Evil Cats! 😼

Evil Cats. MeowMeowMeow!

By Kristin Battestella

Our cats are avid television watchers, and the sounds and visuals of this feline horror trio amused them as much as me.

The Cat Creature – Amulets, mummies, an empty sarcophagus, and black cats combine for a Val Lewton-esque mood in this 1973 ABC TV movie written by Robert Bloch (The House That Dripped Blood) starring Meredith Baxter (The Invasion of Carol Enders). Retro cars and cool California villas provide hieroglyphics, Egyptian motifs, and eerie crescendos as lawyers assessing the deceased's creepy manor survey kooky antiques and looted collections. Though slow to start, the subdued palette invokes a black and white feeling that highlights the golden statuary and colorful artifacts. Spiral stairs, flashlights, shadows, and feline silhouettes are well done alongside glowing eyes, mesmerized victims, meowing, and hooting owls. A shady “sorcerer's shop” procures creepy skulls and masks, but the ominous Miss Black proprietor has already crossed paths with this crusty police lieutenant and knows to turn away our stolen talisman. The ingenue walking home alone at night, however, encounters kitten deceptions, hisses, and screams. The cops call in archaeology professor David Hedison (Live and Let Die) to assess the missing mummy bones, scratched out Bast symbols, jewel thieves, and human sacrifices said to give eternal life and transformative cat powers. Flirtations lead to an affinity for Egyptology – but not for the alley cats accumulating at the door. Disbelievers mock the Book of Toth mysticism and the coroner's hair evidence claiming a domestic cat is responsible for draining the blood of the victims, but our professor theorizes on why disparate cultures all have shape-shifting folklore and warns of Ancient Egyptians knowing more of the supernatural and science than we can fathom. The amulet clues, grounded investigation, and eerie explanations don't talk down to the audience. Certainly the solution is obvious before the finale, but the creepy guest stars, stylish witchy vibes, and tarot cards make for a fun time with well paced deaths, thefts, and twists. We know there's an evil cat in the room when the lights go out, and the spooky climax does a little with a lot. This was better than I expected thanks to a mature, even sympathetic approach and dedicated throwback horror atmosphere.

Two Evil Eyes – George A. Romero (Creepshow) and Dario Argento (Phenomena) tackle two contemporary Poe adaptations in this 1990 Italian co-production featuring Adrienne Barbeau (The Fog), Harvey Keitel (The Piano), John Amos (The Beastmaster), and more familiar faces. Lawyers are reluctant to accept the iffy signature of our eponymous hospice husband granting his former flight attendant wife cash access in Romero's “The Facts in the Case of Mr. Valdemar” but she has the cigarettes, big eighties sunglasses, and shoulder pads to get her way. There's a tinge of guilt, however, as her doctor lover enjoys keeping Valdemar in a state of subconscious hypnosis – attached to metronomes and monitors in a suggestive, aware state. The eerie Tudor manor and Old World wrought iron spiral stairs contrast the beeping machinery; arguments over the morbid stasis and moments of painful clarity disrupt the distrustful dalliances. Technicalities about the thievery and the timing on the paperwork versus the flatlining equipment begat the rush to preserve the cadaver in the freezer – with the food! Mixing pills, booze, and self-hypnosis where no one else can wake you lead to backstabbings over the cash, hastily dug graves, and moaning from inside said freezer. The not so deceased croaks of souls from beyond the grave as storms, gunshots, splatter, and restless spirits give the police a gory resolution. The cops in Argento's “The Black Cat,” however, are gagging at the nude body cut in half while our photographer snaps away to capture the swinging pendulum. Unfortunately, the titular stray taken in by his girlfriend interferes in the red dark room process. Scratching and hissing jars with her classical music, and she warn him cats remember their past persecutions and medieval injustices. The uncooperative four legged model dislikes the rough portrait poses and goes “missing” while drinking and violence conjure a hazy dream from the middle ages with bonfires, singsong rituals, and strung up victims. Chases, cleavers, lookalike cats, noose symbols, and fatalities mount as the demented artiste's disturbing photography book hits the shelves. Hellish bars, catholic touches, and living in sin judgments add to the sociopathic suggestions. Police inquire if he tortured the cat for his art and neighbors knock on the door over the meowing, pick axes, and stench behind the wall. Although this feels a little long or unevenly paced and superfluous rather than taut when deviating from the cat comeuppance, the intense finale brings the prophetic feline justice to the forefront for fans of cast, crew, and Poe.

The Uncanny – Eccentric writer Peter Cushing (Curse of Frankenstein) warns Montreal publisher Ray Milland (The Premature Burial) of felines run amok in this eighty-eight minute 1977 anthology. The expose he's written on cats has him looking over his shoulder at every rattling trash can, meow, and black cat at the gate before side eyeing a fluffy, pampered cat named Sugar. The cat cinematography is well filmed with zooms, pet points of view, up close eyes, and purring as our First London 1912 Tale looks the antiqued, lace part. The lady of the manor's cats are everywhere, and she intends to leave everything to her pride. The greedy maid, however, is caught stealing the will – leading to disturbing smotherings, death throes, screams, and hissing. The kitty siege begats swats, scratches, and blood as the feline assembly and our trapped maid each grow hungry. The reactions, animal action, quick cuts, and frenetic attacks are very well done indeed considering there are seemingly dozens of cats accented by cries, howls, chirps, and trills. A recently orphaned girl and her black cat named Wellington move in with her snooty relatives in the contemporary Quebec Tale Two, but her snobby, jealous, violent cousin blames Wellington for spills and mishaps so her parents will get rid of him. Our charge insists that cats can talk – it just takes a long time to understand them. Fortunately, she has kept her deceased mother's books on the occult and uses the pentagrams and spells for a slightly humorous, if tiny, but chilling turnabout. Donald Pleasence's (Prince of Darkness) Thirties Hollywood Third Story blurs on set and behind the camera as a real pendulum in scene slices one half of our off screen couple amid medieval torches, racks, and iron maidens. It's dismissed as a props mistake as production resumes with our late wife's younger, lookalike understudy, but the deceased's cat objects to the mistress taking over the Art Deco manor, furs, and roadsters. Once they flush her kittens (!), our vengeful mother creates real danger on Dungeon of Horror. They try to trap her in terrible ways complete with all the cat got your tongue puns, however the farce can't outwit the justified feline. Although this humorous third tale should have been first and the more macabre Edwardian tale last, self-aware winks know not to take the subject matter too seriously without interfering in the effective unease. The soon to be Grand Moff Tarkin insists cats are devils in disguise making sure we behave, yet these ironic stories show the terrors of what cats might do only in reaction to cruel people deserving of such consequences.

