MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #132 The Stepford Wives 1975

THE STEPFORD WIVES 1975

Joanna Eberhart: I won’t be here when you get back, don’t you see? It’s going to happen before then. Don’t ask me to explain it, I just know. There’ll be somebody with my name, and she’ll cook and clean like crazy, but she won’t take pictures, and she won’t be me! She’ll – she’ll, she’ll be like one of those the robots in Disneyland.

The Stepford Wives undoubtedly left a profound impact on popular culture. Its influence and the lasting use of the term Stepford Wife within the American lexicon symbolize the notion of unquestioning conformity.

From the very first sun-splashed frames, Bryan Forbes’s The Stepford Wives (1975) dares you to believe in the dream of suburbia, a vision deliberately polished to an unnerving sheen. Adapted from Ira Levin’s razor-sharp 1972 novel and the screenwriter William Goldman, the film blends satire, science fiction, and horror into a story that remains as psychologically and sociologically disturbing today as it was fifty years ago. With Forbes at the helm, and an ensemble led by Katharine Ross as Joanna Eberhart, Paula Prentiss as the irrepressible Bobbie, and Patrick O’Neal’s chilling Dale Coba, the cast enacts a sinister ballet of control, conformity, and loss of self.

Katharine Ross delivers a powerful portrayal of an independent and individualistic wife who has recently moved to a suburb where the other wives appeared to be excessively perfect and submissive. Bryan Forbes and Ross talked about the look of her humanoid Joanna at the end of the picture, deciding that what would leave the film with the most lasting impact would be to emphasize the part of her that is most human: her eyes. Ross was fitted with custom black contact lenses that made her eyes water but gave her that dark, spiritless look.

“What they really wanted was for them to not look shiny, to look like these black holes,”  reflects Ross. “With my eyes tearing, I don’t think it was possible for them to not look shiny. But it was still kind of spooky, wasn’t it?”

Bryan Forbes is renowned for his diverse and distinguished career as a director, writer, and producer, but one of his most notable achievements is the haunting psychological thriller Seance on a Wet Afternoon (1964). This atmospheric film, adapted by Forbes from Mark McShane’s novel, tells the story of Myra Savage (Kim Stanley), an unstable medium who convinces her husband (Richard Attenborough) to kidnap a child so she can “solve” the crime and achieve fame. Forbes’s understated, moody direction and focus on character interplay garnered widespread critical acclaim, earning Kim Stanley an Oscar nomination for Best Actress and cementing the film’s reputation as one of the darkest and finest works of his career. He also directed The L-Shaped Room (1962), with its superb acting, about a Pregnant woman, loneliness, and new beginnings. King Rat (1965): a WWII POW camp survival drama, The Whisperers (1967): about an elderly woman, poverty, and bleak isolation, and Deadfall (1968): about a Jewel heist and double-crosses.

Notable and a key signifier are the fashions designed by Anna Hill Johnstone, meant to evoke satin, silk, and submission, as Bryan Forbes opted for a deliberately modern take on the glamorous, corseted look of Southern belles.

While some descriptions, called the style “modest, prairie, or Victorian-inspired,” the reality on screen is more nuanced: there’s a modern, suburban take on the classic Gainsborough or “picture hat” style, and the Stepford wives’ dresses seem to embrace a form of contemporary old-fashioned femininity.

Post transformation, the wives’ attire at times, features long hems frilly aprons, high necklines, puffed sleeves, and plenty of ruffles, and floral patterns; styles meant to evoke an idealized, submissive domestic femininity, 70s style, rooted in mid-20th-century nostalgia —but a time they are also tailored to expertly display the actresses’ figures, often highlighting their volutptious breasts and bearing their midriffs, and waistline in ways that are markedly meant to please the male gaze.

I referred to their harmonized collective as a ballet, thinking of the end scene in the supermarket, a synchronized ensemble of Stepfordian doppelgängers who swirl together in their new fashions and physical movements reminiscent of a Busby Berkeley musical number. In a bizarre extravaganza of suburban wifery and vacuous bliss, each enhanced beauty performs her part in this choreographed spectacle of empty, newly wired perfection, moving in a fully automated manner up and down the aisles.

You follow Joanna Eberhart, a New York City photographer and modern independent woman, whose husband, Walter (Peter Masterson), persuades her to move from bustling city to the disturbingly perfect suburban town of Stepford, Connecticut.

Early scenes play off the uneasy beauty of sunlit streets, immaculately kept lawns, and the endlessly yet eerily cheerful housewives who greet the new arrival in domestic femininity, homemaker chic, and vacant smiles.

When Joanna moves to town, the Stepford wives greet her with an unsettling demeanor that is uniform and artificial. The women she meets early on, including the “Welcome Wagon” encounter, appear overly focused on domestic chores, with vacant, repetitive behavior that unnerves Joanna and immediately grabs her attention.

Five-time Academy Award nominee cinematographer Owen Roizman’s (known for his gritty style, The French Connection 1971, The Exorcist 1973, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three 1974, Three Days of the Condor 1975, Network 1976) lens suffuses the film with a pastel brightness, the kind that sterilizes rather than comforts. From the get-go, no matter how many times I rewatch this film, it’s easy to become as uneasy as Joanna by the suffocating atmosphere of this suburban paradise. Something is absolutely off-kilter in this white-picket Eden, this cookie-cutter nirvana.

Joanna and the wise-cracking Bobbie Markowe (Paul Prentiss), sporting halter tops and short shorts, are lost amid a flock of Stepford wives adorned in pastel-colored long skirts and wavy ruffles, quickly become best friends, bonding over their shared status as the only wives in Stepford without a perfectly spotless kitchen. Their friendship starts not with a choreographed greeting but over shared skepticism. Bobbie is the only other woman bold enough to question the absurd perfection around them, making their bond the perfect rebellion against Stepford’s polished façade. After witnessing their neighbors’ bizarre behavior and obsession with cleaning, the two women begin to investigate.

The underlying tension is immediate: Bobbie whispers to Joanna poolside, “This place is just a little too perfect.”

Bobbie Markowe: I’m also an ex-Gothamite, who’s been living here in Ajax country for just over a month now, and I’m going crazy. You see doctor, my problem is that given complete freedom of choice, I don’t WANT to squeeze the goddamn Charmin!

When Bobbie Markowe blurts out, “I don’t want to squeeze the goddamn Charmin!” she’s tapping into a cultural zeitgeist that only the 1970s could have spawned. Back then, commercials weren’t just background noise—they were bona fide pop culture events. The Charmin ad, featuring the iconic Mr. Whipple sternly warning shoppers not to squeeze the soft toilet paper (only to sneak a squeeze himself), was a comedic masterpiece and a catchphrase factory. Growing up alongside those quirky, memorable spots, many of us experienced a time when ads entertained as much as they sold, embedding themselves in everyday conversations and collective nostalgia. Revisiting those retro commercials today isn’t just a trip down memory lane—it’s a reminder of an era when advertising had charm, wit, and the power to turn toilet paper into a household punchline!

All the women in Stepford appear eerily ideal and obedient to their husbands. Joanna’s husband quickly joins The Men’s Association, and at some point, she sits for a famous artist, Mazzard (William Prince), who makes very detailed drawings of her, capturing every angle. After that, Claude Axhelm (George Coe) asks her to record a list of vocabulary words.

Joanna –“I don’t know what they do, exactly. They draw our pictures and they tape our voices.”

As Joanna struggles against the town’s “Men’s Association”, on the surface, a friendly club for husbands, but clearly Stepford’s true seat of power, Goldman and Forbes use the mundane to creep up on horror. The camera lingers on scenes that should be cozy, even comedic: the Women’s Club engages in a trivial, overly scripted debate about laundry starch brands, underscoring the Stepford wives’ eerie uniformity and superficial concerns.

The scene devolves into a heated debate about the merits of spray starch—“All I said was, I prefer Easy-On,” one wife chirps, never straying off-script. Joanna and Bobbie, sensing something unnatural, investigate, uncovering that many Stepford wives were once vibrant feminists, their vitality now traded for a robot-like, domesticated, mind-numbing bliss, whose only purpose is to satisfy the men in their lives.

Patrick O’Neal, who plays the arrogant Diz, one of the founding members of the Men’s Association, comes over to Joanna and Walter’s house and quickly follows Joanna into the kitchen. Diz: “I like watching women doing little domestic chores.” Joanna: “You came to the right town.”

Joanna Eberhardt: Why do they call you Diz?
Dale Coba: Because I used to work at Disneyland.
Joanna: No, really.
Dale: That’s really. Don’t you believe me?
Joanna: No.
Dale: Why not?
Joanna: You don’t look like someone who enjoys making other people happy.

You see the transformation character by character: Charmaine (Tina Louise, Gilligan’s Island’s Ginger), tennis-loving and witty, returns from a weekend away as a docile servant.

Joanna Eberhart –If I am wrong, I’m insane… but if I’m right, it’s even worse than if I was wrong.

There is a chilling scene that shows that Charmaine’s husband, Ed (Franklin Cover), is having her beloved tennis court destroyed to make way for a heated swimming pool he wants, symbolizing the erasure of her independence and pleasures as she is transformed into a submissive Stepford wife.

Soon enough, Bobbie falls under the spell of the Stepford wives, transforming into a cheerfully anesthetized housewife who spends hours applying makeup and meticulously cleaning her kitchen.

Bobbie: If you’re going to tell me you don’t like this dress, I’m sticking my head right in the oven.

Now, Joanna’s only ally, Bobbie, is replaced overnight. Joanna is caught in a harrowing scene when she stabs Bobbie with a kitchen knife and discovers, in one of the film’s signature moments, that Bobbie is a robot. In this disturbing climactic sequence, Joanna thrusts a kitchen knife into Bobbie’s stomach to find out if she’ll bleed. Apparently, Katharine Ross found it hard to stab Prentiss, so Forbes did it for her.

