Top 10 New to Me in 2024

Ah tradition – the little recurrences that free us from the burden of decision making. What will we eat for this important meal? What we always eat for that important meal! How do we mark the anniversary of someone’s birth? Cake and song, of course! What will I write about on my blog at the beginning of the year? My favorite things from last yearlike I always do. As do so many others.

Now, do I keep all traditions holy? Like writing about something for Christmas? Or even just writing on a regular schedule (twice a week, twice a month, once a month, etc.)? Sigh. No, not remotely. 2024 was not a good year for blogular regularity (this blog needs more insoluble fiber). I started off strong, but life intervened, and well, you do what you can. And today, after a long delay, is the long awaited day of said doing.

So, as the year turns, I like to look back at the one previous and take a moment to praise those works I saw for the first time and really loved, but just didn’t get around to writing about on this here blog. Some I really thought I would have written about by now, and maybe I still will someday – I reserve the right to return to these – they wouldn’t be on this list if not for some element contained within that stands out as really special. I’m making no claims that these are the “best” films of the year. Most are older movies and they might not even be “good” (whatever that means), but each had something that really sparked with me and has lingered in my mind as the months came and went.

So, in no particular order (scratch that – this is the order in which I saw them), let’s dig in to my top ten new to me in 2024…

Death Game (1974)

As I understand it, this was a very contentious set with a tremendous amount of conflict between first time director, Peter S. Traynor, and both the actors and other creative staff. But you wouldn’t know it to look at it. I went into this one completely blind, just because the poster on Shudder was intriguing, and it is a gorgeous, rich, confounding, and addictively watchable piece of work (probably thanks largely to the efforts of its outstanding cast and abovementioned creative staff, most notably cinematographer, David Worth – it is beautiful to look at).

George is a middle class, middle age “normal guy” whose wife is called away on an emergency and is thus home alone one rainy night when two young, attractive girls show up on his doorstep, asking to use the phone. He invites them in, and though he initially hesitates (but doesn’t put up much of a fight), ends up having a sexual tryst with both of them in his fancy hot tub. And then they refuse to go away and subsequently lay waste to his entire life. If it sounds familiar, it’s because Eli Roth’s Knock Knock (2015) is a recent remake (I’ve heard good things about it, particularly the performances of Lorenza Izzo and Ana de Armas, but haven’t checked it out yet). It is a classic tale of a character making one mistake and never being able to climb back from it. It is tense and wild, weird and erotically charged, socio-politically deeply ambivalent and searingly angry. It is full of extremes bouncing off of each other – on one level an effective, engaging feminist diatribe against male privilege and on another, a cautionary tale about how women are crazy and dangerous. It is scary and joyful, and most interestingly, it is the same things that both frighten and delight.

If that sounds confusing, I think it’s probably because the film doesn’t really know what it’s trying to “say,” if it’s actually trying to say anything at all, but that makes it all the more effective – its ideas and feelings can all live freely, in dialogue with each other, and they are more vibrant for their life-like messiness. It’s a film of ideas, but one without a “message” (which I feel is often more effective – if what you really want is to communicate a message, then the best medium is a banner).  And as a horror movie, it is genuinely discomforting and exciting, eliciting a wide range of reactions from me throughout. The two girls, who give the names Jackson and Donna (Sondra Locke and Colleen Camp, respectively) are downright terrifying agents of grotesque chaos and violent destruction whose truth is utterly impenetrable to both George and the viewer – we are not given tools to understand what their true intentions or actual backstories might be, and it makes them fearful – dangerous and menacing. But they are also awesome, and it is hard not to cheer on their bizarre, playful chaos and devastation, and not just as punishment for George transgressing in terms of his infidelity, but in the sense that his whole life represents a mendacious, iniquitous, privileged power structure – in terms of gender, but also class, education, capital, and politics, that assumes a respect and authority, but is built on lies and deserves to be shattered. Jackson and Donna feel like avatars of some primal trickster energy – impossible to contain or control – here to violate the bullshit of a respectability which only serves to maintain hierarchies of gender and class.

They are the villains, but also the heroes. We support them and we want them and we fear them and we vicariously get off on their often ridiculous, cruel, baffling actions. The film is simultaneously alluring and confusing and weird and wonderful. I really, really dug it! Now, as everyone who worked on it seemingly hated the director and felt he had no idea what he was doing, it seems that the movie’s strength could have been somewhat accidental, but watching it 50 years later, who cares? Good is good, intentional or not.

Red Rooms (2023)

This was a really uncomfortable but captivating watch – an often quiet, tense emotional piece, and one with a real mystery of character at its cold heart. It is chilling and unsettling in all the best ways – Juliette Gariépy is Kelly-Anne, a Montreal model fixated on the high profile trial of a man accused of kidnapping, torturing, and murdering three young girls in a “Red Room,” broadcasting his crimes on the dark web to the highest bidders. She does freelance modelling work, but earns most of her money playing high stakes on-line poker, which funds her expensive, well-curated, and almost entirely solitary lifestyle. Unhampered by other human connections, Kelly-Anne is free to rise before dawn every day so that she can get to the court early, thus earning a public seat for the much publicized trial.

For almost the whole movie, she is a magnetic cypher – a fascinatingly opaque central presence. What is her interest in this case, in this man? Is she a groupie for this soft spoken accused killer the way that many women were for Ted Bundy? Is she a former victim, plotting her revenge? Is she a true crime fanatic, addicted to the most salacious details of this horrific case? Are any of these mutually exclusive? The fact that, though she is probably in every scene of the film, we are locked out from her inner life and will never know what truly lives behind her eyes, pulled me in, the experience of the film becoming an intriguing, sometimes disturbing meditation on our interest in darkness, our fascination with the worst things imaginable.

By all genre classifications, this would be normally be considered a drama or a thriller, but this exploration of that draw to see the worst, to not look away, to possibly even love it, and to have to reckon with how you feel about that, this is absolutely the stuff of horror.

The only clues we really get as to her actual intentions are in the form of contrast with another daily viewer of the trial – Clémentine, a young woman convinced that “he couldn’t have done it,” who has hitchhiked to Montreal and is living in a homeless shelter so that she can come to trial every day and support the man she’s fallen for. Whereas Kelly-Anne is cold, distant, unknowable, Clémentine wears her big heart on her sleeve, coming across as quite sweet but also naively deluded. But there is a kind of kinship there and Kelly-Anne, in her way, befriends her for a time, but as things develop, we come to see how different they truly are, and the friendship cannot survive this.

This is one of the tensest, chilliest, most intense viewings I’ve had in quite a while – if I saw enough new movies to make such a list, it would definitely be in “best of the year” territory. And while the film lives and dies by Gariépy’s performance, it also must be said that as a piece of filmmaking, it is tight as a drum and impeccably filmed (notably, one very long take in the first courtroom scene really wows – by the end of that, I was hooked and really excited about the film I had chosen to watch). This is the third feature of writer-director, Pascal Plante – I’m not at all familiar with his other work, but on the strength of this, I’m certainly keen to check it out.

At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul (1964)

This is an interesting curio more than I can exactly say that I loved it, but I must admit, it was very, very interesting. Apparently the first Brazilian horror film, director José Mojica Marins’s first entry in the Coffin Joe series (in which he also stars as the titular character – later, he served as a late night horror host in the persona) is a bombastic, atmospheric, idiosyncratic, and taboo breaking exploration of the nexus of egoistic, self-serving evil, heroic individualism, Nietzschean will to power, Byronic romanticism, and exploitation cinema, all within a totally culturally specific, ultra-Catholic Brazilian context. There’s a lot there to dig into.

We follow Joe (or, more precisely, Zé), a black clad little man in a cape and a top hat with long, sharp fingernails who has the town in which he lives fearfully under his thumb. He scoffs at religion, morality, and emotion, caring only about his own status, power, and the continuation of his bloodline through a male heir. He beats (and eventually kills) his wife, he drowns his friend and rapes his wife, he bullies the townspeople, forcing them to do shocking things (like eat meat on Good Friday – I mentioned it was really Catholic), he pokes a guy’s eyes out, he murders and abuses and tortures and humiliates any and everyone who crosses his path. He’s the worst.

He’s also free in a way no one else is. He does what he pleases and takes what he wants. As already mentioned, he is diminutive in stature, but that doesn’t prevent him from terrorizing and dominating the whole town. Besides his claw like fingernails and the tendency of his eyes to go all bloodshot when he’s angry, he has no supernatural abilities, and yet he is stronger than everyone else simply by virtue of his lack of morality; his willingness to do wrong is his power. That power is exciting, and for all that he is a terrible, hateful, cruel, petty person, it’s hard not to vibe on his defiant commitment to his own interests, as in a later scene when he gets a wild monologue like something out of the climax of Marlow’s Faust, as the lightning crashes, the bells chime, and midnight draws nearer – he is initially cowed and fearful, but as his dark fate creeps towards him, he rallies, spitting in the face of god and all that is good, tearing a cross off the wall and throwing it to the ground – how do we not read that as heroic? Admirable? Awesome?

It is an interesting viewing experience start to finish. We have no ‘nicer’ character to lean on – we only have Zé, and he is monstrous – an awful person to spend time with, but he’s also never not the most interesting guy in the room, and there is a point at which his evil crosses the line into allure. As a film, the style is varied, creative, and while sometimes less than “Hollywood-professional,” it is always full of energy and ideas.  I really found it engrossing and intriguing, especially as it hails from a culture with which I’ve had particularly little contact. Really glad to have seen it.

Ghostwatch (1992)

I often have a problem as a horror fan and blogger. When someone finds out that I like horror, they frequently want a recommendation for a good horror movie, by which they often mean a “scary” movie. And that is just hard. Different things scare different people, and also as I have watched so many horror movies at this point, it is really rare that one can succeed in freaking me out in that “scary” way. Many are just comfort food repetition of familiar elements. Some might disturb me. Others might unsettle in delicious fashion, or give me a taste of that sweet dramatic tension inherent to horror. But they don’t often keep me up at night.

Well, I’m happy to say that Ghostwatch really got under my skin – it was the scariest first time watch I’ve had in years, and after it was done, I had to go around my apartment turning on all the lights – always a good sign. First aired on BBC1 on Halloween night in 1992, it shares DNA with works such as The WNUF Halloween Special, Orson Wells’s War of the Worlds radio broadcast, and the recent Late Night with the Devil. But for my money, it’s much scarier then all of them.

There are twists, turns, and revelations that I wouldn’t want to spoil, but the essential premise is that a TV crew (all played by known real-life TV journalists and presenters) is investigating a haunted house on Halloween night in a live broadcast.  Without going into detail, the deeper they dig, the more disturbing it all becomes, and by the end, it goes big, at the very least, nation-wide – much more so than I might have expected. It is all very well done, and until late in the game, evidence that anything supernatural is really happening is kept to a minimum, contributing to a really effective sense of reality and possibility, which must have been greatly aided by the inclusion of known TV presenters as the investigating crew. As I understand, though it was advertised and aired in a “drama” slot, many people who bumped into it while channel surfing did not realize it was a work of fiction and, ala War of the Worlds, believed this to be a work of documentary reportage. People went crazy.

For good reason – I thought it was properly terrifying – really realistic in its exploration of an uncanny experience, that is probably not supernatural, until it definitely is. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if you believed you were actually watching the news. Wow… Ok – no more details –if you get a chance, go watch it, and try to imagine you know all the characters as real TV news presenters – It’s something else!

Dressed to Kill (1980)

Where had Brian De Palma’s problematic masterpiece been all my life? Sitting on the shelf at the video store I guess, but I finally got around to checking it out back in the spring, and it blew me away. Any criticisms of it are fair. Its ‘homage’ to Psycho could easily be taken as a rip off. It taps into the unfortunate, deeply harmful trope of the ‘trans killer,’ and its representational issues don’t end there – see the discomforting and rather rapey black street gang in the otherwise top shelf subway chase scene (it would be nice if, other than the deeply unhelpful subway cop, they weren’t seemingly the only other black characters in all of NYC). It is sleazy and exploitative and it cheats by having the killer played by a different performer from the one who will later be revealed. But in spite of all that, Dressed to Kill towers above just about any other thriller I’ve ever seen, and it is impossible for me not to love it. Sexy, scary, cinematically playful, with a protagonist I enjoy hanging out with (a charming Nancy Allen as an independent, proactive, stock-exchanging, murder-investigating prostitute), Michael Caine giving an interesting, nuanced performance, and a movie cop leading the murder investigation who’s really, really fun to hate (Dennis Franz, later known from NYPD Blue – golly, what a schmuck – the character – I know nothing about Franz as a real person), this might be one of the most enjoyable movies of any genre I’ve seen.

It is a thriller that genuinely thrills (see the above mentioned gasp-inducing subway scene), with multiple sequences that found me holding my breath, so expertly did they play with ratcheting up and releasing tension. And not only scary ones. An early centerpiece of the film finds Angie Dickinson’s dissatisfied housewife in a wordless sequence of seduction, cat and mouse eroticism, and life affirming sexual satisfaction, all before things go way south for her in a wide variety of ways and the film is off to the races. For about 22 minutes, barely a word is uttered and it is cinematic perfection, as she follows an unknown man around an art museum before going home with him, where an unpleasant penny will drop. It is pure visual storytelling, totally captivating, erotic, funny, scary, stressful, sad, moving, and ultimately shocking. Just a perfect, perfect example of what a movie can be (on the strength of this, I also dove into other De Palma films of the era – there’s a lot there to love, but nothing surpassed this for me), an exhilarating exercise in matching the inner experience of its viewpoint character to cinematic technique.

