MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #27 The Car (1977)

THE CAR 1977

There’s a streak of guilty pleasure for me with The Car, a 1977 American horror film directed by Elliot Silverstein and written by Michael Butler, Dennis Shryack, and Lane Slate. This supernatural thriller blends elements of horror and action, and I think it is one of the more creative and unique entries in the genre that embraces the killer-vehicle.

Set in a small desert town in Utah, a mysterious black car begins terrorizing the residents. The vehicle, seemingly possessed and driverless, goes on a murderous rampage, killing cyclists, pedestrians, and cops. The story follows Chief Deputy Wade Parent (James Brolin) as he attempts to stop the demonic automobile and protect his community. Kathleen Lloyd plays Lauren Humphries, Wade’s girlfriend and a local teacher, character actor John Marley plays Sheriff Everett Peck, Ronny Cox plays Deputy Luke Johnson, and R. G. Armstrong plays the irascible Amos Clemens.

The car itself is a central character designed by George Barris, who is known for creating iconic vehicles like the Batmobile. The film features innovative sound design, with Dennis C. Salcedo providing the car’s menacing sound effects. The Car 1977 also incorporates religious themes, as the black metal fiend cannot enter consecrated ground like the local cemetery.

The film is often compared to Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975), with some fans dubbing it “Jaws on Wheels.” Its premise of an unstoppable, supernatural force terrorizing a small town draws parallels to other horror classics of the era. Despite its sometimes ludicrous premise, The Car is so much fun to just hop inside the backseat to take the ride for its suspenseful elements, the excellent vehicle design, and the very ominous presence of its titular non-passenger driving antagonist. The film also possesses some genuinely jarring moments, not only for their intensity but also for their unexpectedness.

A few of the victims include hitchhiker John Rubenstein, who gets taken out early on as he plays his French Horn through the sleepy town. He is remembered for his Tony Award-winning performance as James Leeds in Children of a Lesser God on Broadway in 1980 and for creating the title role in the original Broadway production of Pippin in 1972, for which he received a Theatre World Award. Another nail-biting scene is the pair of victims, the two cyclists who get pushed off a very high bridge when the car rams into them, forcing them over the guardrails and onto the rocks below.

One of the most notable scenes is when Lauren Humphries (Kathleen Lloyd) taunts the car’s unseen driver, calling it a “big ugly car” and daring the driver to get out. As Lauren shows her gutsy nerve, the car’s supernatural nature reacts angrily to her insults by driving in circles and revving its engine.

During the scene where the car hesitates to enter a cemetery, it is suggestive of the dichotomy of Christian good vs. evil, Heaven & Hell, illustrating that it is repelled by consecrated ground. This moment is pretty slick because it adds a layer of mysticism to the story, implying that the car is not just a vehicle but a malevolent entity with certain limitations.

The car threatens a local school parade, endangering the lives of the children. This scene is particularly unsettling due to the vulnerability of the victims and the car’s relentless pursuit, creating a sense of urgency and fear amongst the trapped townspeople. The great final confrontation, where Chief Wade Parent and the townsfolk take a stand against the car, is worth the wait. It’s one of my favorite moments. In this funhouse ride – the pyrotechnic spectacle as our demonic four-wheeled horn-honking menace, terrorizing the town like a mechanical bull in a china shop, finally meets its match in a carefully orchestrated trap. As the car plunges off the cliff, it transforms from a road-raging, black, snarling metal beast into a magnificent fireball, as if the gates of automotive hell had suddenly opened up. The explosion is a moment of vehicular Valhalla. Rising from the inferno like a demonic soufflé, a face materializes in the smoke and flames. It’s as if the car’s evil spirit makes one last appearance, leaving with its nefarious sentiment- I’ll see you in your traffic nightmares!

This ghostly visage looks like a cross between a Halloween mask, a particularly furious cloud formation, and a fiery farewell from an evil killer car. It’s a reminder always to check your rearview mirror!

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #26 The Beast With Five Fingers 1946

THE BEAST WITH FIVE FINGERS 1946

The Beast with Five Fingers is a 1946 American mystery-horror film directed by Robert Florey (Murders in the Rue Morgue 1932), who was very fluent in television of the 1950s and ’60s, including Boris Karloff’s Thriller and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. It is based on the 1919 short story of the same name by W. F. Harvey, which plays into the disembodied hand trope. The screenplay was written by Curt Siodmak, known for his work on other horror classics like The Wolf Man (1941) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943).

The film stars Robert Alda, Andrea King, Victor Francen, and Peter Lorre. It tells the story of a retired concert pianist, Francis Ingram (Francen), who lives in a large manor house in turn-of-the-century Italy. After Ingram’s mysterious death, strange events begin to occur, centered around his seemingly animated, disembodied left hand.

The plot revolves around the reading of Ingram’s will, which leaves everything to his nurse, Julie Holden (King), much to the dismay of his relatives. As tensions rise, a series of murders occur, apparently committed by Ingram’s severed hand. The film builds suspense through a combination of psychological horror and supernatural elements.

Peter Lorre, as usual, delivers a standout performance as Hilary Cummins, Ingram’s secretary and astrologist, who becomes increasingly unhinged as the story progresses. The film’s score was composed by Max Steiner, adding to its eerie atmosphere. Steiner, “the father of film music,” composed scores for some of the most iconic and epic Hollywood films of the 20th century. Here’s a summary of his most notable works: King Kong 1933, Gone With the Wind 1939, Casablanca, and Now, Voyager 1942. Over his career, Steiner composed more than 300 film scores and was nominated for 24 Academy Awards, winning three.

