Blake's 7 Retrospective at Search Magazine

 

Greetings Retro Sci-Fi Television Enthusiasts! If you aren't one, you should be once you see the seventies science fiction classic Blake's 7. This is my favorite television show and it was such a lovely opportunity to write about Blake's 7 in the Current Hidden Gems Issue of Search Magazine! 

For budding real world backyard astronomers, I also have a second feature this issue on the Dos and Don'ts of Stargazing. 

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Revisit more of Yours Truly in Search Magazine including:

Mary Tyler Moore Show Retrospective

The Bee Gees!

Detoxing from Social Media

Dark Shadows 50th Anniversary

Brian De Palma Guest Podcast

 

It was so exciting to be a small part of the Jacked up Review Show Podcast's Brian De Palma Director Series! I talk about Domino and Sisters. A YouTube podcast version is available Here. 

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I'm very grateful to both longtime podcast friends and new-to-me shows who have invited me to contribute! Peruse past appearances with the Podcast tag including:

Psycho II

John Hughes at Binge Movies Home Video

Women InSession 2025 rundown

Search Magazine Music and More!

 

Although I've kept track of my DIY articles and video projects for Search Magazine on my Kbatz Krafts blog, my latest piece in the Fall 2024 #ImaFan Issue is on my very first review topic: The Bee Gees!

SEARCH Magazine’s Fall 2024 #ImaFan Issue 🎶

Bee Gees by Kristin Battestella

Read more of Kristin’s article at https://t.co/DqIKBgrdgp 🖤#search #searchmagazine #magazine #music #thebeegees pic.twitter.com/efxRQLGLrW

— Search Magazine (@searchmagsf) November 7, 2024

This was a very fun article to write in sharing how and why I became a fan of The Brothers Gibb music! I have however reduced much of my Twitter presence @ThereforeReview, favoring instead the refreshing pace of Blue Sky. It's tough to keep up with all the platforms as it is, and doom scrolling is not helpful. Fortunately, it is wonderful when I do receive true engagement, feedback, and collaboration opportunities! I am still on Instagram, and my latest articles and podcasts can also be found at InSessionFilm.com and Keith Loves Movies.

You can follow @SearchMagSF for more highlights from the current issue or peruse back issues for my previous television and media articles:

Mary Tyler Moore Retrospective

Detoxing from Social Media

Why I Still Use the Wii

Women's Hockey is Now

Overcoming Imposter Syndrome

Retro Vinyl Shopping

Dark Shadows 50th Anniversary

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.

House of Dark Shadows Guest Podcast!

 

Our Dark Shadows reputation preceeds us as I was invited by Phillip to guest on the Making Tarantino Podcast to discuss Dan Curtis' 1970 adaptation House of Dark Shadows! 

New Episode OUT NOW!!! Listen to me and @vampfamwriter wax poetic about Dark Shadows tv series and mostly the 1970 movie, House of Dark Shadows. It’s a fun time. pic.twitter.com/YRvuLmecZq

— Making Tarantino: The Podcast (@MakingTarantino) August 9, 2024

For more, follow @MakingTarantino or read our previous House of Dark Shadows review and our How to Start Watching Dark Shadows TV feature at Keith Loves Movies. Thank you for listening! 

See and Hear more of our Guest Appearances:

Women InSession Podcast

The Convert Video Review

Bound Video Review

Christopher Lee Sci-Fi!

 

Christopher Lee Sci-Fi Special!

By Kristin Battestella

Who needs Count Dooku when you can revisit these preposterously retro Christopher Lee science fiction adventures?

Night of the Big Heat – Christopher Lee (Horror of Dracula) and Peter Cushing (Curse of Frankenstein) anchor director Terence Fisher's (Frankenstein Created Woman) 1967 sci-fi island heat wave based on the John Lymington novel. Big satellites, giant perimeter cameras, and spinning radar gizmos immediately give this a decade too late feeling, and initially it's tough to tell who is who among the British quaint. Snooping vagrants mysterious killed and bespectacled scientist Lee checking his big listening equipment are slow to start despite ominous swanky music and sweet roadsters. The cars are overheating amid radio weather reports of 90 F in winter and rising, oscillating fans, glistening foreheads, and ice melting at the local inn. Buzzing sounds and crackling noises over the phone acerbate wife versus bikini clad secretary hostility, ogling men, and past dalliances. Ties are off, ice is being dripped down the blouses, and people are leaning inside the refrigerator. It doesn't cool off after dark, and the crazed buzzing begats car accidents and explosions. Something is said to land on the hill as dark room developments and then new infrared photography gather proof for our novelist who doesn't believe in extraterrestrials. Do they warn the villagers or would that cause a panic? Beer bottles break in the heat while juicy kisses lead to who's getting caught, rowdy assaults, and more fiery ends. The big boob tube gets weird signals before blowing up, dogs are barking, and a delirious farmer's sheep are killed, yet it's tough to tell if the tension and now tame cigarette steamy are the main story or if the underlying sci-fi build is the priority here. The increasingly congested inn stifles with arguments about what to do – like who are you supposed to contact anyway if you suspect an alien invasion? More sweaty clothes and giant walkie talkies accent the look of fear and victims' screams as the screen goes white, and it's nice that we don't see the alien wither tos and why fors until attempts to contact the mainland fail. Unfortunately, flashlights and dynamite plans to divide and conquer get confusing before thunderstorms and an easy, contrived end that really had no where to go. The staged, mid century television design is fine, but the uneven hammy science and would be saucy do a disservice to the compelling ensemble. It might have been interesting had there been no explanation to the sci-fi or just a heat induced killing spree, for all the postulating that our satellites signals lured the extraterrestrials to come heat up the earth feel tone deaf today considering how we are making the planet hotter right now with our own stupidity no aliens needed. This is fun for the cast – if you can accept that this is neither groundbreaking or actually all that steamy.

End of the World – Pleas to use the telephone from Father Christopher Lee open this 1977 romp before sparks, broken windows, and explosions prevent the call. The Spanish Mission convent and organ music peppering the score contrast the then new Model 82 computers and dot matrix printouts as our Communications Professor traces ominous space signals. These beeping messages predict “Large Earth Disruption” as earthquakes, droughts, volcanoes, and noxious cloud reports are heard on the radio yet the Professor and his Mrs. fool around and go to a swanky banquet while the viewer wonders if any of the driving to and fro or walking through the NASA lab talking about lecture tours are important. Even wife Sue Lyon (Lolita) serves no purpose but to scream a few times. There are contamination suits and pulsing crystals, light up gizmos, lots of techobabble, and all of it could have been cut by time they get to the mission where the signals are emanating amid prayers, roses, and nuns in black gardening. Buzzing fences and flashing lights lead to secret bunker men catching our couple, but all the scientists know each other so it's all good! They trade some more sci-fi barbs before going back to the mission, and it might have been better had we not seen the church opening but only explored the convent with the professor and his beeping gizmos as Father Christopher jokes that the signals are just a nun's transistor radio. The entire premise could have been the Professor snooping around the convent for SF unknown as technology and religions clash, but you can't expect that much here. Grabby old lady nuns attack in the dark – whisking victims to their underground alien lair with advanced gadgets, colorful tubes, whirring machinery, and flashing controls. Repairs needed to achieve sub warp speed contrast Lee's white robes as he recites The Lord's Prayer. He hesitates on “give in to temptation” and “deliver us from evil” before escape attempts and fiery overkill amid interstellar travel hyperbole, cloning, time warps, and murder. The aliens are stuck on earth and desperate to get back to their own utopia but need the Professor to fix their gear, so he sneaks back to the lab for his snazzy crystal – wasting time going up and down ladders, running in the dark, and blowing up the place with his coworkers within. Oopsie! So much for being better than the killer aliens just trying to get home amirite? Once we get to the alien morality debates, the movie's over, and the whole story would have been better from the extraterrestrial perspective. Now that they can leave, the aliens intend to destroy earth for all the problems we will cause in the galaxy, which is pretty much spoiled by the title. At least the special effects while disaster befalls the planet and the nuns peace out through the portal are pretty bemusing. With four minutes of slow credits, this becomes eighty minutes of meandering that could have been an interesting warning as a half hour anthology episode. Instead, it's only enjoyable if you add some MST3K lampooning. To think, this came out the same year as Star Wars.

Fearful Examinations 😱

 

Fearful Examinations!

by Kristin Battestella

This trio of retro psychological frights need not rely on today's special effects whooshes and in your face designs thanks to focused fears and chilling performances.

Dark Places – Deathbed vows and asylum doctors begat a creepy inherited estate and injuries at the manor in this 1973 haunt. Boarded windows, antique clutter, shabby interiors, and cobwebs add to supposed ghosts, figures in the window, slamming doors, and creaking footsteps. The power of suggest is strong, for suitcases full of cash are allegedly hidden in this house with a murderous past, and doctor Christopher Lee (Horror of Dracula) doesn't want anyone else to beat him to the punch. His alluring sister Joan Collins (Dynasty) offers to be the housekeeper for new heir Robert Hardy (All Creatures Great and Small), too, despite crank calls, broken dolls, falling pictures, and village talk of the bodies never being found. The playroom is layered with thick dust and violent shambles, and the lights going off for total darkness onscreen is simple yet effective. Rather than attempting to pull the wool over the audience, our rivals admit upfront that they are using the disturbing history to scare our new tenant away from the lost loot. However even they get scared by the objects they aren't moving and the bumps in the night they didn't cause – making for a tense little housewarming party with brandy, cigarettes, and stiff upper lip deceptions. Edward shouts at the giggling children's echoes that this is his house now, but his motive is also not pure as he spends the spooky nights knocking on wall panels in search of the missing money. Violent drywall bashing leads to bats sweeping in from the chimney in a well-filmed frenzy while choice zooms accent brief what you thought you saw shocks. Rather than superfluous scares wasting half the movie, the small cast and several key rooms anchor the tension and claustrophobia. Flashbacks to the domineering deceased and his vows to punish his children for their twisted games provide questions on psychic sensitivity, mental instability, possession, or delusion. Pointing fingers distrust, contesting wills, and suggestive siblings collide with ghostly footprints, a supple governess, and a nonchalant pick ax. The visions and supernatural influences even continue outside the house with echoes and slow motion, and we only see the evil children's demented smiles in the finale as the delirium, arguments, anguish, and consequences escalate. Past and present dalliances collide with gunshots, screams, and strangulation. Although I wish there was more of meddling Doctor Lee claiming he is there to help the distressed and the mystery is fairly straightforward for well versed viewers, the deranged performances make for a taut edge. This doesn't go all out with the extremes like today, yet a little lust and plenty of greed go to the scary depths thanks to intimate violence, assorted weapons, and skeleton surprises.

Fright – Miniskirts, Winnebagos, eerie ballads, and a spooky walk through the woods lead perky babysitter Susan George (Straw Dogs) to her charge in this 1971 examination. Nervous new in town mother Honor Blackman (Goldfinger) bolts all the doors, and through the banister or crib rails camera angles and mirrored framing invoke the cluttered, claustrophobic, trapped feeling. The antique laden manor, stained glass, and winding staircase add period mood, and our family admits the home is creepy and musty, joking about the potential for ghosts and subtly setting the jumpy scene. Creaking doors, rattling plumbing, and parental asides wondering if our sitter suspects anything don't bother Amanda – she is learning child welfare psychology and isn't afraid to observe maladjusted case studies. Unfortunately for her, the dripping tap, unexplained noises, hanging laundry, and innocuous boredom escalate to power outages, footsteps, and faces at the window. Up close attention on her eyes and ears reflect her isolation as the baby is put to bed and her horny boyfriend comes calling. He thinks the manse could be the setting for a horror movie, but Amanda doesn't want him to scare her into his arms. Their flirtatious dialogue layers the mirror to nature parallels, for his scaring her is a result of his sexual frustration, which he says is her fault, but Amanda counters that such obsession is not love. The men further belittle the worried women – who are actually correct not irrational or panicking due to the murderous escapee knocking on the door. Screams and gore outside go unheard thanks to the scary movie on the television, and the black and white zombies contrast the colorful, swanky parents night out as the the killer is inadvertently let in and the phone lines are cut. The simmering peril is well paced with tense conversations, car accidents, and police wasting time while the terrorized babysitter is left to placate the psychotic. Ticking clocks, wanting to check in on the baby MacGuffins, and precious few locations within the house create suspense as intercut spins show the white lace, crying, innocent reality versus the dancing, willing woman delusion. Carnival style music mirrors his juvenile, lusty mental state before silence save for her hurried breathing and punctuating screams. Sirens, police standoffs, loudspeakers, and tear gas come too late while our culprit growls, descending into nonsensical shouts and crying like a child. Now the understandably hysterical women must take action against the violent insanity, and the uncomfortable to watch terror makes one wonder how they filmed such anguish. Although there have certainly been numerous babysitter in peril films since, this remains chilling thanks to the horror we don't see suggestions rather than today's everything at the screen, hollow superfluous.

Foreign Horror Bonus

Black Pit of Dr. M – Originally titled Misterios de Ultratumba, this 1959 black and white Mexican picture from director Fernando Mendez (El Vampiro) featuring Abel Salazar (The Witch's Mirror) has no English dub nor subtitles and my Spanish thinking cap is not what it used to be. The lookalike mad scientists, back from the dead doctors, afterlife secrets, seances, and zombies, however, probably don't make much sense even in the best linguistic circumstances! Fortunately, the cobwebs, abandoned gothic abodes, eerie period interiors, and atmospheric crescendos are everything I love about mid-century Mexican Horror Movies. Of course, I've no idea what the violent woman in the madhouse has to do with the doctor's demure daughter; but the coffins, torches, sinister mustaches, and disappearing men in capes match the primitive yet fittingly spooky smoke and mirrors special effects. Excellent gaslight, lanterns, and shadows provide cinematic depth as creepy scenes steeped in catolica mood and forbidden knowledge escalate to violent action, acid in the face, bandages, revolting reflections, gross disfigurements, and screams. Daylight moments at the churchyard remain draped in suspicion while inside out hacienda greenery and foggy courtyard designs capture the moonlit romance and urgente warning notes blown away in the spooky winds. Wispy visions of dancing ladies, white flowers, black veils, and the invisible hand pulling the patron saint from the ingenue's neck invoke effective light versus dark subversiveness. The doors between life and death should remain closed, but lighting over the gallows, hands reaching out from the grave, devilish violins, and turnabout knives let evil enter in with abductions and fiery fates. A three months later gap and short eighty minute runtime make one wonder if something isn't actually missing that would help this nonsensical story, and the lack of translation these days remains surprising. Nonetheless, the gothic tension, silver screen dimension, and midnight movie macabre deliciously prove that horror consequences are universal.

Unapologetic Foreign Horror

 

Unapologetic Foreign Horror Delights!

by Kristin Battestella

This retro international trio is unashamed of the shocks and gore and unabashedly horror with the saucy and screams.

The Beyond – An inherited Louisiana hotel is one of seven gateways to hell in director Lucio Fulci's (The House by the Cemetery) 1981 surreal mix of Lovecratian books and bayou raids. The golden patina and antique interiors of the 1927 opening set off the rattling chains, gory whipping, screams, and squirting blood. “Flesh hisses” captions and swanky crescendos build to the then contemporary shabby and our ingenue heiress weighing the fix up cost versus the hotelier downturns. Call bells ring from empty rooms, hellish paintings abound, and creepy employees are dispensed with thanks to the flooded basement, zombie hands, and eyes popping out of their sockets. Spirits in the window lead to bloody workmen, floating bodies, autopsies, and warnings to leave the hotel. Melting acid and foaming ooze are approaching but the New Orleans jazz clubs remain so smooth as the stylish, unapologetic vignettes take time building unease before the gory payoff, creepy morgue moments, and little girl screams. The chilling scenes may be random or unexplained, but that's indicative of the spreading evil as everything from kooky bookstores and covered furniture to creaking doors, tools, and squeaking gurney wheels becomes on edge eerie. Cemeteries, repeated shots, footsteps, and parallel actions belie viewers with seemingly simple horror before gross bathtubs escalate to real shocks and gore. There's little to understand and not much of a story. No one is actively trying to find out what's happening or resolve the horror, and that is okay! Evil's a'comin' as monsters stalk blind women, dogs attack, and zombie hospital patients rise. Thunder and frightful reactions punctuate perilous falls, man eating spiders, and shootouts before body bags open from the inside and tormented eyes that look upon the horrors turn white. There's something flesh ripping to make anyone's skin crawl here! Dreamlike motion, warped sound, and distorted time mean nothing can be pinned down, and that indeterminate unknown is perhaps the most frightening of all.

The House That Screamed – Multiple versions abound of this 1969 Spanish produced AIP release, and the Tubi edition is cut off the top of the screen so I went with the Elvira's Movie Macabre version for more winks on the 19th century French boarding school murders and innuendo. The carriages, country campus, frilly frocks, swelling music, and period etiquette initially seem so grand, and a new arrival is a shrewd excuse to tour the classrooms. This discrete institution specializes in difficult, illegitimate ladies; and its arts, music, gardening, cooking, and ballet are healthy exercises in the prevention of morbid thoughts. Stern mistress Lilli Palmer (But Not for Me) runs a firm establishment – changing locks and nailing windows shut if need be. Heavy woodwork, cluttered interiors, and uptight fashions are stifling, and even the Foley effect of all the formal, harsh, hefty, old fashioned shoes reflects the strict repression. Unison prayers contrast the rough grabbing, ripping garments, and bound to the bed violence as a confrontational student is stripped and whipped in the seclusion room. Her mean girl perpetrators enjoy the humiliating hierarchy, repressed favoritism, and veiled sexual assault. Our principal's son is also essentially a prisoner kept apart from the poison girls who need correction. He needs a good woman like his mother who holds him tight to her bosom, caresses his hair, and kisses him. Of course, he knows the best crawlspace views and Tuesday is shower day – complete with steaming pipes, clinging white shifts, and scandalous girls who drop their towels just to shock the mistress patrolling the stalls. Although it's tough to keep track of the lookalike girls beyond their stereotypes, the natural, chatty dialogue provides details on who sneaks off from ballet class or who meets with a village boy in the wood shed. Jealousy and needlepoint combine for a montage of tedious threading, moaning voiceovers, rapid editing, and what we don't see saucy. Pretty music, flowers, and slow motion accent a would be romantic rendezvous that leads to warped stabbings and blood in the greenhouse. Thunder, ominous chorales, violent zooms, and freeze frame frights punctuate the spooky late night escape attempts amid fearful realizations and blackmail threats. Atmospheric candelabras and letter openers lead to eerie approaches, slit throats, and screams. It's probably obvious now who the killer is, but the creepy attic revelations are chilling with very little, and it's all still pretty damn twisted!

Hunchback of the Morgue – Scenic villas, beer, and tavern wenches suggest good times in this award winning 1972 Paul Naschy (Human Beasts) romp, but cruel insults and gorilla jokes force our eponymous attendant to take the demented slicing and dicing into his own hands. Although church bells and peasant styles invoke a period setting, there are modern cars and road signs, cold hospital white on white, mid century medical equipment, and lesbian inmate patients whipping each other. Mocking doctors and medical students are surprisingly mean and school children stone the pitiful hunched creature – elevating the tragedy and performance before the violent reds and grayish green body parts. Our outcast fights to defend himself, but tenderness is found in a saintly, dying patient, and he can return such kindness, sympathy, and even romance the pretty ladies. His child-like innocence is not ugly, but he realizes his terrible strength is being used to kill thanks to a deceiving doctor who claims he can reanimate the deceased, unrequited love. The surprising caring contrasts the disturbing gore as autopsies become desecration. The mad science, decapitation, and grave robbing make for a fun medieval mix of beauty and blood that forgives the expected low budget foreign dub, subtitles that don't match, and poor print technicalities. Fedora wearing detectives are on to the dismembered cadavers, skeletons, and underground tunnels accented by torches, acid vats, and real rats. Abducted ladies, missing doctors, catacomb chases, and feeding the babes to goo monsters make no apologies as everything is thrown at the screen in a wild, entertaining midnight watch.

Classy Dames Do Fear 😱

 

Classy Dames Do Fear

By Kristin Battestella

These elegant ladies face mid-century murder, psychedelic mayhem, and medieval mysteries in this quartet of retro frights.