This is one of those blurry genre flicks – people who like it, who don’t like horror, will call it a “thriller” and people who love horror claim it as our own (we are the genre of blade wielding maniacs, are we not?). But I think this underlines the ultimate pointlessness of genre classification, largely a marketing tool to help producers reach audiences. Does it really matter what it’s called? It has scares and jumps and unsettling qualities a plenty, all tied up in an unselfconsciously pulpy, lurid package. Past that, it offers a variety of cinematic pleasures, stylistic in a way that exceeds base realism, which I feel is often characteristic of the horror genre more than any other – it is one of the very things I come to horror movies for. So I think it’s ours. It is a mood – rich and sensual, even in parts that have little to do with sex. The camera stalks its characters in a lusty way that excites and puts on edge in equal measure. There is a playfulness with the darkest thematic material, resulting in this tale of madness and sex and death and despair being a real hoot. I think that’s a horror thing. But I would.

(Also, I won’t go into them now, but if you like this, do check out Blow Out (1981) (for my money, far more enjoyable than the Antonioni film it references) and Body Double (1984) – which together with Dressed to Kill see De Palma celebrating what can be done with the camera and sound and editing, all in the form of sleazy, fun, highly entertaining thrillers – all art, no pretention.) Other movies in his oeuvre are great too, such as Carrie (1976), Phantom of the Paradise (1974), or Sisters (1972), but Dressed to Kill, Blow Out, and Body Double all feel of a piece somehow.

Maxxxine (2024)

It was actually the trailer for Maxxxine that sent me to De Palma back in the spring. When it dropped, I just got so excited for its promise of seedy, 80s, neon-lit murder vibes, that I found myself on an eighties pop kick on Spotify and seeking out classic (and not-so-classic) films of the era that I’d previously missed.

I loooove X (2022), and I rather liked Pearl (2022), so I was eager to take in the third film in Ti West’s Mia Goth led trilogy (one of these days I will finally write about the rich tension in these three films between the beauty of individualism and the ugliness of egoistic greed which feels so specifically “American,” but today is not that day). I can’t say that this was the strongest of the three, and in all actuality, it is probably the weakest, but I still experienced such pleasure watching it, that it stands out as a top film of the year for me.

Now, my appreciation of Maxxxine is doubtlessly flavored by circumstances that had nothing to do with the film itself. It came out last summer when I had been having a tough time of it – there were stresses having to do with family health concerns, I was tremendously busy, and I was just feeling burned down. But finally, after a hard run of fielding heavy responsibilities (which I was happy to be able to do, but it’s a lot), I was able to give myself a day for myself. I went to the beach for a half an hour, I got a coffee milkshake (my favorite), and I drove 45 minutes to a town where I could finally see this movie that I’d really been looking forward to for months, and I just had the best time.

It is, admittedly, not the strongest movie. After a promising opening, the third act suffers, failing to pay off early character promise, and resolving its story in a fairly obvious fashion. Characters make choices that are sometimes hard to follow, and most damningly, Maxine, in my judgment, hasn’t changed in a particularly interesting way by the end of the film (Goth’s journey doesn’t feel as significant as it had in the two previous films). But I generally don’t care – I really dug it anyway.

Having survived the bloodbath of X, Maxine has established herself in LA as a tough, hard working, driven young woman, thriving in the adult film industry and doggedly pursuing crossover success in a horror movie. She is a creature of ambitions that will not be denied. Her straightforward, no-nonsense demeanor makes her a really enjoyable guide through West’s vision of mid-80s Hollywood, which is just as appealingly sordid and enticingly dangerous as the trailer had promised. We’ve got a killer stalking attractive women on the strip. We’ve got Satanic Panic up the wazzoo. We’ve got porno chic and bloody, excessive practical effects and a killer soundtrack. And it is a film of scenes, groovy and dark and sexy and violent and cool. Notably, I loved the run-in with the Buster-Keaton attired wannabee rapist in the dark alley – he never stood a chance, and the film’s evident glee in Maxine’s dealing with him (and boy is he dealt with) is gorily infectious.

And that glee is key to what makes this such a fun watch – it might not be the height of filmmaking, but it is a film that loves filmmaking, that loves style and genre and technical artistry. West et al. are clearly having great fun crafting scenes and set pieces, such that even if the film as a whole is no more than the sum of its parts, it has loads of great parts that, moment to moment, one can really savor. There is homage all over the place, but that’s superficial – I think the real heart of the movie is in its own excitement at building each moment, each look, each vibe. I rather loved it.

Plus, it was a really good milkshake.

P.S. Just to say, I did rewatch Maxxxine under other circumstances about a month ago and while the experience wasn’t as rapturous, I still really enjoyed it, so that seems like a good sign.

Love Lies Bleeding (2024)

Another new film, and another “thriller” that I’m including cause it taps into something of mood and atmosphere and style, elevating it above base realism to earn a place on my “horror” blog list (something to which I know all significant filmmakers aspire). Essentially an erotic-crime thriller, it has standout moments of compelling, visceral violence, and by the end, it takes a surprising turn into a kind of magical realism which I had not seen coming. It was easily one of the most gripping movies I saw last year, and I really hope to watch it again soon.

Lou (Kristen Stewart) is a standoffish gym manager, estranged from her crime boss father (a truly scary Ed Harris), just trying to keep to herself, when she meets Jackie (Katy O’Brian), a homeless runaway passing through town, chasing dreams of success on the female bodybuilding circuit. Lou is immediately smitten and as they strike up a volatile romance, she also starts supplying Jackie with steroids, which Jackie abuses, bulking her up, but also messing with her emotional stability. Eventually, a whole series of things go particularly wrong, they run afoul of Lou’s crime-boss dad, and everything hurtles towards a taught, intense conclusion. Really, this is crime thriller territory more than horror.

But it’s also really, really good. The crime/family drama story is emotionally gripping and I believe the dynamic between Harris and Stewart. The action/thriller stuff is exciting and sometimes brutal in its execution (a horror gorehound would be satisfied with at least one scene that ends poorly for Dave Franco’s head). And most significantly, the erotic element really lands. There is only one sex scene per se, but the feeling of physical attraction between Lou and Jackie is palpable and encompassing and dangerous. There is a need of the body and of the psyche that makes demands and doesn’t care about the fallout. And notably, I really buy it – something that isn’t always exactly a given in romances. Bad decisions, murder, betrayal – life can be completely turned upside down and Eros cares not. Maybe there was something in that that made me feel a kinship with horror. I’ve written before about the similarities of horror and tragedy, and there is something of that tragic pinch here. Lou and Jackie are good for each other, but also bad for each other and they give each other life and are also catalysts for self-destructive behaviors.

Minor spoiler alert – though dramatic tragedy is present, it doesn’t end in the tragic, as the film stretches further and further from reality into something less obvious and more interesting, but that psycho-sexual-emotional-violent tightness is still there, and that feels like my genre of choice – to paraphrase a line which has nothing to do with this, it might not actually be horror at all, but perhaps it rhymes (with apologies to Mark Twain).  It’s pretty special.

Lifeforce (1985)

Wow! This one is a hoot and a holler. Right around the time I was writing up The Texas Chainsaw Massacre for its 50th anniversary, I went on a bit of a run of Tobe Hooper movies, including both this and also the next on the list (among others that didn’t make the cut – I’m looking at you, Invaders from Mars – oof!). I’d always heard this was a weird flick (naked, body-swapping energy vampires from outer space!), but I had no idea just how much fun it was going to be.

Written by Dan O’Bannon (writer of Alien (1979) and Return of the Living Dead (1985), among many, many others), this was a critically panned box office flop on release. And I can understand why. It is a pretty strange flick with an outlandish story that somehow makes 25 million bucks look cheap. But I think it has rightfully found its audience over the years. The key for me is that it is just pure, unadulterated, non-ironic sci-fi/horror pulp, and it is glorious, crazy, top-shelf pulp at that. Every idea, plus a couple of kitchen sinks, is thrown at the screen, and it tries to do so much that its pretty decent budget is simply stretched too thin. We’ve got sequences in space, as a crew investigates the organic, cavernous ship they find hidden within the coma of Halley’s comet, filled with giant, dead bat creatures and a few naked folks encased in space crystals. We’ve got fun revisionist folk lore, positing that all of humanity’s stories of vampires are rooted in these peculiar alien beings that like hopping from body to body, leaving desiccated husks in their wake, but are apparently allergic to pants. We’ve got every pulpy attraction on offer – sex, violence, lasers, monsters, gratuitous nudity, goopy blood rising out of a barely believable (if you squint) Patrick Stewart mask and forming a floating, bloody, expository naked girl, exploding zombies, mid 80s visual effects zapping all over the screen, a spot of sci-fi gothic, and oodles of pop-psychology mythic resonance. And while the movie is clearly having a blast with every incongruous element that it packs in, I also think it actually takes itself seriously and is really trying to spin a great adventure yarn, full of wild stuff.

While the story could be criticized (and it was) as pretty peculiar (true), it also really cooks. This is not a boring movie – we race from one surprising scenario to the next, and I was there for it. Sure, it’s odd, but it’s not formulaic – not something I’ve seen a thousand times before. It is a movie in which, somehow, everything happens, and generally, it worked for me. I think we don’t get too many things this big and weird and not even remotely boring, and it’s worth celebrating them when we do.

Salem’s Lot (1979)

So I know some folks grew up with this one and that it’s much beloved, but when I first gave it a try a few years back, it just didn’t do it for me. Something about the pacing or its late 70s aesthetic (there’s a lot of brown and tan) just put me off and I didn’t finish. But a couple months back, I was working my way through the Hooper filmography and this showed up on Shudder, and now I am sold. It’s great.

A 2-part CBS miniseries, Hooper’s adaptation of Stephen King’s novel about vampirism spreading plague-like through a small New England town takes on some of the vibes of an old EC horror comic (Tales from the Crypt, Vault of Horror, etc.), something also true of Hooper’s earlier, weirder Eaten Alive (1976), with creeping blue lit fog and monsters lurching through the muck and dramatic lighting and framing and color. If that style doesn’t do anything for you, neither will this, but I love it. And I’ve gotta say, for something shown on primetime TV, this gets really spooky and scary – it’s perfect Halloween season viewing – mixing comfort food atmospherics, enjoyably era-specific (now charmingly kitschy) fashion and personas, and legitimate old-fashioned, skin-crawling  creep-outs.

As with so much of Stephen King’s work, this is a work of character over plot. A who’s who of late seventies talent populates the town with nuance, emotion, and specificity. I was only one year old when this came out, so I can’t claim to know them all, but I was constantly going, “hey, that guy!” This is of course a tale of vampirism, but it is also one of base human venality – bullies, drunks, philanderers, abusive spouses, cheats, and cowards – all humanely rendered (and well-drawn) as real people with their own foibles, haunted by their sizable failings.

But on top of that, there is a rousing story of one of the creepiest cinematic vampires (clearly indebted to Nosferatu), Kurt Barlow, coming to a small town and utterly laying waste to it, of course resulting in all underlying tensions exploding to the surface. It is a kind of story that King has told many times, and while there are significant departures from the source material, I feel it does very well by the spirit of his work. And it gets scary. No one is safe (the first victim is an innocent child, and he’s not the last). It has some top notch horror set pieces, such as poor, dead Ralphie Glick scratching at his older brother’s second story window, asking to be let in, and if you can settle in for its unhurried 2-part TV movie pacing, I think it builds tension really well and delivers some successful terrors.

But I would be remiss if I didn’t go into one performance. I’d long known the name James Mason, but I hadn’t really been familiar with his work. Ye gods, he is so freaking good in this movie! He plays Richard Straker, the vampire Kurt Barlow’s “partner” (technically business partner – they travel from town to town, opening antique shops, Straker always arriving first and laying the ground for Barlow to arrive and feed – but as is often the case in these kinds of stories, the gay coding is strong in this one – two elderly men who live together, running their New England antique shop – and Mason is just so villainously silky smooth – which also feels like classic coding). Mason’s Straker is just the best kind of delicious bad guy in the tradition of a mustache twirling Vincent Price (who may have never actually twirled a mustache, but you get what I mean). There is a wonderful scene in which the local sheriff is questioning him about recent unexplained deaths and, all in subtext, Straker, with a sinister, mischievous twinkle in his eye, communicates, “yes, you know I’m bad, but you have no idea how I’m bad, or how bad I am, and also, you have nothing on me and I’m going to walk out of here and continue to be worse than you could possibly imagine – and on top of it all, you will do my dry cleaning!” He is an absolute wicked delight. Just gleefully evil and dominating, but so polite and civil. Perfection.

So, yeah, I’m a convert – this was spooky-ooky, old fashioned horror gold – I might have to watch it again next October. For a certain kind of old-school, big-vibes horror, I’d put this up there with something like John Carpenter’s The Fog (1980), high praise indeed.

The Majorettes (1986)

As I near the end of this annual round up, I notice how heavily horror-adjacent “thrillers” have featured on the list this time, and my last entry is no exception. To some extent, that is a result of the Maxxxine trailer leading me on an 80s sleazy thriller kick, which deposited me down a De Palma rabbit hole where Tubi noticed what I’d been watching and offered more of the same. And to some extent, I think it’s just a coincidence. I watched plenty of other stuff that I loved last year, but some of it already got its own post, or at least a passing mention (e.g., The Substance, Immaculate, Infinity Pool, or the Spanish language Dracula). The borders of genre are permeable and inconsistent. There is such little significant formal difference between a “slasher” about a masked-stalker picking off teens, a “giallo” about a black-gloved madman dispatching stylish, beautiful Europeans, or a grimy NYC or LA set “thriller” about police hunting a psycho who’s murdering, for example, workers at a phone sex line (it didn’t make the cut, but I rather enjoyed Out of the Dark (1988) in which a clown-masked maniac does exactly this). Sure, there are identifying markers – masks, gloves, police, but any of those could easily (and often do) surface in any of the other genres. Strip Nude for Your Killer (1975), clearly a giallo, features a murderer in a motorcycle helmet which feels like a slasher mask; Killer Workout (1987), an enjoyably absurd slasher, rather turns on the police investigation (which feels like a thriller thing); and the above-praised Dressed to Kill, a thriller, has a killer with black giallo gloves. In all cases, there is a confluence of generally human killers, psycho-sexual death drive, a sense of iterative tropes/procedure, multiple stalk/chase/kill set pieces, and a lurid, sensationalistic mood.

