose for Emily” and it's quite easy to predict, even if you haven't read Faulkner's story. Director Lyndon Chubbuck – who went on to work largely in television after this – handsomely adapts Faulkner's text, maintaining a good deal of his lovely prose with a respectable degree of period costumes and set-dressing. Angelica Huston, with her perpetually forlorn face and raven hair, is well-cast as the title character. The last act of the twenty minute short is suitably spooky and unsettling. A slow motion shot of the bedroom door being knocked in has stuck with me since seeing this in school, a long time ago. Chubbuck's “A Rose for Emily” doesn't come close to capturing the sense of longing and feeling of decaying tradition that Faulkner's story did. Not that you could really expect such a humble production to. However, it is a decently executed little film and hints at the wider themes – a deep south longing for an idyllic past that never truly existed, a sickeness that persist to this day – of the source material well enough. [7/10]

Halloween 2025: October 15th

 

Clearcut (1991)
 

Two years after Canada became an independent nation, the chief of the Kanesatake Mohawk nation led a small armed group against the Catholic seminary that had claimed nine square miles of land promised to indigenous people for themselves. The rebellion was crushed by local authorities. In 1936, the land was sold against the Mohawk's wishes. In 1956, a golf course was built on the land, right next to an ancient site of burial mounds. In 1989, plans were made to expand the golf course and clear the contested wooded area. Mohawk protesters built a barricade to block access to the land. Early in the morning on July 11th, police deployed tear gas and concussion grenades against the protestors. This was the first of several violent interactions and stand-offs between protestors and police, that lasted for 75 days and ended with heavily armed military forces being sent in. By the time what became known as the Oka Crisis was over, two people were dead and a little girl had been stabbed with a bayonet. Around the same time in Ontario, a project with some startlingly similar themes was being filmed. Upon release in 1991, “Clearcut” would receive little attention. After many years in obscurity, the film was recently released in a collection of folk horror films, beginning the recognition of this overlooked motion picture and what is, I think, of it acquiring the reputation of a classic. 

Peter Macquire arrives in the Canadian woods, where First Nations protestors are trying to stop a logging operation from completely clearing the area of trees. Peter is a lawyer representing the tribe and he's come to tell them that they've lost the case blocking the company from building on the land. Peter plans to appeal but feels hopeless and angry at Bud Rickets, the logging CEO. After participating in a sweat lodge ceremony, Peter meets a mysterious First Nations activist named Arthur. After violently attacking loud partiers at Peter's hotel, Arthur coerces Peter in accompanying him on a mission to kidnap Bud Rickets. Peter is dragged along as Arthur captures and ties up the CEO, before taking them all deep into the woods. Arthur – who seems linked to the legendary trickster spirit Wisakedjak – grows more erratic, making it clear that he intends to follow through on his promise to skin Rickets alive. Peter feels increasingly conflicted about his loyalties. 

“Clearcut” is based on a novel by M.T. Kelly and directed by Polish filmmaker Ryszard Bugajski, neither of whom have any Indigenous blood, as far as I know. Despite that, it is one of the angriest films I have ever seen. An early scene has a protester, after being beaten by a cop, scream profanity at the “white man.” Throughout, police and white authorities refer to the local tribe as “Indians” or “chief.” Meanwhile, the scenes of lumberjacks hacking down trees with chainsaws are shot with a vicious fury, as if we are watching innocent kids cut up. The film returns to the image of blood, or blood-like sap, running down the bark of trees, as if the land itself was gushing from a grievous injury. When Arthur acts against the hicks at the hotel or Rickets, he wraps them in duct tape, notably covering their eyes and mouths. It robs the white people of their visual identity, much the same way all Indigenous people have been treated for centuries. Arthur usually speaks calmly, matter-of-factly going about his gruesome business. As if he has been living with his rage for so long, that it has subsided into silence. That's the kind of fury “Clearcut” shows at all who violate the Earth and disrespect the ancient ways. 

Peter is notably not exempt from that rage. All throughout the film, Arthur is chastised by white men for not doing things “the right way.” Such as when he improvises some spear-fishing. In the last third, during a second steam house ritual, Peter begins to cough and say that Arthur has done it wrong. This seems to point towards the lawyer's true intentions in helping the First Nations people. He claims to be an ally and shows repeated anger and frustration towards the CEO. However, when ultimately forced to choose between helping the “Indian” and helping his fellow white man, who do you think he picks? As a weepy white guy myself, I feel an anger at the injustices persecuted races and minorities have faced from my awful government. Is this an attempt by my psyche to displaced some degree of guilt? Do I care only because it makes me feel better? There's a lot of films out there about brown people suffering, seemingly made primarily to make white folks feel bad. “Clearcut” attacks this attitude head-on, daring to ask its white audience to examine the true origins of their sympathies. 

