Halloween 2026: September 19th

 

Faces of Death (2026)
 

How do you remake "Faces of Death," not exactly a narrative film that mostly drew attention for including – or claiming to include, anyway – real footage of people dying? It's not like a major studio was going to stitch together genuine autopsy and car wreck footage and drop that shit in AMCs nationwide. Secondly, why would you want to? Does the title have much name recognition among the general public, outside the realm of hardcore horror buffs? These are the debates I recall with my MovieManiacs.net forum bros all the way back in 2006, when it was announced that Universal's genre label Rogue Pictures would be remaking "Faces of Death." This was during the 2000's remake trend, when seemingly every cult classic of any note was getting a greenlight for a shiny redo. So "Faces," of all titles, was an unlikely pick but truly no more obscure than "The House on Sorority Row" or "Don't Be Afraid of the Dark." J.T. Petty was attached, a filmmaker who had previously made a mockumentary about snuff films, leading to speculation that his "Faces of Death" would follow a similar route. I vaguely recall some chatter about turning Dr. Gröss into a proper horror villain. Obviously, this iteration didn't get beyond the embryonic stage. Petty made a few more movies but seems to have shifted his focus to writing for video games these days. Rogue Pictures faced death in 2018. 

In the intervening twenty years, cell phones with HD cameras, inescapable social media, and a world more divided than ever has made real footage of death and destruction distressingly accessible. Clearly, in such a landscape, the idea of a new "Faces of Death" remained intriguing. This is presumably why Legendary acquired the rights in 2021, Daniel Goldhaber and Isa Mazzei attached to write and direct. Considering their film "Cam" had some real insight into life in the digital age, I was very curious about what form this project might take. Filmed in 2023, Goldhaber and Mazzei's "Faces of Death" spent three years trying to find distribution before IFC and Shudder actually did put it in AMCs nationwide this past April. It didn't make a lot of money but won positive reviews from the horror press, so time for me to catch up.

Margot is an adrift twenty-something working as a content moderator at Kino, a short-form video focused app. When an upload is reported, she's the one who has to make the choice of whether it contains objectionable material. She has chosen this difficult job as a way to cope with her own internet-related trauma: While performing a viral dance on some tracks, her sister was killed by an oncoming train. The clip leaked online and Margot became forever known as “Train Girl.” At work, she is presented with a clip depicting a bound person being decapitated by automated mannequins. She assumes it to be fake but the imagery sticks with her. Similar uploads soon appear, each depicting a person being violently killed by mechanized mannequins while a droll voice-over describes what is happening. Margot becomes increasingly convinced that the uploads are real and, after some sleuthing and with help from her horror buff roommate, learns that these are recreations of moments from the infamous “Faces of Death.” She's right. The videos are the work of Arthur, an internet-obsessed serial killer who is capturing people and using them as props in his deadly remake. Margot investigates further, soon drawing the attention of Arthur himself. 

As much as tech company overlords hope to eventually replace all paycheck demanding employees with computational models, as of this moment, a human being is double-checking the online content reported by a third party. This means every time a gore video, child pornography, animal abuse, and every other horrible thing you can imagine is taken down off Youtube or TikTok, presumably at least two sets of flesh-and-blood eyeballs had to look at it first. Unsurprisingly, this is a profession with a high rate of turnover, most not willing to deal with the psychological scars of seeing the worst humanity has to offer for eight hours a day. Setting a story around a job such as this is a fascinating premise. Now corporations are essentially paying people to watch private little “Faces of Death” videos every day, all day. If you stretch this idea out further, it means that shocking and violent imagery has become ubiquitous on the modern internet. Every time we open our app of choice, we are all taking a chance of seeing something way worse than staged footage of monkey brains being eaten. 

Goldhaber and Mazzei touch on the side effects of this in interesting ways. At the beginning of the story, Margot is no longer phased by videos of people taking nasty falls or of a bear dragging away a possibly dead body. She dismisses the first real murder she observes as a clever hoax. When she wants to get the police involved, her boss informs her to hold back, to allow disturbing content (as long as it's “fake”) to proliferate for now, because it's good for the shareholders. Outrageous content drives eyeballs and that makes money. When trying to determine if what she is seeing is real, she posts the clips to Reddit, where one commenter declares them to likely be real and then says it's a “nice find.”  What the fuck has the world done to us, where watching real death and human degradation has become a tedious job to some and a fascinating hobby to others? 

The film has few concrete answers, which are probably impossible to find anyway. Margot's own life is a consequence of this modern age. Where we are all obsessed with watching, real tragedies are recorded and spread around endlessly, and we all face it with little sense of injustice or outrage. Watching your little sister get hit by a train sucks and being constantly reminded of this all the time must surely chip away at the soul. Margot's personal tragedy has been reduced to a meme. That viral penetration is what the film's villain hopes to create with his murder clips, to achieve infamy by turning his victims' dying moments into internet hits. One of the first people he abducts is a would-be social media star, a teenage girl whose life seems to revolve around her phone's lens. Eventually, all Margot can do is accept her infamy and do her best to live on. The powers that be – the cops, the corporate overseers, other people with the power to step in – aren't going to do anything about it. It's up to the individual. This is the world we live in and we're stuck with it, some of us doomed to hunger for that viral superstardom and others cursed by it. 

It's the most honest conclusion the filmmakers could probably come to, even if it causes their “Faces of Death” to brush up against the often regurgitated horror theme of resolving personal trauma. However, more interesting ideas are within the film and remain frustratingly unexplored. When Margot first sees the violent clips, she doesn't believe they are real. (Much as in the original “Faces of Death,” a movie that less honestly played with the layers of reality.) This is also something all of us must deal with. All of us most be critical and skeptical of everything we see online now, because any of it could be fake. If we doubt our own eyes, what even is reality? The film's murderer is a sociopath, who sees other people as nothing but a means to an end. He cynically decides to pattern his killing spree after a cult classic 1970s mondo movie because “people love remakes.” It'll draw more attention to his crimes and insure his name goes down in history. All of his victims, people with lives and dreams of their own the script reminds us, might as well be A.I. simulacrums to him. This is not unlike an ice-cold studio exec, reducing all artistic endeavor to “content” that must be deployed in a calculated, revenue-generating fashion. Then again, if you watch a video about Iranian children burning to death after their home is struck by a missile and then pause and wonder “Is this AI generated?,” that's a damning statement about how the modern, capitalized era has fundamentally altered the empathy centers in all of our brains. 

The film ultimately looses the thread of the malleability of the truth, what that means for us, and how it reflects on our relationship with all the images we see on a screen. This must still be a thrilling narrative. That it certainly is. Mazzei and Goldhaber's script is well organized. They patiently, naturally lays out minor details that will become important later. Rather than Chekov's Gun, we have Chekov's Opioid Antagonist and Chekov's Metal Spike. The film is extremely tight in its editing. A split-screen sequence devoted to showing how Arthur easily determines Margot's identity and location from what she's posted online is a chilling reflection of how fragile our personal safety is now. The killer's identity being revealed right away allows multiple sequences of drawn-out suspense, where we watch as an unaware victim is observed by the person who means them harm. Multiple well done sequences of sneaking around, hoping to avoid detection, follow. The script smartly keeps other information close to its chest, waiting to reveal some aspects of Arthur's operation until Margot herself is discovering it. An attack in a darkened suburban home or a race from the killer's lair, as he spies his fleeing victims through the scope of a rifle, are excellently assembled variations on the same slasher movie tropes and Hitchcockian thriller techniques we've seen a hundred times before. 

