30 November 2022

The Golden Palace Video Review

 

What Went Wrong on The Golden Palace? 


Kristin Battestella puts on her critical review thinking cap to take a disappointing look at what went wrong with The Golden Palace – the short lived spin off of The Golden Girls – including crowded, mean characters and unfocused audience expectations.



Please feel free to comment and join the conversation or let us know if you'd like to see more of these classic television video critiques in our Community Poll. Thank you for watching and read more:


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The Bob Newhart Show

The Mary Tyler Moore Show

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14 November 2022

Contemporary Werewolf Romps 🐺

 

Contemporary Werewolf Romps! 🐺

by Kristin Battestella


These recent lycanthrope lessons offer much good, but some bad and a bit of ugly to the understandably hairy genre.


Howl No one wants to be on this rainy red eye train, but apathetic passengers and passed over employees must unite when werewolves invade the cabin cars in this 2015 parable directed by Paul Hyett (Dog Soldiers). Late night stress and double shift monotony are well done as the full moon, isolated forest, ticket checks, and cranky introductions set the scene with who's rude on her phone, snotty old couples, frazzled businesswomen, and the jerk with two sets of house keys. Rattling rails, screeching brakes, and flickering lights escalate to unseen attacks, thuds, squishes, and gore as the assertive adults and inexperienced staff argue over who's in charge. Patchy emergency contacts lead to a vote to walk to the next station before disemboweled evidence, the race back to the train, and limb perils at the plug door. Banging to be let in, scraping claws along the cabin car, and the titular what you don't see but hear acerbate the meager first aid, bloody wounds, and overnight delirium. Compartment damage, no fuel, and no food add to the innate unease. Cramped bathroom terrors provide whimpering, growls, and blood in shrewd near-revelations as the camera cuts away from blurred assaults and glowing eyes. The final claustrophobic entrance is realistically scary thanks to poor defenses like fire extinguishers and an emergency ax, and debates about what to do with the injured provide a bitter social commentary about our dog eat dog alpha males who survive at the expense of others. They are running out of cars to retreat to and secure, and the carefully paced transformations mirror the trapped ticktock and wait for daylight. This does feel slightly long with repair attempts and inside attacks that seem out of order. Unnecessary point of view breaks and shoddy CGI show the pack in full, and the slow burn unravels amid under the train perils, internal standoffs, and unfair deaths. The disturbing violence rushes toward a weak confrontation, however overall this is an entertaining late night entry to the werewolf genre.


I Am Lisa – Pulsing chases, growls, gunshots, and moonlit nights open this 2020 werewolf embrace, but the law enforcement fix should have been held back and the drive to the inherited bookstore wastes time. Starting with a customer ordering a lycanthrope volume and condolences on the deceased is enough to introduce our eponymous small town nonconformist. Local mean girls bully, steal, and threaten Lisa, but the ringleader's mom is the sheriff so nothing is done. Self love jokes about not needing a man, waitress flirtations, and BFF intimacy, however, feel baity, for Lisa is straight and rejects a kiss from said mean girl. The rotten sheriff insists it's not an assault if no one gets hurt and it's Lisa's attitude problem that's disturbing the peace, so she endorses the mean girls beating Lisa. The pliers, gagging, and blood in this sanctioned violence is disturbing enough, and a further implied sexual assault is unnecessary as Lisa is dumped in the woods and left to the wolves. Choice jump cut camerawork accents the tears, echoes, and fragmented experience as the bite wounds heal quickly and the police revelations escalate. Lisa is shocked at her own behavior when she first attacks the weakest of the mean girl pack, but she needs to learn to control what's happening, embrace it, and make them pay. Slow, realistic eye, teeth, heightened senses, and vocal changes match the swift neck snapping, throat slicings, and moments of remorse while old books provide silver, calendar, and crossbreed information. More time is unfortunately spent on cliches than who knows about the werewolves, who has been hunting them, branding them with silver, and why. It's also unrealistic how her whereabouts are terribly obvious yet Lisa goes uncaught until the script says so. You can tell this was written and directed by men thanks to every woman coming off as a tough angry lesbian with an attitude. Structural flaws fall back on stereotypical montages with bad ass hoodies, cool music, raw steaks, dog treats, and The Werewolf of Washington. Nonsensical explanations don't fully reiterate the transformative mythos and silver ax potential, and the taking ownership metaphors run out of steam in the overlong, contrived final confrontation. Though in need of a trim or polish thanks to unnecessary scene transitions and poor dialogue, this largely charming piece stays with a character who's just trying to be true to herself.


Skip It!


A Werewolf in England – Speeding carriages, top hats, throwback music, and candlelight invoke a Hammer mood as our bondsman and his shackled prisoner stop at the Three Claws Inn for this 2020 horror comedy. Unfortunately, the super tight camera angles are clearly cutting corners, the acting is amateur, and the exaggerated voices are too hammy. Every single person is trying on funny quips and combined with the kooky weird brother and sister innkeepers, it's all just too much. The obviously fake full moon above the manor is enough to set a sardonic wink, however there's no time to chuckle over the two dollar lady of the evening available or the hear tell of a previous guest dying of perforated bowels in the bed, and the rattling sex scene while the prisoner is chained to the action goes on far too long before a cheap chamber pot gag. We shouldn't know about the werewolves up front, but our writer/producer/director/cinematographer/editor gives away that the proprietors are in on serving their clientele to the local lycanthropes when we shouldn't suspect their killer plans until guests spot blood dripping on the furniture. The beheadings, dismemberment, and pleas for mercy before a claw slice at the throat are fine. Intense crescendos and chorales with over the top slow motion are appropriate satire, but the drawn out battle scenes with over-editing and nothing burger pawing undo the gore and eerie lighting. It's tough to tell what's scary or the hoot because the constant cackling is falling flat trying to be both. Some territorial foul is reasonable, but the unnecessarily long werewolf diarrhea scene removes any horror even if the conspicuous people in wolf suits is deliberate. Subtle humor – such as breaking and entering wolves that make surprisingly little noise or using a lot of little things to block the door when a sturdy piece of furniture is right there – is all the viewer needs, yet one too many crotch jokes and montages of cleaning guns but not washing off the wolfy poo become an overlong exercise in what not to do. Contrived endings play into all the cliches, and I'm going to go ahead and pass on the medieval prequel/sequel Werewolf Castle.


11 November 2022

Memory (2022) Video Review

 

Kristin Battestella of I Think, Therefore I Review tries to wrap her head around the 2022 Liam Neeson picture Memory, directed by Martin Campbell and co-starring Guy Pearce and Monica Bellucci. Can you take it for the poorly paced action flick it is even when there was potential for more character drama?



Please feel free to comment and join the conversation or let us know if you'd like to see more of these single film video critiques in our Community Poll. Thank you for watching and read more of our analysis at InSession Film!