Which, finally, brings be to The Majorettes. This was a random watch on Tubi while stranded on a recent layover – I knew nothing about it going in, and this genre busting film really delivered. This could easily be taken as a low quality effort, a cheap hack job of a flick that can’t figure out what genre it’s in and has little new to offer, but boy oh boy, did I enjoy it (I’d thought I might devote a post all to it, but then decided that I was already late with this year-in-review post – I mean, it’s almost the end of January already, geez – and that I should therefore just include it here). Is it cheesy? Yep. Are there jaw dropping moments of what-the-hell-am-I-watching? Oh yeah! Do many of the performances strain credulity? You better believe it! But this was also one of the most consistently enjoyable movies I watched all year, fun both as a gloriously campy curiosity and surprisingly effective as a twisting, turning mystery that made choices I had not seen coming. Given how some aspects feel, let’s say, “less than professional,” I’m shocked at what a tight little flick it is, with an ending that packs a chilling, icky punch.

If, by the end of its opening credit sequence of twangy-zappy- synth groove overlaying old-school video toaster graphics of a florescent, animated twirling baton, ending in a bewigged, skeletal majorette behind the title card, you’re not already in love, turn back now – this movie is not for you. If, past that, the way too long sequence of high school majorettes lamely dancing in the gym for a photo session while a creepy janitor ogles them, setting him up as a possible suspect in the killings to come, doesn’t tickle your fancy as an lovably inessential ingredient of a kind of 80s slasher, you should really know better than to go on. But if this is, instead, comfort food for you like Thanksgiving leftovers, you are in for a treat.

The movie continues for a little less than an hour as a relatively normal slasher flick – mostly teen girls (some boys, but they’re not really the targets) being murdered by a masked man – necking in a car in the woods with a boy, in the school shower, in the pool, with a very ‘regional’ charm. This does not feel like a product of Hollywood, but something smaller, more personal, with some shaky performances to be sure, but like a piece where the filmmaker has some perspective on themes of religion, sex, youth, and violence, and is making his movie his way. The fact that nothing in that perspective is new doesn’t detract from the amiability of its expression in some editing and camera choices, not to mention a startlingly unpredictable script. It was directed by William Hinzman, who appeared in many George Romero films (he was the first zombie in the graveyard in Night of the Living Dead), and he brings something unique to what could have been a very routine outing (I guess he only directed one other film, Flesheater (1988), which now I have to check out).

Notably, less than an hour in, the movie sloughs off the skin of its genre trappings and reveals itself as something completely different. As we’ve been watching kids get killed, many possible red herrings have been set up as likely murderers, but then, out of the blue, one villainous character (who is not the killer) unmasks the slasher-killer shockingly early in the runtime and ropes him into her schemes to rip off and murder an old lady for her fortune. This twist felt kind of giallo to me – backstabbing backstabbers backstabbing each other with the narrative thrown into a kind of engaging instability.

But then, just when you think you know what kind of movie it has suddenly become, it flips again, and that whole giallo subplot is disrupted by the absurdly, laughably eeeeevil motorcycle gang (oh my, seriously) killing the wrong person – totally randomly. Once again, we have no idea what movie we’re watching – what is it even about now? And with the little time left, how will we ever resolve the plot about the masked killer, the kids targeted by him, and the police on his trail? Well, we sort of will, but first we need to go on a wild detour into revenge-action territory as a previously unremarkable kid Rambos it up, shirtlessly taking his assault rifle (yup) into the local woods to hunt down the abovementioned, hilariously bad-guy-ish gang of local drug dealing toughs. At least four different vehicles blow up, cause it was 1986, and (kind of a big spoiler coming here – so if you might want to check this out, skip the rest of this review – at the time of writing, it’s free to stream on both Tubi and Youtube) with the previous murders incorrectly attributed to the newly dead leader of the gang, the slasher-killer gets away with it all, the movie ending in honestly disturbing fashion with him watching a new, much younger group of girls having what seems like their first majorette training, not yet mature enough for their adolescent sexuality to trigger his repressive religious murder drive, but knowing that one day it will, and patient enough to wait for it. Damn.

This movie, sometimes so silly and weird and totally free with genre “rules,” slams shut so very, very hard. All the sub-plots are tied up in a neat little bow and just as it began with horror in its approximation of a pretty typical slasher, before going off on a wild journey through cop procedural thriller, giallo murder mystery, teen-gang drug drama, and finally, explosive action-revenge flick, in the final moments, it leaves a revolting, horrific taste in the mouth. The killer is free, unpunished, unsuspected, and will do it all again, to these innocent children in right front of him (and us) now. And no one will stop him – this will go on forever – this is the world. Ugh. Seriously, it hits hard – that is horror.

So yeah – I loved it – I watched it twice in a week, and while the twists and turns could no longer surprise on second viewing, its weird mix of exuberant camp, surprising narrative strength, personal thematic expression, and independent, regional boldness still shone brightly. If you can vibe with its early genre tropes (and they don’t turn you off), I really recommend it. Thanks Tubi!

And that is that. Happy New Year everybody! The last week of January, and I’m finally wrapping up 2024. I hope this new year treats you well, and I hope to be back sooner rather than later with more… 

Friends to the End: Running the Chucky Franchise

I mentioned last year when doing my annual “Top 10 New To Me” post that I had absolutely fallen in love with the Chucky TV series – I hadn’t had access to it yet and when it showed up on Shudder, I was so happy to find myself getting more into a new show than I had for just about anything since I’d first discovered Buffy the Vampire Slayer way back when. It’s playfulness, its audacity, its twisted little heart, the way I care about the characters – both the ‘good ones’ and the ‘bad ones’, and the ways that it commits to actual puppetry and practical effects and can actually elicit a squirm from me in its glorious moments of extremity, I really love it. I love its vast storylines with characters that reach back to the very first films, and I love how willing it is to make big changes – just about anyone (any lovable character, any innocent child, any polar bear) can die at just about any time, and yet, I don’t lose interest (always a danger if you feel like it isn’t worth investing emotionally in characters who might not make it). And so, especially since I just got to watch the third (and due to cancellation, sadly, final) season, I’ve really had a hankering to revisit the films that preceded it, and now that 6 out of 7 have landed on Shudder, I think this is the time.

It’s been a while since watching most and I remember enjoying them all, but to varying degrees and in different ways – an interesting feature of the series being its wild stylistic shifts while maintaining unbroken continuity of narrative and character. Each has left a certain impression in my mind and I’m curious to return to them as a whole and look at it all as one piece. For now, I’m just going to do the films – for all that I love the show, watching three seasons of TV is just too much for one post (as if watching 7 films weren’t already pushing it). I’d originally thought I might also check out the recently released Doc of Chucky (2024), but again 7 films is already a lot… So I look forward to watching it when this is all over, but I don’t have a plan to write it up.

I’m renting the first one today and then I expect I may only have until the end of the month before the rest leave Shudder, so here’s hoping I can burn through this all with great alacrity. Wish me luck. And obviously, I think it should go without saying when digging into so many films, but spoilers will abound…

Child’s Play (1988)

So, this movie made a big impression on me well before I ever watched it. I was ten when it was released, and really not into horror yet, and I remember that the trailer wormed its way into my brain and really freaked me out. I had this talking ALF doll at the time that unfairly took on the brunt of my fears – I ended up tying it up and taping it up and putting it in a box, which I taped up again, and hid it in the closet, the terrible idea having been planted in my impressionable young mind that a beloved toy could come to life and try to kill you. Freaked. Me. Out. Finally, years later, I did watch the movie and I remember being impressed with how well it all worked. Let’s see how it holds up now.

This is the very doll – doesn’t look scary at all. I guess that’s the point.

Ok, it holds up great! Wow – what a tight, fun, scary, even emotionally grounded little movie. I love when a horror flick taps into a simple, unsettling idea – the monster who can kill you in your dreams and from whom you can never be safe, the urban legend waiting to appear behind you in the bathroom mirror, the unseen and unknowable killer who is never explained and never caught who is calling you from inside your own house, and in this case, as frightened me so as a child, the idea that a marker of childhood, such as a toy, could simply be evil – and target you, a child. To be fair, all dolls can be at least a bit uncanny – with a human form, but not human, dead, glassy eyes, always wide open, clearly inanimate, but what was that movement out of the corner of my eye? Probably nothing – just my mind playing tricks on myself… It is creepy, it feels wrong, all presumed safety and innocence merely a mask for cruel intent. It’s just an object, easy to overlook, easy to discount, but it’s watching and waiting and when you least expect, it can try to kill you and everyone you love.

In short, a mother gets her little boy the wrong doll for his birthday – it’s possessed by a voodoo practicing serial killer – and it murders everyone around him, ultimately trying to insert its soul into his young body before being permanently trapped in that of the doll. When weird and deadly things start happening, Andy, the boy, keeps telling everyone “It was Chucky,” but for some reason, no one believes him (go figure), making him appear at best disassociated, and at worst, possibly psychopathic – could he be the one who hit his babysitter in the head with a tiny hammer and made her fall out a window to her death? Could he have killed the boy’s psychiatrist and a former associate of a notorious serial killer? I mean, that would be pretty weird, but he was there…

Writer Don Mancini, director Tom Holland, and the whole crew take this simple, scary idea and just execute it so well on every level. I love how we don’t really see Chucky move or speak (as himself, not with the pre-programmed phrases of the doll) until halfway through the movie. Until then, there is so much effective tension in POV shots of the unseen murderer, mixed with still shots of the doll, perhaps in a new location and simple reaction shots of those being stalked – fearful, but also laughing at themselves as there is seemingly no real danger, until there is. It’s a bit like holding off on showing the shark in Jaws.

The fact that we don’t show him move until so late also opens up that little seed of doubt that none of this is happening, and that Andy, the little boy, is in fact crazy and maybe even murderous – a notion at least somewhat entertained by more than a few characters in the movie, and a particularly horrific thought for his mother, Karen. I don’t think it ever fully takes hold for her, but you can see her resisting the terrible idea. And for the audience, I don’t know – I mean everyone who bought a ticket back in 1988 knew they were going to the ‘killer doll’ movie, so no one could seriously doubt what was happening, but the fact that there is a kind of plausible deniability for so long did something for my viewing experience as well, if nothing else, on the level of the mother’s horror in having to even entertain the possibility that her son could be crazy and even possibly dangerous.

I really believe in her love for him – how hard she’s trying – a single mother doing her best, struggling to get by and give Andy every little thing she can to make his young life a happy one after the death of his father, even going so far as buying the yearned for ‘toy of the season’ for him from a peddler in an alleyway with a 70% discount on account of being possessed by the soul of a serial killer (like you do). Also, I believe in Andy’s sweetness and vulnerability – I think the director, Tom Holland, really hit the jackpot when he cast young, Alex Vincent as Andy, only 6 years old at the time. There’s a moment early on when he lays waste to the kitchen making his mom breakfast in bed and proceeds to wake her up at 6:30 in the morning – something anyone could be expected to be at least irritated by, but when she tries to roll over and go back to sleep and he counters, “but it’s such a beautiful day!” yanking open the curtains and letting the sun shine in, you can see her heart warm, and it is lovely. You go to a movie like this for the killer doll, but I think it wouldn’t work half as well without this sense of love, their relationship grounding this big, explosive, successfully scary movie.

And then, after 45 minutes, when he is finally fully shown to be animate on screen, crudely swearing a blue streak and trying to tear Karen’s face to shreds, it is startling and disturbing, and also funny – the incongruity of something so obscene and violent exploding so suddenly into the film (all voiced by undersung national treasure, Brad Dourif – I mean Exorcist III alone…). And from then on, there is such excellent puppetry on display, mixed with a variety of filming methods that make Chucky feel truly alive and threatening – shots where I expect a little person was used so that the walking can look totally natural, but where we only see his shadow, close ups on a hand with a knife, eliding the full image of the killer doll: an eye here, a reaction there, and occasionally top-notch puppetry that brings it all to life. The film makers don’t’ overplay their hand, saving the shots of Chucky fully moving for maximum effect. And he is effective – whether as a menacingly saccharine toy with eyes that seem to follow you, as a knife wielding murderer, or as a resurrected killer looking to implant his soul in the body of a 6 year old boy. It all works.

There’s not an ounce of fat on this 87 minute, horrific, playful, suspenseful flick, and it frequently goes big – showing its roots as a 1988 film by virtue of the fact that things so regularly blow up. But seriously, it is really highly produced, and in the end, when they just can’t kill this little monster and he gets burned and shot to pieces and just keeps coming, he is effectively grotesque and scary in his burnt, melted state, internal metal structures left sticking out of his formerly plump little fingers like claws.

Finally, in singing the film’s praises, why doesn’t Chris Sarandon have a higher profile? His dry sardonic charm is such a treat, and between this, Fright Night, The Sentinel, and the Resurrected, not to mention voicing Jack Skellington in the Nightmare Before Christmas (and, not horror, but come on, The Princess Bride), it seems like he should be a huge star. I mean, I see that he has been working consistently for the last 50 years, but I don’t necessarily hear about him that often. Also, how has his character never shown up on the Chucky TV show – which managed to bring back just about any significant character who ever showed up in one of the films? Now that it’s been cancelled, that’s forever off the table, but who knows, maybe a future film? But I digress.

Seriously, this was a great movie – I’m so happy to have rewatched it, and you can see how it could spawn a franchise – even one that would eventually come to take such wild stylistic turns. Ok, on to part 2!

