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.

I realize reading about the latest “game gone wrong” horror movie may be about as appealing as watching it or writing about it, so my apologies in advance. I just feel compelled to leave a written bread crumb trail for my future self because on a few occasions I have excitedly googled a movie only to find out I had written about it previously and had completely forgot about it. So here I am, leaving this flag in the sand to let myself know that TAROT though not without some merit, is mostly a vaporous generic slog. Although its plot isn’t that different from last year’s excellent (and surprisingly fresh) TALK TO ME, (not to mention jaunts like STAY ALIVE (’06), OUJIA, TRUTH OR DARE and a slew of others, including perhaps guiltiest of all, JUMANJI) this particular cursed young folk flick lacks the spark to be truly memorable.

TAROT (which is theoretically based on a non-supernatural slasher-esque YA horror novel called HORRORSCOPE by Nicholas Adams) concerns a group of pals (complete with comic sidekick) who while searching for alcohol in a rented mansion (you all can afford renting a mansion but no hooch?), discover a deck of strange, apparently hand-made tarot cards. Resident horoscope aficionado Haley (Harriet Slater) reads the group’s futures and thereby hexes them with personality appropriate tragic fates. I have to admit, I found myself a bit excited by the rogues gallery of monsters depicted on the cards as they reminded me of my boos the NEON MANIACS (’86) but sadly as groovily gruesome as the creatures may appear (hats off to the make up/effects crew) they uniformly offer only screaming close-ups as their peak intimidation which gets old and annoying fast. As a proponent of quality PG-13 rated horror and a believer in its potential effectiveness, I gotta say lack of imagination seems more the cause of the film’s overall neutered nature than its rating. On the plus side, TAROT consistently looks atmospheric n’ gothy, sports a likable enough cast and might even be a fun, rote distraction at a teen slumber party; it’s just too bad that checking the boxes and going through the motions seems to be this attractive yet vapid film’s most inescapable curse.

I’m not as devoted to Bryan Bertino’s now-classic THE STRANGERS as some. I’ve heard from many friends that it absolutely terrified them to a mentally scaring degree but for some reason a part of my brain could never fully buy what it was selling. That said, I do admit that the “because you were home” remark is one of the greatest lines ever spoken in the history of horror film. Strangely enough though, I’m absolutely smitten over its audacious sequel THE STRANGERS: PREY AT NIGHT and find its over-stylized (and then some), broad stroked neon, flippant flamboyance mesmerizing and relish soaking in its haunting, isolated late night setting and absolutely shameless indulgence in awesome eighties’ tunes. Johannes Robert’s fashionably late (10 years) follow-up rings all my bells by forcibly steering the straightforward home invasion flick into pure unadulterated cult-y slash-a-thon territory. It’s a brilliant stroke in my book that I’ll never stop applauding and what a great springboard it could have been for a third, trilogy making film that conceivably might push the artsy outlandishness even further!

Except no, as my shoelace once said “I’m a frayed knot”. Instead, the board has been erased and we’re back to square one (or perhaps zero) with THE STRANGERS: CHAPTER ONE a movie that intends to kickoff a new trilogy by covering half the ground the original did. Well, you might be saying at least the sometimes fantastic (LONG KISS GOODNIGHT), sometimes reliable NIGHTMARE 4, DIE HARD 2, DEEP BLUE SEA) but let’s face it, non-miracle worker (snooze-fest THE EXORCIST: THE BEGINNING ) Renny Harlan is behind the wheel. It’s probably too soon to say if Harlan can pull this three part serial off but as possible as it may be (isn’t my Pollyanna optimism annoying?), I’m afraid the future does not look bright so hold off on wearing those shades. CHAPTER ONE feels like a shaky, stammering, stalling lurch with close to nothing on its mind. It’s almost like a Cliff notes version of the original but with many of the already abridged pages missing. Harlan does deliver a few frightening moments but they’re sort of unavoidable in the flick’s DNA anyway. There are a few absolutely killer shots of the bag-headed scarecrow faced ringleader stalking ominous woods like a force of nature but they seem designed for T-shirts and magnets at Hot Topic more than striking genuine fear. Will I see CHAPTER TWO? Yes, of course, provided I’m alive, my curiosity will probably get the better of me but damn, even the “Because you were home” line I was pre-sold on somehow gets mangled into the mundane here.

Hey, maybe these newfangled horror movies just aren’t created with oldsters like me in mind and I should just stay home! Turns out yes, that is not a bad idea because I also recently watched 1988’s THE BRAIN and felt like a dying plant being watered. Edward (BLOODY BIRTHDAY) Hunt directed this Canadian sci-fi/horror film that stars David (RE-ANIMATOR) Gale (who once again looses his head), Tom Bresnahan (TWICE DEAD, MIRROR MIRROR and most importantly, SKI SCHOOL) and Cynthia Preston (of the excellent PIN). This baby is Christmas themed, filled with ELM STREET-style surrealism and leans into the gooey practical effects. In this fine film, a literal giant head from another planet teams up with your everyday mad scientist-type lunatic to brainwash a small-town and then eventually, the world. It’s exactly the paranoid fifties-flavored tale told through wacky eighties eyes of a malignant mutation with sights set on world domination that I guess I needed. You’re likely to observe shades of everything from THE BLOB and THE STUFF to INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS and HALLOWEEN 3: SEASON OF THE WITCH with plenty of mirroring toward TERRORVISION thrown in. Funnily enough though, I do believe I caught this movie back in my video store days and didn’t care for its goofy nature or the random flashy inserts of the titular creature who resembles a discontinued marauding Madball. In other words, giving a film a second chance sometimes pays off big time so maybe there’s stiff hope for the aforementioned recent titles TAROT and STRANGERS: CHAPTER ONE after all. You never know (Ignore that noise. I’m just trying to close on an upbeat note)!