Bobbie continues the repetitive gesture of retrieving coffee cups, offering more coffee with an eerie insistence, and even dropping or shattering the cups on the floor. Her actions are unnervingly ritualistic, highlighting the loss of her former personality and humanity. Bobbie does not bleed; she “malfunctions,” as she coldly offers Joanna the coffee with mechanical cheerfulness and uncanny conformity. The dread is all the more profound when it happens in daylight, in pastel kitchens.

Bobbie: after being stabbed] Joanna! How could you do a thing like that? How could you do a thing like that? How could you do a thing like that? When I was just going to give you coffee. When I was just going to give you coffee! When I was just going to give you coffee! I thought we were friends! I thought we were friends! I was just going to give you coffee! I was just going to give you coffee! I thought we were friends… I thought we were friends… I thought we were friends. How could you *do* a thing like that? I thought we were friends.”

“I remember that it was very hard for me, even though they had made this sort of Styrofoam midsection [for Prentiss], It was very hard for me to stab, even something that wasn’t real. So that’s his hand on the knife that you see going in.” – Paula Prentiss comments on the scene.

Shocked by the drastic transformation of her friend, Joanna becomes determined to escape Stepford and leave Walter. However, just as she’s about to make her move, she discovers that her children have vanished.

Isolated from the world and desperate to find them, she runs to Bobbie’s house, and the terrifying truth is revealed. The Men’s Association has been killing the wives and replacing them with subservient humanoids.

Joanna realizes she will be next, so she goes to The Men’s Association to find her missing children. When it’s Joanna’s time to transform into the Stepfordian ideal woman, she gets lost inside a labyrinthine building, and she stumbles onto her humanoid doppelgänger, except her breasts are fuller and her eyes are a cold black void; they are soulless, emotionless, and lacking humanity. In her final moments, Joanna asks Diz the simple reason Why? Diz’s response is equally uncomplicated:

Dialogue from the film is seared into the genre’s lexicon for a reason. In the final act, Joanna pleads:

Dale Coba (talking to Joanna): It’s nothing like you imagine, just a, another stage. Think about it like that, and there’s nothing to it.
Joanna Eberhart: Why?
Dale Coba: Why? Because we can.

These blank spoken lines echo through the film’s finale, where Joanna fights to recover her children from the Men’s Association mansion. The climax is a spiral of suspense as she stumbles upon her own lifeless, marble black-eyed double—her fate sealed as the perfect smile symbolizes the end of her.

Ultimately, the doppelgänger of Joanna approaches with a smile, swiftly overpowering the real Joanna and strangling her with a stocking. Joanna’s murder takes place off-screen, leaving no room for uncertainty.

The final image of the Stepford-ized Joanna pushing her cart mutely through the supermarket silently encapsulates the horror of total erasure.

Forbes’s direction—his “thriller in sunlight,” as he described it—contrasts so sharply with the subject matter that even his casting decisions became points of controversy. William Goldman’s original script envisioned younger, sexy, model-like wives; Forbes, casting his wife Nanette Newman in a key role, chose instead a stylized Victorian housewife aesthetic for every woman in the film, suggesting that conformity is enforced not just in body, but in spirit and style.

The original draft of the screenplay called for the women to wear miniskirts. Supposedly, once director Forbes cast his wife, Nanette Newman as one of the wives, this changed and the women were dressed instead in feminine but modest wardrobe. The remake, of The Stepford Wives in 2004 attempted to correct this design problem.

Before Katharine Ross was cast in the leading role of Joanna Eberhart, Tuesday Weld had originally been set to play the part but passed on it. Other actresses considered include Anne Archer, Jean Seberg, Jane Fonda, Natalie Wood, Karen Black, Janet Margolin, Blythe Danner, Geneviève Bujold, Jacqueline Bisset, Elizabeth Montgomery, Olivia Hussey, and Diane Keaton, who nearly took the role. Joanna Cassidy was originally cast in the role of Bobbie by producer Edgar J. Scherick, and actually shot a few scenes, but was abruptly fired and replaced by Paula Prentiss.

Actress Dee Wallace, who was later known for starring in several science-fiction and horror films (E.T. 1982, The Howling 1981, Cujo 1983, and Critters 1986), has one of her earliest roles playing Tina Louise’s character’s maid Nettie.

Casting directors used actresses Mary Tyler Moore and Valerie Harper (Mary Richards and Rhoda Morganstern) as prototypes for the Joanna and Bobbie characters.

The psychological and sociological resonance of The Stepford Wives is unmistakable. It’s a parable, and a warning, about patriarchy’s terror of female agency. Scholars emphasize that the Men’s Association doesn’t just dream of control; its members industrialize it, reducing their wives to customizable objects in an evil inversion of the feminist consciousness-raising process. This is echoed across several scholarly commentaries. For example, Lilly Ann Boruzkowski in Jump Cut discusses how the consciousness-raising meeting in The Stepford Wives is sabotaged, turning what should be a liberating process hollowing it out, replacing genuine collective empowerment with trivial domesticity and enforced conformity, and into a means of reinforcing patriarchal norms.

Contemporary reviews of the film were mixed, and its feminist themes sparked heated debate—feminist icon Betty Friedan called it “a rip-off of the women’s movement” and urged women to boycott, while others, like Gael Greene and Eleanor Perry, defended its sharp critique.

After the movie was released, there was a feminist demonstration against it, decrying it as being sexist. One of the protesters hit director Bryan Forbes over the head with her umbrella. Katharine Ross commented on the incident in the documentary The Stepford Life 2001 about the making of the movie, stating that this was a powerful testimony to how the movie affected the protesters. Friedan didn’t see The Stepford Wives, but she didn’t like it, saying it was anti-woman and anti-human.

Any criticism that The Stepford Wives faced about how the film “hates women” or is fundamentally anti-feminist represents a significant misreading of both the novel’s and film’s intentions. Ira Levin’s story exposes, rather than endorses, the grotesque consequences of viewing women as mere objects to be perfected, controlled, or replaced. Far from celebrating the oppression it depicts, Levin paints a chilling satire that dramatizes the dehumanization and erasure of women under patriarchal pressures, making us all witness just how quietly horrifying it is to have agency, identity, and even your body subsumed by male fantasy.

It’s a modern twist on Invasion of the Body Snatchers—but this time, instead of alien spores creating pod people, it’s a society of men systematically manufacturing a network of enslavement, and a world where women are quietly stripped of autonomy and remade for their own ends. The horror isn’t extraterrestrial; it’s homegrown, and all the more chilling for it.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers was originally written by Jack Finney, whose 1954 novel inspired the classic 1956 film adaptation. Finney’s story of identity erasure by alien invasion finds its eerie, homebound counterpart in the patriarchal machinations at the heart of The Stepford Wives: in place of pods, we have a meticulously engineered system designed by men to replace individuality with obedience, marking a shift from sci-fi paranoia to a keen social commentary on gender and control.

Ira Levin, whose earlier Rosemary’s Baby explored spiritual violations of female autonomy, here pivots to technology: the terror in Stepford is all too rational, a conspiracy so banal, so American, that it unfolds in daylight, behind white picket fences and at garden parties. Sunshine in Stepford isn’t warm; it sterilizes.

Feminist scholars and critics have noted that the true “villains” of Stepford are the men, whose desire for “ideal” wives is presented as both ridiculous and monstrous. It is the men of Stepford who are cold-blooded misogynists and murderers, and the story empathizes fully with Joanna and the women, not their oppressors. Producer/director Bryan Forbes himself insisted, “If anything, it’s anti-men! If the men are really stupid enough to want wives like that, then it’s sad for them.”

The film meticulously critiques, rather than condones, the hunger to dehumanize women into compliant, decorative objects; its horror is a warning about the dangers of perfectionism and conformity, not an invitation to embrace them. In fact, the grotesque exaggeration of female domestic perfection in Stepford serves as a biting reflection of the predicament of women in society.

The film’s horror comes not from monsters or mad scientists, but from the mundane twisted into something terrifying, the idea that perfect and human might be irrevocably at odds. Its misogyny isn’t hidden; it’s the entire plot mechanism, the dread that as women become more independent, society’s reaction can be to revoke their agency entirely, replacing it with an idealized, mute, and subservient substitute. The ending bears a melancholic tone, as nearly every female character meets a grim fate, replaced by mechanical replicas. It’s a very nihilistic and controversial ending, leaving all the replicants masquerading as the dead women of Stepford. The ending elicited strong and deeply divisive reactions from audiences.

Ross expresses her own regrets – “If I had a chance to do it again, I would do the ending differently on my part,” Ross says. “I sort of end up giving up. I don’t fight at the very end, and I think I would fight harder.

By showing the slow, nightmarish transformation of women into mindless automatons, Levin and the film urge us to interrogate rather than accept these images, standing on the right side of feminism by holding a mirror up to society’s most quietly sinister abuses. The most powerful proof is the audience’s horror and empathy for Joanna and Bobbie, making clear that Stepford is a dystopia, not a dream. In this light, Levin’s dark satire affirms the core feminist insight: the most pervasive forms of misogyny are often cloaked in “perfection” and art can empower by making that horror impossible to ignore.

[last lines]
Joanna: Hello, Bobbie.
Bobbie: Oh, hello, Joanna.
Joanna: How are you?
Bobbie: I’m fine. How are you?
Joanna: I’m fine. How are the children?
Bobbie: Fine…

But as the decades have rolled by, The Stepford Wives has only grown in esteem, now considered a canonical horror-sci-fi hybrid. The ‘Stepford wife’ archetype has slipped right into everyday language, shorthand for anyone made decorative and docile by patriarchal demand

Jordan Peele’s social thriller, Get Out 2017, which became one of the most successful debut movies by a director, was directly influenced by The Stepford Wives. Peele has openly acknowledged as much in interviews, citing The Stepford Wives and Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby 1968 (both based on books by Ira Levin) as two of his favorite movies.

