MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #122 Rosemary’s Baby 1968 & The Mephisto Waltz 1971

SPOILER ALERT!

ROSEMARY’S BABY 1968 

A Covenant of Betrayal: Bodily Invasion, Unholy Pacts, Maternal Power, the Spiral of Paranoia, and the Profaned Sanctuary in Rosemary’s Baby:

I know my challenge here at 150 Days of Classic Horror promised to be shorter versions of my typical work, but this film warrants my attention and is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg for what’s to come soon. It’s not easy to find the words worthy of a film that feels absolutely flawless, and leaves me stunned each time I revisit it, which is often and never enough. It’s a film that slips through easy categories and shatters the bounds of expectations of what makes a classic film transcendent, inimitable, divinely wrought, and narrative alchemy.

There’s something about Rosemary’s Baby 1968 that never loosens its grip on me—not just the thickening dread or that sly, darkly playful humor, but the sheer craft on display in every frame. It’s not that the movie hides new secrets each time I watch it; it’s that I’m always floored by the layers of brilliance that never lose their power: the way every detail becomes part of the film’s mood; the choreography of hand gestures and glances; the clothes that seem both of their moment and eternally stylish or times unsettling as in Minnie and Roman’s dress up menagerie.

If clothes make the character, then Ruth Gordon’s Minnie Castevet is dressed for an urban coven and a comedy of manners. Her wardrobe is a parade of candy-colored eccentricity, as if your great-aunt Sadie raided the witchy side of Bloomingdale’s, then asked for extra rhinestones and a brooch shaped like a fig.

More than anything, there’s the sense of place—the way New York isn’t just a backdrop, but a living, breathing character, indifferent and watchful, quietly amplifying the film’s unease. Every time the credits roll, and Krzysztof Komeda’s lyrical music arrives with the hush of a child entering an existential waiting room, innocent yet weighted, the melody lingering in the charged quiet, the camera’s gliding descent and dreamlike plunge from the sky to capture Manhattan and the Bramford, I find myself in awe all over again. At just how ruthlessly and elegantly this film captures a story, I can’t look away.

Rosemary’s Baby 1968 was adapted from Ira Levin’s (A Kiss Before Dying 1953, The Stepford Wives 1972, The Boys from Brazil 1976) celebrated 1967 novel of the same name. Levin’s taut, gripping story provided the blueprint for the film, blending psychological suspense with supernatural horror and offering a sharply modern twist on themes of trust, vulnerability, and evil hidden in plain sight. If you read the novel, you’ll see that the film remains closely tied to Levin’s vision, bringing his unsettling tale of paranoia and betrayal to vivid cinematic life.

There is significance to its import; on the threat of women’s primacy and the lure of power that seeks to undermine, contain, and ultimately invade female autonomy, seducing and betraying with equal finesse right out in the open sunlit and the minimal Mid-century space that was supposed to be hopeful, modern, and independent, surrounded by gentle colors and an almost idyllic domestic calm. Levin would revisit these themes in The Stepford Wives.

Rosemary’s world, with clean, uncluttered lines, a palette of airy whites, soft yellows, and pale golds, her airly sunlit apartment has a serene sense of order that highlights both comfort and sophistication.

But underneath the surface of Rosemary’s domestic life, a space that promises safety, possibility, and the hope of new life to come, something is coiling and brewing, and something ancient is quietly gathering strength. The hopeful clarity of clean lines and soft yellows is, in truth, a delicate façade. Just beyond the reach of that domestic optimism, forces both seen in and unseen on the other side of the modest pantry door, there are those who are waiting: neighbors who seem intrusive yet harmless, rituals that appear routine, and dark traditions that slip past the boundaries of reason.

What’s waiting to undermine this peace isn’t just a conspiracy of others, but the creeping realization that control is an illusion. Within the walls of the Bramford, every open space harbors a hidden potential for invasion; the kindly smiles, the jovial conversations, the quirky charms of an odd elderly couple, all dissolve into a silent, relentless pressure. The threat lies in the way trust is twisted and agency is quietly unraveled, not just by the clandestine violence or chaos, but by the slow, almost invisible shifting of power.

What Rosemary fears isn’t only what’s lurking outside her door, but the knowledge that safety, in this bright and hopeful home, has always been conditional. And everyone’s mask slips off when she begins to watch too closely, revealing the machinery of manipulation that’s been pulsing away behind her back, and within the dreams that disturb her. These lucid dreams leave her feeling uneasy and unsure of what’s real once she wakes up. “This is no dream! This is really happening!”

Every glance and gesture carries a tension between self-possession and quiet influence, as if the film is warning us that the very spaces we trust most can sometimes become the very settings where we end up surrendering more control than we realize.

Rosemary’s Baby endures not because of its notorious reputation or its genre trappings, but because it is still unsettling and beguiling in ways that no summary can really capture. It’s a film you don’t just watch so much as take it all in, absorb it scene by scene, uneasy feeling by uneasy feeling, as it quietly reconfigures your trust in the world, and how people can so easily betray us.

Mia Farrow stars as the iconic imperiled and innocence lost — Rosemary Woodhouse, a young woman who moves with her husband, Guy (John Cassavetes), into the Bramford, a storied, aging brownstone apartment building in Manhattan shrouded in rumors of dark happenings. Their lives seem charmed: a fabulous new home, rising career hopes, plans to start a family, yet beneath the façade of urban domesticity, something ominous takes root.

Mia Farrow as Rosemary: An Exquisite Portrait of Fragility and Innocence:

Mia Farrow’s performance as Rosemary is the glowing heart at the center of Rosemary’s Baby—a presence so nuanced, so quietly powerful, that the film’s entire world seems to draw its breath from her. Farrow captures Rosemary’s innocence with an ethereal touch, her every expression delicately poised between wonder and dread. With her wide, questing eyes and that unforgettable veil of pixie-blonde hair, she embodies a kind of luminous vulnerability, beauty not defined by glamour, but by a raw openness to the world’s mysteries and dangers.

Farrow’s portrayal is breathtaking in its authenticity. Each gesture, trembling, hopeful, or aching with suspicion, feels both spontaneous and deeply considered. She moves through each scene with a dancer’s physicality: light on her feet in moments of domestic joy, yet growing ghostlike and hollow as suspicion and fear eclipse the bright interiors she inhabits. There’s a palpable music to her silence, a poetry in the way her features convey volumes, whether in tentative laughter, a quickening whisper, or the silent tears of someone who feels the world slipping out from under her.

Her innocence is not naiveté, but a kind of luminous trust, a faith in goodness that the film is designed to test at every turn. By drawing from the most delicate corners of vulnerability, Farrow makes Rosemary’s journey a wrenching and universally human ordeal. Even in her waning strength and drawn, pale beauty, Farrow glows with that haunting radiance, summoning a purity that makes Rosemary’s suffering deeply affecting and her small moments of rebellious courage all the more heroic.

Few performances have so vividly distilled the essence of innocence under siege. Mia Farrow renders Rosemary not just as a victim, but as a fully alive, feeling woman whose genuine spirit, beauty, and pain linger with us long after the film dissolves with Komeda’s last note. Her work here is a study in emotional transparency, each note played with a subtlety that makes the horror feel more penetrating, richer, deeper, and achingly real.

Rosemary and Guy’s elderly neighbors, the eccentric and quite intrusive Minnie and Roman Castevet, quickly ingratiate themselves. Guy, an aspiring actor, soon falls under their influence, his career suddenly flourishing as Rosemary suffers a series of unsettling experiences: strange dreams, a violent encounter that leaves her mysteriously bruised and scratched, and the news that she is pregnant.

As her pregnancy advances, Rosemary grows increasingly isolated and distrustful. Doctors minimize her pain, friends are pushed away, and the Castevets intensify their hold. The everyday rhythms of city life and marriage become laced with suspicion, anxiety, and a creeping sense of conspiracy. Hutch (Maurice Evans), Rosemary’s trusted friend, initially rattles her with ominous gossip about the Bramfords’ dark past, stories of witchcraft, strange deaths, and unspeakable rituals that blacken and scandalize the building’s reputation. As Rosemary’s suspicions grow, Hutch attempts to warn her. On his way to deliver unsettling information, he mysteriously falls into a coma, silencing his efforts to protect her. Subtle acts of theft, such as the coven taking belongings from their intended victims, hint at ritualistic intentions. Rosemary connects these disappearances to the practice of casting spells using personal items. After Hutch’s death, Rosemary receives a cryptic clue, discovering an anagram involving the book “All of Them Witches.” She painstakingly uncovers the hidden message, realizing it reveals the true identity of her neighbor, Roman, connecting him to a notorious witchcraft lineage. This book, Hutch leaves for Rosemary, shrouded in notes and underlined passages, becomes the key that finally lays bare the coven’s plot. It exposes Roman Castevet as Steven Marcato, son of the Bramford’s infamous devil-worshipping Patriarch. These fragile clues confirm Rosemary’s deepest fears and propel Rosemary from bewildered innocence toward the harrowing truth lurking within her home and her womb.

Brought in by Minnie and Roman to oversee Rosemary’s pregnancy is Dr. Abraham Sapirstein, played with a calmly sinister streak by Ralph Bellamy, who enters the picture with all the outward confidence of a respected obstetrician, but there’s a chilling contrast between his composed authority and Rosemary’s visible suffering under his care. Underneath all that bedside manner, his role is complicit and menacing as he manipulates Rosemary; he’s firmly in the coven’s corner, quietly keeping tabs on Rosemary and steering her away from anyone who might actually help. Sapirstein represents the medical establishment’s betrayal of women.

As her pregnancy progresses, she becomes deathly thin and almost ghostly pale, her face drawn, her body frail, every movement shadowed by exhaustion and pain. It’s clear that whatever’s happening isn’t normal, yet Sapirstein dismisses her agony, brushing off her fears with a clinical calm that only heightens the horror. The pain is so unbearable that Rosemary cries out in desperation, “Pain be gone—I shall have no more of thee!” Still, he insists she soldier on, becoming the embodiment of that terrifying authority who refuses to listen, all while Rosemary’s strength seems to slip further away under his unyielding watch.

Haunted by the feeling that something is terribly wrong, Rosemary’s search for truth unravels the terrible secret: her child’s conception was manipulated by this coven of witches, with Guy complicit in exchange for his ambitions to seek rising stardom. The baby she delivers is not just hers, but the offspring of something unholy—a child meant to bring darkness into the world. Her little Andrew is the devil’s son.

Rosemary’s Baby is at once a story of trust betrayed and innocence invaded. It quietly transforms the familiar—marriage, motherhood, home—into a landscape of menace and dread, drawing us into a spiral of fear as what should have been Rosemary’s ordinary, hopeful new life becomes the stage for the extraordinary and the profane.

This isn’t just a horror film, or a psychological thriller, nor a film about devil worshiping, or even a New York story. It’s a painting of dread, paranoia, and invasion, as precise as it is surreal, where every detail thrums with intention.

