Category: General Horror

A24’s trailer for Jane (WE’RE ALL GOING TO THE WORLD’S FAIR) Schoenbrun’s I SAW THE TV GLOW had me all prepared for an IT FOLLOWS-esque suburban curse flick crammed into a Candle Cove repressed memory nineties nostalgia taco shell. While there certainly are sharp slivers of horror spiking this poetic, fluorescent fish aquarium-toned ode to outsiders and their dependence on media for a social life, it’s more of a coming of age character study than anything else (albeit a mighty surreal one). Owen (Justin Smith who I recognized from the video game THE QUARRY) is a cautious wraith-like teenager who can’t seem to materialize enough to cast a shadow at home or at school. He eventually meets a slightly older gal named Maddy (Bridgette Lundy Payne) who indoctrinates him into the comfy world of obsessive serial television fandom and the buffering delights of wrapping yourself in the toasty warm blanket of dissociation. Maddy’s go-to trap door escape from reality is “The Pink Opaque” a young adult dark fantasy series complete with monster of the week episodes and a “Big Bad” named Mr. Melancholy (who looks like a still from 1902’s A TRIP TO THE MOON sans the rocket in the eye). Maddy describes the program as “More real than real life” and I’m in no position to judge her as in the nineties I was known to claim BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER was more important to me than my actual life (I no longer think that but must admit I was much happier when I did).

Over the preceding years, both Owen and Maddie are haunted by their connection to the show and struggle to understand the ever fuzzy (and possibly adjustable) line between fantasy and reality. Although much of the journey depicted is frustratingly vague, willfully muddled and downright mumbly at times, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for these characters who find it easier to relate to fictional beings on a television screen than the abrasive clods that surround them in life (Fred Durst is Owen’s step dad – you know that can’t be easy). Sure, I’m still slightly disappointed I didn’t get my (wrongfully assumed) scarefest on but I’m glad I caught this earnest tribute to square pegs (another great TV show) and the art that nurtures them when no-one else will. One scene that I found particularly poignant has Owen catching up with his beloved program decades later only to discover that age has not been kind and what once seemed profound now seems prosaic and what was once scary is now laughably lame. We’ve all been there (but let it be known that BUFFY still rules).

James (of the soul devouring EDEN LAKE) Watkin’s SPEAK NO EVIL is a superior thriller (and remake of a 2022 Danish film) that boasts stellar performances and hearkens back to the “Blank From Hell” suspense films that elbowed horror flicks to the side during the late eighties/early nineties (I’m thinking their heyday blossoms with FATAL ATTRACTION and wilts with THE TEMP). In this case, James McAvoy (who has proven his psycho chomps and then some in SPLIT & GLASS and should really play Jack Torrance some day) is Paddy, a host from hell who along with his hippy-ish spouse Ciara (STOPMOTION’s Aisling Franciosi) and socially stunted (with good reason) son Ant (Dan Hough) welcome the far too trusting Dalton family (BLACK MIRROR: San Junipero’s Mackenzie Davis as borderline unfaithful wife Louise, Scoot McNair (MONSTERS) as ineffectual husband Ben and Alix West Lefler as neurotic preteen Agnes) to spend the weekend in their gorgeous yet sorta slummy farmhouse in the Italian countryside (BTW, I thankfully never have to worry about the incidents depicted here befalling myself as the only thing I hate more than traveling is staying in someone else’s home overnight and I therefore have made a pact with myself never to do either again if at all possible).

The getaway gets off to an uncomfortable start as Paddy who knows very well that Louise is a vegetarian, tries to force feed her a duck he roasted after telling tales of the fowl's remarkable spirit. From there things get worse and worse as personality clashes pile up, an unexplained surplus of fancy watches emerges and someone (not me this time) outs themselves as a fan of the Bangles and particularly their #1 charting power ballad "Eternal Flame". The tense situation ultimately comes to a head when the Daltons learn the tastes of their eccentric hosts lean less toward SCHITT’S CREEK and more toward WOLF CREEK (if ya catch my drift). This is a real nail biter with a satisfying conclusion and I enjoyed how there’s never a moment when you think the ultimate showdown will come between the two patriarchs as clearly the formidable Louise is the Dalton’s best chance of survival against the runaway rage train that is Paddy. Unfortunately SPEAK NO EVIL, through no fault of its own, happened to be the first film I watched after the mind-blowing cinematic hand grenade that is THE SUBSTANCE and therefore sometimes felt about as quaint as a Holly Hobbie Chloroforms set in comparison. Nevertheless, this chunk o’ menace still operates like a well tuned STRAW DOGS-esque fret machine and its main pillar performances (McAvoy & Davis, natch) are super compelling, top notch and something to shout about.

