Halloween 2025: September 19th

 

The Long Walk (2025)

By 1976, a English teacher from Maine had published two novels. His first, about a bullied teenager with telekinesis, sold slowly in hard cover but became a best seller once published as a mass-market paperback. His second, about vampires emerging in a small town, was an immediate success. As the author prepared his third novel – about a haunted hotel –  he revised a nasty little story he wrote back in high school entitled “Getting It On,” about a homicidal teen shooting his teachers and taking his classroom hostage. At the time, his publisher would only put out one book a year from the same author. At the same time, Steve was starting to wonder if he truly deserved his rapidly growing success or if it was all a fluke. He decided to publish “Getting It On,” now called “Rage,” under a pseudonym and have it released with little publicity. This is how Stephen King became Richard Bachman. The two wrote the same sort of fiction but Bachman was meaner, without happy endings. The second Bachman book, “The Long Walk,” was the first novel King ever wrote and was published in 1979. After the truth about the author was revealed, “The Long Walk” became a favorite among fans of the author. Despite largely being devoted to teenage boys walking and being killed, numerous high-profile filmmakers have attempted to adapt it over the years. After George Romero, Frank Darabont, and André Øvredal couldn't get it made, screenwriter JT Molner and director Francis Lawrence would finally bring “The Long Walk” to theater screens this September.

Following a civil war and economic collapse, America has become a military dictatorship. As part of the new regime, a contest is held every year. The Long Walk is a simple marathon. Teenage boys from all over the country enter the lottery to join. Those that are selected are asked to walk for an undetermined amount of time. Their speed is constantly tracked by machines on their wrists. Should they drop below a specific feet-per-minute pace, they receive a warning from the military convoy trailing alongside. Should it happen again, a second warning. Should it happen a third time, they are executed on the spot. The winner of the Long Walk is the last boy standing and, supposedly, he will receive whatever wish his heart desires. The event is watched over by The Major, who will greet the final survivor at the race's end. Ray Garraty joins the Walk because he has a personal grudge against the Major. He's not the only one in this year's lot. As the walking goes on and on, and more boys die, bonds are formed, wills are tested, and secrets are revealed. 

King would write “The Long Walk” during the waning days of the Vietnam War. It's not too difficult to see the parallels in the story. This is, after all, a tale about America sending explicitly teenage boys off to die for a totally pointless cause. The Major barks out jingoistic phrases and encouragement, telling the boys that they are doing this for America, that their country honors them, that they are the bravest and strongest the U.S. has to offer. As the walk goes on, and the guys talk amongst themselves, it becomes clearly that every son in the country enters into the lottery to join the contest. Economic conditions have gotten so miserable that every sixteen year old male is willing to risk death for the slim chance of escaping it. After all, only one out of fifty young men is going to make it. What kind of odds are that? The system is utterly rigged against the youths, in other words. They are signing up to die, for the slightest chance that they might make it to the end and be able to escape a life of crushing poverty. All while the authority figures that made this gory spectacle go on about what an honor it is, what a brave sacrifice they are making. This was relevant in the late sixties when King first wrote it. It's sure as hell still relevant now, when economic divides are starker than ever in this country and military service – a chance to get your head blown off so the American imperialistic experiment can go on and military contractors can make another cool billion – seems to be a rare escape from collapsing cities and dead-end small towns with no future. 

In such a totally fucked-up situation, what keeps you going? What, befitting the metaphor of an endless foot race, keeps you moving forward? Ray is ultimately seeking revenge on the Major, who executed his father for the crime of distributing banned books and music. Stubbins, among the more mysterious walkers in the race, similarly has his eyes on the military leader. Others among them, such as the loud-mouthed Hank, simply desire to take care of their loved ones. McVries, the closest companion Ray finds on this journey, tries to encourage his new found friend not to pursue the path of violence. To try and make the world a better place, not merely add more bloodshed to it. However, in a place where the cards are stacked against you so severely, what else can you do? “The Long Walk” is partially a film about the value of political violence, if such acts can truly bring about a better tomorrow or if kindness is the only true path forward. It comes at a time when such questions are very much worth asking, here in America. Do you keep walking to make a better tomorrow? For a chance to dent an evil so great you can hardly imagine it? Or do you only hope to protect those you love and ensure a future for them? All troubling, complicated questions that need asking. 

King's book was set in a loosely defined dystopian future that looked a lot like the early seventies. Lawrence's film maintains that setting. There are no cell phones, aerial drone technology, or internet in this story. The image of school age kids being ruthlessly gunned down inevitably brings the epidemic of mass shootings in this country to mind but “The Long Walk” isn't really about that. Minimal allusions are made to the current rise of American fascism. The Major – played by Mark Hamill at his gravelliest, having gone from the fresh-faced young rebel to the faceless voice of cold-blooded authority – makes references to the youngest generation being lazy. How no one wants to work and how these damn kids today are responsible for the economic depression in the country. Certainly not those in power who made the system in the first place. It's the kind of embittered Boomerisms that are practically timeless, as all authoritarians seek to shift the blame to whatever scapegoat is most visible. Such themes are sadly universal. (Further proven by King's novel being a key inspiration for “Battle Royale,” another story about a government creating a system to kill kids and then blaming those kids for things being this way.)

Such political and social concerns aside, “The Long Walk” is simply a relentlessly effective piece of storytelling. The cinematography, from Jo Willems, is both wide and intimate, never getting in its own way. The focus is mostly on the faces of the boys as they walk and the desolate landscape – really, could be any small town, rural part of America – they journey through. The title screen is held off until the first bullet rips through the first victim, a brutal moment that sets up the level of violence and realism on-display here. “The Long Walk” is an often brutal film, full of bodily fluids, that makes every gunshot hurt. When walking uphill during a rain storm, the amount of guns going off recalls a military battle, leaving the same sort of trauma response on the boys as war time would. The titular contest is one designed to break its participants and it does. Minor injuries and unavoidable biological needs become killers. Ankles shatter, faces scrap on concrete, shoes are worn through, lungs strain, blood vessels burst, but mostly minds and wills are broken by the relentless, unending walking. The film follows that same path and the violence within is fittingly brutal, the tone utterly grim. 