The missing paintings in the Castavets’ apartment leave a conspicuous rectangle of emptiness, suggesting an orchestrated secrecy about their identities. Strange herb gardens in Minnie Castevet’s kitchen, filled with tannis root and mysterious plants, their pungent smell lingering as a recurring motif of suspicion. The faint sound of a recorder drifting through the apartment’s walls—distant, eerie, and childlike, as if signaling secret rituals behind closed doors. Whispered voices and thin walls, so every innocent noise becomes suspect, heightening Rosemary’s sense of isolation. A hidden door connecting apartments, blending private and public spaces, making safety feel porous and staged. Unsettling tokens of care from Minnie and Roman, like herbal drinks, shakes, each laden with false cheer and underlying menace. Peculiar talismans: the charm locket with tannis root, a gift presented as protection but reeking, literally, of danger. Laura-Louise, played with jittery gusto by Patsy Kelly, barges into Rosemary’s apartment like she’s volunteering for neighborhood watch and community theater in the same breath, plotzing on the sofa, needles flying, kvetching louder than her knitting clacks, and making the sacred art of sitting still look like an Olympic sport in comic chaos. Ritual chanting and laughter seeping through the walls at night, creating the sense of a community united by something occult and inaccessible to Rosemary. Roman’s piercing eyes and pierced ears. And Minnie’s outlandish fashion sense. The black, sinister crib with its unnerving mobile, just visible in the Castavets’ apartment near the film’s end—a chilling symbol of what’s been orchestrated.

The mood Polanski conjures is so immaculate and inexorable, it almost feels like a spell. Even its moments of humor or domestic calm are laced with a kind of exquisite malice, suggesting that comfort is the cruelest illusion of all. Mia Farrow’s fragile grace as Rosemary is the soul of uncertainty, making every room she enters feel both sanctuary and snare.

In the harrowing aftermath of betrayal, Rosemary’s Baby builds toward a moment where the meaning of motherhood eclipses even the most profound fears. Staring into little Andy’s (Adrian’s) unearthly eyes, “What have you done to his eyes?!” (she screams). “He has his father’s eyes,” Roman coyly comforts her.

Rosemary finds herself at the threshold between horror and something both older and deeper: the instinct to love and protect her child, no matter his origins. That haunting question—“Aren’t you his mother, Rosemary?” posed by Roman in the iconic climax as she gently rocks her little boy in the black bassinet, lands with seismic force. It crystallizes the film’s emotional climax, posing not only a moral dilemma but also recognizing the singular, transformative bond of a mother to her child. Despite the supernatural terror, betrayal, and the realization of all the evil that has conspired against her, Rosemary’s primal, elemental, fierce, unyielding maternal impulse silently asserts itself.

I can’t wait to explore this masterpiece in a deeper, more revealing way at The Last Drive In. I want to offer just this: the promise of an essay that takes nothing for granted, that attempts to do justice to the emotional, aesthetic, and philosophical currents flowing beneath the film’s notorious surface. There’s so much more to Rosemary’s Baby than its twists or shocks; for me, it’s a film about vulnerability, transformation, paranoia, silencing women, the shifting shadows of trust, and, of course, motherhood. And I can’t wait to share why it feels inexhaustible, still new, and still necessary, fifty years on. I recently watched it on my birthday, and am still struck by its sense of being utterly mesmerizing, almost alchemical. And then suddenly you’re acutely aware of your own vulnerability.

Every ritual, whether whispered incantations behind closed doors or the unsettling social ceremonies of Rosemary’s intrusive neighbors, feels charged, precise, and ambiguous, as if the very walls of the Bramford have absorbed a liturgy of secrets. These moments aren’t just spectacle; they root us inside a private mythology, where everyday rituals become gateways to the uncanny and the unspeakable.

And nothing—but nothing—and no one—could have conjured Minnie and Roman Castevet with the peculiar electricity, sly depth, and frightening authenticity that Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer summoned at the heart of Rosemary’s Baby.

Minnie is unapologetically gauche. She drapes herself in loud prints, chunky jewelry, and an arsenal of funky hats. To me, this brings to mind pincushion pastels and the sort of necklaces that double as divining pendulums, baubles, and jangly bracelets. Minnie’s headwear could have its own billing: floppy, beaded, occasionally flower-topped, each one perched with the confidence of a seasoned scene-stealer.

Forgive my endless descriptives. It’s hard to stop envisioning Minnie without poetic indulgence.

With her quilted coats and dresses in pattern collisions, Minnie is like a walking box of assorted bonbons, each piece of jewelry and every boldly patterned scarf a different surprise, sweetly mismatched, kitschy, and irresistibly eye-catching. Her accessories cluster around her like a flock of noisy birds, each one a burst of color. And they’re all competing for attention, all of it creating a look that’s as whimsically cluttered and unpredictable as a curiosity shop window after a small earthquake. The total effect is less “understated Upper West Side” and more sorceress at Sunday bingo. It all leans toward playful excess.

With pride, she sports accessories with attitude: Brooches the size of demonic talismans, over-the-glasses chains, and bags that seem to carry everything but a sense of subtlety.

Ruth Gordon’s costumes are the wearable equivalent of a fabulous ’60s raspberry Jell-O mold: politely Mid-century but packing deeply subversive energy just beneath the surface. Minnie Castevet’s wardrobe is an incantation in polyester and paste gems—one part busybody, one part occult ringleader, and 100% unforgettable.

The sartorial magic behind both Rosemary’s Mod minimalism and Minnie’s retro maximalism belongs to Anthea Sylbert, who was the film’s costume designer and a trailblazer in her field, later renowned for her Oscar-nominated work on Chinatown and Julia. In Rosemary’s Baby, she created a visual duet between Mia Farrow’s ethereal chic and Ruth Gordon’s camp-colorful chaos, using clothes as character.  Sylbert’s genius is making every paisley and sequin serve the story, leaving Minnie as the best-dressed witch this side of Central Park West.

Film historians and critics alike have long regarded Gordon and Blackmer’s performances as the lifeblood of the film’s dread and dark wit. Ruth Gordon’s Minnie is often described as a force of nature—one reviewer captures her “hustling, staccato vitality,” likening her presence to “a sprite in clashing housecoats, flitting from kindness to command with witchy irrepressibility… a cheerful plague injected in doses of neighborly affection.” — (Matthew Eng in his essay “We Need More Villains Like ROSEMARY’S BABY’s Minnie Castevet,” published by the Tribeca Film Festival’s online journal.)

Gordon was awarded an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, a testament to her ability to turn Minnie’s nosiness and eccentricity into both a source of charm and existential dread. She is the apartment’s malignant fairy godmother, gifting advice laced with poison.

Sidney Blackmer provides the perfect counterpoint as Roman—urbane, elusive, exuding a velvety menace behind every pointed phrase and witty remark. Blackmer brings a refined and gracious Mephistophelean finesse, every gesture measured, every smile edged with the grace and danger of an old-world conjurer. Blackmer played Roman with “the effortless confidence of a man who has always moved in dark corridors.” (Vincent Canby of The New York Times.) His measured gestures and sonorous voice infuse Roman with equal parts grandeur and guile, a conjurer in evening clothes presiding over the hidden rituals of the Bramford.

Together, Gordon and Blackmer are described as a duet of deviltry so convincing you can nearly smell the talcum and tannin. Their chemistry is unsettling, and their comedic timing is impeccable. Critics point to their ability to blur boundaries, nurturing and predatory, comic and chilling, grotesque and intimate. They are the living heartbeat of the Bramford, the whimsically macabre puppeteers orchestrating Rosemary’s undoing with a neighborly smile.

If Rosemary’s Baby is a spell, then Gordon and Blackmer are its most potent incantation, transforming the ordinary into the diabolical with nothing but a laugh, a glance, a dish of chocolate (‘mouse’) mousse, or a lingering, seemingly innocent question at the apartment door.

Stay tuned—for a true descent into the heart of the Bramford is coming.


THE MEPHISTO WALTZ 1971

Paul Wendkos’s The Mephisto Waltz (1971) stands as one of the more stylish, unsettling entries in the wave of occult horror that followed the late-’60s boom. Adapted by Ben Maddow from Fred Mustard Stewart’s novel, this supernatural drama brings together a cast led by Alan Alda still a few years away from making TV history as the sarcastic mensche and lothario Hawkeye Pierce on MAS*H., here he plays Myles Clarkson, Jacqueline Bisset is his wife Paula, Curd Jürgens as the enigmatic pianist Duncan Ely, and Barbara Parkins as his seductive daughter Roxanne. Bradford Dillman, William Windom, and Kathleen Widdoes support the central quartet, each swirling into the strange world conjured by the film.

Feature & Interview with Iconic Actress, Dancer, and Photographer, Barbara Parkins

Paul Wendkos enjoyed a remarkably prolific career spanning film and television, moving with ease between genres and formats. He first drew Hollywood’s attention with his stylish 1957 superior film noir The Burglar starring Dan Duryea. Other supernaturally tinged features include the TV Movie, Fear No Evil (1969), starring Louis Jourdan. This atmospheric horror introduces a psychiatrist ensnared in a string of eerie deaths linked to a haunted mirror and occult rituals, establishing a recurring supernatural investigator for a proposed series. A follow-up to Fear No Evil, this TV movie continues the story of Dr. David Sorell (Jordan who revisits this character) as he investigates black magic and devil worship, blending psychological horror with supernatural intrigue in another stylish Wendkos production. Wendkos also directed the compelling conspiracy thriller The Brotherhood of the Bell 1970, which delves into the disturbing power of a secret society that manipulates its members’ lives and fates. It features Glenn Ford as a man facing the supernatural undertones of fate and control.

The story unfolds with Myles Clarkson, once a promising pianist, now a journalist, landing an interview with dying virtuoso Duncan Ely. At first, Ely seems dismissive, but after noticing Myles’s pianist-perfect hands, he takes sudden, almost feverish interest in Myles and Paula. Under the surface, Ely and Roxanne are soul-seeking Satanists, and as Ely’s death looms, he enacts a plan to transfer his soul into Myles’s body. A perverse waltz of identity and desire follows: Myles’s talent blooms overnight.

The transformation of Myles Clarkson is both eerie and unsettling. After the ritualistic soul transference, enacted through occult ceremony and the symbolic donning of a lifelike mask, Myles, once a modest and frustrated pianist, is suddenly possessed of Duncan Ely’s formidable virtuosity. The mask, eerily modeled after Duncan’s own face, is not merely a prop but a talisman of identity, marking the exact moment the transfer is complete.

As Duncan’s body succumbs to death, Myles awakens with a talent that is impossibly beyond his own, his hands moving across the keys with newfound authority and grace. The change is almost supernatural in its clarity: where awkwardness and hesitation once reigned, now there is electricity, precision, and a chilling sense of borrowed genius. Myles’s transformation is unmistakable; he performs Liszt’s “Mephisto Waltz” with the passion and brilliance that only the true Duncan Ely possessed, as if the man himself has crossed the mortal threshold to play again.

This uncanny exchange, summoned by the ritual and the mask, turns Myles into a living echo of Duncan, blurring the lines between body and soul, self and other. The film lingers on the aftermath, making every note Myles plays not just a triumph, but a haunting reminder of the price exacted by dark ambition.

His behavior shifts, and Paula, caught between attraction and suspicion, begins to sense a chilling conspiracy. The horror subtly deepens after the ritual, as their daughter Abby falls mysteriously ill and dies, marked by a symbolically oily blue substance, a detail from Paula’s nightmare that horrifyingly manifests in waking life.