Child’s Play 2 (1990)

This was an era of sequels and franchises and I’m so glad that Chucky’s creator, and writer of the whole series (who later became its director and the showrunner of the TV show), Don Mancini didn’t follow the lead of so many other 80s slashes in primarily following the villain as he finds a new set of characters to slaughter, but instead stays focused on Andy (at least for now – later the focus would shift more to Chucky, but that will accompany a major stylistic change). That said, Andy is the only recurring character as I guess Catherine Hicks (who played Karen in the first installment) wasn’t available (I read she was pregnant at the time of filming); her character is institutionalized for telling everyone the truth of what had happened to them and Andy is put into the foster care system, where eventually Chucky (not so dead after all) comes to find him, still intent on stealing Andy’s young body before he’s forever trapped in that of the doll. I think the Chucky films and TV show probably have some of the best continuity in horror, and that begins here.

In many ways, this feels like a standard sequel. It’s not entirely necessary, but it is fun, it has some good suspense sequences, a couple enjoyable characters (such as Kyle – the older foster sister who will return on the TV show, or the mean teacher who gets beaten to death with a ruler), and a top notch ending sequence in the toy factory where the Good Guy dolls are made. I don’t think that final scene is scary per se, but it is tons of fun; it is exciting, and colorful, and just as burned up Chucky at the end of the first movie is gross and creepy looking, melted, deformed, legs ripped off, knife handed Chucky is really grotesquely fun, and then he blows up. Cool.

I also enjoy the not-exactly-satire, but let’s say “bite” of the opening scene with the owner of the company that produces the Good Guy dolls dealing with the fallout of bad publicity from the much publicized case of a little boy saying their doll had tried to kill him. The owner is such a bastard and, by extension, there is clear editorializing about the self-serving greed and cruelty of modern business – it’s really not at all what the movie’s about, but it has fun making the owner of this toy company so very schmucky.

I feel like the second and third films are both a bit typical as sequels go, but at least this one holds up as a fun watch, even if the suspense of the first half of the first film couldn’t possibly be recreated as we’ve already seen the pint sized killer, and in this one, we see much more of him from early on. If I do have a criticism, it might be that we see him too much and whereas the first movie had such a good effect from teasing a hand here, a shadow there, in this case, he’s always running around and it’s hard for the puppetry to really make us all that scared of him.

But also, the more we get to know Chucky, probably the less scary he gets. I mean, he’s always a brutal killer, and he’s not at all a nice guy – he’s rather a total jerk, but at the same time, he is fun – and he has fun. He’s crude and mean and downright evil, but always an enjoyable screen presence, cracking wise and taking joy in his work. I suppose there’s a bit of shared DNA with Freddy Krueger – so many of the 80s slasher killers were some silent stalker in a mask – but Freddy and Chucky are both mouths – they just keep talking, joking, taunting, screaming. And both are really enjoyable murderous assholes. You don’t like either of them in the sense that you’d want to be friends or get a coffee or something – they’d kill you and mock you the whole time, but they are both fun to watch. Honestly, of the two of them, I feel Chucky is the weirder character, and I think one could have some ambivalence about him – but I think that will more come into play in the 4th and 5th films – for now, in the first two movies, he just has a couple elements that I wouldn’t expect to go together:

So, before he was a doll, he was a human killer, Charles Lee Ray, aka, “the lakeside strangler.” When we first meet him in Child’s Play, running from the cops with some kind of criminal partner, he looks kind of like a petty gangster, and his gruff personality and vulgar argot seems to match that. But he’s also a prolific serial killer, suggesting some kind of intelligent lone wolf predator. And also, we eventually hear that his murders all had a ritual voodoo element to them, such that he could magically install his dying soul in a doll and kick off this long running series, implying an altogether different, supernatural, even spiritual, focus. These three angles feel like they could be three different characters, but they come together to make him specific, unique.

I don’t remember how much that develops in the third movie (which I don’t recall being a series highlight – I see a “trivia note” on IMDB saying that it was Mancini’s least favorite as it was rushed into production so quickly that he didn’t have time to come up with new ideas), but it will really explode in the 4th and 5th. So with that, ever onward…

Child’s Play 3: Look Who’s Stalking (1991)

Ok, so admittedly another rapid turnaround sequel, capitalizing on the success of the first flick, but I must say I enjoyed this more than I’d expected to. Following the first, it takes better advantage of the tension that comes when we don’t see the doll move – and there is a whole new set of characters who have no reason to suspect this toy might slice their throat open. Following the second, it sets up a really fun, visual stage for the finale, moving the proceedings to a carnival, specifically inside the most impressive ride through haunted house I’ve ever seen – it’s a fun place to put this big final conflict, even if it is a bit of a beat by beat recreation of what’s come before. It’s got some enjoyable casting, such as the great Andrew Robinson (Hellraiser, Dirty Harry) as a creep barber, far too interested in the state of his young charges’ hair, who gets a real close trim. And while much of the story is a bit rote, it does hit a couple notes of, if not exactly satire, then at least viewpoint.

Following the opening of the second film, we start again with the toy company that produces the good guy dolls, deciding once more that no one remembers or cares about Andy Barklay and his killer doll and that they should put these ugly toys back on the market. Clearing the mess of the last film’s climax out of their factory, some blood from the previous Chucky doll drips into the vat of melted plastic and that’s apparently enough for Chucky to find new life on the production line, and the first thing he does is kill the evil CEO of the company. This is an enjoyable start, and perhaps it taps into the new direction the series will take, with a greater focus on Chucky himself – he is still an evil little bastard, but when we’re given such a jerk for him to kill first, we are invited to enjoy Chucky all the more (later, we won’t exactly be rooting for him to kill a bunch of kids – or maybe you will – I don’t judge).

And then we have the new setting of the film – it is years later (though this film was already in production before number 2 was released) and Andy (now recast as an older, teenaged actor), having bounced around the foster care system for close to a decade, is now enrolled at a military academy. The military isn’t exactly demonized, but neither is it shown in a particularly pleasant light, and I feel like that is an element of the abovementioned viewpoint – this institutional environment, fueled by hierarchy and bullying and authoritarian power games is not a healthy place for anyone, and its demand to ‘be tough’ or ‘be a man’ calls for a suppression of feeling that reflects the world’s refusal to believe what Andy experienced as a young kid and is still haunted by.

As Andy is older and not so vulnerable, I think we do see a shift of perspective to Chucky beginning here which will come to greater fruition in future films. He’s not a protagonist or anything, but he’s also not just an attacking killer – we see him get frustrated – try things and be balked by obstacles, make a new plan and target a new victim (a new, younger kid whose body he can try to steal). This also allows him scenes where he doesn’t need to move so much and thus, the puppetry can sustain a greater degree of verisimilitude than some moments in the second film.

But, by the end, the story goes pretty much where one might expect it to, we have a big showdown in a cool setting, and Chucky gets cut to shreds by a giant spinning fan – though having seen him return from much worse, I don’t think anyone would have reason to believe he wouldn’t be back. Honestly, I found it surprising that we didn’t have some final scare stinger to indicate as much, but also I guess it ended up being a longer period before the next film and perhaps its fate wasn’t so certain at the time. So let’s move on as the series really takes a turn, changes its naming convention, and Mancini injects some fresh new life into the franchise.

Bride of Chucky (1998)

So the first three films are all “Child’s Play” movies. With the fourth, they really become “Chucky” movies (or “_______ of Chucky,” to be precise), both in name and focus. But while many of the big 80s slashers seemed to care more about following their famous killers from film to film than their victims, they never took the time to get to know those killers like we do here. This is something different, and really fascinating, not to mention, a hoot.  If there wasn’t enough time to come up with something new between the second and third film, in the 7 years between 3 and 4, Mancini was able to innovate. While they were still “Child’s Play” movies, the series mostly wanted to scare the viewer with its creepy, foul-mouthed, doll-inhabiting killer, but with Ronny Yu’s Bride of Chucky, that element of suspense is all but abandoned in favor of the kind of horror inherent in a black comedy, in the delicious fun of perversely getting to know and love the little murderer, plus his newly introduced paramour. I don’t think it really goes for many scares, but it commits to its violence and gore, and I think there is still something of horror in the film encouraging us to hang out with, and to some extent, root for its leading couple.

From the get go, the movie takes on a much more comic tone with a sight gag of the markers of many other famous horror icons being stored in a police evidence locker (a claw glove, a hockey mask, etc) before a garbage bag filled with the shredded remains of the Chucky doll from the third film is identified and purloined. And when the thief (a dirty cop after a quick payday) is bloodily dispatched by the newly introduced Tiffany Valentine (Jennifer Tilly at the height of her powers, right after Bound, and not long after her Oscar nominated turn in Bullets over Broadway), a whole new vibe is ushered in with her breathy, sexy-baby voice and her hyper-femme persona – Tiffany brings an entirely new, campy kind of fun into the world of these films.

She resurrects her long lost lover (she and Chucky had been an item before he ended up in the doll), he in turn almost kills her and traps her in a doll body as well, and they set off on an adventure to retrieve a lost voodoo amulet that will help them secure new bodies and carry on their romance/life of crime. This means hitching a ride with some teenagers running away together, who are leaving a trail of bodies in their path that each suspects the other is responsible for, before finally discovering that they’re being held hostage by Bonne and Clyde in doll form. The teens survive and seemingly defeat their plastic captors, but we know Chucky and Tiffany will return (and furthermore, having physically reconnected earlier in the film, the movie ends with the surprise birth of Tiffany’s bloody, sharp toothed doll baby – so there is still someplace new for the story to go).

The teen couple is fine, and their story of young love, hounded by a controlling stepfather (a very enjoyably dickish John Ritter) and harried by a series of mysterious and disturbing murders, tracks reasonably well, but unlike Andy in the first three movies, it is hard to feel like they are really the main characters. Rather, the film is all about Chucky and Tiffany and their tumultuous love-hate relationship. He’s terrible to her and she imprisons and tortures him (and periodically, over the course of four films and three seasons of TV, tries to, and even periodically does succeed at killing him), but they also love each other (and are turned on by each other – 4 movies in, this R-rated horror franchise has its first sex scene, and it’s between dolls, of course). We are in new territory and watching and enjoying it all in a new way.

Most, though not all, of their victims are somehow shown to be “bad people” (the controlling stepdad, a crooked cop, a lame, wannabee serial killer, a couple stealing from unwitting newlyweds) and ala some other horror franchises, the kills get more creative (a bunch of nails in the face, a champagne bottle shattering the mirror over a waterbed in a honeymoon suite), inviting us to enjoy the bloody mayhem with little reservation. The killer doll couple are rebuilding their relationship the best way they know how, and though they can be awful and petty and cruel, and frequently hate each other, they also bring out the best in each other and always eventually rekindle their love (of course, the “best” they bring out is “the best killer they each can be,” but that’s the wicked fun of a movie like this). The tension and heat of their relationship is where the film lives, and though it’s all explored with a kind of playful, campy distance, it still lands. This is something that will stay with the Chucky material through the remaining films and shows, even when the tone eventually goes back to being a bit more serious and scary.

I am not an expert on this, but I think it must be rare for the screenwriter to be so synonymous with a series. Often it happens with the director of the first film, even if they have little to no involvement in subsequent efforts. If you think Nightmare on Elm Street, of course you think Wes Craven, or you associate Halloween with John Carpenter, or Texas Chainsaw Massacre with Tobe Hooper, and I think all quite rightly so. Even if they had only peripheral connection to the rest of the films in their respective franchises, they all left a creative stamp on the originals that set the path for all to follow. But in the case of Chucky, though I think Tom Holland did a great job with the first film (as he did with another favorite, Fright Night), it is writer Don Mancini that I primarily connect with this series. He has been shepherding the story and the character along for more than 35 years, and I think it’s in this entry that he made his identity and aesthetic more present. To be fair, Ronny Yu does a really nice job, and there is some real style occasionally on display, but I think in this film, the writer is asserting himself, and will soon come to fully dominate the material.

This movie came along during a time when, following the success of Scream, horror was getting more self-aware and self-parodying. Now, I don’t think Bride rises to the level of self-parody, but there is a change of tone that feels very of this era (and at least one or two meta-jokes, such as when, asked to explain how he came to be like this, Chucky says that if his life were a movie, it would take 3 or 4 sequels to cover it all). Still, I think that the introduction of this relationship at the heart of the story, twisted and dark, and quirky and fun as it is, is a unique element, which will only deepen in the next flick, and for which I’m hard pressed to think of parallel examples (no matter how much it directly cites Bride of Frankenstein). I sure wouldn’t want a relationship like Chucky and Tiffany have (I’m a much more low-drama type), but I really do enjoy watching them in it.

Seed of Chucky (2004)

This film is probably not for everyone, but I rather love it. Mancini continues further in the direction he’s been going, for the first time taking up the mantle of director himself, and creates a weird, fun, very campy, very outré, very over-the-top, gory, meta, absurd, hilarious, queer, and even occasionally touching family drama. I think all notions of scariness are temporarily abandoned in favor of following these relationships down a rabbit hole and reveling in a playful, bold, audacious extremity. It is still a horror film, both in terms of how many eviscerations, acid melts, and decapitations it offers and in terms of the newly introduced Glen/Glenda’s traumatic struggle to come to terms with the violence of their parents, a violence which they have, at least in part, inherited.

In short, the killer baby doll born at the end of the preceding film has grown to adolescence unaware of its patronage, a captor of a prickish British ventriloquist. One day, they see a featurette on TV about a “Chucky” film being made in Hollywood, based on the infamous urban legend of a killer doll linked to a string of unsolved murders, and starring Jennifer Tilly as the doll’s love interest. The doll escapes and makes the trek out west to find their parents (and is able to resurrect them out of animatronic dolls on set as they still have the magical amulet from the last film). Reanimated, Chucky and Tiffany learn they have a child who is struggling with gender identity issues (born, as a doll might be, without sex organs, they don’t know who or what they want to be – it’s somewhere between a trans and non-binary narrative, but let’s say culturally specific to the smooth-crotched-doll community). Chucky wants a boy and Tiffany wants a girl, so they settle on Glen/Glenda and make an attempt to be good role models and kick their murder addiction (unsuccessfully), while making a plan to put Tiffany into the body of Jennifer Tilly (who will be impregnated with Chucky’s seed (we have a title!) so that Glen/Glenda will have a human form) and put Chucky into the body of Rapper-Director, Redman (who may be casting Tilly in his upcoming biblical epic). Little, of course, goes to plan, but along the way, there are genuine character developments, and a fun ‘coming out scene’ by the end.