The Stepford Wives endures not only for its suspense and its now-iconic scenes but also for the existential anxiety it implants in our minds about identity, agency, and the cost of appearances. In the closing moments, the film leaves you not with a scream but a quiet shudder of sadness, with the echo of silence: a parade of flawless mannequins gliding through the supermarket aisles, their humanity erased beneath a veneer of “perfection.”

The film is included among the American Film Institute’s 2001 list of 400 movies nominated for the top 100 Most Heart-Pounding American Movies.

#132 down, 18 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

 

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #88 The Killer Inside Me 1976

THE KILLER INSIDE ME 1976

STEPHEN KING once said of the novelist Jim Thompson: “He was crazy. He went running into the American subconscious with a blowtorch in one hand and a pistol in the other, screaming his goddamn head off. No one else came close.”

There’s a slow, simmering menace that seeps through every frame of Burt Kennedy’s The Killer Inside Me (1976), an adaptation of Jim Thompson’s notorious 1952 novel. Set against the dusty, sun-bleached backdrop of a small Texas town, the film unspools like a searing confession, drawing us into the mind of Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford—a man whose polite smile and soft-spoken charm mask a churning abyss of violence and madness. Stacy Keach inhabits Lou with a chilling subtlety, his performance a study in contradictions: gentle, almost affable on the surface, but with eyes that flicker with something cold and unreachable. Keach’s Lou is both Keach’s wry narration track, which acts as the unreliable witness, inviting us to see the world through his fractured lens, much like the first-person narration in Jim Thompson’s novel.

Burt Kennedy (The Rounders 1965, Welcome to Hard Times 1967, Support Your Local Sheriff! 1969), a director more often associated with westerns, brings a laconic, washed-out and weathered sensibility to the film, letting the oppressive heat and slow rhythms of small-town life lull you into a false sense of security. The screenplay, adapted by Edward Mann and Robert Chamblee, closely follows Thompson’s original story, retaining the novel’s bleak, first-person perspective and its refusal to offer easy answers or moral clarity. The cinematography by Gerald Hirschfeld (Goodbye, Columbus 1969, Last Summer 1969, Diary of a Mad Housewife 1970, Young Frankenstein 1974) is unhurried and unflashy, capturing the flat, open spaces and the claustrophobic interiors with the same aesthetic nuance. There’s a sense of inevitability to the way the camera lingers on faces, hands, and the slow drip of sweat down a glass—everyday details that become charged with menace and thick with unease.

The story unfolds as Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford, haunted by visions of his abusive childhood at the hands of his mother (played by Julie Adams), is tasked with running Joyce Lakeland (Susan Tyrrell), a local prostitute played by Susan Tyrrell with a raw, wounded sensuality, out of town. Joyce becomes central to the film’s web of blackmail and violence.

What begins as a routine fix for Lou to take care of quickly spirals into a sadomasochistic affair, with Joyce awakening something dark and uncontrollable in Lou. Their scenes together are charged with a dangerous intimacy—Tyrrell’s Joyce is both complicit and terrified, drawn to Lou’s darkness even as she senses its destructive power. The violence that erupts between them is shocking in its suddenness, rendered with a matter-of-fact brutality that refuses to let us look away.

As Lou’s carefully constructed mask begins to crack, the bodies start to pile up: Joyce is beaten to death in a scene that is as pitiless as it is clinical.

Elmer Conway, played by Don Stroud, is the hot-headed and impulsive son of powerful mining magnate Chester Conway (Keenan Wynn). As a prominent figure in the small Montana town, Elmer is entangled in the town’s political and social tensions, particularly those involving labor disputes at his father’s mine, and is romantically involved with Joyce. Elmer’s character embodies the town’s simmering tensions and serves as both a victim of Lou’s sociopathic machinations and a catalyst for the film’s spiral into violence. Don Stroud brings a raw, volatile energy to the role, making Elmer a memorable figure in the film’s grim, neo-noir landscape.

The situation escalates when Joyce and Elmer are drawn into Lou Ford’s deadly schemes. When Joyce is badly beaten (by Lou Ford, though Elmer is initially blamed), Elmer’s emotional volatility is on display—he is protective, jealous, and quick to anger.  Lou manipulates both of them, and during a critical scene, Elmer arrives at Joyce’s house, only to be murdered by Lou, who then attempts to stage the scene as a lovers’ quarrel gone wrong.

Suspicion falls on Johnnie Pappas (Stephen Powers), who is found with marked money that Lou had given him after taking it off of Elmer. Lou is allowed to visit Johnnie in his cell, where he murders him and makes it look like a suicide, further cementing the devious frame-up.

John Dehner plays Sheriff Bob Maples, Lou’s boss and the head lawman in town. Amy Stanton, Lou’s fiancée, is played by Tisha Sterling with a heartbreaking vulnerability, who becomes both a victim and an unwitting accomplice. The investigation that follows is a slow, inexorable tightening of the noose,

Keenan Wynn, with his gruff manner, plays Chester Conway. Chester, a powerful local businessman and Elmer Conway’s father, also falls victim to Lou’s homicidal binge.

The supporting cast—Charles McGraw — plays the steely Howard Hendricks, the county attorney (sometimes referred to as the district attorney) who also becomes increasingly suspicious of Deputy Sheriff Lou Ford as the murders mount. As an investigator and legal authority, Hendricks is dogged and methodical, representing the force of law and reason closing in on Lou’s carefully maintained facade, realizing that something is deeply wrong with Lou Ford, even as the rest of the small Montana town is slow to believe it. McGraw’s character serves as one of Lou’s primary antagonists, persistently probing the inconsistencies and evidence surrounding the violent events in the town, circling ever closer to the truth.

John Carradine-I am a ham! Part 1

John Carradine’s brief appearance in The Killer Inside Me (1976) is a dark wrong-way turn into macabre eccentricity. As psychiatrist Dr. Jason Smith arrives at Lou Ford’s home under the mundane pretense of wanting to buy the house, the encounter quickly turns unsettling.

Carradine’s character, gaunt and scholarly, is met by Lou, lounging in his robe, exuding an eerie calm, who begins to challenge Smith’s psychiatric expertise, citing medical texts and discussing mental illness, citing medical texts with a chilling, almost clinical detachment.

The scene is marked by Lou’s unsettling display of psychological knowledge and control. He assures Dr. Smith that his schizophrenia is under control, but this is offered unprompted, as Smith has not asked about Lou’s mental state.

The encounter is less a confession and more a demonstration of Lou’s manipulative intelligence and his awareness of how he is perceived. Lou uses the conversation to expose his own knowledge and to subtly let Dr. Smith know that he sees through the doctor’s intentions and perhaps even his identity. The scene is laced with dark humor and unease, revealing Lou’s unraveling persona and growing instability, a moment where the mask of normalcy slips just enough to expose the madness underneath, leaving Dr. Smith—and us—unnerved by the polite menace that hangs in the air.

After a few minutes in Lou Ford’s unnervingly casual presence, the lanky Carradine’s Dr. Smith decides he’s had enough psychological chess for one day. With the speed and discretion of a man who’s just realized he’s wandered into the lion’s den, he makes his excuses and beats a hasty retreat—practically leaving a cartoon puff of dust in the doorway as he escapes Lou’s polite but menacing hospitality.

All these characters populate the town with a sense of lived-in authenticity, each performance adding another layer to the film’s oppressive atmosphere.

Key scenes linger in the mind: Lou’s chillingly calm narration as he commits acts of unspeakable violence; the suffocating tension of the police interrogation; the surreal, almost dreamlike quality of the film’s final moments, as Lou’s world collapses in on itself. Throughout, the film maintains a tone of sunlit horror—violence and madness unfolding not in the shadows, but in the bright, pitiless glare of the Montana sun. The score by Andrew Belling is spare and haunting, underscoring the film’s sense of fatalism and doom.

The murder of Amy Stanton, played by the pixie-like Tisha Sterling, is the film’s most brutally sorrowful moment—a scene where horror and heartbreak bleed together beneath the surface calm. Lou Ford, with his mask of gentle affection still in place, invites Amy to elope, promising her a future just out of reach. The room is thick with longing and the hush of midnight hope, but beneath it all, a terrible inevitability pulses. As Amy lets down her guard, trusting the man she loves, Lou’s violence erupts with chilling suddenness. The blows fall with a mechanical cruelty, each one shattering not just flesh but the fragile dream Amy clings to. Sterling’s performance is devastating: her eyes wide with confusion and betrayal, her body curling in on itself, she becomes the embodiment of innocence destroyed by the very person she trusted most. The scene is almost unbearable in its intimacy—a murder not of passion, but of cold, methodical despair, leaving us with the ache of a soul extinguished in silence.

The Killer Inside Me is a film that refuses easy catharsis. It is a journey into the heart of darkness, not as spectacle, but as a quiet, relentless unraveling. Kennedy’s direction, Keach’s mesmerizing performance, and Thompson’s nihilistic vision combine to create a work that is both deeply unsettling and strangely hypnotic—a portrait of evil that is all the more chilling for its calm, measured surface. In the end, it is the ordinariness of Lou Ford, the banality of his evil, that unsettles me most about the film.

from an article – The Guardian by Peter Bradshaw: The Killer Inside Me remake in 2010 —

Casey Affleck grins like a death’s head with the flesh reattached in this noir thriller from British director Michael Winterbottom, which is sickeningly violent but undoubtedly well made. It has been widely condemned for the scenes in which women are brutally assaulted, and for many, this film will be just hardcore misogynist hate-porn with a fancy wrapper, and those who admire it, or tolerate it…

The Killer Inside Me is a particular distillation of male hate, as practised by repulsive and inadequate individuals who have been encouraged to see themselves as essentially decent by virtue of the trappings of authority in which they have wrapped themselves. And Winterbottom is tearing off the mask; like Michael Haneke, he is confronting the audience with the reality of sexual violence and abusive power relations between the sexes that cinema so often glamorises. Here, the movie is saying, here is the denied reality behind every seamy cop show, every sexed-up horror flick, every picturesque Jack the Ripper tourist attraction, every swooning film studies seminar on the Psycho shower scene. Here. This is what we are actually talking about.