The Beast with Five Fingers was Warner Bros.’s only foray into the horror genre in the 1940s and marked Peter Lorre’s last film with the studio. The movie is notable for its innovative special effects, which bring the disembodied hand to life through various techniques. Warner Bros. pianist Victor Aller performs the piano pieces featured in the film, whose hand is shown playing throughout the movie.

Despite initial reluctance from the cast due to concerns about the film’s title sounding like a “campy B-Movie,” the actors were eventually won over by the fascinating script. The production was not without its lighter moments, as Peter Lorre was known for playing practical jokes on set, once causing filming to be canceled for a day due to his antics. Sara Karloff shared with me that Lorre enjoyed a good practical joke with his other colleagues, her father Boris, and other co-star Vincent Price on the set of The Raven 1963.

Over time, The Beast with Five Fingers has grown in popularity and is now considered a classic of its genre. It even inspired Charles Addams’s creation of the character Thing in The Addams Family. While it may not be as frightening by today’s standards, the film remains a chilling and memorable entry in the horror genre of the 1940s.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #24 Beast in the Cellar 1970 & The Shuttered Room 1967

SPOILER ALERT!

BEAST IN THE CELLAR 1970

The Beast in the Cellar (1971) is a British horror film directed by James Kelly, starring two inimitable British actors, Beryl Reid as Ellie Ballantyne and Flora Robson as Joyce Ballantyne. The film follows two proper elderly sisters living near a rural army base in Lancashire, where soldiers are being mysteriously murdered.

In the delightfully dreary The Beast in the Cellar (1971), two spinster sisters, Ellie (Beryl Reid) and Joyce (Flora Robson), are living their best lives in a rural English cottage, complete with a secret ingredient that’s not exactly listed in the local cookbook: their deranged brother Steven (Dafydd Havard), who’s been locked in the cellar for decades.

The story revolves around the Ballantyne sisters’ dark secret: their brother Steven, whom they’ve kept locked in their cellar for nearly 30 years in order to keep him from joining the war effort. After their father returned from World War I traumatized and violent, the sisters decided to protect Steven from being drafted into World War II by drugging and imprisoning him in the cellar until he evolved into a feral animal.

As the murders continue, the sisters realize that Steven has escaped through a tunnel he dug and is responsible for the killings plaguing the village. His years of confinement and abuse have left him with a hatred for uniformed soldiers.

Through the plodding and cloyingly oppressive atmosphere, the film builds tension as the sisters struggle to conceal their secrets and deal with the consequences of what they have done.

While The Beast in the Cellar attempts to blend psychological horror with social commentary on the effects of war, it received mixed reviews. Critics noted its slow pace and lack of traditional horror elements but praised the performances of Reid and Robson, who never disappoint. The film has since gained a cult following for its unique premise and exploration of family secrets and the long-term consequences of misguided protection.

THE SHUTTERED ROOM 1967

The Shuttered Room (1967), directed by David Greene, marked Greene’s feature-film debut after directing episodes of The Twilight Zone and Playhouse 90. Greene would go on to direct notable films such as the very taught psycho-sexual thriller I Start Counting (1969), starring Jenny Agutter, and Godspell (1973). His television work includes acclaimed projects like Roots (1977), for which he won an Emmy.

This is another British psychological horror film steeped in Gothic atmosphere and folk horror elements. Based on the 1959 short story by August Derleth, written as a “posthumous collaboration” with H.P. Lovecraft, the film loosely draws inspiration from Lovecraftian themes while carving out its own identity. The screenplay was penned by D.B. Ledrov and Nathaniel Tanchuck. Carol Lynley delivers a nuanced performance as the haunted Susannah Kelton, balancing vulnerability with quiet resilience as she confronts both external threats and internal demons.

The film also stars Gig Young as the pragmatic Mike Kelton and Oliver Reed as the menacing Ethan. Reed’s portrayal echoes his earlier work in Joseph Losey’s These Are the Damned (1963).

The insular island community evokes themes of the folk horror elements of superstition and isolation common in folk horror, predating films like The Wicker Man (1973).

The Shuttered Room also stars the wonderful Flora Robson (she would later return to the genre in Beast in the Cellar in 1970), who delivers a memorable performance as the mysterious Aunt Agatha. Robson shines as Aunt Agatha, embodying the archetype of the wise but cryptic elder who knows more than she reveals.

The film includes moody cinematography by Ken Hodges and music by Basil Kirchin, which further enhance the film’s unsettling tone.

The story follows Susannah Kelton (Carol Lynley), a young woman raised in foster care who inherits her childhood home—a decrepit mill on a remote New England island—after her parents’ death.

Accompanied by her husband, Mike (Gig Young), Susannah reluctantly returns to confront her past. The island’s insular and hostile locals, led by her lecherous cousin Ethan (Oliver Reed), warn of a family curse tied to the mill, where an unseen terror lurks in the attic’s shuttered room.

As Susannah grapples with repressed childhood memories of trauma, she becomes the target of both Ethan’s (Reed) violent advances and the mill’s dark secret. The film builds toward a shocking revelation: the “monster” in the attic is Susannah’s deranged sister, Sarah, who has hidden away since birth due to her deformities and homicidal tendencies, which leads to a climactic confrontation.

David Greene’s direction imbues The Shuttered Room with a brooding atmosphere that blends Gothic horror with modern psychological tension. Though set in New England, the film was shot entirely in Norfolk, England, lending an eerie, decayed charm to its rural setting. Greene employs innovative techniques for his time, including point-of-view shots from the “monster,” which later became a hallmark of slasher films.