I am over the moon to report that ALIEN: ROMULUS is the ALIEN sequel that I’ve been waiting decades for. Not only does it take place between Ridley Scott’s 1979 masterpiece ALIEN and James Cameron’s 1986 classic ALIENS but it cleverly borrows the best elements from both films (with a sprinkle of aesthetics from the excellent ALIEN: ISOLATION game). This is a machine that hums with the thrilling gothic haunted house vibes of the OG yet doesn’t shy away from the gun blasting, action set pieces that drove its most successful sequel (while wisely jettisoning the empty nihilism of ALIEN 3, the artsy quirkiness of RESURRECTION, the bloated pretentiousness of PROMETHEUS and the convoluted compromise of COVENANT (Not to mention the goofiness of ALIEN VS PREDATOR and the sloppiness of REQUIEM). BTW: despite this slander avalanche with the exception of COVENANT, I’m a BIG fan of the ALIEN series & it’s possible my distaste for that last entry is mostly due to loyalty to the great character Elizabeth Shaw who I believe was done dirty to an unforgivable degree). Director Fede Alvarez cuts out all the chaff, leans hard (and I mean hard) into horror and delivers a believable, grounded world occupied by two of the most compelling characters to ever grace the franchise. In fact, I dug it so much that I had to award it my highest honor which is to say that I dug into my moth strewn cheapskate wallet and paid to watch it a second time a few days after my first viewing (I couldn’t help myself, the movie is just so damn immersive and you know I’d do anything to play hooky from reality).

Plucky yet disgruntled Rain Carradine (Cailee Spaeny) dreams of living in a world where she can see the sun but instead she’s an exploited cog for the oppressive Weyland -Yutani corporation which has no issue grinding her down to smithereens and is already responsible for the death of her parents. Her only joy in life comes from gleefully enduring groan worthy dad jokes supplied by her synthetic sibling Andy (Incredible David Jonsson who deserves all the laurels and is instantly sympathetic, fascinatingly nuanced and literally impeccable in every scene). The two are presented with a possible escape from their drudgery in the form of a plan devised by Rain’s ex boyfriend Tyler (Archie Renaux) to pillage a derelict space station for sleeping chambers that would allow them to travel to greener pastures. What Tyler’s band of misfits really needs to pull off the caper is the talents of Andy who as a synthetic, can communicate with the ship’s computer system and allow them the full access required. Rain is desperate enough to take the offer and of course, nothing goes as planned. In fact, the group finds themselves trapped in a living hell filled with numerous beasties (both familiar and new fangled) and hurling towards an inevitable deadly collision (if they last that long- which doesn’t seem likely due to the wall to wall monsters roaming about cruising for nonconsenual hosts).

ALIEN: ROMULUS miraculously takes the tried and true trapped on a time bomb ship stuffed with ferocious creatures premise and consistently pumps fresh, imaginative life into it. Beyond the titular alien menace, the setting breeds many innovative dangers that creatively play around with gravity, room temperature, deadly acid and of course, the unreliable nature of elevators. Many times survival and escape seem absolutely impossible and the multitude of monstrosities feel completely overwhelming. Even the more familiar menaces appear injected with horrific new vibrancy. The film takes its sweet time setting up its merciless mousetrap but when the dominoes begin to fall it's a steep non-stop roller coaster ride complete with unpredictable turns and a sense of tangible peril. Further persuasion is supplied by a fantastic, nudging, triggering score that nearly throttles care of Benjamin Wallfisch (IT, BLADE RUNNER 2049). This is true edge of your seat business set up with a real time countdown to destruction that unnerves to the core. I tried not to but yes, I made audible yelping noises on several occasions but luckily I was not alone. Crawling through this collapsing house of horrors, I felt the whole theater was as enraptured as myself, something I haven’t felt in a long time.

Now, to be fair, there is perhaps a few moments of regrettable wonkiness thanks to some overstepping CGI (don’t worry it doesn’t involve the very solid xenomorphs who have never looked better or more menacing). I was able to use my always handy imagination to slink past the offending blemishes but I understand that’s not going to be possible for everybody. The strange thing is that the eyesore in question could have been so easily avoided with some simple editing or PATTY DUKE SHOW camera angles but I guess they had to go for it (CGI hubris is a dangerous drug). In any case, it doesn’t effect the storytelling and I’m confident it will look better (or at least look less jarring) on the small screen in the future. It’s really just a visual flaw on an otherwise beautifully structured canvas and if nothing else it at least exists in order to provide one hell of a surprise for longtime fans. All in all, I am overflowing with gratitude towards any and all who made this long time coming, worthy (and truly horrifying) sequel possible. It’s like a dream (albeit a very nerve-racking and terrifying dream) come true.

It’s always a welcome gift when I stumble upon a horror movie from back in the video store days that I somehow missed. Manny (DR. GIGGLES) Coto’s directorial debut PLAYROOM (which oddly enough is based on a story by THE Jackie Earl Haley) was able to evade me for years as I confused it with another movie that I had seen (THE CLUB (’94)) because they had similar VHS cover art (or at least I thought so at the time). It’s all for the best though because I’m sure I would not have appreciated this absolutely bonkers movie back in my youth when I tended to think in a more linear fashion and was far less generous with horror movies that colored outside the lines or went completely off the rails as this one does. As fate would have it, now is exactly the right time for mine and PLAYROOM’s paths to cross because it is exactly the type of lunatic volcano you want to dive into in the dogs days of summer when the outside world is inhabitable and you have zero desire to mingle with boring reality.

