Italian Horror Larks

 

Italian Horror Larks

by Kristin Battestella

This Italian trio from decades of yore provides heaps of horror atmosphere along with camp genre cliches and entertaining late night winks.

The Devil's Nightmare – Unsettling black and white World War II raids and newborn sacrifices open this 1971 French language Italian co-production before the color present explains our Baron's family curse. Pleasant daylight scenery, nature sounds, and turret photography lead to an unseen attack, screams, and bodies bearing the devil's mark before a creepy gardener directs a tour bus to the Baron's castle to wait out the stormy night. The cranky couple, sharing babes, angry old man, driver obsessed with food, and novice priest each have rooms with diabolic succubus history to match our seven deadly sins metaphors. While the Baron's below in his mad science laboratory with colorful beakers, skeletons, and torches; the babes chill in their underwear and a saucy bathtub scene ensues. Oral implications befit the succubus legends, for our bus driver has food hidden in his suitcase and is always seen consuming something. Spiral staircases and creepy organ music accent the talk of an ancestor selling her soul to Satan – not that such tales spoil our glutton's appetite or the arrival of a beautiful red haired guest in a slinky cutout frock. The Baron offers to show them his alchemy lab, and our assembly judges each other over their hobbies and infidelities during dessert. No power or telephones lead to candlelit tunnels and illicit in the dark despite blood dripping from the ceiling and dead animals. The guillotine and iron maiden in the attic come in handy amid barking dogs and tempting visions that appear more and more undressed. The bewitching lures of the feast and medieval tortures are increasingly unique and chilling with phallic impalement and snakes. Upside down, alluring reflections in the wine glass and bathing in gold dust greed reveal the true demon gaunt – a gory visage upon each choking, drowning, and head chopping. Although this is a little long or in need of a tighter pace and we've seen similar plots before and since; the fatal, entertaining seductions do what they say on the tin. Debates with the priest on who deserved to die for their sins begat fencing mishaps, devilish black carriages, deals to avoid damnation signed in blood, and a fiery finish.

Slaughter of the Vampires – Similar titles, varying releases dates, differing run times, and English dubbing on this black and white aka Curse of the Blood Ghouls can be confusing. Fortunately, the melodramatic score matches the 19th century Austrian torches and village mobs as our vampire leaves his fallen toothy bride behind to be finished off by the pitchforks. Newlyweds Wolfgang and Louise subsequently move into his castle and celebrate the fixer upper with grand hoop skirt balls and piano recitals that inadvertently wake our vampire in the wine cellar. Humorous biddies waver between if the newly arrive unknown count is fascinating or sinister, but he's watching Louise disrobe in front of the window before whooshing in for a nibble. The clueless doctor suggests calling in “Professor Nietzsche” from Vienna for the inevitable blood transfusion, but unnecessarily long transitions with back and forth, incidental exposition are pointless padding. Even the servants waste time saying there's no time to waste! The adult Louise also still has a governess telling her it's time to stop swinging on the swings with the gardener's daughter, and fun sound effects heralding the vampire's hypnotic influence embrace the over the top goofiness. Every man treats Louise like a child except the vampire offering eternal passion through their throbbing blood, and the wispy frocks drop lower and lower on the bosom. Now Louise wants to sample her Wolfgang, and the orgasmic sound he makes when she bites him is hysterical. Despite trite surprises, billowing curtains, and tolling bells as Nietzsche runs around trying to find the vampire's coffin; the saving women from evil and protecting children from contamination arguments suggest a deeper statement. Of course, social commentary is not the point here, and the vampire obviously peaking out from behind that fake tree faces crosses and stakes in a rushed finale with creepy kids and crypt skulls for good measure. It's bemusing how today's silly low budget knockoffs come off so wrong, but this period piece Italian production indulges in every delicious moment and owns it.

Witchery – Dreams of colonial chases and rainbow witch talismans haunt Linda Blair (The Exorcist) and David Hasselhoff (Baywatch) in this 1988 Italian produced Massachusetts tale. We know Hoff's a photographer documenting our dilapidated hotel because he wears a big old camera around his neck, however his virginal girlfriend is more interested in spooky spell books recounting past curses – leaving horny Hoff on the floor in a sleeping bag. They're on the scenic New England island without permission, and the first twenty minutes wastes time repeatedly restarting when dialogue provides all we need to know about the snobbish family interested in buying the hotel. They arrive with an idiot real estate agent, a sexy restoration architect, and a precocious kid, because of course. Everyone's stranded for the night thanks to a storm, and the cobwebbed congestion leads to dumbwaiter perils, black tub water, and kaleidoscope visions. Red nails, red shoes, and bright blood lead to metaphysical gateways where our transported victims witness boiling cauldrons and witches eating babies. Mouths sewn shut with a slow, demented needle and bodies in the fireplace mishaps result in gross flesh and unbeknownst complaints that the burning wood smells funny. Our mainland sheriff and superstitious fishermen are reluctant to brave local legends and storm waters, but people in the next room also bemusingly don't hear the whooshing to the past vortex and screaming ruckus. Despite fantastical chants, burning effigies, and ancient rituals; gory orifices and a ghostly assault lead to increasingly disturbing torments. The real world pain is compelling thanks to nosebleeds, gasping breaths, pulsing veins, contortions, and splatter. Vintage projectors play creepy historic film reels by themselves, and it's just weird enough to overcome any silliness. Old fashioned padding like water beds and looking up the police's number in the phone book add nostalgia alongside the damn freaky stuff captured on the kid's tape recorder – greed, lust, fruit of the womb, virgin blood. Set pieces don't leave the ensemble much to do, but the thwarted helicopters and bodily possessions culminate in crucifixion and evil cackling. Will Hoff be the hero or will the witch win? If you can appreciate the inadvertent laughter and obvious twists along with the well done scares, this makes for some surprisingly fun perils and intensity.

Middling 60s Capers

 