Ken Hodges’s cinematography captures the desolation of the island and the oppressive gloom of the mill with stark contrasts between light and shadow. The titular shuttered room becomes a visual metaphor for repression—both familial and psychological—while recurring imagery like decaying wood and shattered glass underscores themes of fragility and entrapment.

Basil Kirchin’s score alternates between jaunty jazz motifs and ominous basslines, creating an unsettling juxtaposition that mirrors Susannah’s uneasy return to her roots. This departure from traditional gothic orchestration gives the film a modern edge while maintaining its sense of dread.

The Shuttered Room 1967 explores repression and trauma and how buried secrets—both familial and personal—can fester into destructive forces. Susannah’s repressed memories parallel Sarah’s literal imprisonment.

The Shuttered Room occupies an intriguing position within British horror cinema of the 1960s. While often overshadowed by Hammer Films’ Gothic output during this period, it stands out for its fusion of Gothic tropes with modern psychological horror. Its depiction of rural hostility and repressed trauma aligns it with early folk horror works that would later define the subgenre.

With its decaying millhouse hiding both family secrets and unspeakable horrors, The Shuttered Room weaves a tale where Gothic dread meets up with folk horror unease—making the film a chilling exploration of things lurking behind locked doors.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #23 The Bird with the Crystal Plumage 1970 & Deep Red 1975

SPOILER ALERT!

THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE 1970

Bird with the Crystal Plumage 1970 is Dario Argento’s (who also wrote the script) directorial debut. The film is a landmark piece of horror art that revolutionized the Giallo genre and set the stage for Argento’s illustrious career in horror and thriller cinema. The film follows Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer living in Rome who witnesses a brutal attack on Monica Ranieri (Eva Renzi) in an art gallery. Trapped between glass doors during the assault, Sam becomes obsessed with solving the case, uncovering clues tied to a macabre painting and a rare bird’s call. His investigation, aided by his girlfriend Julia (Suzy Kendall) and Inspector Morosini (Enrico Maria Salerno), leads to a shocking twist as Bird with the Crystal Plumage delves into themes of trauma, obsession, and the fallibility of perception. Monica, driven by trauma from a past attack, is the true killer, with her husband Alberto (Umberto Raho) as her accomplice.

Heavily influenced by the Maestro of Giallo – Mario Bava, Argento’s film is notable for its opening sequence, which, with its focus on surveillance and photography, sets the tone for the film’s exploration of voyeurism. This theme is further developed through Sam’s obsessive investigation and the killer’s stalking of victims. The film culminates in a climactic confrontation at the gallery, blending psychological intrigue with Argento’s signature suspense-saturated atmosphere.

Vittorio Storaro’s Techniscope cinematography features stark geometric framing, saturated primary colors, and chiaroscuro lighting. The use of amber silhouettes and vivid contrasts heightens the tension and creates a visually striking spectacle. The film established many tropes that would become staples of Giallo, including the amateur sleuth protagonist, the black-gloved killer (seen in Bava’s films), and the blending of mystery and horror.

The Bird with the Crystal Plumage was a commercial and critical success upon release, credited with popularizing the Giallo genre internationally. As far as his legacy, Argento was hailed as “the Italian Hitchcock” and revolutionized horror and thriller cinema through his work, which is characterized by stylized violence, voyeuristic camerawork, and bold color palettes. His work merges operatic set pieces and forges a psychological fault line, where every moment trembles with the promise of seismic collapse.

It launched Argento’s career and influenced filmmakers beyond the Italian horror scene, including Brian De Palma, whose films like Dressed to Kill 1980 and Blow Out 1981 show clear Giallo influences.

Bird with the Crystal Plumage’s success led to Argento’s Animal Trilogy, followed by The Cat o’ Nine Tails (1971) and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1972). It established Argento’s trademark style of lurid violence, Freudian psychology, and collaborations with renowned artists like composer renowned Italian composer Ennio Morricone.

Morricone is celebrated for his iconic film scores, including those for Sergio Leone’s Westerns. For this film, he infused the score with the Lullaby theme. A hauntingly soft “la-la” vocal melody, performed by Edda Dell’Orso, creates an unsettling sense of innocence and fragility. This theme is used during moments of flirtation or domestic calm, such as scenes between Sam (Tony Musante) and Julia (Suzy Kendall). The lullaby’s ethereal quality contrasts sharply with the film’s violent undertones. Morricone also used atonal improvisation in scenes involving the killer. Morricone employed avant-garde techniques, including dissonant piano notes, free jazz drumming, eerie whispers, and fragmented rhythms, in tracks like “Phrases Without Structure” and used unpredictable sounds—such as muted trumpets, chimes, and distorted guitar swells—to evoke unease and tension.

These semi-improvised pieces mirror the chaotic psychology of the killer and heighten suspense during stalking sequences. The Bird with the Crystal Plumage was pivotal in shaping the soundscape of Giallo cinema. His innovative use of unconventional instrumentation—like vibraphones, harpsichords, and vocal sighs—created an auditory experience that was both unsettling and seductive. The two words that sum up Argento’s films.

DEEP RED (PROFONDO ROSSO) 1975

Dario Argento’s Deep Red (Profondo Rosso) is a masterclass in Giallo filmmaking, which blends the hallmark of the genre with its psychological tension, graphic violence, and stunning visual artistry with the use of vibrant colors and avant-garde camera angles.

The story follows Marcus Daly (David Hemmings), an English jazz pianist living in Rome, who becomes embroiled in a murder investigation after witnessing the brutal killing of psychic medium Helga Ulmann (Macha Méril). Helga had publicly revealed the presence of a murderer during a séance shortly before her death. Obsessed with uncovering the killer’s identity, Marcus teams up with journalist Gianna Brezzi (Daria Nicolodi), and their investigation leads them into a labyrinth of secrets, childhood trauma, and repressed memories. The film is structured around Marcus’s unraveling of the mystery, with each clue bringing him closer to the truth while placing him in increasing danger.