Another Peter Cushing Trio

Another Peter Cushing Trio!

by Kristin Battestella

Whether he's playing the hero or the villain, there's simply no shortage of old school Peter Cushing frights!

And Now the Screaming Starts! – An amorous and surprisingly fertile ghost reeks havoc for Stephanie Beacham (Dracula A.D. 1972) in this 1973 Amicus period piece co-starring Peter Cushing. The 1795 carriages, antiques, riverside scenery, Oakley Court setting, and 300 year old haunted castle combine for a colonial meets medieval foreboding complete with balcony galleries, sconces, waistcoats, and riding frocks. Unfortunately, the bridal bliss is short lived before disembodied hands, ghoulish faces in the window, and doors opening by themselves lead to a largely unseen assault with plenty of implied terror. Despite sunshine and pleasant outdoor strolls, the darkness is felt with cemeteries, fog, storms, and apparitions causing more screams – which is what it says on the tin. Poor Stephanie must have gotten darn hoarse with the titular minute to minute shouts! Rattling frames on the wall, ghostly choke holds, and falls down the stairs can be bemusing, however phantom winds, cracking mirrors, and evil paintings create enough atmosphere to forgive any chuckles as bodies drop one by one amid family secrets, creepy woodsmen, birthmarks, and blood. Maids are fainting, tonics tossed into the Thames reappear on the bedside table, and the sweet library has a hidden copy of the Malleus Maleficarum detailing this demon sex – but leave it to Dr. Cushing to save the day in one terribly and I mean terribly coiffed wig! The staff says they need a priest not a doctor, and anyone who tries to tell of the family legends and their past debauchery ends up dead before a decadent flashback reveals a nasty noble putting on the unwanted wedding night advances. Grave robbing and cradle shockers are morose fun, but the big secret is kind of obvious, the father and son lookalikes could be explained better, and the violence against women used as supernatural revenge doesn't solve any of the male cruelty that started the hereditary curse in the first place. Although the horror should be tighter and overall there is a certain lacking on the scary panache; the cast, setting, and mood are effective enough to see the screams through for one wild topper.

Corruption – Green scrubs, surgery tables, and swanky tunes open this 1968 for love or horror tale, and it's fun to see suave, convertible driving surgeon Peter Cushing cruising with his younger lady. Sadly, he doesn't quite fit in with the swinging parties or stoned blondes in mini skirts, and the hazy visuals and askew camera angles mirror the congestion as our doc objects to a seedy photographer telling his model gal to take off her dress. The fight over his dame leads to crashing studio lights, burns on her beautiful face, bandages, and skin graphs. Radical new plastic surgeries are to no avail until Big Pete borrows glands from the hospital morgue for his home laboratory complete with microscopes, caged rabbits, scalpels, syringes, and precision lasers. His tender bedside manner belies the medical stress, dabbing the sweaty forehead as he works while pulsing beats and sound effects match the miraculous but temporary healing. His unstable patient wears veils and netted hats, bashing mirrors at her perceived ugliness now that she's said to be washed up after a few months off the fashion scene – when in reality her injuries aren't really that severe. Today make up would easily cover her scars, and they are committing far worse horrors just to maintain her beautiful veneer. She buys her doctor a camera to photograph her, insists his oath to her is more important than his medical morals, and forces this older man to kill to keep her because she is so dependent on his expertise. Our doctor strolls the streets for a five pound hooker – a small price to pay for living tissues amirite – but the newspapers are reporting on his messy crimes and headless victims. The bloody parts are in his medical bag, but Doctor Peter misses killer chances as frenetic editing and askew wide angles reflect his dirty, violent deeds. It's all the guy can take as police, robberies, and pointing fingers botch the operation, and the debonair slips as he's unable to justify each death thanks to interfering hooligans and heady reveals. While different versions of the picture have more skin and gore, some of the pursuits are a bit corny. Beatniks in capes, ladies in pink, and the older Cushing bumbling along the rocky coast – how's a man to work in these conditions? Despite some datedness, the out of control extremes remain an interesting commentary on what a classy older gent is willing to do for his love at the first sign of some younger competition.

Land of the Minotaur – Meddling priest Donald Pleasence (Halloween) joins innocent looking but creepy little old cult leader Peter Cushing in this 1976 Greek horror movie with varying versions also called The Devil's Men. Colorful hoods, robed figures, fiery rituals, and titular effigies fit right in with the rustic locales, villas, caves, real ruins, and ancient stonework – but our padre is concerned after several explorers in Winnebagos and hot pants go missing. So what if the archaeologists have no gear to climb nor tools to dig, wear platform shoes, and stumble upon their quarry by chance while letters to the US and flights to Greece happen instantly. Evil Baron Pete is chauffeured about town, casually referring to the pagan history of his family title before laughing at his sacrificial victims' pleas. Old world funerals, shady villagers, uncooperative police, and silenced old ladies add to the bathroom scares, falling chandeliers, and nighttime chases. Tense music accents the strangulations, deserted villages, one on one confrontations, and fatal altars when we hear it. However, the scoring seems largely absent, and in a desperate attempt to be ominous, every single scene has a silent zoom – going overboard with the intercut close ups on everyone's eyes. Restarting with several group disappearances also wastes time, giving the cult away when there was no need for anything before Luan Peters' (Twins of Evil) arrival in search of her boyfriend. Interesting priest and PI buddy aspects – one devout in religion and myth, the other solely about the facts – are undercut by knowing who the cult is and where they are the entire time, and the evil fighters spend more time sitting around doing nothing while the whole town in on it island ritual tries to be The Wicker Man. Poor editing and cut away fates don't create mystery but instead make many things unclear amid poor dialogue and uneven sound. Some of the terrorizing happens for the sake of it, with a lot of tossed in filler delaying the quality attacks in the darkness or dragging the sinister, sacrificial mood. This is certainly flawed, needing both more budget and polish but less runtime and a tighter narrative to compensate for some laughably amateur elements. The good versus evil religious pulls and intriguing character dynamics are wasted by time we get to the freaky finale, yet the fun cast and unique cultural horrors add enough late night entertainment to see the bull to the end.