If 2026's “Faces of Death” falls short of the bigger ideas it plays with, I can't hold that against the filmmakers too much. Goldfaber and Mazzei are extremely smart and know what they are doing. They've made a suspenseful, absorbing, grim horror movie here. More than one person has declared it to be a better “Scream” reboot than the actual “Scream” reboots we've gotten. This is also true, the movie actually presenting interesting observations about our modern relationships with violent images, old and new, within the context of an exciting killer thriller. The killer even wears a white mask, though the red contact lens are a nice touch. Also much like a “Scream” movie, Darce Montgomery's serial killer explains the thesis behind his master plan, also explaining part of what the filmmakers mean too. Montgomery also probably goes a little too far in acting like a screeching weirdo. (He also calls someone a “cuck” which, along with his overall shouting demeanor, causes us to assume he's right-wing or incel adjacent.) There's at least one sick, gnarly reveal that made me gag. The film also includes probably the best depiction I've seen yet of someone falling down an internet rabbit hole and becoming obsessed with a bizarre mystery they've discovered. Margot is so absorbed with getting the truth out that she actually delays escaping from the villain's house sooner, much to the annoyance of the other person there. Which is a good way to signal to the viewer that we are suppose to find her commitment to solving this thing unreasonably. But sometimes you get caught up in stuff.  

As a homage to John Alan Schwartz' largely mercenary original, 2026's “Faces of Death” is probably better than it deserves. The infamous Gorgon Video VHS release gets prominently featured. The re-creations of the original's most infamous moments are arguably creepier and better made here than in the seventies film. Should've sneaked the original's corny-ass theme song in there somewhere though. I was waiting for that. I also was amused by the way the remake's marketing played on the sense of being forbidden, much like the original did. Good to know we can still kind of pull that marketing gimmick off in the modern day, even if it's largely ironic. On the short list of meta “remakes,” this is a pretty good one. The ultimate horror film about the terror of the social media age and the dehumanizing effects of living behind a screen has yet to be made but this one is well done. Legendary missed a chance to make a collectable hollowed out monkey head popcorn bucket though. [7/10]

Devil's Bride (1974)
Velnio nuotaka

I don't buy movies on discs as much as I used to or would like to. This is mostly out of a desire to save money and because physical space for my collections is at a premium these days. Another reason is that the boutique DVD scene moves faster than I can keep up with. It seems like every month, a new label devoted to unearthing hidden gems and exporting international obscurities has popped up. What the hell is Deaf Crocodile, aside from a semi-aquatic reptile with a hearing aid? It's a home media company launched in 2025 that mostly specializes in art house cinema and animation from Eastern Europe and former Soviet Bloc countries. They are doing noble work but this is a corner of the film buff world I don't often explore. I first read about "Devil's Bride" years ago, a folk horror-tinged musical considered a classic in its home country of Lithuania. I assumed it was one of those titles so obscure in the English-speaking world that I would probably never get to see it. Instead, Deaf Crocodile gave it a loving restoration and it's currently streaming for free on Tubi. What a time to be alive. Let's delve into this more. 

Our story begins in Heaven, with a flock of angels singing the praises of a sleepy, bored God on a golden throne. Whenever he nods off, the angels sneak away to indulge in some earthly vices. One such ethereal being's not-so-virtuous activities are discovered and plucked out of Heaven. The being lands on Earth as the demon, Pinčiukas. He is soon found by elderly miller, Baltaragis, who ensnares the devil and makes him his slave. Baltaragis insists that the demon give him a beautiful wife and success and, in exchange, Pinčiukas will receive the couple's first-born daughter. This comes to pass but demons are a tricky sort and Baltaragis' wife perishes after birthing their daughter. The child grows up into Jurga, a stunning young woman. She quickly catches the eye of traveling laborer Girdvainus and the two fall in love. Determined to get his promised end of the bargain, Pinčiukas goes about manipulating and tricking the people in the village into breaking the young couple up. (While Baltaragis, full of regret, tries to set the demon up with his hefty, sexually veracious sister.) 

The first thing you'll notice about "Devil's Bride" is the stunning photography. The film is in vibrant color. The red interior lighting of the mill, Jurga's golden blonde hair, and the orange gowns of Pinčiukas' demonesses all pop right out. The most prominent colors are the natural greens and blues of the gorgeous Lithuanian countryside. Most of the film takes place in the rolling fields, lush forests, and quint lakes of the area. This setting is made further picturesque by wonderfully engineered props, like that striking windmill, God's golden throne, or a festooned window that shows up a few times. That last detail points towards what is the film's greatest strength, its sense of whimsy. Among Pinčiukas' various japes is summoning a black carriage out of a swamp, causing black-gloved hands to pop out of the water, or making coins rain from the sky. Those orange-clad familiars of his never contribute much to the story but are at the film's margins, boogieing down in the woods or throwing smoke bombs around. While the setting is ostensibly grounded in historical reality, lightly surreal touches like these created a dreamy tone of fantasy, play, and myth. "Devil's Bride" is, in other words, a fairy tale that fully transports its viewer to a place that looks a bit like our world but where much more fantastical things can happen. 

This is a fitting atmosphere for a musical to capture. Characters bursting into song and dance already establish this as an improbable story so it's good that the environment matches. The clear visual inspiration for "Devil's Bride," at least to my doofus American eyes with no prior familiarity with Lithuanian cinema, is "The Sound of Music." While these hills and field are certainly alive with melodies and harmonies, the soundtrack is far from Rogers and Hammerstein. "Devil's Bride" is instead powered by a consistently groovy rock guitar. There's a little bit of fuzz to the funky chords too, rooting the film's sound firmly to the early seventies psychedelic rock scene. "Devil's Bride" is a sung-through musical and I don't usually like those. It's hard for any song to stick out from the rest when the entire movie is singing. Individual melodies or lyrics tend to fade into a mishmash of indistinct notes. I guess "Devil's Bride" is not immune to this. I wasn't humming any bars or had any single songs stuck in my head after watching. However, the various movements are linked enough to the individual scenes, and the feelings they are summoning, to make it work for me. The music here is fun and bouncy, sung in a meaningful way, and always matches the emotional flow of the story. 

The most prominent of those emotions is longing. Every character in the film wants something. Pinčiukas gets kicked out of heaven because he wants to do something other than chanting "Holy holy" while circling Yahweh's throne. Once cast into the mortal realm, he wants his freedom and the girl. Jurga wants Girdvainus, Girdvainus wants Jurga. Her dad longs for his dead wife and for his daughter to be set free from the devilish deal he made. Even the side characters are characterized by unfulfilled desires. The town drunk dreams of unlimited money, with which he can buy endless booze and infinite women with, and he sells his soul to get it. The impish Pinčiukas is an object of desire too, for the miller's sister. (Who, in an amusing Winona Ryder/Jamiroquai situation, is randier than the diabolic beau she's set up with.) This makes every song in this singing/dancing musical an I Want song, connecting this archetypal story to a universal feeling. Everybody knows what it's like to want something they can't have, usually in matters of the heart. The solution the film finds brings its heavenly prologue down to Earth. Pinčiukas learns to love the one he's with and the united lovers find divine, ever-lasting bliss with each other. Ooh baby, do you know what that's worth? The final image is one of the funniest takes on a story's cast – even the demonic trickster – living happily ever after that I've seen recently, pulled off with the film's trademark casually surreal humor. 

"Devil's Bride" is probably not the best choice for an autumnal horror marathon. Yes, there are demons in the story but the main one is a guy with a silly beard in a funny hat, not horns and hooves. His acts of supernatural deception are more mischievous than startling. The eternal damnation that usually follows deals with devils doesn't come up much. (This is opposed to the source material, a 1945 novel by Kazys Boruta with a notably downbeat conclusion.) The element that most pushes the movie into the spooky set is a last act montage of "Witchfinder General" style binding and dunking. Otherwise, this one is heavy on the "folk" but not-so-much the horror. There's been a couple of horror movies made in Lithuania more recently, if you're trying to find a truly macabre example. However, I still had a great time with "Devil's Bride," a brief but delightful dose of music and the fantastique rich with  cultural specificity. [7/10]

In Search Of...: The Ogopogo Monster

 

Much like his “Star Trek” co-lead, Leonard Nimoy was a great Canadian export. This makes it only sensible that, while monologing gravely about preposterous bullshit on “In Search Of...,” that he would discuss what is commonly called Canada's Loch Ness Monster. That would be Ogopogo, a serpent-like creature said to inhabit British Columbia's Lake Okanagan. The “In Search Of...” crew did their due diligence and connect the legend to local tales from the Secwepmc and Syilx tribes. They talk of a spirit dwelling in the lake called Naitaka, who offerings are made to before crossing. The documentary crew also sought out a diver, who swims around the lake and finds nothing much but rocks and cold. Mostly, the half-hour is filled out with stories from people who have claimed to have seen the monster. Before “in Search Of...” presents what they call the most compelling piece of evidence of Ogopogo's existence: A blurry home movie of a dark, splotchy shape moving under the water. 