Don Mancini is an out gay creator, and as far as I know, that wasn’t being hidden before, but following the elements of camp introduced with Jennifer Tilly’s Tiffany in the last film, I’d say that this is the first time the series is really explicitly “queer.” Glen/Glenda’s story is entirely focused on a bundle of identity issues: there is the obvious question of gender (which will only deepen as the series progresses), but also, they really struggle with a question of who and what they are as a child of this killer pair. Are they also a killer? Is that something they were born with and can’t change, and should come to accept and love about themselves, or is it a choice they can turn their back on? Beyond that, though Chucky more or less comes to be as supportive of his gender-non-conforming kid as one can hope for (he’s still a murderous bastard, but after some time, gender is no longer an issue), Glen/Glenda initially has to deal with a father intent on making them accept ‘masculine traits,’ who is determined to make his child a ‘boy’ – we see them close to cracking under the stress of parental expectations and demands, and by the end, when Glen/Glenda cuts off their father’s limbs and head, shouting “are you proud of me now, daddy?” it is easy to see represented, the collected rage of many an effeminate little boy lashing out at a father who couldn’t accept his child.

Of course, the film also just takes on a much more ‘camp’ tone here. It never goes fully in the direction of parody, and it does maintain its own sense of reality, but there is an ‘extra’ quality to both performances and filmmaking that infers a kind of ironic distance (not to mention how Jennifer Tilly, voicing Tiffany, can speak both so deferentially and so bitchilly about ‘Jennifer Tilly,’ the real life actress – such as a moment when the doll has to drag Tilly’s unconscious body across the floor and complains about how fat she’s gotten). This camp quality is underlined by the inclusion of director, John Waters in a small cameo (his face gets melted off with acid as a kind of father-son bonding experience – but it’s ok; he’ll come back in a different role on the TV series).

But ultimately, the most enjoyable queer-adjacent – coming to love yourself and being proud of who and what you are – development belongs to Chucky himself. For four films, spanning 14 years, he has been trying to get out of this doll body and be human again. Finally here, on the cusp of completing the plan (though Redman is now dead and Chucky would be ending up in the body of Tilly’s chauffer), at the last moment, Chucky decides that he likes who he is and there’s no need to change and be a human again. He is a killer doll and he likes being a killer doll – he finally fully embraces his own ‘othered’ identity and proudly ‘comes out.’ It’s not exactly a moving moment (though Glen/Glenda does get some of those), but it is a fun moment, an “ah, I see what you’re doing there” little twist that I certainly appreciated. And seriously, good for him. We all love him as a killer doll – if he were human, he’d just be a murderous jerk (as we will see in the next film).

All of this may sound heavy handed or overly serious, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. For all that the film plays with these issues of gender and identity, it does so in a wild, free way, which I think could come off as too much, or even insensitive to a contemporary Gen-Z crowd – but isn’t that part of the joy of camp? Being able to go so over the top, being able to offend, but all with a playful irony – we can enjoy the “badness” of it, but no one is advocating for any of these things actually being “good.” There is a rich frisson in that paradox which makes it all the more enjoyable (and which also separates this sort of work from the kid of straight-out, ugly edge-lording one might bump into on Twitter). This is the least scary, but probably the goriest film of the series to this point. It has more sex and nudity, by far. It has a puppet masturbating to an issue of Fangoria magazine. It has Brittney Spears being exploded in a car crash. It has a head being garroted off someone’s body as puppet lovers get spattered with his blood and share a genuine romantic moment. It has Oscar nominated actress, Jennifer Tilly being inseminated against her will by a doll with a turkey baster. It has a perspective about social matters, but it expresses that perspective in an absurd, gleefully violent and perverse way, and it is all the more lovable for it.

From time to time, there is a horror movie that wears its socio-political perspective on its sleeve so much that it gets blowback. While I generally find the kind of people who would complain about, for example, the feminist messaging of a movie like the 2019 Black Christmas unpleasant jerks, I can agree that a film can suffer from being too on-the-nose – I can appreciate a message and still feel that themes are better explored in dramatic action than voiced as polemic artificially put into the mouths of characters by a well-meaning author. But I must say that in this case, while the perspective of the creator is obvious, it is also handled with an ironic humor and so covered in eviscerations and beheadings that I think it comes across so much more enjoyably than it otherwise might.

Perhaps not every little thing works perfectly – some jokes may feel obvious, and what exactly was with that “made in Japan” thing, given that we know the Good Guy factory was in or near Chicago in the first two films, but little failings notwithstanding, this one is rather a delight. Sadly, it was the last one released cinematically.

Curse of Chucky (2013)

Following the progressively higher camp of the last two entries, Curse of Chucky (again written and directed by Mancini) takes a hard turn back to straight horror territory (but not too straight – there’s at least one lesbian couple), initially feeling so different as to seem like a bit of a soft reboot (though by the end, all of the story is woven together and this is clearly an expansion and continuation of all that has come before). But stylistically, it feels completely different, and is the first time in decades that a Chucky film has been particularly scary.

Key to that (beyond filmmaking that definitely takes on a darker, more menacing tone than the last few films) is the fact that for the first time in quite a while, we are aligned with new protagonists who are not Chucky et al.; nor are they anyone who knows who Chucky is or has fought him before (as was true for Andy in the first two sequels).  Primarily, we have Nica Pierce, and her family which has come together following the seeming suicide of her mother (the night after a Good Guy doll was delivered to her, sent by an unknown person). Of course, we know who Chucky is and that he is clearly behind the deaths that start piling up, but these people don’t, and just as in the first film, Chucky isn’t shown to move or speak of his own accord until approximately halfway through the runtime, which really promotes scariness.

Past that, it is quite a successful, tight little bottle movie – over the course of just more than 24 hours, in this one house, the doll is delivered, the mother dies, the family comes together, and, one by one, just about everyone else is picked off until pretty much only Nica remains, following a pretty classic slasher formula (which hasn’t been the case for earlier films in the series), before revealing a much more personal story at its core. It is dark and suspenseful, well shot and scored, and it plays with the dramatic irony inherent in the audience knowing much more about this doll than the characters. That said, there is still a bit of a dark, comic tone, such that some characters seem simply doomed by virtue of how humorously unpleasant they are. Thus, as with a pretty standard slasher, there is some fun to be had from worrying that a character might be killed, but there’s also fun to be had, waiting for some jerk or another to bite it. Past that, for a loyal viewer, it is quite mysterious – for most of the film, we are left to wonder what Chucky is doing here – what is he after? Why is he targeting these people specifically? After spending so much time with him as a viewpoint character, having his intentions suddenly closed off to us, creates a sense of intrigue, and I think also makes him scarier again, leaving us far more in the position of his potential and eventual victims.

Furthermore, when we finally learn what the connection is between Nica’s family and Chucky, how far back it goes and how each has cause to blame the other for their respective fates (rightly or wrongly – I think Nica stands, so to speak (she’s spent her life in a wheelchair – because of him) on far more solid ground here), Chucky comes off as a more menacing, uglier character than he has in some time. We have flashbacks to the series of events that led up to him being chased by the police at the beginning of the first film when, at the edge of death, he put his soul into the doll. In those flashbacks, Chucky is less a hilariously crude and violent puppet, and more a cruel psychopath who would hold a pregnant woman hostage, creepily pitching woo at her while murdering her husband and threatening her family, before leaving her to die with a knife in her belly, such that the baby she births (Nica) is born paraplegic. He’s not fun – he’s disturbing and frightening. And yet, when we flash back to the present, in doll form, he’s still a good time – that’s how movies work.

There’s also a fun bit of behind the scenes family connection as Nica is played by Fiona Dourif, daughter of Brad Dourif, who’s been voicing Chucky since the very beginning. And she’s great – a very warm screen presence, giving us a character who will go through a great deal before all is said and done (and who will later in the franchise be called on to deliver a solid vocal impersonation of her dad).

And then, after feeling like such a standalone movie for 80 of its 97 minutes, so much so that it could even feel like some kind of reboot, so disconnected from everything else, the penny drops and everything slams into clarity. This is still a series, and the ending of this movie both reaches back and looks forward, setting up a new context for what is next to come. In short, it doesn’t end well for Nica, but she’s still alive, and she and Chucky and Tiffany (as well as at least one key character we haven’t seen in ages) will all be back in the next film, and on three seasons of TV.

This really was a good time, and it is interesting how the series of films really seems to occasionally reinvent itself, all while continuing a larger story, relatively consistent in its history (though maybe not always in its rules of “how possessed dolls work” – why doesn’t Chucky bleed anymore?). Ok, only one more to go…

Cult of Chucky (2017)

An interesting change that applies to both Curse of Chucky and Cult of Chucky is that unlike earlier entries in the series, Chucky has now been active for years between the installments. At the end of the first 4 films, Chucky was melted or exploded or ripped to shreds or burned and shot – each time, he was at least seemingly dead. Not so at the end of Seed. That time, he survived and went off to do whatever he was going to do for years until resurfacing in Curse, with a plan obscured to us. The same is true for Cult. Obviously, so much must have happened between the two films, and while some of it is inferred, we will never know everything, helping to build both mystery and a sense of a larger life passing beyond our view – this is only one moment in a bigger story, and we won’t ever get to see the whole picture. Thus, this movie feels the most like an entry in a serial, laying the groundwork for the TV show to come, both in terms of characters and important plot developments, as well as in the forward momentum of this kind of continuing narrative. That said, this is also, beat for beat, one of the most engaging movies in the series – I would have been happy if it had felt a bit more complete by the end, but moment to moment, I was totally in, and ate up the unfolding story.

In Cult, we at least touch base with a significant character from each era of the Chucky franchise. Andy (from the first three) returns, played once again by Alex Vincent, all grown up himself, but is also joined by Tiffany (from the next two) and Nica (from the sixth) (plus, the post credits sequence reintroduces a key figure from Child’s Play 2). And in combining all of these significant figures, Cult carries forward something of each era’s tones. We once again have a scary story about someone who knows that a little doll is responsible for all this murder and mayhem, but whom no one believes, this time not because they are a child, but because Nica, following the events of the first film, has been held responsible for the deaths of her family and imprisoned in an insane asylum. But added to that genuinely scary context and style, we still retain something of the camp-adjacent black comedy of Bride and Seed, and I think this might be the funniest Chucky himself has been for the whole series to date (“Ok, let me explain something to you. I am a vintage, mass marketed children’s toy from the ’80s, standing right in front of you, holding a very sharp scalpel”). And then there is the newfound serial hook of it all, which I feel has particularly come to play in the final two films, and which sets up much of the feeling of the TV show. The second and third films, while both fun in their ways, had felt a bit like retreads of the first – the next two went off in a wild, totally different direction – now the story is really moving forward, developing and changing significantly from one feature to the next.

And as a lead to anchor it all, Fiona Dourif shines. I feel for her plight, both in terms of her Cassandra-esque nightmare, and in her survivor’s guilt, which has allowed her terrible, abusive therapist to gaslight her into accepting that she was actually responsible for the deaths in the last film, though she very clearly knows differently. And then, by the end, when Chucky successfully hops into her body, somehow miraculously, at least while he’s in possession of it, healing her of the paraplegia he’d caused her in utero, she makes Charles Lee Ray an enjoyable human villain for the first time, imbuing herself with the play inherent in the doll, which hadn’t fully surfaced in other portrayals of him in his non-evil-doll form. As she plays it, his wicked delight is simply infectious – I mean, he’s always cackled in evil madman fashion (I saw Mancini on Shudder’s Queer for Fear documentary citing the original Invisible Man as a direct inspiration), but this may be the most I’ve vibed with it.

And there are new twists and turns, namely, due to the fact that between films, Chucky leaned a new voodoo spell that now lets him split his soul into multiple vessels, letting him animate many killer dolls at the same time – and letting them hilariously bicker with and praise and/or mock each other. Furthermore, the reintroduction of Andy into the story, as he advances his own plots to get revenge on the doll that stole his childhood, adds a wildcard to the mix. Many elements are in play at all times, and anything can happen.

As with the previous entry, much of the runtime functions as a standalone film, frequently scary and gory in ways that got a couple of gasps or cringes out of me, but also consistently funny, and almost always intriguing, with small touches of gothic mystery layered atop the cold, clinical, creepy setting of the institution, with the main gestures towards larger serialization coming primarily at the end. Also like the last movie, this is a very contained story – almost all taking place in the asylum during a relatively set period of time – and it gives room for some very enjoyable performances from both Dourifs, father and daughter, as well as the other denizens of the hospital, and of course, eventually, Jennifer Tilly. During a post credit sequence, we even meet Kyle again (the older foster sister from the second film), so just about the only significant figures still absent are Glen and Glenda (who will return on TV) and Andy’s mom – who we’ve seen him speak to on the phone, but who never made it back onto screen (also, as written above, I would love to see the return of Chris Sarandon’s Detective Norris from the first film, but I’m not holding my breath).

All in all, the film series, as it stands, goes out on a high point, and leaves things set up for TV to carry the story forward (while also introducing new main characters, all with their own storylines and main preoccupations).

Well, this was a fun little project – it’s been a blast to revisit these all, and I can’t really express how much I appreciate the narrative and stylistic variety on display. There are a few other, “bigger” horror franchises, but for me, this one holds up the best as a whole, picture to picture. Sure, I may like the first Halloween or Nightmare on Elm Street more than many of these, but the level of quality running through this whole series, the sense of larger continuity, and the visible artistic play that’s allowed the series’ creators to take on such wide ranging approaches have all kept the series both fresh and fun, while also being so consistent and rooted in continuing characters, raising this series up above the pack.

