Halloween 2025: September 30th

Rapture (1979)
Arrebato

If it wasn't obvious already, when I think of Spanish genre cinema, names like Paul Naschy or Jess Franco tend to come to mind for me first. Motion pictures of that sort were often exploitation cheapies, filtering familiar horror tropes through a distinctively European sensibility. A lot of them were also, notably, made while dictator Francisco Franco was still in power. When Franco finally died in 1975, it obviously led to wide-spread cultural shifts. Out of this moment emerged a social movement and subculture known as La Movida Madrileña. It was defined by punk rock, synth music, new attitudes about sexuality, and people doing lots of drugs. There were Madrileña movies too. Ivan Zulueta was a director artsy short films, a poster designer, and a full-time heroin addict. He would draw on all three of these inspirations when making 1979's “Arrebato.” Known as “Rapture” in English, the film would become a cult classic in Spain before slowly gathering a reputation around the world as a classic of art house horror. Well, let's give this one a look.

Jose is a filmmaker who has found little satisfaction directing low budget monster movies. His relationship with his girlfriend, Ana, is slowly dissolving because of his growing dependency on heroin. This is when he receives a package from an old friend, Pedro. Inside is an audio cassette and a film reel. The recording describes how Jose and Pedro, an obsessive creator of home-made movies and also an addict, first met. Pedro became increasingly obsessed with time-lapse photographer, determined to discover something special on-film. While trying to get clean and relapsing, Pedro discovered a time lapse recording of himself as he slept. Right before he startled awake, the film reel went completely red. He attempted to uncover what happened in those red squares. Jose becomes fascinated by this mystery as well, following the clues back to Pedro's apartment to uncover what led to his disappearance. 

“Arrebato” is a motion picture about the medium of the motion picture itself. Its opening image is of an actress, playing a vampire, looking directly into the camera. This is meant to establish the boundaries of the fourth wall, that barrier that separates fact from fiction. The characters in “Rapture” are film obsessives themselves. Jose is dissatisfied with working in the medium itself, unable to find the ecstasy in making movies himself that he's discovered when watching them. Pedro, meanwhile, is so enamored with trying to discover some sort of greater truth through filmmaking that his amateur productions bring him to tears. Film is a transcendent medium, which can bring dreams to life and make the imagination a moving illusion of physical reality. Zulueta's movie plays with the medium itself. Once or twice, the image develops a stuttering start-and-stop, much like the time-lapse movies Pedro makes. At first, I wondered if Shudder was starting to skip during these moments. Cameras, film, and screens are featured all throughout “Arrebato” and the film is very concerned with finding some deeper meaning in these ideas.

However, I do wish Zulueta's film delve into the question of what the obsessive movie fan seeks out a little more. I'm one myself. I know why I hunger for movies, to seek and uncover hidden gems and dig into the meaning of what I observe. I want to learn, to see other people's experiences. Moreover, film is an audio/visual dreamscape that wash over the viewer, overwhelming our eyes and ears and bringing the impossible to life. It means a lot to me. What does the medium mean to the characters in “Arrebato?” Much of the runtime is devoted to Pedro's final message, his memories of events that led up to his disappearance. He talks about the “rapture” he feels at the moving image. “Rapture” is typically described as an intense pleasure or joy, euphoria, bliss, elation. I've certainly experience those emotions from discovering a good movie. Yet the rapture spoken of her seems to imply some deeper meaning behind the act of recording and being recorded itself. 

And what does that mean? For all “Arrebato” talks about the joy of watching and recording, we see the characters do surprisingly little watching or recording themselves. The closest we get is Ana observing a Betty Boop doll she had as a girl while in the throes of a heroin high. Does looking at this doll remind Ana of simpler times, transporting her back to her childhood? Is film making a form of time travel, revealing the past to us as it happened? As “Rapture” goes on, the implication seems to be more and more that the camera can capture something that the human eye cannot. Frustratingly, the movie never seems ready to actually comment on what these ideas mean to the characters. I kept waiting for a reveal about what Pedro discovered by recording himself sleeping, that his time lapse films accidentally exposed some cosmic truth. “Arrebato” is not the kind of movie interested in answers however. Its vagueness forces the viewer to come not only to their own conclusions about what the story implies but also what deeper topics it's commenting on.

Assuming, of course, that “Rapture” is primarily a movie about movie making. I mean, it obviously is but it's also, fairly explicitly, a movie about heroin. We see Jose dissolve the powder in a spoon, fill up a syringe, and inject the substance into his arm. Characters repeatedly spread out white lines and snort them. Jose gives Ana a taste of the drug at one point. Before the end arrives, she's hooked too. Pedro is already a junkie, which he bonds with Jose over. The characters grow paler, sweatier, and skinnier as the movie goes on. Considering Zulueta was also a drug addict while making the film, we can assume he's speaking from experience. That seems to be the primary thematic point of “Arrebato.” The characters search for a grand ecstasy in the moving image the same way they keep shooting up, looking for a subsequent high that compares to the first one. Yes, being a movie fanatic is sometimes like being a drug addict. It can take over your life. You keep searching for films in hopes of finding as transcendent an experience as the one that got you hooked. I'm not sure I've reached a point, however, where the camera and all it represents begins to direct me, the way an addict looses control of their life to their drug of choice. If “Rapture” reflects that experience for other people, so be it. That didn't speak to me though.

I've never done heroin. I think it would be a bad idea if I did. From what I've read about the effects of a heroin high, “Arrebato” seems to seek to recreate a similar feeling in the viewer. It's a slow, meandering movie. There are digressions not directly linked to the story. Such as Pedro heading out on a night on the town with a woman. Or Ana dressing up and doing a little song and dance for Jose. Despite the neutrality of these depictions, there's a sinister undercurrent throughout. When “Arrebato” finally moves towards proper horror in its last act, it is a creepy and unsettling pay-off of everything that came before. The final image is properly spooky. You are going to have to be patient to get there though.

“Rapture” is definitely a very interesting experience. However, for a movie as much about being a movie watcher, it seems strangely simplistic in its understanding of what movies are. Maybe you'll get more out of it if you're also a drug addict. There's a sleaziness to its horse-cooked imagery that is effective. This is the kind of movie that makes you feel a little scummy, for putting you so totally into its underworld. However, I don't think the parallels between being a film junkie and a literal junkie are that deep. Zulueta's own career was derailed by his drug problem, the man nearly self-destructing like his character do. Perhaps if he saw more movies and got high less I would relate to this one a bit more. “Arrebato” is ultimately one I admire more than I can actually praise. [7/10]

 

 

 

Past Midnight (1991)

The legend of Quentin Tarantino – loud-mouthed asshole, belligerent cokehead, full-time Zionist, Polanski defender, maybe the greatest American director of his generation – is that he went from working in a video store in Manhattan Beach, California to writing and directing "Reservoir Dogs" overnight. This is not true, of course. He worked on two uncompleted student films, was a lowly production assistant on Dolph Lundgren's workout tape, and played the undignified role of an Elvis impersonator in an episode of "The Golden Girls." His first job as a professional Hollywood screenwriter was a little-seen thriller called "Past Midnight." The film is not mentioned in his main Wikipedia article but it is his earliest industry credit on IMDb. How Tarantino became involved with the production, I don't know. What we do know is that he rewrote much of the script. Supposedly, star Rutger Hauer disliked the changes and refused to perform any of Tarantino's dialogue while original screenwriter, Frank Norwood, declined to share credit. The future "Pulp Fiction" auteur was given an Associate Producer role as a compromise and that was that. The movie ended up going straight to the USA Network before being dumped on video, rarely mentioned since. However, surely the technical debut of a film nerd God starring a cult face like Hauer is worth a second look? Let's find out. 