#88 Down, 62 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

 

Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) We All Go a Little Mad Sometimes

“It wasn’t a message that stirred the audiences, nor was it a great performance… they were aroused by pure film.” – Alfred Hitchcock told Francois Truffaut about Psycho, adding that it “belongs to filmmakers, to you and me.” Hitchcock deliberately wanted Psycho to look like a cheap exploitation film.

Upon release, Psycho1960 polarized critics. Bosley Crowther of The New York Times initially dismissed it as “sicko” but later included it in his Top Ten of 1960, praising its “bold psychological mystery.”

film critic Roger Ebert that captures the enduring praise for Hitchcock’s Psycho: “What makes Psycho immortal, when so many films are already half-forgotten as we leave the theater, is that it connects directly with our fears: Our fears that we might impulsively commit a crime, our fears of the police, our fears of becoming the victim of a madman, and of course our fears of disappointing our mothers.”

Critics like David Thomson dismissed Psycho as a “concession to slasher trash,” arguing that Hitchcock “lost interest” post-Marion’s death. However, film scholars Raymond Durgnat and William Rothman argue that Psycho’s second half intensifies its psychological depth, particularly as Norman Bates spirals further into his fractured psyche. The chilling climax, revealing “Mother” as a mummified corpse, forces audiences to confront the unsettling reality of dissociative identity —a theme Hitchcock explores with meticulous rigor and haunting, unsettling intimacy.

From the very first jarring notes and the fractured lines that slice across the screen, spelling out “Psycho” in stark relief, we’re warned that we’re stepping into a story where nothing is as it seems. A ripple of unease builds, echoing the rising strings, as Hitchcock draws us into a world stitched together from secrets, betrayals, and broken minds. Joseph Stefano’s adaptation of Robert Bloch’s novel doesn’t just give us a tale of stolen money and shadowy murders—it peels back the wallpaper of ordinary life to reveal deeper questions about who we are and what we desire. Beneath its surface, Psycho is a mirror reflecting the anxieties of a society obsessed with appearances and haunted by what lurks beneath: the pull of forbidden wants, the tension between who we pretend to be and what we can’t admit even to ourselves. The film quietly warns us that when people are forced to hide or deny their true selves, when identity and desire are locked away, darkness finds a way to seep through the cracks, and the most shocking horrors can wear the most familiar faces.

Before Psycho, most of Hitchcock’s films focused on building suspense and tension between characters, often using color and rarely diving deep into truly deviant or taboo subject matter—aside from a few exceptions like Shadow of a Doubt and Strangers on a Train. Hitchcock himself was known around Hollywood as a bit of an oddball: a perfectionist, sometimes difficult on set, and with a reputation for being both controlling and flirtatious. What’s fascinating is that, right as the 1960s were about to shake up society, Hitchcock decided to reinvent himself as a director with Psycho. Working with Joseph Stefano’s daring script, he delivered a film that shocked audiences with its sexual undertones, glimpses of nudity, and that now-legendary, brutally intense shower scene, pushing boundaries in ways he never had before and helping to usher in a new era of psychological horror.

Hitchcock shot Psycho on a modest $800,000 budget, using the crew from his television series Alfred Hitchcock Presents rather than his usual feature film team. Filmed in black and white, with long stretches of silence and minimalist sets, the Bates Motel and looming Bates house were constructed on Universal’s backlot. In its raw, visceral style, Psycho shares more with gritty noir films like Detour than with Hitchcock’s polished classics such as Rear Window 1954 or Vertigo 1958.

No other Hitchcock film left a greater impression or such a powerful impact on its audience.

The runaway success of Psycho took Hitchcock aback so much that he reached out to the Stanford Research Institute to investigate what made it such a phenomenon. The film was a stark departure from his earlier, more polished, and high-budget productions, which made its impact all the more surprising to him. What truly astonished Hitchcock was how deeply Psycho connected with audiences in ways he hadn’t fully anticipated. Its unique blend of extreme terror and dark humor created an emotional rollercoaster unlike anything he had achieved before, leaving audiences with a strange mix of both terror and his sardonic sense of humor.

According to film scholar Linda Williams, “Genre study has sometimes been the one place in film studies where repeatable audience pleasures…have been scrutinized” (“Discipline and Fun” 359).

“I was directing the viewers,” the director told Truffaut in their book-length interview. “You might say I was playing them like an organ.”

Hitchcock announced, “The late-comers would have been waiting to see Janet Leigh after she had disappeared from the screen action.” For its original audience, it was the most shocking film they had ever experienced. Hitchcock insisted, “Do not reveal the surprises!”

Janet Leigh pays for Anthony Perkin’s psychosis. Molly Haskell, in From Reverence to Rape makes an observation about the treatment of the Hitchcock woman “She must be punished, her complacency shattered; and so he submits his heroines to excruciating ordeals, long trips through terror in which they may be raped, violated by birds, killed. The plot itself becomes a mechanism for destroying their icy self-possession and their emotional detachment…

… Like Norman Bates ‘mother’ in Psycho, who might, by a stretch of the Oedipal complex, be categorized among the brunettes, they are inclined to be possessive and even a little sticky. The Hitchcock protagonist is attracted to the girl he can’t have, and the misogynist in Hitchcock invests the character with poisonous personality traits to punish her for rejecting him. If Hitchcock’s women must be tortured and punished, his men are fully implicated in the deed — and the more detached they seem, the more guilty and morally responsible. “

The ads proclaimed it loudly, yet no audience could have foreseen Hitchcock’s shocking twists—the brutal murder of Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), the apparent heroine, just a third of the way into the film, and the chilling revelation of Norman Bates’s mother. Psycho was marketed with the flair of a William Castle exploitation thriller, heightening its sensational impact. “It is required that you see ‘Psycho’ from the very beginning!”

Slavoj Žižek examines the unsettling narrative shift in Psycho following Marion’s death. The first third of the film highlights how it transitions from her story to a murder mystery centered around Norman Bates. Žižek notes that both Marion’s and Norman’s arcs could function as complete narratives on their own, yet Hitchcock disrupts this structure, creating a jarring effect that reorients the audience’s focus. This deliberate fragmentation underscores the film’s innovative storytelling and its ability to challenge traditional cinematic conventions.

Hitchcock’s decision to kill off Marion Crane in the first part of Psycho shattered the framework of storytelling, transforming the film from a crime thriller to a psycho-sexual shocker and destabilizing audience expectations. This bold move shifted the focus onto Norman Bates, the deeply troubled motel owner whose fractured psyche became a defining template for psychological horror. Hitchcock didn’t stop at narrative shocks—he layered the film with visual cues like mirrors and high-angle shots to evoke voyeurism and duality, drawing viewers deeper into Norman’s disturbed world. And then there’s Bernard Herrmann’s iconic score: among the film’s most indelible elements, and perhaps its most evocative hallmarks, are the shrieking violins during the shower scene, which contrast sharply with the eerie silence of Norman’s final stare, leaving audiences haunted by both sound and stillness.

“The first part (Marion’s story) could well stand alone: it is easy to perform a mental experiment and to imagine it as a thirty-minute TV story, a kind of morality play in which the heroine gives way to temptation and enters the path of damnation, only to be cured by the encounter with Norman, who confronts her with the abyss that awaits her at the end of the road — in him, she sees a mirror- image of her own future; sobered, she decides to return to normal life […] The film’s second part, Norman’s story, is also easy to imagine as a closed whole, a rather traditional unraveling of the mystery of a pathological serial killer.” (Žižek)

Although the twists in Psycho—Marion Crane’s shocking murder and the truth about Norman’s mother–  are now common knowledge, the film remains a chilling thriller. This enduring impact lies in Hitchcock’s skillful crafting of two less obvious elements: Marion’s story setup and her complex dynamic with Norman Bates. Hitchcock treats these early moments with meticulous care, as though they will carry the entire narrative, making their eventual subversion all the more unsettling.

Alfred Hitchcock, Anthony Perkins, and Janet Leigh on the set of Psycho 1960.

Anthony Perkins and Janet Leigh, who played Norman Bates and Marion Crane, respectively, had a license to improvise their parts in Psycho to some degree. Hitchcock gave them free rein within scenes, as long as their ad-libbing didn’t change the angle required for a shot.

The film’s screenwriter, Joseph Stefano, would later describe one piece of improvisation by Perkins as his “most magical moment” in the film. It was the actor’s own decision to have Norman chewing on candy corn, nervously watching on as Marion’s car descends ever-so-slowly down into a swamp.” – (Source – during the scene where Norman disposes of Marion’s body – according to Guy Howie’s article published Mon, 25 March 2024, 11:00, UK from FAR OUT).

The setup revolves around a recurring Hitchcock theme: the guilt of an ordinary individual ensnared in a criminal act. Though Marion Crane steals $40,000, she remains emblematic of Hitchcock’s archetype—an otherwise innocent person caught in the web of wrongdoing.

This is not unlike Hitchcock’s Marnie (1964), in which he revisits his fascination with women on the run and the symbolic significance of their possessions, particularly their suitcases. In the film’s opening scenes, even before we meet Marnie herself, we are introduced to the items she has acquired: a bright yellow handbag containing stolen money, a new suitcase, freshly purchased clothes, and gifts for her mother. These objects are meticulously packed into her suitcase, reflecting not only Marnie’s compulsive need for control but also her attempts to construct a new identity.

Marion Crane’s introduction is far from glamorous—a clandestine afternoon in a dingy hotel room with her divorced lover, Sam Loomis (John Gavin), whose alimony keeps marriage out of reach. Enter $40,000, courtesy of a sleazy real estate client, Mr. Cassidy (Frank Albertson), who all but implies that Marion herself might have a price. Ironically, her crime is born of love, and her victim is hardly worth pity—a slimy opportunist who practically invites his own downfall.

