Halloween 2026: September 26th

Resident Evil (2026)

After the surprise critical and commercial success of "Barbarian," people were ready to declare former Whitest Kid U' Know Zach Cregger the next great horror director. I always have a "wait and see" attitude with these kinds of things. "Weapons" proved that Cregger is a distinctive voice in the genre, willing to tackle big ideas without sacrificing thrills and hollers. I was disappointed to hear that his next project would be an adaptation of a mega-popular, long-running video game series. "Resident Evil" has already spawned somewhere between seven and twelve feature films. There had already been a new movie and streaming series, after Paul W.S. Anderson and Milla Jovovich moved on to ruin another Capcom video game, and the response was unenthusiastic. Were we losing a bold new voice in the genre to the franchise machine? Or was this an example of an auteur leaping onto a familiar property because he was genuinely a huge fan? Well, the movie is out now so it is time to decide. 

Bryan is a simple medical courier. He makes one more delivery for the night before heading home to his newly pregnant girlfriend, the two uncertain about whether to keep the fetus. While at the hospital, he's asked to take on another rush delivery. He's promised a bonus to deliver an insulated package to Raccoon City General Hospital. It's snowing and the roads are perilous but he takes on the mission anyway. While driving the back roads, a strange woman walks in front of his car and is struck. This is the first sign that something crazy is going on. Bryan has unwittingly been chosen to deliver part of an anti-virus that can stop an unleashed bio-weapon in the process of ravaging the world. 

When the first trailer for Cregger's "Resident Evil" came out, and fans didn't see Jill Valentine tank-controlling through Spencer Mansion, there was some outcry. Indeed, Cregger's film is not an adaptation of any of the games and features none of the franchise's reoccurring characters. While a Rebecca Chambers cameo would've been nice, this approach allows for something clever. Cregger is more interested in adapting the experience of playing a "Resident Evil" game than any specific plot. Our protagonist is exploring environments he's unfamiliar with, with no idea what kind of threat might be around the next corner. When Bryan gets a hold of a firearm, he must carefully conserve ammunition. His journey is repeatedly thwarted by padlocks he doesn't have keys for. The focus is on what choices he'll make with the resources available to him in risky situations. We see evidence of past events that had happened in these locations, hints at other stories playing out in this world, but that's not the tale this "Resident Evil" is telling. As in most games, we are stuck with this guy, on this adventure, as he tries to survive it. 

It's an interesting approach to a big problem often facing video game movies. Namely, the vastly different pacing needs of each medium. Cinema is telling you a story, while gaming is about you enacting that story or experience. Most games keep things novel and challenging by throwing new enemies or puzzles at the player, the kind of perpetual escalation that film can't usually support. By attaching solely to one guy's trek, Cregger hopes to emulate that structure while still making "Resident Evil" feel like a movie. Bryan is repeatedly running through new areas with obstacles unique to them. The longer "Resident Evil" goes on, the more this approach strains. He crawls down into a sewer and sees some freaky shit about to attack him. A run through a city street is hastened by zombies falling from the rooftops. By the time he's clinging onto an elevator slowly being chipped away by acid from overhead, "Resident Evil's" attempt to latch a video game's framework to the flow of a motion picture is clearly favoring one style over the other. 

You never want your movie to feel like a YouTube play through video. Cregger's film comes dangerously close to that territory at times. However, if this "Resident Evil" is mostly just one set piece after another, it must be said that they are good set pieces. The film is successful at deploying a new bit of freaky body horror in such a way as to shock, surprise, and freak out the viewer. Another element taken right from the games is the hero perpetually being pursued by the same unstoppable monster throughout: A tentacled parasite always adding more victims to a Katamari Damacy of flailing limbs. This keeps tension up throughout, balancing a fear of what's coming up behind you with what you might face ahead. That's best shown during a fabulous freak show in a hospital maternity ward and a sequence where Bryan must choose between an incoming horde of zombies and an extremely perilous bridge. "Resident Evil" takes the tricks from the games and applies them to the task of making a scary monster movie. It's mostly pretty successful. 

