Halloween 2025: October 5th

Warlock (1989)

We used to take movies like "Warlock" for granted. Filmed in the late eighties but unreleased for several years because of the dissolution of New World Pictures, critical reaction was initially mixed. Most dismissed the film as a "Terminator" rip-off. Even the positive reviews were often begrudgingly so, one writer damning the film with faint praise by calling it "modestly entertaining." Looked at with modern eyes, "Warlock" has an impressive pedigree. The same director as "House" and "Friday the 13th" parts two and three! From the future screenwriter of "The Fugitive" and "Pitch Black!" The D.P. also shot "Mad Max!" The score is by motherfuckin' Jerry Goldsmith! Sure, not all of those names meant much at the time but an exciting, inventive genre mash-up like this should've been championed by the press. If you made this exact same movie today, with spiffier special effects and 10% more social commentary, you've basically got a Jordan Peele film. I guess horror didn't get any respect in 1991. Or maybe "Warlock's" unassuming exterior has repeatedly worked against it. When I last wrote about the film ten years ago, my reaction was also merely "this is pretty fun" and not "this rocks actually." Well, "Warlock" does rock actually and I'm here to tell you why. 

In colonial Boston, witch hunter Redferne brings in the warlock responsible for his wife's death. The day before execution, the warlock – who claims to be the son of Satan – transports himself three hundred years into the future. He arrives in modern day Los Angeles, in the apartment of a waitress named Kassandra. A talk with his horned dad reveals his purpose: The pages of the Grand Grimoire, the Satanic bible, have been spread around America in the last three centuries. If reassembled, the pages will reveal the true name of God. Which the warlock intends to speak backwards and undo creation. Redferne has followed the demonic sorcerer into the modern day too. He teams up with Kassandra, who is motivated to help after the warlock curses her to age twenty years every day. The duo head out on a road trip across the United States, trying to stay ahead of the warlock's path of magical mayhem before he complete his vile quest.

David Twohy was about thirty years ahead of trends when he decided to rewrite his script, about a sympathetic warlock fleeing Christian persecution, to instead play 17th century witch lore totally straight. Yes, we are in folk horror territory once again. “Warlock” doesn't only use obscure beliefs about black magic and its user – the presence of a witch in a home means bread won't rise and cream curdles – as ominous precursors. It also uses these ideas as set-ups for one creative set-piece after another. Hammering nails into the footsteps of the witch leads to a creatively tense and fun chase through a train yard. The warlock's aversion to salt sets up a bitchin' climax that pays off on one of the earliest scenes. A weather vane dribbled with his blood allows the heroes to detect if holy ground has been properly consecrated, which smartly builds tension in the final act. A “witch compass” constantly creates suspense by suggesting the villain's presence before he appears. Rather than use magic abilities to see through another person's eyes, the Warlock rips them out of their head and floats them around on his head. It all represents a smart writer taking a look at bizarre old beliefs and realizing they would be interesting when put on-screen. Not mention cleverly thinking through the repercussions of these same ideas.

In general, Twohy's script goes out of its way to add as much color and memorable energy to every corner of the story as possible. When we meet Kassandra, she is living with a guy named Chas. This could have been a routine, unimportant character in any other movie. Instead, Twohy makes him talkative and queer, already creating someone more unique than most horror movie supporting players. This is true throughout. The cab driver they meet after returning to the East Coast near the end is a classical Bostonite. A stewardess on a plane gets a funny line. A Mennonite farmer encountered in the Midwest proves shockingly capable and helpful, so much that he's spared from the Warlock's wrath despite suffering one of the film's nastier fates. The characters that aren't sympathetic – the bigoted cops that question Kassandra, Mary Woronov as a phony medium – still get that same degree of unique texture and humor. It represents a world that's fully fleshed-out, inhabited by characters, no matter how minor, with inner lives and personalities.

That abundance of well-observed quirks extends to the main characters as well. In some ways, “Warlock” is a fish-out-of-water comedy. Richard E. Grant, cast somewhat against type as the heroic Redferne, has to navigate the world of 1989. With the aid of Lori Singer's Kassandra, he does surprisingly well. A standard dialogue scene that occurs while the two are in a car is vastly improved by Grant's exact comedic timing. Grant and Singer have nice chemistry together and it's kind of romantic. The movie plays it that way. However, I mostly like the back-and-forth they have. Singer makes Kassandra a motivated, clever young woman who clearly has experience wiggling out of sticky situations. She's a thoroughly modern gal who knows nothing about witches, making her an ideal foil to a Puritan expert on the occult from the 1670s. Redferne gets a weepy backstory about his wife and it's standard stuff but Grant still makes the determined, stern-faced, but not skeptical fellow a memorable presence. (He gets a personality quirk of his own, showing a fear of flying that is such a nice little human touch.) You can truly root for these two and greatly enjoy simply spending time with them. 

This is a horror film, however, and one with its villain's name right there in the title. Julian Sands already had the backbone of a fine character actor's career when this film solidified his destiny as a cult icon. The minute we meet the otherwise unnamed Warlock, he's wearing blackened leathers and has his thumbs screwed to his toes. When he arrives in the present, Kassandra misidentifies the medieval torture device as a modern kink accessory. When paired with Sands' piercing eyes and androgynous beauty, it makes the Warlock an intentionally sexually ravenous, culturally queer figure. His first on-screen victim has their tongue bitten out during a passionate man-on-man kiss. This is right before he seduces a woman by handing her a phallic shaped crystal. Yes, Sands gets a sense of bisexual menace all over the film. When he kills a kid and boils his fat to make a flying potion, it's a moment full of queasy tension but also points towards the character's rejection of traditional gender roles. That undeniably, obviously makes Warlock a villain. However, by being out of place and time in both the far past and the then-present, he also becomes an antiheroic figure of commentary. To an omni-sexual super-freak like the Warlock, late eighties L.A. is just as vanilla as Pilgrim's Rock. And Sands brings such a constant sense of cool smoothness to everything he does, every motion and raise of an eyebrow, that you can't help but enjoy watching him do his thing. 

Ultimately, “Warlock” is put together with the kind of professionalism that was way overqualified for a simple B-movie. David Eggby's cinematography is lovely, especially in those early scenes of a stone prison beset by sunlight from massive windows. Goldsmith's score use a lot of creepy electronic noises to make an intriguing aural soundscape, in-between the more traditional beats of action movie melodies. The pacing is perfect. The special effects, especially when the Warlock takes to the air and flings fireballs around, didn't look great at the time. However, it only adds to the charm. Especially when paired with some perfectly solid, gooey, gory, practical monster make-up here and there. (Though notably not on Lori Singer's face, who apparently refused to wear an old woman make-up.) I'm here to say that I was wrong and vastly underrated “Warlock” the first time I saw it. This is, in fact, an absolute blast of a motion picture, a finely assembled cult classic that points towards all the ways they simply Don't Make 'Em Like This Anymore. [9/10] 

 

Devil's Kiss (1976)
La perversa caricia de Satán

Recently, I asked a friend what he knew about Andorra. His response was “What's that?” Of the six micro-nations officially recognized as independent countries within Europe, the Principality of Andorra is probably the most overlooked. These 181 square miles of Iberian land nestled between Spain and France perhaps isn't as internationally renown as Monaco or the Holy See. Consider, for example, its cinematic output. The entirety of which seems to, as of this writing, amount to around 69 titles. When you exclude short films, that list gets shorter still. When you filter by genre, and focus only on horror, you are left with... Nothing. If one allows for co-productions, a curious title does emerge. 1976's “La perversa caricia de Satán” – “The Wicked Caresses of Satan!” But known in English by the less colorful “Devil's Kiss” – was directed by a Spaniard, stars two French actors, and co-produced by “Andros Films Enspanola.” Little behind-the-scenes information exists on this film that seems to have been barely distributed in the seventies but a succession of physical media releases from the usual suspects has rescued it from total obscurity. 