Sometime I will watch both the recent doc, which I just don’t have time for right now, and rewatch the show, which has been some of the most fun I’ve had watching TV in years, but for now, I think seven films is enough to hit publish on. Hope you’re all having a good November out there.

La Folie Halloween Show 2024 and a Recent Film Roundup

As a horror blogger, I have long read other horror blogs and I think one of the most common sentences has to be “sorry I haven’t posted in a while,” or at least I like to think it’s that common cause, boy oh boy, does it apply to me! And to make matters worse, I missed all of October – “spooky season,” the lead up to the high holiday of the horror calendar, Halloween. All over social media, I saw people posting their movie-a-day watchlists, with fans around the world marathoning through the month, and as I check my Letterboxd, I find that I only managed 8 movies, horror or otherwise, for the whole of October.

But I like to think I have an excuse. As I’ve posted about previously, outside of blogging, one of my main pursuits is working with a retro cabaret group here in Kraków, Poland where I live, and every year we do a Halloween show – it’s always one of our biggest and most popular, as the holiday really brings out new, fun, creative ideas. And this year was no exception – so, sure, I didn’t write about any movies last month, but it’s because I was busy making my own Halloween, and even, to some extent, horror content. And if you will all indulge me, kindly strangers of the internet, I’d like to share a bit of what I’ve been working on.

La Folie Retro Cabaret Show – Halloween

Graphic by Klaudia Drabikowska

This was a big show, with a wide range of Halloween-y variety acts, and the vast majority of it was brand new. Ghosts and vampires, mad scientists and mummies, black widows and boogie men – singing, dancing, aerial arts, burlesque, and comedy – funny, sexy, thrilling, and hopefully, once or twice, even a bit scary. We had ballet, swing, and Irish dance, we had big Broadway style show stoppers, we had loads of comedy sketches, and games with the audience – we even had a fair amount of special effects for the stage – tricks with powerful magnets, specially prepared candles, and blood pumps – neat stuff, if I do say so myself. And I do.

Honestly, there were too many numbers to detail each here (and I worked on them to varying degrees – e.g., if something is mostly dance, I’m no choreographer and I don’t play a big part in giving it shape), so I think I’ll just focus on a couple that I was particularly involved in, which were more ‘horror’ focused, and which I feel presented something new for our stage.

Haunted Theatre / Séance

Ours is a variety show made up of a series of discrete acts and we don’t tend to force much in the way of larger narrative onto the proceedings, but this time, we did add a bit of framing and in that, we had opportunities for some real Halloween-y fun, spooky atmosphere, and at least one solid jump scare. Before starting, the MC came out to explain that in the days leading up to performance, odd things had been happening and that we thought the theatre could be haunted. Of course, then the lights went out on him and, as technicians struggled to get them working again, while a ‘spooky’ version of our theme song played, he turned on a flashlight and was subjected to a series of creepy sights – a jump scare with a werewolf (that I think landed), a creepy little girl on a rocking horse, a Blair Witch-esque woman standing in a corner, tentacles grabbing at his face and a skeleton clutching at his legs, and finally, a bag headed figure approaching him with a knife as his flashlight flickered on and off before he was lost to the darkness and a scream rang out though the theatre.

Screen shot: Jakub Mrowiec

This was such a simple little introduction – besides a considerable amount of time taken engineering the ‘creepy theme,’ the action was simply conceived and it did not take long to stage and rehearse it a few times (all told, it was only about a minute long), but I honestly think it worked great, setting up the night with a totally different vibe than we usually offer. More things this effective should be this easy to do.

This then led into our first number, which also functioned as a kind of secondary frame. Choreographed to the tune, “Swinging at the Séance,” this was set in an old abandoned house where we see two ghosts in Victorian wedding costume moving slowly and forlornly through the space, unable to connect with each other. Then a crowd of young people burst in with their loud music – laughing and drinking and carrying on, and finally, starting to dance. Through the tumult and boisterousness, the two spirits glide, each focusing more and more on a pair of dancers at the front of the stage until after a small lift, each dancer, unaware of the lurking ghostly presence, momentarily stands in front of one of the apparitions, who subsequently grab them from behind. Blackout.

The lights rise on the two dancers moving slowly and romantically, possessed by the spirits who can no longer be seen, able to hold each other once more in their borrowed bodies. The lights go cool and the other dancers slowly freeze as we watch the dead lovers embrace until the bodies seize up and fall to the floor, the party roaring back to life behind them. Eventually the others notice the forms twitching on the stage and react with a comic terror, finally running away.

Photo: Paulina Kowalczyk

While the dancing was in our typical wheelhouse (but no less fun), I think we managed something different with the mix of tones – light and comic, but also melancholic and lovely – underlined with a difference of movement styles, focus brought to the ghosts (as themselves or in possessed bodies) by virtue of their slow, steady glide through a churning sea of quick, bouncing bodies.

Then, at the end of the night, seventeen numbers later, we closed both frames by returning to the abandoned house in a straight horror scene. In the five years of giving cabaret performances, this is the first time that we included something that didn’t feature a song or dance or comedy or acrobatics or magic or burlesque, but was simply a dramatic bit of stage action.

A test of my moving planchet.

All of the dancers from the first act return with a medium to communicate with and hopefully pacify the spirits. They gather round a table with candles and a Ouija board (hand painted by me) and invite the ghosts to speak. The phantasms return, once again taking control of the same bodies as earlier, borrowing text from Adam Mickiewicz (a significant Polish poet of the Romantic era) to share a heartfelt love scene before something seems to scare them away. The lights flicker, the Ouija planchet moves on its own (a special effect of which I’m proud), the candles go out one by one (another effect I’m proud of, and one that I’d first imagined doing more than 20 years ago and finally, for this, puzzled out how to accomplish), and the medium is taken over by a different, angrier, more dangerous spirit.

At first it seems that she is speaking to those in the scene – of their disrespect and inability to heed a warning, but it eventually becomes clear that she is actually addressing the audience, that this hateful spirit is present in the theatre itself, raging at all in attendance and promising to enact a bloody vengeance. It warns the spectators that it will choose one of them to follow, to haunt, to take as payment for their collective transgressions, and then the actress playing the medium screams and collapses, and in the dark (the lights can’t be turned on), it is clear that the performers are freaked out, that this wasn’t in the script, that something scary has actually happened.

Then we do a big finale song and dance to The Monster Mash (for which I sang).

Photo: Jarek Popczyk (that’s me without a pumpkin on my head)

I haven’t surveyed viewers, but I hope this worked for them. I’m really happy with both my self-engineered special effects for the stage and with making a little scene that I think got reasonably creepy and even, hopefully, a bit scary. We’ve done past Halloween shows, but never actually attempted a real scare, so I hope it landed well for people. But hell, even if it didn’t, I was thoroughly happy to try, and I think we stretched creatively in making it.

Night of the Vampires

And this brings me to another piece which was at least a bit out of character for us. Since the very beginning, we’ve had burlesque in the show, and over time, its presence has expanded in the work that we offer – sexy stuff to be sure, but also glamourous or absurd or otherwise creative: classic fan dance or silhouette numbers, a half-and-half Dance with the Devil, a “Sexy Salad,” a three girl strip poker with death scene, a super cute number with two competing 50s housewives accidentally losing their clothes until they finally stop feuding long enough to discover that they’re into each other and who then leave together before their confused husbands come home.

Photo: Paulina Kowalczyk

But this was something different. This piece, loosely inspired by Le Fanu’s Carmilla (and thus in quite good company) was easily the most directly ‘erotic’ piece we’ve yet done – with a much more sexual tone and vibe than we generally adopt. Even if a performer is getting down to pasties and a g-string, all in a mood of ‘fun with sexiness,’ that doesn’t always mean that it is exactly “erotic,” but I like to think this time it was. Now, I don’t know how this increased eroticism was received by the whole audience. At least one friend was really excited by it and gave great feedback, and I’ve heard tell of one person for whom it was too much, but as with the last piece discussed, I was so very happy to make it, and I feel so good about what it was that I’m genuinely less concerned with its reception. Maybe that’s greedy and short sighted of me, but if you can’t make what you, yourself, want to see, how do you do anything at all?

Carmilla – the first literary lesbian vampire, predating Dracula by 25 years.

Any regular reader of this blog knows that I am a fan of the ‘Lesbian Vampire’ subgenre of horror and have written extensively about it here, here, here, here, and here. And in this case, that’s just what I got to make – a short scene for the stage, only 5 minutes and 40 seconds long, that is its own little Lesbian Vampire piece – with nods to Hammer Horror, Jean Rollin, and Jess Franco – with saturated color and flowing gowns and nakedness and doubling and desire and seduction and blood (with DIY blood pumps and hidden tubes to make the red stuff flow, masked in the bedsheets and under a corset – which I wish I could say worked perfectly, but at least worked reasonably well and next time, we’ll nail it) – what a joy! My horror fan heart was all the more warmed to score it with bits of the soundtrack to Hellraiser and Daughters of Darkness, as well as an awesome Roky Erickson song that I’ve written about here before called ‘Night of the Vampire.’

I wish I could say it had originally been my idea, but if it had, I might not have proposed it. Instead, I must give credit to Madeline Le Blanche, with whom my wife and I produce the cabaret, who thought up a three girl vampire burlesque act featuring Carmilla, Mina from Dracula, and an S&M Lady Van Helsing and asked me to flesh it out. So I went off and wrote a script which, though I felt it was a different direction for us, and could be too explicit for some, I was nonetheless thrilled to craft and was grateful that she’d commissioned it.

We start with a proper young Victorian lady sitting on the edge of her bed and reading a book. The music is the romantically dark and dramatic main theme to Hellraiser. Behind her, a shadow appears in the window and a hand touches the glass. The young lady looks up, feeling that something is strange, when the hand in the window extends and the damsel’s hand does the same. The silhouetted figure controls her and we see them mirror each other. The young woman’s hand caresses her own face and slides down her bodice before she pushes it away, then her other hand is controlled to do the same – and again she shoves it from her, mystified by what is happening. Both of her hands are made to reach behind and unclasp the ribbon from which a small cross hangs, allowing it to fall to the floor. Finally, the shadow causes one hand, after a final caress, to sharply turn her head to look back and see the darkened figure standing on the veranda. She recoils, but is pulled closer and closer to the door. When finally she reaches it, she pulls open the curtains to reveal the glamourous woman outside, looking in at her with red, hungry eyes. She opens the door.

Fog and moonlight pour in as Carmilla glides downstage, before turning to the young woman who is fearfully backing away and, with a wave of her hand, mesmerizing her and summoning her closer. The music shifts (to a bit from Daughters of Darkness) and a mirrored striptease begins. Their bodies copy each other perfectly – Carmilla enjoying her control over her prey, and, let’s call her Mina, or possibly Laura (more fitting for Carmilla), at first shocked to witness her own actions, but clearly enjoying them more and more. All in mirror, gloves come off, and then dresses (this mirror motif, in my mind at least, referencing the cabaret performance in Jess Franco’s Vampyros Lesbos – it is a rather different action, but there is a thematic resonance). The mirror is dropped and Carmilla comes behind the younger woman to remove her corset, leaving her in the requisite diaphanous gown, before presenting her own corset for Mina/Laura to undo. Finally, down to pasties, a g-string, red contacts, and fangs, Carmilla guides her to the bed and lays her down, head towards the audience.

Initially, the ingénue is shy and covers herself somewhat with a bedsheet (which hides a tube connected to a blood pump, allowing her to position it for the blood effect), causing Carmilla to pause in her climb over the supine body as if to ask if she actually wants this. Mina/Laura acquiesces, lowering her shift to reveal her pastie adorned breast as Carmilla lowers her head to bite (and the performer compresses a large syringe, causing the blood to flow). It is sensual and bloody and Mina/Laura’s body seems to seize in tortured ecstacy before finally giving out and collapsing as her life’s blood drips down her neck and hair, pooling on the carpet (which we laid down to aid in rapid cleanup).

Photo: Paulina Kowalczyk

Then suddenly, with another change in the music, shifting to a driving rock sound, Carmilla looks up, hissing, and we see Lady Van Helsing enter on a higher level and descend the stairs to do battle. Carmilla greedily clutches her victim’s body, pulling it back to drop on the floor as she rises to face her crossbow wielding adversary. Again, she employs the mirroring power, leading Van Helsing to give up her weapon, knock off her own hat and undo her flowing cape. Lady Van Helsing draws a golden dagger to hold up as a cross, and after, lashing out, Carmilla claws at her, ripping off her skirt in the process, Van Helsing holds the cross to her head, eliciting a hiss as Carmilla loses consciousness.

Photo: Paulina Kowalczyk

Lady Van Helsing moves Carmilla on to the bed and, securing her in place by laying the cross on her bared breast, chains her hands and begins to remove her own gloves as a surgeon might don them. After a walk round the bed undoing her corset (among other things, making the blood syringe strapped to her back accessible, though still hidden from the audience), Lady Van Helsing draws from her bag a bottle of Holy Water and proceeds to lash Carmilla with it. Carmilla writhes in a mix of pain and pleasure as if in play with hot wax. Van Helsing then draws a stake and trails it up and down Carmilla’s body, teasingly, before raising it high to drive it home, when she realizes that Mina/Laura has risen behind her.

Gently taking her wrist, Van Helsing is made to drop the stake, as Mina/Laura moves her hair aside and comes in to bite (with her other hand, beginning to squeeze the pump). After a moment, she pulls back and looks to Carmilla, bound on the bed below, and then bites again, lowering the vampire hunter down so that her blood falls onto Carmilla’s body and into her waiting mouth. They both feed as the lights begin to fade. All three look out to the audience, lost to sensation as darkness engulfs all.

Hot, huh?

