Halloween 2025: September 10th

Final Destination 5 (2011)

By committing themselves to such a strict routine, the producers of the "Final Destination" series probably limited their options for a long-running franchise. By which I mean there are only so many mass transportation disasters that can occur before it starts to get a little unlikely. Auto accidents happen every day. Plane crashes are a common anxiety. Roller coasters operate on seeming out of control, though they rarely are, and train derailments happen from time to time. A stadium collapse following a massive auto racing wreck in the fourth movie was already starting to push things. Despite that, the 3D gimmick in "The Final Destination" goosed the box office enough to make a fifth entry profitable. Filming on the water is notoriously difficult, elevators aren't very cinematic, and I don't think there's ever been any mass fatalities involving a people mover. Thus, "Final Destination 5" decided on a bridge collapse instead. The sequel was nearly hassled with the far more embarrassing disaster of having a silly title, as this one was briefly called "5nal Destination" during production. To think some marketing exec denied smarmy teenagers everywhere a chance to ask for a ticket to see "Five-anal Destination." 

The unlucky Cassandra randomly cursed with the power of foresight this time is Sam, an office peon in the corporate branch of some sort of manufacturing company. Everyone is being sorted onto a bus that day for a team-building exercise. That includes Sam's coworker Peter, Peter's girlfriend Candice, their boss Dennis, Sam's ex Molly, and a few other people. While crossing a busy bridge, high winds cause a catastrophic collapse and result in the brutal deaths of everyone present... Or so Sam sees in a psychic warning. He gets his friends and coworkers off the bridge in time. Unfortunately, their nightmare is only beginning. Once again, as the looming presence of oddly knowledgeable coroner William Bludworth informs them, Death has been cheated. Now, the reaper is out for suitably ironic, unnecessarily elaborate revenge. This time a new way to disrupt the pattern of deaths is presented: Murdering someone before Death gets to you, forcing them into your place. 

In the eleven years since the first "Final Destination," mainstream horror movies had arguably gotten more sadistic. By 2011, audiences had already endured seven "Saws," after all. Fearful of losing the arm's race of increasingly nastier horror franchises, New Line Cinema stepped up the mayhem in "Final Destination 5." The death sequences in this installment are, for lack of a better term, meatier. A gymnastic mishap results in twisted limbs and protruding bones. A squished head throws an awful lot of brain matter around. The opening bridge collapse finds a number of novel ways to impale, crush, batter, and dismember the human body. Moreover, the long build-up of minor mishaps that lead to these violent ends feels more teasingly mean-spirited towards the participants. An always-horny office creepoid is subjected to numerous humiliations at a massage spa before his final fate. The boss is a boorish lout and another victim is an argumentative factory worker. The most painful death is saved for Olivia, an apparent groupie prone to vanity and casual nudity. Her LASIK surgery goes horribly wrong, in maybe the most cringe-inducing sequence in the entire franchise. 

If taken too seriously, such a parade of horrible deaths and drawn-out build-ups would become too punishing to be much fun. Luckily, "Final Destination 5" keeps its tongue thoroughly in cheek. Perhaps well aware that the 3-D effects last time were subpar, New Line recruited Steve Quale to direct this installment. Quale was James Cameron's second unit guy on "Avatar," presumably making him something of an expert in 3-D filmmaking. The result is a follow-up that utilizes the depth of field much more effectively. The gymnast scene, for one example, cleverly puts the balance bars and pummel horse in the foreground and adds depth to the unfolding Rube Goldberg machine of mayhem behind them. Mostly, Quale and his team delight is thrusting shit right at the viewer. Rebar, sheet metal, a ship mast, meat skewers, an industrial hook, an acupuncture needle, and a friggin' laser beam all come flying right at us. It all gives the impression of being an especially gory theme park attraction, a thrill ride that happy to simulate danger without making us feel too personally attacked. 

That deft hand is also present in the way each chaotic end is playfully teased. The gymnast sequence sets up the fall brilliantly and patiently, with a loose screw rolling perfectly into place and a bowl of talcum powder being precariously perched before a fan. The sense the film is carefully taking its time also allows "Final Destination 5" to pull off several clever misdirects. The massage parlor scene introduces a number of potential objects to cause death before utilizing an unexpected one. A clever shot has a body falling into frame before the reveal that the guy's head has been impaled on a massive hook. The best misdirect of all is saved for the final minutes of the film, which brings the "Final Destination" series full circle in a clever way. It's the kind of twist ending that rewards the viewer too, carefully foreshadowed in such a way that is obvious upon a re-watch but easily missed the first time through. 

After the second "Final Destination" made its roster of meat-bags into human beings you could actually care about, the third and fourth installments increasingly didn't give a shit about the innocent victims caught up in Death's design. Part five works a little harder in that regard. David Koechner plays the kind of amusingly vacant dumb-ass you hire David Koechner to play. P.J. Byrne is on a similar level as the dorky, high libidoed Isaac. I'm not sure I was necessarily captivated by Nicholas D'Agosto as Sam, nor his subplot with his girlfriend, but at least he's given the hobby of being a French chief. Miles Fisher – who looks enough like D'Agosto that I thought they were playing brothers – as Peter does get the juiciest character arc, the character driven to the edge of madness by the grief of seeing his girlfriend go splat. The plot point that committing a murder might spare you from death's wrath provides a different angle to what we expect from the last act of these movies. I wouldn't go so far as to say this shift represents any sort of lore, as Death's pattern ultimately remains inescapable and random. It certainly isn't handled with any depth or insight, as Fisher just gets silly as he goes crazier. At least it shakes stuff up a little bit. 