As I mentioned when talking about “In Search OF's” episode devoted to Bigfoot, it's hard to deny that the evidence presented here isn't that convincing. Nimoy's host segments note how sincere and credible these eye-witness accounts are. This is in the same episode where some local pranksters pushed three tires attached to a inflatable dingy out onto the lake to hoax the TV show. When you look at the playful smiles on the faces of the people telling their tales, or the hard-to-believe claim that a couple has seen the serpent “forty or fifty times,” I would say we can never dispel people's tendency to just make shit up for their own amusement. Nor the need of authors to sell their work, as the presenter of the above mentioned home movie also wrote a book on the topic of Ogopogo. 

A scientist at an aquarium  compares what he supposedly saw in Lake Okanagan to a shark's skin. That would be a more notable statement if even experts weren't susceptible to bias and their own imagination. The episode's most convincing statements come from the episode's resident skeptic, trotted at the end. He points out that the lake is too small to support a breeding population of such a large animal. That it was formed by glaciers millions of years ago, with no connection to larger bodies of water since then. Though he does concede that “sea monsters,” in the sense of a large animal of some sort living in the depths of the ocean, can be said to exist. 

This episode probably needed more of “In Search Of's” trademark creaky reenactments. The episode begins with a pretty good segment re-creating a young wake-boarder screaming upon encountering the supposed beast. Otherwise, we simply get footage of some Native Americans sitting around a camp fire. Which isn't to say this episode doesn't have some camp value. The extremely Canadian accents of the people interviewed made me chuckle, with one fellow even ending his sentence with “eh?” Or a reporter who describes coming to the lake and hearing about the monster with baffled amusement. “In Search Of...” was never great television but it was incredibly cozy. I am not immune to the charms of lo-fi blurping seventies electronic music playing over footage of Moray eels squirming around a tank. [7/10]

 

Friday the 13th: The Series: Tales of the Undead

 

I think we've previously seen Ryan reading some comic books in past episodes of "Friday the 13th: The Series." It would seem it is more of a passion for him than previously revealed, as "Tales of the Undead" begins with him visiting his local comic shop. The owner has recently come into possession of a rare original copy of "Tales of the Undead #1," the first appearance of a hugely popular superhero named Ferrus the Invincible. To increase its value, the book has also been signed by Jay Star, the character's creator. A kid in the shop desires the pricey book and breaks into the display case to steal it. Upon grabbing the comic, he turns into Ferrus and murders the shop owner. Ryan and Micki determine the comic is the latest cursed artifact they have to track down. They reach out to Jay Star, an elderly and ill man who was screwed out of his share of the profits his character has made for the publisher. Upon hearing about what happened, Star tracks down the thief and grabs the magic book himself. Now able to change into the indestructible robot hero he created, the old man sets out to take revenge on those that wronged him. The only way Ryan and Micki can stop the monster, they believe, is to track down the lost artwork for the scraped issue that killed Ferrus the Invincible off. 

"Tales of the Undead" is one of those "Friday the 13th" episodes that feature a notable name in the opening credits. Alfred Sole, director of "Alice, Sweet Alice," apparently worked on the story for this one. In some ways, the episode suggests that the writers were quite familiar with the world of comics. The set-up nods at the speculators' market around the hobby that was shortly to reach its peak around this time. "Jay Star" is acknowledged to be a pen name based on the author's possibly Jewish or Polish last name, another insider detail. Mostly, the story of an artist who created a long-running character that has made millions for its parent company. but has been left penniless in his old age is as familiar to the industry as heroes fighting villains. The struggles of Siegel and Shuster or Jack Kirby to regain some control over the iconic heroes they created are well known. Even today, writers and artists whose work formed the basis for billion dollar franchises have to turn to GoFundMe to pay off medical bills or die from treatable conditions. 

In other ways, "Tales of the Undead" seems weirdly out-of-touch with the world of caped heroes it's riffing on. The focus on Star writing a story that kills Ferrus off, in the hopes that would at least spite those that betrayed him, is one thing. The idea that the company would not publish such a story, because they can't kill off their golden goose, is frankly implausible. When have comic companies ever been reluctant to kill off popular heroes that can easily be resurrected later? It's also a little weird that a superhero would debut in a comic called "Tales of the Undead." Maybe this was an example of a horror book following market trends and changing its focus after the debut of a popular character. That idea rubs counter to this being a first issue or published in the thirties though. Ferrus, a towering and hyper-violent robot guy, does seem more like a villain than a hero. I guess this could be an Incredible Hulk or Etrigan the Demon situation.  

That's just me being a nerd though. "Tales of the Undead" is a decent episode otherwise. Whenever someone transforms into Ferrus the Invincible, there are comic book panel style transitions. This is a clever workaround for what was surely the limited budget the episode had and also a neat homage to the media the episode is based on. A special guest star is brought into play Jay Star: Ray Walston, of "My Favorite Martian." This is the kind of part very much in need of an industry old-timer with plenty of age and experience on his face. Walston is good, showing a genuine anger at those that screwed him and even some creditable villainous cruelty as the episode goes on. The sequences with the killer robot are a bit awkward but mostly decently done. I wish the script was a little more consistent about how indestructible this supposedly invincible guy is though. He goes down fairly easily in two scenes. I also like the detail of Micki initially being dismissive of old comic books before getting hooked on them. The episode uses that turn-of-events as a prelude to more flirting cousins shenanigans, of course. Do you think Ferrus the Invincible ever crossed over with the Escapist or Condorman? [7/10]

 

Halloween 2026: September 17th

 

Psycho (1998)
 

It begs the same question now as then: Why? Why remake "Psycho," one of the most hailed and studied films ever made by the medium's most lauded master? It will inevitably be compared to the original and found lacking. I suppose the same could be said for making sequels, which didn't stop Universal and produced some interesting results. If a filmmaker was compelled to remake "Psycho," surely it would be out of a desire to explore something unsaid in the original. To go deeper into Norman Bates' twisted world or to reinstate the elements from Robert Bloch's novel that didn't make it to the screen. Instead, Gus Van Sant came to studio head Casey Silver with a pitch for a shot-for-shot remake of Hitchcock's classic. Silver found this to be, quote, "a very strange idea." Van Sant, however, was still riding high on the critical, commercial success of "Good Will Hunting" and apparently could get any crazy idea green-lit. Upon release in 1998, Van Sant's "Psycho" was met with confusion and irritation. Most audience members seemed annoyed that they were presented with an almost identical but obviously inferior version of "Psycho." Critics generally found the project to be pointless, which was probably the consensus opinion. I mean, it would have to be. A 1-to-1 reenactment of "Psycho" could be achieved far more easily, and in a far more satisfying manner, by simply renting "Psycho" from the video store. Why spend 25 million dollars on that and several million more on releasing it? 

Now, Gus Van Sant is an artist, a reputation earned from his prominent position in the New Queer Cinema Movement of the eighties. He has been called upon to explain himself a few times over the years. While he's given vague answers that he remade “Psycho” “so no one else would have to” or by explaining that all remakes are merely “marketing schemes,” his true intentions are observable within the film. Van Sant's “Psycho” is a meta-experiment. If we take the screenplay to a great movie and shoot it in the exact same way as was previously done, will the results still be a great movie? The answer is obviously “no,” that you'll only get a rather literal pale imitation. You would think any filmmaker who has actually done the day-to-day work on the set would understand that. The alchemy happens because of who is there, the choices made in the moments, and copying that is not the same thing as doing it.