If there is an Audio issue on the video you can try watching a Corrected Version Here.


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30 October 2022

October Mayhem at InSession Film!

 

Our actor love had been strong at InSession Film thanks to the Women InSession Podcast with fellow female film critics Zita Short, Amy Thomasson, and Erica Richards helping celebrate the birthdays of Guy Pearce and Montgomery Clift!



Listen Now:

Ep 10 Guy Pearce Spectacular

Ep 12 Montgomery Clift Special


We got our Horror fix ON as well with a little podcasting and Phantom of the Opera discourse! 😱

Ep 11 Indie Shorts and Horror Westerns

Ep 13 1990s Horror

 

Op-Ed: Phantoms of the Operas

 

 


You can read all of my Actor Top Tens - including Guy Pearce and Montgomery Clift!- on my InSession Author Page or listen to previous Women InSession Classic Film analysis. Thank you to those who have been following along and liking, sharing, and retweeting each episode! 


13 October 2022

Problematic 90s Women in Horror

 

Problematic 90s Women in Horror

by Kristin Battestella


The classy ladies in this suspenseful trio of nineties horror suffer from dated problems, scary disservice, and shit men. Quelle surprise.


Angel of DeathOminous windmill blades, rattlesnakes, and perilous farm equipment lead to creepy Rumpelstiltskin sketches and 4 a.m. phone calls from Attica as ever lovely mom Jane Seymour (Live and Let Die) is terrorized by an escaped convict in this 1990 TV movie. She's frazzled before the call – over protective, fighting with neighbors, late for work. The car won't start, money's tight, her son wants a bike for his birthday, and our art professor is passed over for a promotion thanks to her competition moving in on the department chair and her ex-husband. Rather than build this story, the action goes back and forth to an obviously small scale prison riot, terribly over the top thugs, and beatings punctuated with crescendos meant to be more shocking then they really are. The obsessed escapee read her children's book and fell in love with her author photo, but a vengeful prison guard is in pursuit in a dreadful tangent when none of the prison elements need to be shown. The convict moves in next door, watches them from a shady van, and signs up to be the nude model in her art class before beating a man with a hammer while the annoyingly friendly kid knocks on his door. He's just misunderstood mixed signals negate any too good to be true suspicious as family picnics and bedtime stories lead to romantic rooftop steamy. Our pathological liar tearfully tells her his family is dead – while leaving out how he murdered them! The expedited relationship is paced for commercial television breaks and the logistical leaps are preposterous, but it's uncomfortable how it all happens so fast and that today's tech makes such stalking even easier. It's also sad that she's so desperately stupid to let a stranger so close and wonders how he appeared right when she needed someone. We should have not known he's the killer until he bludgeons the slutty rival professor with her own sculpture amid campy feigned seduction, opera music, and blowtorches. Of course misogynistic detectives suspect our innocent mom thanks to frustratingly banal contrivances, and the dated paint by numbers padded with conflicting characterizations to meet the ninety minute movie of the week format does a disservice to Seymour. Supposedly romantic red flags moved toot suite however gunshots, confessions, and kids in peril turn laughable – dragging on alongside predictable car chases, fake deaths, pitchforks, and a fiery farm finale. Those Rumpelstiltskin passages he recites back to her? LOL.


Fear Sirens, police chatter, and pulsing Henry Mancini music (Romeo and Juliet) jump right to the chase as psychic Ally Sheedy (The Breakfast Club) remotely traces a serial killer and detectives come to the rescue thanks to her vivid details in this 1990 thriller from writer and director Rockne S. O'Bannon (Farscape). She feels the disturbing killer urges and the terror of the bound victim in the backseat, doubling the discomfort despite the success on high profile cases, book tours, and talk show appearances. Although the VHS quality print is poor, old fashioned news bulletins, big televisions, and retro phones invoke nostalgia. The onscreen interviews let the aptly named Cayce explain her telepathy, but she wants to move on from true crime and strenuous killer manuscripts in favor of her own fiction. However, when another murderer strikes she offers police her services by revealing the hitherto unknown titular calling card written in blood. Paranormal eerie, choice gore in the refrigerator, and body shocks that don't dally like today's in your face aesthetics pepper the realistic crime scenes and straightforward procedural. Solitary moments in a new house with plastic still on the furniture lull viewers into a lonely routine before the mental connections strike again. We feel her strained, overwhelmed recounting of the crime because he wants his victims to be afraid. He knows what will scare them most, realizes Cayce can see him, and telepathically croaks out her name. The restaurant ambiance at the fancy publisher's dinner fades as the unseen killer intrudes on Cayce – taking her along for a fly on the wall view as he selects his next victim. He taunts her and uses “we” amid heavy breathing, mirrored actions, screams, and terror. She is unable to break his impression, and the mind's eye seeing herself from his perspective is meta provocative. The killer is one step ahead, the camera is behind, and the victim is our point of view thanks to blue lighting, zooms, and gauze focus that lets the performances carry the pain, fear, and violence. This is an abusive relationship and he won't let her leave as decoys and airport consequences raise the suspense. The so-called Shadow Man sends her perfume, shoes, and lingerie, but rather than take control of the fearful head games herself, Cayce falls back on a neighbor cum potential boyfriend to take action. Diverse Black and Asian detectives disappear from the pursuit even after their families are threatened, and power suit but kind and seemingly in love with Cayce book agent Lauren Hutton (Once Bitten) is underutilized. Chilling who's chasing whom realizations degrade into Hall of Mirrors hackneyed and a poor physical confrontation as the last half hour loses steam. What started so well if Eyes of Laura Mars backs into a corner with anticlimactic Strangers on a Train copycatting – unable to resolve the cat and mouse with psychic strength and sophistication.