"Final Destination 5" did well at the box office, ending up as the second highest grossing entry in the series with a worldwide total of 157 million. You'd think that means we would have gotten way more sequels since then. Screenwriter Eric Heisserer – who eventually got an Oscar nomination for "Arrival" – notably said that it was getting harder to cook up new deaths for the series though, which might explain the hiatus that followed. Stuck as the final "Final Destination" for many years, the fifth installment stands as another highlight of the grisly and flippant franchise. It managed to deliver fans of these films exactly what they want, while managing to find some new ways to keep the increasingly wrung-out formula fresh. I don't know if it did for suspension bridges what "Final Destination 2" did for trucks carrying logs but it did add an extra intrusive thought any time I had to drive across a bridge. And isn't that what we watch cinema for, to make us more paranoid and uncomfortable in our daily lives? [7/10]

 

Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977)
 

The always enchanting stop-motion creature effects of Ray Harryhausen made “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” into a minor classic of the fantasy genre. It took him a decade and a half to get another film based on this highly franchisable mythological hero made. After “The Golden Voyage of Sinbad” became a box office success in 1973, Columbia decided not to waste any time on getting a follow-up into production. Sam Wanamaker, better known as a Shakespearean actor who had dabbled in directing up to that point, would lead the production. Since “Golden Voyage” wasn't truly a sequel to “7th Voyage,” there was no expectation to link the 1973 film to this newer installment. Patrick Wayne, son of John, would inherit the role of Sinbad the Sailor from John Phillip Law and Kerwin Matthews. No supporting characters, love interests, or cast members would return for “Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger.” The film had the misfortune of hitting theaters the same summer as “Star Wars,” being easily overshadowed by the pop culture phenomenon. It's still regarded as the weakest of the three “Sinbad” movies Harryhausen worked on but it does have some of his trademark monsters in it, barely justifying me including it in a horror marathon. 

Having forgotten the princess he was previously engaged to, Sinbad the Sailor arrives in the city of Charak to seek the hand of Princess Farah in marriage. Instead, he discovers that Prince Kassim, on the night he was to be crowned king, was turned into a baboon by Zenobia, the prince's evil stepmother and a powerful sorceress. Zenobia's plan is to keep Kassim an ape so that her son, Rafi, can inherit the throne. Farah encourages Sinbad and his crew to journey to the island of Casgar, where the great alchemist Malanthius lives. He points them in the direction of Hyperborea, a mythical land located far beyond the frozen north and full of fantastical technology. Malanthius and Dione, his beautiful daughter, join Sinbad on this journey. Zenobia and Rafi, their boat propelled by a eight foot tall golden robot minotaur, are in hot pursuit. Sinbad  and his friends will encounter many strange beasts and challenges on this quest. 

Harryhausen's previous “Sinbad” films had highly episodic plots, built around the simple premise of a hero journeying from one location to another. There were lots of stops along the way to encounter strange creatures and magical perils that could then be brought to life with Dynamation. Somehow, “Eye of the Tiger” manages to feel more like a series of set pieces than either of the earlier adventures. The plot truly is no more complicated than “we have to head to this location, to un-monkey the prince,” with the bad guys slightly following behind and trying to stop them. Malanthius and his daughter are easily recruited to Sinbad's cause, being convinced to help out largely because the sailor showed up. Much talk is made of the difficulties of navigating the arctic ice on the way to Hyperborea but no one seems to struggle with it that much. The threat of the prince's mind slowly being consumed by baboon instincts, his humanity being lost forever, is the only element truly adding any tension to the story. 

This is by design, naturally, in order to highlight Harryhausen's stop motion creations as the real stars of the show. Early in production, the decision was made that this Sinbad adventure would feature fewer fantastical creatures and more prehistorical critters. This, combined with what Ray himself would call a rushed production schedule, results in “Eye of the Tiger” not featuring the effects master's best work. That's not to say that there isn't some extremely impressive, eye-catching special effects here. The dinopithecus-like baboon is highly expressive, showing life-like movements and expressing a lot of emotion in its eyes. The oversized walrus is similarly impressive in how it moves. A hawk-sized wasp is probably the scariest threat in the film, an insect right out of a nightmare. However, the fact of the matter is that bigger versions of regular animals aren't as cool as the mythic beasties of the previous films. 

The Minoton is probably the most memorable creation in the film, the golden calf robot looking awfully cool. It also contributes little to the story, not doing much besides standing around and looking intimidating, disgracefully exiting the film before the climax. I like the horned troglodyte the crew befriends but it does look and feel a lot like a lesser descendant of the cyclops Harryhausen previously animated. The ghouls that are summoned up are clearly inspired by the skeletons and Selenites of Harryhausen's past hits. The saber-toothed tiger that appears at the end, and presumably provide the title, is a bit too fluffy and stiff to blow the viewer away. Disappointingly, these creations are paired with some deeply underwhelming photographic effects. The scene where the sorceress turns into a seagull features some truly crappy color distortion, while several moments inexplicably spotlight shitty rear projection work. 

Another factor holding “Eye of the Tiger” back is its leading man. This film was released the same summer as “The People That Time Forgot,” the two movies representing the brief period when Hollywood was trying to turn Patrick Wayne into a star. It's easy to see why the career of the Duke's second son never truly took of. He is utterly devoid of charisma, blankly delivering all of his dialogue and never having a single spark of chemistry with any of his co-stars. That is notably a problem, as the love story between Sinbad and Jane Seymour's Princess Farah already bordered on the non-existent. Taryn Power, also the child of Old Hollywood royalty, is lovely but only has a molecule more screen presence than her co-star. The fact that both actresses have a very brief nude scene in a G-rated kids' movie proves more notable than their acting. At least Margaret Whiting is a decent villainess and Patrick Troughton hams it up a little as the eccentric old Melanthius. 

Ray Harryhausen's stop motion marvels were utter works of art in their own way, few talents matching him in terms of imbuing little puppets with so much life and energy. It was also a style of visual effects inevitably linked to the past. “Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger” shares a cast member with “Star Wars.” Peter Mayhew, the very tall guy who filed Chewbacca's fur suit, also plays the Minoton any time it's not a stop-motion model. “Star Wars” would, of course, point towards the future of what could be achieved on-screen. Compared to that, “Eye of the Tiger” must have seemed antiquated. The other effects work in the film certainly did the comparison no favors. Hampered by a lumpy script and a blank leading man, this is easily the weakest of the “Sinbad” trilogy and probably the lamest movie Harryhausen was ever involved with. (I'll get back to you on that after I finally watch “The 3 Worlds of Gulliver.”) There's still some of that ol' Dynamotion magic in this one, as held back by other factors as it might be. [6/10]

Night Gallery: Green Fingers

Playing the Bride of Frankenstein turned Elsa Lanchester into an iconic image of horror but it didn't make her the female Boris Karloff. Later in her career, however, she got a few more spooky roles. Such as “Green Fingers,” a season two highlight of “Night Gallery.” Industrialist Michael Saunders has bought a massive plot of land for his next factory. The only hold-out, right in the middle, is little old lady Lydia Bowen. She refuses to part with her simple country cottage, no matter how high the asking price soars. Lydia is too invested in the garden she's planted, claiming she has “green fingers” and can make anything grow. When Saunders himself can't convince her, he hires a tough guy to threaten the woman into moving. The hit man breaks in and chops off her fingers, threatening to return and remove more each time. Lydia is rushed to the hospital and dies of shock shortly afterwards. Saunders is satisfied that the land is his now... But he didn't anticipate how literal Lydia was being when she said she could make anything buried in the soil grow. 