Cregger's film is often cheeky about what it's doing. There's a few shots clearly emulating the perspective of a first-person shooter. The script outright acknowledges that real life doesn't work like a video game. The film definitely seems to be asking us what we would do in these situations – the best of which involves a dismembered torso being dragged further into the darkness – if the controller was in our hands. That question of "How would you do it?" is furthered by the film's hero not being a highly trained special agent or super-powered zombie killer. Instead, Bryan is just a guy, pasty and stubbly and in way over his head. He has no expertise with guns, a good running joke. His only extraordinary quality is his sheer determination to keep moving forward, of staying focused on that mission of delivering this package. Star Zach Cherry doesn't play this as indomitable courage. Instead, it feels a bit like Bryan is too stupid to know that he doesn't have to run towards danger. It's a funny way to approach your horror movie hero, someone so laser focused on simply doing their job that they accidentally become brave. I guess this kid really needs that extra paycheck. Don't we all? 

An emotional through line focusing more on how we're all trapped in the hellscape of late stage capitalism would probably be more involving than the standard subplot about Bryan's girlfriend and possible future child. Every scene devoted to that truly feels like the movie stopping to say "This is a poignant, thematically relevant moment." "Barbarian" and "Weapons" had a similar bluntness about their ideas, so I suppose this is a trademark of Cregger's. His "Resident Evil" doesn't always nail its goal of blending a video game's anatomy with a film's direction. It is still a fun time at the movies. The lead is likable. The thrills hit. The monsters are freaky. There's a bunch of blood, slime, gunk, and grime. The ending is surprising. I would call that a success. [7/10]

Shake, Rattle & Roll (1984)

If you were to perform an internet search for the horror film series with the most installments – or, god forbid, ask an LLM – the answer you’d get would probably be wrong. Seventeen “Witchcraft” movies and fifteen or so “Puppet Master” films are certainly achievements of some sort. If one were to tally up all the movies with “Amityville” in the title, which I hesitate to call a “series” exactly, the number would surely be staggering. Such view points are distressingly English language centric, however. A look to Asia reveals several fear franchises that dwarf most American long-runners. A 1997 Hong Kong film called “Troublesome Night” has spawned 19 sequels. Another contender is “Shake, Rattle & Roll.” That is a Filipino anthology series that began in 1984, with the seventeenth and most recent installment having been released just last year. The stories are often inspired by the Philippines’ rich local folklore, with new installments usually coming around Christmas time. It would seem trying to run the entire series every December is an annual tradition among Pinoy horror fans. While the films remain frustratingly unavailable in my corner of the world, I was able to find a copy of the original with English subtitles.

“Shake, Rattle & Roll” begin with “Baso.” Paolo, his partner Girlie, and their mutual friend Johnny gather in a spooky old house to play Spirit of the Glass. That’s an Ouija-like game of divination performed with a scroll of paper and a drinking glass. They unwittingly summon the restless spirits of three people, trapped in a love triangle, who died during the Spanish colonial era. In “Pridyider,” Lorna and her daughter Virgie move into a home that includes a fancy new refrigerator. Maid Nelia is seemingly crushed to death by the refrigerator's door. This is the first of several bizarre incidents involving the appliance. “Manananggal” is about Douglas, a lad living with his grandmother and younger brothers in the Visayan jungles. He is attempting to court Anita, despite his granny’s warnings that she’s a manananggal. Upon seeing Anita separate her upper body from her waist and flying through the night with bat wings, he realizes that this is true.

Of the three stories presented here, “Baso” is both the most traditional and the driest. Young people sneaking into an old dark house to perform a ghostly ritual is about as classical a horror set-up as possible. The darkly lit scenes of the glass slowly spelling out names is well-done. Unfortunately, after that, the segment launches into a long flashback that explains the backstory of the spectral love triangles. The period costumes and details are decently assembled but it still feels more like a historical soap opera than a horror movie. The eventual shift back to the gruesome stuff is hampered a bit by some unconvincing make-up effects. There is still a shock ending of sorts, though the episode concludes so abruptly afterwards that I’m not sure it sinks in exactly. Director Emmanuel H. Borlaza is best known for a romantic fantasy about a mermaid, which might explain why this first story seems to shy away from horror at times. 