In one of the film’s most hallucinatory sequences, Paula finds herself pulled into a dream that shimmers on the edge of reality, a vision so vivid and prophetic that it feels less like fantasy than a glimpse behind the veil. In this haze, Myles and Roxanne appear above her, locked in a disturbing embrace, their bodies joined by an intimacy that is both sensual and sinister. They stand together, looming over Paula as if presiding over a ritual from which she is excluded but cannot escape. The moment is charged with a sense of betrayal and helplessness, blurring the boundary between nightmare and waking life. It’s as though Paula, already beset by suspicion and grief, is being forced to witness the erasure of her own identity, her husband (who is now possessed by Duncan Ely’s soul) and the enigmatic Roxanne joined in an alliance that is at once carnal and conspiratorial. This vision is not just a manifestation of fear; it’s a psychic revelation, laying bare the new order forged by the soul transference. Myles is no longer truly hers, and Roxanne is no mere rival but the co-conspirator in the theft of his very self.

Wendkos crafts the film with a surreal, sensual confidence. The dream sequences and ritual scenes are genuinely hallucinogenic: masks abound, visuals tilt and smear, and a New Year’s Eve party throbs with surreal menace as the camera lingers on the macabre, as if time itself is spilling out of joint. In one of the film’s most visually striking and surreal moments, the human guests don elaborate animal masks, adding to the hallucinatory, unsettling atmosphere of the gathering. This inversion is heightened by the infamous appearance of the Doberman wearing a man’s face mask, while the partygoers themselves appear in costumes and masks evocative of a decadent, slightly feral masquerade.

Out from the glittery crowd, the Doberman appears, jowls sunk into the uncanny slack of a man’s mask, its rubber grin both idiotic and unsettling. Roxanne glides at his side, leash in hand, the picture of cruel poise, her every step a signal that propriety and perversity have traded places for the night. The room filled with hushed conversations, laughter, and the heartbeats of the elite surrounds this grotesque masquerade: a beast dressed in borrowed humanity, padding obediently beside its mistress.

The human mask, showing off its absurd, molded smile, as if to suggest the boundaries between pet and person, predator and prey, have blurred along with the path that stretches across the party, vanishing into the maze of revelers and feral in-crowd where every mask hides something untameable.

The cinematography, praised for its “offbeat” unpredictability, uses distorted angles, mirrored reflections, and slo-mo to induce a sense of psychic vertigo.

By now, it’s no secret: Jerry Goldsmith is my absolute favorite composer. No one else leaps so effortlessly from one sensibility to the next. His versatility isn’t just impressive—it’s alchemy. Time and again, Goldsmith’s scores weave themselves into the soul of every film, conjuring entire worlds with a single, unforgettable theme. He’s penned more brilliant scores than I can count, each one a fresh revelation in cinematic storytelling.

In The Mephisto Waltz, his score draws out the film’s otherworldliness, tinging every frame with an atmosphere both seductive and corrosive. Goldsmith’s score is a conjuration that weaves itself through the film like a dark perfume, at once hypnotic and deranged, lavish and sickly sweet. It is music that kisses the skin and then tingles with cold warning, never letting you settle, pulling you into its spell that floats between desire and dread. Goldsmith composes with sleight of hand, pouring glittering piano passages through a prism of eerie instrumentation.

The waltz motif tiptoes in, graceful but skewed, as if ghosts were spinning atop a parquet floor slick with secrets. Strings shudder and bloom, bells tinkle in minor keys, and uncanny choral voices drift in as if sung by sleepwalkers under spells. There are moments when the music feels like a caress, almost romantic, then, with a subtle twist, it devolves into something warped and unholy, mirroring the film’s descent from elegance to the grotesque.

As only Goldsmith can do best, his score’s beauty is laced with an undercurrent of the uncanny, each melodic phrase sharpened with anticipation. It is a soundtrack that seduces and unnerves. Through Goldsmith’s genius, the film does not merely tell of a pact with devilry; his music makes you feel as if you, too, are dancing at the edge of the abyss.

The piece Myles plays in The Mephisto Waltz is indeed Franz Liszt’s “Mephisto Waltz” (specifically, Mephisto Waltz No. 1). The film’s very title refers to this renowned piano composition, and its plot’s musical language revolves around Myles Clarkson’s sudden, otherworldly ability to perform as a piano virtuoso after a soul-transference ritual. The performance heard in the film is an actual recording by pianist Jakob Gimpel.

Throughout, the dialogue shimmers with cryptic wit. Duncan Ely’s line—“People should be born at the age of 70 and live their life backwards”—hangs over the story’s bizarre logic, summing up the plot’s obsession with aging, rebirth, and the terror of greedy immortality.

The film’s mood is thick with the textures and iconography of its era: it’s the early 70s after all, brass beds and velvet jackets, occult books and strange blue salves, shadowy gatherings where nothing is quite as it seems. The pace is haunted rather than frenetic, drawing out the dread as Paula’s investigations circle the truth, her husband’s body is no longer truly his, and her own agency will only return if she’s willing to descend into darkness herself. And what does that mean? Making her own deal with the devil? Trading places with Roxanne? Will she still get to wear Guerlain’s Shalimar?

The climax is a hall of mirrors: Paula, having lost her daughter, her new friend (Bradford Dillman anointed with the same deadly blue oil), and her husband to the satanic plot, embraces her own occult potential, turning the devil’s methods back on those who ruined her life. The film refuses easy catharsis, and what remains is transformation rather than restoration, as love and horror become indistinguishable within the inexorable dance of possession. The Mephisto Waltz may lack the high reputation of its famous contemporaries in the canon of devil worship panic of the early 1970s horror sub-genre, but it lingers in my mind for precisely these flourishes: hallucinatory visuals, a narrative that waltzes along the edge of nihilism, and performances that hum with enigmatic energy. This is horror at its most hypnotic and perverse, a tale where every embrace hides a bargain and every bargain, a fate one cannot unmake.

#122 down, 28 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

A Trailer a Day Keeps the Boogeyman Away! Halloween A-Z

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The Flesh and The Fiends 1960

Flesh and the Fiends is a 1960 British horror film directed by John Gilling. The movie is a fictionalized account of the real-life Edinburgh murderers, Burke and Hare, who infamously sold corpses to medical schools in the 19th century.

The film follows Dr. Robert Knox (played by Peter Cushing), a respected anatomy lecturer at the University of Edinburgh. Struggling to acquire enough cadavers for his anatomy classes, Dr. Knox becomes involved with two grave robbers, Burke (George Rose) and Hare (Donald Pleasence). Instead of just robbing graves, they escalate to murder to provide fresh bodies for Dr. Knox’s dissections.

As the duo’s gruesome activities continue, they become increasingly brazen and careless. Suspicion grows in the community, and an investigation is launched to uncover the source of the bodies. The film delves into the moral dilemmas faced by Dr. Knox as he turns a blind eye to the origins of the corpses and the increasing brutality of Burke and Hare’s actions.

Flesh and the Fiends is a dark and atmospheric horror film that explores themes of moral corruption, the consequences of desperation, and the ethical boundaries of science. It is known for its chilling portrayal of the Burke and Hare story, with Peter Cushing and Donald Pleasence delivering memorable performances. The film’s unsettling and macabre narrative makes it a notable entry in the horror genre.

Frogs 1972

Frogs is a 1972 American International eco-horror film directed by George McCowan who was prolific in made-for-television movies and TV series. Frogs is set in a remote and swampy area in the American South, where a wealthy and environmentally insensitive family gathers for Independence Day celebrations at their island mansion.

The film opens with a poetic sequence featuring Sam Elliott gliding through the swamp in a canoe, capturing photographs of the wildlife. As the exquisitely framed scene unfolds, the landscape initially appears serene, but soon, the camera reveals the grim sight of polluted water and scattered refuse.

The story follows Pickett Smith (Sam Elliott), a nature photographer and environmentalist who has come to the island to document the local wildlife on Crocket Island. After he is thrown from his canoe by a speedboat manned by Clint Crocket (Adam Roarke) and his beautiful sister Karen (Joan Van Ark) they come to his rescue and get him out of the lake. Clint apologizes and offers Pickett a chance to dry off back at his family estate. Finding Karen charming, he agrees to go back with them. Once there, he meets the cantankerous patriarch, Karen’s grandfather, Jason Crocket played by a now bilious and paunchy Ray Milland who has since had his share of cheap exploitation and horror flicks. He torments the family with a tyrannical iron fist. Gathered around are guests who have been invited to celebrate the Fourth of July.

Among the partygoers are Clint’s wife Jenny (Lynn Bordan) and son and Jason’s other son Michael (David Gilliam). There’s eccentric Aunt Iris played by Hollis Irving, cousin Kenny, and his girlfriend Bella (Judy Pace). They all dread spending time with Jason but they also all stand to inherit some of the family fortune one day when the old bastard finally kicks off. As Jason Crockett announces arrogantly “We are the filthy rich!”

Picket soon discovers that the island’s ecosystem has been dangerously disrupted by pollution and pesticides used by the family. The delicate balance of nature is upset, and as a result, the island’s animal population, led by an army of aggressive frogs, begins to revolt against the human intruders.

As the eerie and deadly attacks by various creatures intensify, the family members and their guests find themselves in a fight for survival against the relentless and vengeful forces of nature.

Grover, one of the family employees suddenly goes missing somewhere in the woods and this infuriates Jason, not to mention he’s got a bellyful of frogs. Pickett offers to go search for Grover and try and figure out what is inciting the frogs to overrun the place. He pokes at Jason that the island’s wildlife, including the frogs, reptiles, and insects seem to be rallying their forces against the Crocket family… and their tradition of not giving a damn about the environment, polluting it, poisoning it, and essentially treating like their own personal dumping site.

When Pickett finds Grover, Jason insists that his family not hear about the death in order not to ruin not only the Fourth of July celebration but also his birthday party. But inexplicable deaths start to occur. Michael is killed in the woods by large spiders, covering him with a network of deathly webs. Kenneth is killed in the greenhouse by lizards who knock over bottles of poisonous fumes. Then while chasing a butterfly, she is killed by snakes. Whoever is left tries to escape the island but Jason refuses to allow anything to ruin his festivities and won’t leave his island. When Bella tries to escape she and Crocket’s servants are slaughtered by birds who violently attack them. Then Clint is killed by poisonous water snakes trying to get to his boat.

With a highly intuitive intellect, the frogs sense that Pickett is about to torch them all with gasoline and they all clear out. Pickett takes Karen and her two kids and they grab a canoe all while battling various creatures along the way, including crocodiles.

The film inevitably ends with an eerie curtain call as Ray Milland is surrounded by the natural world closing in on him. The cacophony of frogs – like an ancient plague consumes the old iron-handed bully, crashing and vaulting through the windows, until they cover him while he dies of a heart attack with no one left to help him.

Frogs 1972 is a cautionary tale and a classic example of the eco-horror subgenre, one of the first ‘nature strikes back’ films where nature itself becomes the antagonist. When the balance of nature is disrupted by avaricious and self-indulgent individuals who contaminate their surroundings, it incites a revolt by a coalition of wildlife who rise up and challenge humanity’s reckless exploitation of the planet’s ecosystem, the consequences of environmental negligence and the potential for the natural world pushed to its limits – to strike back and vie for dominion over mankind.

