Brooding Victorians and Moody Costume Dramas

Brooding Victorians and Moody Costume Dramas

by Kristin Battestella

Well, the title pretty much says it all. If you're looking for angst, frocks, pathos, or British accents, settle in for these windswept period pieces and literary flavorings.

Jane Eyre – Lace, candles, bonnets, frills, and waist coasts open this eleven episode 1983 adaptation starring Zelah Clarke (Dombey & Son) and Timothy Dalton (The Living Daylights). The print is flat now and the production values hampered, however the attention to detail accents the gloomy manor house and its cruel family, abusive isolation, and rare comfort in books. Supposed problem child Jane is passed along to a terrible school where the punishment only increases because of her defiance in the face of starvation, illness, fatal friends, and instruments of correction. Often excised scenes are here word for word, and the very British glum and decorum may be boring for some before the warmth and comfort found in the governess position at Thornfield Hall. Kindly housekeepers and friendly chats let Jane express herself, but locked rooms, ghostly echoes, and whispers of the peculiar master build ominous before an enigmatic roadside encounter with a handsome stranger. Aren't all Jane Eyres identified by their Rochesters? Dalton's brooding suave is very much what we think of in a Rochester – smoldering and easily flustered by Jane in debates over tea where dialogue and performance are primary. He's used to having his way but this lowly governess won't buckle despite the unresolved sexual tension before there was even UST. Jane isn't exceptional but won't yield on her convictions, earning a begrudging respect from the melancholy Rochester, who can confide in her about reluctant gentry matches and superiority versus equality. He admires Jane's purity and would seek to reform through her, wearing his heart on his sleeve even as his secrets would corrupt her. Sinister violence and mysterious accidents make happiness too good to be true alongside beds set on fire, fascinating dualities on character and wickedness, and wild versus saintly symbolism. Jealous resentments dampen pleasant outdoor scenes, turning charming one on one banter into angry, looming, and yearning repression. Rochester is not the silent type, and the scene chewing in many ways has to speak for both characters and draw out do gooder Jane. In spite of the deathbed confessions, age differences, be on your guard warnings, and symbolic white veils torn in two – talk about red flags, girl – we're here for it hook, line, and sinker, swept up in the impediments at the altar, scary attic scenes, bitter revelations, and fleeing into the moors to forgo love and be true to oneself. Seriously though, what is St. John's problem anyway? While this is a wonderful story, the finale does rely on sudden relatives and coincidental fortunes, and I for one was always disappointing something more spooky wasn't afoot. Late episodes away from Thornfield drag thanks to odd scenes without first person narrator Jane and this is a little too long to marathon all at once, but this unabashedly takes its time to assure a complete adaptation. I love the 2011 version for its compact, more gothic spirit; however this is delightful for fans of the cast, period piece audiences, classroom comparisons, and Bronte lovers.