Again, I don’t really know how it was taken in by most of the audience, but I was so gratified to have this opportunity to make a bit of vampy erotic horror. I think the intersection of those two elements can be really fruitful – both absolutely to do with, and eliciting reactions from, the body and the mind – the hunger and the desire for the other being both mental and physical – sexual and violent, of the flesh and of blood. There is attraction and need and complication – all essential human experiences. This is a big part of what I really appreciate in Lesbian Vampire movies, wherein there is often a focus on desire and pleasure and it’s not simply about, as can often be the case in sexually explicit content, unveiling “boobs” for a presumed male viewership (though it can’t be denied that’s often present as well), and I think we offer that in this number. I’m immensely proud of this piece and I hope someday to be able to share it here (there’s been discussion of filming it for posterity, so who knows – it could happen).

So yeah, that was my Halloween (and of course, there were loads of other cool acts that I’m not even scratching the surface of here: 2 masked “boogie men” competing over who can best frighten a little girl, a Black Swan/White Swan ballet number complete with heart ripping, an Irish burlesque – dancing widdershins on the barrows by moonlight to gain gold, finding it hidden in the layers of clothes until an inner fey is unveiled, a skeleton doing aerial silk work, an audience interactive dating game show where all the contestants are monsters, and much, much, much more). I didn’t write about any movies last month, but my horror fan brain was still appropriately occupied I think.

But Also, Some Recent Watches

Finally, I just wanted to share some thoughts on a couple of movies from this year that, with the show in the rear view mirror, I recently had the chance to catch up on. It’s really rare that I manage to watch anything new, and so it’s always exciting when it happens. First, the other day, I got to check out a double feature of Immaculate and The First Omen. So-called “Twin Films” (such as Dante’s Peak and Volcano from 1997) are nothing new, but it’s a while since I’ve been so aware of two coming out so close to each other with such parallel plots. Of the two, I definitely preferred Immaculate – the atmosphere and performances just pulled me in and it even had some fun jumps and gross out moments – and a climactic sequence before cutting to the credits that was so satisfying, and so nice to see that it got to “go there.”

But while I think The First Omen suffered somewhat both from being a prequel, and thus in service to a pre-existing story while also setting up a new series that can grow out of it, as well as having a very predictable turn that I felt was intended to be a ‘big twist,’ but which was obvious from the very beginning, it did do something really interesting. My understanding of the conventional wisdom surrounding the Satanic threat books and films of the 60s and 70s, such as The Omen and the Exorcist, is that they represented a pushback against a secularizing counterculture moment in which society was turning against all authority, including that of faith, and especially a hierarchal institution like “The Church.” These works are all predicated on discovering the truth of radical evil – there is a devil, he is real and dangerous in our lives, and the only possible solace and protection comes from faith, from God, from the Church. Whether their creators directly intended this or not (for example, I read that Ira Levin, an atheist Jew, regretted that his excellent, feminist, cultural paranoia novel, Rosemary’s Baby had inadvertently participated in this reactionary moment), many of these works served to scare a reading/viewing population back to the pews. It’s the main reason that I’ve often found myself turned off by such content, especially exorcism films – they so often feel like proselytization.

But in this little, modern prequel – a really fun scary movie that takes great pleasure in delivering some reasonably shocking imagery of its own (with one much discussed moment that I had not seen on film before) – there is such an interesting angle taken. This brings me to a big spoiler that wasn’t obvious, so be forewarned. In this case, the sinister cabal within the church that is pulling all the strings to trap our protagonist into birthing the antichrist isn’t actually “Satanist.” Rather, they are an ultraorthodox wing of the Catholic Church, worried about the secularizing counterculture moment of the 60s/70s, who decide that they need to scare the population back into the pews by birthing the Antichrist (sound familiar?). The villain of the prequel is effectively the personification of the actual cultural soil out of which the original book and film grew. In this way, the film makers have their cake and eat it too – able to make a spooky antichrist movie with all the fixins, and still not turn off a loyal horror viewer such as myself who is otherwise loath to engage with such content. Neat.

And then last night, I finally got myself out to The Substance. I’d intended to do so more than a month ago, but with the Halloween show underway, it was just impossible to take an evening to go watch something for my own pleasure (I remember a good friend having the saying that “you can see the show or you can be the show”). But what a pleasure! Easily the most fun I’ve had at the cinema in a good long while – and I even got a few people walking out in the final act, which made it all even better (I’d heard it likened to Brian Yuzna’s Society, and I think it delivered). The intense style, the driving energy, the performances, the campy streak of black comedy and social satire, and the goopy, bloody, bizarre practical effects – everything about this movie was a blast and I love that this weird flick is getting so much mainstream attention (also, I cackled at the Act III title card). But what I think was most interesting about it of course requires spoilers, so beware.

Obviously so much of the thematic is all tied up in gender and youth and beauty – that’s clear from the outset, it is so present in the satirical, ironic gaze of the camera, and it narratively explodes in the final reel in a fashion at once emotionally cathartic, hilariously absurd, and honestly sad. But it is also quite on the nose and I can see someone taking issue with its bluntness (kind of like the big speech in the Barbie movie, but with considerably more body horror). But I feel there was so much to the movie. Ultimately, I think there was a larger exploration of people’s inability to share, to love the other as oneself (which includes the edict to love oneself) which surfaces in self-hating, self-destructive tendencies on both personal levels and for society as a whole. The Devil’s bargain that Elisabeth makes is one for which most of us would fail to follow the rules, and there is a satisfying horror in seeing it destroy her and feeling it cut close to home. One need not specifically “be an older woman in Hollywood, subjected to cruel double standards that serve to shape girls into objects for male pleasure when they’re young and then forget them when they age” to identify with the toxic impulse to wish oneself away (and then make it happen with compulsive, self-erasing behavior) in favor of some ideal, some wished for version of oneself, the “better” person who would garner the approval of not just others, but more importantly, yourself. This theme (we greedily neglect to take care of each other just as we fail to take care of, or love, or even just not hate ourselves), I found particularly effective and well handled – and it was served up with wicked humor, cinematic verve, and bubbling, fleshy, gory glee, presenting a harsh, bleak notion in a manner that is simply fun. I thought it was rather something special.

And that brings us up to date. I hope you’ve all had a good spooky season. I have a plan for November, but it is ambitious, so we’ll see how that goes. It might come early December. Wish me luck!

The American Nightmare: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Turns 50

Golly – where do I even start with this? When approaching a film this big, this significant, it can be daunting. Books have been written about it – it has been discussed ad nauseam by academics and bloggers and youtubers and horror fans for half a century – it was banned in many countries and is in the permanent collection at New York’s Museum of Modern Art – what could I possibly have to add to the conversation? And yet, I know that as it’s hitting this big anniversary, countless other bloggers, podcasters, and journalists will be praising it, analyzing it, dissecting it, and discussing its importance for the genre, and possibly for the art of cinema writ large, and hey – if all of those people get to do it, I can too. I pay my hosting fees here – I can do what I please.

So yeah – this month we’re digging into The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) on the advent of its 50th anniversary (which will come about two weeks from today). I wouldn’t exactly call it one of my favorite horror films, but in a strange fashion, that’s only because it is so damn good. It is disturbing and awful in all the right ways, such that it hasn’t fallen into a kind of comfort food rotation for me. I like to preserve its power with rare viewings, lest it be merely appreciated for its significant value rather than recoiled from as the nightmare it is. But that said, I do think it is one of the very best works of horror committed to celluloid – rankings are pretty futile and silly, but I can’t imagine a Top Five that didn’t include it.

One caveat here, though – besides the inevitable fact that this text will include significant spoilers (if you somehow are the kind of person who would read this blog and you haven’t seen this movie, go watch it right now – it’s a classic for a reason – it’s also a quick (if exhausting) watch and it’s streaming all over the place), as mentioned above, this is a piece that has been broadly discussed, and often by writers or presenters who have done far more original research than I (by which I mean ‘at least some’). I know that over the years, I have been exposed to so many other people’s interpretations – and I do not know from whence my own readings come. I intend no plagiarism, and will try to base my words primarily on my personal viewing experience, but I simply can’t guarantee that seeds planted during my last roughly 25 years of being a horror fan and reading about movies haven’t grown to fruition in the form of accidentally recycled notions. But hey, I’ll do my best… so here we go…

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

Tobe Hooper’s second film marks the high point of his career. He went on to make plenty of other works that were enjoyable and worthwhile (at least one of which I wrote about here), but nothing could approach the queasy, awful power of this early entry. It only runs a tight 83 minutes, but feels so much longer. In most cases, that would be a harsh criticism, but I mean it as high praise. The events of its story span one full day, from dawn to dawn, taking its sole survivor on a harrowing descent into terror and madness, and I think it can feel that way for the audience as well. I remember the first time I watched it, just wanting the screaming to stop, wanting to catch my breath – it was a trial to endure – not a fun movie, but really effectively horrific.

Oddly, having just watched it twice in rapid succession for this post, I find it gets less jarring and more enjoyable on each subsequent viewing – so much of it just works so very, very well – and that is exciting and fun, when taken with a certain critical distance. Daniel Pearl’s grainy 16mm cinematography is frequently gorgeous, as well as smart and effective. The editing and discordant score likewise. It is lean and mean when it needs to be, but it will also stretch things out beyond any remnant of comfort when it chooses, yielding sickly, disturbing fruit. Its structure is perfect – easing us from something approaching real naturalistic cinema vérité at the outset, down a long dark rabbit hole of terror and insanity, surreal and maddening, over the course of its three clear acts, at some points feeling far more like a hellish, nigh abstract art film – but it does this all so unpretentiously, and therefore, all the more succesfully. It might have the best five minutes to be found in any horror film ever (which of course we’ll get into). And for something so earthbound (entirely human killers picking off some nice young people in rural Texas), it comes closer to presenting true “Lovecraftian-mind-shattering-horror-at-the-revelation-of-unbearable-reality” than any flick I’ve ever seen that features slimy tentacles (with much of the credit for that, beyond the filmmaking, going to Marilyn Burns – whose Sally really goes through Hell – and whose eyes express so much).

It is a film of contradictions that achieve a captivating internal tension: It is gritty, sweaty, disgusting, and all around unpleasant to endure – but it is also beautiful. It is truly horrific – but sometimes also genuinely funny, even if you don’t actually laugh cause it would feel wrong. It is naturalistic – but it is also surreal, absurd, and over-the-top. It feels gory and cruel and awful – but there is barely any blood or explicit violence in the whole film. As a viewer, it feels like you are not in safe hands, like the filmmakers themselves are dangerous, irresponsible, crazy – but it is also so expertly crafted at every level of production – and that is rather a joy to watch.

They, however, do not enjoy what they’re watching.

But the fact that it is growing more enjoyable as I dig into everything that works so well in it means that once I’m done writing this, I probably shouldn’t let myself watch it again for at least another ten years. It deserves to retain its shocking horror, and I fear that can be lost in familiarity…

From the very beginning, with its corpse art at sunrise, mechanical whirring sounds that could be chainsaws or cameras, John Larroquette’s clearly fraudulent ‘based on true events’ voiceover, and its opening credits in searing red and black (what is it? sunspot photography? I don’t know – but it feels ugly and hot and foreboding), before cutting to the 5 young people in a van, driving to the cemetery where Sally’s grampa was buried to make sure that his corpse hasn’t been tampered with in the recent wave of grave robberies and desecrations that local law enforcement claim are the work of elements from “outside the state,” absolutely everything is hot, sweaty, gross, and doom laden. As they head down the road, Pam reads from a horoscope book about how Saturn is having an evil influence on the world. You don’t get the sense that any of them buy into this, but it is a part of the shared mood. They are just a group of normal kids out for a trip together, and they want to have a good time, but in this sweltering heat, and given the state of things (analysis of the film often cites Watergate and Vietnam as big influences – trust in American order and even ‘goodness’ having been well eroded at the time), it’s hard to imagine that their state, their country, their world isn’t an entirely evil place, and it’s hard to relax and enjoy yourself under such conditions, though they do their best.

At the cemetery, given the ruckus raised by the grotesque reports of corpses being stolen and fashioned into macabre, decaying statuary, the place is crowded with drunk locals out to enjoy the carnival atmosphere. One old man who can’t hold his head up goes on about how he sees the things that happen around here that no one talks about, that they all laugh at him. This is not a good place, but presenting as typical “small town America,” the rot at its heart goes undiscussed. It’s hard to feel that this isn’t a stand-in for every small town across the country – just ‘normal’ folk going about their lives, being “neighborly,” but underneath it all, something is sick, wrong, menacing. Sally’s grampa’s grave may be undisturbed, but a disturbing miasma suffuses the air and poisons the land.

Just a typical small town family preparing dinner.

Not to go scene by scene, eventually Sally, her wheelchair bound brother Franklin, and their friends, Jerry, Pam, and Kirk, end up going to visit Sally’s grampa’s house, long abandoned. She and Franklin used to visit and play there as kids, and this is familiar, nostalgic territory for them. I think this is an important element. Often in this sort of horror, you get the sense that the young people are somehow trespassing in a world that is not their own – invading a rural or wooded space that they are wrong to venture into. But in this instance, when they all stop at a gas station that has no gas and the barbeque cook (hereinafter, “the Cook”) who runs the place tells them that they shouldn’t go messing around in other people’s houses (does he originate the trope of the “Harbinger”? Probably not – I expect that should go to the villagers in Nosferatu – but the Cook does embody it perfectly), Franklin can answer that his daddy owns this homestead. They’ve been away, but they are locals too.

I think this is partly key to how scary this movie feels. It turns out that it is a neighboring house to grampa’s old place that houses the family of Ed Gein inspired cannibals/artists. Franklin and Sally swam in the watering hole down past the shed as kids. Sally slept in her room decorated with zebras right across from the house where she will soon undergo untold torment. This isn’t the suburban comfort of Haddonfield, but though remote, isolated – somewhere you can run through the woods screaming all night, being chased by a madman with a live chainsaw, and no one will hear you, there is still a presumption of familiarity, of safety, of normalcy – which hides unfathomable darkness. These killers are a just a nearby family, neighbors – and they could be yours.

Grannie and her pearls.