For the most part, PLAY ROOM is all about kindertrauma. Chris (ubiquitous actor Christopher McDonald of everything from THE HEARSE and GREASE 2 to HACKS and the latest BEVERLY HILLS COP) has recurring nightmares about his childhood particularly that one time his entire family was killed while excavating a European monastery which housed the tomb of a ten year old rumored to be immortal Prince whose hobbies included torturing people and worshiping demons and also happened to be Chris’ not so imaginary friend (you know how it is). Naturally as an adult Chris decides to return to the crumbling tomb with some expendable friends to face his fears (and write a magazine article) but unfortunately his supernatural childhood buddy is still occupying the joint and the already tightly wound Chris begins to unravel to such a degree as to make Jack Torrence seem mellow. Complicating matters further, a mental patient (GHOST’s eternally typecast Vincent Schiavelli) who was was wrongfully framed for killing Chris’s family (it was kinda more the immortal torture-happy not so imaginary friend’s fault) is skulking around with a bone to pick and a pick axe to pick it with. Trust me, chaos ensues.

PLAYROOM offers a rather persuasive setting throughout having been filmed in what appears to be (for the most part) actual crumbling Serbian tombs (only a late in the game RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK ready rope bridge fails to convince). The sense of claustrophobia that abounds is not exactly DESCENT level but it works. McDonald though frequently grating and over the top, is at least authentically unhinged and the film sports many a familiar face to horror fans including Aron Eisenberg of AMITYVILLE 4: THE EVIL ESCAPES as the creepy ghost kid, Lisa Aliff of FREDDY’S NIGHTMARES as Chris’ long suffering girlfriend, Jamie Rose of JUST BEFORE DAWN as a clearly doomed bohemian model and FRIDAY THE 13th: THE FINAL CHAPTER’s Kimberly Beck in a one scene cameo as a secretary who gets to miss all the mayhem. Where PLAYROOM gets ruefully iffy (and yet wonderfully bizzare) is during its final act when it attempts to show the true face of its villain and he turns out to be a Chucky meets NUKIE by way of sickly Yoda puppet who when not picking its nose and eating it, stumbles around like a lopsided coat rack dispelling poorly dubbed threats and pleas not to be abandoned. It’s crazy looking, it doesn’t work, it’s probably why the film wasn’t released in theaters AND it’s also an awesome hoot. PLAYROOM is ultimately a hypnotic failure but its so memorable and so unique and such a lively ride (the barrage of final reel jump scare jolts actually do hit base) that I have to say I’m now a reluctant, not proud of myself in the slightest, fan.

WER (2013). Writer/director William Brent Bell is notably loyal to the world of horror even if some of his efforts (THE BOY, ORPHAN: FIRST KILL, LORD OF MISRULE) are more successful than others (THE DEVIL INSIDE, BRAHMS: THE BOY II). His stark, nearly documentary-style exploration into the world of lycanthropy entitled WER, though under-seen, could very well be his most impressive movie to date. A.J. Cook (FINAL DESTINATION 2, NIGHT SKIES) stars as Kate More, a defense attorney who discovers that nothing she studied in law school could have prepared her for the hairy pitfalls of having a werewolf (towering hirsute Eagles of Death Metal bassist Brian Scott O’Conner who is his own special effect and gives off worrisome George Eastman (THE GRIM REAPER, ABSURD) vibes) as a client. Easily one of the most convincing representations of a werewolf ever put to film, Bell’s grounded in reality vision is a breath of fresh, feral air that delivers believable, sympathetic characters confronted with startlingly credible (and highly rewindable) savagery.

HOWL (2015). Directed by Paul Hyett, the mastermind behind the creature effects in THE DESCENT, this wild and original ride impresses with inventive monster design, atmosphere to spare and an irresistible premise involving a werewolf outbreak on a train. Ed Speleers stars as ineffectual train guard Joe Griffin who takes over a late night shift for a sick co-worker in order to spend more time with his secret crush Ellen (Holly Weston). Unfortunately, the evening is far from the routine ride he expects as the train is derailed in the woods and efforts to get the excursion back on track are doused when passengers and employees alike begin to come down with extremely contagious cases of sharp toothed, razor clawed, glowing-eyed werewolfery (that could very well have been inspired by Lamberto Bava's DEMONS (1986)). Does Joe have what it takes to step up to the plate and deal with pestering passengers, rampant paranoia, a bullying coworker begging for a comeuppance and a slew of ever multiplying marauding beasts? The answer is surprisingly satisfying and goes far to ensure that this exceptional monsters run amuck flick always keeps you on your toes and assuredly differentiates itself from the pack.