Middling 60s Capers

by Kristin Battestella

Despite name stars and decent production values, this trio of black and white mysteries from the sixties is surprisingly middle of the road. Rather than cinematic flair, each feels more like an overlong anthology entry. Ouch, but pity. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Cash on Demand – Carols, snow, and holiday atmosphere at the bank two days before Christmas set the scene for this 1961 black and white Hammer heist. Bowler hat wearing banker Peter Cushing wants the office to be dignified not festive, and he won't donate to the Christmas party fund. He's not there to ingratiate himself with subordinates and demands efficiency – threatening to see his manager never works in the financial sector again over an innocuous $10 mistake. The employees object to his embezzlement suspicions, but unexpected insurance investigator Andre Morell (Watson to Cushing's Holmes in Hammer's The Hound of Baskervilles) knows all about the tension among the bank personnel. The con artist has done his homework on the holiday deposits, and frantic phone calls lead to kidnapping and blackmail schemes to open the vault. Our insurance impostor recounts the signals and briefcases for the exchange with such menace, but there's no need for brutality – heists can be smooth and sociable while he's sipping tea with his feet up on the desk. On the ball Cushing descends to weak and pleading, emasculated and disrespected in the tense one on ones. This is, however, a very slow, talkative piece with all outside action told rather than seen. The two room bank setting is fine taut, but the previous teleplay source is apparent, the camerawork too plain, and incidental bank minutiae clutters what should be clever theft ploys. Window washers and honking fire trucks passing better create a few startles as the staff nonchalantly lets this thief into the vault unaware. Money bags, spinning locks, and filling luggage with loot lead to flashing light bulb alerts, fiddling with the keys, and thirty second alarm resets. Follow ups with the insurance company and fifteen minute phone check ins are well done when the actual heist happens, and our smooth talker intends to walk right out with a cool $100K. Crisscrossed signals, panic, nervous police bluffs, handcuffs – it takes a crime for crusty Cushing to unravel and unite with his staff to best the ruse and realize people are more important than money. This eighty minute version seems long or unevenly paced with superfluous employees and wasted time on obvious yet muddled slip ups in the rushed resolution. Fortunately, the bank balance turnabouts make for an unusual holiday morality tale for fans of the cast.

Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace – A dead body washes up beneath London Bridge as Terence Fisher directs Christopher Lee (also both of the Hammer The Hound of Baskervilles) in this international 1962 production loosely based upon Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Valley of Fear. Already the set up is superfluous with pretentious kids, a meddling housekeeper, and a simple sounding board Watson who needs Holmes to spell out clues with shadow puppets. The story is repetitive and disjointed with no point of view – deliberately trying to be obtuse with a Sherlock in disguise yet expecting the audience to be Holmes well versed. If you don't know Moriarty is our nemesis, Holmes looks obsessed for accusing a respected academic of murder. He disappears without informing Watson, whose unnecessary comic relief makes one wonder which scenes are important if at all while ominous moments implicate Moriarty just because the plot says so. Egyptology thefts, country estates, affairs, shootings – most of the Doyle nuggets happen off screen while we watch anonymous scuffles at the pub. Coming or going over clues and phone calls again follow the plot rather than real deduction, and we're supposed to like Holmes mocking the incompetent Scotland Yard because the anachronistic swanky jazz more fitting for a fifties noir than the late Victorian setting tells us so. While this looks the cluttered 221B Baker Street part, the crimes feel more like three murder vignettes and the auctions, sewer stakeouts, and car heists are meandering and confusing. Holmes can break into Moriarty's lair and mess with the mummies just because he's Holmes. How does his mailing himself the necklace that he stole from Moriarty prove that Moriarty stole it in the first place? It's easy to zone out on the lookalike ensemble's exposition away from Holmes, for the one on one secrets, alibis, and villainous tête-à-têtes are more interesting once we get Holmes in his deerstalker and stylish plaid cape. Lee provides the commanding wit and haughty air. His clever mannerisms change with each obvious mustache or eye patch disguise. We'll see Lee as Holmes again, however the lack of his own booming voice thanks to unfortunate dubbing practices contributes to the overall meh here. This is not an introductory eighty odd minutes but more like the second in a series where the audience is supposed to know the literature already. Though annoying for Holmes completists, this is really only for the Doyle devoted and Lee connoisseurs.

Stop Me Before I Kill – Swanky cars and jazz on the radio leads to shattered windshields and a ruined wedding day in this 1960 black and white Hammer noir directed by Val Guest (The Quartermass Xperiment) from the novel The Full Treatment. Months after the accident, our former race car driver still suffers mentally – unable to get behind the wheel and panicking on the highway. Although their relationship is feisty and his wife is supportive, his mood swings begat controlling compulsions, bruises, and stranglings amid the kisses. Intriguing visuals, up close zooms, shadowed faces, and cigarette mannerisms accent some very compelling segments alongside lux locales and continental suave disrupted by the hectic headlights, wheel clutching, honking horns, and peeling tires. Our husband is suspicious of the double talking psychiatrist they meet on the Riviera; dinner parties invoke further anxiety and aggression while the Mrs. makes the pleasantries. Friends tell him this lack of confidence is all in his mind and he admits he's behaving like a child, for a real man would seek help before harming his wife. Not being able to hold her without wanting to strangle her, newlyweds sleeping separately, and solo skinny dipping provide a whiff of then-scandalous as the through the binoculars viewpoint and dominance from above camera angles add to the audience voyeurism. We wonder what will set him off next, and his reluctance with our cheeky psychiatrist leads to angry, outwitting psychoanalysis as doctor and patient each contemplate how she should be killed and the gruesome dismemberment to follow once the bloody deed is done. Unfortunately, suspenseful breakthroughs are drawn out to the point of deflation with little regression therapy progress – the speedometer, her crucifix, and who was to blame for the accident are straightforward rather than shocking. The bloody bathroom with the appearance of a crime is obviously a fix, yet he's suddenly ready to race the Grand Prix again? Wife Diane Cilento's (Tom Jones) absence in latter half of the film shows until Riviera lookalikes, vehicular twists, deceptions, guns, and garrotes escalate. This should be much more chilling than it is, but the audience always knows what's what and there's not enough charisma or intensity to overcome the overlong, divided focus between the domestic jeopardy and the ulterior psychiatry.

1940s Melodramas!

 

A Trio of 1940s Melodramas!

by Kristin Battestella

Be it well known stars or obscure gems, these black and white melodramas toe the scandals and suspense with mid century silver screen saucy, captivating performances, and attention to gothic detail.

Corridor of Mirrors – Melodramatic “strong serious music” captions and crescendos open this 1948 Terence Young (From Russia with Love) directorial debut with a blink and you miss him baby Christopher Lee (Horror of Dracula) amid the titular doors, picturesque frames, and gothic drama. Cackling nightmares, mysterious telegrams, and wax museum eerie disrupt the idyllic country manor; but veiled hats, stoles, and cigarette cases match the illicit London meetings, jazzy flashbacks, and hypnotic waltzes. Our cosmopolitan, unconventional lover Eric Portman (49th Parallel) wears a cape and top hat and rides in a carriage – whisking writer and star Edana Romney (East of Piccadilly) to his antique-laden “atmosphere of the past” lair. It's surprisingly mature, sophisticated, and even risque tit for tat dialogue for the time when he asks if she is inclined to continue the adventure at his marble mansion with the grand staircase, crystal chandeliers, and fun house rooms full of mirrors, mannequins, and historical costumes. Candles, old fashioned mannerisms, tiaras, billowing curtains, and flowing frocks further the period piece feeling as Mifanwy becomes drawn to the past, dressed up in glimmering gowns as he chooses and allowing herself to be his nothing to live for without you obsession. A supernatural whiff disguises the predatory gaslighting – our society girl is molded from father to lover to husband as dictated. Previous women made dowdy are tossed aside, pitiful and pathetic amid arguments of who is really his prisoner or came of her free will. Lookalike portraits of lost Venetian lovers, medieval ballads, and alluring costume balls sweep us up in the back and forth vanity, spoiled rich girl games, red flag complications, and reincarnation hyperbole. Though visually innocent with nary a kiss, fade ins and outs as drunken ladies are carried to the bedroom suggest what's happening behind the bed curtains. Strong lighting schemes, daylight streaks, nighttime mists, and black and white patterns accent early uses of double perspective, deep focus, reflective camera shots, and mirrors filming multiple actions in one frame. However, the opening framework and voiceovers instead of sounding boards are unnecessary. No introductions, nondescript husbands, and out of viewpoint asides with redundant secondary characters can be confusing. Jail cell confessions and murder trials are rushed in the final fifteen minutes with plot points excused away easily. Fortunately, the sophisticated stylings, complex story, and full of themselves lovers culminate in chilling disturbia and screaming toppers.