From Beyond the Grave 1974

See my tribute to MARGARET LEIGHTON here:

From Beyond the Grave 1972 was produced by Amicus Productions, a British film production company known for its horror anthology films during the 1960s and 1970s. The film was released by Warner Bros. in the United States and by British Lion Films in the United Kingdom. Amicus Productions was notable for its contributions to the horror genre, producing several successful anthology films that featured well-known actors and engaging, often interconnected, horror stories. I have a particular affection for the works put out by Amicus. They have a darkly lyrical sensibility, all infused with delicious irony and surreal and sardonic-centered storylines.

From Beyond the Grave is a 1974 British horror anthology film directed by Kevin Connor. The film is structured as a portmanteau or anthology, consisting of four separate but interconnected stories, all linked by a sinister antique shop run by the enigmatic and mysterious proprietor, played by beloved horror icon Peter Cushing.

Throughout the film, the antique shop Temptations Ltd. and its proprietor serve as the central thread that ties these tales of terror together. As each customer falls victim to the sinister objects they’ve stolen, it becomes clear that the shop is a purveyor of cursed items with a malevolent agency of its own.

The quintet of customers who have questionable ethics enter the shop and think they are swindling the shop owner out of his collectibles and antiques. They each obtain a seemingly innocuous item, only to discover that it is cursed and carries a dark and malevolent supernatural force. These stories explore the consequences of the characters’ interactions with the cursed objects, leading to chilling and often fatal outcomes.

The cast includes Ian Bannen, Ian Carmichael, Diana Dors, Margaret Leighton, Donald Pleasance, Nyree Dawn Porter, David Warner, Ian Ogilvy, Leslie Anne Down, Jack Watson, and Angela Pleasance.

The first customer in “The Gate Crasher” is Edward Charlton (David Warner) who thinks he is conning the proprietor out of a valuable mirror, insisting that it’s a reproduction. Once he gets home, after holding a séance with friends, an evil spirit emerges from the mirror and takes possession of him. The evil specter forces Edward to commit murder in order to release him from his glass prison. After carrying out the bloody deeds, Edward himself is trapped inside the mirror until the next person comes along to set him free.

Next is the segment “An Act of Kindness” Ian Bannen plays Christopher Lowe a meek and downtrodden husband who steals a war medal from the shop and goes on to befriend a straggly pauper Jim Underwood (Donald Pleasance) selling matches and shoelaces. Lowe becomes intoxicated by Underwood’s daughter Emily (Pleasance’s real daughter Angela). Lowe also presents the medal as something he was awarded after WWII. When he wants out of his marriage to Diana Dors, he murders her so he can be with Emily, but in the end, he discovers to his horror that the whole thing has been set up by his son and the Underwoods to get rid of him.

The third customer of the story “The Elemental” Reggie Warren (Ian Carmichael) cleverly switches the price tags on two snuff boxes in order to purchase the one he wants at a cheaper price. He thinks he’s gotten away with it and boards the train and heads home. On the train, a kooky occultist Madame Orloff (Margaret Leighton in fabulous form) excitably tells him that there is an ‘elemental’ an invisible supernatural entity sitting on his shoulder feeding on him. He readily dismisses her but soon after it is evident that something is making Reggie act out in ways that people accuse him of hurting them, though he hasn’t touched them at all. Even his wife Susan (Nyree Dawn Porter) claims that he has touched her when he hasn’t. Reggie now believes that this uncanny spirit, the elemental is vexing him. So Reggie calls upon Madame Orloff to come and exorcize this volatile spirit. However, the thing jumps out of Reggie and leaps onto Susan instead, with deadly consequences for Reggie.

In the fourth and last installment ”The Door”, William Seaton (Ian Ogilvy) buys a massive antique door and brings it home, which opens a portal to a decaying blue room. Seaton and his wife Rosemary (Lesley-Anne Down) go inside and explore the space until they realize that it is a realm where a sadistic warlock named Sir Michael Sinclair (Jack Watson) dwells. The room is in the liminal space between both worlds and Seaton learns that he must destroy the door before Sinclair comes through.

From Beyond the Grave is a classic anthology horror film that blends supernatural elements with tales of moral comeuppance. With its atmospheric storytelling and memorable performances, it remains a cult favorite among horror enthusiasts and fans of portmanteau films.

The Fury 1978

The Fury is a 1978 supernatural thriller film directed by Brian De Palma and a screenplay by John Farris. The movie follows the story of a young man named Robin Sandza (played by Andrew Stevens), who possesses psychokinetic powers, which allow him to move objects with his mind. These abilities make him the target of a secretive government organization led by Ben Childress (played by John Cassavetes). Underneath and surrounding the charismatic hybrid horror/science fiction pageantry is John Williams’s evocative score. The film features quite an impressive cast. John Cassavetes, Kirk Douglas, Charles Durning, Carrie Snodgrass, Carol Rossen, Fiona Lewis, and the two Furies, Amy Irving and Andrew Stevens.

The film also centers on Gillian Bellaver (played by Amy Irving), a girl with psychic abilities, including telepathy, who becomes connected to Robin. She escapes from Childress’s organization and seeks refuge with Robin’s father, Peter Sandza (played by Kirk Douglas), a former government agent.

As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the government’s interest in individuals with psychic powers is not benevolent. They seek to harness and weaponize these abilities for their own purposes, often resorting to unethical and brutal means.

In the covert world of espionage, Peter Sanza, a dedicated American agent played by Kirk Douglas, finds himself facing the ultimate betrayal when his long-time partner, Childress, portrayed by John Cassavetes, turns against him. As the government becomes aware of Peter’s son, Robin, who possesses extraordinary telepathic abilities, they see an opportunity to wield this untapped power for their own purposes. In this ruthless pursuit to harness Robin’s unique gift, Peter becomes a dispensable pawn in their quest for control.

When they try to take Peter out he survives the attempt to assassinate him. But he emerges from the shadows determined to find his son and driven by a burning desire to wreak vengeance on those who betrayed him. Meanwhile, Robin is devastated by the belief that his father is dead. He has been secreted away by his new guardians and held in a secret government facility, held by the clandestine organization that wishes to exploit him.

Almost a year later, another teenager Gillian (Amy Irving) shows that she has the same telepathic abilities. Peter sees an opportunity for help by enlisting Gillian to find his son by connecting with him telepathically. Both Gillian and Robin also have the power to move objects by way of telekinesis. But when she triggers this force, her powers cause people to bleed uncontrollably. But Gillian, who has a gentle spirit is frightened and disturbed by this uncanny power of hers. She is placed at the Paragon and put in a school with other gifted telepathic students where they research and help develop their skills. This is run by Dr.McKeever (Charles Durning).

Peter is joined by his girlfriend Hester (Carrie Snodgrass) who infiltrates the Paragon so she can contact Gillian. It’s not long after that Childress and the powerful cabal of the government take Gillian to their secret lab. She can now draw a mental image of Robin being put through a series of experiments, and soon enough he becomes aware of Gillian. Robin begins to emerge as a volatile monster who has gone to the dark side, jealous of Childress’s attention he’s been giving to Gillian. He now has a murderous evil streak that the power has unleashed in him… a fury. He causes havoc wherever he goes and can siphon the blood out of people just by piercing their physical bodies with his mind. In one scene he uses his telekinetic powers to dislocate a Ferris wheel filled with passengers. Richard Kline who did the cinematography for Soylent Green in 1973 and The Andromeda Strain in 1971 creates a pyrotechnic display amidst the carnivalesque carnage.

Hester breaks Gillian out of the Paragon but gets killed, and Peter and Gillian try to hunt down Robin, which leads them to Childress’s estate, where they face the ultimate showdown with the monstrous Robin who no longer has any humanity. Once the confrontation between Robin and his father leaves Robin dead and his father committing suicide, Gillian is left in the hands of the menacing Childress. When he attempts to seduce her she goes full-blown ‘fury’ on him and rips him to psychic pieces.

The Fury is known for its stylish direction by Brian DePalma, who infuses the story with his signature cinematic flair. It offers a compelling narrative with a mix of supernatural and espionage elements, making it a memorable entry into the thriller and horror genres of the late 1970s. Many film critics consider DePalma’s work to favor style over substance, but the collection of films has a significant presence and his stylish vision has created some of the most compelling visual narratives and beautifully developed – that they stay with you whether substantive or not.

 

“…in fits and starts, the kind of mindless fun that only a horror movie that so seriously pretends to be about the mind can be. Mr. DePalma seems to have been less interested in the oeverall movie than in pulling off a couple of spectacular set-pieces, which he does.” -Vincent Canby, New York Times, March 15, 1978

This is your EverLovin’ Joey Sayin’ F is the letter that goes with FRIGHT! next is the letter G for GOOSEBUMPS in the night!

A Trailer a Day Keeps the Boogeyman Away! 11 terrifying tidbits from 1980-1983

THE ATTIC 1980

“Louise’s life downstairs is a living hell… and upstairs lurks a haunting nightmare!- She’s Daddy’s Little Girl … FOREVER!” 

Carrie Snodgress has always been an actress possessed of great dimension, just watch her as Tina Balsar the persecuted down-trodden housewife in director Frank Perry’s Diary of a Mad Housewife 1970. In The Attic Snodgress is yet again a repressed character Louise Elmore, this time a Librarian who is caring for her cruel and ruthlessly controlling wheelchair-bound father Wendell portrayed by a particularly nasty Ray Milland.

Milland toward the end of his career had started appearing in some of these low budget horror/exploitation films like X, The Man with the X-Ray Eyes 1963, Daughter of the Mind 1969, Frogs 1972. The 80s started to really slide into a kaleidoscope of cheap themes and shock value moments. It doesn’t detract from Milland’s contribution to film history, nor does it malign either his or Snogress’ depth of acting. Director George Edwards  ( produced Frogs 1972 with Milland, Queen of Blood 1966, Games 1967, How Awful About Allan 1970, What’s the Matter with Helen? 1971, The Killing Kind 1973, Ruby 1977 – all these films with the exception of Frogs, Edwards worked with Curtis Harrington as the director.

You can see Harrington’s influence on The Attic as it represents a small enclosed family environment creates psychological demons, mental disturbances or what I call director Harrington’s The Horror of Personality. With most of Harrington’s work the narrative is less centered around supernatural forces building it’s framework around the product of mental illness and the dysfunctional family trope acted out within closed in spaces, where relationships over time begin disintegrating, with acts of cruelty, despair, loneliness, fear and repression- the family then, becomes the monster…

The Attic is an angry, aggressive, and psychologically sadistic film, where Snodgress is yet again persecuted and trapped in a dreadful life. The hapless Louise is jilted by her fiancé and left at the altar leaving psychic scars, where she begins to go in and out of reality. Calling the Missing Persons Bureau on a regular basis looking for her lost love. She begins to fantasize about rejecting her abusive father whom she must do everything for. After 19 years of being left alone, Louise doesn’t find much joy in life, except for drinking and dreaming about trips she’ll never take, committing arson at the Library, and spending time with her pet monkey Dicky the Chimp. She is befriended by a co-worker who tries to help bring Louise back into the real world again, but the shocking truth that lurks in that creepy attic won’t stay locked away forever!