Following the somewhat suspicious suicide of her husband, countess and medium Claire Grandier is seemingly trying to restart her life. She arrives at the castle of Duke de Haussemont, during a weekend of models' fashion shows and partying. Claire is joined by Professor Gruber, a scientist currently seeking funding for his research into reviving dead cells. After performing a séance for the duke and his guests, Claire and Gruber retreat to the basement. This is where their real work begins. The duo plan to combine Claire's expertise in Satanic magic and Gruber's research. With the help of a mute dwarf Claire befriends, they dig up the body of her husband. Using magic and science, the two bring him back to life as a mindless zombie, under the telepathic sway of the doctor. The undead being sets out murdering the various other people on the castle's ground, sometimes under the command of Clair and her partner and sometimes seemingly on his own.

Don't take any of the following as a recommendation exactly. I can't help but find something to admire in the way “Devil's Kiss” so willfully mashes together as many Euro-horror cliches as it can. The general premise of the story, of a scientist trying to bring the dead back to life, recalls “Frankenstein.” This is combined with a supernatural angle, Clair being both a spiritualist and a Satanic witch. This leads to scenes of seances and invoking the demons. Her rationalist partner never seems to question how their two world-views are incompatible. Given that he inexplicably develops a psychic link to the revived corpse, maybe his science is simply its own breed of magic. The whole thing is set in a dusty, dilapidated old castle. An early scene involves a handsy butler attempting to rape a model, neither character becoming important again later. Such residents, among them also the nudity prone maid and her stable boy lover, appear with no introduction. A good example of that is the aforementioned mute dwarf. Clair literally finds him wandering around the castle grounds and spontaneously adopts him as her Igor. He is played by an actor that doesn't appear to be a dwarf and might be squatting on his knees for some of his scenes. 

All of that sounds like it would have to be a ton of schlocky fun, right? If this gumbo of tropes were assembled by a director and editor with a sense of pacing or urgency, it might have been. Instead, “Devil's Kiss” is largely a dull affair. Reading the above paragraph makes it sound like this movie is full of crazy shit. After the old count is killed, his asshole son takes over. This precedes another subplot, about his girlfriend getting killed and also brought back as a psychic zombie. Unfortunately, like everything else in the film, these events pass without much zest. The Frankenstein-ian ghoul is not dug-up until half-way through and doesn't begin to do much of anything until the last fifteen minutes. None of the characters have any dimension or quirks to them. Dr. Gruber has a heart condition, which is nothing more than a plot point to set up his inevitable and much foreshadowed downfall. Clair seems to be acting out of revenge but against who and over what is never quite clear. The result is a miasma of warmed over schlock shuffled together without any sense of fun. 

That's a bummer because, if “Devil's Kiss” had been directed by someone with a little more artfulness or glee, it could've been a hidden gem. The opening scene has a bizarre fashion show going on in the castle for no reason. Models in tight jumpsuits parade up and down the dusty dungeon in an unenthusiastic manner, while weird-looking character actor Victor Israel lustfully stares on. Obviously, we see the models changing in and out of their outfits. “Devil's Kiss” has no shortage of female nudity, with at least one lengthy sex scene too. This creates quite a sleazy atmosphere. If that balding and mumbling ghoul or that vertically challenged Igor had wander in and out of the plot more often, it would have helped enliven things a bit. Instead, the film meanders towards an ending that is almost hilarious in its abruptness. “Devil's Kiss” is, in its own very inconsistent way, quite consistent like that. The ending arrives as inexplicably as anything else in the film. 

This was one of many exploitation films of varying types Silvia Solar would star in, throughout Europe and the seventies. In a script that wasn't stitched together from countless other sources and drunkenly cut together in a weekend, she might have brought some charisma to the material. Instead, she is another of many elements that is simply here. “Devil's Kiss” is the kind of motion picture that exists at the bottom of the barrel for Euro-horror completest to find. It will not satisfy or entertain much, save for the briefest flicker of amusement here and there. However, if your hunger for this particular flavor of nonsense is so ravenous that you've watched your way through Jess Franco's entire filmography, maybe you'll want to dig this one up. Apologies to any and all proud citizens of Andorra who might be offended by the words I type here. [5/10]

Alien: Earth: In Space, No One...
 

It has become standard practice for modern streaming shows to break up the incessant serialization of a season for one episode. These usually flashback-centric stand-alone episodes are frequently among the best received of a season. You'd think this would point out the flaw in the eight hour long movie format so many shows favor these days but... Nevertheless, “In Space, No One...” takes us back to the Maginot, the Yutani craft that brought the xenomorph and other freaky life forms to Earth. It follows resident cyborg Morrow, awoken from cryo-sleep to see that the ship's captain and another crewman have Facehuggers around their heads. An attempt to extract one has left a person dead from exposure to the creature's acidic blood. This is merely the newest problem Morrow must untangle aboard the Maginot. A saboteur is hiding among the crew, causing explosions that are compromising the ship's navigational capabilities. The other life forms keep escaping containment and infecting other crew men. As the xenomoprh naturally continues through its life cycle, Morrow soon has another issue effecting his ability to achieve his stated mission goal. 

“In Space, No One...,” as the pithy title points towards, is Noah Hawley paying an extended homage to Ridley Scott's original film. The episode plays out how I imagine a sequel to “Alien,” made in the early eighties and directed by someone a lot less talented than James Cameron, might have looked like. It is essentially a remake of the first movie, replicating the premise of a crew of blue-collar workers aboard a spaceship beset by nasty alien creatures who want to invade their bodies. The main difference “In Space, No One...” brings to the idea is that... These crew members are a lot less likable. The script doubles down on the dysfunctionality. The crew now includes an overwhelmed first mate who was screwing the previous captain, a monotone and creepy navigator with some unspeakable fetish, an inexperienced and smart-ass kid, a recovering drug addict, and a boozing burn-out. I think the inclusion of elements like this among the ensemble of an “Alien” remake isn't a bad idea. This is a franchise, after all, about sexual menace. In a feature length film, a lack of sympathetic characters would grate on the audience. In an hour long TV episode, it's a lot easier to swallow. 