The Man Who Invented Christmas – Dan Stevens (Downton Abbey) stars as Charles Dickens alongside Christopher Plummer (Somewhere in Time) and Jonathan Pryce (Hysteria) in this whimsical 2017 account on what really happened during the 1843 writing of A Christmas Carol. Our successful author has toured America to much fanfare, but Dickens is ready to get back to work despite unforthcoming publishers thanks to the poor sales of Barnaby Rudge, negative Martin Chuzzlewit reviews, and gasp – writer's block. It's expensive being a London gentleman when the wife is redecorating, bills are mounting, and everyone wants a donation from the exhausted Dickens, who has no creativity and a deadline to meet. Fancy garb, carriages, quills, candles, and humorous crescendos create charm alongside entertaining children with fairy tales and holiday mentions of veils being lifted as spirits roam between worlds. Grim alleys, dark cemeteries, bitter mourners, snobby friends wishing the poor would die, and humbug revelations inspire Dickens to write about a vile money maker learning the err of his ways thanks to sprites and spiritual intervention. Unfortunately, there wasn't a market for Christmas books back then and no profit in such a minor holiday. Going it alone, Dickens bounces about his bower mimicking voices – because if your find the character's name, he will appear. Similar to Miss Potter, Dickens transcribes Carol quotes from bemusing encounters with the famous characters entering his chamber. Scenes we know and love are acted out before him until an abrupt “That's as far as I've gotten” halt while the players add their opinions on the tale whether he wants them to or not. After starting well, begging for money and mooching relatives slow the spirited possibilities, and we shouldn't leave Dickens' breakthrough once the wonderful frenzy happens. There are hints of darker Dickens aspects, but his debtors fears and realistic problems feel shoehorned in once the fanciful comes to life. It's tough to have the author mirror Scrooge with contrived overnight changes and revelations about Dickens' terrible childhood when we know his life story and anything truly heavy is off limits. Problems are created just for a third act resolution, and one on one confrontations with his father regarding Dickens' lingering shame and brokenness are more powerful. The source here is a non-fiction book, but the film is obviously fiction, and viewers know Dickens had success before and will again. Maybe the real world Victorian issues are meant to parallel the Carol constructs, however the narrative can be uneven, interrupting arguments about killing off characters while they wait about his room or repeating his struggle over what of himself to put on the page before wondering what the point of a story is if there is no hope. After all the forgiveness discourse, a quick postscript with newfangled Christmas trees says everything turned out just fine – although writers today seeing Dickens' need to self publish and inability to get a $300 loan know circumstances haven't really changed amirite? This isn't necessarily a Christmas movie, and the family friendly fantasy may be too much for those seeking a hardcore Dickens biography. Some audiences may be sly to the author within his own story gimmick, too. Fortunately, there's enough charm in the wholesome nuggets and inventive twists on the familiar tale, and I'd also here for Plummer playing Scrooge en masse yes please.

The Turn of the Screw – Downton Abbey alum Michelle Dockery joins Dan Stevens (again) and Nicola Walker (MI-5) in this ninety minute 2009 BBC adaptation of the Henry James askew moving the repressed ambiguity to 1921 institutions with post war doctors analyzing our governess' infatuation with her employer, the topsy turvy male shortage, and of kilter Bly Manor. Fashions, hats, sweet automobiles, fine woodwork, and hefty antiques sell the refreshing setting, however the nonsensical strobe flashes look amateur on top of the time wasting, disjointed doctoring add-ons and unnecessary narration. Visions of dalliances that initially upgrade the Victorian scandalous soon hit the viewer over the head one too many times as the governess imagines her master and his saucy approval. She insists she's not the nervous type, but the dark interiors, maze like staircases, and distorted camera angles add to the strange noises and creepy country manor unease. She's in charge, above housekeepers and maids, but there are too many flighty women doing all the work in this house. Parasols and summer white contrast eerie fog and trains as her boy charge is expelled from school without explanation. The cheeky children whisper about their previous, pretty governess – unbothered by screams, accidents, or dying maids. Melancholy piano music, graveyard echoes, dark figures amid the trees, and faces in the window build on the female isolation, yet all insist there are no ghosts – surely she's just hysterical, overwrought, and obsessed with men. Rumors of suicide and a woman ruined by her lover seem proved by hidden pictures of the master's up to no good valet, and tales of his violence among the unprotected women are better than seeing suspect flashbacks. The prim style degrades to loose hair and nightgowns as our governess jumps to dire conclusions and possessive delirium, but the shouting about it afterward with her doctor interruptions break the tainted picnics and frantic tension. We don't need his sounding board to deduce her fears, just let us see the abusive violence and water perils. Crazy laughter and disembodied voices escalate as the phantoms, repression, and projection possibilities culminate in a one on one battle for the truth. The deviations here are flawed, and while the horror lite is fine for gothic period piece fans, some viewers will expect more than the have it both ways attempt at the ghosts and crazy ambiguity. This isn't the best version but thanks to the cast and unique setting, it can be a good introduction for audiences who haven't seen The Innocents.

