Wild
Retro Frights!
by
Kristin Battestella
The
decades of yore provide this wild trio of shady hep cats,
international ladies of the night, evil Hollywood dames, and more.
Yowza!
The Black Cat– Lucio Fulci (The Psychic) directs
Patrick Magee (The Masque of the Red Death) in this loose 1981
Italian Poe adaptation with English subtitles to match the Tudor
manors, cobblestone streets, and superstitious village. Low to the
ground cameras provide our feline point of view as the misunderstood
cat causes a victim to drive off the road before prowling the
rooftops. Fine carpets, stairwells, woodwork, and antique clutter
contrast reel to reel tapes, big microphones, and vintage recorders –
retro technology trying to contact the dead and capture their ghostly
laughter, screams, and sounds of death. Flashlights and exploring
exposed tombs reveal creepy tunnels, cobwebs, and shackled skeletons.
It's all somewhat random to start with boaters, tourists, concerned
parents, motorcyclists, cruising teens, and perky ingenues. However,
the air tight traps, foaming at the mouth, and overgrown cemeteries
create a sinister afoot amid the country quaint. Growling,
mesmerizing eyes, shadows, back alley pursuits – this conniving
little pussy knows how to unlock the latch on the door for complete
warehouse perils. Gory impalements don't over do the blood, yet there
are enough scratches and claws to show how easily a cat can make you
bleed. Psychic tips lead to mice and the decomposing deceased, and
confounded police call on tourist photographers with old school giant
cameras to document the dead. Surely the cute little paw prints at
the crime scene can't mean this is all a cat's doing? It's amazing
how the slightest feline action can be so deadly – knocking over an
oil lamp near the fireplace becomes a face melting inferno. The
poltergeist activity escalates, but the police refuse to consider
something supernatural. Bound by their hatred or not, this medium
should have known one can only telepathically make a cat do his
bidding for so long. This cat is pissed and he's not going to take it
anymore! Although most of the feline film work is bemusing, there are
upsetting moments thanks to poisons and a noose for our four legged
nemesis. Who some of the players are and how they all have a
connected history also feels lost in the translation, but
fortunately, we're here to go with the evil cat and not worry about
the details as choice zooms, editing, and shrewd use of that old
camera flash match the Edgar appropriate buried alive house of
horrors. Bats and blunt violence culminate in twisted retribution,
and giallo splatter, Hammer feeling, and Poe demented combine for a
creative slasher with claws perfect for anyone who has a love hate
relationship with his or her cat. Like me!
Death at Love House – Couple Robert Wagner (Hart to Hart)
and Kate Jackson (Dark Shadows) are
writing a book on Lorna Love and stay at the Old Hollywood starlet's
creepy manor in this 1976 television movie. Gothic gates, winding
drives, old fountains, and broken statues accent the past torrid and
vintage bus tours, and there's a freaky shrine, too – the preserved
corpse of our beauty lying in a glass coffin. Of course this print
is obviously poor, but the retro Hollywood scenery, Golden cinema
looks, and seventies California style make up any difference. I wish
we could see the arches and wrought iron better, but the VHS quality
kind of adds a dimly lit ominous to the Mediterranean villa as retro
commercials provide a vintage patina. Housekeeper Silvia Sydney
(Beetlejuice) isn't very
forthcoming about enchanting portraits of the starlet, and
newsreels of her funeral show a man
in a cape with a black cat among the mourners. Malleus
Maleficarum spell books on the
shelf, sacrificial
daggers, and crusty
director John Carradine (Blood of Dracula's Castle)
suggest Lorna was more evil than lovely, and talk of mirrors, souls,
passion, and rivals like Dorothy Lamour (Road to Bali)
add to the character unto herself à
la Rebecca. Without
over the top visuals or in your face action for the audience's
benefit, the performances here carry the scandalous scares –
jumping at the horrors as thunder punctuates terrifying encounters in
the dark. Apparent heart attack victims, destroyed pictures, and
warnings to leave Love House lead to locked doors, gas mishaps, and
steamy showers while phonographs provide chilling music as Lorna
seems to be looking out from the silver screen film reels with her
hypnotic power. Bewitching dreams relive the past and wax on eternal
youth as the ghostly obsessions grow. At times, the spiral stairs,
red accents, and swanky are more romantic, but phantom ladies at the
window and rumors of fiery rituals create sinister. Our husband is
said to be going through the scrapbooks but he's not getting any work
done, remaining in denial about the basement tunnels, cult altars,
pentagrams, and mystical symbols. Although the Mrs. seems calm
somehow once the truth comes out, too, the creepy masks and wild
reveals make for a flaming finish. There are too many tongue in cheek
winks for this to be full on horror nor can one expect proper glam
and glory in such a brisk seventy-four minute network pace. However,
this is good fun for a late night Hollywood ghost story full of meta
vintage.
The Hooker Cult Murders –
Detective Christopher Plummer (Somewhere in Time) investigates the
death of Karen Black (Trilogy of Terror) in
this 1973 Canadian
thriller also called The
Pyx. Like
the giant headsets, adding machines, black and white photographs, and
payphones, the print and sound here are poor old school quality. It's
tough to see the long falls off tall buildings and hectic crime
scene, but the radio chatter, jewelry clues, and casual French accent
the Montreal locations. Unfortunately, the morgue attendants are in a
hurry with their sarcasm over this seemingly routine dead hooker.