Another way episode five of “Alien: Earth” plays like a mediocre sequel to the first film is in the uninspired attempts to double the horrific creature quota. Say what you will about James Cameron but he understood that the xenomorph is already a perfect movie monster, that simply multiplying it would be scary enough. Noah Hawley looked at “Alien” and thought, “Oh, I can make a monster as scary as that!” This is how “Earth” ended up with a generic creeping eyeball and some oversized space roaches as its additional threats. The eyeball provides easily the most embarrassingly bad moment in the episode. At some point, it crawls into the head of a crew member and turns him into a growling zombie, that attempts to take the Alien on monster-a-monster. When combined with the shuddering editing of an earlier chase scene with the xenomorph, it makes me think that this Hawley guy actually doesn't know jack-shit about making a scary movie. 

Having said that, other moments in “In Space, No One...” aren't half-bad. While the episode is mostly an uninspired rehash of the first film, it does capture something importantly. Namely, the sense of grim, industrial isolation of that original movie. Everyone aboard the Maginot being kind of an ass works towards furthering this point. If all the members of the ship are plotting and fighting against each other, it makes the surrounding more chilly and inhospitable. A sequence where one of the aforementioned space cockroaches escapes and lays eggs in someone's water bottle, that made me squirm. It smartly becomes a source of suspense, the camera lingering on the bottle, waiting for someone to drink from it. The resulting bloody fireworks aren't that special but the build-up is decently executed. I won't lie to you and say the sight of a slimy xenomorph lurking through a dark, misty ship doesn't tinkle some nostalgic bone deep within my body either. 

Another element in this episode's favor is that it stars Morrow, quickly established as the most interesting character on the show. He is given a tragic backstory here. He left a daughter behind on Earth, who later died in a fire while he was in cryo-sleep. This speaks to the cold indifference of the universe that has always been a central part of the “Alien” mythos. As does the corporate reaction to this passing, a tersely worded letter seemingly typed up by a computer. I don't think this guy needed a weepy backstory to explain his devotion to the mission. Everything we know about the world of “Alien” is more than enough to justify a guy like Morrow, coldly devoted to his job, existing. I especially do not care about the saboteur plot nor the sense of apparent vengeance these events stir in Morrow. However, Babou Ceesay has a grizzled intensity to him that remains compelling. I guess this half-hearted recommendation still makes “In Space, No One...” my favorite episode of “Alien: Earth” so far, which speaks to my overall opinion of the series. Still got three more chances to blow me away. [6/10]

The Outer Limits (1995): Under the Bed
 

The more horror centric episodes of the “Outer Limits” revival seem to be less sanctimonious than the sci-fi ones, so let's give this a try. “Under the Bed” begins with an exhausted single mom putting her two kids, Andrew and Jillian, to bed. As they bicker before falling asleep, Andrew hears his favorite teddy bear calling to him from under the bed. As he reaches to grab it, an inhuman hand yanks him under. Jillian screams and the boy is nowhere to be found. Detective Caitlin Doyle is on the case and calls on Dr. Holland, a child psychologist, to assist. The thoroughly traumatized Jillian sticks to her story that “the Boogeyman” snatched her brother. The ex-husband is cleared of all wrong-doing. No lurking psychopaths or perverts are found. The deeper into the case Holland digs, the more he must face the distressing possibility that no man is responsible for Andrew's disappearance. What if the stories of child-snatching monsters present across all Earthly cultures were actually talking about the same thing? What if that same phenomenon is what also took Dr. Holland's brother away from him when he was a lad? 

Every monster nerd with a passing interest in world mythology and half a creative bone in their body has probably noticed that certain concepts reoccur across almost every human civilization throughout history. Without getting into Jungian psychology, this can probably be best explained by ideas passing along borders as freely as trade roots or that parallel myths all speak to universal experiences. Parents everywhere worry about their kids straying too far from their protective reach. Thus, the fable of a child-eating monster – to scare the off-spring into staying close-by or practicing proper caution – is present in every corner of the globe. However, the temptation can be overwhelming to link these eerily similar beings together, to say they are all a manifestation of the same root creature. Call that mythological arc welding. 

This is what “Under the Bed” is doing with the archetypal concept of the boogey-monster. The writers, at the very least, did their research. They link the Scandinavian troll – who turn to stone in the sunlight – with the Slavic Baba Yaga, the shapeshifting Rakshasa of Hindu beliefs and the Arabic Djinn. Because “The Outer Limits” is far too academic and stuffy a program, all of this is explained during an exposition heavy monologue in the back-half, wherein the hero sorts through a pile of books and makes these comparison. (And mispronounces djinn too.) This is paired with an earlier scene about the nature of silicon based life forms. Dr. Holland's traumatic childhood incident is similarly awkwardly explained during dialogue scenes with his dad. It climaxes with a very cheesy ending, where this legendary monster is defeated through far too simple a method. Once you factor in some typically stiff kid acting and the distressingly Neil Breen-ian appearance of star Timothy Busfield, sounds like a pretty cornball hour of television?

Basically, yes, but “Under the Bed” does touch on some potent ideas. The first scene, with its glowing eyed teddy bear speaking in a distorted voice, should be too cheesy a sight to unnerve. However, this sequence touches on something primal for me. I don't like it when teddy bears are evil. The cold open concludes with a rather shocking sight, the apparent death of a child at the hands of an abruptly appearing monster. This is dialed back later but, for that one moment, “Under the Bed” is surprisingly intense. The second appearance of the episode's bugbear, before being rendered as a cloaked Predator-like being later on, is also mildly startling. The rest of the episode is strictly competent in execution, from the totally serviceable lead performances down to the steady but un-extraordinary story construction. But that opening, man. Something in it tickled my scaredy bone. One moment is enough to elevate a single episode from forgettable to quite memorable indeed. [7/10]

 

Director Report Card: Mary Harron (2023)

7. Dalíland

Some films, or rather some filmmakers, are just unlucky. On paper, a biographical film about Salvador Dalí sounds like a sure shot. Dalí is one of the most famous artists of all time, an iconic figure not just in the art world but in all of popular culture, all over the world. The man and his work is beloved and controversial, sparking debate. The perfect subject for a film to cover. Pair up that role with the right actor and you're liable to get some sort of awards attention. This was the set-up of Mary Harron's latest film, “Dalíland.” Ben Kingsley would star as the world renown, mustachioed painter. And, alright, Kinglsey has done a lot of shitty, forgettable movies but he's still widely regarded as a great actor. His presence in a movie isn't nothing. And yet “Dalíland” would be barely released this year with little to no fanfare, ignored by both cinema goers and critics. The question of why this played out the way it did is now one I will attempt to answer.

In 1973, James Linton, a worker at a New York art gallery, is told that living legend Salvador Dalí is looking for a new assistant. Obviously a fan of Dalí, Linton leaps at the chance. James soon finds himself immersed in the unique world of Dalí, where wild parties full of eccentrics – literally models and rock stars – are a nightly occurrence. Linton also butts heads with Gala, Dalí's equally notorious wife, who is currently carrying on a love affair with rock singer Jeff Fenholt. As Linton attempts to navigate this world, and encourage Dalí to finish some paintings, he falls in bed with a young lady himself while also discovering far more about his idol and his personal life than he ever knew.