I'd like to think I'm utterly sincere in my very cool and woke convictions, in my outrage at environmental and social injustices. Maybe I'm full of shit though because I found Graham Greene terrifying in “Clearcut.” When he casually suggests blowing up the paper factory or skinning the CEO alive, it's with the exact sort of tone that makes you completely uncertain of if he's joking or not. The way he refers to himself as an “Indian” or suggests he scalps someone, it speaks to such a clear anger at the treatment of his people and his Earth. When he moves towards violence, all of that tightly contained anger bursts forward into physical action. You have no doubt that he's capable of all the things he says. When he does bellow in rage during the second steam house ritual, it continues that undercurrent of dark humor alongside a frightening intensity. The implication that Arthur truly is some otherworldly spirit of mischief exists strictly at the film's margins. Nevertheless, Greene perfectly captures that feeling. He is violently unpredictable and quietly funny. All of his behavior in accordance with a grand plan that definitely exists even if only he can see it.

“Clearcut” is one of those films that, despite its lack of supernatural events or standard genre conventions, still can't be classify as anything but horror. François Protat's cinematography is gorgeous, looking out over the trees and mountains with an appropriate awe. He creates a real eeriness with simple images, such as Greene's hands outstretched over a lake or Peter's vision of a tree branches reaching out like hands or antlers. Despite the natural beauty of the locations, “Clearcut” feels more and more like you are descending into Hell as you watch it. Michael Hogan's increasingly delirious cries as he goes into shock, combining with the certainty that Peter isn't getting out of this unscathed, adds to a growing sense of intensity throughout. 

Ultimately, “Clearcut” is one of those movies that leaves you stunned in silence afterwards. It feels like a blow to the head, an expression of a primal anger at a list of injustices that has been growing for thousands of years. It does not let its own audience off the hook, forcing the viewer to consider some very unflattering things about themselves. Or maybe that's just me. Either way, “Clearcut” is a hell of a right. A thriller of such intensity that it almost becomes unbearable in parts, it features Graham Greene giving the performance of a life time and some awfully striking imagery. I'm glad the film is getting recognized now. And thirty-four years later, it's hard to say if anything has gotten truly better for Indigenous people. Maybe we need some people like Arthur in real life... [9/10]

The Talisman (1987)
Al Ta'awitha

Last year, on my stop in Egypt during my Horror Around the Wolrd tour, I took in Mohamed Shebl's “Fangs.” Despite commonly being referred to as the Egyptian “Rocky Horror,” I found the film to be a bit more than that. It was a charmingly home-made Halloween party with a highly specific perspective that I found interesting. While a handful of Egyptian horror movies exist, Shebl seems to have been one of the few filmmakers who truly specialized in scary stories. His latter most films, 1989's “Nightmares” and 1992's amusingly entitled “Love and Revenge... With a Meatcleaver,” seem to be completely unavailable to Western horror fans. However, I was able to dig up a subtitled copy of his follow-up to “Fangs,” 1987's “Al Ta'awitha.” Generally, that title is translated as “The Talisman” though the alternate title of “The Curse” seems to be a little more accurate within the context of the actual movie.

Mahmoud is a simple family man, living in a modest Cairo home. The cramped residence houses himself, his wife Rawya, their young son, their teenage daughter Nadia, his mother, and his sister Faten. The family is often having money struggles. When a mysterious man appears, willing to buy the house and give the family a spacious apartment by the Nile in exchange, Rawya is eager to take it. Mahmoud does not want to give up his home though. Little does his wife realize but this eager buyer is actually an evil sorcerer. He really wants their house too. Determined to drive the family out, the villain puts a curse on everyone in the residence. Poltergeist activity, fires, distressing visions, deadly accidents, bleeding faucets, and a visit from a demonic goat all plague the family. They seek out the help of a mystic woman but will it be enough to stop the presence haunting them?

If “Fangs” represented Shebl remixing “Rocky Horror,” “Dracula,” and half a dozen other flicks via a distinctly Egyptian perspective, “The Talisman” sees him doing the same with a number of American horror film. The general premise of  “Al Ta'awitha” plays a bit like “Poltergeist” or “The Amityville Horror.” A cameo from a creepy clown doll, the bleeding plumbing, and the evil extending its influence over a vehicle seems likely seems probably inspired by those blockbusters. A sequence where Rawya's bed starts to rock wildly is obviously a quote from “The Exorcist.” A scene where she's seemingly sexually assaulted by the evil spirit in an elevator brings “The Entity” to mind. The way the evil spirit causes improbable accidents, like a sheet of glass nearly crushing Mahmoud or a scientist accidentally cooking up a poison gas in the lab, suggests a heavy influence from “The Omen” as well. The film is very heavy on roaming point-of-view shots from its malevolent presence suggests “Evil Dead” made its way to Egypt as well. 

