Falcon Crest

 

What Went Wrong with Falcon Crest 

by Kristin Battestella

As a kid growing up watching the CBS night time soap Falcon Crest, I never realized David Selby as the superbly scheming Richard Channing was also werewolf Quentin Collins on my beloved Dark Shadows. Obviously I loved corvette driving playboy grandson Lorenzo Lamas (Renegade), but I also didn't noticed that conniving matriarch Jane Wyman (Magnificent Obsession) as Angela Channing looked just like my evil grandmother and now it's tough to unsee. For a series about generations of immigrant winemakers and fictitious Tuscany Valley power shakers whose names end in vowels, no one on Falcon Crest is actually Italian, either. Although one can ignore these innocuous quibbles, in this rewatch it's apparent that the grape withers on the vine as the 227 episode Falcon Crest goes on twice as long as it should have.

An opening murder sets the episodic 1981 Debut Season in motion complete with affairs in the winery, inheritance trials, and crazed relatives on the witness stand. The backstabbing, conniving lawyers, arranged marriages, and blackmail continue in the Second Year thanks to scheming illegitimate sons and car bombs. Granted those vehicular perils, weddings, temporarily paralyzed plots, and miraculous comatose awakenings are par for the soap opera course. Falcon Crest is both over the top like it's fellow prime time eighties compatriots yet the scandalous twists and dramatic cliffhangers are not unlike today's so-called prestige television. The wild Season Three is ahead of its time with an evil Illuminati-esque cabal, Nazi roots, kidnapped babies, escaped mental patients, and all aboard plane crashes. Seasonal guests and recurring stars such as ruthless mother Lana Turner (Peyton Place), conflicted doctor Cliff Robertson (Charly), and dubious Sarah Douglas (The People That Time Forgot) hold critical secrets, but old men don't last long on Falcon Crest – bearing the brunt of convenient or not so convenient falls, murders, and more not so shocking deaths. Certainly there are useless relations that could have been written out much sooner. At times, the incestuous conflicts of interest between family, business, and publications all in bed with each other are ridiculous. Dire moments are resolved imminently then quickly forgotten due to the uneven passage of time on Falcon Crest. Some action is minute to minute while months are said to have past for other stories. Fortunately, viewers don't have to pay strict attention to such details or take the preposterous luxuries so seriously to appreciate the bed hopping sabotage. Eerie confessionals, chilling church chases, and murderers disguised as nuns provide taut intensity as lone real Italian Gina Lollobrigida (Beat the Devil) does the tarantella and tells all of Falcon Crest how poisonous they really are.

Buried treasure beneath our titular vineyard and new Nazi war criminals jammed into the main cast, however, come on a bit too strong in Year Four and Falcon Crest's continuity suffers. Instead of four or six episodes to start or end the season, the Nazi gold plot limps through most of Season Four until a one and done shootout spectacle. The international cartel terrorizing all behind the scenes is written out with a few mentions of Interpol arrests as if it were that easy all along. Who's hired, fired, making backdoor phone calls, wheeling and dealing, or vowing to “draw up the necessary papers” gets old, too. Today's knowledgeable viewers will be frustrated by trials refusing to change venues yet complaining about the tainted jury pool in the ever incestuous Tuscany Valley. There's never any libel or slander for radio stations and newspapers. Serious, devious crimes garner mere slaps on the wrist while leap frogging business coups and stolen shares are developed, rushed, or dropped as needed. Surrogacy according to Falcon Crest is when a man impregnates another woman and then pays her after taking their child in a storyline that should never have happened yet takes up much too much time before an even worse priest in love The Thorn Birds detour, Monte Carlo kidnappings, and wine shipment hijackings with no consequences. Even the credits design is increasingly crappy with garish reds, bubbling special effects, and poor editing as Falcon Crest loses luster with generic eighties Dynasty copying. Unabashedly big hats and bling fall to boxy sequin dresses and pantsuits with pizzazz while grand woodwork is painted white, the exclusive Tuscany Downs racetrack is ditched, and tacky pink carpeting abounds in the new Del Oro fitness spa. The overlong seasons have plenty of time to catch every teased hair and white leather trend, and the big earthquake is ultimately a lame excuse to redecorate.

Poor Susan Sullivan's (It's A Living) likable writer wife Maggie Gioberti suffers almost every episode indeed. If it's not a death in the family, it's repeated work/script/journalism/radio/freelance/book harassment, custody suits, her own adoption discovery, devious sisters, or more domestic strife. That's not to mention the mugging, assaults, falls down the stairs, blindness, and brain tumors. Or the illicit kisses, explosions, and amnesia. Maggie's kidnapping and assault halfway thru Season Five is enough for viewers to tune out thanks to doing nothing authorities and flat out bad storytelling trying to tack on suspense with an ambiguous pregnancy. Robert Foxworth's (Six Feet Under) husband Chase Gioberti is meant to be the underdog hero of Falcon Crest. Of course, he's a veteran New York pilot who inherits a fifty acre vineyard with a free and clear castle abode! Being a vintner, however, isn't good enough as Chase must always have a cause – taking on everybody and stepping on everyone until he gets his way. How many times does Chase have to be shocked and surprised by how deep his gangster mother's criminal ties go? Even when victorious, Chase vows to seek those who perjured and influenced at the expense of his family and businesses. He uses his local council position as his own personal vengeance committee yet claims there is no peace in Tuscany solely because of shady at Falcon Crest. Chase repeatedly plays spy, wearing a gun and stepping on the law as it suits him for he is never wrong but everyone else is. Nothing is ever his fault, and when Maggie asks him to drop being a jerk and suggests they flee the valley they never should have come to in the first place, Chase refuses and leaves her to bear the brunt of the consequences alone. It's terrible that he is the least sympathetic to her plight. Chase selfishly says Maggie's problems are a waste of his time – she needs to support him because her not helping his political campaign is like them both having been raped. WTF? Chase should have been killed off much sooner, for he becomes exactly like the people he hated when he initially came to the valley.