Mary Reilly – Titular maid Julia Roberts (Pretty Woman) and Jekyll and Hyde John Malkovich (Dangerous Liaisons) lead this 1996 Stevenson inspired adaptation with rain, thunder, cobblestones, and nighttime dreary setting the gothic mood. Moonlit rooftops and sharp, from the window skylines provide a whiff of German Expressionism as the master of the house stays up all night in his laboratory across the courtyard. The cramped, shabby downstairs is busy with aprons and vintage cookery while above shines with polished woodwork and silver trays. Footsteps on the staircase and screams in the night, however, suggest something afoot. Mary is squeamish over anatomy books, bloody linens, and bashing eels for dinner yet this is the safest, kindest place she has been since entering service at twelve. She lets Jekyll examine her scars and recounts an unemployed father turned drunkard who locked her in the pantry with a rat. This delicate touching and faint caressing is iffy not romantic, and we don't need to see the abusive flashbacks to realize the violent, changed man, Hyde parallels either. Implications of how nasty Mary's father was are better suggested when she cries in her sleep, but her anguish and candor with Jekyll is downplayed in favor of her characterization as a nosy, talkative maid who doesn't want the other servants to think she goes above her station. Of course, she repeatedly breaks their tedious protocols and wastes time planting a garden when there's no sunshine – a foolish girl fixating on her flaky master. Bloody brothel bed chambers after the unseen lusty Hyde nights and over the top blackmailing madame Glenn Close (Albert Nobbs) brighten the drab back and forth as Mary becomes the go between repeating the hear tell while both men toy and manipulate her in a predatory, but ultimately nothing burger love triangle. Jekyll tells her to go the Hyde, Hyde talks as if Jekyll is also present, even ordering tea for two that Jekyll cancels when Mary brings it. Despite a sympathetic score accompanying the foggy kisses with Hyde, he verbally harasses Mary complete with a “Look what you made me do” non-apology. Roberts is miscast with a poor accent and period piece plain that doesn't suit her, yet the frustrating framework must remain in her point of view even as the Clark Kent/Superman lack of recognition becomes unbelievable. She lies to the police to protect Hyde, but Mary never learns or investigates, remaining a reactive character in overlong, uncomfortable relationships leading to knife play and an anti-climatic revelation with an almost comical transformation. Laboratory jars, creepy chains, and screams as Mary is nearly caught snooping aren't suspenseful because we're always aware the real story is elsewhere. This would have been better as an original gothic piece, but the crux as is isn't enjoyable for romance audiences or horror fans.


29 September 2022

Podcasts and More at InSession Film!

 


We've delved into some Alfred Hitchcock discourse recently at InSession Film, both in writing and on the new Women InSession Podcast with my fellow female critics Zita Short, Amy Thomasson, and Erica Richards! 😱





Hitchcock in the 1930s

Two Great, Two Ho-hum Hitchcock

Episode 7: Hitchcock in the 30s and 40s

Episode 8: Hitchock in the 1950s



You can follow all my of work at InSession Film on my Author Page or listen to previous episodes of Women InSession


23 September 2022

The Golden Palace

 

The Golden Palace Falters Greatly

by Kristin Battestella


The 1992-93 spin-off of The Golden Girls sees sexy southern belle Blanche Devereaux (Rue McClanahan), simple St. Olafian Rose Nylund (Betty White), and sassy Sicilian Sophia Petrillo (Estelle Getty) buy a hotel in The Golden Palace. Don Cheadle (Boogie Nights) as manager Roland Wilson and Cheech Marin (Up in Smoke) as Chef Chuy Castillos also star in this lone twenty-four episode season, but the bevy of guest stars can't overcome the repetitive writing, poor characterizations, and situational upheaval.


The Golden Palace opens where The Golden Girls ends in “Pilot” as our remaining girls sell their house after Bea Arthur's exit as the newly wed Dorothy Zbornak. Instead of the luxury hotel life, however, the lack of staff and in the red books mean the ladies have to work the Palace themselves. The zingers are still there along with the cheeky newcomers, but The Golden Palace is best when everyone is once again around the kitchen table. Solving the dilemmas over cheesecake, unfortunately, is precious and few as The Golden Palace often spends time on the unnecessary rather than the chemistry. In “Ebbtide for the Defense,” our staff has to double up three to a room amid cranky lawyer guests and canceled liability insurance as the girls realize running a hotel is tough. Of course, Bea Arthur returns as Dorothy in the “Seems Like Old Times” two-parter, wanting Sophia to come live with her in a plot already done multiple times on The Golden Girls. The girls having to wait tables themselves could have been done without Dorothy, but she is classy in acerbic perfection with charm and banter as if nothing has changed. The Golden Palace addresses the series transition with great tears and elevated performances when our ladies admit how Dorothy's leaving made them feel unneeded. Dorothy's surprised how hard they work but not afraid to tell off the guests, and The Golden Palace lacks this vigor. Previously, the ladies were socially vital, active with charities and events, but now their lives are stagnant and they hardly go beyond the hotel doors. Christmas Eve isn't divorced Chuy's favorite in “It's Beginning to Look a Lot (Less) Like Christmas.” He's right about excessive gifts, holiday debt, cleaning up after, and the depression of the season but dreams of A Christmas Carol with Rose as a Past angel, Blanche as “Presents,” and a tricked out Future Sophia. While typical, The Golden Palace should have done more of these theatrics and costumes. Blanche suspects guest Harold Gould (Rhoda) as Rose's boyfriend Miles Webber is cheating in “Miles, We Hardly Knew Ye,” and the episode wastes a lot of time before he arrives to tell Rose he has indeed met someone else. Fortunately, we can't hate Nanette Fabray (The Mary Tyler Moore Show) as his intended Fern in “Rose and Fern”– though The Golden Palace misses the opportunity to make Fern a relative like Rose's sisters Lily and Holly or add extra winks about Rhoda's dad marrying Mary's mom. A terse restaurant critic dies after eating Chuy's cooking in “You've Lost That Livin' Feeling,” but news crews and health inspectors are arriving for the hotel's grand re-opening in what feels like a 1993 sweeps reset. Rat poison and a dead body lead to cumulative physical comedy as the body moves from the freezer to a heavy suitcase and the laundry chute before someone ends up in bed with it. This is the first really memorable episode of The Golden Palace, and it should have come much sooner.


Chuy wants to go into business with Sophia's pizza and she does a ceremony to pass down her recipe, but this fine story competes with the titular Ned Beatty (Homicide: Life on the Street) in “Tad.” Blanche's family put away her special needs brother, and the terminology and some of the misunderstandings played for humor come off wrong. However, it's poignant that Rose is able to relate and mend Blanche's being ashamed in an Emmy worthy standout from an otherwise subpar year. Herbert Edelman returns as ex son-in-law Stan Zbornak in “One Angry Stan,” having faked his death over IRS troubles. His video will was tapped over with a bikini fest amid humorous eulogies and choice nods to The Golden Girls in what might have made a fun premiere had the girls inherited the hotel from him. Spring Break, Rose's granddaughter, frat pranks, and a giant burrito aren't the worst in “Sex, Lies, and Tortillas” but the lack of time to focus on the ageism, visual gags, sex, and menopause is indicative of everything wrong this season. Despite fresh scenery attempting to lure new audiences, The Golden Palace is not meant for newcomers. The ladies are never introduced, and Dorothy is repeatedly mentioned without explanation. Presuming nineties audiences to be aware of The Golden Girls' eighties success is simply the wrong point of view, yet the situational comedy falls back on tired punchlines rather than fully utilizing the strong characterizations that made The Golden Girls so memorable. Here it's as if they aren't even allowed to say “Picture it...Sicily” or “Back in St. Olaf...” and the perpetual need for business in “Promotional Considerations” is slow to get to the point. Rose telling Roland to smile and sing “Zip-a-Dee-Do-Dah” is inappropriately played for laughs, and Blanche is angry that he “usurps” her. This second episode could have been the pilot, showing the hotel problems in media res, but the minorities in subservient positions and their charged conflicts are passed off as humor. Sophia once again has a money scheme in “One Old Lady to Go,” using a Chinese restaurant with the same name to sell their takeout as room service while Rose helps a senile guest in crowded Golden Girls repeats. The superfluous A, B, and C busy interferes with serious moments like those that previously earned our ladies Emmys. Often The Golden Palace doesn't know what an episodes is about, and Blanche's romance in “Just a Gigolo” is all offscreen thanks to self-help hotel seminars and Chuy walking on hot coals to overcome his fear. A live comedy radio show at the hotel and Roland's divorcing parents are likewise two plots too big for “Marriage on the Rocks with a Twist.” Carol Burnett alums Harvey Korman and Tim Conway provide practical jokes and wrong transsexual quips poorly repeating both “Till Death Do We Volley” and “Goodbye Mr. Gordon” from The Golden Girls.