A Disappointment

Under Capricorn – Ingrid Bergman (Anastasia) and Joseph Cotten (Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte) star in this overlong 1949 mystery from director Alfred Hitchcock (The Birds) with an opening narration filling in the Colonial Australia history and past Ireland secrets before 1831 governors, stiff upper lip politicking, and wooden exposition. Who has money, who's related to whom, who's doing the land deals – it's all clunky and yawn worthy on top of a period setting perhaps obscure for American audiences then and now. Colorful waistcoats, cravats, and frocks alongside muddy frontier streets and carriages attempt an early Victorian meets Wild West tone, but the shrunken heads rolling at their feet is more awkward then shocking. Hitchcock attempts new techniques here in his second Technicolor film – long takes, zooms, and tracking cameras following the players in scene. Unfortunately, the direction is stilted, moving from men talking to other men talking about what the other men just said. The first fifteen minutes of convicts turned businessmen and conversations while bathing in a barrel could have been excised, opening instead with the newly arrived scoundrel eavesdropping on a suspect dinner at the creepy manor house. Iron-fisted housekeepers, beaten staff, and disobedient convicts add to the drinks, whispers, social shunnings, and an intriguingly absent wife – who has some history with the new man in town. So much time is spent talking about the past at the expense of the present, yet people readily drop all their secrets and explain their life stories to folks they've just met. A few sentimental winks and smiles bolster the love story elements, however it's awkward to see Bergman both lighting up the room as well as playing the drunken barefoot and wobbling sickly. Uncharismatic, strong chinned men, swelling crescendos, and fainting women combine for all the things audiences bemoan about period pieces, and the supposedly scandalous love triangles remain undynamic. A stable boy eloping with the master's daughter and killing her brother in the process while the maid secretly poisons the wife would make for an interesting tale, but most of that action is told after the fact rather than shown. The tiara ensemble and divine ball make for the one exceptional, uninterrupted sequence capturing all the guilt and performance lacking in the rest of the film. Despite horse chases, who really shot whom revelations, and deportation threats; the drama never seems to happen before the abrupt happy ending. One can see what Hitchcock is trying to attempt with characters bound to the visual frame as well as their inescapable history. Unfortunately, calling attention to the drama with the camera only shows how thin the story is. Even if viewers leave any Master of Suspense expectations aside and like romantic period yarns, this is really only for the Hitchcock and Bergman completists.

Wild Retro Frights!

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.

Witches, Writers, and Scary Clowns

Witches, Writers, and Scary Clowns

by Kristin Battestella

This contemporary potluck provides unexpected horrors in unique places thanks to scary witches, trapped writers, and killer clowns.

The Witch in the Window – A distant dad and his withdrawn twelve year old son move into to a New England fixer upper in this 2018 creepy billed as a Shudder Original. Although there is a driving montage with a pee stop and complaints about nature; the family arguments, hardware dialogue, and real estate questions are more realistic than the oft seen teen horror cliches. Mom dislikes the flipping gamble, dad's trying to make up for past mistakes, and the kid who doesn't want to be there has been in trouble for some shady internet exploring because he's too big for his old action figures and frustrating Magic Eye hidden pictures. The scenery and house are wonderful, however ominous windows, a spooky basement, thumping within the walls, and no neighbors for quarter of a mile provide mood - and the local terror tales of our eponymous lady weren't disclosed in the sale. Brief, disturbing glimpses of corpses and dead crows in the chimney acerbate heart conditions as men and boys are admittedly freaked out over eerie reflections in the mirror and warning voices about the house's past. Filming within frames or windows are well done, and the audience must pay attention to the solitude. We see apparitions the protagonists do not, but the chills aren't in your face boo shock crescendos for the viewer's benefit. Instead, the increasingly crowded setting gets freakier by doing almost nothing at all while crackling electricity and natural lighting make us speculate further on what we see or don't see. The title tells the audience what's coming, however, ghosts don't appear on the smartphone camera and silence makes the ghoulish silhouettes all the more terrifying. What are our boys to do when the house they intend to flip already has a resident? Men talk over beers, debating if a haunted house can really hurt them after sleepwalking, questionable phone calls, and deceiving appearances. Can a bad home be made good again? Work progresses during the day, for all are afraid to stay there at night when the scary truths are revealed. Viewers shouldn't let our guard down as eerie doubts on who's inside or out and real or illusion escalate to disturbing contact and bargains to stay with the frights or abandon the home. At only seventy-seven minutes, there's no excess fluff necessary to tell these well-paced scary metaphors and surprisingly heart warming horrors.