The Red House – The golly gee quaint, twee love triangles, and intrusive crescendos in this 1947 mystery interfere with the ominous woods and suspicious gossip about reclusive Edward G. Robinson (The Omega Man), his sister Judith Anderson (Rebecca), and their innocent teenage adoptee Allene Roberts (Knock on Any Door). Farm boy Lon McCallister (Stage Door Canteen) is warned not to take the shortcut through the woods thanks to howling winds, hooting owls, dark trees, perilous wooden bridges, and the said to be cursed eponymous haunt. Despite no trespassing signs and dead end trails, all seems safe in the daytime – but young Meg is forbidden from going into the woods and asking grown up questions her guardians don't want to answer. She feels drawn there as if she has been to the Red House before and its discovery is treated as enchanting despite dangerous terrain, broken limbs, and shooting at trespassers. Bad boy Rory Calhoun (How to Marry a Millionaire) wants a favor from bad girl Julie London (Emergency!), and the tawdry kisses by the lake detract from the lingering secrets and older regrets. Spinster Judith says it is no one's fault but their own that they gave up their lives to protect Meg – while she looks longingly out the window at her one time doctor beau. Though he blames the first boy to come along for his daughter slipping away, our father figure lingers at the bedroom door and watches her swimming. A mother leaves her grown son to marry her new man, too – but not before a suspiciously long goodbye kiss on the mouth with her boy. O _o The creepy innuendo increases with whispers of previous love triangles as men are driven crazy by making their women understand. Past guilt escalates to burning down the house attempts and fatal shootouts as Robinson carries the pain and violent events repeat. The overlong scenic montages and outsider tangents create unevenness and the ominous history is pretty easy for the audience to put together. However, the performances anchor the truth will out climatic sacrifices.

The Strange Woman – Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah) scandalizes 1830s New England in this 1946 yarn opening with our young Jenny already pushing a little boy who can't swim and then pretending to rescue him before growing up and pinching her cheeks to snag the richest sailor on the dock. Men say she is too beautiful for her own good, and Jenny seems to enjoy when her creepy drunk dad whips her – because now she has an excuse to marry wealthy old Gene Lockhart (Joan of Arc). Other ministers or lawyers offer to take her in, but their daughters dislike her and their wives are unsympathetic. The sweeping over the top score, however, lays on the sympathy thick because Jenny's only options are to go from father to husband. She learns how to be a lady, volunteers at church, and helps the poor – gaining favor to use or betray people later. Of course, while playing nursemaid to her ill husband, she writes to her young stepson Louis Hayward (And Then There Were None) as “your loving mother” and ends up kisses him, kissing him good in scenes later recounting how she made him love her all night long. Jenny manipulates her stepson by playing mother and lover before pursuing miscast George Sanders (All About Eve) as the suavest ruffian lumberjack ever. She meddles in business and elevates him to supervisor while she laments how long her husband must live and come between her and the next man. Unfortunately, despite the scandalous encounters, suicides, and caught in a storm seductions, today's viewers will expect more. There's no real ominous feeling or danger as we wait for something more dramatic to happen. The narrative is overlong and uneven – wasting time on lesser plots before rushing the final fifteen minutes with barrenness revelations and preachers suddenly moving Jenny to confess. The need to redeem our vixen with an outside morality undercuts all her deceit yet foolishly in love men still defend her to the end. Then again, you can't really blame them. Lamarr captivates the screen in divine if anachronistic frocks, feigning charm and innocence or tasting her forbidden as each scheme needs. Even her voice is hypnotic, telling men what to say and do to get her way. Although this picture pretends at an epic era the likes of Gone with the Wind, it suffers from poor pacing, weak action filming, and low production values. Everything else away from Jenny's fatal allure is just plain silly, for the true worth here is gazing at Lamarr.

A Shakespeare Trio the Sixth

 

A Shakespeare Trio the Sixth

by Kristin Battestella

This trio of Bard influenced dramas and documentaries is all about older analysis, reflection, and even some mistakes.

All is True – Director Kenneth Branagh (Wallander) stars as William Shakespeare alongside Judi Dench (Goldeneye), Ian McKellan (Lord of the Rings), and Hadley Fraser (Coriolanus) in this 2018 biopic recounting The Bard's final years. Opening title cards detail the 1613 burning of the Globe Theatre and how Shakespeare never wrote again, but Branagh is almost unrecognizable as Shakespeare returns to the green countryside with autumn leaves and sun kissed silhouettes. There is no action here as the conversations and country pace are reflective rather than London bustle. Twenty years he's been more about town than at home, so his wife puts Bill in the best bed for the guests. Awkward dinner scenes, tense will stipulations, and gardening struggles mirror the family disconnect as Shakespeare's attempts to apply his imagination to household references don't quite work. He and Anne are honest about their children's troubles yet they themselves are distant. She reminds him that he spent so much time putting words into people's mouths that he forgot what's unsaid matters. Not to mention she's pretty angry over his love poetry and wonders if he ever considered her reputation amid his visions of their late son Hamnet. He can converse with men of distinction despite lingering embarrassment over his upbringing and paying for a fake coat of arms, but Shakespeare provided wealth, fame, comfort, and fortune for his family – so why are they so bitter? The Bard didn't realize the rest of his family had stories to tell, but couldn't, and once the truth about Hamnet is addressed, they can heal complete with a charming explanation about that second best bed left to his wife in his will. Unfortunately, the uneven time between his daughters and their creep husbands detracts from the internal Shakespeare analysis. Even if some of their scandals are factual, their drama is here for its Puritan harshness, and the lookalike tut tutting townsfolk are also unnecessary. It's tough for us to believe Shakespeare was disrespected and belittled by small people when no external angst is needed. Such strife is just an excuse for The Bard to whip 'em with his words while his illiterate family learns to read and write to prove they love him. The Hamnet supposition also drags on even after Bill has supposedly accepted his daughters, making three years seem like three months because every plot comes back to this deceased ideal. Contrived liberties may irritate purists when the introspective legacy, attention to Tudor detail, Jacobean furniture, and Puritan garments are better. Usually we give Branagh his Shakespeare indulgences, but an outside eye not so beloved of the Bard would have smoothed the unevenness here. The cast is superb – Dench is thirty years older than her onscreen husband when Hollywood would have cast a thirty year old – and the longest scene is a twofer with McKellan's Earl of Southampton waxing on their read between the lines love and the forever young words that last long after the family line ends. Despite unnecessary intrusions, this is a perfectly period swansong meant for mature Shakespeare viewers.