Roland's parents are also named George and Louise – as in Jefferson as if they couldn't think of any other names for a Black couple – and Blanche doesn't understand while Roland objects to a Southern Daughters group in “Camp Town Races Aren't Nearly as Much Fun as They used to Be.” He's talking about white sheets but she tells him he's overreacting about the Confederate flag, and while many Golden Palace episodes are weak and repetitive, this episode is downright disturbing. Though produced third, “Runaways” was apparently dumped in January and Roland taking care of a foster child should have been a one and done episode. In rare outdoor footage, Sophia steal's a guest's car and Blanche runs away from her responsibilities in an episode again littered with too many things. Blanche and Rose fight over a man in “Heartbreak Hotel” while Sophia ignores Roland's clear discomfort at a couples seminar in a surprisingly mean spirited entry, and in “Senor Stinky Learns Absolutely Nothing About Life” Blanche is oblivious to her sexual harassment. She has to learn how not to mix business with pleasure even when rival hotelier Ricardo Montalban (Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn) comes on to her. It would have been great to see Montalban recur in competitive suave, but the serious issues are down played while a volleyball competition pads time. Blanche's son Bill Engvall (Blue Collar Comedy Tour) and George Burns come for comedy club night, and Chuy wants to enter too in “Say Goodbye, Rose.” The Golden Girls already had Dorothy doing stand up and Bob Hope made a surprise appearance, but Eddie Albert (Green Acres) as a lookalike to Rose's late husband Charlie completes the lifted from The Golden Girls trifecta. Short notice tickets to be on The Price is Right in “A New Leash on Life” are also reminiscent of “Grab That Dough” on The Golden Girls. We do get to leave the hotel briefly, but the race track and greyhounds are told more than seen in too many serious storylines that don't get their due. Sophia needing a vacation and Roland potentially leaving for a bigger hotel makes “Pros and Concierge” seem like a good finale. It's only the third time they leave the hotel, too, and filler misunderstandings leave Roland humiliated and wearing a safari outfit because Blanche thought she was doing good. Blanche is also suddenly serious about a wealthy cattle baron who proposes and wants kids in “The Chicken and The Egg.” Debra Engle returns as Blanche's daughter Rebecca, but the heavy conversation about asking her for an egg is off camera thanks to an old ladies self-defense class subplot, and the dream sequence with everyone having giant pregnancy bellies is downright stupid.


Rue McClanahan's Blanche is wistful about all the many men her old bed had seen and wants to advertise the hotel by using her picture. Mama told her sex was a women's duty and she's been a good little soldier ever since. Chuy counters that Blanche is a five star general to be saluted, but her spicy reputation is told rather than seen on The Golden Palace. Although she was always the selfish work shy one on The Golden Girls, Blanche becomes increasingly unlikable when Roland accurately says she passes all the hotel problems onto someone else. She uses petty cash to buy a new dress and marks the ledger with “whoops” when she loses money with no realization or consequence. Blanche fires others and won't take blame for making the initial bad hotel deal before admitting she never thought this business would be so tough. Rather than her previous vivacious, she chases the pool hunk and gets taken by a gigolo – now a foolish, horny old lady in unnecessary character sabotage. Betty White's dimwitted Rose thinks the 2-4 years on a puzzle is the time for completion. Since The Golden Girls, she's begun shaving above the knee, bought a new teddy bear, and confesses she stole candy once. Rose stands up for herself multiple times but strengthening the character becomes one step forward two steps back when The Golden Palace reverts Rose to extreme stupidity. Her St. Olaf stories are also oft told of yet never actually told. It's unfair that she does all the labor for forty-two rooms, her relationship with Miles deserved better attention, and the animal welfare statements when she steals a dog scheduled to be put down are lost in the hectic plotting. Estelle Getty as Sophia does all the Italian cooking but turns over the meat and re-serves it to an angry customer who sent it back. She plays poker with Chuy and her purse contains bingo cards, brass knuckles, and 101 Jokes for the John. Sophia doesn't get a real plot of her own save for Dorothy's return, and she spends most of that off screen as if The Golden Palace doesn't know what to do with her sans her daughter. The new Shady Pines home has more amenities than the hotel, but Sophia wants to remain busy. At 88 she isn't ready to slow down yet nods off while vacuuming and flirts by offering men a raisin – because it's something wrinkly yet so tasty. Sophia walks through the lobby with a “tramp” or “slut” punchline as needed, however her softball sexual harassment isn't funny, and the trying to be cute to get out of doing something bad wears thin.


Manager Don Cheadle wants to get in good with the new owners but makes the mistake of asking Blanche if she has ever spent any time in hotels before owning one. He's well read and tries passing off arguments in the lobby as The Golden Palace Players Living Theater. Roland won't squish bugs and refuses to stick his hand in the chicken when he has to help in the kitchen. The girls want him to date more in “Can't Stand Losing You,” but it's stereotypical that Sophia thinks he's gay and racist that Blanche tries to set him up with the meat lady just because they are both Black. Roland is right that Blanche's stories of the South, St. Olaf tales, and Sicilian quips don't always help. This is a stronger episode letting the players shine as the family they are, but The Golden Palace is overcrowded and it's unfair to Cheadle and Cheech Marin as Chuy. There should have been more subversive references to his pot brownies! Chuy objects to Sophia in his kitchen criticizing his fine Mexican cuisine, for he believes any mistake can be covered with parsley. Unfortunately, his cooking spot on a morning talk show is all off camera. Chuy's struggles with being divorced also take a backseat to other stories, and the men often have B plots separate from the women as if The Golden Palace is two sitcoms put together. Young Billy Sullivan as (Little Big League) Roland's foster son Oliver is obnoxious from the start, doing hotel chores that make viewers wonder about child labor laws and extorting customers before Sophia blackmails him in a strangely cruel scheme. Though written off early, out of order episodes string him along throughout the season, an unnecessary eighties sitcom holdover unwelcome by 1992. The ugly pink and green décor is likewise dated with too much wicker and the same kitchen table from The Golden Girls as if we aren't supposed to notice. Even the mugs are the same! Blanche's rearranged room is clearly her original bedroom complete with the palm tree comforter, and the entire hotel set is an awkward, wasted space. People must walk passed the television in the lobby or around a piano, stairs, and the elevator as needed, and the small, in between dining room magically transforms into a full stage auditorium for George Burns. The private office beside the reception desk changes sides while tables and umbrellas in the front courtyard are rarely used compared to the back courtyard – clearly a lanai redress – which becomes a fake beach for volleyball. Having had the ladies wear uniforms suited to their individual styles or at least name tags to indicate they are staff may have hit home the hotel setting better, and the friendship lyrics on the updated theme song ultimately make little sense for The Golden Palace.