Writers Retreat – Novelists face their fears in more ways than one at this 2015 island workshop with high tide isolation and no internet or cell phones. Awkward book signings, contract deadlines, angry agents, dead vermin, and highway mishaps assure this meeting is off on the wrong foot for our introverted strangers. There's one emergency landline, and the ice breaker exercises, manuscript focus, and writing discussions are more like therapy for this diverse group. Writers are weird by nature, however some are more pretentious than others, rolling their eyes and creating tension over what they consider hack manuscripts if the wounded amateur is upset by their critique. Staring at the blank laptop screen, long hand journaling, inspirational photography, and subjects going off by themselves provide withdrawn writing routines but the notebooks, clicking keys, and angelic, panning montages make it seem like we're witnessing something mystical in action when writing is a lot more complicated than that. Brief sentences read aloud reveal much about these characters in need of validation, for a few aren't even writing at all before sudden disappearances, red herrings, and inside/outside, voyeuristic camera framing to match the lurking men, misogynistic threats, and gory evidence. Private moments away from the workshop make the viewer pay attention to the individual prejudices, flirtations, preferences, drinking, history, and self harm. Everyone has their issues, but is anyone willing to kill for the 'write what you know' experience? Mysteries and relative truths escalate into horror with hammers to the head, stabbings, and rap tap tapping on the windows let in for some slicing and dicing. Vomiting, blood, pointing fingers, and power outages accent the writing angles and slasher styles as deliberate reveals, torture instruments laid out in the kitchen, eyeballs on the platter, and a glass of wine provide scene chewing villainy. Unfortunately, the intriguing, sophisticated start does devolve in one fell swoop with haphazard running around, dead body shocks, and knockouts or tie ups that happen too easy. There's no one by one crafty kill or time for our intelligent writers to piece the crimes together – or not reveal what they know because that nugget would be a great piece for their manuscript. Creative corkscrew uses, torture porn, and one on one gruesome go on too long, unraveling with loud boo crescendos for every hit, stab, and plunge making an injury seem so severe before the victim inexplicably comes back for more. Although the final act and the predictable bookends deserved more polish, this is worth the late night look for both writers and horror fans.

You Make the Call

The Clown at Midnight – Teacher Margot Kidder (Black Christmas) and her drama class clean up Christopher Plummer's (Somewhere in Time) abandoned theatre in this 1999 Canadian horror cum unintentional comedy. Pagliacci posters, candles, roses, and backstage juicy lead to ominous theatre staircases, knocks on the star's dressing room door, and violent shockers accented by opera. The murderous history, killer clowns, vintage costumes, and grand stage scale create atmosphere, however the death by Pagliacci is too on the nose Seinfeld laughable before restarting with typical teen exposition. There are theatre nerds, gay drama queens, a black BFF, the bad boy who drives a hearse, and the conscripted football star and his prom queen serving the poor dialogue, terrible acting, and Scooby Doo clichés. Fortunately, rats, falling lighting, suspect relatives, and whispers of ghosts accent Kidder's much needed sassy and Plummer's underutilized suave. Viewers miss the adults when they're off screen – we don't care about the kids sneaking beer and pizza behind the teacher's back before deliberately trying to scare the emo daughter of the theatre's famous victim. It's ridiculously convenient that her school has received this grant to fix up the scene of the crime while she's having inexplicable psychic visions and hysterical episodes. This blending of the past and present would have been better if the ensemble was just a little older or more defined – college parapsychologists or a film crew rather than leaving the love triangles, strangulations, axes, and beheadings amid the teen lame jumping to conclusions just because the script says so. Naturally, there are giveaways from the beginning that a killer clown is on the loose, which takes away the ambiguity on top of bemusing clown phobias and dream fake outs before cleaning montages and terrible music. Rope mishaps, electricity sparks, and stage sword mishaps are also ruined by a crappy sex scene that's spliced with the thrusts, panting, and give it to me voiceover from a mock sword fight. It's stupid enough to tune out then and there, yet the appeal of seeing these teens get what they deserve is greater thanks to creepy elevators, maze like stagings, trap doors, and spears. Rooftop scares and freaky props don't have enough time to fully utilize the atmosphere, and there's no real mystery like there should because the dark comedy winking on the genre falls flat. Despite unique potential, the fatal Pagliacci cues, terrible punchlines, and lack of resolution underestimate the audience. There are better teen slashers out there, and one has to be able to laugh at the low budget gore or enjoy shouting at the television to forgive the obviousness here.