More than anything else, “The Long Walk” is an ensemble piece. It's easy to see why so many talented filmmakers have found themselves unable to crack it over the years. Fifty kids walking in a straight line and talking to each other doesn't sound very cinematic. The book was previously adapted to the stage, which probably seems like an easier fit. However, Lawrence's film focuses on the compelling performers bringing these surprisingly fleshed-out figures ot life. Cooper Hoffman plays Ray and is given a choice monologue about his dead dad, a moment unavoidably rich with real life subtext. A lot like his father, the younger Hoffman has a practical and relatable presence paired with a willingness to expose deep emotions on-screen. He pairs well with David Jonsson, Tut Nyuot, and Ben Wang as the other central boys. All of whom gift their characters with a surprising amount of quirks and details, that typically colorful King-ian dialogue and gift for backstory truly triumphing here. I was also impressed with Charlie Plummer and Thamela Mpumlwana as Barkovitch and Pearson, parts that could've been one-note that these actors manage to make colorful and fully formed. 

That's a good example of what a textured film “The Good Walk” is. It never burdens itself with the background of its setting. However, this dystopian alternate universe – really not that different from the one we have now – feels alive and detailed, people having lived sad and desperate lives in this crumbling empire. The philosophical discussion of the material border on the melodramatic at times. With a less talented cast, it easily could've been. Thankfully, the film has assembled a hell of a group of young performers. It's a serious downer of a film but a powerful one. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised the movie got made at all, during the time that it did. Lawrence and Mollner certainly impress with this one on a level far above their previous output. It's an excellent adaptation – the ending is actually better than King's – and a strong film in its own right, distressing and thought-provoking in all the right ways. So get used to it cause Trump is probably going to introduce the real thing in like six months. [9/10]

Whatever Happened to Aunt Alice? (1969)
 

Robert Aldrich had us questioning what ever happened to Baby Jane in 1962 and telling Sweet Charlotte to hush, hush shortly after that. Theater audiences were then bombarded with a whole succession of aging actresses doing horrible things to each other, being tormented by the next generation, gaslit by their companions, or occasionally going on axe murdering sprees. We said die die to my darling, pictured Mommy dead, told Pretty Peggy to scream, wondered what's the matter with Helen, asked whoever slew Auntie Roo, observed that Aunt Martha sometimes does dreadful things, and proclaimed Dear Delilah dead. Most of these so-called hagsploitation flicks came along nearly a decade after the progenitor, kicked off by Aldrich's much later capper to his quasi-trilogy. Which he would only produce but the connection to his earlier hit was evident in the equally salacious title. That would be "Whatever Happened to Aunt Alice?," which actually opened at number one at the box office in July of 1969. 

Claire Marrable used to be the wife of a very rich man. "Used to be" being the key phrase there. She is informed that her late husband's estate has had all its assets seized, leaving her with nothing but a moldy old stamp collection. She moves out to the Arizona desert, next door to a single mom and her nosy kid. After an argument with Rose, her housekeeper, she beats the other woman to death and buries her body underneath a palm tree. Shortly afterwards, she hires another live-in maid. After learning old Edna actually has some money in the bank, Claire kills her as well and empties her account. While at a party her nephew is throwing, Claire meets Alice, a retired nurse and widow to a stock broker. Claire hires Alice to be her next companion... But Alice is not all she seems. She's actually there to investigate the disappearance of an old friend, Claire's previous victim. The two women sneak around each other's backs, plotting against one another, and trying to uncover the truth. It won't be long before Claire is compelled to kill again.

The psycho-biddy trend gave a number of actresses unexpected last acts of their career, usually giving them one more chance to ham it up to high heavens in frequently campy material. Geraldine Page was only 44 at the time she filmed “Aunt Alice” but that did not stop her from absolutely devouring the scenery. While most films patterned after “Baby Jane” made some attempt to make their unhinged old ladies at least a tiny bit sympathetic, Page as Mrs. Marrable is utterly unforgivable. She begins the film harassing the estate agent. She spends most scenes belittling everyone around her. She is, in a sense that I would consider complimentary, a bitch. Page attacks the role with such irresistible venom. Claire is a wicked woman, an unrepentant murderer who never acts anyway but selfishly. Yet she's so entertaining while doing it. That makes her exactly the kind of cinematic villain that we love to watch, no matter how devious she might be.

Starring opposite Page is Ruth Gordon, fresh off “Rosemary's Baby.” Before the film reveals that Alice has a secret of her own, the audience can tell something is up with her already. When the reveal arrives, it sets a nicely suspenseful premise. We the viewer know Alice is there to uncover Claire's murderous tendencies. It's also evident that Claire has her suspicions about the new maid, while also intending to disguise her homicidal habit. That means there are multiple layers of suspense at work, the audience constantly left to wonder who knows what and how much they know. Director Lee H. Katzin knows how to tighten the screws too. There's a fantastically framed sequence where Alice is digging through her employer's papers, before Claire arrives unexpectedly and nearly catches. That suspenseful undercurrent builds towards a nicely lurid last act, where the old ladies seem to genuinely beat the crap out of each other. A moment in a car, Page wearing a distinctive red wig, goes in a similarly wild direction. 

“Whatever Happened to Aunt Alice?” has a lot going for it, in other words. Gordon gives a naturalistic performance as Alice, in contrast to Page's theatricality. The southwest setting provides a good sense of isolation, the home standing out in the flat landscape. Joseph Biroc's cinematography – second time that name has cropped up this September – further emphasizes this. However, “Aunt Alice” is kept out of the top-tier of hag horror standards by an unnecessarily junked up screenplay. The film simply has too many subplots, a number of supporting characters that never quite come into focus. A romantic story line is especially unneeded. It distracts from the central dynamic between the two women. Still, Theodore Apstein's screenplay does pack in some fabulously ironic swerves. The role of a stray dog comes around nicely while the final scene features an amusing twist.

The film definitely has some major flaws. However, an deliciously evil performance from Geraldine Page easily keeps the film afloat. Moreover, the film shows a fine understanding of Hitchcockian suspense, often putting bombs under tables and letting them tick away while the characters go about their bloody business. Page would continue to have a fine career for the next twenty years, popping up in a few other horror related projects here and there. (Three episodes of “Night Gallery” and “The Bride.”) Director Katzin would make a few other notable films – a Steve McQueen race car movie, a wacky sci-fi flick with Bruce Dern – but would mostly work in television. That's a shame, as this film suggests he certainly had some talent for thrillers. Assuming we can give him credit for this one and not attribute the whole movie to Aldrich. Anyway, “Whatever Happened to Aunt Alice?” is a pretty good example of this type of thing. [7/10]
 

 

 

Tales of the Unexpected: A Harmless Vanity

Though I'm rather fond of Roald Dahl's fireside host segments, the author only hosted the episodes of “Tales of the Unexpected” based on his own writing. This amounted to about 26 installments, mostly in the first two seasons. Some of the later “Tales” are also well regarded though. Such as “A Harmless Vanity,” from the fifth series. The episode follows Mary, a dowdy married woman who suspects that her husband, a boat salesman, is having an affair. After talking with Liz, a friend and co-workers of George's, she learns this is true. Her husband is sleeping with a younger, sexier woman named Carol. Mary wants to meet the woman. Despite Liz' objections, she talks Carol into going to the beach with Mary. First, Mary dyes her hair blonde and buys a revealing bikini, to make herself feel younger. A tense afternoon follows, the younger woman unaware of her connection to Mary. All of the women are also unaware of a man in a scuba suit, sitting on the hill and watching When Carol goes for a swim in the sea, the diver attacks and drowns her. This is not exactly what Mary wanted and she feels a sense of guilt over the death... Until she goes back home.