The second episode has to overcome what is a silly premise on its face. Refrigerators are not especially mobile devices, nor do they present many options as a murder weapon. “Pridyider” seems somewhat aware of this and attempts to derive horror from visions of dismembered body parts around the fridge instead. Once again, the effects are a bit rubbery, which does little to dispel the notion of goofiness around this one. However, director Ishmael Bernal and cinematographer Ely R. Cruz take the material seriously. “Pridyider” is shot with a patient, quiet intimacy and eroticism, as if the heat coming off the vents of the fridge is making everyone around it hot. When the absurd finale arrives, in which the household appliance seems to develop a sense of lust, it actually feels like a logical extension of the segment’s style up to that point. It makes for an unexpectedly intense finale, despite how difficult it is to take the premise seriously. 

The “Manananggal” sequence is a straight-ahead monster movie and effectively so. There’s a thread of quiet absurdity here too. The events take place during Holy Week, Douglas being accosted by several guys dressed for a passion play. Otherwise, director Peque Gallaga mostly plays the folk tale straight. In its human form, the manananggal is an alluring, exotic presence. The only way to destroy it is to salt and bless the lower half of the body as the vampiric half flies into the night. The first crow of the cock at dawn draws the monster back to its source. The isolation of the jungle setting creates a nicely eerie mood, further emphasized by the shadowy visuals. The segment becomes a siege story in the second half, the family attempting to prevent the winged creature from breaking through the thin walls of their hut. Unlike the other parts of “Shake, Rattle & Roll,” “Manananggal” smartly shoots around the film’s limited budget. There’s only one shot of the titular monster taking flight, conveyed through some awkward animation. Otherwise, the scenes are carefully framed to obscure the lower half of the segmented beast. This surprisingly does little to decrease its threat value. “Manananggal” is a fairly potent mini-monster movie.  

The main reason I’ve decided to seek out international horror movies is to expose myself to other cultures. As horror often does, “Shake, Rattle & Roll” is obviously reflecting the social mores of the country that birthed it. “Baso” is a story about how violence and class separation are reoccurring patterns throughout Filipino history, as it is in history everywhere. “Pridyider” seems especially focused on the plight of young women, at the mercy of predatory men. The possessed fridge seems to act on the most violent impulses of the perverted groundskeeper or Virgie’s handsy boyfriend. Director Bernal seems mostly known for his social dramas, often focused on the struggles of women in Manila, making this angle unsurprising. While “Mananangal” is largely a straight-ahead adaptation of the folklore that birthed it, it’s speaking to social issues as well. Douglas and his family are practicing Christians, often praying to a small religious alter. The eponymous monster is a symbol of native paganism, linked to lust and mystery. This makes the story an encapsulation of the conflict between the Philippines’ extremely Christian modern existence and its still lingering shamanistic roots.

Out of the three directors who worked on this first “Shake, Rattle & Roll,” Gallaga is also the only one who would extensively return to horror later in his career. He contributed segments to the next three entries in the series and made a few other monster movies, also inspired by the Philippines’ rich history of legendary creatures. (Though he worked in a variety of genres, including historical war epic, erotica, and light-hearted fantasy.) In other words, “Shake, Rattle & Roll” is both extremely Filipino and fairly entertaining in its own right. The most restored edition of the film still has some visually degraded moments and the ending of “Pridyider” is lost, making that segment’s conclusion very abrupt as well. While campy and goofy at times, the presentation won me over long before the end. I don’t know if that’s enough to build sixteen sequels on but I liked it. By the way, as far as I can tell, the actual answer to the question of which horror franchise has the most installments is “Honto ni Atta! Noroi No Video.” That’s a direct-to-video Japanese series, compilations of spooky footage, with somewhere in the neighborhood of 120 installments. “Shake, Rattle & Roll” isn’t that populous but I did have a good time with it. I guess, if I keep doing a global theme for my Halloween marathons, I’ve got a Filipino pick settled for the next sixteen years… [7/10]

