The Oblong Box Guest Podcast

 

Once again 'tis the season to talk horror with the Making Tarantino Podcast! This time we talked Vincent Price, Christopher Lee, and The Oblong Box!

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Visit me on Blue Sky for my latest audio/visual appearances and follow along with all my #ThereforeHorror posts. Peruse the Horror and Podcast tags for more including: 

Get Out

Psycho II

House of Dark Shadows

Women InSession: Horror

Rabid

 

Adapt Me Poe Podcast Guest!

 

It was such a delight to be invited to chat with Emily on the Adapt Me Podcast! In theme with the show, we discussed the often loose Edgar Allan Poe adaptions and why his lone novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket hasn't been brought to the screen! 

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DMs are open on Blue Sky for 2026 bookings! You can also keep up with the Greatest Movies of All Time Podcast's Cinema Legacy Poll in which I've taken part. Follow the Podcast or Video labels for more audio/visual guest appearances including:

L.A. Confidential - After Hours Podcast

John Hughes - Binge Home Movies

Psycho II - Making Tarantino Podcast

City Slickers - Lone Acting Nominees

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.

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.

New Video Reviews at HorrorAddicts.net!

Hello, hello to all the Fellow Horror Lovers! 

Have you seen my latest Video Reviews for HorrorAddicts.net? Recent Topics of Discussion include Edgar Allan Poe and Dark Shadows!

Don't forget to follow my "Kbatz" tag at Horror Addicts for all my "Frightening Flix" reviews or visit My YouTube Channel for more videos. 

Writers near and far can also join me at the HorrorAddicts.net Online Writers Conference February 24-28 for more Author Videos, Workshops, and Chats. All Genres are included, not just Horror!

Local Frightful Enthusiasts will also be able to find me March 29-31 covering the NJ Horror Con for Horror Addicts. Can't wait to see you there! 

Ghostly Gals and Thrilling Skippers

Ghostly Gals and Thrilling Skippers

by Kristin Battestella

Another dreary, rainy day means another quartet of forgettable ghostly ladies and moody thrillers that ultimately don't quite foot the spooky bill.

Edgar Allan Poe's The Oval Portrait – Stormy nights, carriages, red velvet, and antiques accent this loose 1972 adaptation alongside candles, staircases, ominous housekeepers, late relatives, and ghostly piano playing. The titular painting, apparitions, and haunted house atmosphere come early with eerie music, lovelorn letters, and fainting ladies. However the inaccurate Civil War costumes, shabby uniforms, off kilter voices, and dark print make it difficult to tell who's Union or Confederate. The echoing overlays, visions of past couples, and angry artist can't overcome the lookalike characters, soap opera stylings, and rip off plots. Sure Poe's tale is thin, but here the new wife shocks everyone by coming down the stairs in Rebecca's clothes – and yes that's the late subject's name. More people keep arriving, but the ghostly possessions are put on hold for flashbacks with rally calls, cavalry, and a soldier on the lamb that look borrowed from another picture. If this scandal is where the story starts, why not begin there? Of course, there's also confusion between this movie and another with the same cast called One Minute Before Death, and the bookends make it seem like the two movies are combined into one on top of weak scripting, fly by night production, and jumpy flash cuts between the back and forth that never lets the forbidden love build. The muddled dialogue and stalling gothic romance feel like part of the story is missing – compromising the illicit, funerals, and grave robbing before more hysterics, wills, and tacked on ghosts. Though watchable – bemusing even thanks to the overlong, nonsensical dancing with the corpse finale that's probably followed by some good old fashioned necrophilia – this could have been a better, faithful adaptation of Poe's story instead of some kind of two for the price of one messy that doesn't go together.