The first answer that comes to mind, when I pose the question of why “Dalíland” was completely buried earlier this year, is simply... Because it's not very good. Probably the biggest problem facing the film is one that occasionally crops up in biopics. Instead of just making the movie about the famous subject matter, some pedestrian audience surrogate is inserted into the story. This presents several problems. First off, Salvador Dalí is destined to be the most interesting person in the room no matter who he's standing next to. (Assuming Luis Buñuel wasn't in the room that day.) Asking the audience to relate to some other fucking guy, when an immediately fascinating figure like that is around, is a pretty big ask. 

Worst yet, James Linton isn't even a real person. Upon watching “Dalíland,” I assumed the movie must be based on a book written by some young man who actually held this position in Dalí's life. Considering how the movie ends, that struck me as extremely likely. A minute of research proves this to not entirely be the case. Linton is a composite character from a number of real life people who rotated in and out of this position back in the day. Unsurprisingly, Dalí and Gala burned through assistants quickly. This shows that Harron and screenwriter John C. Walsh decided to make a movie about Dalí – Harron has said that this is a project she's spent year developing – and consciously made the choice to have the film not actually be about Salvador Dalí, without even adapting one specific book written from someone else's perspective. 

From a marketing level, I can see how this decision could possibly make sense. “Oh, the average theater goer isn't going to be interested in some old, dead artist, much less one as deliberately weird and abrasive as Dalí was. We have to make this movie about some 20-something twink if we expect the zoomers to see this.” Not that this movie played in more than a handful of theaters... This also goes against the obvious logic at work here, that the people most inclined to see a movie about Dalí are people already interested in Dalí. All of that aside, if the script or star had invested even the tiniest amount of effort into making the protagonist compelling, all of that could've, possibly, been forgiven. Unfortunately, as audience surrogates almost always are, James Linton is a completely bland slab of stale cheese. The role is played by Christopher Briney who is – and I could tell this just from looking at him – best known for starring in a mildly popular streaming series based on some Y.A. romance books. Briney has that blank, pretty quality that makes him irresistible to casting directors and completely uninviting to audiences. His performance here is comparable to a cardboard marionette, unenthusiastically puppetted around the screen. 

All of this, I suppose, is me complaining about the movie I wanted “Dalíland” to be, instead of considering it as the movie it actually is. Alright, let me attempt to meet this film on its own level. Obviously, the premise behind “Dalíland” is that Linton is swept up in this crazy world, centered around an aging but incredibly eccentric icon and all the colorful hanger-ons that hang-on to him. In the process, he will learn a lot about his idol and a little about himself. “Dalíland” at least gets the first half of that set-up briefly right. The early scenes of the wild parties Dalí throws are kind of compelling. We see people do drugs, snorting cocaine off gold platters, as they dance the night away in wild costumes. Linton is invited into a threesome, which Salvador watches and masturbates too. We weren't going to get out of this story with a peek into the mad artist's sex life, naturally... A montage is devoted to Linton assembling some nude models for Dalí, who then dip their asses in paint and press them against a canvas. Dalí hangs out with Alice Cooper and other luminaries of the time, all witnessed through the protagonist's eyes.

However, we never really get a grip on what effect this has on Linton. The biggest reason for that is because the character is so completely undeveloped. He falls in love, or at least lust, with a model and they share a brief affair, a plot point that comes and goes with little meaning or impact on the story. After a few weeks with his new boss, Linton says that he feels like he belongs in Dalí's world, that he's finally found the place for him. If that's the case, we never get much of a sense of it through the film. James is such a passive observer to everything that happens, so totally void of personality of his own, that any growth or change he undergoes is completely unnoticed by the audience. At the end of the film, he seems to be the exact same person he was at the beginning. The film stubbornly refuses to make this guy interesting in any way whatsoever, once again making you wonder why the fuck the movie is about him. Instead of the person whose name is in the goddamn title!

Moreover, there's little indication that Linton's time with Dalí had any impact on the artist's life as well. Dalí calls Linton St. Sebastian, his nickname for all the pretty boys that passed through his home, proving that he considered them interchangable. He shows him around some sentimental spots and regales him with stories of his youth. Which, one imagines a well-known egomaniac (though one that probably earned the right to be a bit egotistical) like Dalí probably did with everyone. The concluding moment of the movie, I assumed, was an act of ego-stroking on the real Linton's behalf, an imagined scenario where the man assumed his time with Dalí meant a lot more to him than it actually did. But, like I said, Linton is a stand-in for a number of dudes, so one assumes that sequence is the work of Harron and her husband too. 

Another big reason, I think, “Dalíland” got buried at the box office is who it stars. Or rather, who it was meant to star. See, it was announced, early on, that the film was going to star Ezra Miller. The part of Linton was, I was unsurprised to discover, written with Miller in mind. However, scheduling conflicts forced Miller to take a much smaller role in the film. Instead, they play the younger version of Dalí, which ends up occupying all of two or three scenes in the entire movie. “Scheduling conflicts,” anyway, is what Harron blames Miller's lessened role in the film on. I have no idea how much of Miller's problematic behavior was well known in 2021, when “Dalíland” was filming, but you can only assume that everyone was aware of the incoming storm regarding that issue. (One also assumes that “Dalíland” was dumped into a few theaters this past summer in some faint hope that it could ride the coattails of the big tent pole superhero movie Miller starred in, which flopped in theaters exactly a week after this did.) 

Miller, in their few scenes, seems to do what they usually do. That would be mug furiously, displaying a twitching body language and sporting a wispy as hell mustache, as an unconvincing facsimile of a young Dalí. These flashback scenes make up only a small portion of the film, which again raises a serious question. The life of Dalí, especially his young friendship with Bunuel and rise through the art scene, is obviously a really dramatic story that would be a great basis for a movie... Which, of course, it has been. But “Dalíland” is partially focused on Dalí's relationship with his wife and muse Gala, which gave the film an angle to explore that “Little Ashes” didn't cover. The peeks we get at the stormy relationship between Dalí and Gala are definitely the highlight of “Dalíland.” Once again, there's the unavoidable question of why did the filmmakers choose to focus on this bland surrogate character when there's such a fascinating, dramatically juicy narrative already right here to explore.

With the way it constantly botches attempts to make a story-worth-telling actually interesting, “Dalíland” eventually falls apart totally in its last act. With all other avenues of making its audience surrogate compelling exhausted, the script focuses on the idea that some of the people around Dalí were ripping him off. Selling fakes of his work for inflated prices and so on. A figure like Salvador Dalí, and Gala Dalí, clearly have some big ideas floating around them. Was she just another one of the hanger-ons of Dalí's infamous reputation? The way she's sleeping with a long-haired rocker dude, and helping him launch his own doomed career, certainly suggests that. At the same time, at this point in his career, Dalí was kind of a burn-out too, spending more time partying and canoodling with celebs than actually creating mind-bending works of art. 