The Twilight Zone (1985): The Toys of Caliban

Before "A Song of Ice and Fire" made him a literary superstar, George R.R. Martin was a humble science fiction and horror writer, struggling to make a living. After one of his earlier novellas received a low budget adaptation, Martin found a contact with the film world. That's how he got a regular gig writing for the 1985 revival of "The Twilight Zone." He provided teleplays for five episodes, mostly in the second season, and the best regarded of the lot seems to be "Toys of Caliban." It concerns Toby Ross, a boy with a developmental disability. He is seemingly in his late teens but with the mentality of a toddler. His elderly parents, Ernie and Mary, isolate the boy from the world within their apartment full of toys. This is because Toby has the ability to "bring" – physically manifest – any object he sees in a photograph into the home. Any attempt by Toby to manifest living creatures only results in corpses appearing. His parents are fearful of what his powers could do with any more exposure. After "bringing" too many donuts one night and getting a serious tummy ache, Toby's parents are forced to take him to the emergency room. The boy is fine but he catches the attention of a Child Protective Services agent who believes Toby is being abused. This brief glimpse of the outside world has tragic consequences for the family. 

Once again, this autistic adult is forced to tango with one of my least favorite writing tropes, the inelegantly named "Magical Disabled Person." I would prefer to use another word for it but understand that some are offended by the term, even if I'm not. This episode is not so generous and refers to Toby as a word that rhymes with leotard several times. Yes, "Toys of Caliban" is another offering that portrays neurodivergent individuals in a patronizing, dehumanizing manner. Toby's parents are depicted as the ones who are suffering, while their overgrown infant of a son lives in a world of blissful ignorance. He is so dangerous that they have no recourse but to lock him away forever. Alexandre Borrie's CPS agent points out that resources and classes the elderly Rosses might be unfamiliar with are available to help their son. Toby's dad knows better and insists the kid stay in a windowless home forever. This is still not enough to protect the family and the final scene of "Toys of Caliban" offers a frankly offensive solution. The poor, pathetic simpleton, the only way out for them and their beleaguered N.T. sires is to put them all down like a sick dog. (The penultimate scene has the dad rubbing Toby's head as he kneels at his feet and calling him a "good boy," making the dog comparison fairly literal.) 

The resulting episode is often cringe-inducing. David Greenlee's blubbering performance as Toby reaches "Simple Jack" levels immediately. I'm pretty sure his jubilant but agonized cries of his own name must have been an inspiration for "South Park's" Timmy. It's difficult to look at "Toys of Caliban" as anything but an embarrassing misfire from another era, using the difficulties functional human beings live with because their brain chemistry or bodies are a little different from the majority as nothing but a gimmick to lure tears out of weepy viewers. And it's a bummer too, because I think this episode could've worked without making Toby a regressive stereotype. One of the most famous episodes of the original "Twilight Zone" features a youngster with unfathomable psychic powers and it accurately observes that a regular kid is scary enough without making them "special." 

Richard Mulligan gives a good performance as an exhausted, heart-broken father and Anne Haney has a sad fragility about her as the mother. (Even if her big monologue essentially boils down to, once again, how hard Toby's condition is on his parents.) There's two decent shocks in this episode, when Toby's literalness results in him teleporting two bits of fleshy horror into the home. However, , it's difficult to regard "Toys of Caliban" with anything but aghast grimaces and bemused bafflement that such a hilariously insensitive portrayal was ever acceptable. I don't hold it against George R.R. Martin though. All writers gotta eat, even if it means turning someone else's horrible story into a coherent screenplay. [3/10]