Reviewing The Golden Palace is disappointing and frustrating. There's a lot to criticize yet it's easy to zone out on the run of the mill comedy that leaves much to be desired. Why didn't they remain in the house but have one of the girls work in a hotel or buy Blanche's previous haunt The Rusty Anchor to have more musical moments? One has to wonder why The Golden Girls didn't just continue with another roommate culled from the series such as Debbie Reynolds' sassy widow Truby, any of the girls' sisters, Coco the gay cook, or even communist cousin Magda. The unprepared writers proceed as if having our remaining ladies repeating Newhart would be as successful as its groundbreaking predecessor, but The Golden Palace over relies on old connections yet changes too much. One person left so the only solution was to retool the entire show? Rather than making one cast change as seamless as possible, The Golden Palace erroneously expects The Golden Girls audience to remain despite a rocky upheaval that doesn't know how to focus on its ensemble.



06 September 2022

Dorothy Mills (2008)

 

Dorothy Mills is an Intriguing Genre Bender

by Kristin Battestella


Continental psychiatrist Jane Morton (Carice van Houten) travels to a tiny Irish island to evaluate Dorothy Mills (Jenn Murray), a young babysitter accused of attacking her infant charge in the 2008 international thriller Dorothy Mills written and directed by Agnes Merlet (Hideaways). Suspicious town history and backward thinking about the supernatural impedes Jane's attempts to unravel Dorothy's psychosis – leading to manifestations, violence, and revenge.


Turbulent coastal waters and foggy Irish cliffs open Dorothy Mills before scripture, crying babies, and creepy kids. The rural community and country church contrast the mainland institutions, psychiatry cases, and scientific evaluations as the old school atmosphere is set without the typical horror in your face prologue. Newspaper clippings of our attempted babysitter killer lead to a stormy ferry, water perils, winding roads, accidents, and all hands rescues. The local townsfolk are kind to the stylish outsider but gawk at her and balk at her mental sciences, distrustful of calling outside authorities to handle their business. Accounts of the night in question move fast with evil voices and hysterics – the parents of the victim fear Dorothy is insane and will abuse again. The minister recommended Dorothy as the sitter, for he's also the one room school teacher and the town doctor with outdated medical equipment and prescriptions for simple healthy living as the cure for everything. Supposedly devout men stare, drink, goad the youths, and object to our doctor's investigative approach. Her house to house interviews, therapy sessions, and tranquilizers jar with their bonfires, masks, slaughtered sheep, and homemade exorcisms. Even the relatively friendly, seemingly progressive sheriff tells Jane to leave before it's too late, but the ferry won't be there for another three days. Nosebleeds, flickering lights, dog perils, and hypnosis mix the supernatural and the psychology without resorting to today's big paranormal to dos. Is this multiple personalities? Ghosts? Possession? When the community blames and shames Dorothy, trying to cure mental illness with religion and backward fears, whom can you trust? Cliffside perils and taunting manifestations escalate to chilling visions of the drowned and deceased. Ghosts and flashbacks merge amid revelations and hypocrisy as the town fears more authorities and journalists coming to ruin their island. Can Jane and Dorothy leave the island for proper treatment? Rather than pulling the rug out from under the audience, this multi layered mystery balances the consequences, evidence, and payback as Dorothy Mills brings the threats home.



Early English roles as brief love interests don't do Carice van Houten (Black Death > Game of Thrones) justice, but Doctor Jane Morton has history. She's continental and suave, low cut compared to the drab, bundled up locals, but hints that Jane isn't so put together come via pictures of her late son and the booties dangling from the rear view mirror. Upon totaling her car fresh off the ferry, Jane sees and hears what others do not, however her grief remains touching rather than unreliable – until visions of her dead toddler mount. Instead of boom shocks and jump crescendos, these creepy, dreamy moments are sad, focusing on the pale distraught and tears. She hates the bland local foods and renting a primitive truck to get around the village, yet Jane continues to investigate while the snickering townsfolk object to her methods. There are a few whispering town asides to fill in the past, but Dorothy Mills is best when it stays in this outsider point of view. Old ladies upstairs and bygone crimes mount, but everyone insists Jane's ominous discoveries can't be, dismissing her as strained and exhausted as her appearance becomes increasingly frazzled. Our doctor is desperate to source Dorothy's psychosis – to Jane, Dorothy is the victim in need of treatment, a girl with Village of the Damned white braids and a room full of drawings, dolls, and toys. In her debut Jenn Murray (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them) is dowdy as Dorothy, looking younger already before skipping, changing her voice, and claiming to be a three year old named Mimi. No one listens to Dorothy but Jane, who promises to believe her without judgment and assess what's best. Dorothy's father is unknown, and this faith first community has always treated her as “special” instead of considering a true mental illness. Dorothy screams at the other reflections in the mirror before becoming an older, promiscuous teen rebel who tells of more personas that won't let Dorothy out because she tries to harm herself and them. Our unlikely pair must find which identity harmed the baby and why, but a dominant male named Duncan takes charge. Does Dorothy have psychic gifts that are a curse rather than a blessing? Her emotional connections to the deceased don't explain the paranormal phenomenon or the manifesting personalities. Dorothy Mills explores the trauma of the dead and resolves the root cause through our ladies and their relationship.