Unveiling the Layers of Madness: Hitchcock’s “Psycho” and the Birth of Modern Horror:

Let’s face it: Anthony Perkins’ Norman Bates is an enigmatic anti-hero. Similarly, in Shadow of a Doubt (1943), Joseph Cotton’s Uncle Charlie’s chilling monologue about widows deserving death is framed from his niece’s horrified point of view. This juxtaposition of intimacy and menace creates both empathy for her fear and fascination with his charisma. By fostering empathy for antagonists, Hitchcock challenged traditional notions of good versus evil in horror storytelling.

Alfred Hitchcock’s cinematic virtuosity with his seminal psycho-sexual thriller, Psycho, has elevated the film to an unparalleled status in the history of cinema, rendering it instantly recognizable and profoundly influential. And let’s face it, what Jaws did for swimming in the ocean, Psycho did as the first horror movie that took away the safety of taking showers in your own home!

With his adaptation of Robert Bloch’s 1959 pulp novel of the same name, Bloch conjured Norman Bates, his mysterious and elusive mother, and the Bates Motel, helping it become a landmark in film history, renowned for its masterful direction and psychological depth. But his conjuration had its roots in the deeply disturbing, grim reality that defies the realm of myth and fantasy.

Continue reading “Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) We All Go a Little Mad Sometimes”

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.

Rock Hudson was the romantic leading man of the 1950s and 60s.

Tiger McDrew Hudson’s character exerts a subtle yet potent influence, leveraging his authority to manipulate and intimidate with understated finesse.

Continue reading “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?””

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror #15 Black Christmas 1974

MonsterGirl’s 150 Days of Classic Horror!

BLACK CHRISTMAS 1974

The Dark Side of Christmas: Exploring Bob Clark’s Pioneering Slasher Black Christmas 1974

Bob Clark’s Black Christmas (1974) is a seminal proto-slasher film that laid the groundwork for the genre. It stars Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, and John Saxon. The film follows a group of sorority sisters who are terrorized by an unknown obscene caller/killer during the Christmas season. It has a ring of urban legend that gives a nod to ‘the killer’s inside the house’ trope. Clark’s direction creates a chilling atmosphere through the innovative use of POV shots and claustrophobic settings within the sorority house as ‘dirty Billy’ stalks his prey.

The film’s most unsettling scenes include the disturbing phone calls from the unseen maniac, whose unhinged rants are masterfully performed by Nick Mancuso and Clark himself (uncredited). Hussey’s portrayal of Jess, a strong-willed protagonist dealing with a personal crisis, adds depth to the typical “final girl” trope. Black Christmas can absolutely be seen through a feminist lens as the empowered Jess (Olivia Hussey) takes command of her own body without the influence of her manipulative and controlling boyfriend, Keir Dullea.

Kidder’s performance as the sharp-tongued Barb provides comic relief that contrasts sharply with the mounting tension. The film’s climax, set in the house’s shadowy basement, is a masterclass in suspense, with Jess confronting both the killer and her boyfriend Peter (Dullea), leaving the audience guessing until the end. Clark’s decision to leave the killer’s identity and motives ambiguous adds to the film’s enduring mystery and psychological impact.

Before John Carpenter’s Halloween in 1978, Black Christmas distinguishes itself with its nuanced approach to horror, merging realistic characters with an unsettling, almost surreal, claustrophobic atmosphere of dread. Clark’s masterpiece has had a profound influence on the genre and the countless slasher films that followed.

#15 down, 135 to go! Your EverLovin’ Joey, formally & affectionately known as MonsterGirl!

The Dark Side of Christmas: Exploring Bob Clark’s Pioneering Slasher Black Christmas 1974

“This moody depiction of the Christmas slayings… is as murky as the script, which dotes largely on obscenities that are no more pointed than the violence, dull direction and pedestrian performances.” — A.H. Weiler, New York Times, October 20, 1975, page 45.

Released in the U.S. on December 20, 1974, just in time for the holiday season, Black Christmas 1974 creates an authentically unsettling atmosphere. It features one of the earliest and most compelling portrayals of the Final Girl archetype.

While Black Christmas 1974 was initially embraced in its country of origin, Canada, it did not fare as well in the United States. Its transformation into a cult classic is attributed mainly to home video releases and revival screenings. For its American debut, the film was retitled Silent Night, Evil Night.

Black Christmas features an interesting cast, including Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, Andrea Martin, Lynne Griffin, and John Saxon. The film draws inspiration from the well-known urban legend “The Babysitter and the Man Upstairs” and a series of real-life murders that occurred in Montreal, Quebec. Filmed in Toronto, Canada, in 1974, it was produced on a modest budget of $686,000, comparable to Halloween’s $325,000.

Despite the financial constraints, Bob Clark artfully managed to use the limited resources to create a memorable, deeply disturbing narrative of isolation and terror set against the backdrop of what should be the most joyous time of the year!

Black Christmas 1974 is a groundbreaking horror film that laid the foundation for the slasher genre. It is often credited as the proto-slasher, predating and provoking an abundance of conversations about its influence on later classics like Halloween 1978.

Set during the festive season, the movie follows a group of sorority sisters who become targets of a mysterious and deranged intruder who terrorizes them as they prepare to leave for winter break.

The sorority house begins to receive a series of disturbing, vulgar phone calls that use sexually explicit language to threaten the girls. After one of the sisters goes missing, and the police finally agree to investigate, each of the women is brutally murdered.

Continue reading “The Dark Side of Christmas: Exploring Bob Clark’s Pioneering Slasher Black Christmas 1974”

TAM LIN 1970 & BABA YAGA 1973 – Ava Gardner & Carroll Baker: THE FAERIE QUEEN" & VALENTINA'S DREAM: Two Hollywood icons in search of mythology. Part 2

Baba Yaga or the Devil Witch the (United Kingdom) titles, or Kiss Me, Kill Me/Black Magic (1973) the (US) titles

“Weird {is} the operative word here. Though framed by a simple story, director Corrado Farina’s approach to the film is every bit as avant-garde and surrealist as its source material. The plot had me scratching my head in bewilderment. Compelling visuals kept me watching.” “” from Brian Lindsey’s Eccentric Cinema review.

SPOILER ALERT:

READ PART 1 Tam Lin HERE

In Slavic/Russian folklore, the Baba Yaga is a strikingly revolting witch who flies around in a giant pestle – and steals and eats children. In the middle of a Russian forest, she lives in a shack built on top of giant chicken legs that can move at will. The folklore Baby Yaga is a sinister, macabre mythological presence, unlike the deviant sensual being that Carroll Baker portrays in Corrado Farina’s Euro-horror film. This iteration of Baba Yaga is the seductive sorceress who manages to summon, with simmering antagonism, a world of pain – “˜symbolically’ baring her predatory, wanting lips, which desire the heroine, Valentina.

According to the Monthly Film Bulletin review from 1974, critic Geoff Brown noted that he reviewed an 81-minute dubbed version of the film Baba Yaga. Brown stated that “due to 20 minutes of the film being cut and through the English-language dub, “the film had lost some of Farina’s socio-political arguments.” However, Brown also commented that most of these removed elements were reduced to “modish chit-chat” on topics ranging through various ideas.”

In the 70s, while exploring Giallo and Euro-exploitation films, I remember my first shudder and first impression of Baba Yaga. I had the feeling that something odd and erotic had taken place, and for me, it was like waking up from a hazy, surreal dream. Carroll Baker has always captivated me, and in the role of Baba Yaga, I felt she brought a level of Old World Hollywood class to a very provocative horror film.

An Italian/ French co-production, Baba Yaga is a delirious mixture of the supernatural, psychoanalysis, dream interpretation, vivid color schemes, pop art, eroticism, and fetishistic imagery. Baba Yaga, the film, revamps Russian folklore and transports the story into contemporary Milan.

As a stylish arthouse horror film from the 1970s, Baba Yaga explores the borderline between reality and imagination, embracing the sleazy allure of after-dark cinema, fascinating and perhaps too challenging to define. There are striking elements that establish themselves with a clear sapphic element that already existed in Crepax’s work, creating an eroticized vision seen through the heterosexual ‘male gaze’ and driven by what Laura Mulvey termed “to be looked at-ness” that are kept in Farina’s film.

While I am still drawn to the film as an artifact of this decade’s concentrated influence on an unmistakably hybrid genre (Horror, Euro-Exploitation, Giallo), Baba Yaga still manages to weaponize the straight male visual pleasure of actualizing their faulty version of lesbianism and bases the narrative around male sexual fantasies.

Farina and Crepax reveal the inherent bias fueled by a male-centric culture through a lens shaped by a male-centric point of view, which emphasizes the heteronormative expectation of female-female sexual exploitation.

Setting these critical observations aside, the backdrop of Baba Yaga’s 1970s fashion and Italian pop culture adds washes of a chic, mod, and bold cinematic experience.

Director Corrado Farina, who had previously envisioned another strange art-horror film, They Have Changed Their Faces (1971), now delivers this strange film with a mesmerizing array of visuals. The film seamlessly transitions from sharp pop design to muted Gothic hues and veers into full-fledged experimental cinema. Farina roams free with unrepentant visual skill frame by frame.

Baba Yaga, adapted from the risqué S&M erotic graphic novel series Valentina by Guido Crepax, thrives on its invocation and sense of a comic book world. Crepax, who earned his reputation as the world’s most seductive cartoonist, stands as one of the eminent figures in the realm of adult comics and garnered greater recognition during the 1960s and 1970s.

Crepax’s prominence stems not only from his introduction of erotic themes but also from his innovative approach to storytelling within the medium, incorporating nudity and daring themes.