 

Nevertheless, I suppose it's an experiment worth trying, simply to prove if it could be done. Or as an expression of the filmmaker's obsessive fixation on the minutia of another work of art. If the stories of Van Sant and company keeping a VHS of Hitchcock's original on set and watching and re-watching scenes right before trying to replicate them are true, I suspect the remake is most a manifestation of that. He wouldn't have been the first nor the last die hard fan to attempt this. However, usually such an experiment is done by kids or students working with what's available to them and not the resources of a major studio with big stars on-screen. It's an exercise done more for the filmmakers themselves, to see if can replicate what made their favorite subject special, to push themselves to that level of greatness. It was presented to a mass audience anyway, with its own degree of pomp and circumstance and pretensions around it. 

 

But, okay, Gus Van Sant. I'll play your game. If the thesis of your “Psycho” is that the people making the film indirectly change it, even when slavishly following the blue print, what does the evidence say? Yes, Van Sant's “Psycho” is different from Hitchcock's, despite the fidelity to the source material. It is noticeably worst. Obviously, a wide released film in 1998 was going to be in color. Unable to replicate the original's stark black-and-white cinematography, the remake instead amps up the color. It makes the interior of the Bates Motel reds, greens, and yellows. The colors of Marion's bright dresses, the clean white of Norman's final prison cell, and Mother Bates' immaculately preserved bedroom are all strikingly colorful. It's not as creepy but it looks interesting, at least. 

Most of the other riffs on what came before are noticeable down grades. This is most obvious in the editing. Amy E. Duddleston cuts the remake faster than the original, managing to shave about three minutes off the runtime. Subtle though it may be, the result feels rushed. This “Psycho” feels impatient, unwilling to sit with its characters as much. I would say it sinks any chances for suspense but that was never possible, because we know every reveal and moment before it comes. The devotion to duplicating the exact camera movements, the smooth pans around Norman as he cleans up the murder scene or peering down as Mother is carried into the fruit cellar, feel less like an organic expression of the story and its themes. It's not careful choices to draw us in. It's choreography, Van Sant and his team doing the Groucho mirror gag with Hitchcock but failing to convince us that we are seeing the same thing. This is also true of the score, Danny Elfman and Steve Bartek brought in to tweak Bernard Herrman's music just enough that you notice it's different but not enough to feel like anything but a glitchy cover.

Despite everyone describing this as a “shot-for-shot” remake, it's not exactly. Minor updates are made to the story, Lila wearing headphones in one scene and the amount of money Marion steals being increased. The late nineties R rating is secured by adding stab wounds, more blood, and Anne Heche's ass in the shower scene. To show  equal oppretunity offense, I guess, Viggo Mortensen's modesty is barely maintained by carefully placed body parts in the opening scene. Most notoriously, we hear Norman tugging on his dick while looking through the peep hole. Imagine the fun the sound designer had trying to find the perfect fap-fap sounds for that moment. These additions certainly don't make the material more shocking or upsetting, while dragging away some of the original's subtly.

The other changes are even more intrusive. The sound design ups the discordant chatter in the background, which is only distracting. Lila entering into the Bates mansion occurs in daylight, rather than night, a choice that is significantly less atmospheric. She also lands a punch on Norman after he's restrained, some ill-made decision to make the character more proactive, I guess. The most baffling choices are surreal visual interludes during the murder scenes. Split-second cuts to a nude woman in some sort of mask or a cow in the middle of the road during Arbogast's face slashing do nothing but make the audience asked why they are there. The faster paced editing renders the tightly-wound frenzy of the shower stabbing to a rejected industrial rock music video. Why set out to make a shot-for-shot remake only to add these sudden swerves? That does nothing but cause the film to fail at its own stated objective, quite confusingly. 

One must be forced to ask another question: Is the “Psycho” remake a prank? Did Gus Van Sant giggle mischievously while burning through Universal's money, as he wankishly played a game of monkey-see-monkey-do with Hitchcock? Perhaps. Vince Vaughn adopts a loose-limbed, cocked hip physicality to Norman. His nervous prater projects more a sense of insecurity than under-the-surface instability. Meanwhile, his body seems squeezed into Anthony Perkins' tight-fitting turtlenecks. The impression is that the serial killer is now a swishy homosexual, giving his face-to-face confrontation with Sam Loomis a new layer. Norman now wears his mother's nightgown when acting out his murderous impulses, a sillier visual that seems to also point towards deliberate camp. The fruit cellar is now a bird-filled, curtain decorated chamber. That suggests a kind of giallo-esque, DePalma like exaggeration. If the remake had embraced that tendency more frequently, I be more charitable to agree with those that enjoy this film as a subversive act of queer parody. 

All the performances seem to have been ramped up a bit. Anne Heche adds a squirrely quality to Marion Crane, which feels like an attempt to reinterpret the character in the more openly neurotic nineties. While the film is ostensibly set in the modern day, William H. Macy is playing Arbogast as even more of a noir throwback. There's a recognizable character actor in most of the supporting roles. Robert Forester as the psychologist, James Remar as the highway patrolman, Phillip Baker Hall as the sheriff, Rance Howard as Marion's boss. All fine performers whose presence are never anything but distracting, a further indication to the viewer that we are watching an elaborate fan film rather than an involving work of art on its own. You really feel that way when Flea, of all people, shows up as Bob, the guy working in Sam's shop. Why, man? Why'd do that? 

And “Why?” is the same question I opened this review with, meaning I'm no closer to finding any deeper meaning in this act of cinematic imitation. Van Sant inserts himself into the space in the original where Hitchcock's cameo was. He is now talking to a rotund man in a hat, a clear stand-in for Hitchcock who is supposedly berating the younger filmmaker. This furthers my feeling that  “Psycho” (1998) is not a legitimate attempt to retell this story. It's not an especially effective act of meta-commentary on the idea of remakes or authorial intent. As a prank, it's not that funny either. I can only conclude that this was some masochistic humiliation for its auteur, Van Sant doing a blasphemous act and luxuriating in how obnoxiously pretentious and pretentiously obnoxious he's being. If you're into that kind of thing, more power to ya but I got little out of it. [4/10] 

 

The Demon of Mount Oe (1960)

Ooe-yama Shuten-dôji
 

You might have noticed that I am fascinated by similar folkloric concepts emerging across different, far-off cultures. St. George slaying the dragon to save the princess was likely inspired by Ragnar killing the serpent for Thora. Or Perseus rescuing Andromeda from Cetus... But what of Rama's wife Sita being abducted by demon king Ravanna? Or Māui protecting the bathing Hina from Kuna, the eel god? These are comparable stories that developed independently of each other. The hero, the maiden, and the monster he must save her from is a narrative that resonates deeply within the human soul. In Japan, another island nation often isolated from the rest of the world, there are stories like this too. Susanoo dismembering Orochi for the sake of Kushinadahime is probably the most direct parallel. Consider, also, the tale of Shuten-dōji. A hard-drinking ogre who dwelt on Mount Oe and had a habit of snatching young maidens, actual historical figure Minamoto no Raikō is credited with decapitating the monster. The most famous beat of the story then occurs, as the not-quite-expired head of the beast takes one last chomp at the samurai. Luckily, Raikō wore a couple extra helmets that day, which is all the demon gobbled before it died. It is a beloved legend in Japan, often adapted and referenced across pop culture. One such example is the 1960 film "Ōeyama Shuten Dōji," a samurai-and-kaiju predecessor to Daiei's later "Daimajin" and "Yokai Monsters" series. Since we rubes overseas don't know what the hell a Shootin' DJ is, the film is internationally known as "The Demon of Mount Oe."

Princess Nagisa is the bride to the emperor. After a demonic ox attempts to abduct her, she is transported to the city of Genji and placed under the care of general Raiko. The princess reveals that she is cursed. Demons follow her to Genji. Tsuno, Raiko's greatest warrior, is attacked by a witch and slices off her arm. Bandits, some of whom possess magic powers, torment the village. Nagisa reveals that the emperor stole her from the mountain-dwelling bandit king, Shuten-dōji. He was once human, a disgraced samurai, and is now plotting to kill the emperor with his band of otherworldly cohorts. Raiko is tasked with assembling a team to scale Mount Oe, confront and kill Shuten-dōj, and bring this reign of terror to an end. 