Shakespeare's Heroes and Villains – Steven Berkoff (Octopussy) performs and analyzes iconic Bard figures in this fun 2019 one man presentation. Rousing Henry V monologues and London cityscapes capture the viewer's attention much more than a talking heads documentary by letting us in on the show. Berkoff's angry at diminishing changes in the text, intrusive technologies, and modern liberties that miss the point of the words. Trust the language and the speeches are enough to immerse the audience in the suspension of belief. A deliciously intimate Iago soliloquy reveals his small minded, mediocre jealously, and we can often recognize his pleasure from displeasure in ourselves. Richard III, on the other hand, is a clever villain. Berkoff compares his intelligent orchestration and sadistic motivations to not just Hitler, but Trump as fear and power make a poor substitute for real emotions. Today, we don't think we need love thanks to the internet and pornography, but wealth and corruption can't fill the vacuum created by an absence of compassion. Such disturbing characters are fun to play, but it's also difficult to wash away such darkness when you leave the boards. Rather than purely scholarly analysis, it's interesting to see the characterization through the craft. How do you add your own innovated nuance when the audience already has Olivier's take in mind? Of course, wannabe baddie Macbeth just can't get the job done thanks to the lingering loyalty holding him back. Shakespeare is shockingly succinct for his day in Lady's Macbeth's unsex me wish – the removal of her nourishing femininity makes her the male impregnating our subservient, festering thane with killer notions. Coriolanus listens to his mother and it gets him got and Oberon is going to get what he wants from Queen Tatiana even if he makes Puck do the dirty work. Berkoff concludes with his own Shakespeare experience, first as something difficult and irrelevant in his youth then later still boring compared to big Hollywood opportunities. The poetic, stirring imagery, however, brought him to the realizations and self expression to be had amid the layered pentameter. Film has its tricks but pure theatre has nothing but the actor and the playwright's words. Although the time dedicated to our heroes and villains is unequal, the mix of famous and lesser known balances out thanks to the food for though interpretations and unique perspectives. Even if you disagree with Berkoff's take, this is an entertaining gateway to some of Shakespeare's juiciest characters; an inspiration for all ages to research further and a great supplement for the at home classroom to compare and discuss.

An Unfortunate Skip

Romeo and Juliet – A cringe on both your houses! George Cukor (Let's Make Love) directs Norma Shearer (The Barretts of Wimpole Street) and Lesley Howard (Gone with the Wind) in this black and white 1936 two hour Shakespeare adaptation immediately hampered by its company of oldsters pretending to be adolescent lovers run afoul. The title card introductions also feel like silent film holdovers, however the who's who family rivalries add to the medieval mood alongside trumpets, tights, wimples, feathers, banners, tunics, tassels, fur collars, cloaks, and gems. Juliet's hair and gowns certainly take some interwar liberties, but convenient family crests and shields remind us who is who during the dares, sword fights, and rumbles in the cobblestone streets. Some of the boasting is meant to be bemusing, but most of it is over the top with fainting women, gasp there be Capulets, spitting, and it's the Montagues, our foe! The sizing each other up clout is also moot because we know it's not going to mean anything in the fatal end, and the toy wooden swords stabbing under the arm are stage fighting apparent. Although we do get to see Basil Rathbone (Comedy of Terrors) and his rapier in action, it's a mistake to intercut his skill with up close soft shots instead of using the fight to its fullest. Much of the side story angst and set up, however, could be excised. Despite their stage training, the stars are reciting juvenile, enchanted dialogue rather than really acting alongside a typically hysterical nursemaid and Andy Devine (Stagecoach) as unnecessary comic relief. The tale here is condensed yet overly romanticized with rowdy filler and poor John Barrymore (Dr.Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) looks more like a horny old man instead of a rebellious teen. The balcony scene is creepy and awkward as are the Morning Mood music bliss and angelic choruses. Is this a coming out party for an old maid and a virgin guy who just want to hold hands? Why are these grown ups talking old speaketh silly and worried about what their family thinks when they can go to the friar ASAP and get it on like adults? Nobody has to die over this not so forbidden, changing the entire dynamic of the tragedy thanks to out of touch pretentiousness and try hard windblown reinforcing the pompous elitism for those who think negatively of Shakespeare. If this was based on the play but an adult version with updated language, a lot of what's wrong here could be forgiven thanks to the fine production values. Fans of the cast and Shakespeare completists may find some delight here, but even if you like classics, it's easier to perceive this as a riff-able spoof with no expectations.

Dead Ringer

Dead Ringer is a Juicy Twofer from the One Bette Davis

by Kristin Battestella

Bette Davis stars in the 1964 thriller Dead Ringer as twins one high and one low – leading to an intricate scheme of scandals, affairs, secrets, blackmail, and murder...

Based on an earlier Mexican picture, actor turned director Paul Henried (Casablanca) and writer Oscar Millard (Angel Face) open Dead Ringer with frenetic, mood setting credits, cemeteries, Latin, funerals, and veils. The servants are surprised to see the reunited sisters are twins, and the catching up dialogue is laden with history – heather to remember wartime trysts in Scotland, one man between two women, and a shotgun marriage twenty years ago. Large rooms allow for a stage-like two-hander space while the camera can cut away to different angles mirroring each sister's facade as the sordid shade and one on one conversations escalate. Looming portraits of the deceased man provide sadness over what could have been and our jilted twin can't let go – leading to angry phone calls, threats, and purse revolvers. A change of clothes and the right haircut make our disparate twins look quite alike until choice zooms and tense up close shots reveal the difference. In spite of some camp – Bette is getting rough with herself, after all, and we know it – viewers are already invested in Dead Ringer by time the checkbooks are slapped from one's hand and sisters are shoving each other into action. Both performances are so good, and ambient music from the bar below covers the back and forth shouting. Drum beats countdown as the note is shown while the gun is drawn, using shrewd editing to not show shocking shots and familial violence even though we are appalled all the same by the sibling twists. The desperate, eponymous ruse takes up the first half hour of the film with suicide notes and weapons wiped clean. Today's audience, however, will notice slip ups, smoking mistakes, and flaws in the not so thought through plan. Can she pull this off or will the family dog and awkward moments with the servants give away the difference? What's her usual drink or the combination to the safe? Violent revelations and hocking jewels lead to arsenic, heart attacks, and maulings. Who exactly did what and when, who will face justice or get away with it, and what was it all for anyway? Police questioning creates tense moments amid covering tracks, entertaining the elite, and estate papers needing signatures that may not match the handwriting documented on that all important passport.