Also, watching with 2024 eyes, following endless think pieces since 2016 about the disenfranchised, post-industrial, white, non-urban, working class rage which has metastasized in America with resoundingly destructive socio-political results, it’s hard not to see echoes of that in this family who ‘has always been in meat,’ former slaughterhouse employees put out of work and abandoned by the economy and society thanks to advances in automated meat production. This clan of insane weirdos is monstrous, terrifying, and dangerous – but in their way, they are also pitiable, lost, just barely getting by, doing their best. Back when their Grampa worked at the slaughterhouse, a veritable star with the sledgehammer, were they cannibals and madmen, or did that happen to them when the work dried up and the world moved on? I don’t know. They film doesn’t tell us, but I feel there is something there. Being lost and forgotten breeds resentment, and resentment and bitterness breed monsters.

And that sense of resentment, of things not being fair and carrying a toxic anger in response, goes beyond the killers. We saw that with the locals at the graveyard. We felt that with the guy at the gas station staring into the sun, wasting away. And we get such a strong example of it in Franklin. Sally’s brother gets a bad rap – often described as one of the most irritating characters in horror, someone that fans love to hate. But honestly, he has a really rough time of it. He’s been dragged along on this trip by his sister only to be stuck with a bunch of her friends who have no patience for him and don’t say it, but would rather not have to deal with him and his disability, not to mention his anger and trolling. He is not well cared for and frequently gets hurt – his chair rolling down into a ditch while he’s trying to pee, the Hitchhiker targeting him, being subjected to various bumps and scrapes along the way (and of course, in the end, getting eviscerated by a chainsaw – he has a really bad day).

Now, to be fair, he’s not not incredibly irritating, blowing raspberries and whining all the time, but I can also really sympathize – left behind, mocked, only nominally put up with. You can see all of that result in his bracing personality, and at the same time, there is a kind of kinship between him and the killers. When the kids pick up the Hitchhiker early on, whom we later learn to be part of the crazy family next door, Franklin alone shows a legitimate interest in his story of family history at the local slaughterhouse. Franklin doesn’t immediately look down on him and mock him – he even makes respectful conversation – until things go way too far, the guy creeps them all out and slices Franklin with a straight razor, and they kick him out of the van.

So, of course, eventually, after about 35 minutes of the vague sense that things are not going to end well for them, the kids start dying, kicked off with what I described above as one of the very best five minutes in all of horror. I am not the first to describe this scene in minute detail, but both times that I watched it for this post, I had to pause afterwards and just sit in mind-blown appreciation of its perfection. So it’s worth describing one more time. Bear with me:

Kirk and Pam, having found the promised swimming hole to have dried up (just one more way that the film allows no relief for anyone), notice a nearby house with a generator, and go over to see if they can buy some gasoline as their van is running low. Approaching the house, Kirk notices cars hidden under a camouflaged canopy – which feels like a flag, but not enough to rise to the level of concern (one can only assume these to be the vehicles of previous victims – but the couple knows nothing of any past violence – so why worry?). After some horsing around, Pam sits on a swing out in the front yard as Kirk bangs on the door, trying to get the attention of someone within.

He opens the screen door to knock and doing so causes the main door to swing inward, the shot reversing to within the house, seeing the light and the young man appearing at the beginning of a dark hallway. We reverse the shot again and see what he sees – at the end of the dimly lit corridor, beyond a doorway, there is a red wall decorated with animal skulls. There’s an odd sound from within, something like the squealing of a pig and the film cuts twice, each time getting closer and closer to the skulls, to the sound. We reverse again to see Kirk intrigued, debating entrance, calling out ‘hello’ again and again to no response, and then eventually, kind of running into the place, to get to the end of the hall and find the source of sound. Reverse shot again so we see him from behind as he jogs forward, trips a bit and suddenly the doorway is filled with a hulking figure wearing a strange mask. Closeup on Leatherface – disturbing and grotesque – his mask a dead man’s face. The figure whacks him on the head with a sledgehammer and Kirk goes down twitching.

Multiple cuts to see his body in spasm before the sledge comes down again and his body is still (exactly as deaths at the slaughterhouse were described earlier). Leatherface yanks Kirk’s body in and slams a heavy metal door shut, leaving us in a dark, silent hallway once more. From first hearing the odd noises to seeing the door slam, only 35 seconds have passed. There was no music at all, either of ominous building threat, or a stinger on the jump scare – it is absolutely shocking, and startling in its oddness, simplicity, almost silence.

But then, with Kirk locked within, a low rumble of danger begins in the score and we cut to Pam outside on the swing, calling after her boyfriend. First we see her face in closeup and consternation, and then we cut to the shot – the most famous in the film, and for good reason. (I couldn’t find a Youtube clip for the whole scene, but here, at least, is this shot.) The camera starts behind the white wooden bench swing that she’s sitting on, but as she rises to walk towards the house, the lens glides beneath the seat to follow her low from behind. We now know what she’s walking towards, and she looks so soft and fleshy – she’s wearing short shorts and a backless swimsuit, and feels uncovered, unprotected, and filmed from this angle, the house looms above her like a hungry thing. She walks forward, up the stairs and towards the door, seeming to be consumed in the frame by the building, an otherwise normal house.

These two stills don’t do justice to how effective this moment is – go watch the dang movie!

We view her from inside, her face distorted by the screen door. Low, scary tones in the soundtrack accompany her into the bad place, shots alternating between closeups on her worried face that don’t let us see what might be coming and her POV as she scans the hall ahead. Coming around a corner in the dark, she trips over something and falls into a room filled with feathers and bones. A chicken is suspended in a too-small cage, clucking. Her point of view, intercut with horrified reaction shots, slowly scans from one disturbing bone-art-installation to the next – and these are clearly human bones – femurs, jaws, rib cages. Slowly the camera pans from a skeleton’s foot, up a bit of wood, to a hand, past a shoulder blade, to a skull, and we cut to a wide view of a skeletal sofa.

After a few moments of stunned revulsion, she scrambles to get up and flee, but as she turns into the hallway again, the metal door bangs open and the massive, lumbering figure runs out to grab her – she barely makes it out the front door of the house before he catches her around the waist and pulls her back in, screaming and kicking and fighting for her life. Down the hall and into the next room.

We cut to a view within the kitchen, the camera placed behind a meathook, and we see Leatherface carry in the shrieking, struggling girl. Cut to behind Leatherface as he lifts Pam and approaches the hook. Quick cut to the hook view with her uncovered back nearing the point, and cut again to behind him as we see him give up her weight. One more cut to Pam’s face as she is pierced, her arms feebly rising to try to pull her body up and off of the hook, but it’s impossible.

We see Kirk’s body lying on the table in the foreground and Leatherface in the middle as he examines his work. He meanders slowly over to pick up a chainsaw. There is a bucket beneath Pam’s feet to catch her blood when it is drained, as one would do with a butchered pig. We have a couple of shots of Leatherface carefully, if clumsily, handling his chainsaw to go about the project of segmenting Kirk’s body as Pam screams in the background, before the film cuts outside to a weather vane spinning, backlit by the cloud obscured sun – a moment of peace after this terror, but with the faint sounds of the chainsaw running in the background. A sound that, heard from afar, would raise no alarm.

In these last five minutes, we barely saw any blood – we don’t see the meathook break the skin. We don’t see the chainsaw blades touch Kirk’s body. And much of this is accomplished with a series of pretty simple reverse shots – this side, that side, this side, that side, but ye gods is it effective – startling, terrifying, brutal, and weird and so, so real. Every choice is perfectly calibrated to shock – to tell the story, to batter us with horror, down to that spinning vane in the end. I am hard pressed to think of another scene in any other horror film so flawless. It exhausts and thrills in equal measure.

In the next 15 minutes, the rest of Sally’s friends will die, and she will be thrust into a final act that is pure, mad nightmare. But first, on those other deaths, I think there is at least one important element which I am far from the first to note. Ok – terrible things are happening to these youths, but the impression is also that Leatherface is having a terrible day. It’s even a little funny and pitiable how, after he kills his next victim, Jerry (who has come into the house looking for the others, having seen Kirk’s towel outside), he runs to the window to look outside, before collapsing into a chair in terror and frustration himself. He is wordless, but you imagine him feeling “where are they coming from? How do they keep getting in?” like he’s fighting a losing battle with some infestation.

He’s been left responsible for his home and it keeps getting invaded, and he seems out of his depths, and so upset to be failing. Sure, he is strange, off putting, and genuinely scary, but in this moment, he is both pitiful and pitiable, though we’ve just seen him, in his power, destroy these three young lives. This ordeal is happening to him too. This is also not to mention his clear developmental disabilities. He has a hard time of it.

A striking difference between this film and many slashers to follow is that, in Sally, we have a survivor – a final girl – one who goes through such torments and comes out the other side, but, unlike most from Laurie Strode onwards, Sally doesn’t really get to fight. She is a victim, one who runs and screams and escapes and lives, but she’s not a ‘hero.’ She doesn’t have enough agency for that. Things happen to her and she simply struggles to stay alive. But on the flip side of that, while Leatherface is a kind of human monster, he also lacks a kind of agency as a villain – he’s not going out hunting these kids – they come to him, invade his home, and he is just trying to get through this terrible, meaningless day as well. Thus, on both sides, everyone is stuck reacting to a world that doesn’t make sense and that doesn’t afford them choice in their own destiny. It is bleak as all get out, and in that, it is all the more chilling (if something this hot and rancid can chill – I don’t know – it chills like the chills you get from food poisoning).

And so, in the third act, we are off to the races, and the nightmare explodes around us. Sally is chased, screaming at the top of her lungs through the woods for what feels like hours (it’s only 8 minutes), Leatherface in hot pursuit, getting so close with those spinning blades. Finally, she finds momentary respite back at the gas station with the Cook, before discovering that he is also part of this demented family (and what was in that barbecue they’d eaten earlier?), and he ties her up to bring her back to the house. It’s also at this point that a wild, manic, shocking absurdity comes into the proceedings. As she struggles against her bindings on the floor of his truck, he keeps poking her with a broomstick, only barely keeping her under his control, as he laughs, saying, “I hope you’re not too uncomfortable down there.” Strangely, it even feels like he means it, and that somehow makes it worse – he can sympathize, but that doesn’t mean he won’t bring her to her doom – he says he’s never liked killing, but that doesn’t mean he’ll help her to live. People just can’t be trusted or depended on.

He picks up the Hitchhiker on the way, who, soon, back at the homestead, along with Leatherface, now in a matronly role, working in the kitchen, wearing a dress and a woman’s face and hair, carry their grandfather downstairs. Grampa is so old as to appear mummified, and at first doesn’t seem to even be alive – until Sally’s finger is cut and he is given to suck like a baby, her blood reviving him like a vampire.

Carroll’s tea party has nothing on Tobe Hooper for a scene of madness around a table. Sally awakens and starts to scream – and the men howl and laugh and bray in response. They are certainly going to murder her, but first, they are apparently playing with their food, torturing the poor girl, but not physically – rather, they abuse her with their own weirdness. It is disgusting, and disturbing, and it feels like reality has come unmoored. Along the way, the camera spends so much time with her, focusing on the moments in which her mind seems to snap – as she struggles and cries out, her eyes roll in her head and the camera gets closer than one might think possible – here a face, here an eye, here just the white of an eye, here a capillary. They are great shots, and Marilyn Burns gives so much that her shattered psyche becomes our own. We have all gone off the deep end.

It is horrific, but watched from a certain angle, it’s weirdly funny as well – which doesn’t make it any better – rather than offering comic relief, the farce only makes the grotesque scarier, more incomprehensible, more unhinged and threatening. The Cook, The Hitchhiker, Grampa, even Leatherface are all ridiculous, oafish figures – they could be laughable if they weren’t so sad, scary, and murderous. There is a pathetic, wretched comedy of errors in the boys trying to help Grampa relive his glory days at the slaughterhouse by holding Sally’s head over a bucket and trying to put the sledgehammer in his hand for him to finish her off – he can’t even support its weight and keeps dropping it. This comedy elicits few laughs, and those are uncomfortable. The zany silliness of the boys and their patriarch only serves to sap Sally’s plight of any respect – if they at least were taking this seriously, that would be one thing, but she isn’t enough of a person to them to even warrant the dignity of menace. She is, at worst, an inconvenience – in the wrong place at the wrong time – that needs to be taken care of, and at best, she is a gift to Grampa, a cow for the slaughter. But in their wild hooting and hollering, she is not a person. They even seem to be having a kind of wholesome good time together as a family. It is upsetting.

But, in the end, she struggles out of their chaotic grasp, jumps through her second window in a few hours, and escapes to the road where she manages to get into a pickup truck speeding away, covered in blood, laughing, crying, mad, and utterly broken (as the tagline on the poster famously read, “Who will survive and what will be left of them?” The answer is “not much”), while Leatherhead dances with his chainsaw in impotent rage on the road behind her as the sun rises on a new terrible day. It is another beautiful shot and then, as abruptly as anything else in this non-stop nightmare, it is over. The credits roll.

It is quite the film.

And it is even a bit strange to me how great I think it is. Since its release, it has had myriad imitators, and their ilk do not represent my favorite kinds of horror movies. Gritty, gross, sweaty, depressing, hopeless – that all has a place and I can appreciate it, but it’s not exactly my go to vibe. Still, I’m sure that beyond the films that have clearly riffed on this masterpiece (e.g., The Hills Have Eyes (1977), Wrong Turn (2003), or much of Rob Zombie’s oeuvre, among many, many others), so much of the genre writ large was advanced by the new depths that Hooper et al. managed to plumb. But while much that came after Texas Chainsaw was indebted to it, I think very little could hold a candle to this wholly original piece, which at once feels as insane and sloppy as its killers and also, paradoxically, is just perfectly orchestrated, artfully crafted, exquisitely built to achieve its horrific, bleak, shocking effect. This movie is really something special – a horrid delight, a flawless abomination. It was honestly a great pleasure to re-watch it a couple of times for this post.

Now, let’s not do that again for a while.