The shoehorned in comings and goings means dates, ages, and previously unknown relations don't make much sense. People who seem to be early twenties look over thirty, but fortysomethings are suddenly having more children and surprise siblings that logistically don't fit into the years given. Falcon Crest adds such classy guest stars because it can, not because it should, leaving ladies like Anne Archer (Patriot Games) and Morgan Fairchild (Flamingo Road) as if the series doesn't know what to do with them. Falcon Crest is either unable or not willing to elevate semi-regulars, resulting in unnecessarily drawn out less interesting storylines or underutilized and unceremonious write-outs in a bloated cast that adds more people rather than more character development. Though a provocative plot at the time, an abusive father is played for sympathy – blaming his victimized daughter because he's not in the wrong and deserves her understanding – and Fairchild deserved to have more focus in a crowded Fifth Season. Falcon Crest tries to be cool with singer Apollonia (Purple Rain), and while it's not her fault, it just doesn't belong on this show. Likewise the second generation Stavros kids are hollow scene stealers in the worst way, putting the writing on the wall for Falcon Crest while Kim Novak (Bell, Book, and Candle) and John Saxon (Black Christmas) are stuck going round and round in lengthy mobster back and forths. Some guests never interact with the main cast, and in the second half of the series, characters rarely stay for more than a season after their seemingly so important tangents are run into the ground. Suddenly critical, delicious people like Jane Badler (V) disappear before more contrived relations and retcons as if people or events never existed. Early on Falcon Crest cultivated a mature, classy gravitas, but it's easy to fast forward over Dana Sparks (Passions) as the newly returned Vicki Gioberti and Brett Cullen (The Young Riders) as Angela's would be reluctant ward Dan Fixx as they attempt to lure a younger audience with Fame-esque jazzercise montages.

Sweet Porsches, Rolls Royces, and a Lamborghini with classic scissor doors can't save Falcon Crest once Robert Stack arrives whispering in the shadows like this is an Unsolved Mysteries crossover. A cigar chomping hackneyed district attorney also plays wannabe Dragnet as characters are mocked and humiliated in laughably bad plans contrasting traumatic rape flashbacks. Falcon Crest's writing is terribly uneven with no thematic cohesion and no idea how to maximize the house players. Every person who joins the credits after shipping magnate Cesar Romero (Batman) arrives is terrible – cluttering, annoying regulars frustratingly taking time away from recurring players appearing in better plots. Angela Channing being sentenced to community service and meddling as she volunteers at the hospital could have been a new fun element, too. Instead, Maggie's delivery is turned into a family farce with Angela complaining about the damage to her $10,000 rug, and the mismatched tone plays more like a meandering daytime soap. Personal slights, double crosses, assaults, and kidnappings are treated the same in scale when convoluted who owns what winery switcharoos get repetitive and in the end don't even matter that much. Abundant nonsensical relations are piled on with Ana Alicia's (Ryan's Hope) crazy Melissa Agretti singing in the 1940s night club and whodunit murder mystery parties despite the seemingly more important stolen babies. A brief Black adoptee is presented as a streetwise, precocious child who can't be kept despite all the Channing money and power, and it's quite racist alongside acupuncture that's treated as mysticism instead of alternative medicine. Once the faithfully long serving majordomo Chao-Li Chi (The Prestige) is eventually elevated to the main credits – after potentially deserving storylines with his daughter Rosalind Chao (Deep Space Nine) disappear – the characters themselves joke that Year Six seems like a bad dream. Hot damn, if they had copied Dallas' Bobby in the Shower erasure, Falcon Crest may have been better.

After barely paying attention to it, a cruel storyline featuring Margaret Ladd's (Mozart in the Jungle) Emma Channing being left at the altar is played for laughs with numerous women chasing said bigamist through the church. Such isolated, tonally off tangents never intersect with bigger events, leaving threads that go on and on everywhere. Try hard synth music that can't compare to the original Bill Conti (North and South) theme suggests this is a low budget sleazy cop show rather than a premium melodrama, and when Richard and Maggie finally happen, it's just a music video montage. Threats to jump off the roof, injuries, and water rescues that deserve their own time are overwhelming yet undercooked as guest stars take up too much time playing at Casablanca with fog, fedoras, and airplanes. Dreamy flashbacks and courtroom farce run Falcon Crest into the ground and off the pier – literally. Multiple seasons worth of twists are treated as intercut shockers thrown at the screen to open Year Seven. Even Maggie calls the whole thing one bad sick joke and slaps her selfish adult daughter, and by that point, Maggie, same. After skipping around to ignore the revolving cast door and catching a few more weddings and fires, reading the episode summaries is enough to bounce through the limping Season Nine and its reduced Angela Channing thanks to Wyman's ill health. Unfortunately, the Final 89-90 Season's preposterous theme music, dark lighting, and attempted edgy action acerbate the rapid child aging and claims that Richard has never been involved in the wine business nor taking over Falcon Crest – when that was his main motivation for most of the series. Rather than any proper tribute or legacy, a voiceover toast sends Falcon Crest out with an unrecognizably bad whimper.

The Streaming Bubble Has Already Burst

 

The Streaming Bubble has Already Burst

by Kristin Battestella

There's much discourse on when the streaming bubble will burst, but it already has and we didn't even realize it.