For this one, Rod Serling adapted an ironic, twisted little story by R.C. Cook into something more akin to an E.C. Comics horror story. This is a classical morality tale: Mr. Saunders only has eyes on expanding his empire, thinking money is the only thing that talks and everything else is the bullshit that walks. Lydia believes in something more than the dollar, frustrating and baffling the businessman to the point that he pays to have her wiped out. There's an ecological layer too. Saunders notes that his latest factory will feature multiple smoke stacks, presumably pumping polluting smug into the sky. Lydia notes that the construction team has already flattened a hill in the distance. She has an appreciation for the simple things, for the flowers and vegetables that grow out of the ground. The world of industry, concerned only with profit and indifferent to ruining the natural world, is brought low by those same simple green things in the soil. If only it worked that way more often in our world.

It's a nice story, though a fairly simple one. The idea of the hit man chopping off a little bit of the old lady, saying he'll come back for more, is a nice gruesome detail that could've been expanded on. However, “Green Fingers” is preoccupied with moving towards its fantastical climax. Saunders is merely driven mad by what he sees, not ending up in the ground himself, which separates this from the E.C. template, I guess. Such a direct story did need two strong performances to prop it up. Lanchester has a whimsical gleam in her eye as Ms. Bowen. Moreover, she delivers her lines about what she believes in with the proper amount of authority, like an especially stern but sweet grandmother. Cameron Mitchell adopts a fairly silly Southern accent as Saunders. I do like that the businessman gets a little more depth than necessary, clarifying that he had humble roots and got where he is by never taking no for an answer. Mitchell delivers the final line of the segment directly to the camera, which is a darkly funny and odd note to end on. [6/10]

 

 

The Addams Family: Morticia the Sculptress

After giving writing a try in the previous episode, Morticia is still feeling unfulfilled in her life as a mother and wife. She decides to pursue another creative endeavor: Picking up the hammer and chisel and carving rocks into sculptures. As you might expect, her art works are of an unusual nature. She starts to fill the Addams' home with big rocks in weird shapes, claiming each one represents an abstract concept. The critics are aghast but Gomez pays Sam Picasso – Grandmama's painting tutor from “Art and the Addams Family" – to buy the stones. As it did in the previous episode, Morticia's new hobby takes over her life, leaving her husband alone and increasingly frustrated. 

Yes, “Morticia the Sculptress” has almost the exact same structure as “Morticia the Writer.” Thankfully, this one doesn't have Gomez outright sabotaging his wife's new career. Instead, he simply begs her to give up something she enjoys and is passionate about so they can have more sex. He doesn't frame it that way exactly, though references to Morticia being “a lover” as her most important role and a husband being left “uncuddled” were probably still kind of spicy for 1965. Eventually, Morticia is dissuaded from being a full-time sculptress when her children make themselves chocolate fudge for a meal. I guess, as much as the Addams rejected the societal norms of the times, this was still a sixties sitcom. A woman staying out of the kitchen or the bedroom was still a cause for crisis. Her efforts to define herself by any other role were destined to be mocked. Don't worry, Morticia, second-wave feminism was right around the corner. 

All of that aside, this is still an amusing episode with less of a weird rhythm than “Morticia the Writer.” The gags are strong. The doorknob reacting in odd ways to new visitors is not among my favorite “Addams Family” running jokes but it pays off nicely here. Ted Cassidy gets some good moments, when Lurch is called upon to model for Morticia or work at a spinning stone. Gomez is so troubled throughout this episode that he doesn't immediately react to his wife calling him “bubbela,” which she points out. Glad to see the show was willing to play around with its own rules by this point. I don't know what the modern art scene looked like in 1965 but I can't imagine that the sculptures Morticia carves here – a smooth stone she calls “World War II,” a rocky formation that she names “Motherhood” – would be seen as especially bizarre or unorthodox at the time. She looks awfully cute in her little smock and askew beret though. I can't imagine her devoted husband being upset about that. [6/10]

Halloween 2024: September 11th

I Saw the TV Glow (2024)

Jane Schoenbrun's "We're All Going to the World's Fair" was an original and unsettling film, destined to be remembered as one of the best movies ever made about spending too much time on the internet. For their follow-up, Schoenbrun decided to tackle a related but older phenomena: Spending too much time thinking about television. If "World's Fair" was the director's break-out movie then "I Saw the TV Glow" seems to have established Schoenbrun as one of the premier cult filmmakers of the moment. The movie was rhapsodically received earlier this year by a certain breed of genre film enthusiast. It was a one I was excited to see, based on the strengths of Schoenbrun's previous work, but it took me a couple of watches to actually figure out how I feel about it. 

In 1996, socially awkward teenager Owen sees an advertisement for a youth-centric horror television series called "The Pink Opaque." He's fascinated but his parents – a mom, who's dying of cancer, and an emotionally distant father – won't let him stay up late enough to watch it. That's when he meets Maddy, an older girl who is a big fan of the TV show. He sneaks over to her house to watch an episode. After that, she begins to record episodes and clandestinely delivers the tapes to him. One night, Maddy says she's running away from home and disappears mysteriously shortly afterwards. "The Pink Opaque" is cancelled not long after that. Ten years later, Owen is living in the same dead-end town and working dead-end jobs. That's when Maddy reappears into his life, as abruptly as she vanished. She tells him that "The Pink Opaque" wasn't merely a TV show. She tells them that the two of them are actually the main characters from the show, vanquished to a hellish alternate universe – our reality – by their archenemy. And the only way to escape this nether realm and return home is to bury themselves alive. 