Thanks to the aughts production and rural locales, when exactly Dorothy Mills takes place is fittingly unclear. Mainland cell phones and big computers disappear in favor of downed phone lines, tape recorders, and no repairs on Sunday. People have to duck the low ceilings in old fashioned, cramped, and cluttered rooms amid mirrors, family photos, and lacking amenities. Cigarettes accent nerves, eerie distortions, zooms, and warped camera angles reflecting the mix of supernatural and psychosis. Surprising gunshots and splatter build chills rather than awe with gore, yet Dorothy Mills is unfortunately obscure. I still have a Netflix disc queue for such rarities, yes, but the long awaited disc was scratched, jumped, and skipped a few minutes several times. Recently, I've also seen several other early 2000s pictures that have been tough to find due to their fellow shitweinsteinpig labels – unfairly cut, unreleased, or buried. Dorothy Mills is an intriguing story, a well played drama that can't be pigeonholed with typical, erroneous Hollywood horror marketing. While this can play as horror at times, it is not meant to be scary. There are no whoosh across the room hysterics or sexual sensationalism and tawdry visuals drawn out in unnecessary episodes. To wise viewers, the cause is typical, apparent from the very beginning with obvious fatal twists and plenty of foreshadowing and watery metaphors. Fortunately, the personal investigations and tragic performances carry Dorothy Mills' mystery, pulling out a surprise or two thanks to the well done characterizations. Rather than a catch all of excuses throwing every horror trope at the screen to undermine the viewer, this is a fine balance of multiple paranormal ideas and real world trauma.


31 August 2022

Bats! Bats! Bats! 🦇

 

Bats! Bats! Bats! 🦇

By Kristin Battestella


It's time to put on our serious film criticism caps for some chiroptera pictures that don't take themselves so seriously. 🦇


Bats – Terribly dressed necking teens suffer flapping whooshes, bat shrieks, and strobe splatter in this 1999 mutant bats run amok so bad it's good written by John Logan (Penny Dreadful) starring Sheriff Lou Diamond Phillips (La Bamba) and scientist Dina Meyer (Starship Troopers). Picturesque Mountains, blue skies, desert rocks, technobabble, batology jokes, and Latin names are for the audience as CDC credentials are repeated and multiple plane trips finally get everyone to the scene. Everything before the autopsy analysis, gory cadavers, and jugular bite marks suggesting what's afoot could have been excised because we know bats are the culprit. The escaped subjects, scientific deduction, and government red tape move fast as the mayor worries about the newspaper headlines. Old computer graphics and folding maps demonstrate the spread risk despite the human arrogance, shady officials, and talkative, repetitive dire. It is smart, however, that we don't see some ridiculous monster bats immediately – screeches, swooping, bats breaking in, and the colony eyes lighting up at fresh prey provide innate unease. Most of the comic relief is unnecessary and misplaced when the situation is already preposterous yet chilling. People freak and flail while country music plays, babies lay in cribs beside the open windows, and bats await while the trucker eats his tater tots. The mayor warns people, but “everybody in Texas thinks they know everything about everything,” a surprisingly spot on observation on how people who don't listen and think they know best acerbate the horror. Although this wants to be The Birds and it isn't that clever, trapped deaths, wings enveloping the face, and bats seeming to enjoy pinning their terrified victims are disturbing. Guns aren't going to do anything, and the growling cloud comes on so fast to those unprepared. Distorted bat points of view accent the well done animatronics and lengthy action sequences – the CGI looks better than today's rushed fix it in post effects – but the melodramatic exclaims and stupid behaviors get old fast and the bats retreat for cinematic convenience. Fortifying the school while listening to opera, making lots of coffee, going to the roost itself, military not helping them, military dropping gear, convenient mines – pointless activity and mixed motivations make for a disjointed back and forth almost deliberately designed for flicking the television channels or missing something after commercial breaks. Maniacal, laughable scientists and deliberately released bats aren't shocking as reveals we already know pad the one step forward two steps back to meet ninety minutes. It takes an hour for anyone to consider using a frosty fire extinguisher or air conditioners, dialogue is lifted directly from Aliens, and the military is taken out off screen so our heroes can swim in the guano. Bombing countdowns, keys to the machinery, and bat shootouts add one snag in the plan after another, and it's easy to zone out or forget what the goal is. One wonders why this fly by night product is Rated R, and the science and government serious or self aware humor and horror never finds the right approach. Fortunately, it's all a bemusingly bad romp perfect for a fun midnight roast.


Nightwing – Desert silhouettes, sunset vistas, and Anasazi ruins are beautiful but eerie, rocky, and perilous in this 1979 adaptation directed by Arthur Hiller (Love Story). Henry Mancini (Romeo and Juliet) music and Crystal Gale on the radio accent the dusty roads, rustic jeeps, and cowboy hats as unexplained animal deaths acerbate Hopi Reservation friction between Maski police, Pahana councils, and Indian Bureau technicalities. Our deputy can't believe in prophecies to embrace your inner coyote warrior when the trailer clinic doesn't have neonatal necessities and basic medical care to which all Americans are supposed to be entitled. Stereotypical white savior Strother Martin (Slap Shot) is married to a local yet complains how the Meskwaki are ungrateful for his bare minimum services. Arguments keep the horror succinct – blood lose, bite marks, ammonia – as the outcast shaman warns of broken circles and beasts coming to end the world. The tricked out station wagon with backseat microscopes and satellite dishes on the roof encounters stampedes, dead sheep, bubonic plague, and doctors paid off despite the blood on the white burial cloth. Patronizing oil men say there's no time for stoned priests and visions of the deceased when there is money to be made. Souvenirs and superstition versus tissue samples and sulfur research increase gossip about who's Christian or believes in witches and rain dances. Those wanting to prove that they aren't drunk doll making fanatics aren't wrong. Do you prospect on sacred ground because money is the white man's god and that means schools and medicine for your people? Nature is indiscriminate but people will profit on the deceased for the right price. Backstabbing villains reveal their true selfishness, more concerned about oil deals then quarantines or alerting state authorities. Hymn singing white tourists don't want to hear blasphemy that all religion begins as superstition, but those disbelievers of local ways are who we see horribly attacked – before trampling old ladies to save themselves. Some swooping action and bad bats are laughable, but the practical effects look nicer than our poor CGI as the howling winds, screeching, hissing, and screams shatter the bleak desert night. Torches and hazmat suits lead to empty graves and underground chambers amid broken down vehicles, 128F heat, and transistor trackers. Bat specialist David Warner's (Wallander) flourishing, no fear vampire bringers of death soliloquies paint bats as the quintessence of evil in Shakespeare meets Jaws chilling as the freaky little teeth chew their way in when the electric fence falters. For those expecting horror a minute, this will be slow and overlong. Outside of George Clutesi (Prophecy), the cast is also unfortunately not Native American or First Nations. Despite some weak effects and mystical convenience, the well done drama comes full circle thanks to real bat footage, dangerous spelunking, and conflict beyond the horror warning us not to dismiss practices we don't understand. I'm surprised the ahead of its time statements were so ill received then, but it's downright eerie to watch this now in the Covid world – and not because of the bats.