Let's be honest. Exclusive content meant to lure viewers to individual platforms is out of control. Each streamer rushes to release new films that no one sees. Shows that don't trend are immediately canceled in favor of the next program. Where premium networks used to rotate four shows a year, today streamers release exclusives monthly, weekly, or even faster. Prestige names and networks flounder with projects falling through, selling off properties, pulling under watched content, or writing off completed projects. There is no content security, yet streamers are chasing audiences week to week to make sure we don't unsubscribe. Viewers, however, have gotten wise, tuning in for free trials or bundle sales to watch what we want before ditching a platform as needed. In today's post pandemic world, it's unrealistic to expedite content as if households can have every streaming service all at once. With such a topsy turvy supply and demand, the industry simply cannot sustain so many streaming services. It's not as dire as the Big Three networks in the pre-digital decades of old, but many streaming services won't survive in the current a la cart but may as well be cable model.

This lack of longevity is also not a recent problem. For all the millions invested in chasing content, no streamer has found the perfect interface style, structure, or support. How many apps have you ditched because the outdated navigation sucked and it repeatedly crashed? Technological troubleshooting makes viewers leave just as fast as the omnipresent price hikes whether we desire the latest hot content or not. Combining or die streamers repeatedly shuffle free tiers, ad tiers, and premiums in increasingly frustrating packages with unjustifiable fees compared to all the confusion. Besides, what are no ad viewers really paying for when every provider shows their own commercials before a movie and automated over the end credits anyway? Hundreds of free ad supported livestream channels have blank logo countdowns and two minute animations because they have allotted advertising space that no one has filled. When there aren't even enough commercials to keep up with our streaming demands, it really shows how out of control our 24/7 content has become.

Unfortunately, it is the niche markets that suffer most – buried in merged catalogs or disappeared altogether. Not because there wasn't an audience for it, but because the cost, technology, and limited timing leaves audiences jumping through hoops to find it. Around 10 streaming platforms is really all viewers can sustain. Even long steady platforms like Hulu or prestige networks like HBO are in jeopardy thanks to corporate wheeling and dealing that is what's business best for Disney or Warners not for what their customers want. It would be foolish for any new streamer with no name recognition or larger backing to enter the arena in 2023. Platforms thinking their original content makes them stand apart or conglomerates that pull their legacy IPs from other services for their own exclusivity are in for a consolidating collapse.

No one wants to be an add on to someone else's storefront, but can any one platform stand alone?

Amazon? Interface and originals are all over the place.

Netflix? For the price their originals are ridiculous.

Who only has ESPN+ because it's included with Disney?

Roku has original shows and Apple TV has their own hardware, but for all the Walking Dead hype, the AMC package has less than 1 million subscribers!

Who can afford the cable-like bill for all of these? You?

Who has the time to watch it all? Not I.

The dust needs to settle on who combines, falls, or survives, but right now the air is thick.

1 Good, 1 Bad House Horrors

 

1 Good, 1 Bad House Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

For every good house horror movie, there are certainly bad house horrors! Here is an exercise in what one haunt does wrong for its women in peril – and what another gets right about feminine horrors.

Skip It!

Treehouse – An infamous chef retreats to his estranged family's vacation home in this 2019 Hulu/Blumhouse Into The Dark entry. Our gourmet is angry at the wannabe chefs on his cooking show, and he can't give his undivided attention to his young daughter – sending her off with an assistant on the weekend of his ex-wife's remarriage. Oversharing dialogue, cars full of chicks, hip music, and creepy convenience store stops pile on the horror cliches alongside unnecessary pop culture platitudes that get old very fast. Every introduction is awkward and each sentence is littered with a tiresome joke or attempted cool reference in this frustrating script. The old family maid at their grand villa says it's the things she can't unsee that keep her up at night, but weird portraits of his father looming over the bedroom, bugs in the kitchen, and bloody gunk in the toilet don't amount to anything. Our chef thinks he is too cool for school, we get it, and helping the ladies next door with flashlights and candles after their generator fails leads to his offering to cook dinner for their bachelorette party. The women, however, are also obnoxious – rude, sassy, diverse yet checking every stereotype amid the self-referential Hulu quips and acoustic ballads by the fire pit. Lilith names, conversations about birth, and Celtic sister tattoos contrast his drunken foot in the mouth flirtations. Unfortunately, statements on women not having a voice and being forced to live with the terrible things that happen to them come off terribly tone deaf before for the sake of it weirdness, peacocks, distorted angles, mirrors, red flashes, and creepy tongues. The overgrown spooky and titular echoes are never used to full advantage despite twig effigies, freaky wooden masks, and a wild mushroom lady knocking at the door. Rather than playing sarcastic and coy, this should have gotten to the horror much sooner, but alas, paralysis and bound to the bed fears leads to bloody lips and ladies in lingerie because our sleazy cook still finds the seemingly evil women “would do” hot. They each re-enacted his past harassments with pentagrams, spells, nail clippings, snakes, and voodoo contortions. Of course, he thinks he can talk his way out of their revenge – taking pot shots with self-esteem insults, insisting a woman's suicide was not his fault, disbelieving his inferior position, and cracking jokes until the crossbows are aimed at his crotch. Escape attempts, aimless twists, family connections, and obvious secrets should be better than this rushed first draft lip service, and it all comes off as girl power turned nasty bully bitches as written by a man. It's such an elaborate set up for what isn't a surprise, and the lesson should have been from the women's point of view. He continues making excuses that there are two sides to every flirtation and he was a drunk teenager so the word “rape” doesn't apply. Instead of provocative commentary, this distasteful, erroneous, hollow, flat perspective misses the point entirely.