Horror-meister Wes Craven’s high profile werewolf tale CURSED was rightfully panned by critics and generally shunned by audiences upon release. The movie about orphaned siblings Ellie (the always reliable Christina Ricci) and Jimmy (the always twitchy Jesse Eisenberg) dealing with a rash of Hollywood set werewolf attacks truly feels cobbled together from spare parts and reeks of murky logic, hesitant storytelling and crippling indecision (and ALL blame for the film’s inadequacies can be laid in the mammoth lap of sloppy saboteur Harvey Weinstein who notoriously threw wrenches into the flick’s machinery at every turn). Still, if you can squirm past the movie’s plethora of faults, it has an amazingly game cast (particularly Ricci, Milo Ventimiglia and an outstanding Judy Greer), pretty decent (when not sullied by CGI) monster effects (you haven’t lived till you witness a werewolf defiantly flipping the bird) and more than a few clever lines (care of SCREAM scribe Kevin Williamson). It’s a true crime that CURSED is never given the space or freedom to stand as the potential werewolf epic it might have been but it’s not without its fuzzy charms and if nothing else, it has at least morphed into an interesting time capsule over the years. Just make sure you watch the unrated version to squeeze as much blood from this messy but strangely entertaining misfire as you can.

LATE PHASES: NIGHT OF THE LONE WOLF (2014). As a rule one should watch anything that stars Nick (STAKE LAND) Damici because he could possibly be the coolest guy on earth and is the obvious heir apparent to Charles Bronson. In LATE PHASES he portrays a blind Vietnam vet with an adorable seeing eye dog who must contend with a werewolf in a retirement village of all places and the results are as fresh and original as they sound. Directed by Adrian Garcia Bogliano (HERE COMES THE DEVIL) and featuring a stacked cast that includes Ethan Emery (THE DEVIL’S CANDY), Lance Guest (HALLOWEEN II) Tom Noonan (MONSTER SQUAD) Rutanya Alda (AMITYVILLE II: THE POSSESSION) and Tina Louise (THE STEPFORD WIVES), this is one werewolf tail that delivers not only suspense, scares and and an impressive looking beastie, but a contrasting dose of touching family drama as well.

THE WOLF OF SNOW HOLLOW (2021) Jim Cummings wrote, directed and stars in this exceptional werewolf film that features stellar acting, crisp cinematography, superior effects and most importantly (for me), plenty of snow. John Marshall (Cummings) is a small town cop dealing with multiple savage murders while juggling AA meetings, a snippy kid and an ailing father (The great Robert Forster in his final role). I’d put this inspired eighties throwback right up there with the best of the best werewolf offerings as it is legit scary, genuinely funny, surprisingly soulful (the way it links lycanthropy with alcoholism is very clever), delightfully gory and impressively crafted all around. Cummings has a hilarious manic energy, Ricki Lindhome ( who was also great in the LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT remake) brings quiet depth to her patient detective sidekick and Forster is marvelous as always. I might have tweaked its final reveal a smidge but this is a definite keeper that I look forward to watching over and over again.

BIG BAD WOLF (2006) concerns a group of partying teens who travel to a remote cabin only to be attacked by a wise cracking werewolf. Written and directed by Lance W. Dreesen this should-be cult favorite humorously combines a werewolf creature feature with concentrated slasher tropes and the results are always fun (even if Dreesen’s fireplace mantel need not worry about making space for awards). Particularly good are HALLOWEENTOWN’s Kimberly J. Brown playing against type as a rebellious Tomboy with questionable ethics and TWO MOON JUNCTION’s Richard Tyson as an abusive father with more than just a chip on his shoulder. There’s just something about a talking werewolf with a Don Rickles disposition that I find irresistible and I must applaud the incredible gift of featuring OG werewolf royalty and permanent (in my mind) Dr. Pepper spokesman David Naughton as the local sheriff. If that weren’t enough, this horror comedy carries the card of indisputable quality in the form of the TICK inflicted, ICE CREAM MAN himself, Clint Howard. Sure, one may need to suspend disbelief for full effect but BIG BAD WOLF is a fun, gory and borderline witty gem that deserves a more generous reputation.

HARD ROCK NIGHTMARE (1988) If you’re looking for a werewolf movie that features questionable eighties anthems, sub-Elm street surrealism, a slumming Troy Donahue and inexplicable behavior from all involved than have I got a movie for you. Sure, it’s a bit on the terrible side but that only makes it more fun. A young child is tormented and teased by his grandfather who claims to be a vampire AND a werewolf so naturally the kid does what any reasonable person would do and waits for gramps to fall asleep and then shoves a stake in his heart and kills him. Problem solved! Years later, the now-teenager is in the coolest band ever “The Bad Boys” and offers his dead grandfather’s remote hideaway (its referred to as a cabin but doesn’t really look like one) as a great place to practice. Before you can say “why am I watching this?” a werewolf shows up and precedes to maul and kill anyone who crosses its pissed-off path. Directed by Dominick Brascia, who played the candy bar chomping first victim Joey in FRIDAY THE 13th: A NEW BEGINNING and whose directing debut was the equally lovably confounding EVIL LAUGH (1986), this cheese filled obscurity needs to be endured by all humans who enjoy micro budgeted homegrown absurdities. Sadly, Brascia passed away in 2018 so I’ll never get to tell him how much enjoyment this nutzo flick has brought me over the years.