The Attic also stars Rosemary Murphy who is usually scary in her own right, at least she scares me since You’ll Like My Mother 1972!

PROM NIGHT 1980

“…Some will be crowned, others will lose their heads”

This is one of the earliest masked killer slasher movies where sexually active teenagers are being stalked on the night of their prom because they were responsible for the death of their classmate years ago. Prom Night features Scream Queen Jamie Lee Curtis who set the trend for good girls or The Final Girl trope… you know- the one who survives because of their integrity, purity, and smarts! Also starring one of my favorites Leslie Nielsen and Antoinette Bower.

SILENT SCREAM (1980) us release

“Quick! Scream! Too late! You’re dead”

During her first semester at college co-ed Scotty Parker (Rebecca Balding) is one of several college students who rents a room from Mrs. Engels, the Junoesque Yvonne De Carlo. But there is something very strange going on at this seaside mansion/boarding house–even murder! Mrs.Engels lives at the mansion with her weird neurotic son Mason (Brad Rearden) Scotty is joined by Steve Doubet (Jack Towne), Peter Ransom (John Widelock), and Doris Prichart (Juli Andelman). When Widelock is stabbed to death out on the beach, Police Lt. Sandy McGiver (Cameron Mitchell) investigates and uncovers the family secret. Silent Scream is a more eerie and less typical 80s slasher flick, perhaps it’s due to the weight of the strong cast that inhabits their roles, in what might be a predictable script still possesses that ability to convey the dread in a quietly stylish manner. Co-Produced by Joan Harris

Silent Scream has a claustrophobic melancholic atmosphere instead of utilizing gore it relies more on its Gothic gloomy sensibility, a sense of creepy voyeuristic camera work that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Two names -All you need to know to see this eerie obscure 80s gem Yvonne De Carlo as Mrs. Engels and Barbara Steele as Victoria Engels.

DEADLY BLESSINGS 1981

“Pray you’re not blessed”

Director Wes Craven delves into American rural Gothic horror

After her husband Jim, an ex-Hittite (Doug Barr) has been shunned by his people for having moved away, and marrying an outside. One night after they’ve moved back near the neighboring sect, Jim goes outside to find the word Incubus painted on their barn and then is mysteriously crushed to death by his tractor. A series of grisly murders ensue mostly in broad daylight, as Jim’s widow Martha Schmidt (Maren Jensen) feels increasingly threatened by the sinister neighboring religious community led by the enigmatic Isaiah Schmidt (Ernest Borgnine) who seems to be fanatically obsessed with the idea that Martha is an ‘incubus’ and must be dealt with fire and brimstone!

Deadly Blessing also plants a figure of a dated trope–the ambiguous gender & sexuality of one of the characters. That trope stems from a time when gay or transgendered characters were represented as obsessive, neurotic & at times, dangerous. I don’t endorse this weak and disparaging area of the plot, yet I allow myself to experience Wes Craven’s provocative film as a slice of horror history from a decade that hadn’t gotten it quite right yet. Where the film could have taken a bold step in expanding on this subplot instead it is fueled by subversive incitement.

Craven’s film ultimately relies on the supernatural subtext that is fueling the horror and leaves the other theme to hang out there on its own to be (justifiably to some)- offensive. Too many films with gender-fluid characters in past films were represented by psychos, deviants, and killers.

Deadly Blessings co-stars a young Sharon Stone, popular 70s actress (and one of my favorites) Lois Nettleton, Susan Buckner, Lisa Hartman, and familiar Craven regular Michael Berryman. Directed by Wes Craven

Some IMDb Trivia

Sharon Stone’s first big speaking role in a theatrical feature.

The name of the isolated rural farm where the farmers and Hittites lived and worked was “Our Blessing”.

Wes Craven compared his work with actor Ernest Borgnine to John Carpenter’s work with Donald Pleasance in the original “Halloween”. He states that Borgnine was the first “big name actor” he had worked with and was at first intimidated by the actor.

Ernest Borgnine had to be taken to the hospital to be treated for a head injury following a mishap involving a horse and buggy. Moreover, Borgnine returned to the set to continue acting in the film three days later.

Actor Ernest Borgnine, who had won a Best Actor Academy Award for Marty (1955), which also was Borgnine’s only ever Oscar nomination, was nominated for a Golden Raspberry Award for Worst Supporting Actor for Deadly Blessing (1981), but lost out on the Razzie to Steve Forrest for Mommie Dearest (1981).

THE INCUBUS 1981

“The dreams. The nightmares. The desires. The fears. The mystery. The revelation. The warning: He is the destroyer”

WARNING: Though not overtly graphic Incubus is suggestive of rape. For anyone who might be triggered by sexual violence in film, I would advise you to skip this portion of the post and/or the film entirely!

Back in the day when I read a lot of horror fiction, I have a vague recollection of Ray Russell’s (Mr. Sardonicus 1961, Premature Burial 1962, X-The Man With The X-Ray Eyes 1963), novel knocking me out with its supernatural mythology and its brutality. Of course, when it was adapted to the screen in 1982 directed by John Hough (The Legend of Hell House 1973, Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry 1974, The Watcher in the Woods 1980, American Gothic 1987) you know I was there with my milk duds, raisinets, popcorn and a large icy cup of Pepsi expecting something powerful and Incubus collided with the accepted one-gendered fiend that I had grown up seeing within the constraints of a fairly “cultural conservative” as Carol Clover puts it, driven classical horror industry, stories like werewolves, vampires, mummies, phantoms and mad doctors turned into vile fiends.

As Carol Clover states in her Men, Women and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film-“stories that stem from the one-sex era, and for all their updating, they still carry with them, to a greater or lesser degree, a premodern sense of sexual difference…}…{and some people are impossible to tell apart (the figure in God Told Me To who is genitally ambiguous -the doctor did not know what sex to assign, the pubescent girl in Sleepaway Camp who turns out to be a boy, the rapist in The Incubus whose ejaculate consists of equal parts of semen and menstrual blood.”

Incubus is a supernatural film that sneaks into the 80s but carries with it the demonology sensibility of the early-mid 1970s, The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976). Adapted from Ray Russell’s disquieting novel about a demon with a dangerously sized phallus who can incarnate in human form, committing several savage sexual assaults and murders in the small California town of Galen. John Cassavetes plays Dr. Sam Cordell who examines the survivor of one of the assaults and is disturbed by the violence of the attack, learning that her uterus has been ruptured. When the local librarian is killed, John Ireland is his usual brackish self this time playing Sheriff Hank Walden, and team up believing that these brutal attacks are the work of only one perpetrator and not a gang. Kerrie Keane plays a reporter Laura Kincaid who insinuates herself into the investigation and begins an affair with Sam. Erin Flannery plays Sam’s young teenage daughter Jenny who is dating Tim Galen (Duncan McIntosh) who has nightmarish visions of the attacks while he is in a sleeping state. His Grandmother Agatha (Helen Hughes -Storm of the Century 1999 tele-series) tries to convince her Grandson that he is not responsible for these horrible events, but she knows more than she is telling, about the arcane secret the town is hiding and the true history of the venerable family name of Galen.

NIGHT SCHOOL 1981

A is for Apple B is for Bed C is for Co-ed D is for Dead F is for Failing to keep your Head!

Aka known as Terror Eyes

Night School has an unnerving tone, an almost oppressive atmosphere that looms over the film. The 80s was fertile for the slasher films that were popping up in variations of the same narrative, using different methods of death as the centerpiece to highlight the story. In this film, a mysterious killer is decapitating students at a night school for women. I won’t reveal the killer, but I will say that there is misogyny afoot. Originally picked to direct was Alfred Sole, best known for his phenomenal psychological horror masterpiece Alice, Sweet Alice (1976) which would have most definitely improved on the depressing aura the film gives off. Directed by Ken Hughes who wrote the screenplays for The Trials of Oscar Wilde 1960 and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang 1968. His direction was superior in the dark and dogged Wicked As They Come 1956 starring Arlene Dahl and Phillip Carey.

Night School stars Rachel Ward, Leonard Mann, and Drew Snyder.

ALONE IN THE DARK 1982

“They’re out… for blood! Don’t let them find you!”

Along in the Dark is a highly charged psycho thriller that wants to be a black comedy. The inmates let loose upon an unsuspecting town and mayhem ensues when they target the home of Pleasance’s (Dr. Leo Bain) therapist Dr. Dan Potter (Dwight Schultz) psychiatrist. During a statewide blackout, a group of 3 particularly nasty homicidal maniacs get free from their maximum security ward at the mental Institution and set out on an adventure. Alone in the Dark opens with Donald Pleasance as a short-order cook who has gone berserk and wielding a meat cleaver. Martin Landau is splendid as crazed Byron ‘Preacher’ Sutcliff who likes to set things on fire. Then there’s Erland Van Lidth (from The Wanderers 1979) as a sex maniac Ronald “fatty” Elster with a penchant for younger kids. The best psycho next to Landau, is Jack Palance. The Special Effects are by Tom Savini.

Alone in the Dark is a frenetic ride and you must watch out for the scene when Preacher insists he wants the mailman’s on the bicycle’s hat!

CREEPSHOW 1982

“The Most Fun You’ll Ever Have… BEING SCARED!”

An anthology that tells five terrifying tales based on the E.C. horror comic books of the 1950s. Directed by George A. Romero, with the original screenplay by Stephen King. Stars include Hal Holbrook, Adrienne Barbeau, Fritz Weaver, Leslie Nielsen, Carrie Nye, E.G. Marshall, Viveca Lindfors, Ed Harris, Ted Danson, Stephen King,

HALLOWEEN 3: SEASON OF THE WITCH 1983

After the failure of Halloween II (1978) to excite people at the box office, John Carpenter decided to put a different twist on the creepy goings on for Halloween III (1983) and adapt a script from Nigel Kneale who wrote the Quartermass series, who removed his name from the credits, leaving Tommy Lee Wallace as the writer. I do not hate this film in the way that other fans do. I rather like the odd and malevolent tone of the film, like a dark Halloween fairy tale journey. The idea, children all over America can not wait to get their hands on 3 frightfully popular offerings of rubber masks for Halloween. The jingle for the TV ad alone is enough to send suspicious shivers up a more discerning eye. There is a plot run by an old Druid toy-maker (Dan O’Herlihy) who is perfectly menacing and wants to actually harm the children once they wear the deadly masks, in order to bring back the olden days of black witchcraft and magic. There’s also a sense of a vengeful bitter spirit in Conal Cochran (O’Herlihy) toward consumerism and the misguided exploitation of Halloween.

Halloween III: Season of the Witch also stars Tom Atkins and Stacey Nelkin.

THE SENDER 1982

“Your dreams will never be the same.”

This is British director Roger Christian’s first feature film he worked as assistant art director on the tense thriller And Soon the Darkness (1970)

The Sender works on so many levels, first of all, it stars an impressive cast of accomplished actors. The incredible Shirley Knight, and two very thoughtful actors from the 1980s- Kathryn Harrold, and Zelijko Ivanek.