Well Done!

The Night House – A drifting boat, swaying wind chimes, as is rooms, and friends offering help left on the doorstep greet widow Rebecca Hall (The Awakening) in this 2020 study on deception and grief. The custom built, isolated lake house reiterates the home alone emptiness, wine, sad songs, chairs for two, and his bare side of the bed before alarm clocks, coffee, and other teachers whispering at school. The dialogue comes naturally – no one would blame her for taking time off, she's not sleeping well, she should get away from the house that her husband built. Beth is frank with a pissy parent, for her husband shot himself in the head so what do grades matter? The radio playing by itself, knocks at the door with no one there, unlocked gates, and muddy footprints create ominous as happy construction videos contrast the loneliness. These home videos aren't found footage for the viewer but Beth watching, crying, and packing away her husband's things. His journals are full of intriguing design configurations, reverse floor plans, symbols, and notes to trick it with puzzles and decoys but not trust it. The character focused horror drama comes in the uncomfortable conversational backstory – teenage Beth was dead for four minutes after car accident and only her husband knew she saw nothing but an empty tunnel. She was the depressing one but now she keeps his nonsensical suicide note in her purse while the sleep paralysis, sleepwalking, nightmares, and ghosts escalate. Rather than repeated scares going round and round for the audience, Beth uncovers evidence of more secrets. Chiming texts apparently from her husband are disturbing enough, but she dials his cell and someone answers. Her agitated, on edge frazzled increases thanks to distorted voices, duplicate images, other women seemingly in the house, and seeing herself sleeping on the sofa. The zigzagging dock stairs lead to bloody boats, red smoke across the lake, caressing winds, and swooning levitation in well done hazy transitions. Flashlight beams reveal women running in the dark, abandoned buildings in the woods, tarps, unfinished construction, and effigies. Bookstore clues and relatable confrontations only lead to more questions as the wronged Mrs. gets carried away in the false floors and gory discoveries. Creaking noises, clutter, and altered house perspectives force us to pay attention and see what may be there. The camera accentuates duality with twofer shots, lookalikes, and similar dreams, and the happy memories disappear once we realize our husband and wife didn't know each other as well as they thought. Friends tell Beth to leave the house, move on with her life and not fall into dark despair, but she mocks the idea before sobbing on the shower floor. The hard bitch solving the mystery attitude drops as the grief finally come forth. Ghostly writings, mirrors, reverse reflections, eerie voices, and distorted visuals accent spooky encounters, visions of past violence, and creepy maze-like attacks. Invisible whooshes and fights with oneself in the last half hour are a little odd. Some metaphors are obvious yet others are unclear and questions on who did what and why remain. However the Final Destination maturity doesn't overstay its welcome. My husband saw this before me, and he says seeing it a second time explains everything. Rather than in your face horror typical; crescendos, editing, and neon lighting punctuate the body contortions, multi level purgatory planes, and dual culmination.

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.

Sudden Oscar Takes! 🏆

 

Sudden Oscar Takes

By Kristin Battestella

My fellow film friends will know that I haven't actively followed the Oscars in ten years and I've written why I'm Disinterested in Awards Season previously. I've only seen one 2023 Oscar nominee – go Turning Red for Best Animated Feature! However, in a recent off camera chat after the Women InSession Podcast at InSessionFilm.com with Amy Thomasson, I had a few knee jerk takes on a few Oscar races. These are of course based on Academy politics rather than film merit...as the wins so often are.

Supporting Actor

Amy loves The Banshees of Inisherin, and I do believe Brendan Gleeson will win. He has the most name recognition out of his fellow category nominees, and a strong man international respect that deserves winning recognition that's been brewing since Braveheart. I don't think Banshees will win anything else though, with the Academy considering Gleeson's overdue acknowledgment enough.

Supporting Actress

Stephanie Hsu was probably only graced with a nomination by The Academy because you can't nominate the beloved Jamie Lee Curtis much less award the supporting white actress in an Asian ensemble film like Everything Everywhere All at Once. Angela Bassett is due and the most likely winner. Remember Oscar has no problem awarding 9 supporting Black women rather than acknowledging more than 1 Black Best Actress winner.

Original Screenplay

Off the cuff I think Tar is most likely to win here. A biopic that's not about a real person, how clever! And there are backstabbing lesbians! It's one step above the “Let's time travel and meet famous people as told by Woody Allen” seen in Midnight in Paris. I don't know that Tar will win more, for Screenplay is where Oscar can have it's soft agreement of the “separate the artist from the accusation” debate.

Best Director

It will be Steven Spielberg if for no other reason than he has the most name recognition of the nominees. Those who wanted him to win for West Side Story last year also probably voted for him this year. The Fabelmens is also semi-autobiographical. Academy bitches love a semi-autobiographical.

International Feature Film

All Quiet on the Western Front will win here because it is also nominated for Best Picture, and I'm sure there are bigoted voters who never want to see a foreign film with Best Picture.

Best Actress

I wouldn't be surprised if Michelle Williams stuns everybody and wins. She is the only nominee who didn't create something perceived as problematic.

For a more nuanced discussion, InSession Film has their Chasing the Gold predictions podcast episode available now. I haven't listened yet! I wonder how similar or different my theories are? I have no idea who deserves to win based on picture or performance because I haven't seen any of the films, which both makes these opinions totally unqualified and yet I fit right in with all the Academy voters who cover their eyes and toss the darts at their ballots!