Retro Horror Girl Power!

Retro Horror Girl Power

by Kristin Battestella

Gather the girlfriends 'round and go back thirty years or more for this batch of foreign and domestic chillers steeped in murderous sisterhood, paranormal dames, and sexist serial killers.

Alice, Sweet Alice – Frantic Hail Marys, church bells, rectories, and crosses in nearly every scene steep this 1976 slasher in layers of iconography alongside matching yellow jackets, similarly named long hair lookalikes, sisterly favoritism, and saint versus sinner parallels. Little Brooke Shields (Suddenly Susan) is fond of her priest, goes to confession, and is gifted with a crucifix necklace while twelve year old Paula Sheppard (Liquid Sky) wears a mask to scare the cook. The ceremonial crown, veil, and white dress feel medieval bridal amid the Latin sanctity and old fashioned Sunday best formality – composed women in hats, gloves, pearls, and Jackie O suits are soon hysterical once murder blasphemes the sacred within its very walls. Creepy hints of the strangling attack, feet dragging beneath the pews, and a charred fate intercut the kneeling at the altar and passing wafer, turning the white confirmation into a black funeral. The uptight roosts point fingers, cast blame, and belittle husbands, but the parents are also too busy to notice the gluttonous downstairs neighbor obsessed with cats promising not to bite Alice if she visits him. Out of wedlock, divorced, and remarried taboos squabble while hidden periods and no long playing with dolls maturity layer the well done shocks and mask scares. Intense lie detector tests, cold yes or no questions, and scary needle movements add atmosphere along with thunderstorms, bugs, and basement hideaways. This murder acerbates a preexisting family strain, and such repressed attitudes would almost rather there be a grief approved death than admit to potential schizophrenia problems. Retro cameras, typewriters, big phone booths, classic cars, old school police, and formal psychiatrist interviews reiterate the mid-century rigid while prank calls, cramped stairs, and penetrating stabs invoke a frenzied response with violent twists. Do some of the victims get what they deserve? Confessions, warped revelations, mother madonna saintly and magdalene whore shaming cloud the case, and the children pay for the sins of the father indeed. This is a taut little thriller with fine scares, mystery, and parables made horror.

The Hearse – Divorced teacher Trish Van Devere (The Changeling) deals with nosy realtor Joseph Cotten (Citizen Kane) not to mention ominous headlights, dark roads, phantom winds, visions in the mirror, and a freaky uniformed chauffeur in this 1980 spooky. There is an initial proto-Lifetime movie feeling and the picturesque Golden Gate Bridge vistas remain just another driving to the horrors montage as our jittery dame heads to the recently bequeathed home of her late aunt for the summer. The Blackford neighbors, however, are unwelcoming gossips, and the minister says any standoffishness must be her imagination. Of course, her shorts are very short and despite a flirtatious sheriff, cat calls while jogging, and compliments about the resemblance to her aunt, all the men must help her roadside and make women driving jokes while doing so. Those trees just jump out into the road! Thanks to whispers of past pacts with Satan, they don't expect her to stick around long, either. The then-edgy music knows when to be quiet, adding to the isolation, crickets, and woman alone creepy. Covered antiques, leftover fashions, period pictures, and attic relics invoke a museum mood – an intrusion by the living justifying the faulty electric, slamming doors, creaking stairs, rattling pipes, and ghostly faces in the window. A music box plays on its own while a mysterious necklace, ironic radio sermons, and the titular highway pursuits escalate along with footsteps, intruders, and shattering glass. The tracking camera pans about the house in an ambiguous move that's both for effect and someone – or something – approaching. Likewise, reading the diary of her devil worshiping aunt alongside a new whirlwind but suspicious romance creates dual suspense – which can certainly be said for that Hearse when it pulls up to the front porch and opens its back door. The black vehicle, white nightgown, and choice reds increase with candles, coffins, and funerary dreams. Pills and long cigarette drags visualize nerves amid bridge accidents, disappearing bodies, rowdy town vandals, and gaslighting decoys. The solo reading aloud and talking to oneself scenes will be slow to some viewers, and at times the car action is hokey. The mystery can be obvious – it feels like we've seen this plot before – yet the story isn't always clear with low, double talk dialogue. However, it's easy to suspect what is real with interesting twists in the final act, and the adult cast is pleasing. Well done clues keep the guessing fun, and several genuine jump moments make for a spirited midnight viewing.

Phenomena – Jennifer Connolly (Labyrinth) and Donald Pleasence (Halloween) star in this 1985 Italian production from director Dario Argento along with Walkmans, a giant computer, overhead projectors, retro school buses, huge headphones, big boob tube TVs, off the shoulder sweatshirts, and crimped hair. The horseshoe phones are so hefty one breaks through the floor when it falls, and top heavy metal names such as Iron Maiden anchor the score. Pretty but bleak Swiss scenery, foreboding roads, suspicious chains, and an isolated cabin speak for themselves with blood, shattered glass, cave perils, scissor attacks, and strangling violence contrasting the rural vistas and scenic waterfalls. The on the move camera tracks the scares, panning with the staircases, chases, and penetrating knives rather than hectic visuals working against the action – leaving heartbeats, ticking clocks, and rage music to pulse the frenetic dreams. Congested tunnels, dark water, and rotting heads build tension alongside sleepwalking shadows, blue lighting schemes, and saintly white symbolism. Insects, monkeys, and bizarre medical tests collide with missing teens, amnesia, and an old school sense of being lost in the foreign unknown. Despite the young protagonist, the horror remains R without being juvenile or nasty. Although necrophilia and rape are implied amid girls in short shirts, dirty old men, and killer penetrations, the innuendo isn't like today's overt teen T-n-A exploitation. Doctors and a strict headmistress suspect epilepsy, schizophrenia, or drugs before the otherworldly but friendly communication with animals – cruel schoolmates and religious extremists view such talents or swarming commands as demonic rather than embracing the literal fly on the wall fantastics. Would you follow bugs to the scene of the crime to see the decomposing victim through their eyes? The notion to be in tune with nature and commune with insects as allies is unique in a genre usually reserving such crawlies for scares, and cool bug eye viewpoints, covered mirrors, freaky dolls, and maggots accent the deceptions, twists, and escalating revelations for some gruesome surprises and a wild finish. And oh my gosh there is a classmate wearing a Bee Gees t-shirt. Want it!!