The question has always floated around a theatrical, self-promoting figure like Dalí, whether he actually earned his reputation, if it was all hype. Was he a true pioneer or just remarkably good at selling himself? A genius or a hack? Not to mention the way Dalí's capricious – and probably contrarian, I've always felt – politics effected his standing in the art world. Naturally, that topic is only touched upon here in the most superficial of ways, via one line from Dalí about the king of Spain. All of this proves to just be yet another dropped thread, an interesting premise the movie bats around and never really addresses on the way to a hugely anticlimatic ending.

Ultimately, the only thing “Dalíland” really has going for it is a pretty decent Ben Kingsley performance. Kingsley is one of those actors that always gives it his all, no matter if the film around him doesn't live up to his talent. (Which they often do not.) Clearly a figure as divisive and outrageous as Dalí provides Kingsley with a chance to ham it up nicely. He does so and even manages to give the artist a bit of pathos, during his rare moments of self-reflection. Otherwise, “Dalíland” is wasted potential from beginning to end. A great idea for a movie that fumbles the ball by taking the most boring angle possible to explore its topic from. Maybe Mary Harron's next movie will be good... [Grade: C-]

Halloween 2023: October 26th

Transylvania 6-5000 (1985)

Many moons ago, my best buddy JD bought a four-pack of horror comedies on DVD. I was pretty sure the set was put out by Anchor Bay but apparently it was an Image release. Anyway, the movie included in the set were “Elvira, Mistress of the Dark,” “Return of the Killer Tomatoes,” “House II: The Second Story,” and “Transylvania 6-5000.” While the first three made frequent appearances in our college dorm room DVD player, I never actually bothered watching the last one. I've always been curious about “Transylvania 6-5000,” however, largely because it has a fairly stacked cast of beloved eighties performers. The sole theatrically released directorial credit of frequent Mel Brooks collaborator Rudy De Luca, the monster mash comedy has picked up a very small cult following over the years. 

Sleazy tabloid The Sensation is sent footage from Transylvania that seems to depict Frankenstein's monster. Writer Jack Harrison is skeptical but his partner Gil – the son of the paper's owner – is eager to investigate. The two travel to Transylvania, where their concerns are quickly dismissed by Mayor Lepescu. However, while staying at a local hotel, they notice how eccentric the staff is. While Jack romances a local named Elizabeth, Gil is seemingly haunted by a sexy vampire. The duo soon get on the trail of Dr. Malaqaqua, a local physician who seems to be keeping a whole horde of classic monsters in his asylum... Including a large, muted, flat-headed brute.

Given his connections to Brooks and Marty Feldman, one can't help but assume that Rudy De Luca was inspired by “Young Frankenstein.” While that film was a loving homage to Universal's “Frankenstein” series, parodying many specific scenes, “Transylvania 6-5000” is more of a generic riff on classic monster tropes. In addition to a shambling flesh golem, the film includes a vampire, some hunchbacks, a mad scientist, a mummy, a wolfman, and a fortune teller. However, the monster themselves are rarely the butts of the jokes. The hairy lycanthrope having a Brooklyn accent and a foul mouth ranks as one of the film's more biting gags. There's a few silly spoofs on Browning's “Dracula” and a minor gag about hearing a monster in the bushes. For the most part though, “Transylvania 6-5000” seems less invested in mashing its monsters together than you might expect from the title.

Instead, the film devises humor mostly from the antics of its cast. Jeff Goldblum and Ed Begley Jr. star as Jack and Gil. The two have a nice rapport, recalling classic comedy teams. Goldblum, despite his twitchy screen persona already being established by this point, is actually the straight man of the duo. Begley, meanwhile, is the goofy one who gets multiple pratfalls to himself. However, the duo makes it work. Especially during a scene where Begley interrupt Jack while on a phone call with his love interest. Or Jeff's snide one-liners while Ed attempts to sneak in and out of a lunatic asylum. The quirky energy of these two, and especially the way their individual vibes compliment each other, keeps “Transylvania 6-5000” afloat.

Instead of subverting monster movie tropes, De Luca's film largely depends on its supporting cast mugging it up to extreme degrees. A pre-”Seinfeld” Michael Richards appears as Fejos, the exceedingly eccentric bellhop. Richards' manic slapstick is often overbearing but he does get one or two laughs. John Byner and Carol Kane are the married couple hunchbacks, the two bickering in the kitchen being far funnier than you'd expect largely because both are so good at playing lisping weirdos. On the opposite end of the spectrum is Joseph Bologna as Dr. Malavaqua, whose frequent screaming and hamminess is far more irritating than amusing. Jeffrey Jones gets one or two chuckles, especially when grappling with an alligator shaped phone. Geena Davis is one of the performers most committed to mimicking monster movie antics, sporting a pretty good Lugosi accent. Though her plunging neckline admittedly draws more attention.

The production background of “Transylvania 6-5000” might be interesting than its actual content. The film was largely funded by the Dow Chemical Company, because Yugoslavian law dictated that any funds the company made in that country had to be spent within Yugoslavia. Admittedly, the genuine Eastern European locations are a big attribute of the movie. The film was a modest box office success, making seven million against a three million budget, but the reviews were brutal. The next year, another Mel Brooks collaborator would make a different classic horror spoof. “Haunted Honeymoon” got played on cable a lot more than this one, though I'm not sure it's any better. I doubt I'll feel the need to revisit “Transylvania 6-5000” anytime soon, even if it did make me chuckle a handful of times. It's a mildly amusing but ultimately extremely minor comedy. The theme song is a good addition to anyone's Halloween playlist, so it's got that much going for it. [6/10]

All the Colors of the Dark (1972)

Tutti i colori del buio

Last year, I dipped my toes into the Sergio Martino pool for the first time. When it comes to the most respected directors of Italian horror movies, Martino is usually ranked way up there, just below the Trinity of Argento, Bava, and Fulci. I had never seen any of his movies before finally watching “Torso” during the previous Halloween Blog-a-Thon. I enjoyed it, without quite being blown away by it. Martino has a whole slate of beloved gialli to choose from after that, each one with equally salacious titles. While “All the Colors of the Dark” maybe doesn't have the most obtuse title of Martino's career, it is a memorably poetic one. So much so that Tim Lucas stole it for his tome-like biography of Bava. I'll admit, that connection was the main reason pushing me to check this one out. Sometimes that's all you need when selecting what to watch during this time of year, ya know?

Following a miscarriage causing car crash, Jane's mental state is in tatters. Her sister recommends a psychiatrist and her boyfriend, Richard, believes she just needs to get over it. Neither solution is helping Jane, who is being haunted by visions of a man with piercing blue eyes. Soon, this stranger begins to pursue – and attacker – her in real life. This is when, on the recommendation of her neighbor, Jane seeks out another solution: Joining an occult coven that promises to cleanse her of her fears at the price of giving herself over to the circle. This does little to calm Jane's mind and soon she's questioning what is and isn't real... While the bodies start to pile up. 