It's A Living Season 4

 

Cast Gels for It's A Living Season 4

by Kristin Battestella

The cast is in place for the twenty-five episode 1986-87 syndicated fourth season of It's A Living with “The Roof Show” premiere introducing Sheryl Lee Ralph (Abbott Elementary) as the series' final waitress Ginger St. James. Arguments and secrets over who's trying to get out of work early lead to the ladies being locked out one by one. Unprepared hostess Nancy is left waiting the tables while the waitresses flail at the Above the Top luxury restaurant windows, and the randomness of each set up is a lot of fun because we don't often see the ensemble outside of the hotel where episodes like “The Bar” do best. Orange juice drinking Amy goes along to the singles bar for a rowdy adventure featuring Jonathan Frakes (Star Trek: The Next Generation) and Ernie Hudson (Ghostbusters) in another episode about nothing that showcases the ensemble interplay beyond their job. Three days off is also an excuse for a breakdown on the way to Vegas in the obvious Psycho parody “Night at the Iguana.” Creepy mothers and a motel peppered with taxidermy certainly make the ladies paranoid. They're aware of the Psycho similarities but try not to jump to murderous conclusions in the largely one room humor, and the sharing of fears revelations elevate the goofy spoof. Rumors of workplace dalliances in “The Dot and Howard Show” are also intriguing to see thanks to jealousy, clouded judgments, and rules for no restaurant dating that apply to some but not others. Our ladies are both able to talk it out or tell one it's none of her business – keeping an awkward situation mature. Of course, “Farewell, My Sonny” is clearly the precursor to writer Tom Whedon's “The Case of the Libertine Belle” on The Golden Girls with forties fancy dress, a Bogie-esque detective, and a Who Dunnit Society at Above the Top. The staff is supposed to be in on the murderous ruse, but the crime within a crime provides song and dance winks, and once again I wish It's A Living did more of these one plot, all performance episodes.

Our ladies dream of what they will do when they strike it rich in “Sonny's Oil (aka The Oil Show)”– like buying pantyhose without runs and a bathroom with two sinks. Some, however, remain sensible and get out of the prospecting as more drilling drains more money. More financial plots or get rich quick schemes would have been fitting, but piano player Sonny is erroneously leading here instead of the working waitresses relieved to have life a bit easier with just a little extra money in their pockets. This mid-season seems stronger even if “The Evictables” repeats opposites attract roommates from the First Season  when a landlord dispute has Ginger moving in to a YWCA style, no men allowed building with Amy. A great Patty Duke and The Patty Duke Show joke deserved more time, and you'd think more celebrities would dine at Above the Top! Singing bad summer stock tunes, sleeping in the dressing room lounge, sneaking in the kitchen for breakfast, hiding from Nancy in their lockers – a lot's happening in this episode but the character focus brings it together. The waitresses being left with the child they're babysitting in “Ginger's Baby” has certainly been done already, and the similar Golden Girls episode even originally aired the same week! Nancy changes the schedule and couldn't care less about a baby in the restaurant, but Ginger stands up to her unyielding in a moment that feels written for previous It's A Living star Ann Jillian. Despite the derivatives; the ladies sing, Nancy can't handle the baby, and Howard saws Nancy in half for his magic act. The titular fan club of “The Dickie Doodle Show” has the girls acting out their silly childhood memories, singing while they count their tips, and playing with the props after hours. Such shenanigans interfere with critical vice president meetings and hotel promotion opportunities amid the nostalgic reflection of seeing child stars grow old. The well done farce continues in “A Romantic Comedy” as employee of the month Jan wins a free night at the hotel. The rendezvous, however, is hampered by short staffing, knocks at the door, work emergencies, and injuries as It's A Living uses the entire ensemble to full effect. Young Amy and the new bus boy have potential sparks for “Manhandling,” but she's not ready so he moves in on fellow waitress Dot. Although the meat of the story is off camera, the men between ladies and arguments about who puts out or gets hurt conflicts provide new It's A Living growth.

Unfortunately, the former flames and high school reunions of “The Reunion Show” have already had their share on It's A Living. Everyone reminisces about regrets, mistakes, and bad experiences, but it's all crowded and flat rather than personal. Before we really meet Ginger, Amy accuses her of having an affair with Jan's husband in “Surprise.” It's all innocent misunderstands of course in a half hour that ends up meaningless. Dot's mom and Jan's dad hook up in two scenes for “Family Feud,” as It's A Living wastes more time on repetitive romances. A rival of chef Howard turned restaurant critic arrives in “Critic's Choice,” but the focus here is erroneously on gossip about Ginger and Sonny instead of cuisine jokes and Nancy's fear of a bad review leading to her offering herself to secure the restaurant's reputation. Viewers expect one story but then another plot hogs the time, and the frustrating A/B structure shoehorns everyone in when it's more realistic to not have every waitress work in every episode. The ladies refusing to jump out of a cake despite the $200 pay in “Bachelor Party” could have been its own plot, but Howard's reconciliation with his daughter is also saddled with her dating Sonny. For every potential wisdom, there is another stupid turn. Back to back former boyfriend plots begat “Dot's Priest” and her conflicted feelings over his still being cute and leaving the cloth amid car accidents, Jan's goldfish bowl, and more derivative crowding that doesn't give the characters a chance to shine. The white savior cultural conflict is also played for laughs in “The Howie Show” when Polynesian islanders arrive to worship Howard's magic tricks and offer him a woman to give them a little Howie. The in-uniform Nancy ready to get the most tips and win a best waitress contest should have been the majority of the episode rather than a fun high speed montage in the last 5 minutes. Ginger accepts proposals from two men but both fall through in yet another marriage plot for “The Two Guys Show” while Nancy mixes business with pleasure in Howard's contract negotiations. He demands a clause to cease her physical harassment and sexual innuendos, but she sobs until he forgoes his demands – and then invites him to an adult motel. Such a provocative element deserved to be played seriously, and the excellent performances with devious characterizations strangely shows the best and worst of It's A Living at once. Instead of a singular tour de force, “Nancy's Shrink” is another clip show finale. The psychiatrist thinks her sick sexual fantasies are rooted in her relationships with her coworkers, but the humorous clips jar with the potentially serious therapy. Filler episodes like this show how the writing on It's A Living is not on par with the performances as Nancy brings down the house with a “Love for Sale” song and dance dream.