Vampire Bats – Professor Lucy Lawless (Xena: Warrior Princess) leads this 2005 TV movie padded with unnecessary hip college action, dated music, bad dancing, cool lingo, and terrible style. The raves, booze, neon, and bad aughts attitudes should have been excised for opening with mom Lucy struggling with breakfast, no air conditioning, house renovations, and back to school. This domestic stress doesn't need the frenetic camera work thanks to boxes, toys, and pesky sister Brett Butler (Grace Under Fire) babysitting. Night fisherman Craig Ferguson (The Late Late Show) also adds enough winking humor in a stereotypical attack with a lot of looking up, spinning cameras, and screams. Seeing police question students as the teacher intervenes is better than the unnecessary party beginning as our professor inspects the deceased – identifying bite marks, unknown fangs, and the absence of blood. The nettlesome mayor doesn't want to panic the public over bat droppings, but strobe transitions of newspapers with vampire headlines held up to the camera are lame, distracting from debates about putting family first and letting the authorities handle the unexplained. It's shrewd that we don't see bad special effects attacks, however setting up a scary frat scene only to cut away from the potential horror seems pointless. The batty overlays and cartoonish CGI at the cocktail party also don't match the action as people knock over tables and fall amid dizzying, hectic photography. Fortunately, bats under the dock, hanging from the church eaves, or swirling above the moonlit waters and up close shots of the little bloodsuckers are choice atmosphere. Classroom discussion about habitat and environment or bats as parasites not killers should be the only time we see the campus. Waste disposal whispers, rabies, experiments, and students offering to help capture the critters lead to teeth mutations, the need to feed, and rushing to the car once the wings start flapping. Gloves, cages, nets, and chemicals invoke science while the overhead projector and chalkboards create nostalgia. The biology couple, however, doesn't need students tagging along to spy on the local toxic plant, and the story suffers once the husband is reduced in favor of the kids accidentally discovering how the bats react to music. Wouldn't unusual sonar be the first thing scientists test? Though feeling long for ninety minutes, the final fifteen minutes rushes with missing family and luring the bats planning. The close calls are well done, and the entire movie should have had this intensity, but whether toxic waste, corruption, and EPA failures were the mutant cause goes unresolved. This wants to poke fun at horror cliches but is neither humorous nor scary and tries so, so hard to be cool when it doesn't know its audience. Ironically, this yarn is better than it has any business being if you can take it for what it is.


Did you know that the vampire bat's species name is Desmodontinae? I like it. 🦇


19 August 2022

Dead Man's Gun Season Two

 

Dead Man's Gun Season 2 Falls Apart

by Kristin Battestella


The twenty-two episode 1998-99 Second Season of the Showtime western anthology Dead Man's Gun puts meek farmer Bruce Davison (X-Men) among the bank robbers and shootouts of “Ties That Bind” before chain gangs, deadly prison conditions, and pleas to the governor. Snake bites, bodily clues, rural chases, and set up escape attempts escalate to violence and corruption before revenge and one on one justice. Multiple people possess our titular evil gun, adding to its deadly mystique as some fall prey to its lure while others can resist its bad luck. A boy's school teacher with a fatal diagnosis can't handle his rowdy classroom in “Sheep's Clothing” until our gun in his hand improves his confidence, command, even his ailments. Perhaps more provocative now, this chilling parable on how a weapon creates obsession and threatens the lives in the classroom shows that a gun in the wrong hands is not empowerment to the innocents it harms. It's so easy to pull the trigger once you start, and this Third Episode should have been the season premiere. Irish Catholics and English Protestants likewise bend God's law as they see fit in “Sisters of Mercy.” Our nuns are both angry at blasphemy and the saloon being open on Sunday – not because it is the Lord's day, but it's when they planned to rob the bank next door. They bide their time helping the poor and broken women, pistol whipping the man who beats a working girl. The humor mixed with intrigue, however, is somewhat hollow despite the religious subject matter, and early in the season Dead Man's Gun has several decent, but not quite perfect episodes. Fortunately series producer Henry Winkler's titular “Hangman” calculates weight, scaffold height, and neck snap speed for a quick and easy death as decreed. It would have been intriguing if Dead Man's Gun had a regular character like this traveling in the gun's wake. Mercy is not his to give when an accused minister professes innocence, and the haunting voices and eerie mirrors standout as deeper introspection than “Sisters of Mercy” because the roulette is played serious sans humor. Our gun interferes in giving and taking life amid fear of the noose, perceived miracles, and those once hung who survived and get away with it. Statements about this gun not being for killing versus “all guns are meant for killing” are again provocative to hear now, and this episode would have made a fine series finale.

The Judgment Of Joe Dean Bonner” premiere would seem to have it all, including a creepy storekeeper who also runs the hotel named “Final Hour” and becomes the judge presenting the eponymous victims and flashbacks. The judge isn't the devil, but says he knows him well. Despite chilling moments and more supernatural aspects than the rest of the season, this contrived trial plays at both justice for the deceased as well as sympathy for their killer. The man versus the devil comeuppance could have been stronger, and it all comes off too modern. Rather than focusing on the evil aspects, Dead Man's Gun often becomes less about the gun and is more often straight western stories. Vintage boxing photographs and bare knuckle fights in “Winner Takes All” lead to shady promoters, rival showman, and the gun as the prize. The period sports had potential, but the training montages and positive orphan inspirations are so wholesome they're on the wrong show. “The Trapper” tries to tackle respectful Native American revenge, but the stereotypical racist white men are cruel and unnecessary. The shape-shifting justice is great – Dead Man's Gun needed more supernatural horror not less – but the gun temptation was there for the taking and this story is all from the wrong perspective. The tribe or location is never stated, and too many episodes are just generic “The” entries playing it safe and the back end of the season suffers most. The murderous but unaware cobbler in “Sleepwalker” could have been fascinating as point of view horror for a psychosis brought out by the gun, however, the silly saucy, jealousy, and motives end up a total snooze. Rather than use the gun, a woman leaves aces calling cards after her elaborate kills in “Four of a Kind” amid precocious little girls, interchangeable thugs and lawman, meek storekeepers, and laughable derivatives. When you put explosives in somebody's walnuts, don't leave the bottle clearly labeled nitroglycerin out for all to see. The new unpopular female doctor in “The Oath” is also overwrought with modern statements complete with snake oil salesmen, Old West anti-vaxxers, and frustrating Dr. Quinn copycats again on the wrong show. An Italian immigrant heading West in “The Vine” also makes for stereotypical characterizations, cliché accents, and sentimental strings laid on thick as Dead Man's Gun inexplicably turns from sinister to sweet and tender. Hopes? Dreams? Religious chorales and miraculous plants? “Bad Boys” offers more nameless sheriffs and hollow standoffs before a trio of kids uses the gun to do good against nasty dads. I was ready to turn this off in first five minutes but ended up watching on 1.5 speed. Quicksand, haberdashers, and the eponymous study of “The Phrenologist” fall flat amid rival suitors, baddies looking for loot, and some kid who grows up to be Thomas Edison. The fancy fast talking performance is obnoxious and laughable for all the wrong reasons.