The indie horror scene basically runs on nostalgia. Every year, there's roughly five hundred low budget horror movies that come out, attempting to capture the look and the feel of stuff from the eighties or the seventies or the nineties. Perhaps we obsessive genre nerds are doomed to always be chasing that high, of discovering something old and weird and amazing back when we are young. Despite the cottage industry of nostalgia-tinged horror, very few of these projects are actually about nostalgia. This is where "I Saw the TV Glow" differs. This is a movie about a lot of things but one of the primary emotions that drives it is the feeling of re-watching a TV show as an adult that fascinated or terrified you as a child... And discovering its nowhere near as good or scary as you remember. Schoenbrun actually puts that scene in the movie. The episode of "The Pink Opaque" that stunned Owen as a kid featured a Mr. Softee-like melting ice cream monster, that he remembers as pulsating, grotesque entity of Cronenbergian horror. When he re-watches the same episode as an adult – on a streaming service, of course, where all the pop culture artifacts that shaped our subconscious are rendered as more slurry for the slop machine – the monster is lame. The whole episode is corny and dumb. This thing he's spent his whole life thinking about actually sucked the whole time. Such an emotion driving someone into a dissociative episode is, from a certain perspective, understandable. 

As teenagers, we don't see much of Owen and Maddy's actual lives. We get the impression that his mom is a bit too clingy or smothering. His dad – played by Fred Durst as a blurry, distant, man-in-the-moon phantom – is implied to be abusive in some way. It's suggested he had other friends but Maddy is the only one we see him interact with. Maddy, meanwhile, is an alt-rock lesbian who is socially ostracized after coming out to a female friend. Both of these kids are living in worlds where they can't be themselves. This isolation continues into adulthood, where Owen is mocked by his younger coworkers. Not even the voice on the speaker box at the fast food place understands him. Instead of connecting with other people, both of these disaffected youths connected to a TV show. "I Saw the TV Glow" uses this idea, of loving fiction so much that it starts to feel more real than reality, as a metaphor for depression, malaise, and a general disconnect from those around you. (There's a reason the Big Bad of “The Pink Opaque” is named Mr. Melancholy.) When Maddy reappears in Owen's life, in a stunning monologue focused almost entirely on Brigette Lundy-Paine's face, she describes the feeling of the years going by too quickly. Of nothing feeling like it's changing or getting better. What's she describing is a feeling all too familiar to arrested man/woman-children. People who have spent their young adulthoods memorizing all the lore around their favorite pop culture franchise, instead of going outside and having life experiences, know this emotion well. The years are going by, you're getting older, but nothing is changing in a meaningful way. Maybe because you're spending all your time looking at the past, instead of searching for a future. 

Speaking as someone with a blog dedicated to "Sonic the Hedgehog," all of these are familiar feelings. "I Saw the TV Glow" does indeed capture a nerve-wracking kind of generalized unease. Owen is played by a brilliant Justice Smith as an always stiff, always out-of-place, ambiguously autistic raw nerve. He's wound so tightly that you're waiting the whole movie for him to snap. That does happen but it's in a disheartening epilogue, set long after any sort of change could've happened. Maddy remains a mystery throughout. Lundy-Paine also adopts an unenthused, possibly neuro-divergent affect to their voice. It becomes hypnotic in the later scenes, when Maddy is trying to lure Owen over to her side of thinking. Schoenbrun clearly builds upon the feeling they created in "We're All Going to the World's Fair." The disturbing sense throughout that something isn't right feels like it's developing towards something. That a major reveal about what level of reality its characters occupy is forthcoming. It's not. The film instead ends in a place of ambiguity, extending that feeling of displacement as far off the screen as possible thanks to a skin-crawling finale. This, I suspect, was entirely the intended effect. Still, I was left waiting for something more to happen.

Nevertheless, "I Saw the Glow" is an astonishing technical achievement. Smith and Lundy-Paine created some genuinely fascinating weirdos with the film's protagonists. Eric Yue's cinematography captures a far-off nostalgic feeling, bathing the sets and characters in pink and blue glows that feel suitably unearthly. The indie rock soundtrack goes a long way towards providing the disaffected mood. Perhaps the movie's greatest achievement is the fake TV show within it. "The Pink Opaque" clearly blends together elements from nineties programming like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," "The Adventures of Pete and Pete," and "Twin Peaks" with a hand-made freakiness that stands alone. I'm not quite sure how the film does it but Schoenbrun accurately captures the feeling of both an actual nineties TV and the overblown version of that TV show that exists in its fans' head. These two impulses collide in perhaps the best scene, a nightmarish recollection of "The Pink Opaque's" final episode that clearly steps all over the fourth wall. This is also the scene that most recalls the "Candle Cove" creepypasta – obviously a huge influence on this movie and Schoenbrun's career in general – but it approaches the idea in a fascinating way. Instead of suggesting a cursed TV show projected by some eldritch intelligence, it puts us in the seat of someone watching and has the forbidden broadcast assault our minds directly. It shouldn't work but somehow it does. 

Many people have pointed out that "I Saw the TV Glow" is an allegory for being trans, the gender identity of its writer/director and one of its stars. I'm observant enough to pick up on some of those themes, on the ideas of bodily disconnection and feeling apart from the roles society has assigned you. I mean, the movie puts Justice Smith in a dress and foregrounds him against a pink/blue/white flag, so it's not subtle. I'm also not that kind of queer, so a lot of "I Saw the TV Glow's" resonance might have gone over my head. I certainly relate to its theme of being an outcast and seeking comfort in fiction. As a study on our collective relationship with nostalgia, the film has a lot more to say on the subject than any other I've seen. As brilliantly crafted and effective as I found much of it, I can't get over this sense that it trips at the finish line. Still, Schoenbrun is clearly a unique talent with a visual and aural vibe all of their own. Their next film, from the sounds of it, is going to be about thinking too much about movies. Sounds about right. By the way, I would probably have been a fan of "The Pink Opaque" too but bet I'd also be one of those insufferable jack-asses who would always clarify that they liked "So Weird" or "Eerie, Indiana" better. [8/10] 

The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973)