Argento masterfully uses misdirection and visual cues to toy with our perception. A key moment early in the film—when Marcus glimpses something significant in Helga’s apartment but cannot recall what it is—sets up the film’s central theme: once again, much like Bird with the Crystal Plumage – the fallibility of memory.

This idea is reinforced throughout the narrative as Marcus pieces together fragments of evidence, culminating in a shocking twist that reveals the killer to be Carlo’s (Gabriele Lavia) mother, Marta (Clara Calamai), who has been driven to murder by her psychological trauma.

Visually, Deep Red is one of Argento’s most striking films. Collaborating with cinematographer Luigi Kuveiller (Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion), Argento creates a world drenched in vivid colors—most notably red—to heighten tension and evoke unease.

The use of color is not merely aesthetic but thematic; red symbolizes both violence and hidden truths that bleed to the surface as Marcus delves deeper into the mystery.

Argento also employs fluid and dynamic camerawork to immerse viewers in the narrative. Long tracking shots follow characters through eerie locations, such as abandoned mansions and shadowy corridors, while extreme close-ups linger on seemingly innocuous objects that later become significant clues.

Using art as a clue — like many Giallo films, Deep Red uses art as an integral part of its mystery. A macabre painting is vital to identifying the killer, reinforcing Argento’s fascination with how art reflects hidden truths.

The killer’s perspective is frequently shown through voyeuristic point-of-view shots, creating a sense of dread as the audience becomes complicit in their acts. Also, one of Argento’s most iconic techniques is his use of reflective surfaces—mirrors, glass shards, and water—which distort reality and hint at hidden layers within the story. For instance, Marcus’s inability to recognize what he saw in Helga’s apartment mirrors his struggle to confront repressed truths about the murders.

At its core, Deep Red explores how memory and perception shape our understanding of reality. Marcus’s inability to recall what he saw at Helga’s murder scene reflects both his personal struggle and humanity’s broader difficulty in confronting uncomfortable truths.

Deep Red is an immersion in childhood trauma — The film delves into how past events shape present behavior. The killer’s motive is rooted in a traumatic incident from Carlo’s childhood—a moment when he witnessed his mother murdering his father. This theme is visualized through recurring images of children’s drawings and dolls, which take on sinister connotations.

The score for Deep Red, composed by progressive rock band Goblin (one of my favorite scores was their work, which infused Suspiria 1977 with a dramatically intense soundscape ), marked their first collaboration with Argento and became one of the most iconic elements of the film. The music blends haunting melodies with pulsating rhythms and eerie synthesizers, creating an atmosphere that oscillates between hypnotic beauty and jarring terror. Tracks like “Profondo Rosso” build suspense with their relentless basslines and dissonant keyboards, perfectly complementing Argento’s visual style.

The score actively drives the narrative forward—for example, Goblin’s music crescendos during moments of revelation or violence. Combining avant-garde rock and classical influences gives Deep Red yet another unique soundscape that has been widely imitated but rarely matched.

Daria Nicolodi, who plays Gianna Brezzi, introduces a strong female character who challenges traditional gender roles. Gianna is independent and assertive and often outshines Marcus in her investigative skills—though their playful banter occasionally highlights Marcus’s discomfort with her modernity.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #22 The Brotherhood of Satan 1971

THE BROTHERHOOD OF SATAN 1971

The Brotherhood of Satan (1971) is perhaps one of the most striking installments of the ’70s occult films, not just of that decade but of any film within its iteration of cinematic narratives that delve into the dark allure of devil worship, which often intersect with the timeless quest for eternal youth, creating a fascinating dichotomy between the pursuit of immortality and the surrender to malevolent forces.

It is a supernatural horror film directed by Bernard McEveety, who is known for his work on various television series. Strother Martin, as Dr. Duncan, gives a tour de force as a terrifying High Priest who wages war on old age by using the dark arts to take possession of children’s bodies and use them as the vessels of his coven’s souls. It’s a depraved notion and not without impact on the screen. McEveety does it with a very unpretentious stroke of low-budget/high art that comes across as though, on the surface, surreal; it disturbs at our visceral core. That’s why I love ’70s horror!

L.Q. Jones stars as Sheriff Pete, Charles Bateman plays Ben Holden, Ahna Capri is Nicky, and Charles Robinson plays the ill-fated Father Jack.

Set in the American Southwest, the story follows Ben Holden, a widower traveling with his young daughter K.T. and girlfriend Nicky. They stumble upon a small California town plagued by mysterious deaths and disappearing children. Not only are the children missing, but no one, including the newly arrived Ben Holden, his daughter, or girlfriend, can leave the boundaries of the town, not unlike others who attempted before and wound up as bloody, mangled victims.

Unbeknownst to them, a coven of elderly Satanists, led by Duncan, is orchestrating these events in a bid for immortality by transferring their souls into the bodies of the kidnapped children.

The film blends elements of small-town paranoia, occult horror, and psychological tension. It features inventive death scenes and a surreal atmosphere, particularly in scenes involving the children and their toys. The narrative builds to a climactic ritual where the line between reality and supernatural horror blurs.

L.Q. Jones, who also produced the film alongside Alvy Moore, initially titled it “Come In, Children” ( This is the title of my extended feature of this film. If I truly had a gun to my head, The Brotherhood of Satan would wind up on my top twenty of all time classic horror films) preferring this over the eventual title. Jones described the film as different from typical monster pictures, stating, “We’ve got a little blood in it—to appease the popcorn rattlers—but there are no silver bullets or crosses or stakes. The ending is deliberately up in the air. We don’t explain it; we just lay it out.”