Relocation Horrors, Oh My!

Campy Relocation Horrors, Oh My!

By Kristin Battestella

What does one do when one has recently moved? Watch a bunch of laughably bad and campy horror movies about those very same household fears and relocation frights!

Encore – An airplane arrival, fur coats, and a mod pad lead to one rickety elevator and some serious sickle slicing on the staircase in this 1978 thriller. Sure it's Made for TV cheap with poor video quality and dated easy listening recording sessions a la Engelbert Humperdinck, but one phone call fills us in on the divorcing American star moving to England for a new music retreat as intercut suspense and well edited attacks add chopped off hands and up close splatter. A saucy secretary, seemingly friendly agents, and a shady best friend create red herrings alongside an old lady housekeeper saving all our singer's press clippings, the gardener with all the sharp tools, and one giant tape recorder. The undiscovered body is used for scene transitions and a decomposing passage of time, invoking a sense of unease as the victim's voice and sobbing are heard between nightmares and foreboding noises the closed captioning calls “demonic cackling” and ghostly shrieking.” Our manager is angry at the precious years our star's interfering wife took away from the spotlight, and grandfather clocks, interior shadows, and a roaming camera add to the creepy house explorations and spooky atmosphere. Flashback clues, buzzing flies, beachside naughty, and corpses in wheelchairs build motive as swift violence, juicy implications, locked basements, and psychological twists potpourri the shady afoot. Revelations in the final half hour give information but raise more questions as the country manor maze and madness escalates. Maybe some parts are obvious or corny and derivative, but this is a fun little guessing game with choice horror moments and a spooky, entertaining atmosphere.

Stormswept – Grand columns, bayou scenery, candles, thunder, ghostly gusts, and possessions start this almost seventies feeling 1995 romp starring Kathleen Kinmont (Renegade) amid realtors avoiding a house of horrors disclosure and muddy accidents. The chandeliers and staircase grandeur can also seen in North and South, but there are spiders, covered furniture, and flashes of past boobs, blood, and some kind of skeleton dildo thingie. Saucy paintings abound, naughty books contain graphic ejaculation or cunnilingus art, and red four poster beds await. This is obviously low budget Skinemax style – so despite the eerie atmosphere, some scary filming, ominous silhouettes in rain slickers, and frightful reflections in the window, one can't tell if everyone is going to die or have sex, probably both. Four women and two men are Marilyn Chambers numbers! It takes too long for the crew to get stranded at the plantation, but the film within a film chases feature girls in white shirts and no bras while playing into girl on girl fantasies with let's get off your wet clothes talk and accidental towel drops. I laughed out loud at that, I really did! Although the dated midriffs, acid wash jeans, giant old portable phone, and faxed paperwork are bemusing, most of the sexual dialogue is uncomfortable. The men say once a guy has sex with another man he's a homosexual but it's okay for the women to experiment for them as it doesn't make them lesbians. Truth or dare demands the women kiss, word association games start with “pink” – it's disturbing the way actor turned luxury rehab guru Justin Carroll's director character has these women trapped, doing what he wants and not caring if anyone is upset by the sex chats. Whooshing storm effects live up to title and there's a torture history binding everyone to the house, but not much sense is made of this evil spirit driving one and all to sex and kill. The overlong wet dream confessions and lez be friends scenes embrace the step above soft core rather than exceed that lower rung with the horror. I almost wish this could be redone to be more quality. Hidden people in the basement, secret diaries, murders – but our actress has never had an orgasm and it's more important for the manipulative director to hypnotize her into touching herself in front of everyone like Showgirls thrashing in the pool. She recalls painful abuse and incest memories, but he tells her she need not be guilty over masturbating with her brother and can go ahead and have her ultimate sexual fantasy about Alex Trebek. O_o o_O I thought this was supposed to be a horror movie! While terribly laughable and base level entertaining, I just... insert Nathan Fillion confused gif here. Is there even a saucy ghost or is this what happens when you lock messy horny people in the house on a stormy night?