The giallo genre is, of course, defined by stylishly directed attack scenes perhaps more than anything else. "All the Colors of the Dark" certainly has those in spades. Ivan Rassinov, wearing striking blue contact lens, makes a threatening presence from the minute he appears on-screen. When he attacks Jane in her darkened apartment, swinging a hatchet at her over the bannister of stairway, it actually got a jump out of me. A sequence in the second half, in which Rassinov attacks with a switchblade, makes use of repeating visuals and psychedelic sounds. Even if the film ends with the typically cheesy sight of an obvious mannequin falling off a building, Martino manages to orchestrate some tense stalk-and-slash scenarios. 

"All the Colors of the Dark's" willingness to get a lot weirder than your typical giallo is established from its first scene. After the titles appear over a picturesque sunset, we are assaulted with bizarre and disturbing images from Jane's nightmares. A sneering old woman and Jane's pregnant belly in an alter-like operating room, frantically edited, makes you wonder what the hell you're in for right away. This dream-like atmosphere persists throughout. Even after the threat is seemingly vanquished, we are greeted to dreamy scenes of Jane emerging from the emergency room. When paired with a very groovy score from Bruno Nicolai and stylish cinematography from Giancarlo Fernando – which, yes, is quite colorful at times – the film successfully captures a surreal feeling. 

Even by 1972, the trademarks of the giallo were well established. This was already Martino's fifth entry into the subgenre, to give you an idea of how commonplace it already was. You can see, perhaps, the director trying to spice things up here. Not just by increasing the psychedelic angle but by introducing a coven of witches into the typical murder mystery set-up. The black sabbath scenes skillfully combine the eroticism common to the giallo with a sinister energy that wouldn't be out-of-place in "Rosemary's Baby." (The likely inspiration.) These scenes sprinkled occult symbols – the long, demon-like nails on the cult leader's fingers, a Masonic like emblem of an eye inside the pyramid – that further establish this mood of Satanic decadence. Jane is slipping into a weirdo netherworld of group magik and murder, where the line between reality and dreams blur. Enough attention is paid to the occult genuines to make the audience feel a little bit of that too. 

Like every giallo, "All the Colors of the Dark" has a winding plot, full of red herrings, double crosses, and last minute plot twist. Yet, by aligning the viewer so much with a heroine possibly loosing her mind, these elements become a lot more impactful. If all the dots don't quite connect, if not everything makes perfect sense, it matches Jane seeing the world through a dream-like haze. By leaping back and forth between memories, visions, and nightmares, we are left uncertain about what is and isn't real. When paired with a heaping dose of paranoia – as Jane starts to see the cult's symbol on everyone – we are left suitably shaken up. The ending seems to ground the heroine once again, promising that the terror is over now. Yet the uncertainty over what's real and what exists only in her mind is going to be a lot harder to shake than that. 

In other words, Martino manages to shake up the giallo formula nicely here by infusing it with more existential dread, some acid-like trippiness, and a bit of the ol' Satanic Panic. After "Torso" successfully interrogated the leering misogyny of the genre, it's clear that Martino was a lot more than just your standard exploitation director. (Considering how Edwige Fenech's heroine is surrounded by manipulative, unhelpful men, a feminist reading of this film isn't impossible either.) Typically, U.S. distributors didn't quite know what to do with such a European thriller as this. They retitled it "They're Coming to Get You!" and cut it into a more traditional devil worshipper movie. Luckily, Martino's original vision circulates freely now, allowing all adventurous horror fans to seek out this stylish, peculiar, head trip of a film. [8/10]

Folklore: A Mother's Love

In 2018, Asia would essentially get its own version of “Masters of Horror” with a multicultural twist. “Folklore” aired on HBO Asia that year, becoming available on HBO Max a few years later. Each episode was directed by a notable filmmaker from across the Asian continent, the stories drawing from the unique mythologies and legends of each culture. The series debut, “A Mother's Love,” also seems to be its most acclaimed episode. It comes from Joko Anwar, the lauded Indonesian director of “Satan's Slaves” and “Impetigore.” 

The episode follows Murni, a struggling single mother, and her son, Jody. She gets a job as a cleaning lady at a mansion after being kicked out of her apartment. The first night at the new location, she uncovers a group of filthy, abandoned children in the attic. Afterwards, Murni begins to see and hear strange things, Jody especially acting unusually. It soon becomes clear that she has crossed paths with Wewe Gombel, a ghostly spirit that abducts unwanted children. 

I haven't caught up with Anwar's other films, many of which seem to be critically acclaimed. “A Moher's Love” certainly suggests Anwar has some mastery at creating a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere. The scenes of Murni – played competently b Marissa Anita, who also appeared in “Impetigore” and “Gundala” – exploring the darkened and creepy attic are effective. However, I found a lot of the attempts at scares in “A Mother's Love” rather tedious. Multiple scenes pile on the loud sound effects, usually when a group of ghostly children are about to appear on-screen. I'm usually allergic to creepy kid tropes and “A Mother's Love” doesn't distinguish itself in that regard. Nightmare sequences, where Jody disappears or Murni watches a disturbing talk show, strike me as especially ham-fisted. 

Worst yet, “A Mother's Love” has an indecisive twist that is heavily foreshadowed. Very early on, hints are placed right in the open that Murni's son is either a ghost or a hallucination. The episode builds towards this obvious twist, adding more swerves along the way. However, instead of committing to this turn we all see coming, “A Mother's Love” backtracks and introduces a double-twist before the end. It all proceeds a fairly underwhelming confrontation with the antagonistic ghost. That might've been more meaningful if the entire hour hadn't been devoted to simply trying to trick the audience. That makes it hard to take “A Mother's Love” as anything but a gimmicky narrative misdirect, with some overdone attempts at scares. By the way, the mythological Wewe Gombel has enormous, pendulous breasts that she throws over her shoulders, a detail this TV episode leaves out. [5/10]

Wake (2010)

“Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched” was really a gift to horror fans. The scope of the documentary was so wide, that even experienced genre nerds were likely to discover something they hadn't heard of before. Such as “Wake,” a twenty minute long short from filmmaker Bree Newsome. Set somewhere in the Southern United States, sometime in the post-Civil War era, the film follows Charmaine. A young woman, living under a tyrannical father, she turns to local folk magik to find a way out. She summons a demon to give her the man of her dreams, who demands her father's life in exchange. A handsome doctor soon appears in the home to be her husband. However, Charmaine's dream soon turns into a nightmare as her husband proves to be just as abusive as her father was. She goes back to the demon to try and change the terms of their agreement.

I can see why “Wake” was included in “Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched.” The short is rich in the Southern traditions and culture. The narration and dialogue capture the dialect of the time and place. The concepts of folk magik, terms like root work, add more depth and authenticity tot he story. Moreover, the story “Wake” is telling feels like a classical folk story. Not just in the way it invokes pagan rituals but also in its structure. Charmaine commits an amoral act, only to have the consequences visited on her in turn. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens when you make a deal with a demon, another traditional folkloric premise. Newsome sprinkles the film with symbols that clearly have a deeper meaning – a buzzing fly, a circle of salt, a mound of dirt – without expending too much energy on explaining these ideas. “Wake” has enough respect for the viewer to assume we can figure these things out.