Continue reading “TAM LIN 1970 & BABA YAGA 1973 – Ava Gardner & Carroll Baker: THE FAERIE QUEEN" & VALENTINA'S DREAM: Two Hollywood icons in search of mythology. Part 2”

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

J

The Jungle Captive 1945

The Jungle Captive is a 1945 classic American B-movie horror film directed by Harold Young. The film is part of the Universal Pictures series of horror movies featuring iconic characters like the Mummy and Frankenstein’s Monster. In this installment, the story revolves around the reanimation of a gorilla named Cheela from Captive Wild Woman 1943 which starred Aquanetta.

In a macabre turn of events, Paula Dupree, known as the Ape Woman, is resurrected once more, this time at the hands of a deranged scientist and his grotesquely disfigured assistant Moloch the Brute (Rondo Hatton). In their sinister quest, they also abduct their female lab assistant, intending to use her as a source of female blood. Tragically, Paula’s previous ordeals have left her with severe brain damage

The plot centers on Dr. Stendahl, (Otto Kruger) a scientist who is conducting experiments to bring the dead back to life. He becomes obsessed with the idea of transferring the brain of a dead woman, Paula Dupree (Vicky Lane), into the body of his captive gorilla, Cheela. Paula Dupree was a character from the earlier films in the series, “Captive Wild Woman” (1943) and “Jungle Woman” (1944), who had undergone a transformation into a gorilla-like she-creature.

 

Jack the Ripper 1959

Jack the Ripper is a 1959 British-American crime thriller film directed by Robert S. Baker and Monty Berman featuring a script by Jimmy Sangster. The movie is another fictionalized account inspired by the infamous series of unsolved murders that occurred in London’s Whitechapel district in the late 19th century, attributed to a mysterious and never-apprehended serial killer known as Jack the Ripper.

In the film, the story follows the investigations of a determined police inspector named O’Neill (Eddie Byrne) as he tries to catch the elusive Jack the Ripper. O’Neill becomes deeply involved in the case, even as the brutal murders continue to shock and terrify the city. The film explores the dark and atmospheric streets of Victorian London, creating a sense of tension and suspense as the inspector gets closer to uncovering the killer’s identity.

Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter 1966

Jesse James Meets Frankenstein’s Daughter is a 1966 American horror-western film directed by William Beaudine. It’s a unique and somewhat campy crossover film that combines elements of the Western genre with classic horror tropes.

The story centers around the legendary outlaw Jesse James (played by John Lupton), who is on the run from the law. Jesse and his partner Hank Tracy (Cal Bolder) seek refuge in a small town in the Old West. Unbeknownst to them, the town is home to Dr. Maria Frankenstein (played by Narda Onyx), the granddaughter of the infamous Dr. Frankenstein.

Dr. Maria Frankenstein is determined to carry on her grandfather’s experiments in reanimating the dead. To further her scientific pursuits, she coerces Jesse and Hank into assisting her by using their bodies as subjects for her experiments.

Jesse James and Hank find themselves trapped in a bizarre and terrifying situation, caught between the law and the monstrous creations of Dr. Frankenstein’s granddaughter.

Just Before Dawn 1981

Just Before Dawn 1981 is a gruesome horror installment in the slasher genre directed by Jeff Lieberman. A far cry from another horror film under Lieberman’s belt, as he directed one of my top favorite unsung horror films of the 1970sSquirm 1976. Further exploration needs to happen here at The Last Drive In. And I promise it will happen. Cast aside the title’s wriggly veil, and place your trust in my whispered refrain, for “Squirm” emerges as a tapestry of haunting Southern gothic atmosphere, a raw and whimsical nightmare delicately woven within the fabric of the ’70s hybrid horror-sci-fi genre. I stand in quiet wonder, as it lies untouched by the idiots who seek to remake everything, and just so happy they haven’t tried to reawaken the steel-teethed blood worms with CGI.

It follows a group of young adults who venture into the remote wilderness to explore the untouched forest one of them has recently inherited. As they embark on their camping trip, they are unaware of the dark and violent history of the land, which has a curse hanging over it. As soon as they arrive, they meet an odd reclusive mountain man who tries to warn them about the dangers that surround them in the woods. But they continue to explore even though something is lurking, watching them. They are not alone. A crazed killer begins to hunt them down and kill them one by one as it goes in these slasher movies. It becomes a fight for survival while they try to outwit the relentless, sadistic killer who seems to be superhuman. Just Before Dawn stars George Kennedy as Roy McLean, Chris Lemmon as Jonathan, Mike Kellin as Ty, Deborah Benson as Constance, Ralph Seymour as Daniel, Jamie Rose as Megan, Gregg Henry as Logan, Katie Powell as Merry Cat Logan, and John Hunsacker as the mountain twins.

The film has one of the most memorable self-defense death scenes of the 1980s horror canon. Nuff said…

This is your EverLovin Joey – that begins with the letter J! Sayin’ stay tuned for the letter K, it’s a killer!

 

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

C

Creature with the Atom Brain 1955

Read more here: Keep Watching the Skies: The Year is 1955

The Creature with the Atom Brain released in 1955 was directed by Edward L. Cahn with a script by Curt Siomak it’s the story of a nefarious plot involving reanimated, radioactive zombies controlled by a criminal mastermind.

An ex-Nazi mad scientist uses radio-controlled atomic-powered zombies in his quest to help an exiled American gangster return to power. A huge mug with superhuman strength Karl ‘Killer’ Davis and a metal dome riveted to the top of his head climbs inside the back of a gambling spot and breaks the back of the mob boss. Then he goes on a rampage destroying buildings and railways.

Dr. Chet Walker (Richard Denning) who is a doctor working for the police is called in to investigate the murder. Walker discovers that the Hulk is atomic-powered. Soon he learns that an exiled mobster Frank Buchanan (Michael Granger) has returned to the States and is working with an ex-Nazi scientist Dr. Wilhelm Steigg (Gregory Gaye) to create radio-controlled atomic zombies who will carry out his plot of revenge against those responsible for betraying him. Steigg removes the tops of corpse's skulls, removes parts of their brains, and replaces it with as Bill Warren refers to it a "glittering sponge." Once resurrected from the dead, these atomic-powered zombies exact their revenge by breaking their enemies' backs.

Several years ago, the notorious gangster Frank Buchanan, portrayed by Michael Granger, found himself forced into exile to his native Italy, orchestrated by a coalition of law enforcement agencies and rival criminal organizations who had chosen to betray Buchanan. During his time in Europe, a clandestine assembly led by Buchanan himself approached the enigmatic scientist Dr. Wilhelm Steigg, played by Gregory Gaye, with a sinister plan.

The brilliant Steigg has unlocked a groundbreaking secret"” a way to reanimate an army of dead bodies through the power of atomic energy. He has successfully developed a technique for reviving the dead and exerting control over their actions through spoken commands.

Buchanan generously supplied the resources necessary for Steigg to assemble an army of radioactive zombies, reanimated corpses who possess enhanced strength and resilience infused with atomic energy coursing through their bodies. Utilizing Steigg’s innovative experiments, driven by cutting-edge atomic technology, Buchanan and his malevolent cohort aimed to unleash their vengeance upon those who had crossed their paths.

As the authorities become aware of the bizarre crimes committed by the radioactive zombies, a determined police detective, Police Capt. Dave Harris (S. John Launer) takes on the case. Richard Denning plays Dr. Chet Walker involved in the investigation into the mysterious and deadly creatures. With the help of Dr. Walker and his assistant, Joyce (Angela Stevens), the trio embarks on a mission to uncover the identity of the mastermind behind the undead army and eventually deploy radiation-detecting devices such as Geiger counters to identify the origin of this sinister scheme.
The Creature with the Atom Brain explores themes of scientific ethics, the consequences of tampering with the forces of nature, and the dangers of unchecked power. For its day – the scenes with the method of killing by the dead assassins – are told through shadows on the wall, revealing their victim’s back being broken. It is surprisingly brutal.

Caltiki The Immortal Monster 1959

WILL THE FIRST LIFE ON EARTH BE THE LAST TERROR OF MAN?

Caltiki, the Immortal Monster is a 1959 Italian-American science fiction horror film directed by Riccardo Freda (as Robert Hampton) and an uncredited Mario Bava who also was the cinematographer on the film and added the noir-like eerie chiaroscuro and striking and savage and gruesome visual effects, expertly supervised by Bava, which is why it’s known for its eerie and suspenseful atmosphere. The cast includes John Merivale, Didi Perego (as Didi Sullivan), Gerard Herter, Danila Rocca, and Giacomo Rossi-Stuart.

In 1956, Ricardo Freda and Mario Bava joined forces to create “I Vampiri,” marking the revival of Italian-produced horror cinema after a hiatus of more than three decades. It did have a good reception but was released in the U.S. until 1963 and still, it was hacked to pieces under the title The Devil’s Commandment

So in 1959, they got together again at took a stab at another horror/sci-fi hybrid called Caltiki, the Immortal Monster with most of the cast adopting Anglicized pseudonyms.

Deep within the Mexican jungle, a group of archaeologists under the leadership of Dr. Fielding (portrayed by John Merivale) meticulously explore the ancient Mayan ruins looking for a priceless collection of Maryan gold artifacts. However, this invaluable treasure lies submerged at the lake’s depths within a cave. Inside, they discover a pool of mysterious and deadly water safeguarded by a ravenous, gelatinous creature known as Caltiki, revered by the Mayans as a god. They unexpectedly encounter an amorphous blob-like monstrosity that sends shockwaves through their expedition. When one of Fielding’s greedy colleagues (Daniele Vargas) tries to get his hands on the sacred plunder, he is devoured alive by the oozing blob and left as a steamy pile of skeletal muck.

Fielding discovers the creature is a grotesque, amorphous mass of cells that can absorb and grow from any organic material it comes into contact with. It is revealed that this creature, known as Caltiki, was once a Mayan deity and has been dormant for centuries.