"The Demon of Mount Oe" begins with a heavily stylized rendition of the Shuten-dōji tale as Japanese audiences in 1960 would probably know it. After that wild opening, the film then announced that it's going to tell you "the real story" behind this legend. Yes, the film belongs to that style of post-modernist fairy tale adaptations, an approach surely taken from Matsutarō  Kawaguchi's source novel. This is probably why the sake swilling demon king of the mountain is simply a guy in this version, played by Kazuo Hasegawa in a really cool wig. That approach also assumes the audience is already familiar with the traditional telling of this story. Minamoto-no-Raiko, Watanabe no Tsuno, and the rest of the Four Heavenly Kings are introduced with little preamble. The script weaves a few different legends into the plot, alongside various historical battles. The film stars Raizō Ichikawa and Shintaro Katsu, a few years before headlining two long-running samurai franchises for Daiei. Both actors are put in similar looking period garb, with the same style of make-up on their face. When this is combined with a plot that frequently leaps around in time and location and has a large cast of characters, "The Demon of Mount Oe" proves a little hard to follow for a clueless American like me. 

For the same reasons, it's a bit tricky for me to engage with what is obviously the film's attempt to deconstruct a famous folk tale. All the more so because director Tokuzō Tanaka and screenwriter Fuji Yahiro do not dismiss the otherworldly elements. Shuten-dōji may be human in this telling but he's still backed up by demonic henchmen. Like Kidomaru, who can teleport and turn into that hideous bull demon, and the ninja-like Tsuchigumo, who shoots silk from his fingers before changing into a big-ass spider. The plot concerns folkloric devices like a witch having her true form revealed in her reflection, disguising herself as an old woman to retrieve her detached arm, a sword that glows in the presence of demons, and a magical arrow being delivered by the gods in a dream. This back-and-forth between more grounded elements and blatantly fantastical ones throws me off a little. Maybe the Japanese don't feel the need to distinguish as much between historical fact and legend as we stiflingly literal Americans do. 

Of course, the monster stuff is what got me to watch “The Demon of Mount Oe” in the first place, so I can't complain about its presence too much. Indeed, the fantasy sequences are the best part of the film. Compared to the relatively grounded and black-and-white “The Whale God,” the previous Tokuzō Tanaka film I wrote about, this one is very far-out and colorful. The opening sequence is all surreal lighting and frantic movements. The first appearance of Kidomaru is proceeded by a swirl of colors in the sky. The sequence where Shintaro Katsu meets and fights the witch is lit in bright pinks and purples and shot on an intentionally artificial looking sound stage. When she ascends up into the air and takes him with her, that is achieved in an effect that clearly looks fake but in a playful, dream-like way that really sells that this is a reenactment of an old folk tale. This peaks during the confrontation with Tsuchigumo, whose web of entwining silk are usually accompanied by bright flashes of lights. The giant spider sequence does feature a fairly stiff puppet, whose awkwardly spurts sparks from its mouth and slowly kicks its eight legs. It also takes place on a back-lit night set, with interesting uses of pyrotechnics and cinematography. It's all very stylized and neat. 

For all the verve in its fantastical scenes, “The Demon of Mount Oe” still favors feudal melodrama more than monstery stuff. There are many scenes of court intrigue, two love triangles, and at least one dying declaration of affection. At about two hours, it gets a little long winded at times. Yet the film is also likable in its stylistic bursts. There are, in fact, three separate dance numbers as well, all of which are quite interesting. One of which involves Shintaro Katsu kicking up his heels, if that's something you want to see. “The Demon of Oe” is not as grimly intriguing as “The Whale God” and doesn't feature the crowd-pleasing kaiju destruction of the “Daimajin” trilogy. It's still scratch that itch for me, of seeking another corner of obscure Japanese monster movie action. Also, I've enjoyed how many times this review has given me a chance to type “Shuten Dōji.” It's a fun name! Shoe-ten Doe-jee! [7/10]

 

Thriller: The Double Kill

The episode of “Thriller,” Brian Clemens' British crime and murder anthology from the seventies that has nothing to do with someone whose name is surely Boris Karloff, I watched last year was pretty good. So here's another! “The Double Kill” concerns Hugh Briant, husband to rich heiress Clorissa. The two are fighting more often, as Clorissa uses sleeping pills to soothe her restless mind and Hugh spends all night at poker games. The man has developed a habit of bragging in public about all the riches and wealth in their home and also how they have no locks on their windows. He's hoping a burglar will enter the house, a common crook he can then blackmail into killing his wife. That way Hugh receives her significant inheritance and doesn't have to get his hands dirty. He thinks he's found the man in a shifty-eyed young thief named Max Burns. Max has other plans though, deliberately leaving clues behind that implement the husband. Now Hugh has to enact a new plan, that gets rid of the loose end and clears his name.

“The Double Kill” is a twisty act of misdirection most made worth seeing by Gary Collins' lead performance. The prolific star of film and TV brings his resounding voice to the role of the scheming husband. Collins slithers through every scene, quite confident in his own ability to manipulate those around him. When he gives his proposal to the various home intruders he “auditions,” the certainty and smoothness in his delivery is quite convincing. The script, of course, is build around increasingly upsetting that sense of control. Watching this guy slowly loose his grip on the plan he's cooked up is worthwhile. His facial expressions as the cops reveal each new piece of evidence against him is almost comical in how on point they are. While watching this jerk slowly blow his cool as he's double-crossed at every turn would be fun, Collins' instinct as an actor are sturdier than that. A guy like this isn't going to slip up overnight. This is why Hugh is still toying with Max in their final scene together, still so confident that he can make this work. 

He can't, of course. “Thriller” has a fine twist ending coming the viewer's way. I can't decide if it's a cheat or not. It doesn't depend on misdirecting our attention so much as leaving a very key piece of information hidden until the finale. I didn't see it coming though, so I guess that means the writers got me. “The Double Kill” does keep you guessing, largely because Stuart Wilson as Max is so effectively unpredictable. You are left wondering which of these snakes will come out on top. While the twist is a good one, “The Double Kill” lacks a satisfying punchline of an ending. The implication is that the guilty party will get their comeuppance soon enough but they probably should have shown that on-screen as well. Nevertheless, this is a well assembled and nicely acted bit of seventies pulp, if a bit too stately in its presentation. I usually like the dryness of these British seventies shows but “Thriller” definitely feels a little more dry than the others I've seen. [7/10]

 

 

Friday the 13th: The Series: Shadow Boxer

 

 I love how literal the titles of "Friday the 13th: The Series" episodes tend to be. "Shadow Boxer" is about a cursed pair of boxing gloves that makes the wearer a champ in the ring... At the cost of causing their literal shadow to detach from their body and act upon their anger and resentment, beating the target of that rage to death. The Villain of the Week is Tommy, a wannabe boxer and current janitor at Manny's Gym. After coming across the gloves, he quickly starts winning matches. People around him also begin to die violently, including Manny himself who left the letters T.O. in his own blood at the crime scene. The Curious Goods team are on the case, with Micki pretending to be romantically interested in Tommy in order for Ryan and Jack to get into his apartment. This has unforeseen consequences. 

The rule I laid down last time, that any given episode of "Friday the 13th: The Series" is only as good as whatever baddie the heroes are chasing this week, holds true. If this episode had been made in 2026, the script would probably characterize Tommy as an incel. He's a loner, a smaller-in-stature young male that seems to simmer with resentment at everyone around him. In the gym, he's surrounded by bigger, stronger guys who are better at the sport of punching people into submission than the physically weak Tommy. He glares at Manny's favored student with jealousy and rage. Modern online Tommy would call this guy a "Chad," the Alpha Male that denies him access to that which he believes is his. (Or, since the rival is a black man, he would call him "Tyrone," because incels are also totally absorbed in the hyper-racist rhetoric of the terminally online right.) It's not being an outcast or shrimpy that makes Tommy an asshole. It's his unearned sense of entitlement. Tommy believes he deserves to be a champ. The magic boxing gloves allow him a short cut to achieve that dream of being intimidating and easily cutting his objects of scorn down. The same way an AR-15 does for any bitter, misogynistic manlet. 