I Didn't Think it was *that* Bad

Cold Creek Manor – New York skylines, business flights, morning rushes, and scary accidents lead to a perilous country renovation for Dennis Quaid (Innerspace), Sharon Stone (Basic Instinct), Kristen Stewart (Twilight), Stephen Dorff (Blade), Juliette Lewis (Strange Days), and Christopher Plummer (Somewhere in Time) in this 2003 thriller from director Mike Figgis (Stormy Monday). The prologue, drive to the scares, and less than friendly redneck rest stops are just a few of the usual horror staples for our pretty rich white city folk. However, there is a high end style with a great brick manor, overgrown charm, and unusual slaughter tools amid the spiderwebs, children's clothes left behind, vintage family portraits, and saucy Polaroids. Older cell phones and flip cameras feel more rural than dated, and overhead camera angles, up close shots, in and out of focus usage, slow zooms, and pans in the stairwell add chills. Intercut conversations also build community tension with chats in a booth versus whispers at the bar revealing the small town connections as uncouth relatives insist there are no hard feelings over the foreclosure sale. The trailer park naughty, shirtless handyman steamy, and mano y mano contests, however, are weak try hards alongside several unnecessary characters compromising what should be taut isolation. Snakes – and I do mean snakes for those terrified of them – nursing home nasty old men, skull bashing and devil's throat dialogue, and tavern violence accent the backwoods car chases, animals in peril, and buried evidence as storms approach. Rather than in your face hectic loudness, the most frightening scenes here are the quiet chills, but of course nobody pays attention to the son who's holding all the information needed and being upfront about the real estate deal would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. The evasive camera and poor editing are used to distract from confusing logistics, and drinking or affairs contrivances are planted to deflect from the wealthy people claiming they have no resources to leave before the weak rooftop standoff. This tries to be sophisticated and had the pieces to be better but fails in putting together a steamy, fatal, cerebral thriller. Ironically this derivative is better than the recent trite scares shilled out, and if you go in expecting the standard house horrors, this can still be bemusing.

But a Skip that Should have been Better

Havenhurst – Julie Benz (Buffy) and Danielle Harris (Halloween) battle the titular apartment building cliches in this 2016 eighty odd minutes with thunderstorms, bloody bathrooms, false jump scares, drags across the room, slow motion tosses in the air, and whooshes on the ceiling. Silly sex scenes, security cameras watching, shower scene scares, clueless men, and drunken dream flashbacks are also unnecessary – rehab meetings and a picture in the locket are child lost enough. These female roles are typical ladies in towels, and the editing is designed for the audience rather than building internal atmosphere or characters. Nothing is needed before our new tenant meets Fionnula Flanagan (Brotherhood) as the classy but suspicious building owner, the action should never leave the complex once we're there, and 666 Park Avenue is not a show this should copy. The locale has style, a fine patina, handsome woodwork, retro cameras, and undeveloped film. Photos within photos, scribbled maps hidden in picture frames, and ominous envelopes slipped under the door suggest more amid hints of red – a seal on the contract, ink for a signature, the eviction notice. Unfortunately, rattling walls, unseen frights, and screams in the next room are never as dark or scary as they should be because the secrets are given to the viewer early – and it's frustrating when the characters can't figure it out despite laughable strongmen behind trap doors, false walls, and weak horror set pieces. If the audience never sees anything or doesn't leave the protagonist's point of view, we can wonder if this is real, surreal, or all in her mind. Instead, the basement, tunnels, and guts feel hollow because there's no mystery when viewers see the secrets before the character. We know who's involved, and conveniently placed flashlights easily allowed one to find the dusty file room for a research montage that's just cool clips onscreen for the audience to read – not the character actually looking at the lame history herself. The nonsensical building logistics, physical impossibilities, and supernatural red herrings underestimate the viewer, removing any suspension of disbelief with too many preposterous happenings and no in-world anchor for the anemic house of horrors.