Like all great artists and groundbreaking pioneers, Ray Harryhausen had many more unrealized projects than ones that came to fruition. The handful of sketches, storyboards, and brief test reels for films like "War of the Worlds," "Force of the Trojans," and "The Abominable Snowman" is likely all we'll ever see of these dreams. Among the many unmade films Harryhausen floated was a sequel to his 1958 classic, "The 7th Voyage of Sinbad." "The Eighth Voyage of Sinbad: Return to Colossa" never made it last the drawing board but Ray never abandoned the idea of returning to the legendary sailor. It wouldn't be until 1973, fifteen years after the original, that Harryhausen would get a second Sinbad movie made. It was the lack of other "Arabian Nights" themed films at the times, and a desire to rebound from the box office failure of "The Valley of Gwangi," that had Ray and producer Charles Schneer revisit the idea. Not truly a sequel to "7th Voyage," "The Golden Voyage of Sinbad" would instead bring the special effects master's visions of monsters, magic, heroes and villains into a new decade. 

While crossing the sea, Sinbad's crew spots a strange, flying creature carrying a gold object across the sky. They get the little monster to drop the amulet and Sinbad fastens it around his neck. The tablet is one third of a powerful talisman that leads the way to the legendary continent of Lemuria and the Fountain of Destiny. The evil wizard Koura desires this power for himself, having recently betrayed and deformed the Vizier of Marabia. Sinbad teams up with the Vizier and heads out on a quest to retrieve the final piece of the puzzle and find Lemuria before Koura does. The villain pursues the heroic crew, forcing a number of encounters with monsters and dangers along the way. 

The world had changed a lot between 1958 and 1973. However, Ray Harryhausen's brand of escapism remained charmingly intact. Much like "The 7th Voyage," "The Golden Voyage" operates strictly in archetypes. Sinbad is an ever-virtuous hero, who always acts selflessly and righteously. Koura is a devious villain, concerned only with gaining power, always one minute away from laughing in triumphant, wicked glee. Sinbad's crew includes the lazy son of a wealthy trader – the plucky comic relief – and the masked but stately Vizier, the wise mentor. Such simplified characters must've presented challenges to the cast. Tom Baker happily hams it up as evil wizard. John Phillip Law, on the opposite side of the moral spectrum from Diabolik, turns Sinbad into a somewhat bland figure, croaking aphorisms in an attempt to expand on the hero's personality. This world of fairy tale-like adventure reflects a child's, specifically a young boy's, imagination. Caroline Munro as Margiana, the slave girl Sinbad rescues and treats kindly, has almost nothing to do except stand around, look stunning, and get rescued from a monster at the end. An attempt to involve her in the plot results in the most half-assed of deus ex machinas. No, Munro and her heaving bosom exist as an eroticized but ultimately far-off symbol of longing in a world of daring manly men. I don't think Law's Sinbad actually knows what sex is, appearing confused when Margiana appears in his quarters on her knees. 

Such a paradigmatic cast of characters and a classical adventure storyline are almost precisely the point. Harryhausen's films operate in mythological modes, with no need for ambiguity. This allows the Dynamation special effects to truly take over the film. In "The Golden Voyage," Harryhausen seems especially fascinated by rendering movement in material that usually isn't very pliable. Koura enchants the figurehead of Sinbad's ship, the wooden siren creaking as it stretches its limbs and moves around the deck. Later, an iron statue of the Hindu goddess Kali is brought to life, resulting in a six-armed sword fight with Sinbad and his crew. It's the highlight of the movie, the statue moving all its limbs in a fluid manner and interacting almost seamlessly with the live actors. Of course, it wouldn't be a Harryhausen production without some flesh-and-blood monsters too. Koura uses a little winged homunculus as his spy, which looks a lot like the Ymir from "20 Million Miles to Earth." "Golden Voyage" attempts to top "7th Voyage's" iconic cyclops with a similarly one-eyed, neanderthal-like centaur. (A visage just gruesome enough to just qualify this flick for a Halloween Blog-A-Thon.) It's a fearsome, snarling beast that then gets into a scuffle with a griffin that randomly appears. Nobody did this stuff better than Ray. Even if there's nothing here as instantly iconic as the Skeleton Warriors or the Rhedosaurus, the creature effects remain utterly enchanting to this day. 

I tend to give Harryhausen most of the credit for these movies. It's hard not to, when his creations always steal the show and his sketches drove the design of the screenplay. Credit where it's due, director Gordon Hessler – an AIP veteran previously of "The Oblong Box" and "Murders in the Rue Morgue" – and cinematographer Ted Moore – an Academy Award winner who designed the look for the early Bond movies – made a good looking film. "The Golden Voyage of Sinbad" starts rather slow, as the first half-hour is devoted to assembling Sinbad's crew and getting all the MacGuffins in order. However, it gets delightfully trippier as it goes on. Much of the last third is set in enormous underground caverns, psychedelic colors rebounding off the cave walls. Robert Shaw briefly appears as the Oracle of All Knowledge, who takes the form of a shimmering, horned demon floating above a well. The finale features a horde of spear wielding Lemurians with green skin, fish-eye lens POV shots of the Centaur leering at Caroline Munro, and a waterfall turning into blood. This shows the film's commitment towards transporting the viewer to a fantastical, far away land while also acknowledging the head-trip hippy era was still going on. 

"The Golden Voyage of Sinbad" has less to do with the original "Arabian Nights" stories than the previous Sinbad film. You might've noticed that all the monsters are taken from Greek or Indian lore, while the Lemurian culture seems based on Southeast Asia. Nevertheless, the largely Anglo cast put on brownface, speak with shaky accents, and mention Allah as much as possible. Who can be offended, considering this film clearly takes place in a fantasy realm so totally divorced from our own reality? "The Golden Voyage of Sinbad" is lesser Harryhausen, which means it's still an effortlessly entertaining motion picture, full of the kind of special effects wizardry that simply doesn't exist anymore and a tone of old-school magical charm. Essential viewing for monster kids. [7/10]

The Twilight Zone: Eye of the Beholder

In past years, when looking at the original "Twilight Zone," I've usually picked slightly lesser-known episodes, in order to get full enjoyment out of whatever twists or messages they may contain. This year, I'm taking a different approach and covering one of the most well-known installments of the entire series. In "Eye of the Beholder," Janet Tyler sits in a darkened hospital room, her face entirely wrapped in bandages. It seems she has some sort of medical condition that renders her face hideously ugly. This is her eleventh attempt at a treatment and, if it is unsuccessful, Janet will be shipped off to a commune for such undesirables. As her mental state grows more unsettled, her doctor begins to wonder if such an approach is the right one. Such thoughts are considered treasonous in this society, that values normality over everything else. Janet convinces the staff to remove the bandage early, bringing the horrifying truth to light. 