Cult of the Damned – Rich houses, antiques, elite splendor, and denial about one's father in the shower with another man and mother Jennifer Jones (Ruby Gentry) doing stag films open this 1969 AIP release also called Angel Angel Down We Go. The delusions escalate as daughter Holly Near (The Magical Garden of Stanley Sweetheart) feels fat and ugly compared to her not so perfect parents. Slit wrists intercut with guillotines, ironic music, and pop graffiti reflect our Angel's warped state of mind. Stage-like settings and twofer scenes reiterate the dysfunctional relationships mixing both oedipal and Electra favoritism, jealously, and violence. The top billed, soft focused Jones always has bare shoulders or sheer, glamorous frocks, pill popping yet graceful compared to her chaotic daughter, and her coming out party is really for them to show off how they have given her everything – save for the love and kindness she desires. They wonder who would want her save for her inheritance, but heady singers and tight leather pants lead to leopard print seduction, pillows, furs, and a goofy sex scene with Roddy McDowell (Planet of the Apes), singer Lou Rawls, and a pregnant girl dressed as pilgrim. Implied abuses, Angel's being taken advantage of brainwashing, kidnappings, and escalating gang violence are played humorously, and the parody of the times coming within those times gets lost in some of the put on groovy dialogue. Social commentaries on American Imperialism and palatial lifestyles collide with bloody pop art and fatal skydiving as the band moves in on our nasty parents. After all, making enough money through any means to buy class and erase who you were is an American rite of passage. Though certainly watchable thanks to the bizarre nonsensical; the random, joking style is not as shocking as it thinks it is. Colorful dancing and cool tunes with mean lyrics jar between solemn camera confessionals. The haze becomes boring and overlong thanks to the short lived highs and meaninglessness of it all. Such disturbia would have been better had the torment been played straight, but I don't really get a lot of the acid trip here – unless Angel died at the start and this was all just a final fever dream.

The Fourth Victim – Quaint English manors and swanky interiors lead to poolside perils, shady housekeepers, and handy death certificates in this international 1971 mystery. The body discovered is freshly clothed before phoning the authorities, and Scotland Yard is curious about pricey insurance policies, autopsies, and previously deceased wives with faulty brakes and suspect falls. Our nonchalant husband is unbothered by court inquiries thanks to the loyal housekeeper feigning tawdry melodramatics on the witness stand, and even the inspector admires him for getting rich off getting rid of three wives and now he can't be tried again. Carroll Baker (The Big Country), however, has been swimming in his pool. She claims to not read the papers nor care about his infamy, portraits of the deceased, or mementos in the attic. Her white bathing suit and neighborly carefree disrupts his strange, unfeeling calm, but her gothic home next door is dilapidated, spooky, and imposing to match the twists, eerie lookalikes, and ambiguous mysteries. More time is spent on the trial then their whirlwind wedding, but the bliss wears off fast thanks to his heavy handed accusations and her snooping. Now she wonders what he really did do to his last wife, yet their waxing on death and the courage to kill amid casual shopping trips and falling in love confessions show that our couple is actually a lot alike. Despite the emotional entanglements, fatal history, and institution connections; the characterizations are uneven with important players and pesky humor dropped. The overlong, stilted, askew male focus is dominated by unnecessary coming and going scenes with dated, over the top musical interludes. Thankfully, car chases and atmospheric flashbacks begat the unexpected in the final act as the maybe maybe not escalates with taut character interplay.