From Kim Newman’s Nightmare Movies talks about the trend that began with Brian DePalma’s Carrie (1976) “created a briefly popular horror movie sub-genre, the ‘Psichopath’ film. Damien Thorn and Carrie White, like Jim Hutton in Psychic Killer (1975), Alan Bates in The Shout (1978), Lisa Pelikan in Jennifer (1978) Robert Thompson in Patrick (1979) and Robert Powell in Harlequin (1979) are ‘Psichopaths’, seemingly ordinary individuals with hidden, awesome paranormal powers. The wish fulfillment fantasy element of the Psichopath film is obvious.The usual formula finds the Psichopath humiliated, abused and pushed beyond endurance, whereupon immense mental powers are unleashed in an orgy of mass destruction.”

I would also include Brian DePalma’s The Fury (1978) featuring Amy Irving who possesses the psycho-kinetic powers.

When The Sender (Ivanek) is sent to an Institution after a public suicide attempt, psychiatrist Kathryn Harrold as Gail Farmer realizes that he possesses the ability to channel his frightening and often volatile visions to receptive people on the psyche ward. There are truly enigmatic hallucinatory segments of the film which create real apprehension and shivers. In one particular scene where they are juicing Ivanek with electro-shock therapy, his mental waves send a storm of havoc through his personal pain. In the midst of this theme there lies an even dark more disturbing element to the story. There are ghostly visitations from his creepy mother played by the amazing Shirley Knight as Jerolyn. She would make a formidable more temperate yet sinister sister of Carrie White’s hellacious mother -Piper Laurie!

I have followed Shirley Knight’s underrated and outstanding career from her divine performance as Polly in Sidney Lumet’s The Group (1966), the tv series Naked City 1962, The Eleventh Hour 1963, as the gently Noelle Anderson in The Outer Limits 1963 episode The Man Who Was Never Born co-starring Martin Landau. The Defenders 1964, The Fugitive 1964-66, Petulia 1968, The Rain People 1969, The Bold Ones, Circle of Fear, Streets of San Fransisco 1973, Medical Center, Marcus Welby, M.D, Murder, She Wrote, Law & Order 1991 and more… The gravity of each of Knight’s performances has a quality that draws you into her orbit –experiencing her as genuine and engaging. Even as the wraith-like mother figure who comes calling on her son- The Sender, Knight makes you believe in the low-key, spine-chilling moments on screen. She is the catalyst for The Sender’s secret dilemma.

At times The Sender sends its universe into mayhem, at other times it’s a very creepy, restrained atmospheric horror story that is perhaps one of the best films of the 1980s.

CURTAINS 1983

The one impression I took away from Curtains is the iconic sinister hag mask that the killer wears and the scythe or sickle they wield as they creepily skated across the small pond. It’s the kind of moment from a moment that stays in the brain forever!

This stylish Canadian horror film is directed by cinematographer Richard Ciupka (Atlantic City 1980) Curtains stars John Vernon as the typically caustic alpha male Jonathan Stryker director and British Scream Queen Samantha Eggar  (The Collector 1965, Doctor Doolittle 1967, The Dead Are Alive 1972, A Name For Evil 1973, All The Kind Strangers 1974, The Seven-Per-Cent Solution 1976, The Brood 1979) who plays Samantha Sherwood an actress who has always gotten top billing in Stryker’s works and in his bed. Samantha believes she is getting the role of a lifetime, the chance to play ‘Audra’ in his next film. Stryker insists that Samantha inhabits the role, to bring out the realism of Audra’s character by having herself committed to an asylum as background research. (It seems Audra was a psychiatric patient.) Stryker is a sadist and leaves Samantha in the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time, while he auditions other young actresses- each who has their own motivations for desperately wanting the part.

Samantha escapes her confinement and goes back to the menacing old mountain cabin during a snowstorm, where Stryker is putting the various women through their acting trials.

Interesting that the character of Samantha in studying the mindset of a mentally ill woman, becomes too well aware of insanity during her own ordeal. The film does a particularly effective job of projecting the intensity that actors experience when trying to lose themselves in a role, keeping their footing in reality.

At the center of this interesting chamber piece is the psychopath in a nightmarish old hag mask who begins killing off the women!

Curtains also stars Linda Thorson (Tara King in The Avengers 1968-69), Anne Ditchburn, Lynne Griffin (Black Christmas 1974) Sandee Currie, Lesleh Donaldson, and Deborah Burgess. 

According to Mark Allan Gunnells in his essay in Hidden Horror edited by Aaron Christensen-Curtains took 3 years to make it to it’s release due to reshoots and rewrites. “It is suggested that a lot of the problems stemmed from producer Peter Simpson who, having produced the Jamie Lee Curtis vehicle Prom Night, wanted another straight forward horror flick. Director Richard Ciupka, on the other hand, chose to go against the established slasher grain, bringing more European sensibility to the production. The original screenplay even had a supernatural element, with a creature designed (but never used) by makeup legend Greg Cannom (…) As Gunnells points out about the films many chilling scenes, a few that stand out are the dream sequence with a creepy life size doll and the chase scene that involves a hiding place that winds up becoming a “deathtrap.”

 

This is Your EverLovin’ MonsterGirl sayin’ See ya round the snack bar! Save me a big box of Raisinets!

Backstory: What ever happened to William Castle’s baby?

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Photo of the great William Castle -courtesy of Spine Tingler.

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Castle in NYC street with Polanski

“The film is frightening because it forces us to examine the kinds and bases of belief. We confront the idea that the Christian myth is certainly no more believable that its mirror image, and possibly less so. And beyond this, we are also forced to realize that our mode of believing in Christianity is quite different from the one with which we perceive ‘real’ things In other words, while Polanski’s film is determinedly realistic, it is at the same time a challenge to realism, locating the ordinary world of plausible social interaction within a wider and more primitive universe of magic, sorcery, and supernatural forces.”Hollywood Hex, -Makita Brottman

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Rosemary’s Baby is my favorite film. I plan on doing one of my long-winded major features on this masterpiece in its entirety but for the sake of celebrating William Castle this week, I’d like to strictly focus on his contribution to an iconic tour de force that would not have been filmed if not for him. Rosemary’s Baby premiered in June 1968.

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Roman Polanski on William Castle: “He was an excellent technician who understands filmmakers’ problems and doesn’t have the usual worries other producers have. He made a constant effort to make me happy in my work. I can’t think of a better producer.”

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After many years of William Castle slaving over B movies and programmers like The Whistler and The Crime Doctor, he found his niche in horror. He saw Henri-Georges Clouzot le Diabolique in 1955 and it lit a fire in his belly to create his own Gothic creepy storytelling that would lure the audience under its spell. Thus sung Macabre in 1958. While certainly not Diabolique, Macabre put Castle on the path toward creating engaging & frightening landscapes that would entertain millions!

That same year, thanks to his very successful House on Haunted Hill and his 12-foot plastic glow-in-the-dark skeleton deemed ‘Emergo’ that flew over theatre audiences, he was now dubbed the ‘King of Gimmicks.’ Castle went on to chill us with The TIngler in ’59, 13 Ghosts in ’60, Homicidal and Mr Sardonicus in ’61, Strait-Jacket in ’64, and I Saw What You Did in ’65 both landing Joan Crawford at the helm.

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William Castle’s Homicidal ’61starring Jean Arless (Joan Marshall)

With all the ballyhoo and commercial success, Bill was craving respect. He thought he’d find that admiration in Rosemary’s Baby, a novel by Ira Levin (A Kiss Before Dying, The Stepford Wives, Boys From Brazil) about an unassuming pretty little housewife chosen by a coven of New York City witches to be the mother of Lucifer’s only begotten son and heir.

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What is remarkable about the film is the realism. It is so careful to remain dedicated to the naturalistic tone of Levin’s novel showing us a set of ordinary characters in an apparently common world. Then they gradually become introduced to extraordinary elements of dark forces, both magic and fantasy that begin to overwhelm the narrative. We as spectators are now caught up in Rosemary’s plight and her utter sense of powerlessness. This story is less about witches and more about paranoia and the lack of control over our own bodies and destiny. However explained in supernatural terms, it’s still about losing trust with those closest to us, the people we depend on to protect us from harm. We watch as Rosemary’s world turns upside down.

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I saw Rosemary’s Baby during its theatrical release in New York in June 1968. It was billed as a double feature with The Mephisto Waltz. We won’t get into how either really enlightened or truly nutty, depending on your perspective, my mom was for taking her 6-year-old little girl to see two very intense horror pictures dealing with adult and subversive themes.

I was an extremely mature child and the film not only didn’t traumatize me, but it also opened up a world of desire for me to see as many intellectual horror stories without fear of nightmares. Although I must admit when I used to watch Robert Wise’s The Haunting in broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon, I did manage to lock the basement door and shove the large gold (the color of Archie Bunker’s favorite chair) loveseat in front of it to keep any boogeyman from coming up the basement stairs into the den when I was alone in the house.

I also just saw Rosemary’s Baby remastered on the big screen at the Film Forum a few weeks ago. I have to admit, that as soon as Christopher Komeda’s music starts playing and the bird’s eye view of the Dakota emerges on screen the electricity started flowing up my legs, this time not my usual RLS, I began weeping. Not only is Rosemary’s Baby my favorite film, but I also recognize the confluence of perfectionism in each and every scene that makes it a flawless masterpiece, from the vibrant performances to the exquisite storytelling. Every detail is magical and I don’t mean devilish, I mean artfully.

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Something else wonderful happened during the screening that day. Amidst all the other film geeks like myself, and aside from the audible pleasure the audience let out when the magnificent Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer walk on the screen where we all laughed and silently cheered for their strolling entrance as the iconic quirky and eccentric devil-worshiping senior citizens. When Bill Castle did his Hitchcock walk on by the phone booth, I realized that it wasn’t only me smacking my partner Wendy’s knee with childhood excitement, “There’s Bill, there he is!!! We both chuckled with glee to see his wide warming grin. Suddenly we heard others in the crowd stirring and murmuring “there he is, that’s Bill Castle!!!” Amidst all the appurtenances Rosemary’s Baby has to offer, so many of us fans were thrilled to catch sight of Mr.Castle with his fat cigar standing by the phone booth. We were collectively excited to see the man who had entertained us all these years. It was heartwarming. I did tear up.

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I recognize Roman Polanski as the auteur that he is, but that is not what I want to dwell on here. I want to stress that Rosemary’s Baby would not have been made if it weren’t for William Castle and his perseverance, passion, and eye for intellectual property. William Castle acknowledged that The Lady From Shanghai was a work of art because of Orson Welles‘ direction, however, it was Castle who first discovered and purchased the rights to If I Should Die Before I Wake, only to have Orson Welles turn around and pitch it to Harry Cohn as his own idea.

It was Rosemary’s Baby that Bill chose to elevate his status from B movie maker to respected filmmaker in a very fickle industry. Let’s pay tribute to one certain fact: Rosemary’s Baby would not be the film it is after 45 years without William Castle’s imprint on it.