Like much of the original "Zone," "Eye of the Beholder's" twist ending has penetrated the pop culture zeitgeist to the point that it's practically common knowledge. You might not have seen the whole episode to know what the final reveal is: That Janet is a beautiful blonde woman, worthy of being a model in our world. That the hospital staff all have warped faces, with lumpy flesh, pig snouts, and upturned, asymmetrical lips. The point is not the least bit subtle. The standards of beauty in any culture are decided by that culture. What is beautiful to us may be grotesque to someone else and vice versa. If you somehow missed this, the episode reiterates it several times, in both dialogue and Rod Serling's meritorious bookends. (And the title, of course.) 

This is quickly spun into a larger theme about conformity, how society demands anyone who is "different" become like everybody else. Function but don't disrupt. Move ahead but be the same. Those that reject this message are shipped off to obscure villages or destroyed. Those that decry the idea are declared political enemies. Serling's script goes so far as to include Orwellian telescreens, that show a dictatorial Leader praising the virtues of conformity and how it's good for all of society. In 1960, when the Red Scare was still a very recent memory, this moral was much more potent, perhaps daring. Through modern eyes, "Eye of the Beholder" is a bit preachy, making its point over and over again to ensure there's no misunderstanding or ambiguity about Serling's message. We don't have pig faces here in America – at least not literally – but the pressures to conform, to mold anyone different into the homogeneity, is much the same. 

Despite the somewhat didactic screenplay, Serling's metaphor is broad enough to mean many things to many different people. "Eye of the Beholder" was surely speaking to philosophical, cultural, and political ideas. It's not difficult to see a racial message here as well, in the prosecution of those that look different. The ever-present appearance of bandages, coldly gleaming syringes and scalpels, and sterile hospital environments brings insane asylums to mind. Making this a possible story about living with a mental illness in a world that demands everyone act "normal." The way Janet's face is referred to as a disability seems to specifically speak to the prevalence of ableism across all cultures. Janet, locked in her world of shadows and bandages, constantly bemoaning her appearance makes "Eye of the Beholder" a statement on the impossibilities of modern beauty standards. When people inflict painful and extensive plastic surgery on themselves to be "beautiful," when isolated young men deform themselves in pursuit of "looksmaxxing," the idea of someone being shipped off because they dare to look "imperfect" is a potent one. Maxine Stuart's performance, as the woman under the bandages, makes the pain she feels all too evident and heartbreaking. I'm pretty sure, in modern parlance, we'd say Janet has body dysmorphia. That makes me curious to see a trans or queer reading of this episode. 

All subtextual concerns aside, "Eye of the Beholder" remains a deeply eerie half-hour of television even sixty years after it first aired. The hospital set is almost expressionistic, with seemingly endless hallways made of sloping rectangles. The glimpses we get of the city outside look like cardboard set dressing, further creating an ambiance of unreality. Bernard Hermann's sparse score is full of tingling pings and discordant brass, furthering this surreal feeling. In order to disguise the twist ending, director Douglas Heyes carefully hides all the actor's faces. The camera twirls around to always obscure any facial features, focusing instead on mundane objects like a pack of cigarettes or an intercom. When combined with the frequent shadows, this creates a world without warmth or love, reflecting Janet's isolation. We've all felt unaccepted or cast out at some point in our lives, making "Eye of the Beholder" an easily related to nightmare. The result is an episode that feels unmoored and disoriented. It is in such an unsettled dreamspace like this – a twilight zone, you might call it – that Serling's ideas, no matter how blunt, resonate. That's the sign of true art, whose ideas and images, themes and meanings, vibrate in the subconscious and speak to universal truths still. [9/10]

The Addams Family: Morticia and the Psychiatrist

“Morticia and the Psychiatrist” begins with the Addams parents making an upsetting discovery: Their son, Pugsley, is dressed up in a boy scout uniform. Soon, they find their boy playing with a white little poodle puppy. Terrified that their child may be turning into a normal person, they consult a child psychiatrist. The doctor informs the family of the best strategy: To cater to his whims and support his new interest, in hopes that this is a phase that will soon pass. When Pugsley continues to grow more conventional, the doctor is asked to make a house call. Typically, he is unprepared for what he finds at the Addams home.

If one of the central jokes of “The Addams Family” is outsiders being horrified by the family’s antics, “Morticia and the Psychiatrist” centers this joke plenty of times. Dr. Black, played by a nicely straight-laced George Petrie, reacts in confusion to Morticia’s spidery dress. The last third features multiple scenes of him horrified by the family décor and the homicidal games Pugsley plays. (Though I think that’s normal for a ten year kid, regardless of their background.) The episode goes the other way though. Morticia and Gomez’ confused, startled reactions to Pugsley’s new habits subverts wholesome Americana in clever ways. 

You can’t really undersell how much Astin and Jones’ particular delivery make the goofy dialogue sing. Astin’s reaction to a suggestion that he give away the family’s statue of a two-headed turtle or Morticia’s shock that Puglsey is playing with a baseball bat are fantastic. It’s also notable how openly horny these two are for each other. A scene of Morticia in a new night gown drives Gomez into a lusty frenzy and his wife has to ask him to calm down. I didn’t expect that for 1964 television! Jackie Coogan gets a funny moment too, when spying on Pugsley and the doctor and nodding in agreement at what he sees. [7/10]

Halloween 2023: September 30th

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958)

Ray Harryhausen really became a star of special effects technology through the series of black-and-white creature features he made for Columbia Pictures in the fifties. “20 Million Miles to Earth,” “Earth Vs. the Flying Saucers,” and “The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms” are monster kid classics. Yet one suspects that maybe Ray was a little tired of the stock monster movie plots of these films. Perhaps, he wanted to do something more epic. After all, the wonder and awe Harryhausen's trademark “DynaMation” techniques inspired in audiences would serve the mythic genre. Thus, a new phase in Harryhausen's career would begin with “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.” Now, including this movie in a Halloween marathon is a little bit of a cheat... But it's got crazy monsters attacking people and that's good enough for me.