Newsome's direction and Adam Newport-Berra's cinematography go a long way towards establishing the heat and sweatiness of the deep south. The interiors of the locations have a intimate, personal quality to them that make this story feel even more lived-in. “Wake” does a good job of creating a creepy atmosphere too. The exact details of the man's abuse are kept off-screen, which only makes the suggestion more unsettling. The sequences with the demon are similarly unsettling. “Wake” also clearly speaks to the kind of abuse and control women, across many generations, have endured in isolated places like this. Newsome hasn't made another film since “Wake,” which is a shame as she clearly has a lot of talent. Hopefully, she gets another chance some day. [7/10]

Halloween 2023: October 20th

Parents (1989)

Back in August, I drove up to New Jersey to visit a Monster-Mania convention. I did this mostly so my Mom could meet Ron Perlman. Yet Randy Quaid was also there, which surprised me. I was under the impression that he was still on the lam in Canada, running from the Star Whackers. But I had to take this chance as I'm a huge fan of Quaid's work in “Freaked.” I figured I could sneak that movie into the Halloween Blog-a-thon but, while at the con, I impulsively bought a Blu-Ray of “Parents.” I saw it years back and remember it being nothing like I expected. However, knowing that Bob Balaban's sole horror credit as a director has a cult following, I decided to give it another chance. 

Ten year old Michael moves with his parents, father Nick and mother Lily, to the suburbs. His mom is a housewife, an accomplished cook, while dad designs herbicides. Michael is a odd child, probably because he suspects his parents of doing terrible things. They are obsessed with eating meat. He walks in on them in some sort of bloody sexual roleplay, causing the boy's nightmares to intensify. As Michael begins a friendship with a rambunctious girl next door, his father begins to discipline him more. Soon, Michael grows frightened of his increasingly controlling father, afraid that his parents are secretly cannibals... And that he might end up on the menu next.

The key moment in “Parents” occurs when little Michael awakens in the middle of the night and walks into the living room. He's met with the sight of his parents rolling around, in their underwear, with blood on their mouths. The simple truth is, there are things about the adult world that children aren't able to understand. “Parents” is all about the primordial trauma of a kid stumbling upon this fact, that his parents are not perfect heroes but mere human beings, weak to the impulses of the flesh. And this realization leads to the inevitable conclusion that your parents are also capable of being actively bad people. The cannibalism in the movie is literal but it's also a metaphor for that loss of innocence. As little Michael learns more and more about his mom and dad, he is exposed to the darkest version of this truth possible. 

If “Parents” is a feature length expansion of this primal realization, that means it's a movie about a kid attempting to understand sex. Though both are young and chaste, his little friend next door seems to be slowly leading Michael down a romantic path. Sex, of course, is a matter of the flesh... And so is meat. That is a topic “Parents' is very concerned with, the film filled with images of red meat, sometimes raw, sometimes cooked, but always being consumed. It seems that his parents' lust for each other is keenly connected with their lust for meat. They are never seen eating any vegetables. Michael seems to swear off being a carnivore as the movie goes on, which amounts to rejecting his parents' life style. The film is so intensely focused on the consumption of sinew that it honestly made me – a guy who loves being a meat-eater – reconsider my diet for a minute.

Yet the most potent idea inside “Parents” is a lot simpler than all of this. Dads just suck sometimes. Early on in the film, Nick tries to be warm to his son. He carries him to bed and tells him not to be afraid of the dark. Yet even then, he's a glowering, stern-faced mountain of a man who seems both tightly wound and barely containing a burning rage. Randy Quaid could not be better cast in this role, his face almost always locked in a glare and his skin frequently wet with perspiration. He strikes the viewer as in a perpetual state of disapproval of his son. Once his status as a cannibal is slowly teased out, “Parents” becomes a disturbingly tense thriller about how far will this go. Will Nick attack his own son? It's hard to imagine a parent killing and eating his own child but... Well, we all know that it's all too plausible. With a father like Nick, it seems all but expected.

The first time I saw “Parents,” it was sold to me as a horror/comedy subverting fifties nostalgia. This doesn't really begin to describe the film's menacing, unnerving tone but it's not entirely wrong either. Balaban's film contrasts the squeaky clean wholesomeness of a “Leave it To Beaver” suburban existence with its much darker impulses. This means meticulously designed sets, with clashing wall paper and hideous color schemes, are filmed with very dark, noir-influenced lighting. Balaban then fills the film with increasingly bizarre, morbid nightmare sequences. Maybe the best of which is Michael hiding in a closet and being attacked by hands made of sausages. Yet there's a lot of images of blood, meat, shadows, and dead bodies floating around, often paired with a soundtrack that switches between discordant strings and retro jazz.

Really, the only thing that keeps me from loving “Parents” is its lead performance. Bryan Madorsky plays Michael as a perpetually sleepy kid, who is always dead-eyed and seemingly in a trance of some sort. He's weird from the get-go, never believable as a normal child, which makes his descent into this nightmarish scenario a lot harder to buy. Nevertheless, Balaban – who I think of more for his avuncular presence as an actor in Wes Anderson and Christopher Guest movies – really tapped into something here. There's even a sequence that wouldn't be out of place in a top tier Argento wannabe, of a knife slicing through a cabinet door. “Parents" is odd, disturbing, and hypnotic. Vestron sold it as a ribald horror comedy back in the eighties, which is what I expected on my first viewing. This is something altogether weirder and darker, a fascinating trip into fraught child/parent relationships. [8/10]

Belladonna of Sadness (1973)

In the early sixties, Osamu Tezuka – without question the most influential man in the medium of animation and comics in Japan – started his own studio, Mushi Production. While the studio made television series based on popular Tezuka manga, like “Astro Boy” and “Kimba the White Lion,” it also made feature films. Starting in 1969, the studio would launch the ambitious Animerama trilogy. This was a trilogy of animated films, based on classical source material, and aimed squarely at adults with explicit content. The series concluded in 1973 with “Belladonna of Sadness,” the most graphic and experimental of the three. The films were all a huge financial failure, leading the studio to bankruptcy and Tezuka to go elsewhere. Yet, in time, “Belladonna” would be re-evaluate as a lost masterpiece of animation. 

In medieval France, peasant woman Jeanne marries Jean, the man she loves. When Jean's offering of a single cow does not please the local lord, he enacts the right of prima nocta instead. Raped and humiliated, Jeanne cries out in agony. Her tears are answered by the devil himself, who promises to help her. Soon, Jeanne and Jean grow rich and prosperous. Yet their relationship sours and Jeanne becomes hated by the villagers. Satan returns to Jeanne, demanding her body and soul, but she refuses. Only after being driven out of town does Jeanne relent. She returns as a powerful witch, bringing the wrath of the Black Plague and the pleasure of Satanic lust down on the village. 