While not a blockbuster hit, The Brotherhood of Satan has gained a cult following for its unique approach to Satanic themes and its atmospheric small-town setting. It stands as a notable entry in the 1970s occult horror genre, offering a more cerebral and ambiguous take on devil worship than many of its contemporaries.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #21 Burnt Offerings 1976

BURNT OFFERINGS 1976

Dan Curtis’s Burnt Offerings (1976) is a sophisticated psychological horror film that subverts traditional haunted house tropes. It stars Karen Black, Oliver Reed, Bette Davis, Lee H. Montgomery, Eileen Heckart, and Burgess Meredith as Roz and Arnold Allardyce, the odd brother and sister who own the mansion.

Burnt Offerings is a morbidly fascinating tale of a family’s summer vacation gone horribly wrong. Karen Black and Oliver Reed star as Marian and Ben Rolf, a couple who rent a massive Victorian mansion for a suspiciously low price. Marian and Ben, along with their son David (Lee H. Montgomery) and Aunt Elizabeth (Bette Davis)—rent the sprawling house for the summer until things take a dark turn. Though the house is too good to be true, there is one catch: The Rolfs must care for Roz and Arnold’s unseen elderly mother, who resides in the attic.

The family soon discovers that their dream home has quirks, like Mrs. Allardyce, the mysterious old lady who never leaves her room, a garden that resurrects itself, and a house with an appetite for human souls.

The real scene-stealer, and the one that made me jump out of my seat in the theater, is the sinister chauffeur, played by Anthony James, who appears in Ben’s nightmares. James, known for his creepy on-screen presence, really gives you a shock to the system in the coffin scene with Bette Davis.

As the house’s sinister influence grows, the Rolfs find themselves in a race against time to escape before they become the latest addition to the property’s unique renovation plan. Burnt Offerings is the perfect example of 70s horror as many of the horror films from that era relied on psychological terror and a pervasive sense of dread rather than graphic violence or supernatural spectacle, though a soul-sucking evil house does have its moments.

Dan Curtis, adept at atmospheric Gothic horror, which includes character-driven supernatural narratives and thoughtful genre adaptations, masterfully builds tension through subtle atmospheric changes and the gradual transformation of the characters, particularly Marian’s growing obsession with the house. The film’s intelligent script, co-written by Curtis and William F. Nolan, delves into the psychological impact of the house on its inhabitants, blurring the lines between reality and supernatural influence.

Burnt Offerings stands out for its nuanced approach to horror, eschewing cheap scares in favor of a pervasive sense of dread. The film’s exploration of how evil can manifest through seemingly benign objects and the corruption of familial bonds is what truly adds a layer of shivers because family dynamics are complex enough when adding a layer of a malevolent force that seeks to destroy them.

Anthony James, with his uniquely imposing face and his topography of scars, delivers a chilling performance as the sinister chauffeur. This recurring apparition that haunts and tortures Ben’s nightmares serves as a harbinger of the house’s malevolent nature. The specter of James’s character becomes a symbol of the inevitable doom that awaits the family as the film explores themes of familial disintegration and the insidious nature of evil, a haunting meditation on the seductive and destructive power of both.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #20 Blacula 1972 & Scream Blacula Scream 1973

BLACULA 1972

Directed by William Crain and released by American International Pictures (AIP) in 1972, Blacula follows the tragic tale of Mamuwalde (the towering 6’5” figure of thespian William Marshall, a stage actor with a distinguished career in theater, performing in numerous classical stage works, including several Shakespearean plays. Marshall made his Broadway debut in 1944 in Carmen Jones), an African Prince who visits Count Dracula’s ( Charles Macaulay) castle with his beautiful wife Luva (played by Vonetta McGee) to plead for an end to the slave trade in the 18th century afflicting his people, the Abani.

However, the evening’s uneasy meeting quickly turns sour as Dracula scoffs at Mamuwalde’s proposal, baring his metaphorical teeth with a disdainful and haunty attitude toward him and making lewd insinuations about Luva. This confrontation escalates into a physical clash, culminating in Dracula’s transforming Mamuwalde into a vampire and cursing him with the moniker soulfully reimagined from Dracula to Blacula and mocking the prince, christening him, and cursing him with his name.

He condemns him to an eternal existence of bloodlust. Within the framework that is part of the blaxploitation genre, Blacula, on another level, explores themes of racial oppression, identity, and the lasting impact of historical injustices. (I will be talking about this film more extensively in the future.) Dracula imprisons Mamuwalde inside a coffin and leaves Luva to die after she witnesses Dracula feeding on her beloved husband and then entombing her.

Fast forward to 1972, two hundred years later, with a deliciously campy appeal, Blacula introduces us to Bobby McCoy (Ted Harris) and Billy Schaffer (Ricky Metzler), a flamboyant duo of gay interior decorators who embark on a treasure hunt in Transylvania. Their fabulous antiquing outing? To snag the most fabulous gothic relics from the former Castle Dracula at a steal. As they swoon over the macabre decor, the estate’s salesman regales them with spine-tingling tales of the real Count Dracula, but they dismiss his warnings with a flick of their wrists. Back in L.A., amidst their haul of treasures, including Mamuwalde’s coffin, Bobby’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides to pry it open, unleashing the undead Blacula. He springs to life, famished for blood, and in a wickedly, kitschy, and humorous scene makes them his first victims, turning Bobby and Billy into his first modern bloodthirsty acolytes.