WOLF COP and ANOTHER WOLF COP (2014, 2017) have you covered if you’re ever in the predicament of trying to choose between watching a werewolf flick or a buddy cop movie with strong eighties vibes. Leo Fafard is perfectly cast as ne-er-do-well small town cop Lou Garou (loup-garou s French for werewolf) who innocently investigates reports of local occult activity only to get knocked out and wake up with a pentagram carved into his stomach. Not only that, he comes to learn he's developed heightened senses, quick healing powers and the nettlesome need to transform into a werewolf (though he maintains his mental faculties and Canadian police uniform). Lou, along with wacky pal Willie (FINAL DESTINATION 2’s Jonathan Cherry) and super competent partner Tina (Amy Matysio) embark on an investigation of a far reaching conspiracy involving reptilian shapeshifters who utilize black magics to secretly control the town. The film’s sequel happily offers more of the same with most of the cast returning. Rowdy, raunchy, unabashedly off-color and stuffed with over the top violence spiced with old school make up effects, both flicks are sure to beguile those who howl for schlocky shenanigans.

WEREWOLF: THE BEAST AMONG US (2012) was originally intended to be a sequel to Universal’s 2010 remake of THE WOLF MAN but when that film failed to catch the world on fire (or even make back its budget) it was scaled down and transformed into a stand alone, straight to video offering. Directed by Louis Morneau (BATS, JOYRIDE 2) and filmed in Romania, this horror action mystery hybrid boasts surprisingly slick production design, a classic, almost fairy tale setting and a welcome assembly of familiar faces that include Stephen Rea, Mia Peeples and Steven Bauer (who is definitely having a good time). There’s a nice old school Hammer-ish charm to this creature feature involving a rag tag group attempting to eradicate a vicious village stomping werewolf who can transform at will (and is very likely to be a member of the hunting party). I can’t promise that it breaks any new ground or that you’ll have any trouble figuring out who the covert antagonist is, but for a film that skipped theaters and jumped straight to the home market, it is of much better quality, and is much more diverting than one might assume.

THE UNDYING MONSTER (1942). I often see this film besmirched as a lame rip off of Universal’s wildly successful THE WOLF MAN but I think no matter what spurred its creation, it unquestionably has a vibe all its own. I was lucky enough to catch this atmospheric beautifully shot monster mystery on late night cable one night many moons ago and it really stuck with me and actually became my own “Name That Trauma” for a while (until eventually the internet came around and a google search thankfully clued me in). Although this movie can’t boast that it contains a performance as indelible and winning as Lon Chaney Jr.’s in the more popular classic, there’s no reason to throw the transforming beast baby out with the bloody bathwater. The gothic interiors, twisty cliffside exteriors and all around seductive eeriness on perpetual display in this moody (and brief at 63 minutes) foray into family curses, unexplained suicides and lycanthropic activities should appease anyone who appreciates cozy black and white horror.

1987’s THE CALLER is far beyond being a horse of a different color, this funky filly is a kaleidoscope of hues I’ve never even laid eyes on before. My biggest question may be why isn’t it much more notorious? Madolyn Smith portrays a nameless young woman who occupies an isolated cabin in the woods who is waiting for the imminent arrival of a lover. Instead, a questionable stranger in the form of Malcolm McDowell arrives on her doorstep claiming his car has broken down and that he requires the use of her phone. The two lone characters (literally the only two people in the entire film) butt heads, juggle red herrings and suspiciously dissect each other’s every word to the point where the viewer has little reason to trust either of them are who they present themselves to be. It’s basically a two character play with one fixed setting yet it is remarkably intriguing right up to the closing credits thanks to sly direction (by Arthur Allan Seidelman (astonishingly the same guy responsible for the horrendous HERCULES IN NEW YORK), an unpredictable script (by Michael Sloan, creator of THE EQUALIZER and husband to Melissa Sue Anderson), a potent score by the great Richard Band (RE-ANIMATOR) and the limitless talent of Mr. McDowell (who has rarely been better than he is here). My advise is to put a pillow on the floor in anticipation of a (literal) jaw-dropping conclusion that is so bizarre that it required the help of special effects legend John Carl Buechler to tackle it. Seriously, if anyone tells you they figured out the central mystery of this oddball oddity before it was revealed they are either lying to your face or are completely insane and should have their brain studied by science.

I may be a little too comfortable when it comes to dishing out hyperbole but I rarely use the word masterpiece if I can help it. I gotta say though, I do think WHITE OF THE EYE ( again, 1987) is a masterpiece and a genuinely fascinating work of dark art. Directed by Donald Cammell (who sadly took his own life in ’96), this is an unblinking psychological thriller like no other that boasts a truly remarkable central performance by David Keith (FIRESTARTER) with a surprisingly subtle assist from Cathy Moriarty (RAGING BULL and more importantly, CASPER). I’m talking sterling serial killer epic here folks and it’s a crying shame this fine film isn’t more widely heralded. Keith plays Paul White a sound system installer who has the curious habit of frequently being in the vicinity when a serial killer who preys upon wealthy women strikes. Moriarity portrays his wife Joan who begins to suspect her hubby may be on the down low when it comes to the act of brutally murdering women and rightfully worries for the safety of their innocent young daughter. Set in a blazing, almost unearthly Arizona and tapping universal fears of the inability to ever fully know anyone, including a loved one, Cammell’s film (which is based on the book “Mrs White” by Margaret Tracy (a pseudonym for siblings Laurance and Andrew Klaven (A SHOCK TO THE SYSTEM, DON’T SAY A WORD) is a steep, fearless nosedive into unfathomable mental depravity with richly disturbing images, a hypnotic score by Rick Fenn (10cc) and Nick Mason (Pink Floyd) and a brutal, piercing tone that’s likely to haunt you long after viewing.

