Halloween 2025: October 9th

 

Watchers (1988)

Dean Koontz will likely always be regarded as the Dollar Store Stephen King, the sting of which is surely easy to ignore when you've supposedly sold 500 million books. Serious horror fiction fans dismiss Koontz but, I don't know, I've liked the couple of books of his I've read. In fact, I really liked “Watchers,” the fifty-second or so novel the prolific writer had published. The 1987 tale of three misfits – a burnt-out former soldier, a secluded woman, and a super-intelligent dog – forming a family and fighting off the genetically engineered monster and government agents on their trail struck me as surprisingly heartfelt, despite its ridiculous premise. The novel must've struck someone in Hollywood too: It's been adapted four times, starting the year after the book was first published. I reviewed Jon Hess' “Watchers” during 2016's Halloween Horror-Fest Blog-a-Thon, which I am distressed to see was nine years ago. If I'm going to take in this whole dog-and-monster show, I better start at the beginning. I'll try not to repeat myself. 

An explosion at a top secret government research lab results in two escapes. The first of which appears be an ordinary golden retriever. The second of which is a Sasquatch-ian monster obsessed with ripping people's eyeballs out. The first victim the monster claims is the father of ordinary teenage girl, Tracey Keeshan. He's killed in a barn, shortly after Tracey sneaks her boyfriend Travis out. As he's driving away, the same dog leaps into Travis' truck. He immediately notices how intelligent the animal, that he names Furface, is. The two quickly bond and Travis convinces his single mom, Nora, to let Furface stay. However, the super-smart dog is desired by cold-blooded government agent, Lem. Most pressingly, the murderous monster has a instinctual drive to hunt down the dog and destroy it, ripping apart anyone it meets along the way. Soon, Travis and his mom are hiding out in the woods, preparing to protect the dog they've come to love and to fight off the killer beasts on its trail.

While Koontz' novel ultimately succeeded due to imbuing its goofy premise with utmost sincerity, the film adaptation has no such luck. The script by Damian Lee, of “Abraxas: Guardian of the Universe” fame, breathlessly explains its own premise. Both an oddly knowledgeable news report and a lengthy conversation between Lem and his boss gives us all the information we need on the dog and OXCOM, the monster tracking it. Lee also changes Koontz' army ranger hero into a teenage boy who only wants to be reunited with his girl and his dog. This does not stop him from demonstrating some bad-ass action hero abilities in the last act, taught to him by a totally off-screen father. The movie truly doesn't find much narrative meat on these bones. To fill time and up the carnage, a number of very goofy supporting characters are inserted. An Australian handyman with a crush on Travis' mom, a female deputy who talks too much, a busy-body Russian woman who owns a hotel, a kid on a bike with a hideous mullet and the overweight peer he calls “Piggy:” All enter into the story merely to give OXCOM someone to kill until he can finally catch up with the primary boy and his dog. 

As disconnected from the source material as this “Watchers” is, it does get one detail right. That super-smart dog is very charming. Furface – who had the less insulting name of Einstein in the book – is played by a precious pup named Sandy. Her big expressive eyes are exactly as heart-melting as they are meant to be. Sandy's ability to bark on command, tap a book cover with her nose, or hold a pencil in her mouth are simply delightful. That Travis would immediately become attached to the dog is the least absurd thing in the film. As I've said before, I'm a total dog guy. I was a total dog boy earlier in my life. I was never a Corey Haim type, whose performance operates largely on a “gee shucks!' level even when he's supposed to be a horny or rebellious teen. However, I will always relate to the story of a bond between a boy and his dog. When Furface uses a Scrabble board to spell out a message for Travis, asking him to leave and not endanger himself any more for his sake, that plucks the weathered, frayed heart-strings in my chest. The appeal of a super-smart dog that can do your homework for you is obvious but the appeal of a loving, unfailingly loyal fuzz-butt with a wet nose and wagging tail is universal. 

The scenes focused on Travis and Furface together feel like something out of a goofy family movie. Especially when the dog sneaks his way into the boy's school or demonstrates his ability to his disbelieving mom. This stands alongside the gory creature feature “Watchers” also is. This was only director Hess' second feature but he knew enough to keep the mediocre looking ape-monster suit mostly in the shadows. Instead, the beast is mostly portrayed as a point-of-view monster that frantically chases people through buildings or hallways. If nothing else, the film convincingly portrays the OXCOM as a rage-driven killer. The scenes of it throwing kids off bikes, reaching a claw through a window to slash at a random lady, or bashing down a wall are silly but convey a sense of danger. As a monster movie, “Watchers” is competently executed. No great stakes but gets just a little bit of tension up.

The subplot involving Michael Ironside and Blu Mankuma feels half-formed. A twist regarding Ironside's character has never made much sense to me. Despite that, Ironiside is naturally an intimidating, colorful presence that enlivens the film every time he's on-screen. The film dumbly removes the dog from the action at the end, becoming a fairly colorless “Predator” rip-off instead. That was silly, seeing as how the link between Travis and Furface was the best thing this one had going for it. Hess' “Watchers” has none of the pathos of Koontz' book, obviously. The downgrade is most evident in the monster, which goes from a self-loathing lab-made misfit that hates to be observed and despises the genetic brother that has everything it wants to a generic beastie. Still, corny and silly as it is, 1988's “Watchers” does have a cute dog, a convincingly relationship between it and its hero, and enough eighties horror flair for me to give it a mild thumbs-up. [6/10]

 

Dead Sands (2013)

Fans that are old enough to remember will recall a time when the zombie film was a niche subgenre adored only by die-hard gore-hounds and those obsessed with the history of the horror movie. Look back far enough on some truly ancient horror fan-sites to unearth writers bemoaning how obscure the zombie premise had become. It all seems rather ironic in light of the last twenty-five years, where zombies have remained a regular presence in popular culture. The popularity of shambling, undead gut-mucher is global too. In the past, I've covered zombie movies from places as far apart from each other as Cuba and Nigeria. Having said that, discovering that there is a Bahraini zombie movie still surprised me. The island nation of Bahrain is the smallest country in the Middle East and seems to be known, on an international scale, more for the government's human rights violations than anything else. People have dreams of making movies everywhere, however, and a filmmaker named Ameera Al-Qaed would achieve their's with the 2013 release of “Dead Sands,” her nation's first zombie movie. 