House of Bones – The 1951 baseball nostalgia opening this 2010 ghost hunters yarn starring Charisma Carpenter (Buffy) is totally The Sandlot complete with a chubby redhead hitting dad's Babe Ruth autographed baseball over the ominous fence. Technicalities drag the arrivals as dude bros in a van with the latest gear are sure to announce themselves as the cameraman, the host, and the producer. Slow motion strobe and in your face television credits for the internal paranormal program parody such series while playing into all they do with annoying crescendos, false jumps, and cheesy bumpers. Every horror moment has to be a bad effect – a glance at gross apple worms has to be some herky jerky strobe when exploring the cluttered old house, skulls behind the plaster, roaches, suspicious ectoplasm, and disappearing assistants better build the eerie atmosphere. Black and white camera screens, creepy radios, and EVPs accent the attic artifacts and bloody toes yet the modern filming is too fast with no time for the haunted house mood or psychic sensations. The unlikable crew remain jerks trying to turn throwing up hair, shadows caught on camera, disturbing phone calls, and impaled police into a reality show angle rather than taking the danger seriously. Trying to be both a debunking paranormal show and a horror movie at the same time doesn't quite succeed when the out of place humor and handheld camera sarcasm jar with the scary glass mishaps and arms coming through the walls. The television production asinine should have been dropped sooner so all can fear this alive house that feeds on blood and plays psychological tricks with vintage visuals, power outages, mirror images, and gear hazards. However, the find the blueprints plan of action is silly – an overly serious and contrived resolution meandering with a thin script and useless psychic before running out of steam. While fine for a late night millennial audience, this ultimately has very little haunted house merit.

The Spiritualist – Staircases, ominous statues, shadows, vintage style, flickering lights, and varying hues accent this 2016 British agoraphobic tale with obligatory eerie opening credits, inspired by true events claims, and sexy times in the bathtub. Empty glasses filled when one's not looking and the feeling that something is in the room are better subtle fears than the false jump screams, and the sound is very uneven between the nighttime whispers and those loud shocks. Incest delusions and other unnecessary incidental scenes dampen superb scenery as well as deeper conversations on diagnosing an ill parent and still loving a sick spouse that isn't all there but won't leave the house. Of course, dad is caught in bed with the kinky maid, and confusing flashbacks and timeline foolery add to the disjointed crazy or grieving plot holes amid suicide letters and bereavement videos. Ghostly reflections on the laptop screen, strange noises, and tip toeing about the huge, dark house are simple yet effective, and letting the audience get creeped out is better than toying with us. Telling a friend about the family past is a much more succinct way to express character emotions and lead to the psychic invitations when all the unnecessarily cryptic makes it easy for viewers to tune out – we can't relate to the fear happening if we're confused by all the on the nose. A writer/director/more is once again wearing too many hats or trying to do too much with incoherent jumpy moments, character back and forths, and more overreaction screaming that quickly becomes obnoxious. It takes forty minutes to gather everyone for a proper séance with contortions, vomit, tears, and possessions, but a dang cell phone rings during the séance – wrongfully breaking the intense atmosphere by withdrawing audience immersion. It's no spoiler that the gay men are killed first while other lookalike jerks argue, and half the viewers probably stopped watching long before the power outages, killing sprees, and failed twists.

10x10 – Island scenery and quaint streets belie the stalking and kidnappers opening this 2018 thriller starring Kelly Reilly (Eden Lake) and Luke Evans (High-Rise). Guns, duck tape, a bag over the head, and wire ties complete the daylight parking lot abduction – cars and people abound yet no one sees or hears a thing. Unfortunately, the rug is pulled out from under such real world fear thanks to blatantly obvious L.A. Fitness storefronts, an ominous Dodge Charger, and Instagram as the latest form of communication product placements when any yoga class, vehicle, or phone number would do. Despite the elaborate concrete and soundproof construction of the titular room, our perpetrator makes mistakes as our victim easily fights her way out of the cell amid screams contrasting the quiet isolation and padded darkness versus the normal, bright kitchen. Rather than a slow burn tense, the back and forth, stilted pace becomes annoying with slow, time wasting snippets padding the piece itself. Dead family members and past malpractice revenge lack substance, leaving the audience wondering if the typical questions about his apparently sympathetic purpose and her suspicious real name are going anywhere we don't already know. Without their natural accents, the cast comes off as monotone or hoarse, and the surprisingly not thrilling or scary genre cliches are likewise dry. This should be a taut two-hander that never leaves the four walls, but the players – who have both done impressive horrors and chills – don't have enough to chew on alongside trite housekeeper intrusions and close calls with the cops. Home movies angst, adultery, and religious hypocrisy are on the nose and nothing new or edgy – it might have been interesting if the characters had been reversed, but the suspicion between who is good or bad never really delivers, leaving viewers waiting for something that doesn't happen. What tense there is gets a little silly by the finale, and by time a kid in peril is shoehorned in, it's tough to care anymore.

Top Ten: Writers!

Welcome to our new Top Tens series in celebration of I Think, Therefore I Review's Tenth Anniversary! These monthly lists will highlight special themes and topics from our extensive archive of reviews.

This time I Think, Therefore I Review presents in alphabetical order...

Our Top Ten Writers!

Charles Beaumont

Robert Bloch

Bernard Cornwall

Jane Goldman

Stephen King

John Logan

Richard Matheson

Edgar Allan Poe

Rod Serling

Robert Louis Stevenson

Please see our Books tag or visit our Sharpe and Science Fiction labels for more literary analysis!

I Think, Therefore I Review began as the blog home for previously published reviews and reprinted critiques by horror author Kristin Battestella. Naturally older articles linked here may be out of date and codes or formatting may be broken. Please excuse any errors and remember our Top Tens will generally only include films, shows, books, or music previously reviewed at I Think, Therefore I Review.

Top Ten: Vincent Price!

 

Welcome to our new Top Tens series in celebration of I Think, Therefore I Review's Tenth Anniversary! These monthly lists will highlight special themes and topics from our extensive archive of reviews.

This time I Think, Therefore I Review presents in chronological order...

Our Top Ten Vincent Price Pictures!

House of Wax

House of Usher

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Comedy of Terrors

The Masque of the Red Death

Tomb of Ligeia

Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine

The Conqueror Worm

The Abominable Doctor Phibes

Theater of Blood

Please visit our Vincent Price tag, browse our Horror page, or check out or American International Pictures rundown for even more classic frights!

I Think, Therefore I Review began as the blog home for previously published reviews and reprinted critiques by horror author Kristin Battestella. Naturally older articles linked here may be out of date and codes or formatting may be broken. Please excuse any errors and remember our Top Tens will generally only include films, shows, books, or music previously reviewed at I Think, Therefore I Review.

Just Vamps 6!

Just Vamps 6!

by Kristin Battestella

Here we are on our sixth vampire viewing list – this time with a hungry helping of foreign, avante garde, and saucy little bloodsuckers to tempt your toothy grin.

Dracula's Widow – Red titles, neon signs, and late night storms set the Hollywood horror noir tone for this 1988 vamp moody from director Christopher Coppola (Deadfall) and starring Sylvia Krystel (Emmanuelle). Wax museum artifacts, rattling crates, and jar specimens add an old fashioned Gothic creepy while antiques, retro film reels, red spotlights, and colorful shadow schemes invoke period style. Musty books, horseshoe phones, swanky jazz, and classic cars are sweet, too – better than the dated hairstyles, shiny suits, and symbolic red splash screens inserted over the toothy bites. Krystel's forties femme suit and silky white shirt also mystically remain blood free despite claw-like webbed hands and bemusing gore. Camera irises, stockings, garters, and mid century hats do more for the noir update than the unnecessary bitter detective voiceover and cranky cop clichés – bad dialogue and unfortunate scene chewing miss the attempted dark comedy mark. This movie is very specific on the eighties does forties hot minute, and while audiences from those eras will recognize the look, most viewers today will just end up confused by the seemingly mishmashed genres thanks to the uneven then-contemporary hip and devil worshiping punk gangs intruding on the otherwise careful noir design. Fortunately, there are some good moments here, a lot of the campy works, and the eighty-eight minutes moves fast with investigation clues and vampire research – complete with a crazy, feeble Van Helsing who still has enough amazing strength to stake some vampires in the morgue. Interesting Renfield transformations and conflicts accent boobs, rack torture, bathtub perils, rituals, and slice and dice montages so laughable they are actually kind of good. Despite seriously Saturday morning cartoons ridiculous flying bat graphics and hammy interference, the eighties visual schemes do make for a unique yuppie horror retro and late night suave to fulfill your unintentional vampire comedy needs.