He becomes enamored with Tina, a woman who resembles Luva, leading to a series of murders as he attempts to reconnect with her. Meanwhile, Dr. Gordon Thomas (Thalmus Rasulala), Tina’s sister’s (Denise Nicholas) boyfriend, is a pathologist who works for the Los Angeles Police Department. Gordon investigates the strange deaths and uncovers the truth about Blacula and the vampirism spreading in the city. The film culminates in tragedy as Blacula ultimately loses Tina and chooses to end his own life, succumbing to sunlight after a series of violent confrontations with the police and his kind.

Blacula features a special guest appearance by Elisha Cook Jr. as Sam, the morgue attendant, and Ketty Lester as a very unfortunate and frightening cabbie who plays one hell of a scary member of the undead!

Picture a vampiric version of hide-and-seek gone hilariously wrong, where Ketty Lester’s Juanita jumps out like an overeager bloodsucking jack-in-the-box, turning Sam’s quiet night shift into an unexpectedly terrifying welcome he never saw coming!

SCREAM BLACULA SCREAM 1973

Directed by Bob Kelljan (who also directed Count Yorga, Vampire 1970 and the sequel Return of Count Yorga 1971), this follow-up was produced by American International Pictures (AIP) and released in 1973. Scream Blacula Scream once again features the resurrection of William Marshall as the elegant Prince of Darkness, Pam Grier as Lisa Fortier, Michael Conrad as Lieutenant Harley Dunlop, Janee Michelle as Gloria, and Barbara Rhoades as Elaine.

The sequel picks up with the death of the voodoo priestess Mama Loa, which ignites a power struggle within her cult. Her arrogant son, Willis Daniels, attempts to resurrect Blacula using voodoo to exact revenge on those who overlooked him for leadership in favor of his stepsister, Lisa Fortier. However, upon resurrecting Mamuwalde, Willis finds himself turned into a vampire and enslaved by the very creature he sought to control. As Blacula resumes his killing spree, he becomes infatuated with Lisa, believing she can help lift his curse through voodoo magic. The film escalates as Justin Carter, Lisa’s boyfriend Justin Carter, played by Don Mitchell. Justin is a former police officer and an African art collector who investigates the murders linked to Blacula while trying to save Lisa from his grasp. The climax sees Lisa attempting to exorcise Blacula using a voodoo doll, leading to an ambiguous ending filled with horror and tragedy as their fates intertwine.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #19 Beware My Brethren 1972 & When a Stranger Calls 1979

BEWARE MY BRETHREN 1972

Beware My Brethren 1972 (also known as The Fiend) is a ’70s British psychological thriller directed by Robert Hartford-Davis. The film explores themes of religious fanaticism, sexual repression, and murderous obsession.

The story centers around the Wemys family: Birdy Wemys (Ann Todd), A diabetic widow who has become deeply involved with a fundamentalist religious sect called “the Brethren.” Kenny Wemys (Tony Beckley known for his disturbing portrayal of the homicidal psychopath Curt Duncan in When A Stranger Calls 1979), Birdy’s troubled and socially inept son, becomes a serial killer targeting young women he perceives as sinful. Patrick Magee plays the charismatic leader of the Brethren.

Brigitte Lynch (Madeleine Hinde) is a nurse hired to care for Birdy. Paddy Lynch (Suzanna Leigh), who plays Brigitte’s sister, is a journalist who goes undercover to investigate the Brethren.

The film is notable for several unsettling aspects. For one thing, its religious fervor: The Brethren’s intense services, complete with gospel-style music and frenzied baptisms, create an atmosphere of religious hysteria that is almost as disturbing as the killings. The graphic violence exacted by Kenny’s murderous mania and hatred of women is portrayed in brutal detail, with victims being strangled, stripped naked, and disposed of in shocking ways (e.g., dropped from cement mixers, hung on meat hooks, drowning, and crucifixion.

The sexual repression is not only attributed to Kenny’s murderous impulses, which are driven by his disgust at perceived sexual immorality, leading to disturbing scenes of violence against women but by his mother’s own sexual repression and latent lesbian desires. The Minister’s psychological manipulation and control over his followers, particularly Birdy, showcases the dangerous power of cult-like religious groups.

Director Hartford-Davis uses unsettling images, including dream sequences and vivid color contrasts, to create a disorienting and nightmarish atmosphere.

The opening sequence intercuts a religious service with the pursuit and murder of a young woman, set to an incongruously upbeat gospel song that includes lyrics like Wash Me In His Blood. Kenny’s attack on a prostitute, which involves forcing a torch down her throat, is particularly ferocious. Birdy’s lesbian attraction to Paddy leads to her being denied life-saving insulin by the Minister. All these elements, the religious extremism, sexual repression, and violence, make Beware My Brethren a deeply uncomfortable British video nasty.

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS 1979

When a Stranger Calls (1979), directed by Fred Walton, is one of the most chilling psychological thrillers of the late 1970s that has become a cult classic, particularly due to its shocking, nail-biting opening sequence.

Tony Beckley’s performance as Curt Duncan, the psychopathic killer, was notably compelling due to the actor’s low affect and intensity. Beckley portrayed Duncan as a complex character, balancing between a desperate attempt at sanity and terrifying volatility, tearing two young children apart with his bare hands.

Beckley did a masterful job of making his fiend both sympathetic and frightening. Tragically, this was Beckley’s final film role, as he passed away shortly after the movie’s release.

The film’s reception was mixed upon its initial release: Critics praised the opening 20-23 minutes, consistently regarding it as one of the scariest openings in film history. If memory serves me, it made me jump out of my seat in the theater. Despite mixed reviews, the film was commercially successful, grossing between $21.4 to $25 million against a $1.5 million budget.