While the plot is focused on the ultra-macho world of the gym and the ring, Tommy is still super weird about women. Micki is given the unfortunate task of charming the young psycho. The script doesn't go into it but Tommy is immediately enamored of Micki, presumably because womanly attention is something else he longs for that has been denied him. Probably because he's also a sexist jerk. After sharing one piece of pie, he assumes this female he's never talked to before, who knows nothing about him as far as he's aware, wants to sleep with him. "Shadow Boxer" takes an unexpected turn in the last act. The villain is defeated and the Cursed Artifact of the Week retrieved, the point where this show would normally end. Instead, it goes on for an extra act, Tommy breaking into Micki's apartment. He restrains her in bed and threatens her with a knife, a set-up obviously reminiscent of sexual assault. Denied access to the object he wants, he turns to violence, just like he did with the guys at the gym. Bitterness over not having what he's been taught should be his is the root of Tommy's evil. 

Josh Miller's script is not that deep and "Shadow Boxer" doesn't get into the web of toxic masculinity that births monsters like this. Tommy's rage manifesting as a shadow is a clever, Jungian image but the guy is also a sleazy ass in his regular life. His anger is not exactly repressed. It's mentioned that each of the boxers have nicknames like "Killer" or "Terrific," emphasizing that violence and triumph is what distinguished people in this world. Yet the gym seems pretty chill otherwise, the episode having neither the time nor depth to explore why prizing aggression and victory over everything else produces kids like Tommy. The script is also unaware enough that it depicts Ryan giving Micki a playful smack on the ass as charming male behavior. Which may just be another example of this show seeming to forget that these two are cousins and probably shouldn't have a will-they-won't-they dynamic going on. What's a little incest in-between solving weekly mysteries, ya know? 

As is typical of this show, it eventually gets bogged down in the nonsensical magical rules around its cursed object. Tommy's shadow is beaten back by bright light, leading to a goofy scene of Micki fighting it off with a flash camera. The exact link between the gloves' wearer, the shadow, and the object itself are not always clearly defined. The climax features an especially confusing turn of events, in how Tommy is defeated. Still, this is easily one of the better episodes I've seen so far. It shows that our modern day "crisis of masculinity" isn't anything new, that entitlement and might-as-right attitudes has been producing guys like this for a while. [7/10]

 

Halloween 2026: September 16th

 

Lee Cronin's The Mummy (2026)
 

When it was announced that Blumhouse and James Wan would be producing a movie called “The Mummy,” I had assumed it was part of Blumhouse's on-going wave of reboots of the classic Universal Monsters. After all, the mummy is one of those characters. Director Lee Cronin is a hot, up-and-coming name in the genre, much the way the other filmmakers involved with these projects have been. However, at some point, I noticed something very odd: Universal was not involved in the production, nor distribution, of this “Mummy.” Instead, this was a Warner Bros/New Line Pictures release. In fact, shortly after teaser trailers started to come out for this film, Universal announced a third sequel to the Brendan Fraser/Rachel Weiz “Mummy” series. The director – still far from a household name, even among genre fans – would have his name amended to the title to further distinguish it from past “Mummy” films. The official Blumhouse account on the website formally known as Twitter would, in the days leading up to the April release, repeatedly clarify that Fraser was not involved in this film. This was, apparently, a source of confusion for test audiences. I assume the film began development at Universal before, for whatever reason, Blumhouse and team were allowed to take the project else where. I can assume Universal signed off on all this to some degree as “The Mummy” is a title that originated with them, even if the general concept of mummies obviously did not. Ultimately, “Lee Cronin's The Mummy” does not acknowledge the 1933 Boris Karloff film nor any of its sequels or remakes in its credits at all. 

It's certainly a particular case, leading some to wonder if cross studio sabotage or something wasn't in play here. It would seem to me that this was very much intended to be an edgy, modern revival of the classic film that, through various contractual shenanigans, had to sever all legal connection to that original... Though weirdly not quite changing its title, which you would expect to be the first thing to go. That I was thinking about this so much in the lead-up to the film's release seem to obscure what should be a more pressing issue: Namely, whether the film was any good. This was certainly a question after I saw the divisive reaction to this “Mummy.” The chief complaint, not dissimilar to what people said about Leigh Whannell's “Wolf Man,” was that this wasn't much of a mummy movie at all. Presumably, this was another factor in the film parting ways with Universal. Cronin's “Evil Dead Rise” impressed me enough to allow him the benefit of the doubt. Let me now consider this film, which is not a remake or reboot of past “Mummy” movies in any way despite the unavoidable feeling that it actually, most definitely is. 

Charlie Cannon and his wife Larissa are expecting their third child. The family, including eldest daughter Katie and middle son Sebastian, currently live in Cairo, Egypt, where Charlie works as a television reporter. After Larissa leaves for her own job one morning, Charlie is approached in the family garden by a mysterious woman who hands her a fruit. This would be the last time Charlie and Larissa would see Katie, their daughter disappearing. Years later, the family – which now includes eight year old Maud – are living in New Mexico with Larissa's mother. This is when they receive some shocking news: A plane carrying a black sarcophagus crashed in Aswan, Egypt. Inside the casket was a mummy... Who was a very much still alive Katie. Charlie and Larissa are overjoyed but years of apparent isolation have left Katie catatonic, physically twisted, and prone to violent behavior. It soon becomes apparent that something is wrong with their daughter. A detective in Cairo attempts to find out what happened to Katie, uncovering an occult conspiracy around the girl. Charlie and Larissa, and everyone else in the household, soon discover how much Katie has been changed.

Whatever other issues I have with Lee Cronin's “Lee Cronin's The Mummy,” I do think the film has an interesting initial premise and a decent first act. This is, at the start, the story of parents having to grapple with the unpleasant fact that their daughter is now a mummy. That is to say, something petrified into a suspended state – Katie seems to have aged very little during her time in the casket – and something that is dead. The family tries to treat the girl like she's going to get better eventually. That normal life will resume at some point. This ignores that her body and mind have irrevocably been altered, her limbs twisted, her skin grey, her face locked in a dazed expression. Parallels to a loved one developing a mental illness, chronic condition, or terminal disease are obvious. Before Katie is returned home, we see that her mom has preserved her bedroom perfectly during the years she was gone. Human beings have a tendency to cling to the past, to be unwilling to move on from what they love and admit that what's gone is gone. In other words: Katie is dead, the way all of us are going to rot and decay someday. Her family just doesn't know it yet. 

As a reinvention of the hoary cliché of a shambling corpse wrapped in bandages, that's a decent take. However, the longer this “Mummy” goes on, the more apparent it becomes that Cronin's script is not that concerned with subverting cliches. Midway through the film, Charlie consults an Egyptologist about bandages covered in ancient writing he peeled off his daughter's body. This leads to exposition about an ancient demon that corrupts the family and must be warded off with ritual and spells. This immediately stuck in my folklore nerd teeth. The classical Egyptians did not believe in demons, not in the Judeo-Christian sense. They had household spirits, guardian deities, and detested gods but not invisible bogeymen that crawled into living bodies. The villain of Cronin's “Mummy” is identified as "the Nasmaranian," an invention of the filmmaker. A little later on, the film features another exposition dump in the form of a forbidden VHS tape depicting profane rites. This has fast become a cliché in horror, last seen in “Bring Her Back” and “Together.” The footage has the ritual performed by people in wooden, undefined masks, which has become the standard uniform for weird cults in modern folk horror movies. Damn, Lee, you couldn't have put some Anubis masks or something in there? Some connection to the rich world of ancient Egyptian mythology? Which is unexplored in film and was absolutely obsessed with the separation of the soul and the body, the state of the flesh after death, and the associated rites? Seems like a massive missed oppretunity to me.