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Bill’s memoirs Step Right Up, I’m Gonna Scare the Pants Off America (which is a fantastic read for any enthusiast about the golden age of Hollywood and just a darn good bit of storytelling) describes how William Castle’s literary agent Marvin Birdt, the person who found the script and insisted Bill read the galleys immediately. Castle looked at the title and dismissed it saying “It’s probably some story about an unwed mother… cheap exploitation. Who the hell wants to make a picture like that?” 

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Bill Castle thought the film just wasn’t for him at that point. It was 1968 and the film industry wasn’t really embracing horror films anymore. He was so overwhelmed with the lousy books and manuscripts that were piling up that he just couldn’t fathom wasting any time with yet another piece of junk. But, it took him all of three hours to finish the story, as he said, ‘bathed in sweat and shaking.’ Castle saw the magnitude of Ira Levin’s story when it was still in unpublished manuscript form: “I made up my mind when I read the novel Rosemary’s Baby that it was the greatest novel that would translate into a screenplay that I had ever read. That just lent itself to a brilliant movie. And I loved the property and I brought the property because I wanted to prove to the industry and my fellow peers that I could do something really brilliant.” (Step Right Up, 2010) He told Ellen, his wife, that it was one of the most powerful books he’d ever read, and that it would be an incredible picture to make. When Ellen finished reading it, she told him “It’s disturbing… frightening and brilliant.”(SRU, 2010) But Ellen also warned that he’d have trouble with the Church.

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William Castle and the love of his life, his beautiful wife Ellen courtesy of Spine Tingler.

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Castle’s agent Birdt tormented him about other studios and directors interested in the story and making offers. Later, Castle found out that the book had actually been offered to Alfred Hitchcock first. One wonders what it might have looked like if Hitch had been behind the camera, storyboarding Levin’s work.

Bill Castle was worried that he was going to lose the picture, but where was he going to get the quarter of a million Birdt demanded to finance the rights to the film? He asked Birdt to offer one hundred thousand dollars upfront and then fifty thousand if the book became a bestseller with five percent of one hundred percent of the net profits. His agent wasn’t very encouraged that they’d accept the offer. The waiting to hear back was excruciating, but Castle did get the rights to Rosemary’s Baby. Now he had to come up with the money!

In Step Right Up, Bill describes how Robert Evans, in charge of Paramount Pictures, called to check in, not sure William Castle could handle such a serious motion picture. But, Charles Bluhdorn, owner of Paramount, wanted to meet with Castle personally to discuss the picture, saying “I have big plans for Paramount, and they include you.” Castle found Bluhdorn’s persona magnetic. He told him that Bob Evens had informed him about Castle’ obtaining Rosemary’s Baby.“Would you like to make the picture for us?” Of course, Castle told him, yes.

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head of Paramount Robert Evans

“Your services as producer, how much would you want?” Bill Castle corrected Bluhdorn by adding the word ‘director’… trying to avoid negotiating with this man without his lawyer. Bluhdorn wasn’t having any of that. He told Castle that he would not negotiate with lawyers on the making of Rosemary’s Baby. It’s either between Castle and him, or Donnenfeld and Castle’s attorney. Castle decided he had the ego to take on this financial genius and told him he’d negotiate with him directly. But first, Bill asked him if he had read the story. Bluhdorn had not. Bill thought that worked to his advantage as the story was intensely disturbing so the less Bluhdorn knew about the story the better.

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Robert Evans and Roman Polanski

When Bill Castle finally blurted out that he’d want to produce and direct, Bluhdorn laughed at him and called him a ‘big ridiculous clown.’ He tried to offer Bill only one hundred fifty thousand for the film plus thirty percent of the profits. Bill told him no way. It was a hard bargaining session. Bluhdorn didn’t know what he was dealing for and Bill did, Bluhdorn was also dropping the phony niceties and getting close to bowing out of any deal. “If I walk through that door, Rosemary’s Baby is finished at Paramount. No one -and I mean no one- will renegotiate!” Castle finally composed his inner panic and came back at the austere blowhard with an offer of two hundred fifty thousand and fifty percent of the profits. It was a deal. (Step Right Up, 2010) 

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Bill Castle courtesy of Spine Tingler.

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Bill’s daughter, Terry Castle remembers, “He had to do whatever he could and it was his time. Mom and Dad mortgaged the house and they bought the rights for a substantial amount of money.” (Spine Tingler: The William Castle Story)

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Bill’s wonderful daughter Terry Castle founder of Dark Castle Entertainment

With that he asked Castle’s age and if he’d heard of director Roman Polanski, or seen any of his pictures. Castle had seen Repulsion and Knife in the Water. Bluhdorn sang Polanski’s praises calling him a genius. He impressed upon Castle that with the director’s youth and Castle’s experience as a producer, they could both learn from each other. Bill Castle started to find his fire, “Look Mr. Bluhdorn, the reason I bought Rosemary’s Baby with my own money was to direct the film… It’s going to be an important motion picture and I’m not going to miss the opportunity of directing.” (Step Right Up, 2010)

Bluhdorn told him that Polanski directs Rosemary’s Baby or no deal, and asked Bill to at least meet the young director. Castle says “I had made up my mind to hate him on sight"¦ and that he wasn’t going to direct the picture I said absolutely no way. I bought the picture, I bought the book. I own it, I’m going to direct it..{…} I worked all my life to get something worthwhile on the screen and so at first sight I hated him.” He’d sent Polanski the galleys to read and if after meeting him he decides he doesn’t want him directing the movie then fine. Bill Castle says in his memoirs that while Bluhdorn was a tough negotiator he was at least an honorable and fair man whose handshake was better than a written contract.

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Castle and Polanski courtesy of Spine Tingler

In Step Right Up, 2010 Castle describes his first impression of Roman Polanski was that he was a little cocky vain narcissist who liked to look at himself in the mirror a lot. Bill asked if he liked the story, “I like it very much… It will make a great picture.” Polanski spoke in his Polish accent. “You would like to direct Rosemary?” Bill asked. “That’s why I’m here. Nobody will be able to direct it as well as Roman Polanski.” And Bill Castle’ felt that Ira Levin’s book was perfect for the screen, needing absolutely no changes whatsoever in adapting it. This was something he felt passionately about. He posed the question to Polanski. “The book is perfect… no changes must be made,” Bill says that Polanski was so intense about this that it was quite jarring. “It’s one of the few books I have read that must be translated faithfully to the cinema.” (Step Right Up, 2010)

And having read Levin’s book, I can tell you that reading each line of every page is exactly like watching the story unfold on screen. It is the most faithful adaptation I’ve ever read, more like reading the script after the fact.

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Then Castle posed a trick question to Polanski to see what his vision was for filming the narrative, suggesting to him that the camera should not only move around a lot but use strange shots to tell the story. Polanski was empowered by his convictions and told Bill, “No, I don’t Mr. Castle. Actors tell a story… like peeping through the keyhole of life. I do not like crazy tricks with the camera… must be honest.” That was exactly how Bill Castle saw the film being made. When Polanski told Bill to start calling him Roman, Bill couldn’t help but start to like this man who truly did share a special vision for a very special story. Polanski went on to tell him, “Bill, we can make a wonderful picture together. I have been looking for a long time for a Rosemary’s Baby. To work with you would be my privilege.” (Step Right Up, 2010)

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Terry Castle, Bill’s daughter, remembers: “Polanski came over to the house and he was this young wild guy, just this incredibly wily dynamic man with this very thick accent talking about cameras and light he was just incredibly dynamic himself and my dad totally got him. He wanted to get Rosemary’s Baby made and he wanted to produce it"¦ and yet he wanted to direct it. But I think once he met Roman Polanski I think he understood he could bring something incredibly special to the project. And I think it was okay for Dad to give that up to him because I think he saw the brilliance in this man. […] Even though he wasn’t going to be directing it at least his name was going to be on it as a William Castle production and he was making for the first time in his life an important studio film.” (Spine Tingler: The William Castle Story)

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Left tor right, William Castle, Mia Farrow, and Robert Evans during the production of ROSEMARY'S BABY, 1968.

Bill with Mia and John on the set of Rosemary's Baby

The last thing Bill Castle needed to know was who he’d pick to write the screenplay and why. Polanski told Bill he would do it himself because he would stick strictly to the book. They spent the rest of the time discussing the film, Bill finding Polanski brilliant and extremely open. He immediately called Bluhdorn and told him that he was right Polanski was the only one who could direct Rosemary’s Baby. Bill Castle had the wisdom and grace to understand that Polanski would make a great film, but to be fair to Bill Castle. it’s also only after his careful facilitation and thoughtful know-how that helped bring Ira Levin’s story to life.

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Polanski and Farrow and Cassavetes in hall color

Polanski kept his word, he wrote the screenplay and adhered strictly to the book as promised. Polanski asked Bill to help him find a house by the beach to work and that he’d send his fiance over to help him look for one. On a Sunday morning, Sharon Tate was standing at Bill Castle’s door. They found the perfect beach house for the couple, owned by Brian Aherne who was in Europe.

Polanski wanted to use Richard Sylbert to do the set design for the film. Sylbert had just finished working on Mike Nichols’ The Graduate. Roman Polanski thought his work was brilliant. Polanski suggested Tuesday Weld in the lead as Rosemary. Bill agreed that she was a fine actress but said, “I think the role was written for Mia Farrow” Polanski watched her in several episodes of Peyton Place and didn’t agree. He thought Tuesday Weld would be better. Jane Fonda, Julie Christie, Elizabeth Hartman, and Joanna Pettet were also considered for the part. Evans asked about the casting of Rosemary, and they both gave their choices. Evans told them that he didn’t think Mia Farrow was available because she was working with George Cukor, he’d check with Zanuck at Fox and in the meantime try and get a reading with Weld.

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Tuesday Weld

Now the buzz was all over Hollywood and every actress in town felt they would be just perfect for the lead role, but Polanski was still stubborn about Tuesday Weld. When Zanuck called Bill and told him the Cukor picture fell through, and Mia was available. Bill set up a meeting with Mia and Polanski over lunch and Polanski wound up being completely mesmerized by her. He finally agreed she would play Rosemary. The rest is history.

Roman Polanski actually developed a wonderful working relationship with Mia Farrow on the set. She didn’t bring any preconceived motivations to her role as Rosemary Woodhouse. Supposedly he had some difficulties with Catherine Deneuve on the set of Repulsion, but he found Mia very amenable to work with. Mia followed Polanski’s directions very well, which might explain some of her childlike and innocent air in her performance of the blithe and charming Rosemary.

Continue reading “Backstory: What ever happened to William Castle’s baby?”

Alfred Hitchcock: The Television Years: 8 Indelible Episodes

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“There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of hell”-Edgar Allan Poe

Alfred Hitchcock Presents opening credits

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Boris Karloff’s anthology tv series: It’s a THRILLER!

The Film Score Freak recognizes Lyn Murray composer of the heart obscurely

THE BEACH PARTY BLOGATHON- CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON (1954) & Night Tide (1961) : Gills-A LOVE STORY!!!