Director Fred Walton, along with co-writer Steve Feke, based the story on the urban legend of “the babysitter and the man upstairs.” They claimed to have drawn inspiration from a real newspaper article about a babysitter in Santa Monica who received threatening calls from an attacker inside the house. The cast includes Carol Kane as Jill Johnson, the babysitter, Charles Durning as John Clifford, the undaunted detective on Duncan’s trail, and Colleen Dewhurst as Tracy, the barfly to whom Duncan takes an odd shine to.

The film’s narrative structure is unique, essentially combining two short stories with a police procedural middle section. The opening sequence, featuring Kane as the terrorized babysitter, is particularly noteworthy for its escalation of the tension and use of the telephone as a source of horror. Reminiscing of Bob Clark’s Black Christmas 1974, which used the telephone ingeniously. Black Christmas weaponizes it as an instrument of psychological terror, serving as a seminal example of this technique. The film’s masterful use of menacing phone calls transforms a mundane household object into a conduit for fear, creating an atmosphere of inescapable dread.

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MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #18 The Black Cat 1934 & The Raven 1935

THE BLACK CAT 1934

EDGAR G.ULMER’S: THE BLACK CAT (1934) “ARE WE BOTH NOT"¦ THE LIVING DEAD?”

Edgar G. Ulmer’s The Black Cat (1934) is a psychological horror film that marked the first on-screen pairing of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. Despite its title, the film bears little resemblance to Edgar Allan Poe’s story, instead focusing on the aftermath of World War I and its psychological impact on survivors.

The plot revolves around American newlyweds Peter and Joan Alison (David Manners and Julie Bishop ), who become entangled in a sinister feud between Dr. Vitus Werdegast (Lugosi) and Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff) while honeymooning in Hungary. Werdegast, a psychiatrist recently freed from a Siberian prison camp, seeks revenge against Poelzig, an Austrian architect who betrayed their fort during the war, leading to thousands of deaths.

The film’s atmosphere is heavy with themes of revenge, psychological trauma, and the lingering effects of war within an ultra-modernist interior set that lends to the psychologically constrictive and repressive interior landscape.

Poelzig’s modernist house, built on the ruins of the betrayed fort, serves as a metaphor for the attempt to cover past atrocities with a veneer of progress, yet it feels like an avant-garde prison.

Ulmer employs expressionistic techniques, including stark sets and unconventional camera angles, to create a pervasive sense of unease. The titular black cat, while not central to the plot, symbolizes death and evil to Karloff (misconceptions that have led to the persecution of cats, particularly black cats), which menacingly affects the ailurophobic Werdegast. The film culminates in a tense game of chess between the two antagonists, deciding the fate of the American couple, and a climactic confrontation involving Satanic rituals and gruesome revenge. The Black Cat stands out among Universal’s horror offerings of the time for its psychological depth and its unflinching look at the dark aftermath of war. Edgar G. Ulmer’s film pushed the boundaries of what was acceptable in cinema at the time, featuring several controversial and disturbing elements that are shocking even by today’s standards.

This pre-code horror film strongly hints at necrophilic themes through Poelzig’s collection of preserved dead women. These bodies are displayed behind glass, lovingly maintained, and dressed in sheer, clingy material. Poelzig’s apparent fascination with these corpses, particularly his wife Karen’s preserved body, suggests a disturbing obsession with the sexualization of the dead.

The climax of the film features an incredibly gruesome scene where Werdegast binds Poelzig to an embalming rack and proceeds to flay him alive. While the actual skinning is not shown directly, Ulmer uses shadow play to depict the horrific act, accompanied by Poelzig’s agonized screams. This scene was so shocking and remarkable that it made it to the screen.

The film culminates in a Black Mass ceremony, where Poelzig prepares to sacrifice Joan to Satan. This depiction of devil worship was highly controversial for its time and added to the film’s overall sense of moral decay and corruption. The Black Cat also touches on other taboo subjects, such as Incest: Poelzig marries his stepdaughter, who shares the same name as his deceased wife.

There’s also the psychological trauma: exploring the lasting effects of war on the human psyche. The film’s ability to pack so many disturbing elements into its brief 65-minute runtime while mostly relying on suggestion rather than explicit depiction is a testament to Ulmer’s skill as a filmmaker. The Black Cat remains a landmark in horror cinema, pushing the boundaries of what could be explored on screen in the pre-code horror of the 1930s.

THE RAVEN 1935

The Raven (1935) is a psychological horror film directed by Lew Landers, one of the few rich collaborations starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi in their second on-screen pairing. Despite its title, the film is only loosely inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s works, focusing instead on a brilliant but unhinged surgeon’s obsession with torture and a young woman who is the object of his desire.

Dr. Richard Vollin (Lugosi) is a gifted neurosurgeon with a morbid fascination for Poe and torture devices. After saving the life of Jean Thatcher (Irene Ware), a young socialite, he becomes dangerously obsessed with her.

When Jean’s father, Judge Thatcher, forbids Vollin from seeing her, the doctor plots revenge. He recruits Edmond Bateman (Karloff), an escaped convict seeking facial reconstruction, by promising to fix his appearance. Instead, Vollin disfigures half of Bateman’s face to ensure his cooperation.

The facial disfiguration inflicted upon Edmond Bateman (Boris Karloff) by Dr. Vollin (Bela Lugosi) in The Raven (1935) is a gruesome and shocking act of cruelty. Vollin deliberately mutilates one side of Bateman’s face during what was supposed to be reconstructive surgery. The disfiguration is described as severely damaging the seventh cranial nerve, resulting in a grotesque asymmetry. The right side of Bateman’s face is left hideously scarred, with one eye rendered useless and the surrounding tissue distorted. The damage is so severe that when Bateman sees his reflection, he reacts with horror, desperately asking, “Do I look… different?” The audience is treated to a disturbing close-up of Karloff’s face, revealing the extent of the disfiguration – a mass of twisted flesh, a sightless eye, and nerve damage that likely causes partial facial paralysis.