An opening radio broadcast speaks of an airborne virus that has been reported in the nation of Bahrain. Many dismiss it as no more concerning than the common flu, claiming the experts are panicking over nothing. It certainly doesn't seem to worry a group of young people, all of whom head out for a night on the town. They include soft-spoken music major May, self-centered rich girl Samara, mysterious biker-type Wolf, outcast Friday, his crush Reem, wannabe filmmaker TJ, and a few other friends. This potential good time is ruined when the recently dead begin to rise as flesh-hungry ghouls, who kill and eat the living to spread their virus. The youths are thrown together by circumstance, working together to flee a concert venue. Wolf mentions that one of his clients owns a house boat and the group sets their sight on that as their goal. They are going to have to learn to work together if they have any chance of surviving the night though.

In my time as a fan of low-budget, independent, or exploitation filmmaking, I've come across a number of productions that are fair to refer to as amateurish. There's nothing necessarily bad about being an amateur. Every expert started out that way. Certainly, making movies is an example of an art form where the basic equipment is readily available but the money and skills required to do so properly are much harder to come by. Every cellphone has a camera in it now, meaning almost anyone can technically make a movie. At what point does that make you a filmmaker? All of this is a precursor to me saying that “Dead Sands” is obviously the work of amateurs. The shot composition is bland. The lighting is flat all throughout, giving the entire movie the same washed-up and slightly purple look. The writing is vague, at best. The script is mostly composed of characters having brief conversations of no real importance, giving us the tiniest sliver of who they are and what they want out of life. That is, when you can hear what anyone is saying. The sound mixing in “Dead Sands” is especially poor. The dialogue often sounds like little more than mumbling. Music frequently drowns out what people are saying while the sound effects seem non-existent from time to time. 

“Dead Sands'” writer Ahmed Zayani appears as TJ. He makes sure to include references to George Romero and “Game of Thrones,” as well as standard zombie movie cliches like power-hungry lunatics trying to consolidate power in the end times. What he doesn't remember to include are, well, the zombies. When the undead do appear in “Dead Sands,” it's as people with a little fake blood in their mouths and on their skin with a smattering of make-up on their face. They gurgle and hiss in a distracting fashion. Usually, the undead appears briefly, nibbling on someone, before the characters flee. It's not until the last act that we get anything like a proper zombie horde but its numbers are still quite small. In fact, for a movie supposedly about the fall of society, there's surprisingly little people in “Dead Sands” at all. Every location seems practically empty to begin with. It's hard to get a sense of zombies taking over society when there's both few zombies and fewer signs of society. 

A lack of money and resources is one thing. There seems to be little in the way of official support for budding filmmakers in Bahrain. That “Dead Sands” is lacking any sort of professional sheen or general technical competence is unsurprising. In the past, I've seen movies lacking these qualities that still managed to be charming, usually because the enthusiasm of the people involved still shined through. Unfortunately, everyone in front of the camera in “Dead Sands” seems deeply uninterested in being there. The acting in the film is largely monotone. Most of the performers quietly mumble through their dialogue, without any sense of urgency. You'd expect everyone would be more worried if cannibalistic undead were wandering around. The shapeless script is a collection of minor character arcs, none of which are completed. The story has no sense of direction. I can assume the cast and crew of “Dead Sands” had fun making it but there's little evidence of that on-screen.

The idea of a zombie movie, a familiar premise, being made in Bahrain by filmmakers with cultural specific perspectives is a tantalizing one. There is certainly a little bit of that on display here. Miraya Varma, as Samara, seems to be the only performer in the film that's actually acting. The character is a narcissist who stops in the middle of the zombie apocalypse to redo her make-up, while being more than happy to manipulate those around her if it'll help her. She's basically the film's villain and acts, culturally, very Western. Is Samara's inevitable fate some sort of commentary? At least one of the characters in the film is Muslim. “Dead Sands” ends with an uncertain invoking of the words of Allah. Is this important? Is director Ameera Al-Qaed saying something about traditional values in Bahrain? It's hard to say, as “Dead Sands” feels half-formed in so many ways. Beating up on what was obviously a very low budget production made with extremely limited resources makes me feel like an asshole. I hope more films of note come out of this region of the world and that they are sturdier or at least more entertaining than this one. [3/10]

Urban Gothic: Vampirology
 

British television's fascination with the horror anthology format seems to have waned by the middle seventies. The nineties and beyond did see a few attempts to revive the subgenre, from time to time. Such as “Urban Gothic,” which aired for two seasons on Channel 5, starting in May of 2000. The second episode, “Vampirology,” is a mockumentary about a film crew following around Rex. He is an immortal and thoroughly cynical vampire living in modern day Soho. His ageless good looks finds him work as a model while wannabes pay to have themselves vampirized. (He had his fangs filed down, because they were “kitsch,” and now does the bloodletting with a straight razor.) He hangs out with trendy friends and spends a lot of time in night clubs. The camera tracks him as Rex details his philosophy about life and becomes increasingly desperate as he prowls the streets for the right kind of victim.

A key moment in “Vampirology” has Rex's collection of friends – a model proud of her breast implants, an intellectual, a rich lawyer – each being asked what they think a vampire is. They describe him as a metaphor for AIDS or the predatory nature of capitalism. Rex dismisses each of these theories in quick succession, as cliched and worn out. This is a very self-reflective moment on the writers of “Urban Gothic,” who were surely aware of how malleable a symbol the vampire is. To the various cultural ideas and anxieties the mythological figure has spoken to over the decades. Rex is dismissive of all these ideas because this vampire is a self-absorbed hipster. He smokes constantly, brags about what type of shirts he wears, spends a lot of time in trendy restaurants and clubs. Comparing a person who only comes out at night and preys on other people to a vampire is a fairly fresh angle, I'll admit.

The conclusion “Vampirology” seems to come to is that, when you see other people as nothing but food, it tends to leave you alone and miserable. Rex surrounds himself with people he know he won't get too attached to, that he won't feel bad about bleeding. Similarly, his human hanger-ons consider their vampire pal more of a status symbol than a meaningful relationship. At one point, when presented with an apathetic youth who is totally content to be drained by him, Rex flies into a rage. He says he wants to hunt humans, to feel some sort of challenge. However, he later dismisses potential victims for having too much facial hair or too much garlic in their blood. (He isn't allergic to garlic, he just doesn't like the taste.) This vampire is a pretty shallow guy. No wonder he ends up alone and covered with blood, thinking more and more about suicide as an escape from his ceaseless life.