Friday the 13th: The Series: The Electrocutioner

The seventeenth episode of "Friday the 13th: The Series" does not feature a C-list Batman villain. Instead, it's an entry into the eighties' most minor of horror trends: Stories about murderers who return from a sit in the electric chair to kill again, sometimes with electricity-themed superpowers. The condemned is Eli Pittman, a dental student wrongfully convicted of murdering his girlfriend in 1978. Despite getting two jolts in Ol' Sparky, Pittman survives. Since you can't legally execute someone for the same crime twice, he is set free apparently. (I'm not a lawyer but wouldn't they be able to further detain him for the standing murder conviction?) A decade later, Pittman has reinvented himself as a dentist in a halfway house for troubled teens. He's held onto the electric chair intended to kill him, actually one of Lewis Vendredi's cursed artifacts. Now, Pittman shocks orphaned teens no one will miss in the chair and, in return, gets electric shock powers. He's using those to seek vengeance on all who convicted him. Micki, Ryan, and Jack are on the case. 

"The Electrocutioner" was written and directed by Rob Hedden. Presumably, it was this episode that convinced Frank Mancuso Jr. that Hedden was the right man to make "Friday the 13th Part VIII." "Jason Takes Manhattan" is probably my least favorite film in the series and it's largely because of the  melodramatic direction, childish screenplay, and a tone indecisively placed between self-aware camp and ostensibly a serious attempt at horror. All of these flaws are apparent here. The episode starts with a fairly well done flashback to Pittman's execution, which is shot in grainy black-and-white and features some stylized camera angles. However, as the execution attempt begins, Pittman screams towards the heavens. This is the first of many very silly touches in the episode. Any time Pittman plots his revenge, we return to that flashback, now presented as everyone pointing and laughing at him. One shot has his screaming face superimposed on the image, a very cheesy looking choice. All of the murder scenes are made laughable because the actors playing the victims make goofy faces as they contort around. There's also an inexplicable jump scare involving a plume of steam shooting out of a wall, a gag I'm pretty sure Hedden repeated in his Jason movie. 

This approach, either deeply un-serious or miscalculated, is evident in Hedden's script too. The story bends in some odd directions. Every time Pittman kills a runaway teen in his chair, they are reduced to a pile of steaming clothes. That's weird. Why does that happen? Later, Jack hunts the killer down by magnifying a needle and making a compass with it, to track Pittman's electric charge. Was this Mr. Wizard moment truly the smoothest way to get to that plot point? In general, the central trio act rather broad in this episode. Ryan is introduced playing with a glow orb while listening to shitty rock music, a story beat that comes back around for a lame joke in the last scene. Micki is treated like a genius fir suggesting that more people were responsible for an execution order than those simply shown in a photograph. 

The half-assed, senseless quality to the writing is most clearly seen in the villain. Angelo Rizacos plays the dentist-turned-electrocutioner and it's a hammy performance. He looks like "Weird" Al and generally acts like a nerd, which is not the most intimidating of choices. Mostly, I'm baffled by the decision to make the villain both wrongfully convicted and a remorseless killer. The way he callously kills random teenagers is obviously a writing choice to void any sympathy the audience might feel towards him. I guess Pittman was only pissed because he was charged with a crime he didn't do, not by the concept of murder itself. Those visions of being laughed at and persecuted are clearly designed to make him look unhinged. I get why he would be pissed but, also, he survived execution and was let go. He even got superpowers out of the deal! Kind of makes you wonder what is driving his need for vengeance. Is the implication that the cursed electric chair – which he makes no attempt to disguise as his dental chair, something you'd think his regular clients would comment on – has driven him mad? But it's not like he was willingly placed in the chair in the first place either. I did like the ironic, final fate of the villain. Hedden does have one or two interesting ideas but this episode is, overall, very silly and juvenile. I'm going to presume that it was not Hedden's creative skills that impressed Mancuso but some quality – his ability to shoot fast and cheap? His personality? His soft and moist lips? – not apparent in that episode itself that got him the feature gig. [4/10]

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]