Tenebre – Onscreen book pages set the deadly state of mind for this 1982 Argento thriller as retro airports, phone booths, jealous dames in furs, and saucy innuendo give way to duty free shoplifting, vagrants, and daytime assaults – building intrigue that is both crime thriller and horror with killer vignettes, gore, and bizarre scenery. Pages shoved in the victim's mouths add warped personality as reporters cry sexism and cheap thrills inspired by the manuscript. Stylish nudity and slasher voyeurism raise tension as the camera peers through windows in search of the next victim while the pulsing electronic score peppers the clashing metaphors – disloyal literary agent John Saxon (Nightmare on Elm Street), male versus female cops, a feminine voice wielding a straight razor male weapon. Subtitles would have helped the low volume and off dubbing, but typewriters, record players, and flash cameras accent breaking glass frights, dark room developments, and pieces of the unseen killer's lair. Although murders in a book made real may be a common plot now, the slightly abstract lack of polish and low budget freaky adds to the American in Rome angst, threatening phone calls, shoe fetishes, and phallic parallels. The stark visuals mirror the cold, harsh detachment – something is hiding in plain sight with white clothes, red symbolism, beach-side sexual aggression, and gender bending encounters as our clues. Are young women flirting with older men asking for violence? The multi-layered life imitating art giallo expectations add commentary on such tropes with dual investigations, puzzling notes, and a detective reading detective novels but unable to solve what's on the page. Breaking and entering violations, symbolic penetrating attacks, and a whiff of Catholicism accent killer dogs, chases, double crossings, repression, and frazzled nerves as the quality deaths escalate into bold violence and visual confirmations. Despite a previous Nasty notoriety, this isn't torture porn for the sake of it and may actually seem tame compared to today's shocks. Fortunately, this remains an intelligent cross genre thriller and taut mystery with red herrings, insider psychosis, and wild film within a film veils. After all, who is the voyeur if not viewer?

Avoid!

Don't Answer the Phone – Sweaty rituals open this 1980 bizzarity before a nurse in white, heavy breathing, strangulation fetishes, and sexual violence. Old radio designs, big headsets, giant switches, tape reels, pay phones, and chalk boards in the precinct add retro pastiche, however, a padding police research montage merely opens file cabinets, passes papers, and sighs over manila folders as our killer strolls along the Walk of Fame before finding the seedy side of town. We know nothing about him save for an army jacket, and the fake Spanish accent used in calling the radio psychologist is pointless. Snippy cops say this serial strangler is good overtime money, and hokey killer workouts/pep talks don't mix with serious patients and therapy sessions recounting abuse. Rather than sticking with the forensic samples, hairs, and bite mark clues or the female doctor who could solve the crime, every strong woman with a breakthrough dies. Such prey rather than empowered gratifies the violence – apparently it's not the killer's fault when he replays the abuse of an incest victim as sexy. Um, no. Prayers, candles, and warped visuals try too hard to be inside the scandalous when the detectives and radio host evidence should be the core. A crime thriller peppered with real world heightened horror moments is fine, but interesting police psychologist theories are ignored for a black pimp more upset at being called dumb than a racial slur – amid a supposedly comical raid where the cops bemoan filling out the forms for shooting said black pimp. o_O This needed either the investigation perspective with his prank calls alone or an unseen following of the killer. Hearing his cues at the photography sessions and luring models are enough fearful suggestion. Instead, all cops are wisecracking assholes one step behind what we've already seen because evidently we're supposed to feel sorry for the crying killer when he's selling his fetish photos of the victims. This is not PTSD from the Vietnam psychopath trope, as the murderer whines about the usual childhood killing of the dog, wetting the bed, and a step-dad who didn't like him, and the attempted gritty defending of this crazy racist vet rapist who's just getting a bad rap seems more like porn or snuff with the hardcore excised. I would say it's dated in this approach, but female exploitation used for manpain excuses is still onscreen today. I'm repulsed by this terrible film, least of all because nobody even noticed the killer never wore gloves.

Mid-Century SF Adventures!

Mid-Century Science Fiction Adventures!

By Kristin Battestella

The budding sciences of the sixties and beyond may seem bemusingly simple to us in the seemingly so sophisticated twenty-first century. However, these mid-century science fiction delights remain classic adventures of space, science, and technology for the whole family.

Fantastic Voyage – Stephen Boyd (Ben-Hur), Raquel Welsh (One Million B.C.), and Donald Pleasence (Halloween) take this 1966 microscopic, heart-stopping adventure full of wondrous snap, crackle, pop mid-century science – what could possibly go wrong? The technical talk, quick debriefing, dated military missions, political intrigue, and seemingly aimless golf cart tours through the clean, blue and white streamlined designs are perhaps slow to get going today. Some waxing philosophical or poetic soul and creator versus science talk amid the medical jargon feels like old hat exposition, too. The procedural scenes also seem more like an awe-inspiring museum demonstration, and a crowded inside and too many anonymous, unnecessary people outside at control creates confusion. Fortunately, all this build up smartly puts an unbelievable situation in the realm of the then possible. Although the whole mission seems totally impractical and perhaps causes more damage than the operation at hand, the wild journey along the way forgives the rushed ending or any plausibility issues. The models, miniatures, and visual effects look dandy and remain decidedly charming, and nostalgic body system graphics, paper overlays, and Morse Code add simplicity to the high tech while a real time ticking clock ups the claustrophobic tensions and medical perils. Colorful plasma, bubbles, tubes,and pink pustules bring the titular spectacles to life along with a variety of sounds, laser lights, attacking antibodies, psychedelic mosses and even gross scales. It's an interesting mix of submarine, under the sea currents and exiting outside the airlock space. So what if it's all totally unrealistic – the young at heart and science minded kids can still enjoy the wonderment here.

Marooned – Gregory Peck (To Kill a Mockingbird), David Janssen (The Fugitive), James Franciscus (Beneath The Planet of the Apes), Gene Hackman (The French Connection), Richard Crenna (The Real McCoys), and more stars anchor this 1969 NASA nail biter. Real footage from the Apollo heights and of the time mission control look great without the need for abundant CGI and special effects as we know them today. There aren't that many sets either, allowing for tense action at home and claustrophobic capsule hysteria as one thing after another spells disaster – retro rockets malfunctioning, low fuel in orbit, hurricanes over the Cape, daring rescues in experimental craft, and precious, precious oxygen running out. Though slow to start and at times tedious with minuscule, technical details and procedures; a desperate ticking clock, presidential pressure, wives on the ground, and Russian friends or foes add to the peril. Yes, there is an American mid-century gung ho, yet it's somewhat surprising that such a heavy, all things go wrong picture would be made amid all our spaceflight glory. It's also interesting to see how this film has become both inaccurate and prophetic. They were unprepared for this calamity and thought such accidents would doom the space program, but we haven't progressed much further in the decades since – let alone gotten to Mars, which they talk of as an imminent event. Though the finale feels rushed compared to the slow, by the book, space happenings shown along the way, all the intensity of a modern disaster flick is here along with a then impressive realism. No camera tricks, edgy film making, or punched up orchestration is needed to tell the viewer how desperate the situation is, and with these good looks, classy cast, and yell at the TV entertainment, this one shouldn't be as seemingly obscure as it is.

Westworld – Androids run amok in this 1973 sci-fi western written and directed by Michael Jurassic Park Crichton. Granted, the slow explorations of then-futuristic empty white sets and technobabble gibberish feel like filler; once cool computer monitors and pixelated robot viewpoints need updating. The debut direction is also somewhat simplistic, with of the time slow motion violence and aimless running to and fro amid the shootouts, feasting, brothels, and bar fights. Modern viewers will expect a catastrophic resort meltdown to be, you know, catastrophic instead of a straightforward, one on one tame, and despite a great premise, it's tough to overlook the safety ignorance, preposterous logistics, and an abrupt finale. Guns, swords, mechanical malfunctions – the sex robot models are supposed to be totally detailed yet nobody can perfect the android hands? Fortunately, while there's little character development, we know enough to like cool best friend James Brolin (Hotel), fear the gloriously unyielding Terminator before Terminator was Terminator Yul Brynner (The King and I), and feel for divorced if insipid lawyer in need of a vacation Richard Benjamin (Catch-22). The social possibilities are here, too, from an ultimate vacation where man can have his decadent and violent desires to seemingly in control behind the scenes technicians who eat while they watch the depravity unfold. Suspicious nighttime activity resets the excess while guests sleep unaware, but man made machines or machines making androids in the mirror of men will surely misbehave. Sentience among the robots is also suggested – are they fed up with human seductions and taking matters into their own hands for one destructive hurrah before their batteries fail? Medieval games and Roman hedonism aren't fully shown, but for a $1 million odd budget, the colorful designs aren't bad. The Old West facades provide nostalgia to match the amusing saloon times, creating humor and comfort with over the top tropes. Although the theme is under cooked, this still fairly unique genre twister was ahead of its time and remains delightful for young and old seeking western lite or SF perils.

Mirrors and Mindbending Horror

Mirrors and Mindbenders!

By Kristin Battestella

What do we see when we watch horror? Take a bizarre look into the deceptive reflections, dopplegangers, demetia, and through the looking glass scares with this quartet of old time crazies and more recent optical thrillers. 
 

Alone in the Dark – A cult cast featuring veteran Jack Palance (City Slickers), minister Martin Landau (Mission: Impossible), unusual doctor Donald Pleasence (Halloween), and his new protege Dwight Schultz (The A-Team) adds class to this 1982 slasher full of topsy turvy patients. The solemn mental hospital locale is pretty but cluttered with knickknacks, loons, and converted with buzzed entries, faulty electrical systems, and bizarre treatments. Medical textbooks don't apply in this ward! This perilous crowding contrasts the new, open, family farmhouse potential, which soon finds itself in a fearful switcharoo. Who's a patient or employee? Who's harmless or dangerous? Some crazy rambling is confusing to start, but shadowed dorm rooms with spooky, whispered plotting create a paranoid atmosphere – especially when such heavyweight gents are doing the evil planning. A touch of hot pink sideways pony tails and punk bands remind us of the early eighties hip, but any datedness is quickly forgotten as violence, escapes, and riots escalate during the titular blackout. The crazy inside spreads outside quickly with one flick of the switch, and flashlights, lanterns, candles, and fire sell the precarious mood. Daylight doesn't alleviate the killer tendencies or child peril, and except for a fittingly sardonic little girl, the frightful is played seriously. While some jump scares and teen sex may seem commonplace now, these early genre staples are well paced and plenty of surprises, siege horror, creative weapons, and simmering kills make up any difference. Not only is there no cheap nudity or excess like today, but progressive talk about the pitfalls of wind power and nuclear energy add to the social commentaries at work. The fragile balance of polite society cracks pretty quickly once the kill or be killed terror flourishes here.