“Vampirology” strikes me as heavily inspired by “Man Bites Dog,” aping its hand-held documentary visual style and interview-heavy format. That link is most evident when we finally see Rex kill someone. It's a drawn-out sequence that ends up painting both the perpetrator and the victim as pathetic figures. In fact, the longer “Vampirology” goes on, the clearer it becomes that Rex is the butt of the joke here. A scene where he visits a video store sees him comparing cinematic portrayals of Dracula to different James Bond actors. Lee was the Connery of Draculas, Lugosi was more like Roger Moore. However, he seems quite enamored of Ingrid Pitt... Which sets up a later moment where, after a potential biting date stands him up, Rex happens to run into Pitt. She is utterly unimpressed with this real vampire, leaving him embittered and humiliated. It's a funny idea, starting the half-hour out with the vampire as utterly desirable to everyone and ending it by revealing he's kind of a loser. [7/10]

 

Suspense (1913)

When we think of the silent era of horror, what comes to mind is probably the surrealism of German expressionism or Universal's early gothic melodrama. We probably don't think of home invasion thrillers, a subgenre that wouldn't really come into vogue until the seventies. However, from 1913, here's exactly such a film, likely the first such example in cinema history. “Suspense” follows a woman and her infant child, unknowingly left home alone when the maid quits without notice. Her husband calls to inform her he's staying late at the office. That's when a homeless vagrant begins to stalk around the property. He discovers the key left under the mat by the maid and enters the home. The woman calls her husband as she barricades herself in the bedroom, the tramp advancing up the stairs with a knife. The man races home, hoping he can make it back before it's too late.

“Suspense” isn't only surprisingly modern in terms of subject matter for a 112 year old movie. A good amount of this one-reeler is shot in the stage-like, vertical technique that was common in these primitive days of filmmaking. There are some camera techniques here that must've seemed utterly cutting edge at the time. A three-way split screen is used to show the woman on the phone with her husband, while the tramp is sneaking into the house. Later, there's a high-speed car chase, as the hero hitches a ride with some cops in an motorized buggy, that feels a lot more fast-paced than you'd expect from something over a century old. Better are the P.O.V. shots, from the woman's perspective, as she makes eye-contact with the sinister hobo. A shot of him starring up at her through a window is actually quite creepy. 

“Suspense” manages to live up to its name too. It's a simple enough equation. We see the vagrant making his way up the stairs, knife in hand. The wife hides in the bedroom. The husband does everything he can to make it back. These are the foundational building blocks of cinematic tension, a vulnerable woman and child, a threatening villain, a race against time. There's a shot of the home invader busting his hand through a locked door too. “Suspense” definitely isn't free of the stodgy cliches of the time. A shot of a car speeding off, via undercranked camera movements, is silly looking to modern eyes. As is the rather hammy acting. “Suspense” proves surprisingly effective and well done for something so antiquated. By the way, IMDb says a random guy smoking a cigarette is played by Lon Chaney. It does kind of look like him... [7/10]

Halloween 2025: September 24th

 

Don't Deliver Us from Evil (1971)
Mais ne nous délivrez pas du mal

When boys kill, it's almost expected. In an era when gun violence occurs with such frequency that it's not news worthy most of the time, the idea of embittered or radicalized teen boys going on rampages sadly has no novelty. When young women kill another person, however, it's a truly shocking act. Patriarchal standards usually insure most women grow up as soft, sensitive, submissive beings. The little girl are a universally recognized symbol of innocence, no matter how true that may or may not be. This makes the lurid crimes of notorious figures like Mary Bell, Brenda Spencer, Anissa E. Weier and Morgan E. Geyser sources of morbid fascination for the media and true crime followers. This is especially true of Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme. Mostly because Hulme grew up to become a successful author of murder mysteries before anyone discovered she herself was a notable murderess. While Peter Jackson's "Heavenly Creatures" is the best film made about that case, there is an earlier example. Joël Séria's 1971 French thriller "Don't Deliver Us from Evil" was very loosely inspired by Parker and Hulme. It was controversial enough upon release to be banned in its home country, leading to the salacious international tagline that proclaimed it "the French film banned in France!"

Anne is a teenage girl attending a Catholic private academy in the French countryside. Her best friend is Lore. Despite being raised in the faith by their devout parents, both girls dismiss Christianity. They proclaim Satan as their master and promise to perform wicked deeds in his name. They spy on the nuns, read forbidden literature to each other, confess to sins they didn't commit, and have lurid fantasies about the priests. During the summer, Anne is allowed to stay with Lore at her parents' château. Their behavior grows more extreme. They attempt to seduce an adult farm hand, setting fire to his field after he tries to assault Lore. Anne tortures animals and bullies the handicapped groundskeeper. They perform a mock communion, in which they make a blood bond to each other and proclaim allegiance to Satan. Soon, the girls' activities escalate to murder. When Lore fears they might be caught, and separated, the two take extreme actions to ensure they are together forever. 

It is in the nature of teenagers to rebel against authority, obviously. I would not consider most of what goes on in the early scenes of “Don't Deliver Us from Evil” to be especially concerning. The girls staying up late to read pornography to each other, fucking with authority figures, and writing edgy shit in their journals feels totally in-line with normal teenage behavior. The brief bits of information we get about Anne and Lore's parents suggest they are very religious, making the girls' flirtation with Satanism – their version of which merely being typical Catholic ritual with Satan in place of God – a natural reaction to the world they've been brought up in. All of that is standard adolescent stuff, about challenging boundaries and defining the self. The two are also exploring their quickly emerging sexuality. They seem eager to tempt their priest into inappropriate behavior, watch the nuns undress and kiss with curiosity. Once the girls are intentionally flashing their underwear at older men and taunting them, it's obviously gone too far. Still, these action strike me as fairly expected development of precocious adolescent sexuality. The two are becoming women and discovering their bodies can hold sway over the opposite sex, something they are toying with in ways they don't understand totally. Not that unusual.

Séria's script does not spend any time detailing the girls' back stories or their relationships with their parents. (Notably, the parents seem entirely unaware of their daughters' nocturnal activities or more dangerous tendencies.) We never see the girls interacting with other people their own age, suggesting they are both social outsiders.What the cause, the simple fact of the matter is that Anne and Lore are each other's whole world. The physical closeness they share implies budding bisexual feelings but their bond ultimately feels deeper than merely sexual. Together, the girls have made their own world. Their mischievous actions, sacrilegious chatter, and home-made rituals are a secret partnership that only they know about. The film works hard to draw the viewer into this private world too. The dreamy score by Claude Germain and Dominique Ney, the use of voice-over narration from Jeanne Goupil, and Marcel Combes' picturesque cinematography go a long way of establishing the proper tone. Namely, these two share a special bond they have with no one else, that is entirely their's. Maybe you had a friendship like that once too. If you did, certain elements of “Don't Deliver Us from Evil” are liable to tug at your most nostalgic heartstrings, depicting a time in a youth's life when the insular universe they share with their closest friend is the most important thing to ever exist.

Perhaps it is the relative normalcy of “Don't Deliver Us from Evil” that makes its second half much more disturbing. Like I said, most of what Anne and Lore get up to would not be worrying... If Anne didn't show clear sadistic inclinations. The girl seems to especially delight in tricking, blackmailing, and manipulating people. She is much too rough with her pet kitten. She crushes the groundskeeper's pet bird to death, largely to see his anguished reaction. She also has a bit of a fixation on fire, meaning Anne checks off two of the Macdonald triad. Jeanne Goupil's eyes often stare ahead, from under foreboding raven bangs, giving the impression of an icy perspective of the rest of the world. Lore, meanwhile, much more often seems to be the one led into dangerous predicaments by her friend's encouraging. She's talked into exposing herself to an older man, nearly getting raped. She breaks down in tears when it becomes clear a police detective suspects something, as opposed to Jeanne's coldness. Tales of murderous duos, in which a seemingly sociopathic instigator goads an easily swayed partner into committing horrible acts, are also a well understood psychological phenomenon. 

The whimsical score and intentionally pensive pacing marks “Don't Deliver Us from Evil” as an undeniably French production. No English speaking filmmaker would approach this material with as much of an astral touch as Séria does. The result is a film that feels equal parts unnerving, as it moves towards increasingly unpleasant events, as it does tragic or deeply personal. Something else that makes the time and place of “Don't Deliver Us from Evil's” extremely obvious is the blatant sexualization of teen girls. Goupil and Catherine Wagener were 20 and 19 when filming took place but both look a lot younger. The camera has no issue leering at their bodies, especially when they strip down to their undergarments to seduce men. This is not a movie interested in examining the social pressures and learned behavior that push girls this age to act in this manner. Neither of the men who attempt to rape Lore are exactly villainized either, creating some queasy connotations of whether the girl was “leading them on” or “asking for it” and other such sexist cliches. “Don't Deliver Us from Evil” is, without a doubt, an exercise in EuroSleaze sensibilities. It adds a probably intentional extra layer of discomfort here, the director no doubt seeking to push buttons and offend, while never letting you forget that this otherwise thoughtful, perceptive motion picture firmly belongs to the exploitation genre too. (Something embraced by the lurid poster designs cooked up by marketers in other countries.)

Ya know, it's a French movie from the seventies. I guess you have to expect some stuff like that. Assuming that salacious, morally dubious angle doesn't put you off, “Don't Deliver Us from Evil” is a fascinating film that lulls the viewer into a dream-like state before shocking you with its disturbing implications. The performances are beguiling and the whole movie unfolds like a distressing vision. It doesn't have the intense psychological introspective of “Heavenly Creatures” nor does it adopt a child's imaginative perspective to the degree of the similarly themed “Poison for the Fairies.” However, in its own way, “Mais ne nous délivrez pas du mal” is an absorbing and distressing answer to the question of “Do you know where your children are?” They probably aren't worshiping the devil and seducing passing motorists but, in the days before cell phones, I guess there was no way to be absolutely certain. [8/10]
 

Call Girl of Cthulhu (2014)

As conceived by Lovecraft back in 1926, the entity known as C'thulhu was a symbol of man's inability to comprehend his own insignificance within the universe. Ageless, deathless, and octopus-headed, the Old One represented the swirling abysses of knowledge man was incapable of grasping. Lord knows what Howard Philips would've thought of his creation essentially becoming a mascot, a pop culture reference for nerds to chuckle at, a cuddly plush toy. For some, the idea of merely snuggling C'thulhu is not enough for them. Did you know there are multiple series that re-imagine Lovecraft's eldritch abominations as cute anime girls? That last step would be deeply unnecessary for some enthusiasts, it would seem, as the existence of Lovecraftian erotica suggests. All of which would surely make the notoriously sex-averse H.P. go mad himself. The point is: Filmmaker Chris LaMartina definitely wasn't the first person to make the pun “Call Girl of Cthulhu” when he directed a movie with that title in 2014. However, it is notably another example of how some people think a sanity-rending horror is actually kind of hot.

Carter Wilcox is a would-be comic book artist, whose social awkwardness around the opposite sex has left him a virgin well into his twenties. This frustration is further aggravated by his roommate, noise musician Erica, often having loud sex with her big-dicked boyfriend. His neighbor down the hall purchases the services of Riley, a professional courtesan. She catches Carter's eye and he attempts not to only pay for her sexual services but actually romance the woman. Meanwhile, a cult of Cthulhu worshipers are looking for a maiden with a distinctive birthmark on her rear, foretold to be the mate that will lure the Great Old One back to our world. A rival group of researchers, out to prevent Armageddon, hire Carter to make a forgery of the Necronomicon. His involvement becomes more direct when he learns that Riley is the cult's target, the call girl who will be servicing the horror from beyond the veil tonight. 

Chris LaMartina's “WNUF Halloween Special” used the limitations of its budget to create a funny, insightful autopsy of analog nostalgia that had room for multiple sketch comedy-like bits. “Call Girl of Cthulhu,” LaMartina's next motion picture, similarly has an excess of ideas. Unfortunately, instead of being relegated to commercial breaks, all the concepts compete for screen time. A comic book artist falling in love with a hooker doomed to be Cthulhu's mate is but one story thread. The villains have been slaughtering sex workers around town, in search of their specific target. The ones that don't die end up becoming half-mutated ghouls. The colorful band of researchers are attempting to stop the baddies, each member of that team given a one-note gimmick. From there, a number of similarly exaggerated characters drift in and out of the story. Such as the well endowed DJ at the strip club or LaMartina regular George Stover as Riley's most pathetic client. Carter's fascination with the titular escort feels like it's often forgotten. The last third, indeed, reveals that this is not the destination of the script at all. 

Like many micro-budget would-be cult classic horror/comedies of this sort, “Call Girl of Cthulhu” seems desperate to win the audience's approval. The dialogue is full of crude profanity, the scenarios bend towards the improbable, and the characters are largely defined by bizarre attributes. Some of these jokes are interesting in their weirdness. Such as the members of the cult who wear weird fetish mask to hide their seemingly inhuman features. However, the jokes seem secondary to the wackiness. By which I mean, “Call Girl of Cthulhu” is never as funny as it wants to be. When combined with a formless screenplay, the result is a sluggish pacing that never picks up. The oddball characters come and go, the film seemingly looking for new angles to explore to stretch out the runtime, without adding much depth. That last point means neither of the romances Carter finds himself entangled with feel natural at all. Women end up finding the awkward nerd endearing not because it makes sense but because the movie wouldn't exist without it. 

One imagines that “Call Girl of Cthulhu” was conceived as a title first and a story second. That furthers the idea that the premise was probably better suited to a mock trailer – such as the kind that would've played during “WNUF Halloween Special's” commercial breaks – than a full-length movie. This is most apparent in what is the film's best sequence. That would be when Riley, well on her way to becoming an otherworldly monstrosity, unleashes her collection of freakish mutations on her regular johns. This is when the title's promise of a prostitute of the Nyarlathotep variety is actually fulfilled. That montage is a good example of the charmingly home-made special effects on display here. While a doorway to beyond looks a lot like cardboard, the various latex and rubber tentacles and deformities on display are well done. Cthulhu himself is a no-show but we do get some cool tentacles slithering in from beyond. A flesh-hungry penis monster is another notable addition. I also liked the masks some of the cultist wear, which resemble Cthulhu's tentacled face but are made out of cut up newspaper.

I admire LaMartina's do-it-yourself attitude, how he doesn't let a lack of resources restrain his ambitions. You can tell he's a real Lovecraft nerd too. The movie is littered with jokey shout-outs to the author's writing. Such as a condom labeled “Deep One,” a dominatrix calling herself Missy Katonixx, Carter's first name, Erica's last name of Zann, an appearance from a Dr. West, a random shout-out to the Dreamlands, or the suitably Lovecraftian downbeat ending. Unfortunately, “Call Girl of Cthulhu” is a movie I admire more spiritually than in actuality. The jokes simply aren't very funny. The script is slapdash. The pacing drags horribly. The romances are never involving. The cheesy monster effects are cool. I think LaMartina and I must have similar taste in women, as I found a lot of the often nude female performers attractive, for whatever that is worth. Sadly, the positives aren't enough to make up for the apparent flaws on display. But it's alright. We'll always have “WNUF.” And a romantic ode to fish-fucking won Best Picture three years after this, meaning anyone who wants to get down and dirty with Yog-Sothoth has since been vindicated. [4/10]

Tales from the Darkside: A Case of the Stubborns

“Tales from the Darkside” was essentially a spin-off of “Creepshow.” While that movie proudly announced it was Stephen King's take on the E.C. Horror comics, the TV show only occasionally drew from well-known authors of the macabre. One of those exceptions is the season one episode, “A Case of the Stubborns,” which would see Robert Bloch once again being adapted for a half-hour anthology show. The story concerns Jody and his mother, who gather for breakfast one morning under the sad news that his grandfather died the night before. That's when Grandpa Titus comes down stairs and starts to eat. When his daughter informs him that he's dead, he dismisses her concerns. Grandpa Titus continues to decompose while lingering around the house as an undead revenant, refusing to acknowledge that he's dead. When not even the town pastor can convince grandpa he's now a rotting corpse, Jody seeks the help of the voodoo priestess that lives on the outskirts of town. 

Obviously, “A Case of the Stubborns” is “Tales from the Darkside” in a silly mood. Not only is the general premise, of an old man persisting as a living corpse simply because he's too stubborn to accept that he's dead, obviously farcical. The episode is set somewhere in the American south. All the characters talk with exaggerated accents, peppering their speech with folksy turns of phrases. Many of the supporting characters are very silly. A pre-Data Brent Spiner appears as the town reverend, whose rhetoric leaves Grandpa Titus unmoved before he starts gulping down on a jug. The voodoo woman is a far sillier character, attempting to scare the boy before admitting it's all an act. The result is a half-hour that is a bit too cutesy for my taste. “A Case of the Stubborns” simply leans way too hard into the preciousness of old-timey southern fried antics. 

I did find some elements to enjoy though. First off, the make-up on actor Eddie Bracken's face as the grandfather grows increasingly deceased is well done. By the end, his skin is bloated, festering, discolored, seeming to simultaneously be falling off and filling up with excess fluid. It is gnarly looking and the main source of horror in an episode otherwise more focused on chuckles. The performances are strong. Bracken does convincingly portrayed the dual nature of an old man so obnoxiously stuck-in-his-ways that he refuses to accept dying but is also inevitably charming in his mischievous, grouchy manner. A positively baby-faced Christian Slater plays the teenage lead and there's definitely some novelty in seeing that actor in the role of a naive kid. The final image of the episode is equal parts absurd but also, in an odd way, somewhat moving. The idea of being faced with the cold hard facts of the inevitability of our own demise is poignant, despite the ridiculousness of everything around that moment. [6/10]

 

 

The Addams Family: Ophelia Visits Morticia

While “Ophelia Visits Morticia” has a technically accurate title, the episode probably should've been called “Uncle Fester Joins the Peace Corps” instead. Well, he tries anyway. Yes, this is prompted by Moritica's older twin sister visiting the household. Ophelia is heartbroken because her latest beau, Montrose, has abandoned her. That makes her fifth dumping this year, with Montrose having left to join the government agency. Ophelia notices the resemblance between Fester and her most recent runaway lover, in a somewhat insulting manner. Hoping to prove his vitality, Fester decides to volunteer himself into the world-trotting program. Ophelia likes this idea, as she hopes he'll find her missing fiance. The family goes about training their most avuncular member but, ultimately, Gomez gets the news that Washington has turned down his application. Hoping not to hurt Fester's – or Ophelia's – feelings, the couple attempt to make their beloved uncle feel too important at home to travel abroad. 

As “The Addams Family” has gone on, it has come to rely on the running gags associated with the characters more and more. This episode sees Fester squeeze his own head with a vice, Gomez rushing into the room suddenly to kiss Morticia's arm when she drops a bit of French, and Ophelia greeting every man she meets with a judo flip. These gags are starting to get a little old, I'll admit. At least the writers think of some clever variations on its reoccurring ideas. Gomez is distracted from his rope holding duty when his wife calls him bubela, Cleopatra the African Strangler gets a little too friendly at one point, and John Astin does a spectacular pratfall after he fears he might get flipped again. Another revisited gag is Ophelia's left leg raising when a flower is picked from her head. This is apparently because, as the episode reveals, the ring of daisy in her hair actually grow out of her scalp. A standard genetic quirk in this family, one assumes. 

While this one does revisit plenty of previous set-ups, there are several amusingly fresh bits as well. My favorite is when Fester attempts to do a push-up in the backyard. There's also a series of kerfuffles involving seashells, which made me chuckle. As is usually the case, the warmth and banter of the cast keeps this half-hour going by quickly. The opening scene where Gomez asks to take his wife to the drive-in movie theater – the implication of what they'll get up to there quite evident from his impish grin – is a great example of Astin and Carolyn Jones' incredible chemistry. I also couldn't help but smirked at the rather obvious ways a body double is employed any time Morticia and Ophelia have to interact in the same shot. Jackie Coogan gets to interact with most of the family here, trading ghoulish wordplay with Astin and Lisa Loring as Wednesday. Ya know, you can see the punchline coming each time with these conversations but I still grinned. Also, this episode features two light-hearted jokes about suicide, another topic this show made light of surprisingly often. I'm going to guess that plots based around attempting to gaslight loved ones into changing their mind were far more typical in the sixties though. [7/10]

Halloween 2025: September 20th

 

The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh (1971)
Lo strano vizio della Signora Wardh

I've been doing this all ass-backwards, as is too often my nature. Completely unintentionally, I realize now that I've been watching Sergio Martino's acclaimed run of seventies giallo in reverse order. In 2022, I started with the sleaziest of the lot, "Torso." The next October, I progressed backwards to the dreamier "All the Colors of the Dark." Finally, during last year's Blog-a-Thon, I covered "Your Vice is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key." That was the one that finally truly won me over to Martino's particular take on the Italian style of murder thrillers. Now, I return to the beginning and reach "The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh," Martino's first stab at this subgenre. Made after he directed two mondo movies and a spaghetti western – not to mention years working as a writer, assistant director, and cinematographer – it would be Martino's proper breakthrough and establish him as a voice onto his own in the Italian film industry. 

Once upon a time, Julie and Jean were lovers. A cruel man, he allowed her to explore her sadomasochistic fantasies and erotic fascination with blood. Eventually, the abuse became too much and Jean married Neil Wardh, a diplomat. The couple arrive in Vienna at the same time a razor blade-wielding murderer is targeting the city's women. Julie begins to receive flowers with threatening notes, signed by Jean. At a party, she meets the handsome George and his cousin, Carol, who recently inherited a great deal of wealth. Neil is an inattentive husband and Julie falls into George's arms. The sinister notes continue, soon escalating to threatening phone calls and black mail. Carol is killed by the same murderer terrorizing the city. The man sets his sights on Julie next. Jean insists he has an alibi. Julie, overcome with frighteningly erotic nightmares and pulled in different directions by the men in her life, feels like a sinister force is closing in on her.

There is a scene about half-way through “The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh” that might be emblematic of what we think of as a giallo. It concerns Julie's friend going in her place to meet the blackmailer in the park. She is watched by a man wearing black gloves, the camera assuming his point-of-view. He soon reveals a straight razor and attacks the woman, slashing her to death. Martino doesn't bring the style, intensity, beauty or poetry to the table of an Argento or Bava. He makes up for it by giving the audience exactly what they want. Another stalk-and-slash sequence in a parking garage is more suspenseful, focusing on Julie's panic as she's pursued by the armed man. It concludes with a brilliant misdirection involving someone coming up the stairs to her apartment. If the film wasn't made during the peak of the genre's popularity, I would almost take it as tongue-in-cheek at times. The ending has two accomplices swerving around on a country road in a way that seems deliberately absurd to me. But the audience paid for razor blade slashings and that's what they get.

This is not the only way in Martino's film is unapologetically lurid. The movie is filled with female nudity, women having their gowns tore off more than once. As the title indicates, the sexual fantasies of Mrs. Wardh are a frequent topic of conversation. Edwige Fenech and her male co-stars kiss and entwine and jiggle their asses. More than once, the film takes us inside her troubled dreams. I don't know how “strange” these vices are exactly – I've seen “Singapore Sling,” this shit ain't nothin' to me – but they certainly are very vice-ful indeed. Such dreamy imagery are paired with a score from Nora Orlandi. It mixes the groovy bass lines and jazzy dissonance with electric organ, mournful flutes, and sigh-like choral singing. When combined with the similarly flashy sets and costumes, as indicative of hip Europe in the swingin' seventies as possible, the tone of a confused but irresistible erotic nightmare slowly encloses around the viewer. 

Perhaps “The Strange Vice” is preoccupied with taking us inside the troubling, lurid fantasies of the titular character simply because it provides the most flesh and blood to the audience. In gialli starring men, the protagonist are usually logical detectives trying to figure out the limited clues before them. When women are the stars, the stories usually concern a descent into madness. This says some clear things about traditional gender roles in Italian culture. At the same time, Martino's film comes off as entirely sympathetic to poor Mrs. Wardh. Her husband can't please her. Jean could but was also a creep and an asshole. George seems like the kind of swarthy lover she needs but he has secrets as well. No wonder her desires are driving her mad. This woman can't get a good fuck and a man who treats her like an actual human being. One imagines this is a plight that many a female has had to navigate. The film doesn't come close to escaping the leering sexism of seventies Euro-sleaze but, simply by centering the audience with a troubled missus, it forces us to consider the pain of a woman beset on all sides by vile, manipulative men. 

I do wish, however, that Mrs. Julie Wardh was a little more fleshed-out. Despite the whole movie revolving around the interior life of the main character, she remains somewhat distant to us. She is tossed back and forth by the different men in her lives, each one controlling her in diverse ways. Edwige Fenech looks as glamorous as can be in and out of a succession of trendy outfits. Ultimately, her history and what actually motivates her is kept obscure from us. This is probably because the film must leap through the hoops of a classically convoluted giallo plot. The last thirty minutes is a mishmash of double crosses, intersecting schemes and ploys playing against one another. Rather than center in on the heroine, the film devotes time to supporting players that exist to be red herrings or another branch of the conspiracy targeting Fenech. All in the name of catching the audience off-guard and leaving us as confused as the protagonist. 

These are flaws that Martino would improve upon in his future gialli. “All the Colors of the Dark,” which this film plays a lot like a prototype for, leans into the paranoid, dream-strewn mindset of its heroine more, determined to let us get to know her better. “Your Vice is a Locked Door and Only I Have the Key” – which takes its title from a line of dialogue here – doubles down on the depravity, madness, and style to considerable improvement. Still, there's no denying that this one is a strong slice of the kinky, twisting, bloody thrills we come to expect from the giallo concept. I guess next year I have to watch “The Case of the Scorpion's Tail,” one of these Martino made between Fenech collaborations that nobody seems to talk about much? That would break the backwards movements I've been making though... [7/10]

African Kung-Fu Nazis (2019)

 

Cinema made on the African continent has been making some global in-roads within the last decade. My Horror Around the World tour last year included a stop-over in Nigeria, which seems to have defined the West African school of film making for most people globally. Near-by Ghana would seem to have a thriving movie industry of their own, however. (Though the Wikipedia article on the subject currently carries a disclaimer that it might contain “hallucinated information” generated by A.I., because we live in the stupidest dystopia.) Outside of the colorful and bizarre home-made posters for imported pictures, Ghanese cinema is almost completely unknown among English-speaking film fans. Simply put, it's not often distributed over here. However, proving that a silly title and an outrageous premise can still garner attention, there is one recent exception to that rule. “African Kung-Fu Nazis” would seem to be the first martial arts movie made in Ghana. It is also, one assumes, the first Nazi-ploitation movie made in Ghana. I don't know if it's the country's first zombie movie but it's probably the most prominent example, at the very least. 

Recorded history would lead you to believe that Adolf Hitler died in a bunker under Berlin in 1945 and that Hideaki Tojo was executed by hanging in 1948 for his war crimes. The truth is, however, that both leaders escaped and fled, via submarine, to Ghana. Having mastered the secrets of Japanese karate, both men have reached peak human strength and conquered aging. Decades later, the Fuhrer and his minions have re-emerged in Ghana with the goal of establishing a Fourth Reich. He uses a magical flag to hypnotize the locals into Aryan zombie warriors, to build an army of super-powered slaves. Meanwhile, young martial artist Addae returns to his home town. He practices Shadow Snake Style kung-fu with the other members of his dojo. His master agrees to compete against Hitler and his Ghan-Arian goons in a contest of skills but end up murdered by the dictator instead. He also brainwashes Addae's girlfriend into becoming his new Eva Braun. Determined to avenge his sensai and save his community, Addae seeks the teachings of three great masters to become the greatest kung-fu fighter in all of Ghana. 

Here in the west, the perception of African film making has mostly been shaped by the likes of “Who Killed Captain Alex?” or “Pretty Liars 1.” Basically, reducing entire nation's cinematic output down to out-of-context clips or wacky trailers marked by awkward dialogue, stilted acting, zero-budget special effects, improbable stunt work, and archetypal plotting. White nerds laughing at foreign productions because of their perceived cheesiness is a long-held practice heavy with racist connotations. However, that doesn't mean local directors in those countries aren't willing to play into international perceptions. Ghanese studios are closely linked to Nigeran ones, my sources tell me. This means “African Kung-Fu Nazis” has the heavily accented English dialogue, amateur acting, low production values, and After-Effects provided muzzle flashes we ignorant Americans associate with Nollywood productions. It is an aggressively silly movie and very self-aware of that fact. The plot depending on unlikely occurrences, like two of the Axis power leaders surviving into the modern day or entire schools of African kung-fu, is only the beginning. A portly fellow being a master of drunken kung-fu, Hermann Göring being resurrected as a large black man named Horse-Man, Tojo developing a taste for African woman alongside glowing fists and a giant dong, or Ghanese people becoming Aryan through the magical application of flour are only a few examples of the tongue-in-cheek shenanigans on display here.  

I have a strong stomach for campy, self-mocking gaggery like this. “African Kung-Fu Nazis” certainly has some amusing moments. Each of the battles to the death concludes with hilariously over-the-top fatal blows, usually accentuated with knowingly clumsy digital effects. Some of the jokes are pretty good, such as Hitler describing his replacement Eva Braun as just like the old one but “tanner.” My favorite bit is the sudden appearance of a masked luchador among the combatants, who sounds a lot like “Macho Man” Randy Savage. Gratuitous product placement for a liquor brand known as Adonko Bitters – a real product, it seems – is a decent running gag. It must also be said that the fight choreography on-display isn't bad either. However, the kind of energy necessary to make fast-paced goofballery like this consistently hilarious can be difficult to come by. By the time Addae is training with the third master – a priestess in the woods who mostly speaks in non-sequiturs – or having a climatic shoot-out with Hitler, the joke has worn a little thin. You can only have a movie yell “Look at how irreverent and campy we can be!' for so long before it gets tedious. 

Obviously, the mixture of classic exploitation movie tropes is part of the joke here. Conspiracies about Hitler's survival and Nazi plots, kung-fu treachery, and zombies are exactly the kind of outrageous plot points the public at large associates with grindhouse cinema of old. To the point that all three – but the Nazis mostly – have been reduced to “le epic bacon meme” status within contexts such as these. I have no idea what significance the memories of Nazi Germany and the tenants of National Socialism has among the citizens of Ghana. One imagines these plot points were picked because of their easily recognized absurdity. Nazis being rendered as cartoon supervillains in comic books, video games, and movies like these is probably part of why fascism has so successfully re-emerged in the 21st century. If we can distance ourselves from these ideas by treating them as ironic bits, it's easy to say that we “aren't like” the villains of the past. However, the plot point that Hitler is literally swaying people to his will via the power of a flag does strike me as a commentary of sorts on the insidious appeal of fascism. All throughout the film, the German tyrant repeatedly emphasizes how this is a specifically Ghanese version of Nazism. Almost as if emphasizing an idealized cultural identity, no matter how vague or detached from the actual stated goals of a movement it might be, is an important part of the fascist playbook. 