A Shakespeare Trio, Twice!

A Shakespeare Trio, Twice!

by Kristin Battestella

My To Watch List has a long line of Shakespearean shows, so let's steamroll on with more all things upon Avon pomp, circumstance, and powerhouse performances!



Macbeth – This 2010 Peabody Award winning television rendition retains the Shakespearean text but transposes its two and a half hour Scottish Play to a surreal regime with stock footage of explosions and bombs setting the scene before eerie hospital gurneys, flat lining monitors, and freaky witches disguised as nurses. Underground bunker planning adds to the purgatory paranormal, and despite the unseen battle action, we recognize the fascist peril and prophecy gone awry. The kingsly talk doesn't seem out of place with mid-century guns thanks to fine delivery all around, and Sir Patrick Stewart looks the rugged soldier – a passed over thane ready to take credence in a supernatural hope too good to be true. His mustache and dress uniform hit home the cutthroat regime coup, and this desire for power becoming reality is more frightening and contemporary than we care to admit. Stewart faces the camera directly for his soliloquies, getting angry and closer to the lense as his political exterior consumes his guilty interior. He's getting ahead of himself in doing away with everybody, and the violence snowballs out of control. Lady in white Kate Fleetwood should be a forties dame beauty, however her harsh jawline and sharp cheekbones invoke a grim reaper facade, pairing her ill intentions with a psychotic yet sexy, alluring look. She's had plenty of time to plan her ascent while detesting her domestic duties – Mrs. MacB seems loving at first, but her blood red lips foreshadow her killer finishes and belittling cruelty. By contrast, her excellent sleepwalking scene strips this devil in a red dress down to a slip, no make up, and her true skeletal hollow. The audience cannot escape her foreground mental breakdown just as she cannot wash the blood from her hands. There are no major effects here, however period dressing, swift editing, and colorful lighting transitions provide cinematic flavor. Green sickly hues reflect mounting jealousy, and omen sound effects such as tolling bells, owls, and ravens create an eerie atmosphere for the hellish elevator traversing the titular up and down fates. Television parades, dictator banners, fancy fur hats, and glamorous red designs escalate the selling the soul downward spiral – using the sophistication of the era with dinner parties, period music, and record players as well as chanting and firing squads for wartime horrors. Upsetting Macduff killings add Anne Frank symbolism while noir photography accents the empty, darkening sets and increasingly tighter camerawork. Some may dislike the surreal intrusions or slow motion gory, but the source play is amoral and spooky, lending itself to such fascist horrors. The fitting bunker siege finale against the Macbeths looks not Bard, but like an action history drama – shrewdly keeping the parallels fresh in spite of this period setting on 400 year old material. Here the human drama, great performances, and bloody aftermath are done superbly with story, location, mood, and no need for hyperbole.