As with “Fangs,” the fun here arrives from seeing these familiar moments mashed up in such a free-wheeling style and then paired with hokey, low-fi special effects. A sequence where a black goat projects a star-like shape from its eyes is so low-budget in its construction that the moment borders on abstract art. The car crash is created by seemingly pushing a toy car into a wall. The film saves its wildest special effects for the last few minutes, when the villain tears his own skin off and a towering classical demon with red skin and horns appears. All of this stuff is pure camp but those “Evil Dead”-like perspective shots are genuinely kind of eerie. The film's soundtrack is mostly pilfered from “Psycho II,” alongside a number of American pop songs that the producers definitely didn't pay a license for. The score works though, managing to make an otherwise very silly horror film feel a bit spooky at times. 

Sadly, “The Talisman” is not quite as fleet-footed in its wackiness as “Fangs” was. Much more time is spent on the family's daily strife here. An extended subplot involves a police officer asking for Nadia's hand in marriage. There's several scenes of the family watching movies on television and criticizing them as too violent or addictive. More scenes than were probably necessary focus on Faten's work situation. It's all a bit more pedestrian than I think I would prefer. In general, Shebl's attention wanders from time to time. A sequence set in a disco features a lengthy montage of dancers set to James Brown's “Living in America.” The same setting has a plus-size drag singer lip-synching to Divine's “You Think You're a Man,” once again suggesting the queer undercurrent in “Fangs” was no mistake. These scenes definitely aren't necessary to the plot. Nor is the lengthy moment devoted to a dance-like ritual being performed in the house to ward off the evil spirit. I can appreciate the energy of these moments but they all go on way too long.

Speaking as someone with zero insight into the Egyptian mindset circa 1987, it's hard to read a cultural significance into “The Talisman.” Faten is outspoken in her left-wing politics, much to the chagrin of the traditionalist grandmother. The word of Allah is invoked many times in hopes of driving out the demon. A Sheikh appears to give the family a blessing, assuring them that faith in Allah is all that is needed to overcome evil. It simultaneously feels fairly conservative in its religious messaging, not unlike how any number of American Satanic Panic flicks do, while also being more open-minded than you'd probably expect from Egypt in the late eighties. I'm intrigued but also too ignorant to draw any concrete conclusions here. Still, “The Talisman” is too fascinating to dismiss. I know Shebl's films are unlikely to ever gain official distribution in the west but hopefully his other two movies crop up online eventually. Flawed though it is, I liked “The Talisman” enough to want to see those too. [6/10] 

 

 

Master of Science Fiction: A Clean Escape

“Masters of Horror” was a beautiful dream, despite never living up to the potential of its concept. The dream was so grand that Mick Garris actually envisioned the program as the first in a whole series, in which masters of different genres would be assembled and allowed to run amok. (As long as it was within a television budget.) The first proposed of these spin-offs, and the only to make it to air, was “Masters of Science Fiction.” The masters, in this case, would not be the directors but the authors, famous sci-fi writers having their work adapted into hour-long episodes. It was a good idea and the production team – which, Mick Garris claims, barely involved him – got Stephen Hawking to be the host. I remember being intrigued by “Masters of Science Fiction” in the lead-up to its debut... And then there was nothing. About a year later, when a DVD release came along, I learned that four episodes of the series aired as a summer replacement on ABC with zero promotion. While “Masters of Horror” remains something like a cult favorite, “Masters of Science Fiction” has been entirely forgotten. Well, not by me but I remember everything. I figured I can squeeze an episode into the Blog-a-Thon so I can finally give it a look.

“A Clean Escape,” the debut episode, is about two people. Deanna is a psychologist. Every day, a man named Havelman enters her office for a session. Every day, Havelman has no memory of their previous sessions together. In fact, he thinks he just left home from his wife and kids, that he has to leave early to see his daughter's play at her school. As a result of a trauma of inexpressible grandness, Havelman has retreated entirely into his memory. Deanna is determined to bring him out of it... To face the consequences of what he's done. Because there is nowhere else to go, as the two are actually hundreds of feet underground in a top-secret bunker. Because everyone above is dead. Because Deanna is determined to make the man who killed the world face the gravity of what he's done.