Who's a better match for Bette Davis (All About Eve) than Bette Davis (Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte)? Wealthy Margaret DeLorca hates climbing her grand stairs and doesn't like the way she looks in black, but her late husband was rich and she offers her frumpy, chain smoking sister Edith Phillips her cast off couture – it will be out of style by time she's officially out of mourning. Margaret is sleek, getting massages while on the phone and unbothered by Mr. DeLorca's passing, which Edith resents since she loved him first, accusing her sister of never caring about him before refusing Margaret's proposed money and trips. Margaret claims to love her sister and insists the man between them was no big deal while Edith still regrets her snobby need to take whatever was hers and how Margaret ruined both their lives. She kept up with The DeLorcas over the decades via the social columns, but Margaret didn't know they lived in the same city until Edith arrived on a bus for the funeral. Their lavish life, however, wasn't all it seemed, and eventually Margaret tries to bribe Edith but she can't forgive her sister for any amount despite being behind on the rent and facing eviction from the meager one room apartment above her cocktail lounge. However, Edith likes the way she looks in her sister's stole and smiles at her own reflection more when she coifs her hair just like her sister's. Knowing how she was tricked out of the charmed life on top of losing what little she has now is apparently too much for Edith, and although she momentarily feels bad about switching tender mementos, she goes through with it anyway. Blunders at society receptions, apologizing, or forgetting the rosary can be dismissed as distraught – Edith didn't get to be the wife but finds a certain solace in living with the bittersweet memory of what she wanted. The audience almost feels sorry for her pathetic state. We want Edith to get away with it and worry over every slip up even as she gains confidence in the role, speaking frankly about marriage and all the things that made her unhappy. She's ready to forget who her sister was despite ironic codicils in her lost love's will. Sadly, the deaths and bodies exhumed get out of hand, and ultimately, Edith plays her part too well.

Honest policeman Karl Malden (I Confess) brings Edith a humble watch for her birthday, and Jim Hobbson is is ready to retire, buy a farm, and giver her the best. It could be a nice little relationship, but she's hung up on the past and he can tell something's wrong. Jim's angry at Edith's death and blames himself, intruding on “Margaret” with investigations and memories she's trying to forget. Unfortunately, Margaret's jealous playboy lover and would be golf pro Peter Lawford (Little Women) also throws a wrench into all Edith's plans. Upon returning from an island holiday, Tony Collins puts two and two together now that “Margaret” doesn't like his pillow talk – leading to some campy surprises, threats, and blackmail. Glamorous brooches, jewels, and pearls fill the void in his $700 a month love nest, and hey, $3,000 a month allowance in 1964 would be over $24,000 today! Vintage L.A. views and classic cars set the ritzy mood alongside furs, hats, gloves, and tea sets. The cocktail lounge is dark with low ceilings compared to the lavish estate with mirrors and giant bedrooms bigger than the poorer relation's entire apartment. Classy accents, nibs, and silver add sophistication even as Dead Ringer scandalously shows the ladies in their slips – stripping down the deceased and removing the stockings after the unseen shot to the temple is confirmed with two drops of blood. Crescendos punctuate tense scenes or sadness as needed while the black and white gray-scale creates shadows and ambiguity. Double stand ins and split screens are probably obvious to today's special effects savvy audiences, however, the dual conversations are well done. Rear view mirrors and camera angles also placing others in the ensemble in visual trickery likewise play up the duality as cigarette form and lingering smoke punctuate up close shots. On the 4K television Dead Ringer looks quite crisp, and the DVD includes a retrospective with Hollywood author Boze Hadleigh in addition to commentaries and vintage behind the scenes tours.

There are similar stories to Dead Ringer – including an Ann Jillian remake and the recent series Ringer – that may make the twin twists common for modern audiences. This isn't horror per se, either, yet there are certainly disturbing moments thanks to the sibling violence and dead doppelgangers. Despite a few plot holes, obvious crimes, and an unclear passage of time, the turnabout drama in Dead Ringer is juicy to the end. Every scene is packed with layers and discourse thanks to another tour de force Davis performance worth seeing at least twice, naturally.

Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte

Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte a Delicious Gothic Treat

by Kristin Battestella

Director and producer Richard Aldrich capitalized on Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? with the chilling but no less sophisticated Southern Gothic examination of murder, gossip, and madness in 1964's Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

After Charlotte Hollis' (Bette Davis) father Big Sam (Victor Buono) insists she break off her dalliance with the married John Mayhew (Bruce Dern), Charlotte enters the cotillion covered in blood. Decades later, Charlotte remains an infamous murderess and recluse, living alone save for housekeeper Velma Cruther (Agnes Moorehead). The state of Louisiana plans to tear down the crumbling Hollis House to build a bridge, and with Doctor Drew Bayliss' (Joseph Cotten) help, cousin Miriam Deering (Olivia de Havilland) returns to convince Charlotte she must leave. Unfortunately, ghostly violence terrorizes the women, blurring past crimes, contemporary suspicions, and deadly delusions.

Happening jazz, dancing, and 1927 good times hide the illicit schemes, secret elopements, and vicious murder opening Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte. We think we've seen a cold hearted kill thanks to intercut chopping, gruesome slices, and screams, but is this crime all it seems? Wind chimes and silent shocks lead to 1964 cemeteries and youthful rhymes detailing the chop chop legend of headless lovers as boys sneak in the desolate ballroom ruined by passion, scandal, and insanity. Construction vehicles rumble nearby, yet there's a certain gentility to the venomous shouts. Everyone says miss or sir, using full names and regional colloquialisms despite the ten day eviction notice, paranoid conspiracies, suspicious old enemies, and secrets coming back to haunt one and all. Talk of an innocent teen girl having a dirty affair with a married man and calling each other bitches was shocking dialogue at the time, but there are also regrets, tears, and wishful thinking of an inheritance that should have been well spent instead of wasted on the lonely, dilapidated decades. The dramatically paced conversations are layered with talk of the past, current states of mind, double entendres, and shade – creating zingers and story telling comforts before wardrobes that open by themselves, slashed clothing, crank letters, and unforgiving threats quicken the pulse. Creaking doors, cleavers, and severed limbs scare the women – our eponymous character may be a little mad, but others are experiencing the frights, too. Crimes of Passion magazine reporters are excited that now in the sixties they can play up the murder's sex angle, and there's no one to trust amid phantom figures strolling the grounds and ghostly harpsichord playing. Storms, lightning, and winds blowing across the balcony lead to breaking windows and shattered mirrors. Today we have crazy versus ghost horrors, but they are often teen light rather than sophisticated dramas with performances free to carry the murderous motives behind the frights. Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte provides superb scenes with heavyweight talent, and revelations in the final act place the viewer within the footsteps, physical bouts, and shocking violence. The southern gentility degrades into cruel intensity as the sense of dread escalates without any need for in your face jump scares. Deaths we've seen happen are said to have happened entirely differently, and the women do what has to be done thanks to the men's messes – be he builder, destroyer, father, doctor, or lover. Beckoning echoes and tormenting serenades are twisted, sad, and delicious all at once thanks to eerie masks, gunshots, headless suitors, and nightmares. Delusions revisit the original crime while chilling visuals, bitch slaps, and dead bodies rolled up in the carpet contribute to the hysteria. These dames won't suffer for the lies, blackmail, and cruelty anymore, but the can't take it with you and what was it all for pain serves up a few more frights before the madness is all said and done.