Sudden Fear – Frenetic notes contrast the sweeping melodic crescendos and Broadway billboards as successful playwright Joan Crawford (Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?) marries struggling young actor Jack Palance (Dan Curtis' Dracula) in the 1952 noir thriller. Of course we know Palance is up to no good, and our all business Myra exercises the casting approval for her play. She doesn't think he has the power to make the women in the audience squirm, but they meet again on the train to San Francisco – playing poker, wining, dining, and lighting each other's cigarettes. Cross coverage angles, up close shots, and sitting side by side visuals parallel the coming together traveling as holding hands leads to dancing, romantic strolls through the Redwoods, and Golden Gate vistas. Bling, furs, frocks, chandeliers, and classic cars accent the wealthy home complete with a custom dictating machine, hidden microphones, and master switches to record all her play compositions. The declarations of love on the staircase, hilltop honeymoon, and white robes create a play within a play romance while mirrors reflect the change in control. Our concerned Lester doesn't want Myra racing down the perilous steps to the dock, however marshmallow Gloria Grahame (In A Lonely Place) is not what she seems thanks to secret meetings, blackmail, and long cons. Again visuals layer the silk pajamas and key to her apartment innuendo, but head over heels Myra redoes her will with Lester as beneficiary. The dictation playback forces us to pay attention as the Oscar nominated Crawford hears the pillow talk and duplicitous plotting – a crushing performance with tragic tears and crippling shock as the stuck needle repeats the threats. Everything has gone up a notch yet the betrayal remains personal with shattering breaks, looking over her shoulder hysteria, and double locking the doors. The echoes haunt Myra into the bedroom as she postulates what car accident or smothering might befall her. Now she has to be the actress, claiming a headache or too much champagne and refusing Lester's offered sleeping pill. Lying awake with the black and white shadows and ticking clocks escalates to forged signatures, break ins, and poison. Sophisticated tension rises with every cocktail, change of plans, and slight of hand amid scandalous stockings, falls down the stairs, and in camera attention to detail. The scheduled actions happen down to the minute with gunshots and kill or be killed overlays that don't underestimate the viewer. Intense zooms focus on the tormented faces while pearl watches keep time and white gloves hide all the secrets. Silence and phone ring rings are used to maximum advantage with beads of sweat, perilous close calls, and the fright of seeing one in the mirror holding a gun. Our desperate dame is out of her element in a no win situation. Bad people are supposed to get what they deserve and Myra must remain good despite chases, spotlights, lookalike ladies, and rear view mirrors culminating in noir perfection.

An Elizabeth Taylor Bonus

Doctor Faustus – Producer Richard Burton (The Robe) co-directs this 1968 play presentation based on the medieval Marlowe's pact with Lucifer, however the stifling script, flowery soliloquies, and dry over acting hamper the excellent bones, candles, cobwebs, and sixteenth century mood. Learned science is so close to superstition and alchemy, and our dissatisfied scholar resorts to Latin rituals, ominous tomes, maggots, and necromancy. Red cloaks, orange firelight, purple sorcery, blue catacombs, green stones, and black wings invoke the hellish historical meets silent Expressionism. Zooms, in and out of focus mirages, and tense camerawork highlight moving statues and magical skulls speaking back to Faustus as he boasts of his bargains with the devil, undeterred in signing in blood thanks to his youthful transformation. Unfortunately, Burton does his best Orson Welles self-indulgence here, paralleling the tale by biting off more than he can chew when not imaging the supple Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra) as Helen of Troy for his perfect, silent woman. The thee thou bloated text and Burton talking to himself voiceovers are unnecessarily scholarly compared to the cinematic, medieval visuals – making the piece seem much longer and more complicated than it is. There is no sounding board character and the language should have been trimmed, for it's not the Oxford University's Acting Company's provocative questions but Burton's over the top windblown me me me that's tepid and detached. Actor turned professor Andreas Teuber as Mephistopheles is far more haunting as the tormented fallen pained at losing eternal bliss, for hell is limitless with no boundaries to its sins. Slow motion, back flipping nymphs and imagined battlefield glory are a little long, however it's fitting that Faustus doesn't realize he is a mere, foolish, mortal man. The hedonistic kaleidoscope parade of lechery provides surreal haze without being trashy, and Burton's best poetry and passion come in the embraces with Taylor. He debates the emperor over his conjuring, mocks the court, and scoffs at the pope as humor and sing songs turn into freaky hoods, screams, and damnation. Who is Faustus to argue with evil? No matter how many times he stops to ogle Taylor's dripping allure, Faustus ends up looking upon himself in the grave, ultimately getting the celestial comeuppance he deserves. The redemption versus selling one's soul parables make for fine horror, deception, and choices – not to mention Elizabeth Taylor in sensual gold lipstick and glowing silver body paint.

Bats! Bats! Bats! 🦇

 

Bats! Bats! Bats! 🦇

By Kristin Battestella

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

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

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

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

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