While on the way back to Baghdad, to marry his girlfriend Princess Parisa, Sinbad the Sailor and his crew stop by on the island of Colossa. There, sorcerer Sokurah is having some trouble with an angry cyclops stealing his magic lamp. Sokurah blackmails Sinbad into returning him to Colossa by shrinking Parisa and saying that egg shells from the massive Roc bird are the only thing that can reverse the spell. This is a ruse, of course, as Sokurah is only interested in the magic lamp. Sinbad endeavors to escape the island's various monsters, rescue the princess, and defeat the evil magician. 

Despite the title, “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” draws more from some of Sinbad's other voyage. The bits with the Roc come mostly from the second and fifth voyages while the Cyclops is drawn partially from the third adventure. Otherwise, “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” is an intriguing amalgamation of different cultural mythologies. A sequence where Sinbad has to block his ears while his mutinous crew are lured by singing demons on a coast recalls Odysseus and the Sirens. The way the cyclops is blinded also recalls “The Odyssey.” The genie in the magic lamp is a generic middle eastern fantasy trope largely taken from other “One Thousand and One Nights” stories. The plot is a standard fantasy adventure set-up, with an evil sorcerer, a dashing hero, and a damsel in distress. It's interesting that such a Westernized premise is being brought to a traditionally Middle-Eastern story, with characters that openly talk about Allah and Celiphates. 

Considering this type of set-up, it's not surprising that “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” functions largely in archetypes. Sinbad, as played by the stout-chinned Kerwin Mathews, is an always virtuous swashbuckling good guy who consistently makes the right decisions and never fails to overcome any challenges. His love with Princess Parisa is defined solely by emotional purity, without a shred of sexual tension between them. She's played by Kathryn Grant, the future Mrs. Bing Crosby, who has the exact girl-next-door purity you'd expect. Meanwhile, Torin Thatcher's Sokurah is only missing a mustache to twirl to be an obviously villainous swindler and power-hungry schemer. “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” operates in these kind of immediately recognizable, storybook tropes probably because it was largely intended for children... But it supports the idea that the movie is a fairy tale writ large, an adaptation of an ancient plot meant to invoke those same sort of universal feelings. 

All of this is interesting but it doesn't point towards the reason people remember “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad.” Harryhausen's stop-motion work had a way of taking over every movie it was in. The satyr-like cyclops has become iconic, with its perpetually sneer, pimply skin, horned head and pointed ears. Yet I think I like the two-headed Roc and the quadrupedal dragon from the final act the most. Each of these creatures move in a stunningly life-like fashion, with realistic quirks that lend each of them a personality of their own. The dragon, with the way its chained up and pushed along by Sokurah, makes me think of an abused attack dog. The film also features a single living skeleton warrior, the prototype for the far more famous skeleton army in “Jason and the Argonauts.” I can see why audiences latched onto that guy, as he's pretty cool.

“The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” would be a hit for Harryhausen and Colombia, prompting the animator to bring his “DynaMation' effects to a string of other family-friendly fantasies. This would, fifteen years later, include two more “Sinbad” movies. The gap makes it hard to call those sequels exactly but it's clear that Harryhausen knew the Sinbad stories were a rich source for filmmakers. Without Harryhausen's effects, “The 7th Voyage of Sinbad” would probably hold little interest. With them, it becomes a simply magical adventure that enchants and entertains to this day. [7/10]

Subspecies 4: Bloodstorm (1998)

During the Video Zone featurette for “Subspecies III,” Charles Band referred to the third installment as the last film in the series. This is despite a fairly open-ended conclusion that hardly wrapped up Michelle's story. In that same documentary, Band acknowledges that, if enough fans demand it, a fourth movie might be made... This apparently proved to be the case, as “Subspecies 4: Bloodstorm” would arrive on video shelves in 1998. Of course, the Full Moon Pictures of the late nineties was not the same beast it was earlier in the decade. Band was making about half the amount of movies he was during the company's heyday. David Allen's charming stop-motion effects had been replaced by super cheap rod puppets and lots of stock footage. A desire for theatrical equivalent looks on a direct-to-video budget gave way to increasingly limited sets. This drop of production values is all too apparent when you watch “Subspecies 4” directly after its immediate predecessors. 

Last we left them, Radu's flaming corpse was impaled on a tree and Michelle had been zipped up in a body bag by her sister and their friend from the American embassy. In the tradition of lackluster sequels, “Bloodstorm” quickly undoes these plot points in as sloppy a fashion as possible. Becky and Mel die in an off-screen car crash, while Michelle is discovered by Ana, a female doctor, and taken to a local clinic. Radu, meanwhile, just kind of scurries out of the sunlight and back into his crypt, despite being very dead last time. Anyway, Dr. Niculescu, a vampire who has augmented his condition with science, attempts to cure Michelle. Yet it's not long before Radu is trying to lure her back to the dark side. Soon, the vampire prince is seeking support from Ash and his followers, his fledglings introduced in “Vampire Journals.” Power plays between the vampires ensue as Michelle holds onto the last shred of her humanity. 

It's not as if the writing in the previous two “Subspecies” movies were especially deep or anything but we did care about Becky and Mel. Part four beginning by killing them in an especially lackadaisical manner gets the film off on a sour note. Without an established human heroine and leading man to focus on, “Bloodstorm” occupies itself with increasingly inane subplots. It's hard to be too invested in Ioana Abur's Ana, as she wanders into the story early on and is never given time to be properly developed. Dr. Niculescu is obviously evil and his alliances seem to shift from scene to scene. A sequence devoted to him creeping on a sleeping Ana seems like an especially blatant attempt to pad out the story. “Bloodstorm” also brings back Ian Haiduc as the eccentric Lt. Martin, now a vampire in a subplot that goes absolutely nowhere.