Barrie Youngfellow's Jan Hoffmeyer Gray remains headstrong, believing in shared marital responsibilities and a woman's right to decide if, where, and when. She fills in as hostess and stands up for when she knows she is right. Jan doesn't get along with her visiting mother-in- law, yet just like last season, her blended family home life goes unexplored. Husband Richard Kline is told of more than seen, with “Richie's Sculpture” being a brief moment about his art on the side when not doing HVAC at Above the Top. Richie wants to take his “Red” to Chicago when a business opportunity arises, but her having to work instead of supporting him is relegated to a C plot resolved in two scenes. When admired for work, home, and going to law school, Jan admits she had to quit school for the time being – an important development relegated to a throwaway line as It's A Living underutilizes its now top billed star. Of course, Marian Mercer's Nancy BeeBee says only Sean Penn could take advantage of her, and she's still after the challenge of obtaining the future “Howard Beebee.” Nancy feigns interest in science to flirt with a potentially rich geologist and sucks up to the crusty hotel management. She wants to become restaurant supervisor of all their West Coast hotels just for the power and is annoyed when she's merely named employee of the month. She would never abuse her position, but she wants to know what Howard would do to keep his boss happy. Nancy hopes the girls pass it on when they call her the meanest boss in town, and she wants to be even meaner when the waitresses stop being afraid of her. She's been deprived of celebration in her life and won't discuss age but drops hints in “Nancy's Birthday Party,” testing her friendship with each girl and bonding over bad birthday memories in superb, humorous soliloquies before some fun mistaken doorbells and cake surprises. It's disappointing we don't get to see her roughing it outdoors when following Howard on his fishing trip, but instead her competitive, wealthy, recently divorced sister Gloria visits in “Nancy's Sister.” Gloria throws herself at Howard in more Golden Girls derivatives, but the repressed, unpopular Nancy won't relent and have it out with her sister. Although Nancy insults their advice, she confides in the ladies, and It's A Living is great when it focuses on a character driven plot that ends with Nancy taking over the piano and singing “My Way.”

Wannabe actress Dot Higgins does a one woman Eleanor Roosevelt workshop, but sadly we don't see Gail Edwards' do more than practice with joke teeth and a bad accent or scream when auditioning for a slasher. Though still often late with outlandish excuses, she stands up to Nancy for docking her $180 when a table leaves without paying. She's excited to pay off her car and today we can certainly understand the extra $176 a month feeling. In “The Dot Quits Show,” Dot doesn't get a role on the A Time for Sorrow soap and wonders if she should be a full time actress or give up show business altogether. Though everything usually stays the same on eighties sitcoms and this episode should have come sooner than the end of the season, it's pleasing to have some growth as Dot admits failure and quits while the remaining three waitresses struggle doing the work of four. Crystal Bernard's chaste Texas transplant Amy Tompkins spells out s-e-x, but she's often reduced to innocent redneck platitudes versus Sonny's predatory cons. She returns from her younger pregnant sister's country wedding in “Amy's Rusty” with twenty-two and single cat lady fears interfering with her work. Her old boyfriend asks her to marry him via postcards and phone calls, but the ladies encourage her to not give in to her family's pressure and marry for the wrong reasons. Amy is said to come out of her shell upon moving in with Sheryl Lee Ralph's sassy Ginger St. James. Again her juicy romances seem to have been written with Ann Jillian's moxie in mind, for Ginger won't date cheapskates and knows how to be suave with the high-tipping customers. She learns a nugget on Nancy and uses it as needed and gives hot advice, but it's not until late in the season that we hear of her obsession with shoes, looking good, and designing her own clothing. Ginger's saving up for fashion school, however rather than see her couture sketches and school application, It's A Living falls back on trite romances. Howard Miller has the zingers to keep Nancy at bay, but Richard Stahl's chef is not above teasing Nancy to get a new oven. He likes that she is always trying to catch him but says that he's trying to keep Nancy's virtue because he's a sucker for lost causes. Episodes that should be about their banter are erroneously shared with weaker plots, and his oft off camera magic tricks could have been fun in the kitchen. Howard's angry when Nancy books a weekend honeymoon suite when they go to a half day conference, but it's just another hear tell twofer that I wish we could have seen!

Paul Kreppel's piano player Sonny Mann asks Howard for dating advice and he suggests thinking of the woman's happiness, but Sonny says he wants to score instead. It's A Living's banter drags to a halt with every sleazy Sonny moment, for he cries violence when women push him away and erases single ladies' reservations from the book so they have to drink at the bar where he can pounce on them. Sonny claims he hears yes when a woman says no, begs for phone numbers, and plays the theme from Vertigo for a fear of heights group dining at Above the Top to overcome their fears. Customers request he stop playing and get lost, and his scams take away from better plots. When Sonny says he can't work because it's Ramadan and is told that it's an Islamic holiday, he answers, “I can pass.” This character grates me so much, I'd skip over his scenes if it were possible. J.D. Lobue and Gary Brown direct the majority of episodes, but the numerous writers again crowd the twenty-two minutes or less runtime with their fellow The Golden Girls similarities. In fact, It's A Living feels like two shows for the price of one thanks to so much borrowing from The Golden Girls – the incidental music, the same guest stars, even a Glenn Miller missing joke, and Dot's pink eighties pad is the up to his neck in hock Miami Vice cop's apartment. Most of the brief apartments here are the same room with different enter or exit doors, and the ladies' changing big hairstyles give away the out of order production. Fortunately, the theme song still bops, and the black uniforms and tone on tone burgundy alternative remain classy amid the heights of the eighties denim, shoulder pads, boots, bright colors, and bows. I realize I take It's A Living too critically at times. The series was content as a safe, serviceable sitcom. However it's also unfair that It's A Living is tough to find with reliance on over the air marathons and DVR. Of the time flaws and the simplicity of yore make for pleasant background viewing, and It's A Living now has its final charming cast in place.