This alarmingly graphic disfiguration serves as a visual representation of Vollin’s sadistic nature and becomes a central element in manipulating Bateman into becoming an unwilling accomplice in his twisted schemes.

Vollin’s basement houses recreations of Poe’s torture devices, including the pendulum from The Pit and the Pendulum. Vollin’s cruel manipulation of Bateman’s appearance is a central plot point.

The Raven culminates in a tense sequence where Vollin attempts to torture and kill Jean, her fiancé Jerry, and Judge Thatcher using his Poe-inspired devices, which consist of putting them in a small space with the walls closing in that will eventually crush them. Bateman, having developed sympathy for Jean, turns against Vollin. In the ensuing struggle, both Bateman and Vollin meet gruesome ends.

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Provacateur & Libertine Roger Vadim’s Dark Satire: Pretty Maids All In A Row (1971): Rock Hudson’s Killer Casanova & The Garden of Earthly Delights – “Wonder why they always seem to die with a smile on their face?”

Pretty Maids All in a Row is a 1971 film directed by Roger Vadim, blending elements of black comedy, sex, and murder mystery. Set in a California high school during the sexual revolution, it follows serial killer Michael ‘Tiger’ McDrew (Rock Hudson), who targets his female students. The film satirizes American high school culture and societal attitudes towards sex and violence.

In this dark sexploitation comedy by Vadim, Rock Hudson plays a beloved football hero/ faculty member who is, in fact, a lady-killer preying on the female student body at his high school!

Hieronymus Bosch – The Garden of Earthly Delights.

Pretty Maids All in a Row is bathed in hazy colors similar to that of Bosch’s epic triptych painting. I’m starting this post by emphasizing Bosch’s iconic work of art, as it significantly shapes the narrative.

This intricate panel of images appears in the film several times as a motif. Vadim possessed a clear grasp of what he was informing us about. It touches on a vital element and is the fundamental part of the narrative’s soul, yet it bears no resolution for us, the ‘voyeurs’, by the film’s end. Betty Smith (Angie Dickinson) has this painting in her apartment. We see it in several sequences; By framing the object in a tight close-up, scrutinized by the lens, the camera invites a nuanced inspection, underscoring Vadim’s intention to emphasize the painting’s thematic significance.

Read the feature below, which includes an Angie Dickinson overview!

It’s the pictures that got small! – “Good Evening” Leading Ladies of The Alfred Hitchcock Hour Part 1

Bosch’s painting serves as a prominent motif throughout the film.

Close-ups in the film at varying viewpoints of Bosch’s painting.

The painting depicts nude figures in the garden of temptation, ultimately setting them forth unto an eternal dance with damnation.

From Wiki:

The left panel depicts God presenting Adam to Eve, while the central panel is a broad panorama of sexually engaged nude figures, fantastical animals, oversized fruit, and hybrid stone formations. The right panel is a hellscape and portrays the torments of damnation.

“Art historians and critics frequently interpret the painting as a didactic warning on the perils of life’s temptations. However, the intricacy of its symbolism, particularly that of the central panel, has led to a wide range of scholarly interpretations over the centuries. 20th-century art historians are divided as to whether the triptych’s central panel is a moral warning or a panorama of paradise lost. American writer Peter S. Beagle describes it as an “erotic derangement that turns us all into voyeurs, a place filled with the intoxicating air of perfect liberty.”

One could say that this suburban American High School acts as a similar landscape depicted in Bosch’s painting. The school is ripe for sexual and unconventional anarchy, abound with young flesh, exploring a ‘perfect liberty’ flitting about in micro skirts and no bras, amidst the intoxicating air of youth and temptation.

Tiger McDrew reads Don Juan to his class.

Leaving these young people vulnerable and tempted by devouring demons like Tiger McDrew, who comes and preys upon their alluring innocence. Much like the painting, Pretty Maids has a sense of erotic derangement that turns us into every bit the voyeur. The film is a thought-provoking amalgamation of interrelated questions, ultimately yielding a profound exploration of moral ambiguities and the deeply embedded systemic, hierarchical, and hegemonic complexities and challenges that shape historical narratives.

Add Vadim’s European, self-proclaimed Libertine sensibilities and his view of American culture, and you get a psychopathic Don Juan in Tiger McDrew, with voyeuristic close-ups of supposed adolescent young girls (the actresses were older) and a society that both condemns and perpetuates it.

An alternative title to this blog post – I could say might be this: “The Americanization of Debauchery, Perversion, Panties, Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hieronymus Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights transfixed on the modern high school campus. The Socratic Infusion of Free Love & the Sexual Revolution. With traces of Bluebeard, Casanova. Sexism & Misogyny, the POV of the New Wave European Aestheticism of the Female Body as Fetish. Pom Poms, Peace Signs, The Cult of American Hero worship Molière & Lord Byron’s Don Juan with a smattering of Svengali, as a Homicidal Pedagogue in a tight pants.”

In Pretty Maids All In A Row, Ponce (John David Carson) and substitute teacher Betty Smith (Angie Dickinson) both read from Milton’s Paradise Lost. The telling of how Satan fell from grace, Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden, the angels fought amongst each other, and innocence becomes sacrificed as just part of the epic tale.

PRETTY MAIDS ALL IN A ROW – From the nursery rhyme, Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary.