Halloween 2025: September 26th

 

Lost Souls (2000)

I'm glad that we, as a culture, decided to forgive Winona Ryder. Considering the vile acts male movie stars commit,  their careers intact afterwards, a little shop-lifting truly doesn't feel like a big deal. Hell, it's practically morally justified. As clear as that is in retrospect, the lovely Miss Ryder was truly having a downswing in her career at the turn of the millennium. What was supposed to be her big Oscar moment got overshadowed by another actress. She was the love interest in a lame Adam Sandler movie and a lame Richard Gere weepy. And then there was “Lost Souls.” It probably sounded like a solid career move, as the directorial debut of the cinematographer of “Schindler's List.” However, nobody seemed very enthusiastic about the script and the test screenings were disastrous. A wave of religious horror movies coming out in 1999 – all hoping to cash-in on Y2K Revelations anxiety – led to the film being shelved for over a year. It finally dropped in October of 2000... Opposite a re-release of the biggest Satanic Panic thriller ever. Almost as if the studio was intentionally trying to make sure nobody paid attention to this thing. By that point, Ryder was no longer contractually obligated to promote the film, adding to the stink of failure around the whole project. After that, “Lost Souls” was quickly forgotten by normal people. I am not a normal person, however, and promised to review the movie while talking about “Bless the Child” last year. Well, consider the prophecy fulfilled. 

As a teenager, Maya Larkin survived an exorcism, Father Lareaux driving a demon out of her body. Since then, she has become Lareaux's assistant whenever they are needed. The two arrive at a mental hospital, where an epileptic man and family annihilator has been obsessively writing down numbers. The exorcism is a failure, Father Lareaux left catatonic and the victim stuck in a coma. Maya decodes the man's writing and discovers the name Peter Kelson. That is a lawyer and writer famous for his true crime books on the nature of evil. Peter is having strange dreams and odd experiences. A priest attempts to kill him. Maya slips him an audio recording of the exorcism but Peter can't hear anything on it. The same recording pushes his elderly neighbor to suicide. After meeting Maya again, Peter becomes convinced that his life is the result of a Satanic conspiracy. At midnight, on his 33rd birthday, he will become possessed by the spirit of Satan himself. Maya sets out to stop this apocalyptic chain of events before it is too late.

"Lost Souls" is proof positive that gathering a bunch of talented people together is not enough to prevent the making of a stinky dog turd. The narrative's stakes are about as high as they can get, the good guys racing to stop the creation of the Antichrist before he can get the End Times rolling. Despite that, "Lost Souls" is utterly bereft of tension. The script flip-flops between Maya and Peter as protagonists, the indecisiveness stalling a sense of anticipation. The details of Peter's unholy origins are revealed during a dispassionate conversation, not as a traumatic flashback but as a list of names and events. His shock seems minimal. The movie quickly progresses past the revelation that everyone in the male lead's life has been part of a demonic cult determined to bring the Devil into his body. Most of the exorcisms take place off-screen and the arrival of Satan occurs in a literal blink of an eye. Supporting characters and subplots pop in and out, until they are dismissed. A good example of "Lost Souls'" complete unwillingness to generate any excitement is the climax. A Black Mass gathers to crown Peter as the Father of All Lies. A couple of people get shot and then the heroes escape during a scene transition, what would normally be the most important part of the story occurring completely off-screen. 

As far as I can tell, "Lost Souls" is like this because nobody involved wanted to make an actual horror movie. In one of the few interviews Winona gave concerning the film, she refers to it as "more of a supernatural thriller." Director Janusz Kamiński said the film was "not the most ideal project." After it received a rare F grade from Cinema Score, New Line ordered reshoots to make the movie "scarier." This suggests nobody was trying to make a scary movie in the first place. Reshoots like that almost never work, right? You can spot with ease where these new moments were inserted. Such as when Maya has a vision of a knife wielding maniac in a melting bathroom or a blurry sequence of a man's arms and legs cracking and twisting around. If that sounds like a bad cliche, it's far from the only one present. A true groaner of a moment involves a little girl whispering blasphemous statements, amid jerky editing and digital distortion. The only cliche I find more tiresome than that is attempts to emulate the head-bopping demons of "Jacob's Ladder." "Lost Souls" employs that one too, alongside heavy metal music video style glimpses of a screeching, twitching exorcism. 

"Lost Souls" being such a terminally dull experience is all the more frustrating because of the talent assembled. Based on his work with Spielberg, Julian Schnabel, and Vanilla Ice, Kamiński clearly has an eye for visuals. Mauro Fiore – who would eventually win an Oscar of his own for "Avatar" – is credited with cinematography here. "Lost Souls" received some positive notices for its photography but I don't personally see it. This is a gloomy, grey looking motion picture, overly fond of washed-out colors and dimly lit interiors. Reliable performers like John Hurt, Philip Baker Hall, and Elias Koteas are lined up for a selection of interchangeable supporting rows. It's always a joy to gaze into Winona's giant anime girl eyes but she spends the whole movie looking for some sort of emotion to latch onto. This mostly results in her staring ahead, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with dull surprise. The character's sole defining trait is being a devout Catholic, her faith strictly being an informed and never displayed attribute. She shares zero chemistry with the bland Ben Chaplin as Peter. I think there's supposed to be some sort of romantic chemistry between the two characters but there's no sign of it. There's a mildly clever reveal concerning a hidden pentacle, a brief blip of surprise in an otherwise monotonous story. 

"Lost Souls" is easily the lamest of turn-of-the-millennium Satan movies. "End of Days" is low-tier Arnold but has one or two moments, a cool special effect or a memorable quote. "Bless the Child" is bad but in an occasionally funny, interesting way that reflects the bat-shit beliefs of its author. I don't remember anything about "Stigmata," so I guess I need to write about that one next September. Regardless, you could detect some degree of passion, no matter how misplaced, in those productions. "Lost Souls" is seemingly the result of bored artists showing up, punching a clock, getting a paycheck, and expending not an ounce of themselves in the process. The last scene is so blunt and anticlimactic, furthering the feeling that everybody merely wanted to get this done and move on with their lives. Which is what I shall proceed to do. In their quest to reclaim every studio horror flick of the nineties, and in-between re-issues of "Child's Play" and "The Thing," Scream Factory gave this one a spiffy Blu-Ray. Which did nothing to redeem its reputation. May these souls remain lost. [2/10]
 

Tilbury (1987)

It is a mythological concept that exists all throughout Scandinavia but is practically unknown elsewhere. A witch fashions a creation out of bones, stolen wool or hair, nail clippings, or wood shavings She hides it between her breasts and grows it with the wine she spits out when taking communion. It grows into a weird little creature that sneaks out at night, sucking the near-by cows dry. Once gorged on milk, it returns home and vomits up the stolen goods into a churn, the witch using it to make cursed butter. As a reward, the beastie is allowed to suckle from a secret nipple on the sorceress' inner thigh. In Sweden, it usually takes the form of a hare or cat and is called a bjära. The Norwegians imagine the beast as a living ball of wool known as a trollnøste. The Estonian kratt is made from household items and brought to life with blood but still steals for its master. Latvian witches had the pūķis, a small dragon that dragged home gold and grain. In Iceland, however, this particular creature is a gruesome looking worm-thing called a tilberi. In 1987, Icelandic filmmaker Viðar Víkingsson would direct an hour long television movie inspired by this same mythology. Severin would bring this “Tilbury” to its widest audience yet as part of its folk horror box set a few years back. 