“A Harmless Vanity” is based on a story by Theda O'Henle, an author I am otherwise unfamiliar with. However, the episode does grapple with a surprising amount of themes. The title suggests this is a story about a woman feeling insecure in her appearance. That she wants to compete with the younger woman by getting a brighter hair color and putting on a sexy suit. Upon seeing Carol on the beach, however, it becomes apparent that she can't compete with the perky breasts and fresh-faced youth of her competition. This moves the story into more of a melancholy direction, the wife left to wonder about how she's wasted so much time on a man that would trade up like this. Or that the man she loves is exactly that shallow. Sheila Gish conveys a lot of those stormy and complicated emotions on just her face and with the sad undercurrent she adds to her dialogue. 

This is one of the “Tales of the Unexpected” that does fall into the thriller genre though. There's a definite tension in the air between Mary and the other woman, who remains totally unaware of what's at stake here. Into this already tense situation enters the unnamed third party. Director Giles Foster introduces the stalker through binocular point-of-view shots, with some heavy breathing underneath too. That introduces some “Halloween”-style disturbance of the norm here. It creates a sense of seasick – excuse the pun – unease as the story moves towards its homicidal plot point. Which is surprisingly graphic. The ending, as unexpected as advertised, is an ironic trap for the philandering husband but doesn't let the wife off entirely either. Almost as if she subconsciously willed this to happened. Maybe not fair to her but bleakly compelling never the less. [8/10]

 

The Addams Family: The Great Treasure Hunt

“The Addams Family” would not often be described as a plot heavy series but this episode is an exception. “The Great Treasure Hunt” begins with Morticia and Gomez having a romantic evening up in the attic during a thunderstorm. After a dripping leak ruins the mood, they discover a chest that once belonged to Peg-Leg Addams, a pirate descendant. Included is half a map supposedly leading to his greatest fortune. The family goes searching through the home for the other half, Gomez soon discovering it. Afterwards, it is decided that they will charter a boat to the Caribbean and find the treasure as a family trip. First they need a boat though. Unfortunately, the duo they hire for the job – Captain Grimby and his pal, Mr. Brack – are more interested in the amount of cash the family has laying around than the treasure. They return in the middle of the night with the intention of robbing the place, Fester becoming their most uncooperative hostage. 

“The Great Treasure Hunt” sees the “Addams Family” returning to the central joke of the program, that the series has mostly been avoiding in season two: Outsiders arriving at the Addams' abode and being freaked out by all the weird shit they see. Shortly after the would-be boaters arrive, Fester drives his motorcycle through the living room while wearing a diving helmet, Morticia makes kissy-faces at the pet piranhas, and Cousin Itt emerges from an iron maiden. (You would think a guy named Brack would be more accustomed to wacky shit.) Otherwise, this episode does feature stronger sight gags than that. A bit involving an anchor and life-saver Fester has prepared for the trip got a chuckle out of me. As did the family vault being hidden behind a series of googly-eyed portraits. A nice silly moment has the gong usually used to summon Lurch being out-of-order, causing Gomez to rely on a more sensitive back-up. There are good, weird bits involving a wine bottle cork and a piggy bank. This episode also features an instance of antagonistic outsiders attempting to torture a member of the Addams family, with them responding with delight. A scene that benefits from Jackie Coogan's odd-ball comedic timing.

That last point isn't the only element from “The Great Treasure Hunt” that makes me wonder if this episode wasn't a direct influence on the beloved duo of live-action films. The opening scene of Morticia and Gomez getting romantic in the attic is quite reminiscent of many of Raul Julia and Angelica Huston's scenes together. As is the dead-pan reaction to a the water dripping on her forehead. Carolyn Jones' line upon pulling a sextant from Peg-Leg Addams' box is a surprisingly direct innuendo. I also like the conversation Wednesday has with her dad about what the kids are learning in history, or the nonchalant way he disposes of a live stick of dynamite. That is a little darker, a little edgier than the jokes on your average episode. The subplot about the sailors trying to rob the house is a bit of a dud. The twist endings about the true nature of the hidden treasure is even more obvious. Once the characters start talking about going on an exotic cruise, the viewer can't help but assume it will get delayed. There's no way a tropical vacation was in this show's budget. Not a bad episode otherwise though. [7/10]

Halloween 2025: September 2nd

 

The Monkey (2025)

How does an otherwise mundane object acquire a sinister reputation? The earliest ads for a toy inspired by the organ grinder's monkey are from 1932, advertising a product from Louis Marx & Co. Starting in the fifties, Japanese companies would begin to produce mechanical toys depicting a small ape that banged cymbals. The most iconic example was made by Daishin and sold as the Musical Jolly Chimp. The primate wore a yellow vest and striped pants, banged its cymbals, bopped its head, bulged its eyes, flared its lips, and screeched. While that sounds innocent, these toys were a frequent source of terror for people who grew up with them. The sudden noise of the cymbals, the jerky mechanical movements, the deranged facial expression and obnoxious sounds combined to create an uncanny, startling appearance. In the decades since, such toy monkeys have often appeared in pop culture, almost always as an ironic source of fear. They've pop up in video games, an especially freaky example appeared on the "Monkey Shines" poster, and Disney used it as a minor antagonist in "Toy Story 3." 

An obscure 1984 horror movie called "The Devil's Gift" made such a monkey into a demonic force of evil. (The film was later recycled as a segment in the anthology feature, "Merlin's Magical Shop of Mystical Wonders," which was mocked on one of the last episodes of "Mystery Science Theater 3000" to debut on the Sci-Fi Channel.) However, "The Devil's Gift" lifted its premise from a 1980 short story by Stephen King called "The Monkey," providing the cover image for King's collection, "Skeleton Crew." Which is how this old toy worked its way into my childhood nightmares. Frank Darabont wrote a script for a feature adaptation of "The Monkey" in 2007 but it wasn't until earlier this year that the foreboding chimp finally appeared in theaters. As director Osgood Perkins' follow-up to "Longlegs," and given a similarly clever advertising campaign, "The Monkey" received a good deal of hype and opened to solid box office back in February.

Twin brothers Hal and Bill Shelburn were raised by their single mother. While going through their absentee father's possessions, they discover a drum playing mechanical toy monkey. The monkey banging its drum seems to trigger horrible accidental deaths. While mad at Bill, Hal cranks the monkey's key and hopes it'll target his brother's. Instead, their mother dies of a freak embolism. Attempts to destroy the monkey are unsuccessful and the boys decide locking it in a box and tossing it down a well is their best bet. Years later, an adult Hal remains distant from his brother and his own son, Petey. During what was supposed to be his final weekend with Petey, before surrendering custody of the boy to his mom and step-dad, horribly fatal accidents begin to happen around Hal. The monkey has returned and it's banging its drum more often than before. Attempts to locate the cursed toy leads Hal back to his now reclusive brother. 

Why those old chattering monkey toys unsettled so many people seems partially based in their tendency to go off unexpectedly. King's story largely used that randomness as a symbol of the chaotic nature of life and death. Perkins' film jumps off from that point. The monkey – its cymbals traded out for a drum due to some Disney copyright screw job – doesn't merely foretell bad luck, as in the text. Instead, its drumming always sets off a chain reaction that causes horribly violent fatalities. You never know who the malevolent magic of the monkey will strike, only that death will surely follow its drumbeats. Its arm raised above its head is very much like the sword of mortality hanging over all of us. We've all got a limited amount of time on this globe, with no say in when the end might come. Not all of us are going out peacefully in our sleep but in tears and blood and random accidents. "The Monkey" was sold with the astute tagline "Everybody dies and that's fucked-up." Indeed it is. Perkins' film finds a potent stand-in for the ever-unpredictable, and often cruel, finger of fate in the teeth-baring toy simian. The jolly music and lifted lips of the Monkey seem to mock us, taking joy in engineering horribly elaborate outcomes for any person unlucky enough to be hit by its bad juju. It can't be destroyed. It can't be reasoned with. It can only be delayed. 

Oz Perkins' screen icon dad died of AIDS while still publicly denying his homosexuality. His mother was on American Airlines Flight 11 the day it was hijacked and crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. If anybody knows about how fucked-up fate can be, it's him. If “Longlegs” found chills in the tension that arises from the secrets parents keep from their kids, “The Monkey” digs through the debris of childhood trauma. Theo James as Hal – excellent audio-book voice, by the way – narrates much of the film, providing us with a reflective tone to begin with. The childhood sequences are set in 1999 and include plenty of visual signifiers of the time. Such as a Goosebumps poster, hip hugger jeans, and CRT TVs. The toy monkey itself, of course, hearkens back to an older time. When the boys are adopted by their aunt and uncle, we see facial hair and clothing fashions that recall the seventies. While the modern scenes feature air buds and smart phones, the dingy motels, a bus full of retro cheerleaders, and “Halloween Ends'” Corey with a Ramones haircut continues a feeling of unmoored time. When combined with a story swimming with childhood resentment and long-buried feelings, “The Monkey” feels like digging through the past in search of some sort of answer to the random chaos of the universe. 

From its somber and reflective subject matter, you might get the impression that “The Monkey” is a pretty serious horror movie. This was apparently the tone of Frank Darabont's first script. When Perkins rewrote it, however, “The Monkey” became an extended act of gallows' humor. The death scenes go for outrageous gore comedy, the first scene featuring an unspooling length of intestines and the movie only getting wilder from there. “The Monkey” clearly delights in elaborate undoings of the body, weaponizing unlikely objects and impaling, melting, and flattening human flesh. In fact, “The Monkey” bends towards cartoonish splat-stick almost immediately. People explode like water balloons, tossing limbs and blood in an exaggerated downpour.

Much like in the better “Final Destination” flicks, “The Monkey” engineers its elaborate death scenes like vicious Rube Goldberg machines, often deriving a sick sort of amused anticipation. Sometimes the intention is to make you cringe, sometimes laughs are the only objective. Either way, Osgood Perkins' trademark style that he's built up over his last four features is still present. Nico Aguitar takes over the cinematography but maintains the deep fields of vision, wide frames, and precisely placed set dressing of “Longlegs” and “Gretel & Hansel.” Such a tightly controlled visuals work great for creating an unsettling feeling of dread. What about for comedy though? Well, it mostly works but sometimes – during the wackier beats, most notably during a visual gag in the last scene – feels a bit awkward. A few fantasy or dream sequences are inserted, placing the monkey's face in unexpected places, which are probably the scenes in the film that struck me as most off-balanced. 

Still, “The Monkey” is a good time at the movies for horror nerds like me. Perkins' script captures King's authorial voice, using specific language and odd turns-of-phrase to good effect. Theo James makes for a compellingly anxious lead, while Tatiana Maslany brings some heartfelt pathos to the ill-fated mother. In the most recent wave of King adaptations to release over the last few years, I'd put this one way above “The Boogeyman” or the “Pet Sematary” remake. We're talking a solid, mid-level “Silver Bullet,” “Cat's Eye” flick here. Lastly, I suppose the titular toy primate is suitably creepy. I don't like his toothy smile. It makes me uncomfortable. [7/10]

The Sorcerers (1967)

In 1968, via the fictional proxy of Byron Orlok in the film “Targets,” Boris Karloff observed that the modern day horrors and social upheaval of the late sixties made the kind of so-called scary movies he used to star in totally irrelevant. It was meaningful commentary on a world that seemed like it had changed an awful lot in not an especially long amount of time. Despite this statement, Boris Karloff actually had an extremely good sixties. In the last decade of his life, the star would re-emerge as a respected elder statesmen of the genre who was sought out by up-and-coming filmmakers like Roger Corman, Mario Bava, and the aforementioned Peter Bogdanovich. Another such example was Michael Reeves. In-between his debut with Barbara Steele and the iconic “Witchfinder General” with Vincent Price, Reeves would direct Karloff in “The Sorcerers.” In its own way, the film comments on the rapidly changing times as much as “Targets” did the next year. 

Marcus Monserrat is an elderly scientist who has sought out the psychological and medical uses of hypnotism. Alongside his wife, Estelle, he is about to launch his most groundbreaking research yet. Dr. Monserrat heads into a common bar and meets Matt Roscoe. Matt is a young man bored of London's night life and in search of new experiences. The old man promises him one. Roscoe is taken back to his lab and exposed to a bizarre test. The experiment establishes a hypnotic link between Monserat and the younger man, enabling the former to psychically control the latter from afar. Marcus wants to keep the procedure as scientific as possible but Estelle – who discovers she can share the psychic link by touching her husband's hand – has other ideas in plan. She uses the younger man's body to act out her repressed impulses. It's not long before, by seeing through someone else's eyes and willing him to act, that Estelle develops a taste for murder. Dr. Monserrat does what he can to stop his wife before she's totally out of control.

Notoriously, Michael Reeves would die far too young, after completing his third motion picture. However, over his short filmography, he did show some interesting reoccurring themes. “Witchfinder General” saw a tyrannical older man using his position of power to abuse those lower on the social ladder than him with impunity. In “The She-Beast,” the spirit of an ancient witch would possess a younger woman. “The Sorcerers,” meanwhile, is also about the older generation literally taking control of someone younger than them. While the Monserrats insists that their reputation has been ruined by his highly publicized past failures, they still seem to live a fairly comfortable life. Roscoe is someone plucked randomly, after the two scheming old people decide any younger person would do for their purposes. In its own way, this is a clear depiction of the generational divide that was all too evident in 1967, of an older generation desperate to maintain control over youths that were deemed wild and unruly. 

“The Sorcerers” makes this gap apparent in other ways. The title brings a story of witchcraft and ancient rites to mind. This stands in contrast with a story that very much set in the modern day. Though ostensibly presented as a scientific experiment, the Monserrats' powers are indistinguishable from magic or any other supernatural ability. Despite that, the film makes multiple attempts to represents its modern day setting. The process that puts Roscoe under the doctor's control is a psychedelic light show of swirling, wild colors. The film takes place in the swingin' rock clubs of the time and the gritty back allies of the modern city. It's easy to see “The Sorcerers” as a condemnation of the wild in the streets youths of the sixties. However, that the young man is forced to kill at the sadistic impulses of an old woman reveals the truth: It's not that society has abandoned any sense of morality. These tendencies to violate ethical codes have always existed within mankind and our only brought out by a change of circumstances. Roscoe is kind of an asshole but he's not a bad guy. Estelle realizing she can abandon all restrictions and run amok in another human's body reveals her as a much more insidious threat. 

The original screenplay for “The Sorcerers” was written by John Burke, a prolific writer of short horror stories and film and TV novelizations. Supposedly, his script was greatly rewritten by Reeves, to the point that Burke would only receive a story credit. Among the changes made, reportedly, were done on-set to make Boris Karloff's character more sympathetic. The film repeatedly implies that Dr. Moserrat does get some pleasure out of taking over the mind and body of a younger man. The contrast between his fragile old body and the virile young Roscoe is too obvious. His wife takes it way further, becoming the Lady MacBeth in this story and eventually making her husband a prisoner in their home. It's hard to find Karloff sympathetic, playing a rather Dr. Frankenstein-ian role of a scientist who looses control of his own creation. Making his wife the film's villain might've been a weird sexist move and it might still be. Luckily, Catherine Lacey makes Estelle into a deliciously depraved character. She shows so much long-buried venom coming to the surface as she's given a chance to unleash her darker desires. It is an at-times chilling portrayal of an unchecked id set loose to act out its worst tendencies.

Much like “The She-Beasts,” “The Sorcerers” still feels quite rough around the edges. The story is a bit shapeless at times. Roscoe and his young friends are never given much personality or depth. Especially since he spends most of the movie as a literal cipher for somebody else's wants. His day job at an antique shop – amusingly called The Glory Hole – feels like an afterthought. There's more scenes of a slightly off-note singer grooving and crooning in the clubs than I'd think necessary. There's some tacky crash-zooms. Mostly, the film feels held back by an inability – either a creative choice or the pressure of censorship – to get nastier. The idea of infirm old people invading the mind of a young man, let loose to fuck and kill however they want, can never be as fully explored as the material demands. Still, “The Sorcerers” is an interesting one. Karloff is as sturdy as ever, Lacey is fiery and unforgettable. The film is overflowing with ideas, some better utilized than others. The ending struck me as abrupt but leads into a haunting final image. It's a real shame Reeves died so young, as he was clearly only beginning to come into his own as an interesting filmmaker. As it is, “The Sorcerers” is definitely a unique and interesting snapshot of the horror genre in transition. [7/10]

Tales of Tomorrow: Frankenstein

In August of 1951, “Tales of Tomorrow” debuted on ABC. It was the first science fiction anthology series to air on American television and was, like many such programs at the time, broadcast live. The series adapted contemporary sci-fi writers like Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Philip Wylie, Lewis Padgett, and Fredric Brown. The show delved into classics sometimes too, condensing “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” or Wells' “The Crystal Egg” to a half-hour runtime. One such episode was a version of “Frankenstein.” The show grabbed Lon Chaney Jr. to play the reanimated corpse which probably seemed like a great idea... But this was Chaney in the twilight of his career, when he often showed up to set sloppy drunk. Supposedly, he was so sloshed while starring in “Tales of Tomorrow” that he mistook the live broadcast for a dress rehearsal. When scripted to smash some furniture, he is said to have gently placed it down instead and mumbled “Save for later.” I first read this trivia as a kid – probably in the Crestwood Monsters books or something by Daniel Cohen – and it always sounded a bit far-fetched to me. This particular episode of “Tales of Tomorrow” survives and can be easily found online, meaning it's time for me to see if there's any truth to this oft-told tale. 

This iteration of “Frankenstein” has little to do with Mary Shelley's novel. Set in the modern day, this time Baron Frankenstein is depicted as operating out of a castle on an obscure island. He talks passionately about creating artificial life, which spooks his fiance Elizabeth, her dad, and her little brother. That's because the Baron has already assembled his creation, bringing the stitched-together being to life with a jolt of electricity. The hideously ugly monster breaks out of confinement, frightening the servants and child before throttling the butler's wife to death. Horrified by his own creation, Frankenstein sets out to destroy the beast. However, the only thing that can stop Frankenstein's monster is the same thing that brought it to life: A bolt of lightning. 

To sate anybody's curiosity: Yes, ol' Lon does pick up a chair and a table, shakes them as if he's about to throw them, before slowly putting them back. I didn't catch him mouthing anything about smashing the furniture later, so I'll say this urban legend is only mostly true. I can't say if Chaney was actually drunk. He spends the entire episode thrusting his hands out, scowling, screeching and grumbling. It's not his proudest moment but it's also a totally serviceable take on the Frankenstein monster. Despite the extremely abbreviated take on the material, I do like that the script repeatedly emphasizes that the creature is an innocent rejected by the world for reasons he has no control over. A scene where he encounters the little boy in the middle of a spirited playtime, the kid quickly comparing the monster to the ugly invisible enemies he's fighting off, illustrates that nicely. Chaney was excellent at making his monsters equally pitiable and threatening and we get a little bit of that here, despite the rushed execution of the material. 

The limitations of live television are fairly evident. The entire story is confined to the castle set. When Chaney tumbled through a window and into the lake below, all the falling and splashing occurs totally off-screen. Shoving the doctor's entire arc – of being obsessed with making life, being horrified by his creation and promising to destroy it – into a half-hour feels very rushed. Seven years before hosting “One Step Beyond,” John Newland appeared here as the doctor and does what he can for the limited material. The episode makes decent use of its shadowy setting. I do like the shot of Chaney reaching his hands out towards the camera. However, “Tales of Tomorrow's” take on “Frankenstein” is fairly stagey and abbreviated. I'm glad I was able to finally watch this notorious bit of horror history but it's not that notable outside of Chaney's lack of sobriety. [6/10]

 

The Addams Family: My Fair Cousin Itt

I had a reasonably kooky, creepy time with “The Addams Family” last September so I'm back with season two. The fan favorite extended family member/vocal hairpiece is back in “my Fair Cousin Itt.” For Wednesday's upcoming birthday party, Gomez has written a play full of the required amount of tragedy and intrigue with starring roles for members of the family. Noticing that Itt's self-esteem is a bit low lately, the decision is made to give him the leading role. A director is recruited in the form of snooty professional Erich von Bissell, who is reluctant to accept until he sees the wad of cash Gomez is offering. Von Bissell insists he can't work with Cousin Itt's chattering voice, prompting Morticia to give the walking wig some elocution training. This works too well, as Itt develops a deep baritone and a pretentious actor's attitude along with it.

“My Fair Cousin itt” is perhaps not the most structurally sound episode of “The Addams Family.” The direction of the plot changes several time. Initially, it seems that Uncle Fester and Lurch being jealous of Itt getting the lead role – and plotting to lock him up somehow – is going to be the main gag of the episode. Once von Bissell enters, the direction shifts to a more typical episode set-up. Namely, an outsider being continuously freaked out by the Addams Family. The stiff, egotistical and broke Von Bissell would certainly be a fine foil for Gomez and the gang. He abruptly exits the episode half-way through, at which point the focus turns towards Itt remaking himself into a star of the stage with an inflated perception of himself. That's kind of a lot of premises to cram into one half-hour.

Not that I didn't enjoy “My Fair Cousin Itt.” The gags come fast and frequently. A reoccurring bit about Gomez balancing a succession of unlikely objects on his chin opens the episode before returning at the end in an amusing manner. Ted Kassidy gets some good moments, especially when a surprised Lurch is asked to repeat his mumbled response. The amusement factor in the usually jibbering Cousin Itt speaking with an expressive, theatrical baritone is limited. However, I did like it when he entered a scene on the back of a sheep dog. It's weird that Wednesday motivates the entire plot of this episode but is only in one scene herself though. [7/10]

Halloween 2024: September 23rd

Children of the Corn (2020)

The year was 2020 and the world was in the grips of a pandemic the likes of which hadn't been seen in a hundred years. But someone knew exactly what was needed during this troubled time, to bring us all together and heal our hearts: A new "Children of the Corn" movie. Yes, Kurt Wimmer – the visionary filmmaker who boldly answered the question of "What if Paul W.S. Anderson's movies were shittier?" – believed so much in this idea that he forged ahead after the threat of COVID-19 put a stop to most film productions. Thus are the risks you take for art! In all seriousness, a remake of "Children of the Corn" had been bandied about as soon as people forgot one already existed. With the death of Dimension Films putting the rights up for grabs and the box office success of "IT" making King adaptations hot again, time was probably right for a new one. Unfortunately, the bad luck that began with filming during a pandemic continued as, after one screening, the movie basically disappeared for two years. Shudder dug it up, dusted off the corn silk, and slapped the reboot onto their streaming service last year. How does the latest entry in this inexplicably long-running franchise stack up? 

2020's "Children of the Corn" does make a clever choice I'm surprised the franchise hadn't done before. Instead of taking place after the killings have already happened, it shows the child uprising as it plays out. In a small Nebraskan town, Eden's older brother leads a revolt among the local children that results in a whole crowd of kids being killed via poison gas. Eden is then adopted by a pastor living in nearby Rylstone. The town's livelihood of corn is failing, prompting an idea to destroy the crops and take a government subsidy. Local teenager Bo is against this idea, thinking a long term strategy is better. Eden is horrified too but that's because she's begun to worship an entity living in the cornfields called He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Having gathered a following among the town's children, Eden leads a bloody revolt against every adult. Bo stays behind to save her father and break the hold the cult has on her younger brother. 

Dropping the Christian fanaticism and pagan rites of every previous iteration, this "Children of the Corn" instead posits another explanation for the murders: Maybe the adults had it coming. Eden convinces the local kids to wipe out the grown-ups by speaking to genuine grievances the youths have with the prior generation. Kids have been abused, ignored, mocked, and left to live in a world without a future. The bloodshed starts with a mock trial against the town's leaders, which ends with a whole crowd being buried alive in a mass grave. When Eden promises that Rylstone is only the beginning, that she's going to lead a bloody revolution against all grown-ups everywhere, it speaks to the idea that children actually are an underclass that have suffered throughout human history. A charismatic leader radicalizing an overlooked social caste by speaking to the resentment in their heart is probably a more plausible modern cause for this story than brainwashing by Old Testament moralizing or eldritch nature deities. 

While Wimmer's film has some bold ideas, the scares simply aren't there. Everyone having cell phones and internet connection remove the small town isolation pivotal to the other films. An overall drab, earthy visual style removes any chance at atmosphere. There's a curious cruelty to the death scenes, too sadistic to function as cathartic fake violence but not realistic enough to be disturbing. More than anything else, these children aren't creepy. They're kind of goofy actually, playing pirate or "Alice in Wonderland"-themed make-believe games before graduating to mass patricide. The sense of strict social structures or cult-like devotion present in previous iterations of the story isn't here, the audience never feeling the sway Eden's beliefs have over the other kids. This shaky uncertainty is paired with some ghastly CGI jump scares that truly undermine any tension.

At times, it feels like this "Children of the Corn" is toying with removing the supernatural element from the story altogether. The movie is filled with some vague anti-GMO undertones, pointing out that the townsfolk have used fancy pesticides and lab-grown seeds in hopes of saving their dying town. In the first scene, Bo points out that toxic molds can grow on dying corn and that such an outbreak probably led to mass hysterias like the Salem witch trials. Both ideas are basically dropped in the second half, when it's revealed that He Who Walks Behind the Rows is real. And he's a giant CGI cornstalk monster. All of the "Children of the Corn" movies have struggled with how to depict the unseen god referenced in King's story. A knock-off PS4 Swamp Thing proves no more convincing than a cloud of red graphics or a fireball in a grain silo. After this reveal, the reboot abandons its killer kid gimmick to become an uninspired monster movie, building to an extremely stupid gotcha ending. 

An influence from 2017's "IT" – and the inspiration that film took from "Stranger Things" – is certainly felt. Elena Kampouris, as Bo, has a Sophia Lillis vibe about her with her tomboy fashion and curly bob. Like that film and show, this "Children of the Corn" attempts to invest us in the young characters' lives. Bo's father seems to have been recently left by their cheating mother, though the exact nature of this split is never defined. Her brother is annoyed that she's leaving town to go to college, feeling abandoned. Both of these subplots are dropped long before the end and none of this half-formed melodrama hooks the viewer anyway. It's a bummer too, as the young actors aren't bad. Kampouris has a certain girl-next-door charm about her that's paired with a spunky, can-do attitude. While I'm mixed on the character of Eden in general, finding her more annoying than creepy, I do think Kate Moyer did a decent job. Her anti-adult rants are convincing enough. She shows a cold brutality, which comes from a place of genuine contempt for the grown-ups around her.

With a better fleshed-out script and a director more interested in creating a foreboding atmosphere than playing with CGI bullshit, I think this "Children of the Corn" probably could've been a good movie. Taking more from the childhood resentment of "Who Could Kill a Child?" was a better idea than referring back to any of the previous sequels. It has some strong ideas and solid leads. As ridiculous as the notion of a corn-centric horror series is, clearly something about this premise resonates with people. They wouldn't have made eleven fucking movies if it didn't. So I'm sure He Who Walks Behind the Rows, in whatever form he takes next, will rise from the cornfield again at some point in the future. Until then, 2020's "Children of the Corn" represents an interesting attempt at reinventing the story that never fully wins you over. [6/10]

Your Vice Is a Locked Door and Only I Have the Key (1972)

Il tuo vizio è una stanza chiusa e solo io ne ho la chiave

Too often, the word "giallo" is thrown around to refer to any Italian horror movie that doesn't have zombies in it. Listen, people, please: "Suspiria" is not a giallo. This is all the sillier since gialli are easily identified by their titles. The more lurid and long-winded the Italian title is, the likelier the film is to contain black-gloved murderers, stylish directions, unusually observant detectives, and a smattering of eroticism. I kid, of course, as outliers with one-word titles, like "Autopsy" or "Libido," do exist... You might think of "Torso" as a simply-named giallo but Italian prints are known as "The Bodies Bear Traces of Carnal Violence!"  Sergio Martino directed that one. He also made my favorite example of a sleazy killer-thriller whose name functions as a short story on its own, 1972's "Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key." 

Oliviero's mother was a successful actress, famous for playing Mary Scott. Upon her death, she left her riches, her estate, and a boatload of mommy issues to her son. Once a popular novelist, Oliviero has fallen into alcoholism and perversion. He takes his sexual and creative frustration out on Irina, his much-abused and long suffering wife. Irina is also tormented by her late mother-in-law's cat, nicknamed Satan. When Oliviero's mistress and the house's maid are brutally murdered, Irina begins to suspect that her husband is a killer. The arrival of Oliviero's comely niece, Floriana, inflames everyone's passions further. The three are soon entangled in their own schemes, as the bodies pile up in the wine cellar. 

"Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key" isn't an especially representative title. The words are taken from an earlier Martino gialli and the script is another loose adaptation of Poe's "The Black Cat." Not that there isn't plenty of vice here! In fact, the film possesses an impressively depraved atmosphere. Within the opening minutes, Oliviero has been sexually racist towards his maid, invited a hippy chick to dance naked on his table, and brutally assaulted his wife. Incest, voyeurism, prostitution, piquerism, animal cruelty, and dirt bikes all weave their way into the plot. Did I mention that Floriana is bisexual and easily seduces Irina too? The film's twisted soul is most reflected in the character of Oliviero. An always sweaty, always hirsute booze hound who is also always horny despite his implied impotence, he spends the entire movie ranting and raving at everyone while holding an unseemly obsession with his dead mother. That's the world "Your Vice..." takes place in, one where psychological hang-ups have long since calcified into aberrant fetishes and shrieking madness. The murder is a natural side effect of such an environment, where wanting to fuck your niece feels like one of the more reasonable things the male lead tries to do. 

Despite an incredibly lurid plot,  "Your Vice" isn't only a sleazy exploitation movie. While Oliviero is all raging id and libido, Irina spends nearly the entire movie in a state of hysterics. Considering she lives with an abusive monster and is even terrorized by the family cat, you can't blame her for going a little crazy. Setting this story in a crumbling villa is fitting, the shadows of the dilapidated building reflecting the broken minds of its characters. Like any gialli worth its salt, the story has multiple twists, turns, and double-crosses. Presumed innocents will be revealed as schemers before being betrayed by yet another conniving femme fatale. The most sympathetic angle of the script, that it's about putting us inside the head of a deeply traumatized woman, is lost before the end. I suppose that's only fitting, as the obscuring shadows of madness also deceive the eyes. In a movie this grimy, everyone has blood on their hands by the end. 

It's not as if a few narrative loose ends are atypical for films like this. All the gaps are filled with the stylish visuals we expect of the subgenre. This is my third Sergio Martino and his strength for voyeuristic eroticism is already apparent. We often watch over people's shoulders as murder, sexual encounters, or eavesdropping occurs. Martino and cinematographer Giancarlo Ferrnando apply soft-focus sensuality or lecherous leering to the nude scenes. The shocking scenes, meanwhile, are heavy on the crash-zooms and latex skin being slashed open. These elements veer towards the tacky at times. However, a sequence where a dead body tumbles down the stairs is a showstopper. By the time we get to the frenziedly edited climax – which cuts between a motorcycle ride around twisting cliffs, close-ups on a provocative billboard, and the killer's preparation while Bruno Nicolai's intoxicating score swirls around it all – I knew the movie had fully won me over. 

A killer clad in a fedora, white stocking mask, black gloves, and wielding a billhook always pairs nicely with a flashy direction and a kinky plot. What truly puts "Your Vice is a Locked Door and Only I Have the Key" over-the-top is a trio of operatic performances. Luigi Pistili operates at eleven throughout the entire runtime, making Oliviero as big of a bastard as possible, never letting a mere look or whisper do when a wild glare or bellow is better. Edwige Fenech gets top-billing despite not appearing until twenty minutes in, looking almost painfully gorgeous. Her eyes always sparkle with the perfect mix of playful innocence and seductive scheming. Anita Strindberg plays Irina as a woman far pass her limit, long since broken down by constant abuse. She switches – effectively, I'll add – into a gleaming seductress at times. However, when the Poe-inspired conclusion arrives and she wails "SATANA!!!" to the heavens, the film is re-centered around her sad, shaken up persona. 

Of Martino's work I've seen so far, "Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key" is easily my favorite. The murder scenes maybe aren't as gorgeously stylish as those seen in Bava or Argento's best work. However, the twisted script and psychological darkness drew me in as the visuals and music get more and more hypnotic. When the Poe component comes back around at the very end, I realized I was smiling ear-to-ear. This sick little feature had found the key to my locked room. Or maybe Martino's other movies only needed to put Edwige Fenech in a pageboy haircut and hot pants to make me love this much. Either way, this is essential viewing for Italian horror devotees, a gory, sleazy, campy, and intoxicating experience. [9/10]

Orson Welles Great Mysteries: The Monkey's Paw

I always thought Orson Welles would've made a perfect host for an anthology series. His resounding voice, eloquent delivery, and distinctive screen presence made him an ideal master of ceremonies for any presentation of the macabre or unusual. A particular radio broadcast proved that. During the frozen peas era of his career, he'd also lend his talent and reputation to any commercial or talk show willing to pay his bill, born out of a desire to fund his serially unfinished passion projects. My suspicion that Welles must've hosted his own "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" at some point was correct. It didn't air in this country though. "Orson Welles Great Mysteries" was broadcast on ITV during the 1973-1974 season. Wearing what looks like the same fedora and cloak from "F for Fake," Welles would introduce tales of mystery and suspense, often adapted from the works of well-known authors. Not every episode dabbled in the uncanny but a few did. Such as the eleventh, a take on W.W. Jacob's oft-told "The Monkey's Paw." 

If you read the story during high school English class, this adaptation will present few surprises. Other than moving the setting into the modern day, it follows the text closely. Elderly retirees, the Whites, are visited by an old friend, Major Morris. Morris has acquired an enchanted monkey's paw while in India, claiming it can grant three wishes but always at a horrible price. Not taking these warnings seriously, the Whites' son encourages his dad to wish for a thousand pounds, to pay off the mortgage. The next day, Herbert is horribly killed in an accident at work. The factory owner offers the family a thousand pounds in compensation. Two wishes remain, the Whites attempting to undo the horror the cursed paw has wrought and only making things worse in the process. 

Jacob's story is so iconic and influential throughout pop culture that it's hard to believe it didn't always exist. Even today, you see memes and jokes about the finger on the monkey's paw curling. The premise of getting whatever you want, but only in the most horribly ironic way, feels mythic. As does the story's climax, in which seemingly the resurrected but hideously mangled corpse of the son bangs at the door unseen. It's the kind of classical ghost story intrinsic to the human imagination, endlessly retold and parodied. Like all timeless tales, it carries a moral too: Be careful what you wish for, as it might come true. Welles' introduction centers in on the ideas of coincidence and destiny, questioning whether we are to take the story's supernatural elements at face value and how much control we have over our own fate. 

As for this dramatic presentation, it is a serviceable telling of the tale. Patrick Magee, making one of his many appearances in British genre entertainment of the time, is properly ominous as Morris. In fact, his warnings are so grave that it's hard to imagine the family brushing them aside. The episode is well directed by Alan Gibson, a vet of British television who also directed the final two Christopher Lee Dracula flicks. The dissolve from the spinning gears of Herbert's bicycle to a clock's face is clever, emphasizing time clicking down in the boy's life and suggesting the industrial accident that will take it. The final act is set up by the wind blowing outside, establishing a properly eerie mood. The banging on the door never builds much suspense but the final shot – a slow pull-out in the open door, mist blowing through the air,  surrounded by darkness – is quite striking. Not bad! By the way, Welles hosted another anthology series later in his career, though "Scene of the Crime" veered more towards the procedural side of things and is even more obscure. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Art and the Addams Family

The pop art movement was rolling along in the early sixties, so it's not surprising that "The Addams Family" would obliquely comment on it. "Art and the Addams Family" sees Granmama getting into modernism. When a local art critic turns his nose up at her work, Gomez decides to hire a teacher. He tries to call Pablo Picasso and instead gets in contact with Sam Picasso, a nobody from Spain. Sam is, at first, overjoyed to be taken in by the rich Addams. Soon, however, he finds himself terrified by the family's unusual habits. 

"The Addams Family" cloaked its humor in campy, classic horror trappings which allowed it to sneak some surprisingly dark jokes onto sixties television. "Art and the Addams Family" introduces Sam Picasso as he's about to put his neck in a noose. Later, he becomes convinced that the Addams intend to torture or murder him, as he's locked in the dungeon and sees Fester walk in carrying a sword. There's jokes about Kitty Cat eating a zookeeper and Wednesday decapitating all her dolls, both delivered with perfectly innocent verve by Lisa Loring. I'm not going to say any of this was cutting edge, even at the time. Still, I'm surprised at what this show was able to get away with. It was a lot edgier than its competition. 

Otherwise, it's a pretty standard episode of "The Addams Family." Vito Scotti is an amusing straight man as Sam. His attempts to manipulate Gomez backfire, as the patriarch agrees to his every outrageous demand. Scotti's increasingly horrified reactions got a chuckle or two out of me. If nothing else, the show is building nicely on many of its established aspects. Cleopatra the African Strangler plant and Pugsley's habit of digging tunnels are both utilized in amusing moments. It's also kind of odd to think of Pablo Picasso as a contemporary to the Addams Family. He was 82 when this episode aired and was still painting. I wonder if he ever saw it? [6/10]