“A Clean Escape” is adapted from a short story by John Kessel. As I was watching the episode, I found it to be rather play-like in its construction, only to learn that Kessel himself had previously adapted the story as just that. I imagine “A Clean Escape” would work a little better as a play. “Masters of Science-Fiction's' version lays the cards down too early. We see flashbacks of Deanna being picked up by the military and taken away from her family, the last time she saw them. Or of people at a weapon manufacturer company discussing some grave course of actions. There are repeated scenes of her in other parts of the underground facility, talking with other high-ranking agents. All of this gives the audience a vague notion of what this situation is exactly, that the planet above has perished in nuclear hellfire. Any time the camera cuts away from Deanna and her patient, the tension flags a little. There are still surprises awaiting in “A Clean Escape,” about the exact identity of these players. However, I imagine this story would be more compelling and satisfying if we went in knowing absolutely nothing, simply that it's about two people in a room.

Those two people are Judy Davis and Sam Waterston. Davis, with a wild fringe of hair that makes her look totally exhausted and on the verge of collapse, gives a complex performance as a doctor who feels sympathy for her client but also demands he face justice for his crimes. The moment where Waterston finally realize who he is and what he's done is a powerful one, a man reduced to screaming and crying like a child. The grim moral of the episode is that those in power tend to be shielded from the consequences of their actions, even if by their own mind. However, for one moment – when “A Clean Escape” crosses over the most into horror, thanks to the grim sights of nuclear annihilation – the guilty are allowed to feel the weight of what they've done. A good hour of television. It's a shame “Masters of Science-Fiction” was never given a proper chance. [7/10]

 

Haunted Indiana (1981)
 

Public access television has a bad reputation, associated with amateur productions made with a complete lack of budget or production values. While this is true, the low barrier to entry for local television meant the kind of people who maybe didn't normally get to make movies and TV shows managed to sneak onto television anyway. That brings with it a natural, home-made charm all of its own. That is readily apparent with “Haunted Indiana,” a nineteen minute Halloween special made for Bloomington, Indiana television station, WTTV4. It tells five urban legends, collected from the Indiana University Department of Folklore: A professor is chased through the woods by the ghost of a hanged murderer. A motorist on Cable Line Road near Elkhart, Indiana encounters the Sasquatch-like Cable Line Monster, which costs him his life and leaves his face imprinted on a near-by tree. A group of kids on a camping tree awaken within a ghostly cemetery. A devout Catholic woman decides murdering her husband is not as big of a sin as divorcing him, burning their house down and sealing her own fate instead. The final tale involves a little boy named John hearing strange noises from the stairs outside his bedroom at night, proceeding a grisly fate. 

I've never been to Indiana but the stories and backwoods locations displayed here seem universal to me. The production values in “Haunted Indiana” are non-existent. Co-writer Stephen White provides the narration, speaking in plain-voiced tones that aren't spooky at all. The narration plays over all the footage, doing little to distract from the extremely cheesy acting. Shot entirely on video tape, the whole short has a grainy, washed-out, backyard look to it. All the music is stolen from recognizable scores, with the “Night of the Living Dead” and “Psycho” themes being notably reused. Most prominently, the special effects are deeply unconvincing. A “ghost” is a Halloween store prop with pixelated vector graphics overlaid. A monster is a pimply mask with bright red stage-blood dripping from his mouth. The fourth story is mostly composed of shots of the woods and trees in the surrounding area. 

If all of the above sounds like criticism, then I'm afraid you've misread my tone. “Haunted Indiana' is exceedingly charming exactly because of its lack of professional sheen and flashy special effects. The corny acting pairs perfectly with these well-trotted ghost tales, capturing the exact kind of community theater vibes you want from local legends such as these. The special effects further seal this “let's-put-on-a-show” atmosphere, the efforts of inexperienced craftsman doing the best they can with the extremely limited resources available to them. I doubt those involved with “Haunted Indiana” made much, if any, money from its production. This is the result of people doing it strictly for the love of the artform, motivated by the desire to tell a story and have a good time than any businessman-like concerns. Pure cinema, in other words, as it should be. 

As for the stories themselves? The Cable Line Monster segment is so dark, as to be barely perceivable. The shot of a face appearing on a tree at the end is extremely goofy. The third and fourth stories are so minor as to barely register, counting as underwhelming examples of horror. The first and fifth segments, however, kind of rock. There's a campfire story creakiness to both rendition. The highly energetic sequence of a cheap spectre chasing a balding professor through the woods is exhilarating. The finale, of a little boy haunted and claimed by an hideous beast, is the exact kind of scary story youngsters pass around the playground. Threadbare as the production values may be, there is a certain zest to the telling that makes it invigorating anyway. Unlike most public access productions, that air once and are never seen again, “Haunted Indiana” re-run on local TV for many years. During all those showings, it is said to have spook more than one young viewer. That's exactly the way it should be, as this brief anthology persists entirely on the same kind of barreling-ahead youthful energy that an impromptu exchange of urban legends does. Overflowing with lo-fi Halloween vibes, it now survives forever as a blurry internet upload. [7/10]