The year is 1940 and the place is the Icelandic countryside. Auðun is a young man, a swimmer. He still harbors an attachment to his boyhood crush, Gudrún. After receiving news that he's been recruited into the war effort,  Gudrún's pastor father asks Auðun to check on her. Arriving at the British controlled military base,  Auðun discovers that the girl he knew has grown into a promiscuous young woman. She's carrying on an affair with a married British officer named Tilbury. The eccentric, impish man seems to have a strange sway over Gudrún. Auðun seemingly spies him sucking on her thigh and puking up green butter. As Auðun grows increasingly obsessed with his childhood friend, he becomes more and more convinced that her lover is a monster from Icelandic folklore. 

“Tilbury” begins with a short prologue, explaining the specifics of the folkloric creature its story revolves around. The sequence focuses closely on the witch's breasts, thighs, and her spitting out the sacrament. It brings a distinctly sexual nature to the ritual. When  Auðun spies the officer Tilbury with his lips on his crush's thigh, it is similarly provocative. Especially when these meetings are done in secret places or under tables, leaving slimy residue behind. It's a shock to the boy to see the girl he likes being so wantonly sexual with a creepy little pervert. The more we see of Auðun's childhood recollections, however, the less wholesome they seem. He repeatedly revisits the image of the young girls teasing him by kicking their legs over his head as they're on swings. Is he looking up their skirts or laying down under them in preparation for...? Well, when paired with the tilberi's acts of suckling and vomiting – his lover and creator being the same figure, that he calls “Mommy” – it all starts to feel very kinky. Auðun's resentment of Officer Tilbury is clearly based in jealousy. At the same time, it starts to feel like he equally resents him and Gudrún for being willing to express their sexuality in an open, wanton way. 

“Tilbury” is probably most easily read as a film about sexual repression, a tightly wound young man suffering the culture shock of a more modern, sexually liberated couple. At the same time, there are more international concerns on Víkingsson's mind. The British presence in Iceland is shown as something of an unnatural intrusion, the foul-mouthed Brits often bullying and harassing Auðun. It makes him an outsider in his own country. Chocolate bars are made from the tilberi's green butter. Later on, the film connects this with crass corporate capitalism coming to Iceland, furthering the feeling that the supernatural threat represents the corrosive effects of American excess. Among the soldiers is another swimmer who gets imprisoned for possibly being a Nazi. He obviously sucks but he's also the first person to correctly identify Tilbury as a monster. Which makes me wonder what the hell the filmmaker meant by several Menorahs being present when the villain goes fully demonic. Needless to say, there's something deeper being hinted at here and I don't think it's antisemitic? 

While certain elements of “Tilbury” left me uncertain of how to feel, I still enjoyed it a lot. In general, the film has a delightfully light surreal touch to it. When we are greeted to bizarre sights – like our hero stepping from a swimming pool into a sauce that is also a military watch tower – you're left wondering if you're watching a dream sequence or a reflection of objective reality. The most delightful mixture of these elements occurs during a stylish shot dance sequence, the protagonist's anxieties playing out as a musical number. This is furthered with the bizarre sights we're shown, most of which involve the tilberi's very antisocial behavior. The amount of green butter puke in this movie pushes it into the realm of gross-out comedy at times, which I mean as a compliment. Karl Ágúst Úlfsson has such an uncomfortable greasiness to him in the eponymous role, that you totally believe he's a milk-sucking goblin. The special effects are extremely lo-fi yet the persistently off-beat tone the movie cultivates makes that work.

That might be my primary disappointment with “Tilbury.” Most of the oral tradition and folk art about tilberi depict them as grotesque worm-like creatures. The replicas on display at the Icelandic Museum of Sorcery and Witchcraft recall lengths of intestines, pre-mature fetuses, and massive globs of belly button lint. The creature in the movie, meanwhile, is mostly depicted as a human being with some impish features. Not that I'd expect a low-budget television film to truly have the money and resources to depict a creature that weird anyway. Mostly, it makes me wish that we had way more movies about this particular monsters, to allow for more cinematic interpretations of them. This “Tilbury” is still cool though, an oddly funny and funnily odd tale of witchcraft, sexual hang-ups, World War II, and globs of green butter. [7/10]

 

Faerie Tale Theater: The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers

Presumably following the logic that people spend money on their kids, premium cable channels in the eighties produced a surprising amount of kids' show. In September of 1982, Showtime would begin broadcasting “Faerie Tale Theatre.” Produced and hosted by the fittingly whimsical Shelley Duvall, the series often featured A-list celebrities as guest stars. (And sometimes had high profile names behind the camera too, with Francis Ford Coppola and Tim Burton directing two episodes.) Usually, this was in-service of doing wacky and comical retellings of the most well-known Grimm's fairy tales. Occasionally, however, the show would present a more obscure story. Such as “The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers,” based on the even more awkwardly entitled “The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was.” As you might have guessed from the title, this was essentially the program's Halloween special, presenting a tone a bit more ghoulish than your standard modernized take on a fairy tale. 

That means it's still less gruesome than the original text, which might be the origin of the hoary horror cliché of spending the night in a haunted house to win a monetary prize. The titular character is Martin, the son of a superstitious carpenter. The boy has never experienced fear, not because he's exceptionally brave but because he's too dim-witted to know better. The boy is sent to ring the church bell at night, a set-up for a prank by the local deacon. This only results in the man getting his leg broken, leading to Martin being kicked out of his father's home. He eventually wanders towards an inn in the land of Transylvania. King Vladimir, the ruler of this land, is staying there with his daughter, Princess Amanda. That's because the castle is so beset by ghosts that nobody is willing to live there. The king makes Martin the same offer he's presented to several lads before him: If he can last three nights in the haunted castle without dying or being scared off, he will win riches and the princess' hand. Martin agrees to the task, despite having no use for money, because he hopes he'll finally be frightened for the first time in his life. However, the boy's cluelessness once again makes him difficult to startled, no matter how many spectres and zombies appear before him. 

The cast list for any given episode of “Faerie Tale Theatre” sometimes feels like if every part in a “Saturday Night Live” sketch was played by a celebrity guest hosts. A not-especially boy-ish thirty year old Peter MacNicol plays the title “boy.” Christopher Lee is King Vlad, explicitly identified as the son of Vlad the Impaler. David Warner is the innkeeper. Vincent Price is the narrator. Most randomly of all, Frank Zappa plays the king's hunchbacked assistant. And would you believe that Zappa gives the funniest performance? He never speaks and instead silently performs physical gags, like smashing a window when asked to let in some fresh air or rubbing a stolen apple on his arm pit. Lee mostly plays it straight, with just a bit more goofiness in his usual style. MacNicol is playing a very silly character but otherwise does it straight, playing a character whose exceptional courage actually extends from a genuine inability to process when he's in danger. 

Despite the Hollywood cast and quite detailed sets, “Faerie Tale Theatre” was still somewhat shot like a “Muppet Show” segment. The camera work is largely stationary. The digital effects are exceedingly cheesy. The writing still feels a little like a comedy sketch stretched to a full hour. Which is not to say I didn't enjoy “The Boy Who Left Hoe to Find Out About the Shivers.” Anytime the episode commits to capturing a non-threatening but suitably spooky haunted house ambiance, it's a ton of fun. The old castle setting looks like a bitchin' small time amusement park fun house. Set pieces involving a pendulum swinging into place or a revolving door feel right out of a classic “Abbott & Costello Meet the Monsters” flick. There's a pretty cool looking Grim Reaper and blinking gargoyle. The highlight of the episode is clearly a sequence where a horde of zombie-like spirits emerge, eventually playing a game of ten pins with skulls and femurs. That sounds like a great party to me! The finale features Christopher Lee shooting some extremely unconvincing laser beams out of his hands, before the punchline of the entire enterprise – the only thing that scares the boy without fear is the thought of getting married, hey-oooooo – arrives right when you expect. I would've absolutely been obsessed with this if I had seen it as a kid. [7/10]

 

The Addams Family: Cat Addams

We haven't seen Kitty Kat, the Addams' pet lion, in a while but the writers haven't forgotten about them. “Cat Addams” is kicked off when Grandmama notices that the feline is acting lethargic and not eating. Gomez quickly comes to the conclusion that Kitty Kat is not sick but rather lonely. The Addams decide to hide out on safari and seek out the help of the family witch doctor, Dr. Mbogo, in locating a mate for Kitty Kat. Unfortunately, this does not work, as Kitty's dad apparently ate Mbojo's dad. Instead, the family calls up a veterinarian called Dr. Gunderson. Gunderson arrives for a house call, assuming he is helping out a regular house cat. When he's terrified by the lion, Gomez and Morticia assumes that the guy is just suffering from a lack fo confidence. They enact a scheme to boost the terrified vet's self-esteem. 

Like “The Great Treasure Hunt” before it, this is another episode of “The Addams Family” that starts off pursuing a plot point far outside the budgetary limits of a sixties sitcom. The idea of Gomez and the gang going on safari and trying to pair Kitty Kat up with a girlfriend would probably be a lot of fun... Sadly, this show couldn't afford to have real actors in the same room with an actual lion. The brief moment where Dr. Gunderson has to interact with the lion is achieved by having stock footage of a lion – clearly not the same one that usually depicts Kitty – awkwardly inserted into the Addams' basement. The producers couldn't even afford to show Dr. Mbogo in his hut, instead using brief reused footage from his first appearance in “Uncle Fester's Illness.”

Instead, the majority of “Cat Addams” is about guest star Marty Ingels as Dr. Gunderson reacting with terror and bafflement to the Addams' antics. Yes, it's yet another episode like that. My familiarity with Mr. Ingels' work only extends to his voice work in crappy old Hanna-Barbera cartoons like “The Grape Ape Show” and “Pac-Man.” (He previously did another sitcom with John Astin.) If I had to guess, I would assume that playing over-the-top cowards like this was part of his regular shtick. Regardless, he does make for an amusing presence. The back-and-forth he has with Cousin Itt and an illness feigning Fester does make for an honest chuckle or two. This episode is also notable for Lurch appearing instantly when summoned, the butler producing a Tsetsee fly right from his jacket, and Astin and Carolyn Jones giving each other some crazy bedroom eyes during one sequence. Pretty standard stuff but, hey, I like it. [7/10]

Halloween 2025: September 4th

 

Sinners (2025)

Perhaps I was the last movie nerd in the world to underestimate Ryan Coogler. 
Establishing himself in 2013 with ripped-from-the-headlines indie drama "Fruitvale Station," Coogler would bring that same level of grit and sincerity to franchise filmmaking with "Creed." "Black Panther" would launch him into the stratosphere but, I felt anyway, at the sacrifice of a lot of his more intimate style. This was truer still of the superhero blockbuster's inevitable sequel, which wasn't all that distinguishable from any other mid-tier Marvel movie. A lot of smaller directors have signed up for massive studio projects with the understanding that this will give them a blank check to fund their weird, personal efforts from now on, an agreement that is increasingly unfulfilled. It seemed like Coogler was going down this same path but, actually, I'm a wrong idiot who is wrong. Coogler came back with "Sinners," a personal, gritty, weird genre hybrid that became a big hit earlier this year. It's also the best new release I've seen in theaters in a while and looks unlikely to be dethroned as my favorite film of 2025. Here, let me ramble about it some more. 

In Prohibition-era Mississippi, twins Elijah and Elias – nicknamed Smoke and Stack – return to their home town. Using money and booze stolen from the Chicago mob, they purchase an old sawmill with the intention of turning it into a juke joint. They recruit several locals to run it, including their cousin and aspiring bluesman Sammie, experienced musician Delta Slim, Smoke's ex-wife and Hoodoo practitioner Annie, and a pair of Chinese immigrant shop owners. The club attracts a crowd, including Stack's white passing ex-girlfriend Mary and Pearline, a singer Sammie takes a liking to. Sammie's soulful playing also draws the attention of Remmick, a white vampire recently chased into the area. Unable to enter the joint without an invitation, he begins to transform anyone who ventures outside into undead bloodsuckers. A tense standout ensues through the night that will change the lives of everyone involved. 

“Sinners” is a movie of great texture and I mean that almost literally. Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw shot the film on 65mm, ensuring a depth to the film's look that seems much more difficult to achieve with digital technology. Every shot of the film is filled with details, from the extremely precise period costumes to the production design that makes every setting seem like a real, lived-in location. This sense of specificity extends all throughout “Sinners.” The characters' backstories and pasts are discussed naturally through dialogue, suggesting a whole world existed before the viewer sees the events of the film. Whether its the fate of Smoke and Annie's unborn child, the brothers' history as World War I veterans or time working with the mob, or the personal recollections of Mary or Delta Slim's lives, it all adds up to create a world that feels utterly fully formed. The film embraces the shared histories of blues music, the lives of the black community in the American south, how Hoodoo grew out of African mysticism, and a vampire mythology all its own. This pairs extremely well with the Mississippi setting, where everyone is always glistening with a layer of sweat and dirt. 

Honestly, the first act of “Sinners,” devoted entirely to introducing this cast of extremely well realized characters and the world they inhabit, could have gone on longer than it did. However, “Sinners” is also a hard-hitting monster movie/action flick mash-up. A sequence in which the established cast stand in a circle and eat garlic cloves in order to determine if any of them are vampires is clearly inspired by the blood test scene in “The Thing.” It's a logical homage, as “Sinners” captures that same Carpenter-style mixture of anticipation and catharsis. Once the vampires outside become a known factor to the humans inside, “Sinners” turns into a tense stand-off. The undead taunt and interrogate the people inside, attempting to draw them out. This is broken up with some expertly crafted action sequences, of brilliantly devised gun fights, extremely physical close-quarters fights, and lots of spurting blood. When the vampires do make it inside the juke joint, it results in one of the most exciting climax in recent history. And “Sinners” isn't afraid of its status as a low-down horror flick either. These bloodsuckers flash their fangs, have eyes that glint in the darkness, leap eerily through the air, and grow increasingly more grotesque looking as the film goes on. 

By inserting its story into such a layered world, “Sinners” touches on about a dozen fascinating observations about America's racial history. Perhaps the most important idea present in the film is the power of music. Blues and black roots music is depicted as spiritually transcendent, melodies filled with so much emotion and power that they pierce spectral boundaries, time and space. This is fantastically depicted in a jaw-dropping sequence where Sammie's performance causes spectres from the past and present to appear throughout the juke joint. It's almost like a crash-course in the history of African-American music, its relevance as a spiritual and cultural force, all in one spellbinding scene. Coogler's film innately understands how music creates a ritual space and doesn't limit that power to any one culture or race. As wicked as the film's vampires are, they were once human too. Remmick is Irish, implied to be as old as the Roman invasion of the British isles. Him and his trope of vampires play bluegrass and dance jigs, equally driven into an almost religious frenzy by the sense of community created by this music. Their music is good too, the film acknowledging that all traditional folk music has the power to bring people together and create an otherworldly connection. 

Music also represents an escape from the troubles of daily life, of which people of color in the thirties south had more than their share of. The undead creatures pressing down on the juke joint feels, at times, like a metaphor for the pressures of existing as a black person in a racist, white-dominated society. The extended epilogue of “Sinners” establishes that, for a brief moment, they all had a taste of true freedom. Throughout the rest of the film, the white vampires – chased by Native American hunters in their introduction and, later, explicitly aligned with the Klu Klux Klan – attempt to force their way into this space. Remmick uses a need for money, a necessity to exist in a capitalistic culture, to try and worm in. At a key moment, a white authority figure similarly attempts to temps Smoke with an offer of money. Throughout the film, the evils of white Americans are aligned with greed and money. Some have read “Sinners” as arguing for racial essentialism when it seems much more critical of the cash-driven systems of repression than anything else. 

“Sinners” is an all-around work of infectious brilliance. The cast is excellent, lead by two extraordinary performances from Michael B. Jordan, who makes both brothers totally distinctive characters in their own right. Jack O'Connell and Miles Caton, as the villain and Sammie, should become stars based off this. Delroy Lindo, meanwhile, once again proves himself as one of Hollywood's most underappreciated character actors, turning Delta Slim into such a fully realized, funny, tragic character. After being a damn good ensemble piece and vampire thriller for most of its runtime, “Sinners” then turns into a bad-ass action film in its final act, featuring a shoot-out set piece for the ages. Nobody needs me to heap more praise on this one. Plenty of other folks have pinpointed it as the stand-out horror fusion of the year. On the big screen, it played out like a magnificent rush and proves just as thrilling, exciting, and touching upon rewatch. [9/10]

 

 

The Bat (1959)

I've written about a good number of old dark house movies over the years, that hybrid of murder mystery and slapstick comedy set in creepy old mansions that frequently featured cliches like masked villains in fedoras, hidden rooms, family secrets or buried treasure. I've also already written about Mary Roberts Rinehart's “The Bat,” one of the most popular examples of the subgenre on-stage, which inspired quite a few imitators along the way. Such as “The Monster,” written by Crane Wilbur, a screenwriter and director better known for starring in influential silent serial “The Perils of Pauline.”  By 1959, the old dark house was a thoroughly old, dead horse. However, Wilbur must have maintained some fondness for the format. He would write and direct the third cinematic adaptation of Rinehart's play that year. Wilbur previously penned the scripts for “House of Wax” and “The Mad Magician,” establishing a working relationship with Vincent Price. Price so happened to be a fan of Rinehart's play, having seen it on-stage as a child, and lent his talent to this throwback “Bat” made as the fifties were about to become the sixties. 

Cornelia Van Gorder, popular author of mysteries and thrillers, has recently moved into the Oaks, a secluded manner in an isolated forest. The local area is being terrorized by a serial killer known as the Bat, a faceless man with steel claws, who has also apparently released rabid bats into the woods. This threat has scared off all of Cornelia's staff except her loyal maid Lizzie and her mysterious chauffeur. Meanwhile, bank president John Flemming – landlord of the Oaks – has recently stolen a million dollars in securities from his place of work. He threatens his doctor, Malcolm Wells, into helping fake his death and covering up the crime. Wells shoots him in the back instead. That same night, Lizzie spots the Bat lurking outside the Oaks. The police are called, Lt. Anderson arriving to investigate. Wells is called to the home as well after Lizzie is bitten by a bat. Cordelia is inspired by the case – which includes rumors of a secret room in the house – for her next novel, as more people gather at the mansion. A search is on to identify the Bat before he strikes again and steals the hidden riches. 