Or maybe it's all merely a joke. Neo-Nazis have become obnoxiously difficult to get rid of but the iconography of Nazi Germany or Imperial Japan should always be held up to mockery, right? I'm almost certainly reading way too much into an intentionally ridiculous movie. I certainly had some fun with “African Kung-Fu Nazis.” Everyone involved is clearly enjoying themselves. There's something very much to admire in directors and actors not letting a lack of resources keep them from making movies. However, this is an example of a joke that probably shouldn't support a feature length runtime. It also needed more of those pancake batter zombies. I guess their presence, the exaggerated violence, and multiple fantastical plot points is more than enough to qualify this for autumn viewing. A sequel was made this year but I think I'll want to see a Ghana-made film not pitched so clearly at snark-poisoned internet commentators in other countries next. [6/10]

 

 

 

Supernatural: Night of the Marionettes

Long before the Winchester brothers started their fight against evil, a different “Supernatural” aired on BBC1. The eight episodes were designed to replicate the tone of the gothic horrors of the twenties and thirties. This is evident in “Night of the Marionettes.” “Supernatural” had a framing device, where applicants to the Club of the Damned would tell a frightening story, the quality judged by whether they are allowed to live. “Night of the Marionettes” follows Howard Lawrence, a literary scholar in the 1890s, obsessed with Byron and Shelley. Alongside his wife Elspeth and daughter Mary, he is retracing the steps the poets took on their way to Villa Diodati. They stop at a mysterious inn in the Swiss alps. The remote building is staffed by strange figures. Howard discovers books related to Shelley in his room, coming to believe that the group must have stopped here on the same journey sixty years before. The inn attracts an audience with the macabre, life-sized marionette shows they put on. The puppet show – about a stitched-together corpse brought to life before it attacks and kills a maiden – disturbs Lawrence and his wife but fascinates their daughter. Lawrence begins to suspect that this bizarre performance inspired Mary Shelley to write “Frankenstein.” Also, that it's not merely a work of fiction. 

“Supernatural” does a good job of matching the literary tone of the Victorian horror stories it is emulating. There are quite a lot of period costumes, proper accents, and high-minded discussion here. This program definitely had a slightly bigger budget than the anthologies series that aired on ITV. “Night of the Marionettes” layers in references to “Frankenstein,” obviously, but “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari” as well. The stage-play recalls the expressionistic visuals of that film, with this monster looking quite a bit like Cesare. The play is also rather sexually explicit, the revenant pulling the sleeping maiden from her bed and humping her before thrashing her to death. That Lawrence's daughter, also named Mary, begins to mirror Mary Shelley's writing style in her journal suggests a parallel history here. When the monster inevitably invades her bedroom at the end, it brings the simmering sexuality of Shelley's book – and most gothic horror of the period – to the surface. The Frankenstein monster is the Jungian shadow of the Victorian era, all the impolite and lowly tendencies the proper society of the time sought to repress. Naturally, its rampaging libido is unleashed on the virginal young girl.

This is also one of the few riffs on “Frankenstein” that acknowledge something that's always been implied in the text: That the monster is uniquely repulsive to the living because he represents a violation of natural law. The marionette show the innkeepers put on is certainly weird. Human beings moving as if they are stiff puppets on strings does create an uncanny effect. At the same time, it's not like the performance is that horrifying. However, the show seems to shake Lawrence, his wife, and daughter to their core. After Lawrence forces his way into the laboratory, what he sees seems to briefly shatter his sanity. Over the many faithful and loose adaptations of “Frankenstein,” there's been much discussion of man tampering in God's domain. Few actually entertain the idea that the monster's mere existence – a dead thing made living again – would have the same effect on a sane man as locking eyes on one of Lovecraft's Elder Gods. Truly, there are some thing we are not meant to know.

“Supernatural” definitely seems to wear its very English pretensions on its sleeves a bit. It's as stage-like and dialogue-driven as many of the other British anthologies I've been watching this month. However, “Night of the Marionettes” does pack in some solid, old time ambiance. The isolated inn is a shadowy location. The unusually pale staff certainly reminds one of Bela Lugosi's Dracula and Lon Chaney's Phantom of the Opera. The largely silent presentation of the marionette play does build an eerie feeling. That carries into the increasingly grim final act. I was surprised at the amount of tension this one built up before the end. It is slow and stuffy but quite interesting from a writing perspective, with some strong performance. Maybe they should've shot it in black-and-white though... [7/10]

 

The Addams Family: Ophelia Finds Romance

 

Someone must have decided that Ophelia Frump was too fun of a character to only use in flashbacks. Morticia's even more eccentric twin sister appears again, sending the family a message that she has been dumped by her latest boyfriend and is distraught. Minutes afterwards, she appears at the Addams' home... With her new beau besides her. That would be Horatio Bartholomew, an enthusiastic man who seems to be fabulously rich. Gomez and Morticia are immediately suspicious, suspecting he is a cad that is only after the family fortune. They go about investigating the man, discovering that the local rich boys' club haven't heard of him. Morticia then attempts a mock-seduction of Horatio, to test his loyalty. This goes quite wrong, Gomez quickly getting into a sword fight with his sister-in-law's new husband-to-be. 

In her second appearance, Ophelia does get a bit more fleshed-out. It would seem being a fool for love, always seeking men who ultimately dump her, is a habit of her's. Her super-strength and fondness for Judo throws is still present. However, she comes across as a much weirder, more bipolar figure. Her mood swings wildly between giddy and depressed. That would explain why Morticia is both protective of her and a little weary around her. You can tell Carolyn Jones enjoyed playing a character that does not have Morticia's calming sensibilities smoothing out her eccentricities. A little bit where Ophelia offers Horatio a daisy to pluck out of her hair, resulting in her leg kicking upwards, is probably my favorite physical gag in this one.

A big problem facing this episode is that the conclusion is evident to the viewer early on. Our protagonists believe Horatio to be a con artist. The rules of comedic pay-out dictate that they turn out to be wrong, the man actually being a genuine millionaire who inexplicably loves oddball Ophelia. That diffuses a bit of the punch from this one. Many of the joys in “The Addams Family” emerges from watching the lovable cast play off each other Putting a new character into the mix and building most of the episode around Gomez' interaction with him isn't as much fun. Robert Nichols – previously seen in “The Thing from the Another World" – is a decent guest star, though his ridiculous mustache tells you most everything you need to know about the character. The scene where Morticia attempts to seduce him does provide us with a chance to see the usually faithful wife being a bit more seductive. I enjoyed that. That same scene features a good bit of physical comedy with Thing. Probably the best joke in this episode is when Gomez excites himself by using some French. Not a stand-out episode but Ophelia is growing on me as a character. [6/10]