Despite strong arm police and whispers of another missing working
girl, witnesses aren't exactly forthcoming – not neighbors nor the
“manager” of the “entertainment.” Talk of which of one of
them is a Catholic, technically, or not that good of one anyway leads
to crosses, statues, Latin mottos, sermons, and communion. However,
the grand halls and gated arches created a sense of unwelcome outside
looking in as flashbacks of the living now deceased include nude
trysts, cigarettes, and smitten clients. The creepy dudes and the
hysterics are a bit much, but the rules of the brothel are strict and
there's a schedule to keep! Drug use leads to a convent and recovery,
but our cop's obsessing over a dead hooker doesn't go over well at
home, and the disjointed back and forth at times competes with the
slow suspense. The mellow euphoric, flat music sung by Karen Black to
go along with her shoot up scenes is, however, pretty campy. Memories
of horses are meant to be something romantic, but the bemusing,
nonsensical lyrics wax on red balloons, and it's all a dream within a
dead person's flashback that's also somehow montaged with kids
playing near her body chalk line.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Granted
the songs are meant to be some kind of feminine character
development, but with the bad sound and poor poetry, they detract
from the car tailing, evidence in the trash, and drug stash in the
sugar bowl. The strung out may insist it's only a little bit and she
knows not to over do it, but we know she's in way over her head,
foolishly thinking she can say no or choose the john. Swanky
appointments and wine lead to promised payments if she tells him her
whole history when to strip and reveal the truth about oneself and
whether she believes in God is almost a more raw experience.
Suspicious phone calls and mysterious men in black cars lead to more
murders with blood on the carpet and bodies in the stairwell as the
investigation comes together thanks to rough interrogations and
upside down cross realizations. Candles, confessions, shootouts –
it's wild how we're seeing the slow build up to her death yet it's
only been a day since for our detective and the bodies are falling
left and right. Sped up, chipmunk chanting is unintentionally funny,
but the altars, flesh, and desecration escalate to confrontations
perhaps with the devil himself – or just a corrupt dude or maybe
some kind of snake thing, it's tough to tell. Tainted beverages,
white robes, and black hood rituals mix with distorted visuals and
standoffs, culminating in an almost simultaneous, chilling finale.
The twofold film style is awkward and the title fronts the horror
expectations while giving away the cult surprise, but this remains a
fun, interesting romp for fans of the cast.
A
Bonus Vincent Price Western!
The Baron of Arizona – Before
he was a horror maestro, Vincent Price starred in this 1950 black and
white western opening with 1912 cigars and toasts to statehood before
recounting the 1872 tall tales of our ambitious swindler. Our
eponymous clerk is angry that grandfathered grants give away land to
ignorant people, so he forges a fictitious lineage back to 1748 with
honorary titles and claims endorsed by the King of Spain. He talks
down to Mexicans who can't read, explaining what every big word means
as he proclaims an abandoned daughter is heiress to this great
fortune, and it's weird that the narrative keeps going back to the
men talking about the action to progress the timeline. Inscriptions
are carved in stone to prove the barony as the girl is groomed for
nobility – it's easy to make a peasant girl believe she is a
princess with portraits, gifts, and dresses. Our suave villain,
meanwhile, is creating fake graves and traveling to Spain to doctor
rare documents. Shadows, black hats, and noir filming add a sinister
mood to match the crimes while mission libraries, churches, and the
crucifix create what should be a looming sense of guilt for our con,
who joins an order just to perfect his forgery. Black hoods, candles,
and old tomes at the biblioteca
only lead to increased greed, hitches in the plan, daring escapes,
and wagon chases with hysterical rear projection and billowing robes.
All who encounter the grifter insist they don't know him or why they
should trust him, but some flirting finesse leads to hiding out with
the gypsy caravan until a rendezvous with the marquesa
and a triumphant return with noble papers. The government would have
no problem honoring a reasonable grant, but thousands of acres, all
mineral and river rights in the territory, and a redrawn boundary
with New Mexico understandably cause public resistance. Simple,
shabby, sets begat grand manors and large rooms with models, maps,
and innovations. Railroad business, irrigation plans, mining
opportunities – getting the real
local wealthy to invest hundreds of thousands is where the true con
lies. And when the government offers to buy the barony for $25
million? Cha-ching! Farmers taking up arms and one on one rivalries
lead to lawsuits, but that intruding, patronizing voiceover
inexplicably disappears in favor of spinning newspapers detailing the
local backlash, violence, and trials as the Department of the
Interior comes calling. The pioneers, however, argue that they as
white Americans are more entitled to Arizona than the older Spanish
grants, and if you speak anything different, you are a traitor. From
his grand coach, the gaslighting baron insists he is not taking over
the territory for the money but to help these people make his barony
great, and it's ironic to see such an obvious swindle then
considering today's administration. When his wife the fictitious
baroness now grown briefly doubts, he says it's just unnecessary
guilt over her privilege, yet we can't take her soft spoken earnest
seriously because she's standing by her man as he's convicted of
conspiracy to defraud the nation. Confessions and suspect ink lead to
a lynch mob finale where our baron's still smiling as he spouts
condescending lies from the noose. Of course, the Hayes Code assures
his wife still loves in in the end, but this isn't your typical
western thanks to Price's carefully orchestrated charm. It's also
interesting to look up this real life tale. Have you seen the wild
mutton chops on this guy? Obviously we know he doesn't get away with
it, but it's delicious to see how close he gets.
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