Is Bette Davis' (All About Eve) Charlotte a crazy killer, abused, or just misunderstood? She's mad one minute pushing planters off the balcony at construction workers but demure in white, crying, and heartbroken the next. Charlotte's an unreliable old woman dealing with trespassers and losing her home. She doesn't need sympathy or company, just help in saving Hollis House. At times she is very sharp, but she's also caught in the moment of her lover's murder, dressed up and waiting for a dead beau. She knows the townsfolk think she got away with murder, however the audience likes her moxie. We're on her side when the sheriff insists she only acts loony because it's what's expected of her, and we pity Charlotte's sobbing sing a longs to their song. She wakes up in the night, for her fantasies are only real in the dark – Charlotte used to be positive she wasn't crazy, but now she isn't so sure thanks to ghostly visions, medication, and nightly damaged she swears she didn't do. Mad murderess or not, she is certainly scared, and the family pride, fatal disgrace, gossip, and the irony of letting go make for a sad vindication. Olivia de Havilland's (The Heiress) cousin Miriam Deering tries to make it easier for Charlotte to leave, reminiscing and sharing fond memories of sliding down the banister. She makes Charlotte laugh, telling her not to pay any attention to trash rags, old rivals, or nasty letters but come back to reality. Unfortunately, Miriam can't stop the state's eviction, and she's always looking out for herself first. Charlotte says her public relations job “sounds dirty,” and past tattle tales on who was the poor relation or favored daughter make Miriam wish she had never come back. Nonetheless, she increasingly takes over the household, packing and making Charlotte say goodbye to Hollis House whether she is ready or not.

According to Joseph Cotten's (Duel in the Sun) Dr. Drew Bayliss, Charlotte has nothing more than a persecution complex. He insists the state's condemned order is solely about the bridge construction and not Charlotte's infamy – although he has looked into committing her but doesn't have enough evidence. Drew calls himself an old man who missed out, regretting choosing his career and breaking off his past romance with Miriam. She, however, insists he's too quick with his compliments and intentions. He flirts with her as he did in their youth, preying upon her even as he wants to protect her – giving her a handgun in case there are any more trespassers. Unfortunately, only more memories of the past come back, and Drew wonders if Charlotte isn't creating her own company and reliving her debutante days with newly fixed delusions. Surprisingly, only Agnes Moorehead (The Bat) as loyal housekeeper and sassy defender Velma Cruther received hardware for her performance in Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte – a shiny Best supporting Actress Golden Globe contrasting her crusty, cranky self. Velma dislikes Miriam, mocking her before sulking behind a column and muttering comebacks between her chores. Although initially humorous, Velma isn't stupid. She tries phoning for help and confronts Miriam outright when told she's being dismissed with the month's wages. Velma only takes her orders from Charlotte, and the imminent tearing down of Hollis House does not mean she won't be needed when the manor's gone. Velma sees through Miriam's high and mighty behavior in several taut confrontations that become scrumptiously physical. Certainly there are a few superfluous characters – utility players dispensing exposition yet detracting from the taught hysteria, but Mary Astor (The Maltese Falcon) makes the most of her brief time as Jewel Mayhew, the widow of Charlotte's mutilated lover. Although Charlotte suspects Jewel is out to get her, she's not afraid to tell Miriam and her vicious tongue off in public. Jewel is gravely ill and ready for the truth to be heard. Victor Buono (King Tut in Batman, people!) mostly appears in the prologue as Charlotte's stern father Big Sam, but his threatening presence lingers throughout the film. He disapproves of some lothario like the married Bruce Dern (The 'burbs) intending to elope with Charlotte and ruin the family legacy he has rebuilt – and his orchestrations ironically cause exactly what he was trying to prevent in memorializing the Hollis name. Unfortunately, George Kennedy (Earthquake) appears too briefly as the foreman ready to bulldoze the manor standing in the way of his bridge project. He's tried being kind to Charlotte and objects to her shooting at his crew. It might have been interesting to have seen him appear more as a physical reminder of the ten day requisitions countdown, for at times the need to vacate for the tear down is almost forgotten in Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte's crazy horrors.

Art Direction, Cinematography, and Editing nominations abound for Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte thanks to excellent gray scale schemes, symbolic shadows, scary silhouettes, and askew camera angles that remain sharp on 4K screens. Overhead visuals peer into the scene with our point of view in tight for the harsh, angry faces or panning wide to capture the empty, stage-like mansion interiors. Choice zooms, distorted up shots, and foreboding down angles accent the spinning ceiling fans – we feel the congested southern heat despite breezy lace curtains, open windows, wispy willows, and dangling moss. Trees and balconies are high, but Hollis House is dimly lit with few candles at the dinner table and dark strolls on the veranda leaving room for those disturbing severed heads, phantom hands, and great horror effects. The expansive locales mean every scene takes its time, laid back with people made small in the Louisiana inside out lifestyle. There's no rush to walk down the long corridors as mishaps belie the grand staircase and grandfather clocks tick tock. Barking dogs and silent pauses add to the atmosphere alongside the nominated Score with its angry crescendos, sad melodies, and bittersweet lyrics. Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte has ye olde big newspapers with thick headlines, flashbulb cameras, and $2.50 for a cab drive after which he's told to keep the change! There's a firmly sixties mood thanks to the big cruising cars, hats, gloves, white suits, and cigarettes – however the grandeur is also trapped in time with tall columns, wallpaper, tea in the garden, chandeliers, telegrams, leather libraries, and looming large family portraits. And bench car seats mean we see some good old fashioned slide across!

Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte has always seemed a little less beloved than it's exceptional predecessor Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and video options remain slightly elusive thanks to unavailability on Netlix and a limited edition blu-ray. Some audiences may find the psycho biddy style too camp – at times there's certainly over the top inducing laughter to the scary. At two hours and fifteen minutes, Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte may also be too long and not all out horror enough for viewers accustomed to contemporary, formulaic slashers. For others there may not be full rewatch value once one knows how it ends, but Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte is worth repeat viewings for all the graceful clues and nuances amid the Southern Gothic terror – remaining a gripping, can't look away master class of chilling moments and staple performances.

The Three Faces of Eve

Performance makes The Three Faces of Eve

by Kristin Battestella

Based upon the book by Doctors Corbett Thigpen and Hervey Cleckley, writer and director Nunnally Johnson's (The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit) black and white 1957 drama The Three Faces of Eve chronicles the case of what was then called Multiple Personality Disorder for Joanne Woodward's demure southern housewife Eve White. Her husband Ralph (David Wayne) can't understand her change in persona when Eve Black goes out partying, but Doctor Luther (Lee J. Cobb) believes he can reunite the dissociated identities.