Sometimes ya just gotta treat yourself to a John Carpenter film. They’re always there when you need them and PRINCE OF DARKNESS (hey, 1987 again!) is right up there with his very best. In fact, it somewhat captures various elements of some of his previous movies and swirls them together in an almost compilation mix. It’s got the building under seige dilemma of ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13, the unknowable supernatural forces of THE FOG and the creeping paranoia of THE THING, Plus his HALLOWEEN cohort Donald Pleasence is there to help anchor it all together. PRINCE involves a group of quantum physic students who volunteer to assist their professor (BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA’s Victor Wong) in a creepy rundown church. The group, led by Jameson Parker (whose mustache makes me believe he’s a stand in for Carpenter himself) and Lisa Blount (with red hair that thankfully distances her from her role in DEAD AND BURIED which I’m forever traumatized by) discover that the church’s basement houses what appears to be a sentiment mass of green goo in a giant jar whose dad is likely Satan himself and is generally focused on contaminating any and everyone with bad skin and muck spewing demonic possession while bringing on the apocalypse. Lots of bugs, worms and Alice Cooper are also involved. What really works in this movie is the gritty, limited urban setting that feels so far away from the safety of Hollywood slickness and Carpenter’s innovative use of choppy video visuals that seemed transmitted from another movie, if not another world entirely. This is one of those rare films that truly does have the power to slip into your nightmares and infest your psyche and its gale force pessimism feels even more potent and relevant today.

My first attempt to watch the made -or-TV cats run amuck flick STRAYS (’91) starring Timothy Busfield (TRUCKS), Kathleen Quinlan (THE TWILIGHT ZONE MOVIE) and Claudia Christian (THE HIDDEN, MANIAC COP 2) was an absolute cat-astrophe. That's because all the wailing of the ornery felines within the film so agitated and alarmed my own kitties that they began to fight each other. Thus, I had to finish the film donning earphones so as not to inspire a riot. Now, usually I stay away from cat attack movies because I hate to see people off camera throwing the poor confused felines about in order to simulate their attacks (yep, I’m side-eying INFERNO as well as 1971’s BLOODFEAST aka NIGHT OF A THOUSAND CATS amongst others) but as this movie came out in the early nineties I was somewhat confident that it was made in a more enlightened era after basic animal protection laws were finally established (plus the movie was written by Hardy Boy Sean Cassidy and if you can’t trust a Hardy then who the hell can you trust?). Anywho, this jaunt is refreshingly simple (family moves into a new home and are attacked by hordes of pissed off cats), has a nice case of the zoomies (yay, only 83 minutes!) and is routinely hilarious and even somewhat cathartic (how can anyone not root for the cats to kill them all? Well, everyone except Quinlan who I have a decades long soft spot for). STRAYS may never win a best in show award but it's fun enough escapism that knows just where to scratch.

ALLIGATOR II: THE MUTATION (’91) has somehow alluded me for decades. For reasons known only to the big kahuna in the sky, it never graced the shelves of any video store I frequented or worked at (which is many). Sadly, as it turns out, I wasn’t missing much and even though this loose sequel has an impressive cast including the likes of Joseph Bologna, the perpetually lovable Dee Wallace and our super creepy old pal Richard (BAD DREAMS) Lynch, it has none of the wit, charm or cleverness of its impressive John Sayles-penned predecessor. You’d think all you’d need is a giant gator and a dark sewer and you’d be more than half way to awesome-ville but frustratingly this John (WATCHERS) Hess directed toothless dud crawls lethargically in endless circles and never gets its land legs.

RUSH WEEK (1989) is a mostly standard slasher film that made little impact when it was released at the tail end of the eighties horror boom. It’s not the most original film in the world and I’m afraid there’s a regrettable lack of bloodshed but If you are comforted by campus set slasher flicks (like URBAN LEGEND, FINAL EXAM and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME for example) and their predictable tropes, you could do much worse. If nothing else, RUSH WEEK stirs up a pretty impressive spooky atmosphere and boasts a compelling lead in Pamela Ludwig (1979's ever awesome OVER THE EDGE). Ludwig plays perky Toni Daniels, a Nancy Drew-esque ace reporter for the college paper who attempts to figure out why so many students are inexplicably disappearing and why there is a robed figure with a giant hatchet lurking around the halls of school. You’ll surely figure out who the killer is long before poor Toni but it’s kind of fun to watch her go through the motions of looking for clues and getting herself into sticky, by the numbers situations anyway. It may do so barely, but RUSH WEEK passes the grade thanks mostly to its spirited cast (which includes a random quirky cameo from Gregg Allman of all people) and its hard to resist (for me), classic slasher stalking scenes.