Afterward, the monstrous glop goes on a violent rampage, inflicting pain on Max (Gerard Herter), a fellow member of the expedition, who is left with a skeletal arm and hand. Before meeting its ultimate demise in a blazing inferno, amid the chaos, Fielding skillfully manages to safeguard precious samples of Caltiki, preserving the fragments for scientific examination. Fielding makes a chilling discovery: the creature had been resurrected centuries ago when a comet made a close pass by Earth. Now, purely by happenstance, that very same comet is set to return in just a matter of days, posing a looming threat of reviving the blob monster once more.

In the midst of their investigation, the celestial event looms on the horizon: and the comet is poised to make a close approach to Earth. Remarkably, this comet mirrors the same cosmic visitor that brushed near our planet during the enigmatic collapse of the Mayan civilization.

Meanwhile, Max becomes unhinged and goes on a murder spree killing a nurse and escaping from the hospital, while Caltiki comes to life and runs amok along the countryside. The team faces a race against time to contain and destroy Caltiki before it consumes all life in its path. They also try to uncover the secrets of its origin and its connection to Mayan civilization.

Caltiki includes several genuinely jarring scenes, in particular, Herter’s intensity as the crazed Max, drawing inspiration from Richard Wordsworth’s memorable portrayal in a similar capacity as Victor Carroon in “Quatermass Xperiment,” Fielding’s urgent moments unfold as he races to rescue his wife and daughter from the advancing monstrosity that relentlessly breaches every landscape and interior setting.

Bava considered Caltiki the Immortal Monster to embody the spirit of (READ KEEP WATCHING THE SKIES:1955 HERE) The Quartermass Xperiment 1955, but it’s got a bit of (READ KEEP WATCHING THE SKIES:1956 HERE) X the Unknown 1956 thrown in.

Curse of the Fly 1965

Curse of the Fly is a 1965 British science fiction horror film and the third installment in the “Fly” film series that began with its blockbuster hit in 1958. This film reunites director Don Sharp with a screenplay by Harry Spalding (they worked on Witchcraft together in 1964) and takes a different approach compared to the previous films, as it is the Fly movie without the fly!

A generation following the events portrayed in The Fly in 1958 Henri Delambre, portrayed by Brian Donlevy, becomes consumed by the relentless pursuit of perfecting his father’s experimental matter-transportation device that he runs in a remote research facility within his estate in Canada. His two grown sons, Martin (George Baker) and Albert (Michael Graham), who yearn to get on with their lives still actively participate in the research, although they do not share Henri’s fanatical dedication to the transporter project. The transporter has successfully bilocated people and objects from Quebec to London and back, but not without a frightening aftermath, including deformed human subjects, ‘mistakes’ locked away at the Delambres’ Canadian manorhouse.

Henri is enraged when he learns that Martin has married a mysterious young woman named Patricia (Carole Gray) who in the opening of the film has managed to escape from an institution. Soon the police come looking for Patricia at the Delambre estate, which forces them to hide any evidence of their secret research lab. Ultimately, Henri’s obsession leads to tragic results.

Spalding’s clever screenplay seamlessly weaves together the exploration of advanced scientific discovery and the plight of ill-fated lovers, capturing the essence of romantic tragedy that resonated so effectively in the original Fly 1958.

Countess Dracula 1971

Directed by Peter Sasdy, Countess Dracula is a 1971 British horror film starring Ingrid Pitt in the lead role. The film is loosely based on the real-life story of Countess Elizabeth Báthory, a Hungarian noblewoman notorious for her alleged crimes of torturing and murdering hundreds of young women and bathing in their blood. The film co-stars Nigel Green as Captain Dobi, Maurice Denham as Master Fabio, Sandor Elès as Imre Toth, Niki Arrighi, Patience Collier as Julie, and Leslie Ann-Down as Ilona.

Set in 17th-century medieval Hungary, the story revolves around the aristocratic vampire Countess Elisabeth Nádasdy, an aging noblewoman who rules with an iron fist, aided by her lover, Captain Dobi. She discovers a dark secret bathing in the blood of young girls restores her youth when she accidentally comes into contact with the blood of a young virgin, she realizes that it has a rejuvenating effect on her appearance.

Obsessed with maintaining her youth and beauty, Elisabeth embarks on a gruesome killing spree, using her position and power to abduct young women and drain them of their blood. She coerces Dobi into abducting potential victims. Under the guise of her own daughter, the Countess engages in romantic dalliances with a younger man, much to Dobi’s chagrin. As the disappearances sow increasing fear in the local community, the Countess learns that only the blood of a virgin can resurrect her youthful beauty. As her crimes escalate, suspicions grow within the castle, and her daughter Ilona becomes increasingly concerned about her mother’s erratic behavior.

Ingrid Pitt delivers a captivating and chilling performance as Countess Elisabeth, portraying her transformation from an aging woman into a seductive, bloodthirsty monster. Countess Dracula is known for its blend of historical horror and Gothic atmosphere, offering a unique take on the vampire mythos by drawing inspiration from real historical events.

Chosen Survivors 1974

Chosen Survivors is a 1974 science fiction horror film that combines elements of suspense, survival, and post-apocalyptic drama directed by Sutton Roley and stars READ My Dillman TRIBUTE HERE Bradford Dillman (Fear No Evil 1969, Revenge! 1971, Escape From the Planet of the Apes 1971, The Mephisto Waltz 1971, TV movie The Resurrection of Zachary Taylor 1971, TV movie The Eyes of Charles Sands 1972, TV movie Moon of the Wolf 1972, Deliver Us from Evil 1973, A Black Ribbon for Deborah 1974 Giallo, The Dark Secrets of Harvest Home 1978 mini-series, The Swarm 1978, and the cult classic Piranha 1978),  and actors who are no strangers to horror & sci-fi -such as Diana Muldaur, Alex Cord (The Dead are Alive 1972), Jackie Cooper, Richard Jaekel (The Green Slime 1968, Day of the Animals 1977, The Dark 1979), Barbara Babcock, Gwen Mitchell and Lincoln Kilpatrick (Soylent Green 1973, The Omega Man 1971).

A group of select people abruptly find themselves yanked out of their homes and airlifted via helicopter to a state-of-the-art underground bomb shelter, buried deep beneath the desert’s surface at a depth of one-third of a mile. There, they are confronted with the grim reality of a nuclear apocalypse unfolding above ground and the unsettling revelation that a computer has chosen them as the survivors tasked with preserving the human race in this subterranean haven. The shelter is meticulously engineered to sustain their existence underground for an extended duration, but an unforeseen menace emerges: a massive colony of bloodthirsty vampire bats breaches their defenses, launching a relentless onslaught that claims the lives of the humans one by one.

The story unfolds against the backdrop of the Cold War era, as tensions between superpowers escalate, and the threat of nuclear war looms large. In response, the U.S. government selects a group of 11 people, including scientists, military personnel, and other specialists, to take part in a top-secret experiment. They are chosen to survive a potential nuclear holocaust by living in a well-fortified underground bunker designed to sustain life for an extended period.

As the selected survivors enter the underground facility, they must adapt to their new isolated existence and the challenges it presents. Tensions rise, and personal conflicts emerge among the diverse group. However, their already stressful situation takes a terrifying turn when they discover that they are not alone in the bunker. Unbeknownst to them, a colony of bat-like creatures has also taken refuge there, posing a deadly threat to their survival.

Chosen Survivors explores themes of human nature under extreme circumstances, the consequences of government secrecy and experimentation, and the terror of being trapped in an enclosed space with an unknown and lethal enemy. The film blends science fiction and horror elements to create a suspenseful and claustrophobic narrative.

Children of the Corn 1984

Children of the Corn is a 1984 horror film adapted from Stephen King’s short story of the same name. The film is set in the rural town of Gatlin, Nebraska, and revolves around a group of children who have formed a deadly cult worshiping a malevolent entity known as “He Who Walks Behind the Rows.”

The story begins with a young couple, Burt and Vicki (Peter Horton and Linda Hamilton), who are traveling through rural Nebraska. They stumble upon Gatlin, a seemingly deserted town. Unbeknownst to them, the town’s adult population has been brutally murdered by the children under the influence of an overzealous young preacher named Isaac and his nasty ginger-haired enforcer, Malachai (Courtney Gains). The children believe that sacrificing adults to “He Who Walks Behind the Rows” will ensure a bountiful harvest.

Burt and Vicky soon become targets of the cult, and they must navigate a terrifying ordeal to survive. Along the way, they encounter a young boy named Job, who has doubts about the cult’s beliefs, and the three of them attempt to uncover the truth behind the sinister force that has overtaken Gatlin.

As the story unfolds, it becomes a chilling exploration of religious fanaticism, the corrupting influence of power, and the primal fear of children turning against adults.

Children of the Corn is celebrated for its unsettling ambiance and the chilling spectacle of a seemingly picturesque town under the dominion of malevolent little monsters who are more menacing than the Lovecraftian Deity that lurks behind the bucolic rows of corn.

The Children 1980

Shot at the same time as the iconic slasher Friday the 13th and sharing some of the same behind-the-scenes creative minds, director Max Kalmanowicz’s The Children emerges as a bizarrely low-light theatrical drive-in horror classic in the ‘scary little kids‘ subgenre.

Complementing the spine-tingling narrative is an eerie score by Harry Manfredini known for his work on Sean Cunningham’s Friday the 13th.

Ravenback’s children (not unlike the mindless dead in Romero’s landmark Night of the Living Dead) are in the grip of something terrifyingly unnatural. When their school bus travels through an odd cloud of yellow smoke, the innocent little ones undergo a horrifying – ghastly metamorphosis into bloodthirsty zombies.

The film takes a deeply nihilistic and chilling swerve as it introduces a group of children who, after passing through this toxic fog, appear outwardly innocent but possess blackened fingernails and a horrifying ability to melt the flesh of anyone they touch. The Children‘s dark subtext by using seemingly angelic children who are the epitome of a promising future, takes on a bleak tone, as these once harmless yet outré -creepy kids destroy even those they once loved.