Fifteen years ago, Ben Jordan came home drunk and violently stabbed his pregnant wife to death. This is what the evidence, including a home movie showing the murder, would seem to suggest. Proclaiming that he had no memory of the crime the whole time, Jordan was sent away to prison. Now, he has been released on good behavior with Laura Matthews assigned as his social worker. She is charmed by the quiet, passionate Ben. The two fall on love and she begins to question the narrative that he is guilty. Laura rents a cabin in his home town and starts to dig into what happened that night. Her asking questions about the killing arouses suspicion among the locals and pisses off her coworker Lee, who has a crush on her. Soon, Laura is being stalked and threatened by an unseen assailant. Oh yeah, she's pregnant too, Ben is acting more and more erratic, and other people around begin to die. 

"Past Midnight" attempts to derive tension from the question at the center of the narrative: Well, did he do it? The system deemed Ben guilty. The opening shows him emerging from his home, covered with blood, and clearly panicked. The home movie shows someone stabbing his wife to death, the killer's face unrevealed, but there's no evidence anyone else was in the house that night. Ben proclaims his innocence, has no interest in digging up the past, and simply wants to move on with his life. Laura encounters multiple suspicious people as she investigates what happened. Such as the victim's blustery father who might have had an inappropriate relationship with his daughter. The town simpleton, Larry Canipe, seems awfully guilty about something and follows Laura in one scene. Once the violent harassment starts, you begin to wonder if Lee has gone insane with jealousy over Laura's relationship with Ben. Throughout it all, Ben doesn't exactly act innocent either. He breaks into her cabin, stands over her bed as she sleeps, grows wild-eyed and sweaty at various points. The narrative would seem to demand that Ben is the victim of an elaborate frame-up but he sure seems crazy. The film effectively generates a proper amount of uncertainty over whether Ben slashed his wife to death or not. If Laura was right to trust him and if that willingness to forgive has only put her in more danger. 

The film also points, perhaps unintentionally, towards another idea. Laura is truly the only female character of any importance in “Past Midnight.” There's the dead wife, a friend in all of one scene, a lady client at the start, and an awfully curious nurse at the doctor's office. Otherwise, the protagonist is alone as the sole woman in this world. And she is surrounded on all sides by shitty dudes. Lee is a friend, a co-worker, and possibly a former lover. He definitely doesn't seem to respect Laura's boundaries though, constantly pushing for more of a relationship. When he shows up to intimate Ben at his job, it reads less like concern over his friend now dating a convicted murderer and more like petty jealousy. Not that Ben is much better either. He also clearly doesn't respect Laura's privacy much, coming and going from her cabin whenever he pleases. Every man in the film is a shifty, hard-to-trust weirdo who thinks a woman is little more than a man's property. You also see this in how the victim's father seems more indignant that something that belonged to him was destroyed than specifically the loss of his child. Or in the way a police detective describes the footage of the murder as nastier than “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” hardly the serious manner you'd want a recording of someone actually dying to be handled with. 

It's hard to say if “Past Midnight” was intentionally making a feminist point or not. Tarantino's later work would become famous for freely mixing elements together from multiple subgenres. “Past Midnight” is heavily noir influenced, with its story of a protagonist getting in over their heads as they navigate a world where no one can be trusted. There's a little of the erotic thriller style present, especially in the extended sex scene between Laura and Ben. (Lots of hair pulling there.) Once the murders begin, the film starts to resemble a trashier horror flick. There's a dismembered arm left behind, threatening messages scrawled in blood. It only gets schlockier as after the killer is revealed. With little prompting, the knife wielding maniac reveals his modus operandi and his Freudian excuse for the killings. The finale is set during a deluge, features lots of shattering glass, slow-motion, and a rifle going off like an explosion. Good stuff, in other words, if you enjoy trash like this. 

Watching “Past Midnight” evolve from a slightly silly but mostly played straight neo-noir into a goofier, over overheated film is very entertaining. This divide is reflected in the cast too. Natasha Richardson stars as Laura and she gives a minor-key, likable performance. It's the kind of acting, lived-in and fleshed-out without devoting much screen time to backstory, that suggests a serious actor doing their job. Clancy Brown is far more understated than usual as Lee, making him seem as much like a normal guy as possible. In his screen debut, Paul Giametti has the embarrassing job of playing a Faulknerian man-child. His visible gulping and big, sad eyes make the character a little more than a cliché. Sticking out among all this fairly understated acting is Rutger Hauer, doing the things you pay Rutger Hauer to do. In other words, those steely blue eyes bulge with intensity, Hauer bringing a sense of desperation to the character that suggests he could fly off the angle at any second. That actually adds to the suspense in the film, as it makes Ben seem more believable as a possible killer. 

You can hear Tarantino's voice in “Past Midnight” too. The dialogue is peppered with the occasional pop culture reference. Moreover, there's a conversational element to the discussion, that feel a lot less route than what you'd normally hear in a movie like this and more like stuff people would actually say in real life. Director Jan Eliasberg has worked almost exclusively in television besides this. He does not display much of a visual eye, though a scene of Lee fishing outside Laura's cabin while she makes a disturbing discovery is cut together fairly well. That “Past Midnight” wind up debuting on the USA Network is fitting, as the entire film feels a bit like a weirder, sexier, bloodier episode of “Silk Stalkings.” Exactly the kind of thing that prospers from low expectations. I'm not saying this is a hidden gem, exactly, but it's a sturdy, fun little thriller worth seeking out for fans of anyone involved. [7/10]

Unsolved Mysteries: Season 9, Episode 14

I tend to think of “Unsolved Mysteries” as an entity of the late eighties and early nineties. However, the series' original run lasted until 2002, with seventeen seasons across three different networks. By season nine, the show had a slightly creepier opening sequence and a notably less creepy theme song, However, the general format remained the same. Robert Stack would gravely presents true – or at least “true” – mysteries from the shadows, while dramatic re-enactments played out. The fourteenth episode of that season is a good example of how your average “Unsolved Mysteries” varied unpredictably between normal television, the lamest shit possible and high-octane nightmare fuel. Presented alongside a story of a man being reunited with the woman who saved his life, a lady looking for the half-sister she never knew, and a basic rundown of the facts in the case of Tupac Shakur are a bracing recreation of a brutal home invasion/robbery and a segment showing how spontaneous human combustion can strike at any point.

I watched this specific episode of “Unsolved Mysteries” because a list of the show's scariest moments high-lighted the one about spontaneous human combustion. The re-enactments here dryly combine the mundane and the hyper-dramatic. A woman's recounting of how her shirt started spouting smoke one morning is difficult to take too seriously. Later sequences, of grisly discoveries of bodies having burned to ash at super high temperatures while leaving the near-by area unaffected, are more concerning. “Spontaneous human combustion” is one of those supposed paranormal phenomena that exist only because people discard the obvious evidence in front of them. Joe Nickell of Skeptical Inquirer is here to point out that the first case was of a bed-bound smoker with a highly combustible oxygen supply near by. The second was of an infirm old man known to dropped his lit pipe on his fabric robe while carrying matches in his pocket. The believer rebuttal is from some goofy guy named Larry E. Arnold, who eventually claims SHC is a result of people's inner electric impulse magically going berserk. Despite that, the images of a blackened crater in a bed and a near-by melted TV, or a hole seared right through the floor with body parts around it, are freaky as hell. 

If you watched this shit as a kid, I could see how it would upset you. You'd be left with the disturbing information that all of us are walking human candles, simply waiting to ignite, through means either explainable or mysterious. Watching as an adult, I honestly found the opening re-enactment of the robbery more disturbing. The dramatic footage is shot through a frenzied, shaky filter that conveys the victim's shocked mind. The actual woman's recounting of what happened shows how clearly traumatized she was by the incident. The first robber wears a Dracula mask and waves a guy around, pointing it right at the screen. The version of the episode on streaming now concludes with an update, that the assholes who did this – co-workers of the woman's son – were apprehended, tried, convicted, served their time, and are now out on the street. Doesn't make you feel much better does it? When combined with Stack's hyper-dramatic narration, sometimes presented alongside plumes of fire, it's the stuff of nightmares. Not those Lost Love segments though... [7/10]

The Addams Family: Ophelia's Career

“The Addams Family” was never a massive ratings success, despite its cult following and positive critical reception. Ratings declined throughout the 1966 season, perhaps because of competition from “Batman.” Filmways was prepared to film a third season in color, the cast ready to return, but ABC canceled the show without warning in April. This left the series ending unceremoniously on an Ophelia centric episode. “Ophelia's Career” sees Morticia's judo-tossing twin sister, once again, abandoned by her latest beau. Gomez suggests that she uses Uncle Fester's chemistry set to whip up a new man for herself. When this fails to produce any results, it is suggested that Ophelia leave romance behind and focus on finding a satisfying career. A spontaneous incident with an accordion sees her attempting to pursue a job as an opera singer. Though she initially annoys her vocal coach, Ophelia reveals talent in time. Unfortunately, the family's eccentric ways – and the caustic vocal spray Fester cooks up – leads to disaster when an opera director arrives to hear Ophelia sing. 

Charles Addams himself always had little involvement with the TV show based on his cartoons, as he disliked how the series made his family “less evil.” (It also led the New Yorker refusing to publish more of his comics, as they didn't want to be associated with a low-class medium like television.) That's a fair assessment of the campy sitcom. However, the last episode does feature some slightly edgier jokes than most. The opening gag has Fester moving towards an enormous saw blade, the family delighted to see what will happen next. The music teacher hired to train Ophelia is so disgusted by what he hears, that he threatens to beat the woman. Later in the episode, the same man considers ending his own life after the Addams destroy his career. Perhaps not behavior that would classify as “evil” exactly but still a bit more mischievous and morbid than the Addams' cheerier moments in the sixties.

There are a couple of inspired gags like that in this one. Cousin Itt's glib reaction to asking to teach Ophelia sees the mound of hair producing a laugh with simply a tilt of his head. The result of this training is also nicely absurd. I also like the bits where Gomez asks Lurch to refill a barrel full of petty cash and Fester swallows a whistle. As another example of this married couple being far hornier than their contemporaries, “Ophelia's Career” also sees the wife suggesting they retreat to the play room to sing some more before Gomez suggest they “play” instead. That was surely a fairly racy quip for the time but it's actually a double subversion. The next scene sees the married couple preparing to play ice hockey minus the ice. Otherwise, this is another season two “Addams Family” installment that's a bit too heavy on the running gags. Sharp as Carolyn Jones and John Astin's delivery might be, I can only see her toss him across the room so many time. The episode also reuses an earlier gag about the gong that summons Lurch being out-of-order. While not the best episode to take the series out on, it does end up resolving Ophelia's character arc. The final scene sees her musical career working out, despite her continued habit of scaring off men. That's nice. [6/10]

As with America's other light-hearted family of gothic horrors, the abruptly canceled “The Addams Family” would have a fruitful afterlife in reruns. The characters' cultural legacy has proven far greater. A guest spot on “The New Scooby-Doo Movies” in 1972 led to a short-lived animated adaptation the next year. The 1991 big screen adaptation and its beloved sequel would also beget a Saturday morning cartoon tie-in. Those two films received a terrible direct-to-video sequel of sorts, which operated as a quasi-pilot for a short-lived revival series that I've never seen a single soul express any fondness for. There was a successful Broadway musical, two animated features of forgettable quality, multiple video games, the best selling pinball machine of all time, and lots of merch. Through it all, the Addams remain pop culture icons, perennial Halloween costume favorites, and a massive influence on goth fashion. The sardonic film version of Gomez and Morticia's daughter becoming an inspirational figure for a whole generation of dry-witted young women and guys who want a pale, dark-haired girlfriend led to Wednesday more recently getting her own streaming series. That has been very successful, meaning the Addams – or Wednesday at least – are more popular now than ever.

But what about the old TV show? As someone who grew up with the edgier Barry Sonnefield films, I believe I do prefer my Addamses to be a little more evil than the goof-ball sixties sitcom. The show relied on the same set of running gags more often than would probably be preferable. It got downright repetitive by the end of the second season. Which isn't to say I didn't enjoy the television program a lot. John Astin and Carolyn Jones remained delightful presences throughout with red hot chemistry. The entire cast become quite lovable by the end, despite certain family members never being utilized as much as they could. The episodes focused solely on the family, rather than contrasting them with squeamish “normal” folks or involved them in convoluted sitcom shenanigans, were the best. I think “The Munsters” is still my preference, as it was a funnier show on the overall. Still, I loved chilling with the Addams

Halloween 2025: September 15th

 

Together (2025)

Like many nerds in the 2010s, I became a big fan of the TV series, "Community." It was a sitcom truly designed to appeal to film fanatics, often layering its episodes with references to classic movies and pop culture. That's how I got introduced to Alison Brie, whose bright blue eyes, bubbly energy, and fearless commitment to the bit quickly won me over. Brie has made a good career for herself since then, adding one other cancelled-too-soon cult favorite TV show to her resume alongside moving into screenwriting herself. In particular, her and husband Dave Franco have become a quirky power couple. They appeared together in "The Rental," Franco's directorial debut and a decent modern slasher. That interest in horror continued this year with "Together," another buzzy title from buzzy distributor NEON and the first feature from director Michael Shanks. Certainly, having an actual couple star in a movie about a couple undergoing a bizarre transformation adds an interesting layer of subtext to the entire affair. 

Millie and Tim have been together for a long time. He still hopes to become a rock star while she pursues a career as a teacher. Millie convinces Tim to move out to a small, rural neighborhood where she has a new job waiting, which conflicts with his wish to go back on tour with a band. Further adding tension to their relationship is the recent death of Tim's parents and Millie awkwardly proposing at the going-away party. After moving into the isolated home, the two go for a hike in the woods. A storm blows in and they fall into an underground cavern, home to a strange pool of water and distinctive bells. They drink from the spring and, the next morning, awaken to find a sticky membrane connecting their legs. This proceeds more bizarre behavior from Tim, who begins to feel a magnetic pull towards his girlfriend. Millie starts to be physically, uncontrollably drawn to him as well. Answers to the bizarre condition are revealed as the bickering couple begin to physically, painfully merge with one another. 

I don't think anyone uses the term "elevated horror" seriously anymore, if they ever did. Nevertheless, people are still making horror movies defined less by a narrative hook or distinctive special effects and more about ideas. "Together" is not a horror movie in which the supernatural threat points towards subtext about the anxieties and pressures of being in a long-term relationship. It is a movie about the anxieties and pressures of being in a long-term relationship, with the supernatural threat operating as a literalized metaphor for those concerns. After the effects of the strange water take hold, Tim finds it physically painful to be away from his girlfriend. Her movements, no matter how far away she is, direct his own. He has nightmares where she recognizes the he resents her success. She, similarly, is tired of sacrificing her life so he can continue to pursue an adolescent pipe dream and is fed up with his stereotypically masculine fear of commitment. The two seem on the verge of breaking up, the petty annoyances and common disagreements of living with someone having ossified into deeply seated issues. At the same time, they've been a couple for so long that, at this point, it's difficult to imagine their lives without each other. Are they both too old to start over now? Will their lives collapse without the daily presence and reassurance of knowing someone is there for them? A repeated line in "Together" is "It'll be easier to split now than to do it later." This is repeated as a more visceral statement after Tim and Millie's bone and sinew begin to intertwine but remains the thesis statement of the film. Once you link yourself to another person, do you cease to be an independent being? Do you want to be? Is it too late to go back? If you can't make it work with this person, are you stuck with them forever? And so on.

A lot of modern indie horror flicks think of a thematic premise like that and have little else to offer, filling the meat of the movie with meandering ambiance and whispering characters. Michael Shanks' script is a little shapeless. The attempt to justify what is happening here eventually bends, somewhat inorganically, towards two cliches of "elevated" horror: Weirdo pagan cults and grainy video footage. However, Shanks is actually interested in and good at the horror stuff. Germain McMicking's cinematography includes a lot of striking visuals, like warped reflections in a glass door or drone shots of the couple moving in step with each other. Sean Lahiff's editing is strong, the cuts precise to establish the causal relations between events. The sound design is especially eerie, with lots of off-screen banging or distant ringing helping to build tension. While the film's set pieces sometimes feel a little disconnected, they are effectively creepy. Tim's monologue about uncovering his parents' final fate – which has sad parallels to the recent passing of Gene Hackman – ends on a nicely unsettling image. A nightmare, in which cave walls begin to pulse and wheeze like a blocked esophagus, suitably recalls the feeling of having a panic attack.  A freaky, slimy, latex monster does show up eventually too. 

All of which is aside from "Together's" main attraction and what truly separates it from all the A24-a-likes out there. Distorted flesh, crackling bones, twisting limbs, and ripping skin are, when done well, a guaranteed way to make audiences wince.  "Together" has that in spades. Tim and Millie forced to rip their legs, connected by a sticky joint scab, apart made me cringe a bit. This proceeds some elaborate contortions of the human form, the bodies dragged and pulled towards each other magnetically. Fingers wiggle under skin,  shoulder blades mold like wet clay, hair is shoved into places hair shouldn't go. The most graphic moment occurs when Tim and Millie become unable to de-couple after physically rekindling their passion, a moment that operates half-way between painful body horror and sick comedy. "Together" is actually a lot funnier than I expected, getting some dark laughs out of its nightmarishly absurd set-up. That willingness to understand how these events are fucked-up in a sick way and an amusing way is evident in the film actually having the balls to use a particular needle drop during its climatic showcase of twisted bodies. (A moment otherwise undermined by some mediocre CGI.)

Despite mining some humor from its implausible events, "Together" is not an insincere story. It takes the relationship at the center of the story seriously. Yes, there are long simmering tensions between Tim and Millie. They backbite and argue and brood in silence with each other. They also flirt, laugh, kiss and touch, and talk with the kind of warm familiarity evident in couples that have been together for years. There's no doubt that the very real chemistry between Franco and Brie goes a long way towards making the audience invested in these two. Both are excellent, funny and goofy when the material is relaxed, filled with the proper amount of fear and pain when shit gets crazy. We've seen Dave Franco's frizzy haired, adorable man-child act before. Alison Brie usually plays glowing balls of perkiness hiding larger insecurities. There's a case to be made for actors playing to type though and it works here. The issues pushing them apart are understandable, not contrived, and it's apparent that these two really do care about each other. The emotional climax of the story – loving someone enough to let them go, giving up everything for your partner,  needing a person like you need oxygen – got to me. This kind of shit hits a lot harder when you've got a special someone in your life, let me tell ya.

As for whether "Together" reflects in any way on Franco and Brie's actual relationship, we can do nothing but speculate. They seem pretty happy to me. One would imagine that a couple would have to be very self-aware and fairly confident in their love if they would be willing to star in a movie like this. They've been doing projects like this that play with the boundaries of being a couple in the public eye for years now. Maybe this is just part of how they do it. Either way, "Together" has enough freaky body horror in it to hook people like me who long for the days of "Society" and "Videodrome." Michael Shanks clearly has some chops in telling stories like this, mixing horror, romance, and comedy despite the film faltering a bit once it tries to apply some sort of logic into its dream-like set-up. [7/10]

 

The Black Cat (1981)
Gatto nero

 

Despite being as American as apple pie and lax gun control laws, Edgar Allan Poe's writing is beloved overseas. The Italians, in particular, seem fond of Baltimore's greatest scribe of the macabre. Perhaps ol' Eddie P.'s mixture of the psychological, the surreal, the gothic, and the grisly appeals to that operatic sensibility. For whatever reason, some of the most widely known Italian horror directors seemed especially attracted to "The Black Cat," Poe's 1843 story of alcoholism, animal abuse, and a guilty conscience. Sergio Martino would steal Poe's climax for his 1972 giallo "Your Vice is a Locked Door and Only I Have the Key." Dario Argento devoted his half of 1990's two-part anthology "Two Evil Eyes" to a take on the story. The same year, Dario's old buddy Luigi Cozzi would steal the title for a witchy schlock-fest. Most prominently, in-between two of his apocalyptic zombie movies, Lucio Fulci would try his hand at "The Black Cat." 

The opening credits clarify that the film is "freely based" on Poe's story. This is an admission that, like most movies bearing this title, it has little to do with the original text. Fulci's "Black Cat" is set in a small English town, especially known for its old cemeteries and underground tombs. Photographer Jill arrives to snap pictures of the graves. This is how she meets Professor Robert Miles, a supposed medium. Miles owns a hateful, violent black cat but claims he can't get rid of it. At the same time, bizarre accidental deaths begin to plague the town. Inspector Gorley from Scotland Yard investigates and soon calls on Jill to operate as a make-shift crime scene photographer. Both become increasingly convinced that Miles' cat is somehow responsible for the deaths. This is the truth and the doctor attempts to stop the feline's supernatural murder spree himself but this is no mere pussycat. 

The supernatural horror films Fulci made in the eighties all follow very similar set-ups. Almost all of them center around a person, animal, or object that triggers a free-wheeling curse that enacts increasingly grisly deaths upon the group of people unlucky enough to be near-by. (Sometimes with zombies.) The ghostly priest in "City of the Living Dead," the tome of eldritch knowledge in "The Beyond," an ancient amulet in "Manhattan Baby," and the comatose teen of "Aenigma" are joined here by the titular nero gatto. Which is to say that Fulci's "Black Cat" has screenplay largely composed of shit just happening. We are introduced to a group of people living or visiting the same town – the photographer, the Scotland Yard investigator, a pair of horny teens, one of their hysterical mothers, a town drunk – who all fall, one by one, to the improbable accidents the cat causes. All the subplots tumble around each other, each largely meaningless ways to waste time until the feline killer must kill again. Why the cat is evil, where it gets its powers, how this connects with Professor Miles' research into spiritualism or the town's history of death are never addressed. 

In other words, Fulci's “Black Cat” is an exercise in grand guignol. In an almost literal sense. Like the plays shown in that infamous French theatre, the film is a collection of short scenarios that depict horrible things happening to people through crude but grisly special effects, in service of a bleak worldview. This is set up before the opening credits roll, as the stare of the cat wills a guy to crash his car, his head gorily smashing through the windshield. That is accomplished via the use of a clearly fake dummy. That same technique is utilized when the cat sets a house ablaze. We see a mannequin mechanically flail its arms around as it burns, inter-cut with close-ups on the melting face of a wax dummy in the shape of Dagmar Lassander. This isn't to say that the bloody set pieces of “The Black Cat” aren't occasionally cringe inducing. The best sequence involves the drunkard dangling from a post in a barn, the cat slicing at his hands until he falls upon some upturned spikes. However, the unconvincing special effects and frequently implausible details of the death scenes – such as the cat locking the love-making teens into a sweltering shed after turning off the air conditioning – are likelier to produce chuckles than shrieks. 

“The Black Cat” is, in a lot of ways, a good encapsulation of everything good and bad about Fulci's style. The murder scenes are gratuitous and goofy. The visual direction is sometimes campy, with numerous tacky crash-zooms. The dubbing is distracting, star Patrick Magee's distinctive natural voice covered by someone doing a middling Boris Karloff impersonation. At the same time, as vulgarian and camp as the film can be, it is also capable of a suitably chilling ambiance. The shots of cemeteries or back allies bathed in fog, the actors creeping around in the darkness, provide the exactly called for feeling. The shots of the titular beast glaring from an obscure corner, growling softly, effectively make the kitty cat a threatening force. Pino Donaggio provides a score that recalls his work on “Carrie” while also suggesting the casually cruel, free-spirited attitude of a cat and the small town setting. Yeah, there is a lot about this one that does work, almost as much as doesn't. 

What truly makes “The Black Cat” interesting to me is how it interacts with the usual trademarks of Fulci's work. I've commented before that I feel there is a genuine mean-spirited sense of misanthropy often emanating from Fulci's eighties work. His movies depict cruel worlds where everyone exists merely to die, usually in excessively gruesome and senseless ways, where the only certainty is the ever-enclosing folds of darkness and destruction. What made that especially uncomfortable is that it all felt so personal for Fulci. As if he was working through his own anger with these images. All the death and mayhem in “The Black Cat” comes from the fuzzy feline. The cat shares some sort of connection with Professor Miles. As it becomes clear his pet is pure evil, Miles attempts to destroy the cat, via the strangulation from Poe's story. However, it doesn't work. In the end, he admits that the cat is a psychic conduit for the hatred he feels towards everyone in the town. The doctor has subconsciously transferred his own resentment and bitterness into the cat. He tries to deny this enmity is a part of himself, expelling it by betraying the cat, but he ultimately must admit that these feelings of hate reside in his soul. If my interpretation of Fulci's work is correct – his horror films acting as release valves for his most sadistic desires – than “The Black Cat” is all but an admission of this. Assuming we can take the moody, withdrawn, and mysterious Patrick Magee as an intended author avatar for a director sometimes described as much the same. 

That self-reflective quality makes “The Black Cat” a little more interesting to me than the director's more acclaimed work. “The Beyond” and “City of the Living Dead” have more realistically depicted gross-out moments and stronger senses of foreboding atmosphere. However, I've always been a little put-off by the hopelessness they presented. “The Black Cat” acknowledges that this is all one guy's hang-ups, projected via an especially nasty and magical little critter. His gialli remain more self-assured, in my opinion. Those work better for me, as they attempt to ground themselves a little more other than going buck wild the whole time. Still, perhaps I am slowly coming around on Fulci's style. “The Black Cat” is grimy, dumb-ass nonsense that is also a weirdly effective exploration of the shadows of the mind. [6/10]

Beasts: The Dummy

After six years, I have arrived at the final episode of "Beasts," Nigel Kneale's overall excellent anthology on the theme of beastly horror. The last installment to air was "The Dummy." The title refers to the star creature of a long running series of horror films, who is neither man, beast, plant, nor mineral but an amalgamation of all four. Clyde Boyd has been the man sweltering inside the cumbersome Dummy suit since the beginning. A reporter is on-set during the production of the sixth entry in the franchise, "Jaws of the Dummy." Clyde is having trouble nailing a shot because he's got something else on his mind. His career is in shambles, as playing the faceless monster is the only thing he's known for, and he feels as if he's losing his sense of identity. His wife has recently deserted him, taking their daughter with her. Worst yet, the man she left him for is Sidney Stewart, the human star of the new film. And he's a bullying asshole. The producer convinces Clyde to go ahead with production, despite his fragile emotional state. That is when something inside the man snaps and he ceases to be an actor playing a part. He becomes the Dummy, a real monster rampaging through the studio and attacking all in his path. 

The most recurrent theme in Nigel Kneale's work has been finding the link between the mythic and the modern. In Kneale's films and TV shows, the monsters of the past are not dead but are understood to be something else in the modern, scientific world. The on-set reporter in "The Dummy" is a curious sort. She makes an observation that, in African tribal folk magik, a mask is not merely a disguise or costume. Within the ritual space of the ceremony, the observers understand that the witch doctor is assuming the role of an otherworldly spirit while also believing that spirit to be real. The barrier between play and reality, dreaming and waking, ceases to exist. "The Dummy" contextualizes a film set as the modern extension of these ancient rites. Within the confines of the camera, and the movie houses the images will eventually be projected in, these images are real. The dream is alive and unspooling at 24 frames per second before us. This is why Clyde becomes the role he is playing, the barrier between the real and the imaginary blurring. This is further emphasized in a moment when the attacking Dummy knocks a bucket of stage blood over while very sincerely attacking someone. In that moment, the difference between what's fake and what's real might as well not exist. 

It's a fascinating idea but one that perhaps could be explored more within this hour. In many ways, "The Dummy" is the most straightforward episode of "Beasts." You could see this as a fairly standard story of an actor going nuts, attacking the other actors, and wrecking the sets. I can't help but wonder if Kneale wasn't very knowingly working within the limits of seventies British television here. If the monster is supposed to be an actor in a crappy looking suit, then the audience will not have any illusions shattered when it's literally an actor in a crappy looking suit. Indeed, the Dummy is quite silly looking, resembling what the "Prophecy" bear might look like if it was assembled for a community theater production. The sequences of Clyde in the suit, smashing through a thin tomb set or knocking over a cardboard tombstone, are far likelier to produce chuckles than gasps. It's evident, from what we see here, that "The Dummy" movies are meant to be kind of like a Hammer horror flick with a monster out of a Toho production. (Indeed, Clyde being badgered into continuing the day's shooting, despite clearly being in no state to work, brings to mind how Christopher Lee was emotionally blackmailed into making more "Dracula" movies.) But Hammer and Toho, even on their worst days, had better production values than this. 

Despite the silly looking threat, "Beasts" was never less than excellently executed. The sequence where Clyde stops acting and begins actually choking his co-star to death is effectively tense. The tight interiors of the film studio make for some intense attack sequences. The contrast between the petty egos of the cast – one actor complaining that they need to wrap up his scenes tonight, unaware that a man is genuinely dead – provide some intentional laughs. There's far more pathos though. Bernard Horsfall gives a weeping, shuddering performance as Clyde, truly coming across as a man at the end of his rope. A good chunk of the episode is devoted to the producer, Clive Swift at his most glad handing and insincere, convincing the actor to stick it out for one more day. You could definitely read "The Dummy" as a criticism of the entertainment industry, that churns out a banal product with little regard for the people left behind. It also functions simply as a compelling story, as Clyde's torment is both concerning and touching. Sidney Stewart is exactly the kind of asshole you can't wait to see get his just desserts, willfully refusing to leave the film simply so he can continue to torment his already beaten romantic rival. "The Dummy" isn't as unsettling as "During Barty's Party" or "Baby," nor does it hit as hard as "Special Offer," "Buddyboy," or "What Big Eyes." It is still a fascinating, keenly performed piece of horror television, rich with ideas and extremely easy to watch. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Morticia's Dilemma

A letter from Spain heralds the arrival of an old family friend to the Addams, the prestigious Don Xavier Francisco de la Mancha Molinas. As a lad, Gomez and the Don's daughter, Consuella, were playmates. In fact, it seems to have slipped Grandmama's mind that, at some point, Consuella was promised to Gomez as his bride. When he attempts to explain that he has a wife, the old man mishears them and believes Morticia is Gomez' sister. The misunderstanding escalates, once Consuella tells Morticia that she intends to marry Gomez. From there, an unfortunate eavesdropping on a conversation between the two men leads Morticia to believe that her husband has a whole harem of women all around the world. Heartbroken, Morticia debates murdering her spouse before the confusion is revealed. At which point the Don, having been insulted by his daughter being turned down, insists on challenging Gomez to a duel. 

More recent “Addams Family” adaptations tend to emphasize that Gomez has Spanish heritage, the character being played by Latino actors in the most recent iterations. “Morticia's Dilemma” reveals this as an ingrained part of “Addams Family” lore. Grandmama refers to Spain as “the old country,” which certainly suggests Gomez' side of the family has roots there. I doubt this was a deliberate depiction of a mixed race couple on 1960s television – not that this was without precedent – so much as another indication that the wide and bizarre Addams' family tree has branches all over the place. Nevertheless, “Morticia's Dilemma” is an episode featuring heavy Spanish accents, mariachi shirts, flamenco dancing, and a running gag involving the word “si.” The Spanish characters are definitely tokenized, defined solely by their nationality, which is used as the set-up for multiple jokes. However, the Don and his daughter are never depicted in a negative light, so this might actually be one of the better depictions of non-WASP heritage in sixties television.

As for the episode itself, it's not without its moments. I'm not a big fan of an entire plot being spun out of a simple misunderstanding. I find it unlikely that, upon hearing Gomez say he has “a girl” in multiple countries, that Morticia wouldn't realize he was talking about business contacts. If she was confused, I imagined she would simply ask him about it. At least the Don has the excuse of being hard-of-hearing, which does lead to a fantastic joke in the latter half once the dueling gets underway. If we are to assume that Morticia is mislead into believing this – and that whatever alternative life styles she obviously practices with her husband doesn't preclude monogamy – it does set-up some mildly amusing jokes. Cousin Itt's suggestions of methods of murder consistently got me to laugh. As did Morticia's unenthused reaction to Consuella's presence. Overall though, this one needed more bull whipping and impromptu guitar solos, fewer cultural stereotypes and the implication that my TV Mom and Dad are mad at each other. [6/10]

Halloween 2024: October 7th

Good Madam (2021)

Last October, I reviewed "Nanny," a textbook example of what can be derisively called "elevated" horror. By which I mean it was a low-key drama about immigration, class, gender and a number of other social issues that, oh yeah, also had some ghosts or something in it. We can debate the merits of this style of filmmaking all we want but we can't deny that it seems to get funded. Surprisingly, "Nanny" was one half of a "Deep Impact/Armageddon" type situation where movies with similar premises get released in the same year. The other 2022 released ambiance-heavy, horror/drama about a woman loosing her mind via supernatural shenanigans, while having a lot of thoughts about black workers and their white masters, was "Good Madam." (Both were directed by women too.) Perhaps the two films being compared represents some ignorance on the behalf of critics. "Nanny" was an American film, made by the child of Sierra Leonan immigrants, specifically about the experiences of a Senegalese immigrant in New York. "Good Madam" was made by South African filmmakers in South Africa, specifically about the class inequalities in the aftermath of apartheid. Aesthetic similarities aside, surely those are two very different ideas reflecting very different cultures. I guess it's time for me to find out, as "Good Madam" is my stopover in South Africa on my Horror Around the World project. 

Tsidi was essentially raised by her grandmother, who has recently passed. Following a dispute with other relatives, Tsidi and Winnie, her nine year old daughter, become homeless. With few other options, she seeks out her estranged mother, Mavis. The reason the two don't talk much is Mavis has devoted her life to being the live-in maid to Diane, a rich and bedridden white woman. Living in that house is difficult for Tsidi, as Mavis enforces strict rules for her catatonic master's benefit. Tsidi begins to have strange visions and dreams in the home. She discovers unnerving evidence that the white owners of this household have used witchcraft to enslave their workers into the afterlife. When Tsidi's half-brother – who is as devoted to Diane as Mavis is – arrives, the curse closes in further. 

The end of slavery in the United States – insomuch as slavery can be said to have ended – led white institutions to new forms of racial oppression to keep brown people as a subjected underclass that, despite progress in many places, continues to this day. While America's commitment to its racist foundations are unlikely to be uprooted totally, white South African authorities have been especially odious in keeping class lines defined by color. Into the post-apartheid era, the white minority remains the ruling class in most areas. This is exactly what "Good Madam" is about. Tsidi's mother is so devoted to her white employee that she has long neglected her own children. With the ring of a bell, Mavis rushes to Diane's side no matter the time or day. Moreover, she confines her own daughter and granddaughter to the tiny, worker's bedroom, instead of any of the empty rooms in the spacious house. The reveal that the white landowners exert a literal magical control over their black employees is the horror movie metaphor for the institutional structures that keep one group of people the masters and the others the slaves. When Tsidi uncovers the neglected, hidden graveyard on the grounds for deceased workers – all of them identified by their job in the household – it presents the scariest idea the film has. Even in death, Tsidi's family are not free of this slavery. 

Like many modern horror films that put their social subtext so upfront, the inclusion of horror elements in "Good Madam" feel almost unnecessary. Like "Nanny," "Master," and a few other titles I could mention, the film pushes most of its horror elements into two corners: A lingering ambiance of unease and nightmarish vision the heroine has. The former manifest as a well done sound design that emphasizes long silence broken by unexpected noises and sinister long-shots of the mundane – but subtly not-quite-right – interiors of the home. As for the latter attempts at more straight ahead jolts... There's a moment where Tsidi has a panic attack after getting locked into the servant's quarters, that represents probably the scariest moments in the film. The frenzied editing and ramping sound design accurately captures the feeling of anxiety overtaking your brain. Another good moment has Tsidi's hand dropping off totally unexpectedly, an uncanny special effect that is deployed sharply. However, the film never does as good of a job as taking us inside the protagonist's head as it needs to, in order to make the sanity slippage aspect to become truly terrifying. This is probably because "Good Madam" always keeps its characters at arms length. We never actually find out what Mavis feels about her employer or her own daughter. Tsidi is reasonably well fleshed-out but everyone around her feels more like an expression of an idea than a flesh-and-blood person. 

Long stretches of "Good Madam" are infected with this frustrating vagueness. Certain elements of Tsidi's past are revealed in partially fragmented flashbacks, making it difficult at times to figure out the exact flow of events. The magical rituals and devices at work are kept frustrating unexplained. This peaks during a confusing climax. The half-brother enters far too late into the film to make an impression but ends up having big ramifications on its story. I couldn't quite grasp what exactly was happening in the final ritual, which is further disguised by a fragmented shooting style. This leads to a more obscure resolution, that left me scratching my head more than anything else. To discover that director Jenna Bass is white makes the last scene feel like an admittance of her own role in the institutional racism of her country. Which is as valid a point as any but does nothing to beat the feeling that "Good Madam" is more interested in its ideas than telling a compelling narrative full of characters we love and care about. By the time the movie is throwing some explosive body horror into the mix, the sense that the horror movie side of this script and the social drama side never fully connect. 

And that's a bummer. The first hour or so of "Good Madam" is promising. Chumisa Cosa gives a good performance as Tsidi, expressing a lot of inner turmoil with her wide eyes. The scenes when she has casual, relaxed conversations with her mother shows the depth of their bond, despite all the strife between them. Similarly, a moment depicting Mavis' cruel disapproval of her daughter is effectively upsetting. If the focus remained on the fraught relationship between mother and daughter, the result probably would've been a stronger last act. Instead, the focus turns towards the spells and the evil old woman in the upstairs bedroom, a threat that never feels pertinent no matter how much time the script spends building her up. Bass and Cosa are talents to watch. "Good Madam" has complex, intriguing ideas at its disposal. I wish it was a little more invested in telling a story though... [6/10]

Snuff (1976)

Snuff movies do not exist or so authorities say. The belief that an underground industry devoted to the production and distribution of real murder movies sprung up in the sixties. Of course, death has been captured on-camera. Ghastly accidents, political assassinations, and acts of war are often recorded but usually by happenstance. Serial killers and terrorist sects have filmed themselves committing murder. According to the official definition, these do not count as snuff films, as they were not created specifically for commercial sale. In our modern age of mass shooters livestreaming their rampages or child pornographers circulating the most vile stuff imageable via the deep web, this definition feels increasingly narrow. Whether true snuff can be said to exist or not, the legend got highly publicized in 1976. That's when Allan Shackleton acquired the rights to “The Slaughter,” a low-budget flick made in Argentina in 1971. Previously deemed unreleasable, Shackleton had the idea to tag on a final scene supposedly depicting a “real” murder and building the entire advertising campaign around it. This included hiring fake protestors to picket outside theaters. The scheme worked extremely well, attracting national attention, public condemnation, and lots of box office. An exploitation movie that probably would've been quickly forgotten otherwise had now secured a place in horror/cult movie history. 

“The Slaughter” depicted a group of hippy she-bikers terrorizing the Argentina country side. They are led by a sadistic ringleader named Satán, who supplies them with drugs, demands total obedience, and enforces his rules with torture. Meanwhile, actress Terri London has come to Buenos Aires to shoot a movie with her director boyfriend, Max Marsh. London's career is on the skids and Marsh, a producer of sexploitation films, hopes to resurrect it. London is also cheating on Marsh with a rich playboy named Horst Frank, whose father owns a mansion near-by. One of Satán's followers works on the grounds, giving the murderous cult a way into the affluent home. London is also pregnant, which becomes the center of a bizarre sacrifice. Then the final scene arrives and changes the context of everything that came before...

“The Slaughter” was the work of husband/wife filmmaking team Michael and Roberta Findlay. The two had previously found success in the New York film scene making “roughies,” softcore sex flicks that emphasized sadism and depravity. Among enthusiasts of this disreputable genre, Findlay films like “Take Me Naked,” “The Touch of Her Flesh,” and “Janie” seem well regarded for their artsy cinematography, transgressive content, and sordid tones. You can definitely see this element at work in “Snuff.” A long digression in the middle of the film involves Satán initiating a girl into his cult via bondage and rough sex, mostly depicted through a close-up on her contorting face while the freakier girls watch and get off. This proceeds a meandering flashback, in which another of his followers describes a youth filled with sexual violence and death. Many of these scenes are shot in muted color, with odd camera angles, creating a tone that suggests grindhouse sleaziness mixed with arthouse pretensions. 

By the same accord, it's easy to see why distributors passed on “The Slaughter” for so many years. This is an extremely crude film in every meaning of the word. It was shot without sound, forcing the entire production to be dubbed in post. The result is that the dialogue never matches the movement of the mouths. The voiceovers provided range from flat and bored to hilariously booming and melodramatic. As interesting as the cinematography can be, it's also extremely rough in other spots. There's lots of shaky crash-zooms and meandering handheld footage of Carnivale celebration. Moreover, the film barely has a story. The scenes devoted to Terri London's career and love affairs are utterly tedious. Satán and his girls terrorize and kill indiscriminately, such as a scene where they confront and murder a grocery store owner and his daughter for the hell of it. This leaves the film little in the way of forward momentum, “Snuff” truly being one of those B-movies best describe as a series of barely connected scenes. 

As incoherent and incompetent as “Snuff” largely is, there is something oddly hypnotic about it. The Findlays' background in skin flicks is obvious, as the movie is full of casual nudity and sex scenes. Whether the encounters are consensual or more of Satán's sadistic head games, there is a grimy feel to it all. The entire movie is scored to rambling, fuzzy guitar rock, including a soundalike of “Born to Be Wild” that kicks in during any of the motorcycle scenes. The gore effects are never that convincing, with plenty of bright orange stage blood. The script is blatantly inspired by the Manson family – who, coincidently or not, are also wrapped up in the origins of the snuff movie myth – and the Tate-LaBianca murders. That gives everything that follows a depraved tone, of crass exploitation of a true crime by low-skill filmmakers who know to pack their sleazy claptrap with as much flesh and blood as possible. For fans of sleazy grindhouse faire, this is exactly the kind of edgy, unseemly, strangely compelling work we're looking for. “The Slaughter” probably was never going to be a “good” movie but imagining watching it with a rowdy 42nd Street crowd does create a certain irresistibly low-brow feeling. 

Which brings us to that notorious final scene. Directed by Simon Nuchtern – who'd later make a slasher fave of mine, “Silent Madness” – years after the rest of the movie was shot, no attempt is made to match the doomed “actress” with Mirtha Massa, who plays Terry London. The filmmaking technique is inconsistent, cutting haphazardly between the omniscient third-person cinematography typical of movies and cinéma vérité style camerawork. The gore effects are unconvincing, clipped off fingers looking rubbery and obvious animal intestines being pulled from an obvious dummy. Despite all these shortcomings, there is a sickening sort of frenzy to the sequence. The way everyone on the film set immediately jumps in to “murder” a girl, the boom operator and script girl assisting in holding her down while she's cut up, creates an unpleasant feeling. The scenario could never be mistaken for real life but the idea – an innocent lured into a spontaneous murder – is unsettling. The best thing “Snuff” does is end by having the film run out, the crew heard chattering before a stark cut to black. No credits, no warning, simply an abrupt end. If the gore effects were better and the blending of reality and fiction more convincing, “Snuff's” ending would certainly be chilling. As inept as it is, you can still feel a distressing power emanating from this climax. 

The result is, well, certainly something. “The Slaughter” is grimy, Z-grade filmmaking. It has little redeeming value on its own yet can't help but be involving through the grit and determination of the filmmakers and their ability to capture a genuine air of depravity. The “Snuff” framing device, meanwhile, accidentally pushed the boundaries of the medium. Once you start to interrogate how film blurs the “real” and the “fake,” not to mention making the tactile quality of cinema itself part of the experience, very interesting opportunities opens up.  Not that “Snuff” in any way capitalizes on that, being the work of cynical exploitation schlock-meister looking to make a fast buck. Nevertheless, this is a curious genre oddity that can't be entirely dismissed. Michael Findlay would die a year after “Snuff's” release in a freak helicopter accident but Roberta Findlay would continue to make movies afterwards. Some of her eighties horror films and a few of her hardcore pornos have been the subject of critical essays and genre retrospectives. All of this and more implies that perhaps something worthy of discussion is lurking under “Snuff's” distasteful exterior. [7/10]

Monsters: Mannikens of Horror

Earlier this season, I watched an episode of "Thriller" adapted from a story by Robert Bloch. This is not especially notable, as Bloch's work was easily adaptable to the anthology format. About thirteen different shows have used one of his stories for inspiration. This was still going on as late as 1988. That's when the penultimate episode of "Monsters'" first season adapted his story, "Mannikens of Horror." Dr. Collin was a gifted surgeon during the war but now resides in a mental hospital. His nervous conditions are exacerbated by the cruel Dr. Starr. To soothe the hallucinations of his body coming part, Collin sculpts small, highly detailed anatomy mannequins. Another doctor named Jarrett takes pity on him but she can't stop Starr from destroying the mannequins... That's when Collin's claim that his little sculptures come to life and share a psychic connection to him is proven to be true.

If this episode sounds familiar, that's because Bloch's story was previously adapted as a segment in the Amicus omnibus, "Asylum." The "Monsters" version improves on the Amicus take in a few ways. It takes us much further into Collin's world. William Prince's soft spoken performance makes the doctor seem like a very sad man. The cold, concrete hospital – looking more like a prison – makes us feel his isolation more. A sequence where Collin sees his hand detaches from his body is shot from his perspective, showing us how upsetting his hallucinations are. Later, Collin suffers from horrible noise sensitivity, which is depicted by an effectively deafening cacophony. It is clear that his sculptures provide his only relief in this cruel setting. When Dr. Starr takes that away from him, you truly feel for the guy. Prince's anguished wails really sell the pain he feels in that moment. 

The second way this "Mannikens of Horror" improves on the 1972 take is simply by being creepier. The classic horror morality tale structure is maintained. Dr. Starr is a raging bastard, played with perfect slimy cruelty by Brian Brophy. He sexually harasses Dr. Jarrett too. As big of an asshole as this guy is, his comeuppance still made me wince. His final fate – a letter opener shoved into a very sensitive spot – is surprisingly gory by 1988 television standards. This proceeds a twist ending, one you anticipated that is nevertheless smoothly constructed, that is far more grotesque in its violence. The stop motion effects used to bring the little clay models to life are surprisingly good as well. They look on par with the early, good Full Moon movies, to me. Stop motion perfectly captures the uncanny effect needed to make these little homunculi – resembling tiny, nude, grey humans with few defined features – creepy. "Monsters" was usually pretty campy but, when it went full-throttle, it could be an excellent horror series. This is the best episode I've seen yet. [8/10]

The Addams Family: My Son, the Chimp

"The Addams Family" would fall back on one of the principal rules of comedy as we got into the home stretch of the first season: Monkeys are funny. "My Son, the Chimp" begins with Pugsley feeling a little ignored, as everybody else in the family is too busy to watch his card trick. At the same time, an organ grinder's chimpanzee happens to wander off and climb into the Addams home. Pugsley adopts the little guy and next attempts to get Uncle Fester, who's currently practicing spellcasting, interested in his card trick. There's a burst of smoke, Pugsley ends up in a secret room, and the chimp is teleported next to Fester. The family naturally believes that their son has been turned into the primate, unaware he's simply behind a trap door. More monkey business ensues as they attempt to unravel the truth. 

"My Son, the Chimp" is one of the few "Addams Family" episodes that seems to be attempting some sort of moral. At the story's beginning, everyone is too busy to pay attention to Pugsley. Gomez is fishing in the piranha tank, Wednesday is playing chess with Thing, Morticia is painting, Fester is communing with the spirits. The son feels neglected and then, as far as the rest of the family knows, gets turned into a damn dirty ape. This apparent crisis should bring into sharp focus how much the family actually cares about the boy. Of course, this is a wacky sitcom much more concerned with gags than character arcs, so that doesn't quite happen. However, you can see an attempt was made. The theme continues into the last joke, which now has Wednesday getting involved in some weird business. (Having a childish "boyfriend" who happens to be invisible.)

As you probably guessed, this is a wacky episode even by the standards of this show. Thing performing charades is an important plot point, preceding an amusing gag about comic books. (This scene also confirms that Thing's boxes are connected by a series of tunnels.) Fester's attempt at magic leads to more teleporting by the end. Obviously, the chimpanzee is used for easy laughs too, largely via animal reaction shots. The fast-paced dialogue among the cast does end up elevating what probably would be a desperate set-up, with the séance sequence featuring some nicely manic instructions. Also, this episode sees Pugsley referencing Gorgo the Gorilla, a rare example of continuity in this series. Once again, I'll say it's not a bad episode but I think "The Munsters" did the same premise, of a little boy seemingly getting turned into a chimp, slightly better. [6/10]