I wasn’t too impressed with AMERICAN PSYCHO when I saw it in the theater way back in 2000. Maybe it was the early scene depicting the killing of a homeless man’s dog or maybe I just didn’t care to be reminded of how callous people were capable of being in the pursuit of success. Let’s face it, it was probably the ATM machine (I still want to call them MAC machines) demanding to be fed a kitten that rubbed me the wrong way and insured I’d never watch it again. But watch it again I did recently and I have to admit that it’s pretty entertaining now that the time period it is critiquing is much further away and that I finally understand that its full blown satire. In other words, when I was younger I just looked at the screen and saw the type of smug, affluent people I felt aversion toward but now I can see clearly that the writer (Guinevere Turner with the impossible task of cutting through the endless chaff in Brett Easton Ellis’ somehow popular book) and director (Mary Harron, I SHOT ANDY WARHOL) probably weren’t looking at them with admiration either. It’s actually a very funny movie (sans animal abuse) and ironically Christian Bale gives one of his most charismatic performances as a blank-eyed soulless monster who kills for sport and has cheekbones that could cut glass. The sad thing is that there are some who probably do see serial killer Patrick Bateman’s empathy deficit disorder as a strength and the clearest path to get ahead. Personally, I don’t like the guy but I wouldn’t mind bending his ear in regards to eighties pop music. We might not have much in common but we could always bond on the many musical gems Huey Lewis and the News have graciously shared with a sometimes unworthy world.

PAPERHOUSE (’88) is a haunting, visually poetic film directed by Bernard Rose who also helmed the classic stunner CANDYMAN (’92). It concerns a young eleven year old girl named Anna (Charlotte Burke) who doesn’t quite fit in at school, constantly bickers with her mom (the late great Glenne Headly) and feels abandoned by her father whose job keeps him far from home. In her alienation she takes to living inside a fantasy world that she is able to draw herself on paper and visit in dreams. There she meets a young boy with rapidly declining heath and a shadowy threatening distortion of her absentee father who stalks her and her new friend with a hammer. This movie would make a great double feature with the kindertrauma classic THE NEVERENDING STORY due to its focus on a child’s ability to use their imagination to cope with pestering issues. It also reminds me a bit of Frank LaLoggia’s brilliant LADY IN WHITE (of the same year) in the respectful way it treats the complexities of being young. With powerfully stark, dream-like images and the aid of a beautiful score (by Stanley Myers and Hans Zimmer) Rose creates a dark fantasy that ultimately takes on the difficulties of accepting loss, death and life's random cruelties in a moving, memorable way.

I’m not completely sure Oz Perkins’ new supernatural serial killer movie LONGLEGS comes together in a completely satisfying way but one thing is for sure, it’s creepy as all get out. It’s quite the juggling act to make something both so hyper-grounded that it resembles a documentary at times but also so wacked out bonkers that it borders on a deranged comedy skit. I’m not sure it even plays fair, it’s almost as if every loose end is shrugged off with explanations of unknowable dark magics at work. But in the end, the performances are so strong all around (Nick Cage delves into his deepest well of insanity, Alicia Witt goes full Margaret White and makes a strong case for award consideration, Maika Monroe oozes twitchy disquiet and Blair Underwood and keirnan Shipka deliver quality support) and the palpable tension is ratcheted up to such a degree that it’s nearly impossible to accept it as anything less than a watershed moment in the arena of conjuring dank foreboding. This is a movie that for better or worse (and the implausibilities are legion) understands pure, concrete horror, the kind that makes you want to jump out of your skin and smash an eject button.

Monroe stars as Lee Harker, a morose, “partially psychic” FBI agent determined to identify a Zodiac-like serial killer known for somehow inspiring families to kill themselves and for his impressive talent when it comes to creating life-like dolls (I know that sounds crazy but it’s all about delivering the creeps here and what’s creepier than a life-like doll?). What she discovers is not only a Satan worshiping psychopath that resembles an unholy mash-up of Tiny Tim and Mickey Rourke (Cage, barking mad and carving himself beyond legendary status) but that she herself shares a complicated (to say the least) history with the twisted, squealing, birthday-happy nutcase and that her very own habit-wearing laconic mother (Witt) is somehow entangled in the unfathomable mess as well. What follows is a singular swirling mash-up mix of police procedural and surreal, occult fever dream with traces of pure unmitigated madness that actually leaves me slightly concerned for writer/director Perkins’ mental health. In other words, me thinks he’s crazy in the coconut but hey, that’s what true art is all about and I can't help being a bit in awe.