In its second half, it becomes clearer that Cronin idea of reinventing the mummy seems to amount to ripping off “The Exorcist” and “The Evil Dead.” Katie's voice is soon distorted into a demonic baritone. She says inappropriate things, a habit soon picked up by her siblings. There's levitation and vomit and a profaning of Christian symbols and a body tossed through an upstairs bedroom mirror. Not only is it all stuff we've seen before, it is reenacted in a listless fashion. Simply put, I don't find little kids swearing nor dodgy CGI telekinesis to be scary. Once the film turns more towards the idea of its villain spreading a malicious virus of corruption around the whole household, extending to the recently deceased, it feels like Cronin is reheating his “Evil Dead Rise” leftovers. That's when I noticed that this is Cronin's third film in a row about a loved one coming back “wrong.” Seriously suggesting that the guy doesn't have nearly enough ideas to earn having his name above the title. 

That Cronin is mostly regurgitating ideas from better movies is all the more disappointing. The guy is good at some things. Namely, the deployment of sickening gore and bodily mutilation. When Katie is first returned home, I actively wondered for a bit if actress Natalie Grace was under heavy make-up or had been completely replaced with a life-like puppet. Post-mummified Katie looks freaky as hell. The film packs in several teeth clenching moments. The showstopper involves a simple toe nail clipping going horribly wrong but a later bit, in which a scorpion takes a very direct escape route, also got a good reaction out of me. The film is full of blood and vomit, often projected into people's faces. A gut ripped open by a pack of coyotes is quite nasty. These moments are delivered with the kind of propulsive shock that the rest of the movie's attempts at scares lack. 

While the grisly violence is where Cronin's film excels, he's not able to establish the same ambiance of isolation that he did in “Evil Dead Rise.” You'd think the New Mexican desert location would achieve that but nobody seems to have much trouble getting back and forth from the home. Cinematographer Dave Garbett applies a piss yellow tinted color filter to far too much of the film, creating an increasingly dour mood with little energy behind it. Stephen McKeon's score hammers on the loud musical stings, which seems to foretell an increasingly reliance on tacky CGI before the end. The film's primary visual gimmick is a high number of split diopter shots. Their frequency begins to feel like a running joke quite quickly. The cast isn't bad, with May Calamawy as the detective giving a decent performance, but the familial drama in the story never feels natural. 

Lastly, what of those complaints that “Lee Cronin's The Mummy” is not much of a mummy movie either? I believe the premise of a mummified Egyptian corpse is wide enough to encompass a lot of ideas. After all, the 1933 film mostly features Imhotep minus his bandages. Cronin's film does indeed feature a mummified body, one wrapped in bandages too. However, this feels incidental to the demonic possession story the film is actually telling. Ultimately, this is more of generic folk horror movie, too cowardly to pull from actual folklore, wrapped around an incredibly underwhelming “Exorcist” wannabe. I'm forced to conclude that there's simply not much mummy in “Lee Cronin's The Mummy.”I don't know what secret sauce the guy had on “Rise” but it's been lacking in his other features. Considering the most successful and well received of the recent classic monster remakes – Egger's “Nosferatu” and del Toro's “Frankenstein – were highly personalized but nevertheless straight-forward adaptations of the material, maybe these archetypes do not need radical reinventions after all. [5/10]

 

 

Beauty and the Beast (1978)

Panna a netvor
 

In "The Epic of Gilgamesh," the titular warrior king has an enemies-to-best-bros arc with Enkidu. Enkidu is born as a horned, hairy wild man, who lives among the animals and acts as they do. A "sacred prostitute" named Shamhat is sent to lure Enkidu out of the wilderness. She successfully does so and, after two weeks of nightly love making, the wild man is civilized. He starts wearing clothes and everything. Yes, the idea of a beautiful woman soothing the savage heart of a wild beast, teaching him to clean his act up if he's going to spend a night in her bed, dates back to the earliest work of narrative literature. This is, quite sincerely, a tale as old as time. Passing through earlier iterations like Psyche and Cupid and Thabaton and Keibu Keioina, the story arrived in its most famous form in 1740s France. That's when Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve wrote the fairy tale "La Belle et la Bête," later further distilled by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont into the iconic version. Countless direct adaptations and interpretations have followed since. While many tellings veer towards the whimsical side of the tale, the fact that the Beast must be a beast links the story to the gothic monster tradition. One such adaptation to especially emphasize this element was made in Czechoslovakia in 1978, by master of the uncanny Juraj Herz. In Czech, the title is "Panna a netvor," which literally translates as "The Virgin and the Monster," but most copies go with the better known name. 

In this telling, the beauty is Julie, the youngest daughter of a merchant. After a shipment is destroyed by bandits while passing through the woods, her father travels abroad to sell the family's belongings. He asks his daughters if they would like him to bring any gifts back. His eldest two daughters, about to marry wealthy men, ask for jewels and pearls. Julie wants only her father to return safely and a single rose. Getting lost in the woods on his journey, , the merchant seeks shelter in a derelict castle. Inside, food and drink and treasures galore are offered to him by an unseen host... But when the man plucks a rose from the garden, he is accosted by the price of this manor, a victim of a curse that has turned him into a hideous amalgamation of man and hawk. When he explains that the rose is for his daughter, the beast asks for her instead. While the man refuses, a trade of hostages is still made. Julie arrives at the crumbling castle. The prince begins to court Julie from afar, unwilling to show her his monstrous face. Will Beauty fall in love with the Beast of her own accord or will he give into his blood lust for her?

 

Herz' take on the beloved fairy tales begins with images of horseback riders passing through a fog-drenched forest. The bandit attack that follows features a dramatic burst of flames and a bloody sword fight. A maiden flees from the chaos and encounters the Beast. At first, I wondered if this was our beauty but, no, he strikes her down with his fearsome claws instead. That is a clear establishing moment. Julie's poor, provincial town is introduced through a montage of animals being butchered. This further sets up a theme of consumption and transaction. Julie's greedy older sisters are only concerned with material things, eagerly waiting to marry rich men. Their father, after all in the business of trading and selling, is desperately anticipating the dowries. The Beast, meanwhile, is almost vampiric. He literally hungers for blood and must kill a deer to overcome his desire to tear into Julie's neck instead, with his raptor claws and hooked beak. The film's fantasy kingdom is a grim place, in which a need for flesh and gold drives everyone. 
 

Everyone, except for the girl. Julie is played by Zdena Studenková, whose wide eyes suggest a doe-like innocence. Her golden hair and glowing skin provides a light in the foggy darkness of this world. She is satisfied with simple pleasures and cares most of all about people. Her dreams are of a beautiful, kindly prince and the pure, euphoric love they share. Herz' "Beauty and the Beast" has that Eastern European, Soviet-era dourness to it but that is essential for the message being sent. This Beast is troubled, far more than most takes, but he strives to be better. When his Belle returns to her father and siblings out of loneliness, he decides that he truly is as unworthy of love, of grace, of forgiveness as he believes and surrenders to misery. But Julie does return to him, does accept him, because she can see the kindness within. There's a powerful line near the end of the film, that "Every woman has the power to make the man she loves beautiful." It's easy to dunk on any version of the "Beauty and the Beast" as a defense of rape culture. Sending the moral that girls should tolerate abusive men because they are really a nice, sensitive guy deep down. That the onus is on the Belles of the world to be beautiful and forgiving, to nurture brutish men into suitable husbands. Herz' telling gets at a deeper truth, that this is a story of the restorative power of love. That empathy, understanding, and kindness can change anyone, no matter how damaged or outwardly fearsome, into a better person. That these values are especially worth striving for in a world that often only cares about what it can get out of someone. 

It's a beautiful message, that love can change anyone. I'm not going to lie, I found myself relating to this Beast quite a lot. Herz' telling does include the castle servants being turned into the decor. However, instead of singing jaunty tunes, they watch ominously. They whisper to the prince, reinforcing every negative and self-hating thought he has. They urge him to kill and drink blood. That this is his nature and that being alone is his fate. When Julie's affection changes his claws back to hands, the voices mock him, saying he can't kill now and is accepted neither in the world of man or beast. Speaking as someone who has struggled with intrusive thoughts of self-loathing his entire life, this strikes me as a worthy metaphor. Of any peace of mind or chance for self-acceptance being spoiled by the nagging fear that you aren't good enough, that you deserve to be alone. His beastly appearance is a manifestation of his self hatred and his crumbling castle represents him sinking deeper into suffocating despair. The kindness of a stranger, someone beautiful loving him and seeing his worth under the years of self-inflicted scars and isolation, saves him. Not to bring up my impending nuptials yet again, but that spoke to me. I saw a lot of myself in this moldering bird-beast, given a light in the dark by the love of a fair maiden. 

While ultimately optimistic, this telling resides soundly on the horror side of the genre.  The sets for the castle are detailed and beautifully realized but also heavy on the debris and ruins. The fog in the first scene reoccurs throughout, often blanketing the ground. The score is heavy on the deep rumble of a pipe organ. It creates an atmosphere that is often deeply foreboding but also suitably dream-like. Julie explores these wrecked remains like the protagonist of a dream, wandering through always with curiosity and never fear. The often striking images – the Beast's raven eyes starring through the portrait of the girl's mother – further that twin feeling. Of being transported to a surreal realm but also one of danger and uncertainty. Of going into the deep, dark woods but emerging into the light on the other side. 

I often see this "Beauty and the Beast" referred to as a "gothic" telling of the story. That's most true in the literary sense, in the way the real world and the dreamy world of the subconscious blend together, in its archetypal characters, and in its distinctively old world setting and ambiance. In the modern sense, this might also be among the most spiritually goth movies I've ever seen. There's no eye-shadow or Siouxsie Sioux lookalikes but the co-lead is a literal black bird, lingering in the darkness and tormented by despair but longing for salvation via the love of a beautiful girl. What lonely teenager, too fond of old movies and old books and Dracula capes, couldn't relate to that? Grand stuff, in other words. I loved it. May all your beasts be tamed by their beauties. [9/10]

Leap in the Dark: To Kill a King

Two years ago, I was impressed with an episode of "Leap in the Dark." That's another partially lost British horror anthology show from the seventies, heavy on the haunted ambiance and influenced by local folklore. There's a surprising number of them! "To Kill a King" concerns Harry, a man living alone in an old seeming, largely wooden house. He seems to be an award-winning writer or poet. His career has been derailed by intense headaches and erratic moods, which he takes medication for. The spectre of a medieval maiden sings to him and he attempts to transcribe her words. When he shows what he's written to his visiting agent, it's all gibberish. When Harry's obnoxious sister visits, his voices and visions intensify. 

Both "To Kill a King" and "The Living Grave" were from the final, 1980 season of "Leap in the Dark." It shows how experimental the BBC was willing to get by this point. "The Living Grave" was a quasi-mockumentary that felt like a proto-found footage film at times. "To Kill a King," meanwhile, resides further on the art house side of the spectrum. It never explains itself totally. Harry is clearly some sort of writer and obviously quite troubled but the nature of what he's experiencing is vague. The ghostly woman is never acknowledged by anyone. The people around him often speak in looping, almost nonsensical sentences. At one point, the agent and his sister have a conversation without moving their lips. The climax sees the protagonist surrounded by persecuting presences, people and spirits and voices and words. They insult his abilities as a writer and his worth as a person, calling him an "it" that something must be done about. Is Harry a schizophrenic, haunted by ghosts, or simply dreaming?

A little background information provides some context. "To Kill a King" was written by Alan Garner, better known for his fantasy novels like "The Owl Service" and "Red Shift."  He also lived in a renovated medieval cottage called Toad Hall. Which "To Kill a King" seems to have been, at least partially, filmed inside. Garner has also publicly discussed his struggles with mental illness and manic depression. Knowing all this, the episode reads as largely autobiographical. Furthermore, it strikes me as a discussion of what being a writer is like sometimes. Harry receives words and sentences from beyond, transferred via the mysterious muse occupying the house with him. He struggles to get them out of his head and onto the page while maintaining their purity, something any writer can relate too. At one point, the ghostly woman beckons him into the woods. He's compelled to fish something out of a lake but what he comes back with, a stone covered with black sludge with a crude face carved into it, horrifies him. That's also what the creative process is like sometimes, digging into the depth only to come back with something so unformed and vile that the only reasonable response is to scream at it. A dozen other factors, internal and outside, all make what seems like the simple process of writing a thought down into an anxiety-inducing nightmare. 

Garner's writing is highly influenced by the forests, folklore, and Cheshire dialect of the Manchester neighborhood he grew up in. This is evident in "To Kill a King" too. Not only in the finely observed and almost musical dialogue. The opening scene establishes this ancient cottage as positioned between a railway and a massive satellite dish. (Another indicator that our protagonist is receiving broadcast from another world.) The camera focuses on the arcane symbols carved into the wood the home is made of. All of this suggests that Harry lives in-between the past and the present, at a nexus point of the modern world and the deep well of spirits and stories this land stores. It's really fascinating stuff, if a bit oblique but well acted and with enough creepy atmosphere to satisfy this horror fan. It's a potent observation of the sometimes nerve-wracking process of of telling the tales that rattle around in a chaotic head. [9/10]

 

Friday the 13th: Doctor Jack

The eighth episode of “Friday the 13th: The Series” seems to suggest that this show's heroes are instantly aware of any weird murder or strange event that happens nearby. The opening scene depicts a masked man slashing a street vendors throat with a scalpel before effortlessly cutting through a metal fence with the same tool. The next morning, the Curious Goods gang is immediately going through the store records to find a cursed artifact that matches this description. Sounds like this silver-bladed scalpel – that supposedly belonged to Jack the Ripper though I'm not sure how they would know that – that can cut through anything is the culprit. They quickly track the instrument to Dr. Vincent Howlett, a superstar surgeon who makes crowd-attracting spectacles of his operations. Howlett has recently been hired as a failing hospital. When Jack and the gang find him, a woman is attempting to murder the man. That's cause Howlett killed her daughter. Yes, the surgeon with the magical blade is also a serial killer, whose device will only heal patients on the operating table if it's also fed a regular supply of blood from murdered victims.

I'm starting to notice that the quality of any given episode of “Friday the 13th: The Series” is tied to whether it has a decent villain or not. If the Baddie of the Week is a scheming padre or the ghost of Uncle Lawrence, you're probably in for a good time. If it's a pop star with a cursed tea cup, not so much. Luckily, “Doctor Jack” has probably the best adversary the series has provided so far. Cliff Gorman plays Dr. Howlett as hopelessly conceited and sure of his own abilities, much to the annoyance of the hospital official he's working for. At the same time, his blood lust seems uncontrollable. The guy almost comes across like a murder junkie, killing not because he wants to but because he has to. It's still a wild rush for the slasher though. This means Gorman gets to play multiple juicy angles. He's an asshole doctor and a crazed knife nut. He's also a Dr. Jekyll who wants to help people tangoing with a Hyde that wants to destroy life, making him kind of sympathetic too. He's a source of tension during scenes when he's stalking a random street walker but also the uncertainty you see in his eyes is compelling. 

This episode also has two other things going for it. First off, it's heavy on the action sequences. There are two separate chases through the shadowy tunnels underneath the hospital, a good setting for a frenzied foot chase. The second chase features a neat visual gag, of the magic scalpel slicing a hole in a door. The other reason this episode is top tier is that it features multiple scenes of the heroes bullshitting information out of people. The scene where Jack and Micki trick the shifty owner of the knife shop into revealing pertinent information is a highlight for sure. It's easy to imagine a version of this show without the supernatural theatrics, that was just a straight detective series, heavier on scenes like this. That would honestly probably be a better show than “Friday the 13th: The Series.” However, this episode does gain a little bit of tension out of endangering one of the central trio in the climax. It goes in a very silly direction. Can you guess which surgeon is the only one that can save Jack? How that plot bends that way is quite absurd and sorrowed me a little on this one. Still, a fun episode of a program whose frequent ridiculousness sometimes charms me and sometimes annoys me. [6/10]