Season Two does best mid-season with the long haired and vain Michael York
(Romeo and Juliet) as “The Collector.” His unique pieces include the gun and he's seeking a fellow professor of fine taste. The supposed civility and elitism add layers to the bumbling Old West archaeology rivalry as these so-called appreciators of Native American artifacts plunder nonetheless. They shoot buffalo because of their rarity and follow a treasure map to gold, scalps, bullets, and betrayals. Haughty British crook on the lamb Lysette Anthony (Dracula: Dead and Loving It) puts on the fake jolly good and hopes to make a crabby ex-Confederate general her next stool pigeon in “The Mimesers.” Again humor over suspense hurts the sinister household menace– the Southern generic crazy is over the top and the steamy attempts to get the loot would have been better with her alone instead of via a demented husband encouraging his wife. Fortunately, suspicious stock certificates, burying money in the backyard, and the key to the safe around his neck escalate to killer double crosses and for love or money twists. Seeing Michael Dorn (Star Trek) out of his Worf makeup in “The Pinkerton” is only the beginning of this noir styled Dashiell Hammett yarn. The racist, territorial sheriff resents this Pinkerton assigned to a local kidnapping case, but our man has succeeded in all his previous cases and admits a colored man has to be twice as good to get the job. Multifaceted performances and punchlines like “I'm a detective not a magician” accent the ransoms, suspect family, and procedural but in the Old West tone. He's warned to arm himself with our gun, but distrusts it's fine workmanship before ordering coffee at the saloon and talking down angry miners with high brow insults. Friendly barmaids versus femme fatales, motives, and clues are obvious to the wise viewer, but town lynch mobs, bullets, and deduction lead to respect. Our Pinkerton lost his family in a robbery shootout and killed the outlaws responsible, but it didn't bring his family back, and this remains one of Dead Man's Gun's best episodes. It almost feels like a backdoor pilot, and again, having a character like this recur could have given the series another season. In “Seven Deadly Sins,” Daniel Baldwin (Homicide: Life on the Street) is ready to take charge of his late father's bank but is forced to work under his brother. He happily screws customers on collateral, loans, and policy loopholes while drinking gambling, stealing, and blaming shortages on another clerk. He blackmails a farmer's wife for sex and uses our gun to achieve his corrupt goals, indulging in all the gluttonous vices before his fitting comeuppance.

Full moons and wolf howls lead to knives, splatter, and murdered prostitutes in “The Ripper,” which almost feels like a fun Halloween episode in what's supposed to be a horror series. Scotland Yard's Peter Firth (MI-5) is on the trail of Jack the Ripper – an American who has fled home and continued killing. Of course we immediately suspect a culprit, but the killing for satisfaction psychology makes for an entertaining what if before newspaper clippings, telegram evidence, working girl dalliances, and winking twists. A feisty writer coming West wants to write the life story of amoral gunslinger Billy Campbell (The 4400) for “The Regulator“ but his exploits aren't exactly legal and their tête-à-tête is tame today. It's disturbing, however, when he talks about the allure of our gun, what it takes to pull the trigger, and how to cull the herd. Any man will use a weapon if given the chance – it's a fairy tale to think otherwise – and it's eerie to see the tables turn on our likable scoundrel who says the terrible things we do now. Kate Jackson (Dark Shadows) directs the sermons, raunchy rides, and husbands chasing after wandering swindler Patrick Duffy (Dallas) in “The Womanizer.” He knows how to play the guitar as well as women, and the tone is sincere or humorous and cavalier depending on his honesty or triumph – save for an incriminating birthmark, that is. Again, the avenging church assassin in pursuit of his gun would have been a neat repeat character, and eventually the ultimate punishment catches our Lothario: marriage. Chez Emil Haute Cuisine also brings class to the West in “The Good Chef” even if the crowd can't pronounce the French names. The home cooking restaurant next door can't compete with the connoisseur who insists food is to dine not merely ingest, and any uncouth customers asking for ketchup, poor table manners, and quitting staff meet our gun. Although the tasty subject been done better on Tales from the Crypt and the temperamental chef feels too silly and modern, this is one of the better latter episodes culminating in the expected secret recipes. Sadly, the hasty series finale “A Just Reward” is a clip show cop out reusing weak moments from Season One and inexplicably the terrible “Bad Boys” from Year Two. This supposedly ominous Mr. Smith looks like a modern man in a black suit amid padding horseback chases, plodding camera panoramas, and mystical double talk suddenly concerned with the gun's effect on all who touch it when most of this lighthearted season the gun had no mind of its own. Mr. Smith says he's the gun's original owner before a laughable grim reaper transformation. It's camp and hokey like a bad Halloween costume, and the devilish judge from the faulty premiere would have been a better bookend to the series.




Thankfully, the outdoor photography is bright and barren or dusty and muddy as needed. Some interiors are slightly plain or dark, but the period clutter does a lot with little – oil lamps, nib pens, pocket watches, wallpaper, and wash basins. Vintage medical equipment or school house ephemera vary per episode as does the saloon piano and shadow schemes. Up close photography clearly cuts corners, but old fashioned gauze on the lens creates eerie overlays in camera as needed. Holsters, horses, and stagecoaches provide action while hats, spectacles, leather, and dusters provide a somewhat eighties meets 1880s style. Though fitting, the stock western facades on Dead Man's Gun all look the same. The town's not meant to be the same locale – it would be better if it were – but the set savings are clear despite careful shooting of specific buildings per episode. Slow motion shots feel dated and production quality varies from hour to hour. Bonnets, corsets and combinations look the part, but the women's dresses are costume modern and the ladies' hair is often terribly straggly – as if Old West look simply means unwashed. Elder actors make for better rustic than the out of place too nineties younger guests, but the repeating familiar faces become as noticeable as the bad generic, incorrect Southern accents. Unlike Year One with creators Howard and Ed Spielman writing, over half the episodes here have more than two credited writers, often as many as four. Combined with numerous directors, it's easy to see where Dead Man's Gun lost its cohesion, and the dragging forty-four minute episodes should have been a taut half hour instead. Dead Man's Gun DVDs are now also elusive and streaming options come and go, but the series works best as aired when you catch a one off weird western. Today this kind of show would be so violent it wouldn't be entertaining, yet dated filler episodes disappointingly stray from the paranormal gun aspects. Despite provocative stories, name stars, and intriguing characterizations, it's not surprising Dead Man's Gun was canceled once it forgoes its own chilling weapon and devilish premise, leaving the series as an awkward transition between the wholesome western television standard and today's serious bleak. Fortunately, skipping a clunker when marathoning Dead Man's Gun now solves any problems.