Mirror Mirror – Ironic country music and frightful orchestration accent the bloody period introduction of this 1990 teen creeper. Yes, that’s a generic title complete with a barebones DVD and no subtitles, but the spooky mix of antiques, hats, and shoulder pads make for a gothic mid century meets eighties style. Like dentistry, the innately eerie mirror aspects pack on the macabre along with blue lighting, distorted demonic voices, gruesome dreams, and bugs laying on the atmosphere. The 30-year-old looking teens in too much denim are mostly tolerable thanks to relatable new kid in town outsider feelings and feminine spins. Rainbow Harvest (Old Enough) is perhaps too wannabe Lydia from Beetlejuice and there is no sign of authority or investigation whatsoever, but the dark tone, a bemusing Yvonne De Carlo (The Munsters) handling the research, and the neurotic Karen Black (Burnt Offerings) make up any difference. This is a solid R, but the blood, nudity, water frights, and dog harm are done smartly without being excessive. The familiar Carrie, Teen Witch, and The Craft designs will be obvious to horror viewers, but it’s a fun 90 minutes of out of touch parents and teachers, high school cliques, and escalating creepy crimes. The titular evil from the other side takes hold for a wild finish – but never, ever put your hand down that garbage disposal, ever!

Oculus – Family scares, guns, and glowing eyes creepy get right to it as siblings are trying to both remember and forget their past tragedy in this 2013 mindbender full of askew dreams, unreliable memories, statues covered in sheets, and one cursed antique mirror. I would have preferred leads older than their early twenties – clearly appealing to the young it crowd – and despite an understandable awkward or instability, Karen Gillan (Guardians of the Galaxy) and Brenton Thwaites (Gods of Egypt) are too wooden at times. Fortunately, the more mature Katee Sackoff (Battlestar Galatica) and Rory Cochrane (Empire Records) and child support Annalise Basso (The Red Road) and Garrett Ryan (Dark House) do better. The non-linear past and present retelling, however, is confusing – the parallel plots aren't quite clear until the paranormal investigation brings everything together in one location with elaborate equipment, carefully orchestrated timers, and fail safes for a night of ghostly activity. The video documentation makes for smart exposition at the expense of a larger cast or showing the accursed historical events – replacing the tried and true research montage for today's audiences without resorting to the found footage gimmick. There are no in your face camera effects or zooms with booming music when the frightful appears, and the viewer is allowed to speculate on the seen or unseen reflections, there or maybe not whispering, and distorted blink and you miss them doppelgangers. Is there a psychological explanation or is this all supernatural? Although the recollections or flashbacks of the crisscrossing events should have been more polished – are we watching two, four, or six people as this battle replays itself? – the paranoia builds in both time frames with canine trauma and alternating suspense. Yes, there are Insidious similarities, the product placement and brand name dropping feels unnecessary, and the uneven plot merge cheats in its reflection on the warped or evil influences at work. The finale falters slightly as well, however, there is a quality discussion about the titular manipulation, and the time here remains entertaining as household horrors intensify. WWE Studios, who knew?

The Psychic – There are numerous titles – but no subtitles – for this 1977 Lucio Fulci (Zombi 2) giallo tale along with a typical driving montage, dated seventies euro pop, and the expected dubbing, accents, and vocal iffy. Fortunately, the graphic opening suicide, great looking cars, classic planes, country estates, hats, furs, and eponymous witnessing more than make up for any audio technicalities. Then upscale technology, radio, tape recorders, and answering machines add to the sophisticated style and Italian flair while a simmering, eerie score sets off the paranormal visions. Swift editing intercutting between the fearful Jennifer O'Neill (Summer of '42) and the fragmented imagery is layered with red, blood, violence, and screams, but her husband, doctors, and police remain skeptical even as evidence is found. Are these episodes stress, dreams, coincidence, obsession, or intuition? Our young wife plans on redoing an abandoned villa, but finds more secrets about the victims and the living amid the cobwebs, covered furniture, and mirrors. Has something occurred here or will it? Who is suspect? The Italian names may be tough for some, and the slightly obvious, tame for today story plays loose with terms like physic, clairvoyant, premonition, and what these powers actually are. There are convenient, self fulfilling prophecy plot points, too – secretaries who happen to know the facts, others do the legwork research, taxi driver connections are easily found. However, it's interesting to see that images and memories can be distorted, foretold objects misconstrued, or that the facts don't always come together as we thought. Although the heavy opening implies the 90 minutes plus will be full on horror house gore, the time is largely spent on the mystery investigation before punching it up with some shock moments in a superb action finale. Not everything here is as the audience may expect, and plenty of clues and surprises make for a nice little paranormal pursuit.

More Witchy and Demonic Viewings!

Witchy and Demonic Viewings, Two!

By Kristin Battestella

Another night, another quartet of foreign witches, campy cults, musical devils, and a whole lot of sexy, scary panache! 

The Devil Within Her – We know the happiness of having a baby is moot for this 1975 British tale once the hip title music, disturbing medical tools, heady zooming lights, and a writhing Joan Collins (Dynasty) start this 90 minutes off with an arduous delivery. There’s surprisingly little blood and gore considering the amounts shown onscreen then and now – not to mention the reality of a difficult 12 lb birth! – but toss in a baby who will scratch his mother, bite the maid, tear up his own toys or try to drown his nurse and the mood is set! What he does to dad Ralph Bates (Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde), well…hehehehe. I wonder if Adam Sandler’s Little Nicky title came from Collins’ screaming “Nicky! Nicky!” when her devil baby flips out at his christening? Period but pointless London streets and retro cars accent a juicy Caroline Munroe (The Spy Who Loved Me), brief strip club nudity, and a laughably filmed sex scene, but the flashback narration should have been shown instead of told. Most of this so serious is just too hokey and amusing because without special effects for our knife wielding newborn, the child violence scenes have to be bad up close shots or humorous cut away action. An eerie dream sequence is horror fine, but flashes of spurned dwarf George Claydon (Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory) as a baby are absurd. Faux Italian accents and superstitious medieval talk are also ridiculous, and the little person portrayals as evil, cursing, freakish, undesirable folk run rampant. A viewer can’t tell if the plot is chastising and blaming the eponymous Lucy for her stripping past and marrying rich or rooting for her as a victim of this monstrous baby. It’s tough to take the intriguing notions of an evil birth or a post partum mother seriously as well thanks to the surprisingly amusing but misogynistic men who think she must be exaggerating the bad baby behavior. This could have been something unseen sinister or all in a mother’s demented state of mind, but awkward scenes debating medicine versus religious magic fill up the time without really discussing any intelligent or scary possibilities. Fortunately, fun performances from doctor Donald Pleasence (Halloween) and nun Eileen Atkins (Cranford) can’t be faulted, and there’s enough bemusement for the audience to see the outlandish through to the inexplicable finale. I mean, lab testing on mice nuns who study animal psychology?! 