The Three Faces of Eve opens with an onscreen explanation poorly equating Dissociative Identity Disorder to a thin man inside a fat person and Jekyll metaphors before a somewhat stilted play like staging and voiceovers interrupt the narrative with date, time, and treatment specifics. When the narrator breaks the exposition right down to the minute, The Three Faces of Eve becomes a case study rather than a drama, and revealing the symptoms or telling us when something bad is going to happen undercuts the suspense, intrigue, character sympathy, and viewer immersion. Without the on the nose clinical patronizing, The Three Faces of Eve is much better – headaches, anger, and arguments play out with off camera screams and violence. Conversations between doctor and patient reveal blackouts and hearing voices. Understandably, there's a certain anticipation in seeing the personalities come out, but the first manifestation is a well done, unexpected transition from married meek to flirty and feeling fine. Is this just a discontented housewife lashing out or something more? Both are unacceptable in the fifties, leading to institution stays and winking innuendo with exposed on the bed versus covering up visual suggestions. Although it's annoying when the doctor can call a name back and forth to change her personas like Multiple Personalities are merely some hypnosis party trick, it's also sad an innocent woman can be so prompted. She may seem to be no harm, but a man isn't going to take no for an answer after all these flirtations, and above all, none of these personalities wants to be hurt. Unfortunately, this illness comes between her mind and her family, leading to divorce and a daughter taken away as the case worsens with suicidal risks and a third personality. Not only does The Three Faces of Eve oddly announce a death before it happens, but I also wish the title didn't give away the third manifestation. The dual performance builds enough conflict before the new identity emerges, and the audience already wonders how these ladies can co-exist as our trouble gal struggles with no memory and a late flashback. While the recounting of creepy, dark places and a visual representation of her tormented state of mind are necessary in revealing the what went wrong repression, the sense of imminent internal collapse instead becomes a quick Hollywood ending. Rather than a conclusive healing, the trauma feels lame and the resolution artificial. Fortunately for The Three Faces of Eve, the reason why and the saccharin results aren't as important as the journey of self discovery – no matter now many selves you have. 
 

Eve White is a meek housewife hesitant about her amnesia spells, and Oscar winner Joanne Woodward (Rachel, Rachel) immediate has us on her side when unexplained clothes, threats against her daughter, and suspicious trips make the soft spoken Mrs. White seem like somebody else. Eve is clearly scared of losing her mind, but Woodward is exceptional at the distinct personality changes – slouching, tossing her hat, and removing itchy stockings as Eve Black. She's no dreary dope like Mrs. White, hates her jerk husband, and says their daughter isn't hers. She turns up the music loud, jiggles her caboose, and says things Eve White never would, like how she married her husband just because she should. We don't hate Eve Black, but are torn with sadness just like the returning wife, who's confused and embarrassed by her alter's wild hair and unbuttoned shirt. While in the institution, she reads poetry – until Ms. Black in her short shorts wants to tell the orderly a few limericks. Living alone for treatment gives her freedom complete with a sassy nightclub performance, sultry singing, and dancing barefoot with soldiers. Ironically, being alone allows Mrs. White to stand up for herself, even if that means she has to choose between her family and her mental health. Today The Three Faces of Eve may seem tame, but that is only because of the acting conventions of the time compared to now when all the wild, bad girl personality would be shown onscreen. In that respect, however, it makes Woodward's performance all the more provocative. We see the manifestations, but they give us room to wonder about the internal workings of her trouble mind and what's going on with each individual. Eve Black says just because we don't see what she does, doesn't mean she doesn't do it. It's a wonderfully delivered line suggesting all the viewer needs to know, but Mrs. White is the one who ends up slapped and left on the motel room floor. The finale here feels like such a letdown because the fifties film restraints don't live up to Woodward's discomfort in the disturbing “Please, I don't want to.” reveal.

Lee J. Cobb's (On the Waterfront) composite Doctor Luther is initially astonished but remains sympathetic of Eve's plight. He cuts away family emotions to find the facts, asking her how she can explain the things Mr. White says she does. Luther seeks the reason and logic behind her fear but gets the pieces of the puzzle from not just one, but all three personalities. His medical partners immediately suspect she is a fake, and the men wonder if her unhappy marriage is merely making her act out and pretend to be someone else. Today we know it is simplistic to dismiss a woman as unfulfilled rather than consider a mental illness, but The Three Faces of Eve presents Doctor Luther as sincere in his reasoning with each personality. He asks Eve Black not to come out and wants to tell Mrs. White what is happening in hopes of reuniting the personas. Luther confers that neither Mrs. White or Eve Black are fit to be a wife and mother – each is fragmented and not a responsible or capable person. Where his colleagues blame the patient, he uses hypnosis to find the root of her manifestations. Luther is perplexed, but genuinely strives to help reveal and heal her terrible childhood experience. Older, frustrated husband David Wayne (How to Marry a Millionaire), however, is a working man who can't understand what's gotten into his wife. He has to come home and get tough on the phone over an expensive bill and threatens to slap his wife when he thinks she is lying. His harsh is understandable for the time – Ralph doesn't have to be likable and doesn't seem very smart but he's a stern family man keeping food on the table who will give his wife a good talking to whether she's delicate or not. We believe him when he threatens Eve for harming their daughter, yet he can't comprehend the doctor's diagnosis. Ralph has to tone down his temper, get a better job, and send Eve money, but it isn't easy for him to accept treatment that separates his family. When Eve Black is out at the clubs and the marriage finally comes to blows, Ralph's more worried about people laughing behind his back or thinking him a fool than what's best for his wife.

The crisp silver screen Cinemascope still looks sharp on a 4K television, and there are some fine fifties trucks, classic cars, vintage telephones, fedoras, and white gloves to see in The Three Faces of Eve. Fashion is simply but expertly used to contrast our competing personalities – sassy pumps, fancy sequins, and black lace slip dresses versus Peter Pan collars and demure cardigans. Leather chairs and bookshelves represent the male doctor's domain while white cabinets and cheery curtains represent the mid century woman's kitchen before the missus' place in the home is upset by swanky nights on the town, rented rooms, and the now single woman in the workplace. Look at that giant switchboard! Of the time seductions, however, remain hot and bothered. There may be separate beds in the motel room, but the man and his wife not wife sit on the same bed as she removes her stockings and convinces him to buy her something prettier than the old red velvet dress she's wearing. Although great swing tunes and singing accent the scandalous behavior, noticeable music crescendos sometimes give away the forthcoming identity switch. The most stunning moments happen when there is no music or dolly and the tears come forth. Some of the Georgia accent permeating The Three Faces of Eve isn't always reflected in the subtitles, either, which may be confusing for viewers not familiar with the diction. Up close shots and cross coverage that doesn't match the wide shots also feel slower, with firmly fifties editing and pace. Fortunately, the camera is used to great effect with intense zooms and tight two shots as the patient confides her fears. Mirrors and reflections parallel personality transitions, and the visual scale effects in the finale set off the dark place and trouble state of mind.