Is Straight to Series Shopping TV's Death Knell?

 

Is Straight to Series Shopping TV's Death Knell?

By Kristin Battestella

Who doesn't love it when they read the news about a new straight to series or shopped completed television order? Me. 

Unfortunately, like a movie that has a one and the same writer and director with no second eye to spot the flaws and what ifs instead of thats; numerous in the can shows have been chewed up and spit out by viewers and streamers alike with no opportunity to sculpt for maximum appeal and fulfilling storytelling.

There's No Chance to Retool... In the olden days if an unpopular but prominent storyline took up too much screen time, it could be written out as the season progressed. Today, however, a show that's released with all episodes completed as is can't change any problems – leading to viewer hate, tune outs, and cancellations usually after one or two short seasons. Think of all the past shows that were retooled in their debuts and went on to glory such as Star Trek: The Next Generation. Creators often don't have access to streaming numbers or feedback but have to face the social media flak because they can't get rid of what didn't work on their show.

...Or Maximize Characterizations. Recently, I was disappointed in the Netflix series The Innocents because the weaker teen plot should have been reduced in favor of the adult science fiction parables. Sadly, though like so many other lookalike shows were quantity was more important than quality, it was canceled with no chance to fix itself. So a character is getting on the audience's nerves? In Happy Days of yore, Chuck left for college and was never heard of again. How many shows today are saddled with Cousin Oliver kids? Ditching an ill-received character is one way to save a show, but potential breakout characters and more interesting players go underutilized as what could have beens.

Budget Cuts? The cost of a completed show is already an expense paid in full. That cha-ching can get an as is show canned if marketing expectations aren't met or shelved as a write off. With short, rushed 6, 8, or 10 episode series meant to binge all at once, there's no opportunity to make cost cutting measures in media res. No one likes cutbacks, and in some past cases it terribly shows like Highlander: The Series. However, now there's no chance to trim, fine tune, and creatively survive to another reduced season.

Cliffhangers! Wannabe shrewd showrunners think if they end a show with a cliffhanger, they won't get canceled, forgotten, lost in the streaming shuffle, or ditched by their platform. Well, the crowded litter of one season Netlfix Originals proves that wrong. Completed shows have to cross their fingers rather than seeing the declining numbers and the chance to wrap up a season with a decent resolution. Unexpected limited hits scramble for inferior second years. We're at both extremes – network series trudge along with bloated episode orders and streamers prefer cheap, short quantity. Either way, viewers aren't coming back for more.

Disposability over Longevity. In the can shows are treated as content not meant to last, built quick with glossed over flaws as viewers click on the next proffered series. There's no need for continued consistency and storytelling quality when streamers don't want a title to run 3, 5, or 7 years – they want 1 or 2 years of 7 shows that are algorithm alike. Trending for a day, bottom barrel platforms, or never receiving a physical media release does not a water cooler moment make. In the long term, aren't creators hurt by blink and you miss it, disappearing, erroneously ill-received programs? The return to weekly releasing with smaller episode batches allowing in production corrections can be the answer – if the platform is stable or willing to invest in due season.

Creator Opportunity? Certainly I don't wish for the days of studio interference and terrible forced changes. Catering to an audience – or the algorithm – however, is not the answer either. Why aren't we providing time and money to hone satisfactory stories and continued television success? It's important for creators to have a production pause and be able to apply feedback on what isn't working on their show. Serial programs deserve the chance to fine tune their storytelling rather than being sold as packaged commodities of mediocre quality.

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.

Recent Female Helmed Horror

 

Recent Female Helmed Horror

by Kristin Battestella

This trio of pandemic era horror releases is led by female directors – each with an interesting perspective on the love, blood, and gore of the genre.