To describe “Belladonna of Sadness” as an anime is technically correct but doesn't give you a good idea of what this movie looks like. Much of “Belladonna” is made of still images, slightly abstract and at times minimalist watercolor paintings that the camera pans over. Other times, the film becomes an overwhelming kaleidoscope of psychedelic imagery. When Jeanne accepts the devil's offer, we're greeted to an acid trip of pop-art that's like a more aggressive version of “Yellow Submarine.” As wild as that moment is, it's simply a precursor to the animal-transformation orgy and the depiction of the black plague. Yet even the quieter moments of “Belladonna” feature penis-shaped devils and flowery vulva imagery. This is that kind of movie, giving us not merely one sight we've never seen before but roughly a hundred every other minute.

Yes, “Belladonna of Sadness” is not going to win any points with the easily offended. The movie begins with Jeanne being assaulted, which is depicted in artistic but graphic ways. This is only the beginning of her agony, as she spends more-or-less the entire movie being abused and betrayed by men. The film is a relentlessly artistic but unavoidably downbeat depiction of how women are commodified, brutalized, and discarded by men. I don't blame anyone for opting out of such a film. Yet there is something undeniably tragic about Jeanne existing in a time when women exist only to be extensions of the men around them. This is the world she lives in and it's why she pursues men, whether it be her husband or the devil. That submitting herself to the devil is what ultimately makes Jeanne a sexually liberated women will definitely rub many the wrong way.

Despite its less than sensitive portrayal of sexual assault and the ensuing trauma, “Belladonna of Sadness” is nevertheless an effecting portrayal of womanhood in the age of witchcraft. Jeanne being a sexually free woman is directly linked with Satanism. She defies the Christian world and the traditional values associated with her. As she introduces this way of life to the rest of the village, it outrages those in power. This makes a clear point: That witches, those burned at the stake in historical times, where always just powerful women that threatened men's status as those in control. Whether you think its final moments are earned or not, I couldn't help but find “Belladonna of Sadness” to be a powerful depiction of witchcraft through the ages and how women specifically where targeted and punished for these infractions. 

Truthfully, I'm inclined to give “Belladonna of Sadness” the biggest recommendation possible simply because it's unlike anything else I've ever seen. It's aggressively the product of the seventies, with its acid rock soundtrack that bends in directions both groovy and mournful and its somewhat antiquated sexual politics. The psychedelic animation is mind-blowing, sometimes hilarious, frequently explicit, but always amazing to look at. The mythic story reflects on culture and history in ways that I can't help but find fascinating. Obscure for years, the film would immediately become a cult favorite upon its rediscovery. I can't help but feel like I've discovered a new favorite, the kind of exciting motion picture that reminds me why I love horror, movies, and animation in the first place. [9/10]

The Twilight Zone (2002): The Pharaoh’s Curse

Compared to the other two revivals of “The Twilight Zone,” the often overlooked and rarely well-liked 2002 iteration had few well known directors behind the camera. You know things are dire when David R. Ellis and Jonathan Frakes are the most acclaimed directors on the docket. But there was one exception. That being Bob Balaban, who directed two episodes. Since I just watched “Parents,” I decided “The Pharaoh's Curse” – the higher rated of his two installments – would be a good chaser. 

The episode follows Mario Devlin, a hot shot stage illusionist known for stunts like walking through the Great Wall of China or leaping into an active jet turbine. Devlin is obsessed with the Pharaoh's Curse, a legendary magic trick that involves two men switching places while inside spinning, glass caskets. The trick is performed once a generation, when the great illusionist of the last era passes it on to the next. The last man to do the Curse was Harry Kellogg, Devlin's hero. Upon news of the magician's retirement, Mario tracks down Kellogg at his mansion. Though reluctant at first, the ailing Kellogg eventually agrees to show Mario the secret of the Pharaoh's Curse... And it's no simple magic trick.

"The Pharaoh's Curse" does have a couple of things going for it. The world of stage magic, and when it interacts with actual magik, is a fruitful setting for a tale of hubris and legacy. Like nearly every episode of 2002's "Zone," you figure out very quickly where this is headed. The supernatural twist is telegraphed far in advance and the final scene gets a little goofy. Yet the premise here does touch on a handful of tropes I enjoy and does have the classical structure of a young, proud asshole sealing his own doom.

There's also some decent casting here. Xander Berkeley plays Kellogg, limping around with a cane through the whole half-hour. Berkeley does a good job of showing his disgust at Devlin and intoning gravely about the seriousness of performing the Curse. I also enjoyed seeing Lindy Booth as Kellogg's assistant/lover, even if she is more quirky girl-next-door than femme fatale. On the other hand, Shawn Hatosy does too good of a job of making Devlin a smug, haughty jerk. He just radiates dude-bro energy and spending time with him is more irritating than interesting. That ultimately makes "The Pharaoh's Curse" more tedious than its predictable writing. Balaban does include one decent visual trick, a POV shot from Devlin's perspective as he steps out of the casket. This is one of the better episodes of the Forest Whitaker-hosted “Zone” I've seen, which says a lot more about the quality of that series overall than this particular half-hour. [5/10]

The Black Tower (1987)

Say what you will about Letterboxd but it has become a great way for me to discover things I might not have heard of otherwise. Such as “The Black Tower,” an example of architectural horror from avant-garde filmmaker John Smith. The twenty minute film concerns a man who, one day, sees a black tower in the distance from his home that he's never noticed before. He doesn't think about it much for a few days until he notices that the tower has vanished... And reappeared in a new location. Soon, the man realizes that, no matter where he goes, the tower is looming behind him. He starts to grow so fearful of the tower, that he won't even leave his house. 

Smith claims he didn't set out to make a horror movie with “The Black Tower,” saying he intended to make a comedy. Certainly nothing about the way the film is presented suggest either horror or humor. Much of the short is made up of a black screen, stationary shots of buildings in the distance, or close-up of dark walls that appear to be nothing at all, at first. The entire film is narrated by an unseen protagonist, who describes his thoughts and feelings about the tower in a very dry, detached manner. Eventually, the film starts to cut back and forth between different shots of trees and buildings, each edit accompanied by a loud noise on the soundtrack. Yes, this is another artsy-fartsy short film that delights in playing with the form and structure of cinema itself, often to the point of annoying or confusing the average viewer. 

Yet “The Black Tower's” premise inevitably bends towards psychological horror. How else would you describe the idea of being doggedly pursued by a far-away building, no matter where you go, which no one else can see? That the narrator is so calm only contributes to the assumption that “The Black Tower” depicts someone going through a mental health crisis. That he eventually ends up in a hospital certainly supports that suggestion. The ending and final scene bends even further in the direction of psychic-horror, with the feeling that the tower is some sort of malevolent entity looking to claim its victims and then moving on to its next target. 

Truthfully, “The Black Tower's” premise is loose enough that it can be interpreted as being about a wide number of things. People have seen metaphors for depression, the surveillance state, or gentrification in this short film. The former most reading makes the most sense to me but clearly “The Black Tower” is malleable. I wish it focused more on the unnerving qualities inherent in its premise and less on fucking with the cinematic art form but I think I did like this. [7/10]