The Three Faces of Eve is dated in its fifties framework. The mix of case study and then sensational makes numerous mistakes about this misunderstood condition, and the real life liberties will have interested audiences seeking out Christine Sizemore's original case and her subsequent reading materials. Thanks to the disjointed narrations and loosely strung together vignettes, one almost wishes there was a re-cut of The Three Faces of Eve, for the story deserved better writing and direction not some kind of textbook format. Thankfully, Woodward's performance anchors the drama by making viewers compassionate about not one or two but three characters in conflict. These distinct personalities are all clearly broken, and Woodward keeps the suffering of each person no matter how many at the forefront. The Three Faces of Eve is always worth revisiting for a then versus now context thanks to her fine portrayal.

Comfort Food Shows - 60s Edition!

Comfort Food Show Binges – The 60's Edition!

By Kristin Battestella

It's time for more nostalgic snacking with these mid-century calorie free treats. As with my first Comfort Food Shows Binge list, these aren't shows for full length, season by season review concentration, just timeless edibles to press play and enjoy!

The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet – This long running television – and radio! – 1952-66 sitcom with homemaker Harriet, sons David and Ricky, and dad Ozzie who seemingly didn't have a job but loved his tutti frutti ice cream was meta before meta was Kardashian. However, December wouldn't be the same without Rick trying to sell ugly shirts during the holiday rush or singing so everyone will buy their Christmas trees. The tone of the series obviously changes from teen idol plots with excuses for Rick to rock and roll before marriages for both sons assure the wholesome image remained onscreen. At times, such carefully controlled manufacturing from writer and director Ozzie is apparent, yet the program was also an unprecedented production grounding the early days of television. Of course, despite numerous streaming episodes in the public domain and various essential or best of collections, the entire series of a whopping four hundred and thirty five episodes isn't available. Then again, if you've seen the Here Come the Nelsons debut feature and any episode, you've really seen them all. By the end, it's also clear that the boys and their wives were over playing these Stepford versions of themselves stuck in a fifties heyday when America was clearly a different place by the mid-sixties. Fortunately, that same breezy, golly gee sentimental is perfect for some de-stressing nostalgia – whether it's fawning over how young the boys were, how handsome they turned out to be, or looking up how much the Nelson set house actually looked like their real home.

The Dick Van Dyke Show – This 1961-66 Emmy winning black and white comedy shrewdly stayed away from any of the time turbulent or pop culture references that would date the wholesome hi jinks of Van Dyke's stressed television writer dad Rob Petrie, his then shocking capri pants wearing wife Mary Tyler Moore, and their precocious son Ritchie Rosebud aka Robert Oscar Sam Edward Benjamin Ulysses David. Morey Amsterdam and Rose Marie complete the at work comedy team as fellow writers of series creator Carl Reiner's The Alan Brady Show. This internal, life imitating art variety sketch show allows for a myriad of song, dance, and themed episodes for one and all while winking at the behind the scenes onscreen with those same mid-century perks. Sure, sometimes the theme song gets stuck in my head when I don't want it to, some of the musical half hours get silly, and after 158 episodes, the opening trip or not to trip over the ottoman gag can get tiring. Thankfully, the mix of earlier fifties homemaker comfort and sixties workplace tongue and cheek turn the mirror on television's adolescence – creating then progressive yet continually nostalgic pleasantries for the whole family. Except for that ottoman, those pesky neighbors, suspect “Artanis” artwork, if your son was switched at birth, and whether your marriage is legal in Connecticut; viewers don't have to worry about anything here.

I Dream of Jeannie – Do do, do do do do, do do...Finding two thousand year old genie in a bottle Barbara Eden actually caused a lot of problems for astronaut Larry Hangman and his best friend Bill Daily in this 1965-70 fantasy sitcom. Exotic time travel blinks, boinks to the moon, experimental military blunders, and dinner mishaps happen every time our hapless gal gets a little jealous – and that's not to mention the scary Blue Djinn; the even more pesky, dark haired, bad girl Jeannie; musical guest stars like the now notorious Phil Spector, and Sammy Davis Jr., too. Boss General Peterson thinks our Majors are loons thanks to all their clever close calls, and perpetually duped military psychologist Dr. Bellows is out to prove something is afoot. Look carefully and you'll see Dr. and Mrs. Bellows also live in the home of that other magical sixties sitcom Bewitched. More importantly, however, is that it is absolutely clear that Jeannie sleeps in her swanky Jim Beam bottle – no naughty perks until she's married to her master in the final season! Naturally the entire premise and all the retcons and storyline changes are ridiculous today; servitude, subservience, stereotypes, and saucy harem pantaloons included. Fortunately, the shout at the television zany and spot the smoke and mirrors special effects remains magical, whimsical fun for the whole family despite that shocking, must be banned navel.

Mister Ed – Most of this 1961-66 show is pretty preposterous – least of all the titular talking horse. Wives, friends, and neighbors only seem to mind star Alan Young spending time in his clearly drafty and dirty office/barn with a horse if it suits the plot, and at some point, surely somebody, anybody would have caught on to all the Wilbur throwing his voice cover ups or the incognito palomino answering the phone ruses. There's a fifty/fifty chance that the horse causes the trouble or saves the day, too. It's amazing the show lasted as long as it did with such a, well, one trick pony, as it were. That said, there's something instantly relaxing about catching an early morning or late night rerun regardless of which of the 143 episodes it may be – an excuse to nestle in and spot all then advanced production and special effects that made the mischievous equine action possible. Double snuggle if it's the “Clint Eastwood meets Mr. Ed” half hour. You know you know the theme song, too, don't lie. 
 

Star Trek – Granted, “Spock's Brain” and those far out space hippies in “The Way to Eden” don't stand the test of time. Some of the acting is over the top and the special effects can be hokey amid all the technobabble from William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, DeForest Kelley, and company. Thankfully, that's all the negative that can be said for this original 1966-69 Gene Roddenberry franchise maker that thrust science fiction from its early television kid's show realm into provocative concepts for adults looking for something more in the turbulent late sixties. Even if you've seen all seventy-nine episodes uncut in production order – or haven't and pretend you have because Star Trek is an inescapable part of our pop lexicon – only seen the Original Crew movies, or like other franchise incarnations, viewers young and old can always return to the ground breaking, mirror to nature storytelling here thanks to the likes of my favorite “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield,” the original “The Cage” pilot, the spooky fun of “Catspaw,” or the still emotive “The City on the Edge of Forever.” Now iconic episodes such as “The Enemy Within” featuring a good versus evil Kirk and famous tales like “Mirror, Mirror” and “The Trouble with Tribbles” always feel like time well spent whether you are chuckling at the early pushing the envelope or pondering the what ifs anew. The remastered editions look pretty darn sweet, too. I'd be down for a new Gary Seven series, but what is with the Klingons and Shakespeare?

Don't forget to check out our Classic TV label for yet more nostalgia with The Munsters, The Addams Family, The Bob Newhart Show, and more or visit My Top Ten Favorite TV Shows!