While "The Bat" resides firmly within the horror genre, thanks to its monstrously clawed and murderous villain, it's important to remember that Rinehart was a mystery writer first and foremost. The plot is engineered to leave the viewer guessing about who among the cast is the killer. To achieve this, 1959's "The Bat" loads its narrative down with an abundance of red herrings. Obviously, the audience expects Vincent Price to play the villain. By having Dr. Wells commit murder in the first act, he's clearly designated as an amoral and distrustful man. It is later revealed that Cornelia's chauffeur is an on-the-run bank robber, though he insists he's incapable of taking a life. There's yet more warm bodies buzzing around the story: The cop, the worker Fleming framed for his crime, his young wife, another woman who works at the bank, and at least one other guy whose name I can't recall. Most of these characters are introduced in quick succession in the first half, giving the viewer little time to memorize who is who. While some become victims of the Bat, I spent entirely too much of the runtime trying to recall the significance of each face to the overall story. 

It is a bummer that "The Bat" is belabored with too large a cast and too many plot threads. When focused on Agnes Moorehead as a sharp-witted and observant writer trying to untangle a real mystery, the film proves mildly distracting. The 1926 version had Lizzie the maid as obnoxiously shrieking comic relief. As played by Lenita Lane – the director's wife – Lizzie becomes Cornelia's plain spoken sidekick. (And possibly more, as the two are noted to share a bedroom. Considering ever-campy Vincent Price is introduced on a weekend retreat with another man, feel free to add this one to your queer horror histories.) The two have a delightful rapport. Moorehead easily grounds the film, adding far more wit and charisma to the protagonist than was probably necessary. "The Bat" concludes by having Moorehead face the camera and dictate the closing lines of her latest novel, a de facto breaking of the fourth wall which had me leaving a movie I was otherwise unimpressed with smiling. 

To classic horror nerds like myself, obviously "The Bat" is of most interest because of its masked bad guy, spooky location, and Price's role. While the 1926 "Bat" had the titular antagonist dressed as a hideous flying mammal, this version opts for a fedora, an overcoat, a black stocking that renders the face featureless, and black gloves outfitted with steel claws. It is a striking image, especially when the villain is lurking in the shadows or thrusting his claw right into the camera. (An influence on Bava, whose "Blood and Black Lace" features a similarly dressed killer, perhaps?) The shots of the Oaks standing among a fog-strewn wood pair well with the shadowy interiors and twisting tunnels. Cinematographer Joseph Biroc is best known for his work on "It's a Wonderful Life" and "The Towering Inferno" but he photographed his share of noirs earlier in the fifties. Some of that atmosphere is definitely brought to "The Bat," especially in a cool shot of the killer running up the stairs and casting his sinister shadow on the ceiling. 

As for Price, he brings his irreplaceable charm to a handful of scenes when his character shows his more sinister side. Otherwise, the horror star isn't given nearly enough to do and exits the film too early. I didn't recognize Gavin Gordon as the detective but knew I had heard his voice before. A quick check revealed that, while twenty-four years younger, he played Lord Byron in the "Bride of Frankenstein" prologue. Released on the back-end of a double feature with Hammer's "The Mummy," this "Bat" probably would've been forgotten. That is if it hadn't fallen into the public domain, leading to many late night TV screenings, free availability online, and countless VHS and DVD reissues. Most of those releases slapped a distinctive publicity still of Price, smoking a cigarette before a shadowy silhouette of a bat, onto the cover. That ubiquity accidentally made this one of the most iconic images of the actor's career. Price would dismiss the film, saying the script wasn't very good. He was right and it's a jumbled screenplay that keeps an otherwise sturdy, atmospheric thriller from being more compelling. [6/10]

One Step Beyond: The Tiger

Here's another episode from “One Step Beyond's” third and final season, made in England. Like most installments of the program, it is about psychic powers. “The Tiger” follows Pamela, an utterly adorable little girl who has a close relationship with her nanny, the elderly Mrs. Murphy. After Murphy takes Pamela to the circus and purchases her a stuffed toy tiger, they are introduced to the girl's new governess, Miss Cartwright. After Pamela informs Miss Cartwright that Murphy regularly performs witchcraft, she dismisses the nanny. Afterwards, the cruel governess confines Pamela to a “punishment room” in the basement, taking her toy tiger away, and generally doing everything she can to crush the child's imagination and independence. That's when weird shit begins to happen around the home, doors and furniture clawed at as if by a wild animal. Pamela believes a tiger is responsible, one that she has “wished” into existence, a fantastical belief Miss Cartwright is eager to dissuade the girl of. 

Too often, “One Step Beyond” was a rather melodramatic and maudlin series. There were way too many episodes about predictions of the future. “The Tiger,” however,” feels a bit more like something E.C. Comics might have published, if less lurid. This is a classic tale of a person with a rotten heart getting punished for their crimes, usually via machinations of their own making. Miss Cartwright, as played by a suitably cruel and ice cold Pamela Brown, truly is a miserable villain. She seems to delight in punishing a child simply because she does not confirm to her ideas of acceptable behavior. The kid is so sweet and harmless but Miss Cartwright, without ever raising her voice, responds only with belittlement and harshness. She's a total bitch, in other words, and exactly the kind of person in need of an ironic punishment. 

Obviously, the script implies that little Pamela has latent psychic abilities. The poltergeist activity, in the form of spectral tiger attacks, are the result of the girl's telekinectic powers. Considering her old nanny was said to be a witch, this events could easily be the result of literal magic too. However, I much prefer the reading that the imaginary Tiger is a manifestation of the anger she feels towards her governess that she's far too sweet and proper to actually express. Either way, glimpses of clawed up clothes or chairs or off-screen roars prove a lot creepier than any clear shots of an actual tiger could be. Host John Newland chimes in during the epilogue, assuring us that the episode is inspired by paranormal events documented by Charles Dickens in 1871. That would've been a year after Dickens died, by the way. Truly, a strange event! Either way, “The Tiger” is a solid one, showing that “One Step Beyond” was better when focused on supernatural revenge than psychic premonitions. [7/10]

 

 

 

 

The Addams Family: Morticia's Romance: Part 2 

 

The second part of “Morticia's Romance” only half-way acknowledges the suicide pact the first half seemed to end in. Pugsley asks about it but Gomez and Morticia do not elaborate on how they decided not to kill themselves. Instead, they recount how Gomez remained extremely nervous about the prospect of marrying Ophelia. Grandmama and Mother Frump make various financial deals to push the marriage through, while Gomez and Morticia remain in love with each other. Seeing no way out of being forced to marry her sister, Gomez grows increasingly despondent. That's when Fester touches upon a solution: Trick Ophelia into falling in love with someone else! Cousin Itt is quickly chosen as her potential beau but Gomez' cowardice makes him reluctant to wiggle out of the already made arrangements. 

I somewhat suspect that, based on the success of the first season, “The Addams Family” crew got a slightly bigger budget for the second season. That would explain why this episode includes some rather elaborate sight gags involving newly made props or sets. These include: Fester having a watch that is an hour-glass strapped to his wrist, Cousin Itt shrinking to a tiny toy size under a hair dryer, and Gomez hiding in a cave with an echo that can be turned on and off. These are all A+ gags, especially the latter. Turns out Cousin Fungus just lives in a cave underneath the Addams house. Always makes me happy to learn more about the extended lore of this particular brood. 

Of course, the interactions between the cast is the real thing that keeps this show so consistently entertaining, even if those sight gags are all straight-up bangers. A rather circular conversation about Gomez being a spineless coward is good one. As is Grandmama tricking Mother Frump into upping her options for a dowry. John Astin and Carolyn Jones' chemistry remains unmissable. The moment when they consider their sealed fate but cannot hide their obvious passion for one another is an easy highlight. As is the declaration near the end that they intend to go up-stairs and make some thunder of their own, another naughty joke I can't believe they got away with. I guess if there's anything distracting from this perfectly amusing half-hour is the script simply informing us that Ophelia isn't to Gomez' liking. She doesn't seem any more or less eccentric than the rest of the family, though I do enjoy watching Carolyn Jones be more aggressively wacky in her behavior. [7/10]

 

 

 

Halloween 2024: September 7th

Longlegs (2024)

Probably helped out by being the son of Norman Bates, Oz Perkins has quickly established a specific brand for himself as a genre filmmaker. "The Blackcoat's Daughter" and "I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House" were high on eerie ambiance, isolation, and precise set design. Perkins finally combined that with a compelling narrative and characters with interior lives in "Gretel & Hansel," the first of his films I actually loved. This got me excited for his next feature, "Longlegs," especially once I read that it starred Nicolas Cage as a serial killer. Largely thanks to an effectively creepy marketing campaign, distributor NEON built up a good degree of hype for the film this past July and made it a surprise hit. This is atop some hyperbolic reviews that called the film the scariest to appear in quite a while. Now that the dust has settled, what's my takeaway on this one? 

FBI agent Lee Harker displays ambiguous clairvoyant powers during a manhunt. This causes Supervisor Carter to assign her to the bureau's most baffling case. Since the sixties, there have been a string of incidents where a father would massacre his family before killing himself. At the scene of the crime, an encoded letter signed by "Longlegs" is left, despite no signs of forced entry. Lee studies the evidence and quickly connects the cases, each murder occurring near the 9th birthday of each family's daughter. Further investigation reveals occult symbolism in this pattern, with Harker and Carter uncovering a strange doll patterned after the family's daughter at one of the crime scenes. The deeper into the case Lee goes, the closer she comes to encountering the strange man behind the killings, his otherworldly motivations, and the personal connection she has to these events. 

From a technical perspective, there's a lot to admire about "Longlegs." Once again, Perkins engineers an unsettling atmosphere of quiet dread from the opening frame onward. This is largely accomplished by a sound design full of slowly mounting discordant noise, that constantly leaves the audience on-edge. That's actually a plot point, as a mysterious silver orb that generates ominous whispering appears in several scenes. This is paired with a visual perspective that emphasizes stillness, distance, and isolation. Characters often appear as obscured figures in painting-like landscapes, surrounded by shadows, snow, or stray streaks of light. (Frequently via eye-like windows, symmetrically placed as if on a face.) Flashbacks are always framed in tight, Academy ratio, making them appear even more like broadcast from nightmares. That constant stillness is often broken up by assaultive bursts. This may be through sudden acts of graphic violence, a reveal of a grotesque rotting corpse, or red-tinged visions flashing on-screen.

In other words, many of the ingredients for a successfully distressing horror film are present here. And "Longlegs" certainly is creepy, often overwhelming the viewer into a state of discomfort through its visual and aural suggestions. However, as a narrative experience and piece of cinematic art, I found the film to be frustrating. Like Perkins' first two features, the movie takes a vague approach to its own story. We don't learn Longlegs' modus operandi until twenty minutes or so before the end. The mechanics of how the killer operates are fairly simple, by the standard of fictional occult serial killers/black magicians. The script takes a needlessly roundabout way to revealing this, bogging its story down in ritualistic symbols, algorithms, and codes that the protagonist must unravel. Certain elements are left largely vague – such as the nature of Lee's apparent psychic powers – while other parts are explained via lengthy expositonary scenes. All of this combines with glacial pacing, heavy on long silences and meaningful glares. "Longlegs" is paced like a nightmare, it's true. This means it is unsettling and that it is composed of two hours that feel like four.

The film approaching its own material in such a deliberately  evasive manner makes it difficult for the viewer to get a grip on its intentions. The witchcraft element, of Longlegs being an unrepentant Satanist, never quite gels with me. Considering the movie is also set during the nineties – established via that old trick of prominently placing a photo of the then-president in as many shots as possible – it feels like an unironic invoking of the Satanic Panic that never once stops to consider the cultural baggage of that phenomenon. Giving the killer the Zodiac-like gimmick of leaving encoded messages at the crime scene adds a puzzle-like structure, frustrated by the murderer's identity being flatly revealed when he gives himself up to the FBI without a fight. He builds creepy dolls but the movie isn't about creepy dolls, that element merely being more unsettling set dressing on a fairly straightforward story. The specific patterns and rituals of Longlegs' actions suggest he's trying to achieve some ultimate goal, furthered by the cryptic things he says, but that's never revealed. And why does he call himself Longlegs anyway? What the fuck does that mean? Perhaps making us ask "why" is exactly the point but piling your movie up with symbols that never seem to have a meaning results in meaningless symbols. 

A snippet from an interview where Perkins admits that the film was inspired by his own mother – Tony's longtime beard Berry Berenson, who died in the September 11th attacks – is the closest Rosetta Stone I can find to unravelling "Longlegs." The birthdays of daughters is the reoccurring thread that connects all of the killer's victims. The glimpses we get of Lee's mother, which increase throughout the film, hint at a smothering, emotionally manipulative relationship. When one of the family slaughters occur on-screen in the last act, it feels all the world like a domestic incident performed by an abusive, short-tempered dad. Despite his outwardly effeminate features, Longlegs himself operates as something like a twisted absentee father figure to Lee, as this distant image from her past that sends her letters every once in a while. I guess that means his chosen nickname is short for Daddy Longlegs? As if there's any doubt of this persistent subtext, the killer's favorite music seems to be seventies glam rock, a very Dad-ish genre. None of these ideas seem to convalesce into a coherent meaning to me, acting instead as undercurrents that operate as part of the film's dream logic, connecting some of its twists and turns. 

For Nicolas Cage fans, the film is certainly worth seeing. Cage, glimpsed only in quick flashes or from a distance for the first half, wears a disturbing make-up that makes him look like the cross between a porcelain doll, Tiny Tim, and a plastic surgery addict. He shrieks, winces, twitches, dances, and babbles in a falsetto in a way that only Cage could do and make equally unnerving and hilarious. Maika Monroe, as Lee, is charmingly weird as a woman so hyper-focused on her obsessions and socially awkward that she reads as on-the-spectrum. I would've liked to have gotten more peeks at her inner life. Blair Underwood makes a compelling straight man to the story's weird events, as her supervisor. Alicia Witt, as Lee's mother, probably does the best job of giving her character a complicated inner life, as we learn more about her past.

I guess the kind of emotional coldness that Perkins specializes in is hard for me to jive with. The film's standout sequences of gory special effects are effective. The swallowing atmosphere of dread engineered throughout is impressive. The cast, cinematographer, sound designer, and production artists all do excellent work. However, "Longlegs" so intentionally denying us any insight into its characters, their motives, or the events that starts these dominos falling makes it hard for me to truly connect with the movie. Maybe Perkins' next gig, a mainstream Stephen King adaptation, will work better for me. Maybe this is a filmmaker who needs to place his ideas within a recognizable story structure, like a fairy tale or a Kingian ghost story, for me to link to his work. Because I came away from "Longlegs" admiring it more as a technical achievement than as a piece of storytelling. [7/10]

Shock (1946)

Vincent Price never set out to become best known for playing villains, much less primarily associated with the horror genre. If you look at his early parts, it's mostly handsome leading man roles and supporting characters in various noirs. That all changed with "Shock," a little, noir-tinged psycho thriller that turned a modest profit for Fox in 1946. This proved that audiences most liked to see the actor playing sinister ne'er-do-wells, setting him on the road towards horror stardom. Price never had much positive to say about the movie. In Victoria Price's biography on her dad, she said he derisively referred to the movie as "Schlock." Yet I had never seen it before and decided now was the time to check it out.

While awaiting her prisoner-of-war husband's return home, Janet nervously sits in a hotel room. From the window, she sees a man bludgeon his wife to death with a candle stick. The shock of this sight leaves Janet in a catatonic state. Her husband calls for the doctor staying in the hotel, Dr. Cross... Who happens to be the murderous man Janet saw. Quickly figuring out what happened, Cross has Janet committed to his clinic. Conspiring with his nurse, who is also his mistress, Cross tries to get Janet to forget what she saw. When she starts to directly accuse the doctor of murder, Cross plots to get rid of the sole witness to his crime for good. 

"Shock" is another entry in the long line of films about duplicitous men trying to convince women they are crazy, in order to cover up their own crimes. Considering it came out only two years after George Cukor's "Gaslight," "Shock" was probably directly inspired by it. That term has since passed into common usage, to describe any time a man tries to make a woman doubt her own perception. The film ups the manipulation level by having the gaslighting man be the woman's doctor, giving him even more power over her. Unfortunately, and strangely, "Shock" downplays Janet's role in the story that should have been her's. Anabel Shaw – doe-eyed, good at panicking, fourth billed – spends most of the movie laying in bed, half unconscious. Instead of focusing on the fear and doubt she must feel, trying to convince everyone that she didn't imagine seeing a murder, "Shock" devotes far more scenes to Dr. Cross and Elaine plotting and working to throw doubt on their own role in the murder. This is frustrating, when a more compelling story is right there within the movie, waiting to be explored. 

Instead, this really is Price's movie. Unlike the campy bad guy roles he'd later become famous for, Vincent mostly underplays it here. There's a moment when someone suggests that Dr. Cross might have had some role in what Janet saw and you can see the sense of panic briefly crosses Price's face. His great talent for saying one thing but clearly feeling another is apparent during a tense meeting with a detective. Despite being a murderer, "Shock" weirdly plays Cross as a sympathetic character. He talks about coming clean multiple times, clearly feeling conflicted about his actions. It's Lynn Bari as Elaine, the scheming Lady MacBeth/femme fatale, that continuously pushes him towards more wicked actions. This points towards "Shock's" less-than-stellar politics, that repeatedly center the men in a story about a woman's plight. That marks this film as truly a product of 1946. As a fan of Vincent Price, seeing a more nuanced, layered take on the type of murdering, bitter husbands he would play many other times is quite interesting. 

If it isn't obvious by now, "Shock" definitely resides more on the noir side of the horror/noir divide. However, there are some moments here to interest fans of the macabre, outside of Price's presence. Early on, Janet has an eerie, misty nightmare where she runs towards a door that keeps bigger and further away. There's a key sequence where a thunderstorm rages outside the mental institution. A disturbed patient escapes, sneaks downstairs, and attacks Elaine in Janet's room. It's definitely the most stylishly directed episode in the film, with some extremely good use of shadows and clever shot composition. In general, "Shock" gets a little more macabre and hysterical as it goes on, even if it never nudges into full-on horror. Director Alfred L. Werk also made "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" and "A-Haunting We Will Go," so he had some experience with horror-adjacent projects.  

"Shock" is in the public domain, so many low quality copies of the film circulate around all over the place. (Often paired with that other Price-starring public domain favorite, "House on Haunted Hill.") Luckily, a nice restored edition was put out on disc as part of Fox's Classic Noir Collection, so you can find a decent looking print of the movie with minimal effort. By no means a classic – and barely qualifying for a marathon of creepy movies – "Shock" is definitely still worth seeking out for Vincent Price fans. You can see the beginning of his style as an actor formulating here while losing out on none of the star presence that made him such an irresistible presence in so many films. Add in some nifty cinematography and it gets a recommendation from me. [7/10]

Creepshow: George Romero in 3D/Baby Teeth

It seems “Creepshow,” or maybe Greg Nicotero specifically, has to pay homage to its forefathers at least once a season. The required referential episode arrives with “George Romero in 3D.” Sarah's brick-and-motor book store is failing, amid pressure from their asshole landlord. That's when her horror nerd son, Martin, discovers a crate containing unpublished comic books written by George Romero. Such priceless collectables could save the business but Martin has to put on the 3-D glasses contained within the comics... Which causes the zombies from within the pages to leap into reality. And they're only visible with the glasses on. Luckily, the pages also contain a facsimile of George Romero himself, who is willing to help the kid.

As far as “Creepshow's” overly meta episodes go, “George Romero in 3D” is less suffocatingly smug than “Skeletons in the Closet” and stands alone better than “Night of the Living Late Show.” The monster kid hero, played by Graham Verchere, is mildly likable and resists dropping a movie title every five minutes. (Though his name, Martin, is one of several obvious Romero homages here.) The central gimmick, the zombies being invisible unless you look at them through the 3D glasses, leads to some interesting gore sequences. The zombies themselves are, like classical Romero ghouls, more intelligent than your average shambler too, allowing the threat level to increase as the episode goes along. Sebastian Kroon plays Romero, as an avuncular but humble figure that peppers his sentence with outdated slang. I also like the “Take On Me” style animation placed over top him. It is kind of weird that they chose comics as the medium here, which Romero didn't work in until much later in his career. What if the kids had found the script for “Diamond Dead” instead? 

“Baby Teeth” begins with teenager Shelby getting her wisdom teeth pulled, the latest in a long line of signifiers that she's growing up. This greatly upsets her clinging, needy mother, Miranda. Miranda demands to keep the extracted teeth in a special box with all of Shelby's baby teeth, part of a life-long belief in the Tooth Fairy. In fact, Miranda's whole house is filled with superstitious iconography: Iron nails sewn into clothes, horse shoes over doorways. Miranda has been a believer in the fair folk her whole life, convinced her mother was taken away by fairies when she was a girl. As part of her teenage rebellion, Shelby rejects these beliefs and smashes the box holding her teeth. This unleashes the spirits her mother has been trying to keep at bay her whole life.

“Baby Teeth” is based in an anxiety most anyone can relate to. Every kid grows up and comes into conflict with their parents. Every parent has to accept that their offspring isn't their little baby anymore. Miranda, played by a nicely neurotic Rochelle Greenwood, is sympathetic as it becomes clear how much of her anxious personality has been molded by a life of loss and abandonment. Her obsessive clinginess is also rightfully off-putting. This makes us feel bad for Shelby, allowing her bratty, rebellious teenager shenanigans to be more tolerable. The way the script slowly reveals the folkloric aspect of its premise are well done. A folk horror spin on the Tooth Fairy is one I'm surprise I haven't seen before. The episode also features probably the gooiest, grossest monster of “Creepshow's” fourth season. Like too many of this season's episodes, it fumbles the ending. This is another “Creepshow” installment that proves John Harrison is probably this series' most consistent director. [George Romero in 3-D: 6/10 / Baby Teeth: 7/10]

Chucky: Panic Room

Having ripped President Collins' eyes out and stolen his access card, “Panic Room” sees Chucky going after the big ones: Nuclear weapons. Warren Pryce replaces the President with a double, as part of a massive cover-up that deeply disturbs the First Lady. (Who is still seeing ghost around the White House.) The fake president and Henry are soon being held at gunpoint by an aging, homicidal doll. On the same day, Lexy manages to talk Grant into letting her, Devon, and Jake come to the White House. They reveal the truth about why they are there, Lexy determined to find out where her sister is before Charles Lee Ray shuffles off this mortal coil forever. It all ends with a tense confrontation in the Situation Room. 

Earlier, I said I hoped season three of “Chucky” would take the White House cover-up angle in increasingly wacky directions. I'm glad to say this has come to pass. When Pryce brings in a look-a-like to play the now deceased President, he reveals that this is not an altogether uncommon experience. That intelligence agencies perform all sorts of operations to insure the government remains running smoothly. Yes, this show is arguing for the existence of the Deep State. (Pryce also says supernatural events are discreetly handled by the government all the time too, so it's also arguing for the existence of the X-Files.) But “Chucky” being a smart-ass comedy, it quickly reveals the presidential doppelganger to be a nerdy, socially awkward actor type just happy to have this chance. That allows Devon Sawa to get some of the biggest laughs he's had over his three years on this show. 

When it was announced that “Chucky: Season Three” would head to Washington, my first thought is that the doll would eventually try and get his tiny, plastic hands on some nukes. “Panic Room” runs with this idea, devoting its second half to Chucky trying to spend his last hours alive starting World War III and becoming the most prolific serial killer in history. I suppose it's natural that the tight, metallic interior of the Situation Room would lead to a rise in tension. As NORAD prepares to launch WMDs, the episode actually gets suspenseful. Knowing how crazy “Chucky” is willing to get, I truly wondered how far they'd take things. Amusingly, the smart-ass doll picks an unexpected third target... I won't spoil things but it leads to easily the best punchline this season has given us yet.

Needless to say: Decrepit, dying Chucky is all out of fucks to give. While this could've seen Brad Dourif take the character in a more nihilistic direction, he remains a sarcastic little bastard up until the end. Watching this pint-sized rubber psycho threaten people and makes quips about pizza cutters, gun safety, and his mother remains delightful to me. No matter how goofy Chucky's one-liners get, the show never undersells what a threat he remains. As he slams a pen into a secret service agent's skull, describing what parts of the brain he is severing, it's a testament to the amount of genuinely sinister energy this absurd character have been gifted over the years. Around the time this episode aired, it was announced that Brad Dourif was retiring from acting. That retirement doesn't extend to any future “Chucky” projects, “Panic Room” still feels like a tribute to the great actor. 

While this episode features plenty of great killer doll action, it does spend a lot of time on the subplots. God help me, I think I'm actually invested in these characters now. Charlotte being increasingly freaked-out by the paranormal activity in the Oval Office allows Lara Jean Chorostecki to do some fine acting. She's got an excellent pair of crazy eyes, I'm now noticing. While Grant is probably the least exciting new character this season, there's a scene here between him and Lexy – where they sit at a piano and sing “Don't Fear the Reaper” – that is genuinely adorable. I think I might actually be rooting for those two now? That “Chucky” wraps up its biggest plot thread with two episodes left to go does suggest season three isn't done making some big swings. I'm looking forward to where this is all going next. [8/10]