Lips of Blood – French Director Jean Rollin gets right to the mausoleums, Winnebagoes, shrouded bodies, coffins, and rituals in this more upscale than his usual 1975 tale. A somber score, beautiful but spooky memories, and a mysterious woman in white are immediately eerie while a colorful, swanky party and retro fashions create drama and a sophisticated foundation. Blocked childhoods, an overprotective mother, and castle ruins maybe real or imagined add to the secret cemetery passages, hidden tunnels, and questions regarding perfume, scent, and memory. Naturally, there's nudity both male and female complete with a bonus photography session, seventies bush, and masturbation. However, the saucy isn't as rampant here, and this has a more put together story compared to Rollin's usually thin plotlines. Although there is a bit of walking around filler, blue street lights and a moonlight ambiance anchor the after hours aquarium pursuits with an abandoned about the city feeling – there's a dead body in the water fountain and The Shiver of the Vampires is playing at the late night movies, too. Mysterious men follow on the subway while bells, alarms, abductions, and straight jackets intensify the bats, toothy vampire nurses, and undead who help one and hinder or kill another. Phone the mayor the hungry, naked, vampire chicks are loose so gather the staking posse! Though rushed in the end, the unique finale is well edited with an interesting mix of doubt, mystery, character drama, and a sexy creepy. Who's the worse villain – entombed vamp ladies or the village torch mob? And who knew coffins would float so well? Did we know this?

The Shiver of the Vampires – Pall bearers and a black and white graveside set the 1971 Jean Rollin mood before colorful castle ruins, overgrown greenery, and edgy music both embrace the heady and keep the medieval flair with torches, goblets, and candelabras. Howling winds, red lighting, and askew camera angles accent torture chambers and sacrifices, creating a surreal dreamscape with saucy vamps in ye olde but tie dye dresses. The bride in white contrasts those mourning in black while gruesome skulls belie the cathedral architecture, canopy beds, and rustic yet cozy fireplaces. She's too distraught for the marital bed – but our bride strips downs when a hippie woman humorously pops out of the grandfather clock and they lez be friends no questions asked. Sheer clothing doesn't cover the perky naughty bits, so they need all those furs to keep those caressing ladies warm. That poor lonely groom gets left out in the cold! More camera panning, vampire opportunists stepping in and out of the frame, and overhead shots parallel the us versus them debates and whirlwind talk of undead religions and vampire persecutions. Although flashbacks add to the dreamy tone, they also confuse the wild library scene and talk of past crusades, former vampire slayers, and predestined deadly fates. But hey, killer nipple spikes! Yes, the premise is thin with strung together coming to and going fro or looking cool, meandering scenes. Rather than one vampire perspective or the young couple viewpoint, the focus constantly resets. Who's dead? Who's alive? Who's undead? Rival vampire hierarchies at first seem tempting, but twists and true colors ultimately show. Granted, you can say that if you've seen one Rolling vampire movie, you've seen them all. However, had there been seriously proper writing, The Nude Vampire, Shiver of the Vampires, and Requiem for a Vampire could have been a fine trilogy. Fortunately, the nicer production values keep this bizarre romp brimming with an avante garde but no less creepy atmosphere.

Tale of a Vampire – A delicious Julian Sands (Warlock, people, Warlock) leads this 1992 brooding character study brimming with “Annabel Lee” and Poe references to match the bleak back alleys, dark morgues, abandoned blue buildings, and dreary British mood. Despite the underlying urge to bite, predatory love, black cats, creepy vampire beds, and sucking on some bloody fingers, this isn't a gorefest thanks to multilayered social awkwardness, melancholy, loss, and conflict. This lovelorn vampire spends his time in the rare books section of a sweet old library – you use that card catalog! The plot is unfortunately very slow, the isolated characters have no sounding board, and confusing flashbacks of lookalike women and lost bliss don't explain much. The centuries ago golden patinas are well shot, however the uneven pacing and flawed constructs interfere with the storytelling. We should have seen the past to start, using that previous to accent the current torment and slightly unreal, demented fairy tale tone. Why is the audience more sad than creeped by this thirsty stalker? Fine performances carry the drama once the characters actually interact by quoting history and poets in insightful two-handers. “'Tis better to have loved and lost” and all that. Lighting and shadow schemes add to the mysterious rivals, for good love or ill pain possibilities, and strange seductions. Can it really be love if a vampire's idea of romance is to consume the life of his lover? It's oddly pleasing to see this kind of twisted vampire bite symbolism rather than teenage moon eyes, and this simmer builds to a fine finale with some interesting surprises. While not scary, the Gothic romanticism and Victorian waxing on forever and death not being the end of love provide a solid helping of morbid and memento mori.