The sequel developing such uninspired threads as these is further proof that Ted Nicolaou and the gang didn't have many ideas for a fourth “Subspecies” installment. Intertwining the cast of “Subspecies” and “Vampire Journals” is a natural enough idea, as they are both set in the same world. Yet all this does is occupy “Bloodstorm” with the same sort of tiresome undead politics that filled “Vampire Journals'” runtime. Radu barges into Ash's lair, demands to be given a place to stay and hot babes to suck. Ash is Radu's fledgling, so he's compelled to obey but annoyed by the request. That's why he sends Serena in as a double agent, seducing Radu and earning his trust. By the time Radu is asking for control of Ash's criminal enterprises, this shit could not get more perfunctory. 

Another clear example of “Subspecies 4” running on fumes is Radu and Michelle's relationship. Denice Duff spends the first half of the movie laying on a slab, partially catatonic. When Radu attempts to capture her from the hospital, the movie briefly becomes interesting... Before settling back into the old routine of Radu attempting to make Michelle his perfect vampire mate. This is more-or-less the same pattern that played out in “Subspecies II” and “III,” causing “Bloodstorm” to feel fairly repetitive. Yet it's also the most interesting thing about the sequel, if only because we actually have investment in these two. Anders Hove's strange, smoldering intensity and Duff's mixture of vulnerability and sensuality make these moments easy to watch, played out as this particular dynamic might be.

“Subspecies 4: Bloodstorm” ends in such a way as to assure audiences that Radu is really most sincerely dead. One imagines that Ted Nicolaou made it this way so as to prevent Charles Band from roping him into another installment further down the line. Considering the minuscule budgets Band was working with at this point in his career, it's not surprising that “Bloodstorm” is short on the authentic locations and gothic atmosphere of the previous three. There's some cool shots of shadows gliding over buildings but I think some of them might be stock footage. “Subspecies III's” ending was far from conclusive but part four's uninspired content makes it clear there wasn't much anywhere else to take this story. This is more a tepid epilogue than a grand finale. [4/10]

One Step Beyond: Emergency Only

Being a supernatural anthology series that purported to draw its stories from true accounts, several episodes of “One Step Beyond” feature premonitions. In fact, both the second and third installments focused on visions of the future. In “Emergency Only,” the latter, Arthur Douglas is enjoying a dinner party at a friend's apartment. A woman named Ellen Larrabee is said to have a party trick: The ability to see future events, usually tragedies. Falling into a trance, she sees Arthur getting on a train, meeting a pretty woman, encountering a snake, and dying in a collision. Arthur dismisses it but, after his flight is delayed and he's forced to catch a train, he finds the premonition seems to be coming true after all.

“Emergency Only” is the second highest rated episode of “One Step Beyond” on IMDb. At first, I attribute this to a prominent role for Jocelyn Brando, Marlo's older sister and an actor of some renown herself. (She's pretty good in her one scene, for what it's worth.) Initially, the episode proceeds quite drolly. Arthur is told at a party that certain things are going to happen. They then proceed to happen, in an orderly fashion, without much deviation from the forewarning. Each prediction coming true is followed by a dramatic musical sting and a repeat of Ellen's vision in voice-over, in an attempt to build suspense. It feels a little like someone telling us that they are going to do a thing and then being forced to watch while they do exactly what they announced. Not very exciting, right? 

Yet, as it stretches on, “Emergency Only” does start to build a bit of tension. This is largely thanks to Lin McCarthy's performance as Arthur. After he encounters a distinctive woman with a snake-shaped ring on the train, he starts to sweat. He gets increasingly frenzied as he fears his fate might have been sealed. It helps that Paula Raymond, as the eye-catching lady passenger, has no idea why McCarthy is freaking out so much. This results in “Emergency Only” actually getting a little suspenseful on its way to a very predictable ending. And every time I watch an episode of this show, I'm reminded why sleepy, cordial John Newland is not remembered in the same breath as other anthology show hosts like Rod Serling or Alfred Hitchcock. He's so bland! But the episode's not bad. [6/10]

The Munsters: Herman, Coach of the Year / Happy 100th Anniversary

The relationship among the Munsters family come into focus in this two sets of episodes. “Herman, Coach of the Year” begins with Eddie returning home from school, despondent. The other kids on the track team are mocking him by calling him “lead foot.” Herman decides to train the boy to be the best runner he can, while Grandpa conspires to use magic to improve Eddie's chances. “Happy 100th Anniversary” has Herman and Lily both attempting to surprise each other for the titular celebration. They withdraw money from the bank at the same time to buy a gift for each other, resulting in both checks being rescinded. Lily and Herman, totally unaware, both take secret night jobs at a shipyard to afford a gift. Shenanigans ensue. 

“Herman, Coach of the Year” represents “The Munsters” at its broadest, which is no small feat. Wacky physical gags take up most of the episode. You're going to see Herman smash through numerous structures and bop himself over the head multiple times here. The effects of Grandpa's magic on Eddie, a stray cat, and the track team's reaction to Herman also results in typical silliness. Among the better jokes is the reaction of an incredulous husband after his wife's car gets repeatedly pleated by the objects Herman throws. 

What I found most interesting about this episode is Herman and Grandpa's opposing approaches to victory. The father believes that hard-work and training is the only honorable way to win a competition, while the vampire thinks winning at all cost – including doping with advantage-boosting pills – is what's important. It's a good thing Mockingbird Heights Elementary School doesn't do random drug test on their student athletes, I guess. Then again, Herman does have a past as a professional baseball player, so maybe the school would expect his son to excel at athletics... 

“Happy 100th Anniversary” has about the most sitcommy premise a sitcom could have. From the minute Herman and Lily both secretly plan to buy the other an anniversary gift, it's clear this is going to progress in an O. Henry, “Gift of the Magi” style direction. “The Munsters” being the kind of show it is, this premise is taken to its absolute most absurd extreme. Herman and Lily getting the exact same job, where they just happen to have their faces covered, under the exact same circumstances, would push plausibility in a show that didn't star monsters. Luckily, the script plays up the ridiculousness of the scenario, leading to a unlikely payoff and cute resolution. Honestly, the best joke here might involve a random scene of Grandpa torturing some marshmallows though. [Herman, Coach of the Year: 6/10 / Happy 100th Anniversary: 7/10]