Not everyone is going to dig this movie (the talkative woman sitting next to me certainly didn’t, she threatened to scream if things got too scary but ended up making a big show of yawning and sighing instead) but it’s hard to dismiss a movie that hits the bell of insanity so resoundingly and frequently. It’s like drowning in molten angst at times and some of the visuals are sure to remain with me for a long, long while. Some of the images (the house, the station wagon, the assorted homey/hoarder details) felt strangely yanked straight out of my own memories which fueled my apprehension even further. And again, the performances are worth the uncomfortable viewing alone, Cage’s fearless audacity is well known and documented so for me, the true stand out revelation is the outstanding Alicia Witt (URBAN LEGEND), who absolutely mesmerizes as a stoic and fiercely determined (understatement of the year) mother. Do I fully understand much of what I’ve seen and experienced while watching this dread spewing contentment annihilator? Not really, and I’m not sure it matters as the lack of logic, normalcy and sense certainly adds to the epic unease. LONGLEGS speaks the language of nightmares and it speaks it loudly in psychotic spades. It means to disturb and it instills real-deal, irrefutable fear. That’s worth a lot in my book even if I continue to (nervously) scratch my head.

The year is 1985, John Parr’s “St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)” is roaring up the charts, VHS is alive and kicking, Tipper Gore is making a hero out off Dee Snyder, Angeline is gracing billboards and the world (particularly Hollywood) is a low tech un-Disney-fied, glowing, glorious, albeit perilous place. Star-eyed Maxine Minx is trying to put her dark past (which includes both porn and murder) behind her by auditioning for the sequel to a successful fictional horror film ironically titled THE PURITAN. Unfortunately, a shadowy figure with a brimmed hat and strangle-ready gloves is trailing her every move and offing seemingly anyone who she has contact with. Maxine is still very much mirroring her previous enthralled assailant (Pearl) with her furious longing to differentiate herself from the crowd by transforming into a lauded celebrity. But of course, in the world of horror the past itself is an inescapable monster and her attempts to shine are consistently foiled not only by directors, cops and would be muggers but also memories, apparitions and disturbing nightmares. Her default position is succinctly clear thanks to a mantra she learned from her preacher father (seen briefly but prophetically on TV in the first film) “I refuse to accept a life that I do not deserve”.

Following the excellent X (2022) and its phenomenal prequel PEARL (2022), MAXXXINE, the final installment in Ti West and Mia Goth’s collaborative character study/horror trilogy has finally been unleashed upon the world. Where X took inspiration from Tobe Hooper and seventies era grind house films (the events of which are even referred to as THE TEXAS PORN STAR MASSACRE in a newspaper headline in MAXXXINE) and PEARL’s woebegone angst was draped in bright swatches of WIZARD OF OZ technicolor, the eighties set MAXXXINE (which is a direct sequel to X) heartily embraces Bava-esque giallo stalkings in a deliciously seedy (think VICE SQUAD, HOLLYWOOD VICE SQUAD, ANGEL, STRIPPED TO KILL et.al) neon strewn boulevard of broken dreams (with shades of De Palma's BODY DOUBLE (complete with randomly inserted Frankie Goes To Hollywood video) and Lynch’s MULHOLLAND DRIVE). I’ve heard rumblings that some folks feel this grand cinematic troika deserved a more sophisticated closing but I have exactly zero complaints as I’m completely helpless and awestruck with this brilliant quilt assembled from my every aesthetic fetish. I suppose there are some who can resist synth-y eighties music, video stores, phony horror movies (here’s hoping West someday makes THE PURITAN and its sequel), Satanic panic, Night Stalker hysteria, grimy peepshows, heart of gold hookers, the PSYCHO house (fresh from filming part II), Bette Davis quotes and more than one (!) reference to ST. ELMO’S FIRE but that person is not me. That person is not me by a very long shot.

Theoretically, sleaze-glitz nostalgia pandering will only get ya so far (far enough for me) but don’t fret, MAXXXINE may systematically push all the right retro chic buttons but it also boasts another mesmerizing performance from masterful Mia, a surprisingly frisky character turn from legendary Kevin Bacon, impressive supportive work by the likes of Giancarlo Esposito, Bobby Cannavale (perfectly cast to channel both Alex Rocco and Cliff Gorman) and even musicians Moses Sumner and ( a barely recognizable) Halsey. Plus, I'd say it has got plenty on its decapitated noggin’ concerning delusional exceptionalism, Hollywood corruption, the exploitation of disposable dreamers and the scorching hot hypocrisy of religion. The final act and ultimate reveal may be too easy or obvious for some but I’m rather relieved that we didn’t get a shoehorned swerve to thwart audience expectations and I believe for the triptych pieces to click together smoothy it was the natural and most honest way to go (in any case, it's exactly what I would have done). I’m only sad it’s (likely) over. Honesty, I feel privileged to have witnessed such an unprecedented artistic feat. Like the previous two films, MAXXXINE slyly uses its setting to remind us that our current culture’s mad quest for identity by way of notoriety is nothing new and yet all three sibling films remarkably retain their own unique style and view things through contrasting yet symbiotic lenses. Above all else though, this is a movie that LOVES movies in general and wholeheartedly respects the value and necessity of genre/cult films in particular. Once again, for the third time, West and Goth have created something truly special and worthy of applause.