Richard III – Producer, director, and writer Laurence Olivier assembles an excellent, knights included, everybody who is Bard anybody ensemble featuring Ralph Richardson, Claire Bloom, Cedric Hardwicke, and John Gielgud for this hefty 1955 adaptation costing a mere 6 mil. The effortless repertory proves how pleasantly period the Shakespearean dialogue can be – even in this condensed yet two and a half hours plus edition with excised characters and outside source material. Although the complicated plots and ploys require some background knowledge, the opening scrolls provide medieval flair thanks to rousing music and monastic chanting while setting the War of the Roses backdrop with a who is Lancaster and who is York introduction. I wish all Shakespeare adaptations did this! Some Burger King crowns are ugly and cheap, granted, but colorful costumes, banners, and regalia dress the castle staging in a slightly fantastic look – and hennins, people, hennins. Our titular deformed brother looks smarmy with a glare to match, on the side but intrusive before addressing his famed soliloquy directly to the camera. This up to no good unreliable narrator is the jealous audience anchor – cheated by his half a man facade yet witty and gosh darn likable as he keeps us in the know on his plans. Larry's tour de force is despicable yet enjoyable, with creepy asides daring viewers to witness his crocodile tears, marital deception, and multifaceted but seemingly effortless orchestration of brother against brother. The well done camera work matches this fly on the wall tone with over the shoulder peering, following characters through opening doors, and tracking shots across the whispering court. Such interior filming may seem congested to some – horses on set can't hide the fake snow and obviously tiny ye olde stage streets, either. However, this intimate, no scale world matches the behind closed doors family squabble at work, and the court increasingly darkens while Richard is on the throne. This doesn't feel like mid-century happy go lucky bright thanks to eerie night before the battle dreams, yet the Technicolor and VistaVision looks remain fresh. How did Sir Laurence and company not win more awards? This history is in some ways ahead of its time with its attempt to air on television and be released in theaters simultaneously – something Hollywood is only recently starting to embrace with video on demand. The feature laden Criterion DVD is an enjoyable listen just to have on the television for some background or to get in that medieval mood. It's no tragedy when Richard gets his just do in this sweeping and ironically self-aware Bosworth topper. We know how he gets the crown – with almost an hour left over those poor Princes in the Tower – and we know how the kingdom for a horse ends – with new grave findings, too – yet this vile 15^th century tale remains ruthless good fun. 

Shakespeare Uncovered – This 2015 six hour Second Series from PBS uses plenty of stars to discuss all things Bard, and Hugh Bonneville, Ralph Fiennes, and Julie Taymor fittingly begin with the magic, fantasy, and universally appealing imagination versus reality of “A Midsummer Night's Dream.” Shakespearean history and Elizabethan scandals help breakdown stage references, comedic play within a play awareness, and text both bawdy and innocent thanks to fairies and Greek motifs. Episode Two, however, goes dark and depressing with tempers, paternal angst, rivalries, and regrets as Christopher Plummer, Ian McKellan, and Simon Russell Beale discuss “King Lear.” Contradictory madness and fragility are debated alongside separating the man from the crown, arguable happy endings, James I influences, and the never to old to reform lessons. Morgan Freeman uses Old West parallels and Bill's humble birth, sly jokes, and play commentary on the emerging London theatre industry to chat “The Taming of The Shrew” with Julia Stiles, Brian Cox, Tracey Ullman, and Fiona Shaw. Early performance footage of Meryl Streep, Raul Julia, John Cleese, and Burton and Taylor clips shape the sexism controversies, sexual innuendo, and new jokes on old nag cliches with fresh spirit, heroic independence, and a proactive female character not having any of this man's world be silent – at a time when the men on stage played the women! The fourth hour “Othello” discusses race in Elizabethan times, travel and culture exchanges, overt historical racism, and the unfortunate blackface depictions of Anthony Hopkins and Laurence Olivier with David Harewood, Imogen Stubbs, and Patrick Stewart. Are there ones close to us that would thrive on our weakness or love just to stir the pot? You betcha, and such orchestrated hatred, jealously, and killer love is as relevant as ever. The final two episodes feel somewhat thin with more focus on the slightly pretentious on the scene presenters, however Kim Cattrall, Vanessa Redgrave, Janet Suzman, and Richard Johnson tackle the moody middle aged love versus politics, famed film perceptions, and empire shaping culture clashes of “Antony and Cleopatra” via obscure productions, intimate candlelit rehearsals, and Shakespeare's own Julius Caesar character roots. Joseph Fiennes, Orlando Bloom, Condola Rashad, and footage of Alan Rickman as a young Tybalt anchor the familiar “Romeo and Juliet” finale as the iconic relevance of these star crossed teenagers is explored with clips from Shakespeare in Love, West Side Story, the beloved Zeffirelli film, Baz Lurhmann's update, and Montagues and Capulets ballets. Rather than being stuck in a school desk and reading aloud – hated that – the historical Italian sources, comedic wit, and rival happy endings get interactive and out loud with school exercises and role reversals. This series is lighthearted but no less informative, and the conversational atmosphere is perfect for budding Bard fans to marathon straight through or for picking and choosing in comparing classroom discussions.