Fascination – Writer and director Jean Rollin (The Nude Vampire) uses eerie zooms and haunting camera speeds to provide wonderful turn of the century style and Old World feelings for this 1979 French saucy. Phonographs and period music, ominous sounds, flowing white frocks, frilly lace, feathered hats, graceful mannerisms, candles, decorated interiors, natural visuals, and a great castle locale contrast the morbid slaughter house, vivid red colors, blood, rogue, symbolic lips, scythes, black robes, and blonde/brunette or good girl/bad girl expectations. Talk about a sexy grim reaper! It does help to know your français, sure, but the fine performances and talk of death taking the form of seduction add extra panache and gothic allure even amid any translation discrepancies on the available English subtitles. The laid back mood may be tough for modern American audiences, but the curious characters and simmering atmosphere is soon set with crimes, betrayal, and a siege situation – not to mention how the boobs are out early and often. We’re immediately intrigued in how one man is going to survive being locked in a house with blonde Brigitte Lahaie (I as in Icarus) and brunette Franca Mai (Zig Zag Story), let alone five more cultish women and a blindfold! Though there’s a lot of skin and tender kissing, the saucy scenes may also be a whole lot of nothing for those who are expecting more full on porn. This pretty Victorian via seventies French lesbianism won’t be for everyone but the kinky sucks the viewer in for the disturbingly delightful fashions, sinister switch, and sophisticated chic.

The Mephisto Waltz – Demonic Bond on acid opening credits set the mood for this 1971 simmering satanic thriller along with sweet cars, fancy décor, statues, and of course, creepy uses of the titular Litsz from composer Jerry Goldsmith (The Omen). Although one should probably appreciate classical music before watching, the diabolic orchestration accents the twisted relationships, foreboding zooms, askew angles, and macabre mid century masks. Enough smoke and nudity suggest more while strategic shadows and gauzy glows add dimension to hazy dream sequences. Set off the deadly rituals and eerie funeral with morbid French texts, and it’s easy to root for Jacqueline Bisset (Day for Night) and her understandably suspicious anchor against the decadently posh Curd Jurgens (The Spy Who Loved Me) and Barbara Parkins (Peyton Place). Alan Alda (M*A*S*H), however, is unfortunately too limp in his quest for high art and evil society. He doesn’t show the madness or range needed nor even any maniacal piano playing – he’s plastered for a face cast in one scene and his presence remains the same! Wise viewers or readers of the source novel may expect what happens – there’s an obligatory old-time library research montage, too – but the immoral isn’t always so apparent. Considering its title and subject, perhaps this isn’t as depraved or shocking as other occult pictures of the era, either. Despite some head scratching motivations or plot holes, the scary pacing, freaky drama, and sometimes unexpected turn of events give the audience a few good shocks and mysteries indeed. 

The Witch’s Mirror – Oft spooky actor Abel Salazar (The Curse of the Crying Woman) produced this black and white 1962 Mexican horror treat with Isabela Corona (A Man of Principle) as a creepy housekeeper amid the excellent smoke and mirrors and titular visual effects. From a macabre prologue and illustrations to Victorian mood, candles, and rituals, El Espejo de la Bruja has it all – love triangles, jerky husbands, revenge, betrayals, grave robbing, and ghoulish medicine. The plot is at once standard yet also nonsensical thanks to all the sorcery, implausible surgeries, ghosts, fire, even catalepsy all building in over the top, soap opera-esque twists. The sets are perhaps simplistic or small scale with only interior filming, but this scary, play-like atmosphere is enough thanks to wonderful shadows, gothic décor, and freaky, sinister music. Several language and subtitle options are available along with the feature and commentary on the DVD as well – not that any of the dubbing, subtitles, or original Spanish completely matches. The audio is also messed up in some spots, but the script is fun and full of cultish summonings and medical fantasies. Maybe this one will have too much happening for some viewers, as every horror treatise is thrown at the screen here. However, this is a swift, entertaining 75 minutes nonetheless and it doesn’t let up until the end.

More Hammer, Lee, and Cushing!

More Hammer, Lee, and Cushing Trinity!

By Kristin Battestella

Why not spend the summer delighting in another batch of Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, and Hammer Horror treats both vintage and anew?

The Bloody Judge – The battle scenes are awesome in this twisted 1970 historical from the late writer and director Jess Franco (The Awful Dr. Orloff). The music is sweet; the colorful design looks the part and doesn’t feel cheap at all. One can even forgive the bad English dubbing, mixed languages, and sudden subtitles amid the otherwise fine script, dialogue, and native Anglo delivery. The persecution plots and political intrigue are nice, too – even if it has been done better and feels too Witchfinder General knock off.  Unfortunately, the fake blood is obvious, and the nudity presented is just too bizarre. The skin scenes are actually almost too subdued to start – one expects more in early seventies euro horror. However, the flesh gets awkward quickly with an out of place full frontal sex scene and lots more much too much shocking and fleshy torture. It’s initially effective to see the cruel rack and sadistic pain thanks to its great juxtaposition – these wicked, supposedly in the right officials against the nature loving, harmless witchcraft accused.  Sadly, the exploitative sex and violence goes overboard as the hour and forty-plus minutes goes on. It’s just too dang nasty – talk about torture porn! Ultimately, this uneven attempt at horror and sexploitation detracts from what could have been a seriously fine, macabre historical lesson. It’s a pity, as it’s certainly fun to see Birthday Boy Lee rocking that judicial wig! He’s just right as the creepy lawman checking out the bodices, bosoms, and wenches on trial but doesn’t have much else to do. Although Big C is great when he does get some demented ups and downs and crime and punishment and fans will enjoy his scenes, the entire picture would have been better served by doing a complete history on the titular mayhem.