Fresh – Every female viewer will be hooked in the first five minutes of this Mimi Cave 2022 directorial debut thanks to a crappy date complaining about spicy food, talking down to the waitress, wishing women dressed nicer, expecting her to pay, not holding the door, and calling Daisy Edgar-Jones (Under the Banner of Heaven) a stuck up bitch. Phone chimes, swipe left apps, and unsolicited dick pics add to our innate fears of a woman walking alone at night, keys ready, looking over her shoulder. Snacking on carrots leads to a puffy coat and goofy sneakers for a solo grocery run, but Sebastian Stan (We Have Always Lived in the Castle) is flirting in the produce section with awkward ice breakers and demands she taste the grapes. Noa didn't think people met in real life anymore but she's excited when he texts for drinks, and the exposition is for them as much as us with his plastic surgeon jokes and her hatred of all the dating pressure and projections. Up close smiles and blurred laughter overlays visually reflect the blissful time before kisses, red lighting, and a well filmed consensual that's risque without being for the male gaze. Multiple mirrors reflect the pretenses, dual facades, or who we really are revelations as the red flags get lost in the whirlwind excitement. He's not on social media yet takes pictures of her and is ready to go away for a weekend together, but viewers notice the real world warnings beyond the horror movie. No cell service, leathery artwork, drinks,and red furniture lead to a fuzzy point of view, camera distortions, slurring audio, and drugged movements just before the credits appear a half hour into the film. It's shrewd they arrive once the premise is revealed, but it's odd to disrupt the momentum as Noa awakens chained and pleading while her captor is calm and upfront: he will keep her alive and sell her meat because he's still a nice guy, but if she loses his trust, there will be consequences. Arena rock and singing along while dicing up a leg provide demented humor amid the surgical violence, epidurals, and invasive carvings. Fifties-esque pink dresses and ironic eighties dances punctuate the captive delirium, disgust, and duplicitous layers that don't underestimate the audience. Meat presses, packing the ladies' photos, and shipping the meal plans to his exclusive clientele are all in a day's work. Chainsawing the ribs, meat grinders, jerky, and limbs suggest succulence instead of gore, however the carnivorous flashes and creepy deliveries should be the only point of view breaks and the “wistful music playing” cues for every scene transition are also unnecessary. Hectic chases and a somewhat unfinished end feel a little too long, but cowards and man meat get a taste of their own medicine. Though perhaps tough to stomach more than once, there are numerous visual references of eating with the left hand, mark of the beast dinnerware, and gory bites at $30k a plate. Women must still worry about their body, looks, and beauty to go along with the crazy men and free themselves. Tagged and labeled freezer bags create a system of ritual feast that rich white men get away with while the women are chewed up and spit out – literally.

Rose: A Love Story – A secluded couple has everything they need off the grid in this 2020 horror romance from director Jennifer Sheridan (The Snow Spider) – generators, water jugs, extra locks on the door, wind chimes alarms, and typewriters for low tech, low light living. Hunting and animal traps are a necessity with rabbits and deer a plenty in the snowy forest, but mail order leeches and a cut through the glove leave our Mrs. sickly and pale. Writer's block, semantics, and miscommunication hamper their affections, for she doesn't want him to police her and keep track but they both have to stick to the rules, keep their home secure, and take no risks. Fine lighting, UV colors, lanterns, candlelight, and shadows accent the humble, cluttered cabin while the laid back pacing matches the routine, if ominous lifestyle. They try to make saucy time, but she's afraid he'll think her gross, and the realistic relationship and honest characterizations are firmly established. Faulty electricity and sounds of a struggle in the dark mean only blood can calm her, but our husband is committed to his growling wife's care despite debates on who is unhappy or giving up on life. There is no elaborate explanation about how this happened, but arranged roadside contacts for supplies gone awry necessitate a paranoid drive into town and the rush to return home. Date night is a walk outside so long as she wears her mask, and seemingly innocuous classical music montages and reading her writing aloud foreshadow their precarious pretense. Screams in the night lead to an injured woman caught in one of their animal traps, disrupting their careful situation with bone settings, bloody clean ups, and threats to tell the police if they force the injured runaway to go back home. She becomes like a child between the couple as well as an audience anchor – doing tasks with each, gardening, and asking why they live like this. The getting away from the bustle, self sustaining model, skin issues, and sunlight troubles are crafty excuses, too, but we know there is something worse at the source. It's best to go into this cold and I don't want to give everything away, however this is not for viewers looking for full on, in your face horror. Not much happens, but the slow pace maintains the taut focus and doesn't overstay its welcome. The underlying horror, angry answers, bloody bites, and tragic violence are worth seeing to the end here.

I Wanted to Like It but...

Carmilla – Period frocks, lovely landscapes, slow still lifes, and rippling waters reflect the repressed monotony of this 2019 Le Fanu inspired British piece from writer and director Emily Harris (Borges and I). Candlelight, nibs, and no exterior views of the manor provide a claustrophobic, congested attention to detail as the sense of restless boredom grows for our budding teenager who's still treated like a child by her governess, struck with a ruler, and forced to bind her preferred left hand. She is punished for secretly reading anatomy books and left to peer around the corner as the adults talk or come and go freely while she's supposed to be practicing her elocution. Moss and greenery contrast the cold interiors amid conversations about nature and dead animals, however far too much time is spent on artistic insect shots, yearning out the window up close angles, and more crawling bugs arty awe. Such scenes and any brief point of view breaks are unnecessary once we are within the lonely character. Fortunately, thunderstorms and a carriage crash bring the unexpected titular guest who stays to recuperate. The firelight glow accents Carmilla's eerie appearance and feline eyes as the nights become bold with red hair down, loose white shifts, and bloody dreams. The girls laugh, run, hold their breath, and climb trees while the stifled governess rings the tea bell and sits alone, rigid and scraping her toast. The cross above Carmilla's bed is found on the floor, and macabre dreams escalate with disemboweling gore, gurgling kisses, smeared lips, and promises to become blood sisters. Is our ingenue sick from the blood exchange or just distraught at being separated from Carmilla after being caught bumping corsets and forced to pray? The young cast does quite well, but the brief kisses could come across as modern lez be friends baiting since neither the romance nor the vampire symbolism ever fully culminate. The slow unknown may be meant to mirror the period look, don't touch admire from afar beauty of women keeping themselves unexplored. Unfortunately, the intriguing phobias and finger pointing statements unravel in the ambiguous, arty commentary by time our jealous governess jumps to conclusions and persecutes Carmilla. Once again, the troubles may stem from a one and the same writer and director that went for something existential rather than making the vampirism clear. This is lovely for period piece fans and those looking for a unique gothic romance or lesbian drama, but the tragic relationship versus vampire blood could have been much more.