As sure as my name is MonsterGirl, this is a Boris Karloff Thriller! “The Storm”

The camera frame evolves into a most simplistic line drawing, a chubby caricature of Alfred Hitchcock’s endearing profile which then converges with Charles Gounod’s “Funeral March for a Marionette” as suggested by Bernard Herrmann. Bernard Herrmann had scored so many of Hitch’s feature films, as well as John Williams and Dimitri Tiompkin. Hitchcock appears at first in a shadowy silhouette from the corner of the screen, then stepping prominently into the outline, filling his place as the master of the evening’s suspenseful ceremonies.

Now, I offer a brief snapshot of my oeuvre featuring some of my very favorite episodes of both Alfred Hitchcock Presents and The Alfred Hitchcock Hour. They never stale, they always tickle and cause that most delicious little shudder, from some of the finest mystery and suspense writers and re-experiencing the delight of seeing how the show had given some of the best acting talents their very first start…right here.

THE GLASS EYE

Season 3 Episode 1 aired on (6 Oct. 1957)

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Jessica Tandy, Tom Conway, William Shatner, Rosemary Harris, and Billy Barty

From Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Directed by Robert Stevens and written by Sterling Silliphant.

Jim Whitely (William Shatner) and Dorothy (Rosemary Harris) begin cleaning out the apartment of his dead Cousin Julia (Jessica Tandy), Jim comes across a small wooden box that contains a mysterious glass eye and starts to relate the strange and macabre story to his wife of why it remains in Julia’s possession.

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The proper, lonely, and romantically repressed Julia had fallen in love with a famous ventriloquist named Max Collodi (Tom Conway)Becoming obsessed with the performer she saw all his performances, sending him letters requesting to meet him. Eventually quitting her meager job, in order to follow his show around Europe, Max agrees to meet Julia, setting forth certain conditions upon their first encounter.

Once she arrives at his hotel room, she finds him sitting in a dimly lit atmosphere of mystery, surrounded by shadows and subterfuge. The darkness envelopes him, and he asks her to keep her distance. He sits at a table with his small dummy George.

Overcome with passion as the two begin to talk, Julia tries to reach out and touch the object of her undying passion -Max Collodi, but it comes along with grave consequences.

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An Unlocked Window

Season 3, Episode 17 aired on (15 Feb. 1965)

Dana Wynter as Stella, T.C. Jones as Nurse Betty Ames, and Louise Latham as Maude Isles

The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, directed by Joseph M. Newman, from a story by Ethel Lina White.

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Nurse Killer-“You’re Such a Pretty Nurse, Freda” cackle, cackle.

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Over the course of two weeks, a psychotic maniac is on the prowl, being reported all over the television and radio. The police are baffled by this madman who is preying exclusively on live-in nurses.

Set the stage for a dark and stormy night, where Nurse Stella Crosson (Dana Wynter) and Nurse Betty Ames (T.C. Jones) are held up by the storm at the house of the man they are taking care of (John Kerr) He’s got a bad heart and lives in a creepy old mansion on the outskirts of town.

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Suddenly, the women get a phone call from the murderer telling them that he knows they’re alone, and is on his way over to kill them both. Stella goes around the house making sure all the windows and doors are locked tight, but discovers that they overlooked a small window in the basement that is flapping open from the storm. Is he already in the house?

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Maude Isles-“I read a book about a man who only killed trombone players, he beat them to death with their own trombones.”

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WATER’S EDGE-

aired on (19 Oct. 1964) Season 3 episode 3

Starring the vivacious, amazing  Ann Sothern, & John Cassavetes.

From The Alfred Hitchcock Hour directed by Bernard Girard with a teleplay by Alfred Hayes, based on a short story by Robert Bloch.

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The prolific Robert Bloch, a genius writer of the horror suspense genre

John Cassavetes plays Rusty Connors who tricks his prison cellmate Mike Krause (Rayford Barnes) into telling him every detail about his gorgeous girlfriend Helen Cox (Ann Sothern). On his deathbed, Mike reveals to Rusty that he’s got a stash of $56,000 hidden away with the help of his dead accomplice, Pete Taylor.

Once Rusty is released, he goes in search of the epic Helen and finds her in the small town of Hanesville working as a waitress in a greasy spoon diner slinging hash and, and not quite as divine as Mike had related in his verbal memoirs.

Rusty pretends to be enamored with the voluptuous Helen, in order to enlist her in helping him find the stashed cash from the robbery. The journey leads them to a ramshackle boat house on a lake, inhabited by a sea of hungry rats.

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LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER

Season 3, Episode 28 aired on (13 Apr. 1958)

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Barbara Bel Geddes as Mary Maloney, Harold J. Stone as Lieutenant Jack Noonan, Allan Lane as Patrick Maloney,

From Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Directed by Alfred Hitchcock himself with teleplay and story by the great darkly humorous British writer Roald Dahl.

Produced by Joan Harrison and associate producer/actor Norman Lloyd.

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British writer of the darkly comedic fairy tale world, Roald Dahl

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Barbara Bel Geddes plays the dutiful Mary Maloney, a devoted wife and housekeeper. Husband police chief Patrick Maloney comes home and coldly tells her that there’s another woman he wants to marry and that he wants a divorce. Oh, yeah and Mary’s pregnant with his child, but he’ll let her have the child, they’ll probably be okay.

The usually composed and polite Mary erupts in a moment of rage killing him by way of blunt force trauma to the head with a giant frozen leg of lamb.

She then calmly calls the police, giving them her quick alibi, a story that she’d been out shopping, while the murder occurred. Lieutenant Noonan is the investigating officer on the case. He is bewildered by the lack of a murder weapon missing from the scene of the crime.

Mary being the ultimate hostess and good cook invites the hard-working detective Noonan and the other police officers to stay for dinner. Noonan says while stuffing his face with Mary’s fine meal, “For all we know, it might be right under our very noses.”

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“Old Mrs. Keating gave me the ring test today… dangled it over my tummy, and it’s a boy.”
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“I want a divorce…now we’ve got to be calm and sensible about it.”
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“You must have your supper darling, I wouldn’t ever let you go without your supper.”

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”I won’t let you leave, you can’t… you can’t.”
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“Try and stop me.”

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Road Hog

Season 5, Episode 11 aired on (27 Sep. 1962)

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Raymond Massey as Sam Pine, Robert Emhardt as Fred Fratus, Ray Teal as Ben Tulip, Richard Chamberlain as Clay Pine, Brad Weston as Sam Pine Jr. (27 Sep. 1962)

From Alfred Hitchcock Presents directed by Stuart Rosenberg, teleplay by Bill S. Ballinger from a story by Harold R. Daniels. Produced by Joan Harrison and associate producer/actor Norman Lloyd.

Dynamic character actor Robert Emhardt is deliciously vile as a very selfish and rude traveling trashy and risqué, novelty salesman who willfully forces a truck off the road, making it virtually impossible for the young injured Pine boy to make it to the hospital for medical care. He ultimately dies because of Salesman Fratus’ actions.

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Don’t Look Behind You

Season 1, Episode 2 aired on (27 Sep. 1962)

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From The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, directed by John Brahm and written by Barré Lyndon

Vera Miles is Daphne engaged to Harold (Jeffrey Hunter) Abraham Sofaer plays Dr.McFarlane, Dick Sargent (the 2nd yet inferior Darrin on Bewitched) is Dave Fulton who is madly in love with Daphne, Mary Scott is Wanda Hatfield and Alf Kjellin is Edwin Volck a brilliant composer.

The world of academia is occupied by intellectual types, social misfits, and radical thinkers. At one such particular local college, there is a fiend ravaging women while they walk home through the neighboring woods. At a social gathering of faculty, they speculate the motives of the madman, using their knowledge of criminal psychology and floating theories around while drinking cocktails and fawning over the beautiful Daphne. Is Daphne going to be the maniac’s next victim?

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Return of Verge Likens

Season 3, Episode 1 aired (5 Oct. 1964)

alfred opening of Verge Likens

The Alfred Hitchcock Hour directed by Arnold Lavin and based on a short story by Davis Grubb.

Peter Fonda is Verge Likens a simple, respectable farmer’s boy whose father is murdered by a ruthless politician again perfectly befitting the acting chops of Robert Emhardt as Riley McGrath who thinks he can get away with anything. George ‘Goober’ Lindsay plays D.D. Martin, McGrath’s cutthroat flunky in a role that is quite a contrast from the oafish and good-natured Goober Pyle.

But Verge is smart, patient, and not impetuous when it comes to laying the blueprints for his master plan of revenge.

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Lonely Place

Season 3, Episode 6 aired on (16 Nov. 1964)

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Starring Teresa Wright, Pat Buttram, and Bruce Dern.

From The Alfred Hitchcock Hour, Directed by Harvey Hart, with a teleplay by Francis Gwaltney from a short story by C.B. Gilford

This is perhaps one of the most disturbing pieces of suspense television, that would quite aptly fit onto the larger screen adaptation as a major motion picture. The cinematography is stunning and Teresa Wright and Bruce Dern’s acting is so distinctively nuanced that it lifts the narrative beyond mere television drama. The theme of isolation, dread, and psychological/physical abuse by Emery and Jesse is stunning and at times nightmarish. Teresa Wright plays the meek Stella, a woman who has been so beaten down by her obnoxious and domineering cretin of a husband Emery played by Pat Buttram. Stella is a gentle soul, who loves animals, befriending a little squirrel who becomes her only source of joy. Along comes the menacing Bruce Dern as the mysterious Jesse who is willing to work for $5 a day picking peaches, knowing all too well that Emery is exploiting his labor. He proceeds to terrorize Stella, kill her pet squirrel, and turn the ineffectual and spineless Emery against her, as he is unwilling to protect or defend his own wife, being a cowardly quasi-Neanderthal himself.

Dern inhabits one of the most striking performances as a vicious socio-pathic drifter, so transcendent for its day that it’s utterly chilling to watch the narrative come to force. Dern’s Jesse makes his sleazy character Keeg in Cycle Savages 1969 pale in comparison.

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The landscape of a Gothic Americana horror story.

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‘GOOD EVENING’-MonsterGirl

A trailer a day keeps the Boogeyman away! The Night Holds Terror (1955)

“Three young, empty-eyed killers, without mercy or morals, turn a private home into a house of horror!”

The Night Holds Terror 1955

Based on a true crime, A nice suburban family man Gene Courtier makes the mistake of picking up a hitch-hiker who turns out to be dangerous escaped convict Victor Gosset, on the run from the police. 

His gang proceeds to hold Courtier’s family hostage at their home at gunpoint.

As time ticks on, the situation becomes more tense and volatile culminating into a living nightmare!

Directed and written by Andrew L. Stone as a crime noir thriller, it stars Jack Kelly and Hildy Parks as the Courtiers and Vince Edwards as the ruthless woman hungry Victor Gosset.

At first Gosset wants Courtier to sell his car for the cash, but Batsford (Cassavettes) wants to hold the family hostage for the ransom money instead…

Also stars John Cassavettes as Robert Batsford. and David Cross as Luther Logan the other two men in Gosset’s gang. A real gripping thriller!

“With a gasp in your throat… and a gun at your back!”

Don’t pick up any hitch-hikers, but of course you knew that by now-MonsterGirl cares!

MonsterGirl’s Quote of The Day! Rosemary’s Baby

”Pain be gone, I shall have no more of thee!”Rosemary Woodhouse, Rosemary’s Baby