From Beyond the Grave – Peter Cushing sports a hint of accent for this final 1974 anthology from Hammer rival Amicus Productions, and the creepy antiques and curiosity shop themes are an interesting precursor to Friday the 13^th: The Series. Demented music, great sounds, and smoke and mirrors effects add to the fun seventies styles, colors, askew camera angles, and shadow techniques. Séances and possessed mirrors take over in the first story, “The Gatecrasher,” and David Warner (The Omen) is delightfully tormented into murder for this largely one-man tale. “An Act of Kindness” continues the weirdness thanks to street peddler Donald Pleasence (Halloween), his kind of kinky daughter Angela (Symptoms), and some deadly voodoo for good measure. Some dark humor sets off the psychic warnings, demonic touches, and poltergeist effects in “The Elemental,” and lastly, Ian Ogilvy (Witchfinder General) and Lesley-Anne Down (North and South) discover centuries-old occult disaster behind “The Door.” The character developments may seem slow to start or the writing somewhat soft or tame today, but there’s enough blood and action to carry the macabre mood. This one makes we want to marathon all the Amicus anthologies for one massive, eerie late night! We don’t see Cushing too much, but we shouldn’t be fooled by his seemingly so cute and innocent proprietor. Don’t these people know not to cross Big P?!

The Resident – I didn’t like the last Hillary Swank horror attempt The Reaping – actually I dislike any time she goes off her Oscar winning type coughP.S. I Love Youcough. Thankfully, she’s solid as a strong but socially awkward and somewhat man needy doctor in an ominous apartment for this 2011 nuHammer thriller. Likewise, Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Grey’s Anatomy) is effective, even if it’s obvious he’s the too good to be true handyman in a horror movie. At the standard 90 minutes, precious time is wasted with cool opening credits – not usually a good sign for a recent horror film – and the story is slow to get going and ultimately quite predictable. The cheating boyfriend explanation for her moving comes a little too late and the color gradient looks over processed, but the hospital blood and gore are well done. Of course, Christopher Lee has a great introduction. He looks like a perfectly respectable grandfather, yet there’s something just a bit creepy old man about him, and I love it! Although the casting and plot could have easily gone the college bimbo route and it sets up some naughty, eerie hi jinks, the brief Swank nudity and up close lingerie shots are surprising. Fortunately, smart shadows, lighting, reflections, and some unique camera angles add to the suspense. The frenetic flashback answers a lot of questions and ups the stalker vibe, too. Yes, it turns this film from a seemingly haunted house bump in the night horror tale to a nasty if somewhat typical real world thriller, and there isn’t a lot of mood, atmosphere, or truly spooky feelings as a result. Though pleasant, the New York contemporary city vibes and final reliance on plot holes, tools, hardware horror, and chases hamper the “it could happen to you” fears. It’s a bit misguided and could have been more, but the cast is likeable and some quality character twists win out.

Wake Wood – Perhaps this type of child death and parental grief horror is too familiar – it’s been done before, certainly. Fortunately, there is enough relate-ability, disturbia, and morbid in this frightening 2011 nuHammer ‘be careful what you wish for’ lesson. Despite the seemingly happy family introduction, things will obviously go bad for Aidan Gillen (Game of Thrones) and Eva Birthistle (Ae Fond Kiss) thanks to the creepy Timothy Spall (Auf Wiedersehen, Pet) and his abacus of life and death calculations! The dramatic, intercut opening scenes don’t feel like a horror film. However, the subsequent despair, blood, gruesome effects, animal terrors, creepy townsfolk, and nasty rituals make for some very upsetting visuals. Some of the swift editing and quick camerawork is a bit too flashy, and those rituals do become overlong and too complex, yes. The voices are also tough to hear compared to the violence, and the accents will be tough for some stateside. Thankfully, the Irish locations and country scenery are very colorful and bright, making for a pleasant contrast and ‘what lies beneath’ the quaint eerie.  More unique filming angles and photography accentuate the desperation and delightfully build the slow, sinister reveals. I don’t want to give everything away, but this one stands out among the standard crop of recent horror clunkers. There’s enough macabre for the expectant horror fan to enjoy, and a level of dramatic maturity with serious consequences and a few twists.  

The Woman in Black – Harry Potter star Danielle Radcliffe does well in this 2012 nuHammer creepy haunted house ghost story adapted by Jane Goldman (Stardust, X-Men: First Class) from Susan Hill’s source novel. There’s a very nice gothic spirit at work thanks to the moody history, ghostly atmosphere, and mostly silent, one-man scares. Suspicious townsfolk and freaky kid deaths add to the sudden effects and camera tricks, and candlelight and darkness up the sinister for an overall, quite effective spooky.  Though the period settings are perfectly decrepit in addition to the smart, darker photography, there is just a little too much drab unnecessarily weighing down the film’s look. Perhaps there was an intentional kinship to something black and white or a depressing palette meant to mirror Radcliffe’s widower Arthur Kipps and his desperate state of mind. However, this devoid, colorless, overly digital, saturated dreary feels amiss –we have the spooky and disturbing elsewhere in set decorations, story, and character.  There’s no need to add this layer of off putting heavy – in fact, some rich late Victorian color and flair would have gone a long way in the household fears, local smarmy, and child scary simply because the viewer would have found something pleasing, if creepy, for the eye.  This doesn’t look fun to watch, and some horror audiences expecting more action or panache may be disappointed by this style. There’s also a few plot holes and missed opportunities or speculation with Ciaran Hinds (There Will Be Blood) as the upstanding, decidedly not superstitious Sam Daily. Were there townsfolk involved in the ghost causing history? Did Kipps really bring the titular vengeance as the bereaved claim or was something else at work? What the F happened to the dog? There’s room for some debate in the tale as it isn’t all explained in one big reveal, but a few clarifications would have been nice – especially since this budding sequel talk sounds kind of crappy. Despite a few questions and visual flaws, the 90-plus minutes here keep things ominous – the shocks and suspense happen without resorting to the crassness, gore, or nudity we so often find today. Bravo!

I was worried the nuHammer films would, well, stink, but two have been good, one’s decent with star power, and I’m looking forward to more!