The story begins with the origins of the toxic fog, where Sheriff Gil Rogers sets out to uncover the mystery surrounding the abandoned school bus on the side of the road. As he discovers more dead bodies, it is revealed that it is in fact the children who are killing the townspeople. This is at the core of the film’s fundamental subliminal ‘shock’ warning- that we cannot always have faith in the façade of innocence. Sometimes it can disguise a horror from within.

As unsuspecting parents and townsfolk fall victim to their deadly touch, the local police force embarks on a frantic search for the missing children, at first oblivious to their deadly embrace, they must face an even more horrific reality. The parents must kill their own children in an extremely repulsive way.

Director Max Kalmanowicz and cinematographer Barry Abrams (who also worked on Friday the 13th) work their magic when it comes to the night sequences and the atmosphere of dread and the queasy pangs in the gut whenever those sinister little faces appear in the black night and raise up their hands in a wantful embrace, eerie calling out for their mothers. It’s truly a disturbing visually bad dream.

The Children challenges horror conventions by making it imperative that the children be destroyed. The manner of their death is even more gruesome than their black-nailed phantasmagoria. What’s hauntingly effective is the final slaughter underscored by the ethereal screams that creep up and revisit your mind decades after your first viewing. It’s just that authentically creepy.

This is your EverLovin’ Joey sayin’ C you at the snack bar, and remember D is the dangerous letter in the next installment of trailers to keep the Boogeyman away!

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

A

Arsenic and Old Lace 1944

Directed by Frank Capra and adapted for the screen by Julius and Philip Epstein from Joseph Kesselring’s play, Arsenic and Old Lace is a whirlwind farce set in a cozy Brooklyn home. The home’s occupants are two charmingly batty elderly ladies, portrayed by Josephine Hull and Jean Adair, who have an unusual hobby: they poison lonely old men with elderberry wine, believing death to be a preferable fate for them. These deceased individuals are then discreetly interred in the basement with the assistance of their harmless and offbeat nephew, who envisions himself burying yellow fever victims in the Panama Canal.

The plot takes a humorous twist when the sisters’ less-than-amiable nephew, Jonathan, played by Raymond Massey, arrives on the scene with a few deceased individuals of his own. To complicate matters further, Massey’s character bears an uncanny resemblance to Boris Karloff, after having plastic surgeon Peter Lorre give him his new face. Karloff originally portrayed Jonathan in the Broadway play but was unavailable for the film. The script cleverly alludes to this likeness, provoking intense anger in Massey’s character whenever it’s remarked upon by the other characters.

Cary Grant assumes the role of Mortimer Brewster, the film’s romantic lead, who is attempting to enjoy his honeymoon with Priscilla Lane’s character, Elaine. The film also boasts the talents of Edward Everett Horton and Jack Carson in supporting roles.

Arsenic and Old Lace” is celebrated for its witty and chaotic humor and has secured its status as a classic in the realm of dark comedies, renowned for its unforgettable performances and enduring popularity.

The Amazing Colossal Man 1957

Directed by Bert I. Gordon, The Amazing Colossal Man 1957 is a story that revolves around Colonel Glenn Manning, a military officer who becomes the victim of a tragic accident involving a plutonium explosion during a test flight. As a result of the explosion, Manning begins to grow uncontrollably in size, becoming a colossal giant.

This transformation not only poses a threat to Manning’s own well-being but also becomes a matter of national security as the military tries to contain and study this astonishing phenomenon. As Manning’s condition worsens, he grapples with the physical and emotional toll of his transformation, while the military races against time to find a way to stop his relentless growth.

“The Amazing Colossal Man” is a beloved classic of 1950s science fiction cinema that ushers in the giant consequences of unchecked science that threatens man’s existence and his shoe size.

Attack of the Giant Leeches 1959

ATTACK OF THE GIANT LEECHES, (aka THE GIANT LEECHES), poster art, 1959.

Directed by Bernard L. Kowalski, Attack of the Giant Leeches 1959 is set in a remote swampland community that finds itself terrorized by enormous, monstrous blood-sucking leeches. The townspeople become victims of these grotesque creatures, while the police don’t believe the stories behind the disappearances of the locals. Ken Clark as game warden Steve Benton must investigate the strange occurrences in the swampland by himself and Jan Shepard as Nan Greyson gets caught up in the deadly threat of the leech-infested swamp. The film stars scream queen Yvette Vickers as Liz Walker, Bruno VeSota’s unfaithful wife, and also co-stars Michael Emmett and Gene Roth as Sheriff Kovis. The giant leech suits are hilarious and the atmosphere is suffocatingly schlocky considering Daniel Haller (The Dunwich Horror 1970, Die, Monster, Die! 1965) was the art director of the film.

Atom Age Vampire 1960

Atom Age Vampire aka Seddok 1961 is a vintage Italian horror film directed by Anton Giulio Majano. The movie tells the story of a lovesick, obsessed doctor who is determined to restore the beauty of a disfigured exotic dancer who was maimed in a car accident. In his desperate pursuit, the doctor resorts to a macabre method, extracting blood from dead women in an attempt to rejuvenate the object of his obsession. However, his gruesome experiments spiral out of control. The film stars Alberto Lupo as Prof. Alberto Levin and Suzanne Loret plays Jeanette Moreneau his beautiful fixation.

The Awful Dr. Orlof 1962

The Awful Dr. Orlof is a 1962 horror film directed by Jesús Franco, it marked the beginning of his prolific and distinctive career in the genre. The movie follows the chilling exploits of the enigmatic Dr. Orlof, a mad scientist who kidnaps and murders young women in order to harvest their skin for his disfigured and paralyzed sister, Melissa. Dr. Orlof’s sinister activities attract the attention of the police, and Inspector Tanner is determined to bring the mysterious doctor to justice.

As the investigation unfolds, it becomes apparent that Dr. Orlof is not acting alone. He has a henchman, the pop-eyed Morpho looking like a psychotic mannequin who helps him carry out his gruesome crimes. The film delves into themes of obsession, sadism, and the blurred lines between science and madness.

The Awful Dr. Orlof is known for its gothic atmosphere, eerie cinematography, and a memorable performance by Howard Vernon as Dr. Orlof whose portrayal of the mad scientist is chilling and charismatic. The film is considered a classic of Spanish horror cinema and has influenced subsequent horror films with its macabre, atmospheric, and visually captivating storytelling. It’s Gothic atmosphere creates a dark shadowy cobweb-filled landscape with a haunting score and creepy elements that contribute to the macabre tone of Franco’s signature style. Orlof explores disturbing themes of sadism, obsession, and dehumanization of female victims as Dr. Orlof seeks to restore his sister’s beauty.

The film’s approach to horror characterized by its psychological terror and the blurred line between science and madness, has left a lasting impact on the genre. It foreshadowed the emergence of early Spanish horror films and European horror cinema in the 1960s and 1970s, influencing directors like Jean Rollin and Dario Argento.

Jesús Franco’s direction and experimental filmmaking for The Awful Dr. Orlof illustrates his early penchant for innovative camera work and editing techniques that were considered unconventional for its time. Franco’s willingness to take risks and push boundaries and the film’s distinctive psychological horror and Gothic aesthetics continue to focus on Dr. Orlof as a compelling example of Gothic European/Spanish horror cinema, with both a hauntingly dark atmosphere and disturbing elements, making it a seminal work in the genre and its influence on subsequent horror cinema.

The Asphyx 1972

The Asphyx is a 1972 British horror film starring Robert Stephens and Robert Powell. The story is set in the Victorian era and centers around Sir Hugo Cunningham, played by Robert Stephens, a scientist who becomes obsessed with a mysterious and deadly force called the “Asphyx.” Sir Hugo discovers that the Asphyx is a supernatural entity that appears at the moment of death and can be trapped in a photograph or film, and placed in a contraption- effectively granting immortality to the person in the image.

As Sir Hugo becomes increasingly obsessed with the Asphyx and its power, he conducts a series of unethical experiments in an attempt to capture and control it. His actions lead to tragic consequences for himself and his family, including his adopted son, Giles, portrayed by Robert Powell. It also stars Jane Lapotaire, Alex Scott, and Ralph Arliss. I saw this upon its theatrical release and remember it causing more than a few shivers.

Asylum 1972

Read my Barbara Parkins tribute here:

Directed by Roy Ward Baker and written by horror master Robert Bloch (Psycho) Asylum 1972 is one of the most unusual horror portmanteaus – a chilling and immersive horror anthology that takes viewers on a spine-tingling journey through the dark corridors of the nightmarish horror trope of the long-abandoned asylum. Set in the year 1972, the film weaves together five distinct and haunting tales, each exploring the themes of madness, supernatural terror, and the thin line between reality and the macabre. The film stars Barbara Parkins, Richard Todd, and Sylvia Syms in Frozen Fear, Peter Cushing in The Weird Tailor, Charlotte Rampling, Britt Ekland and Megs Jenkins in Lucy’s Come to Stay, and Patrick Magee and Herbert Lom in Mannikins of Horror. Asylum also stars Robert Powell as Dr. Martin.

Asylum 1972 combines atmospheric cinematography, haunting soundscapes, and a talented ensemble cast to create a cheeky yet truly terrifying and unforgettable early 70s horror experience.

Alabama’s Ghost 1973

Alabama’s Ghost is a 1973 psychedelic horror film directed by Fredric Hobbs.

The nightclub janitor (Christopher Brooks) discovers a secret room, finds an old magician’s belongings, tries on the costumes, and becomes Alabama, King of the Cosmos. The film features a bizarre assortment of characters, including credits for ‘groupies, Carter’s Ghost, Marilyn Midnight, Dr. Caligula, Granny, and Mama Bama.

Alabama’s Ghost is a campy and offbeat film known for its low-budget, cult appeal among fans of unconventional cinema.

Axe 1977

Axe 1977 also known as “Lisa, Lisa,” is a cult classic thriller that tells the harrowing story of Lisa, a young woman who becomes the target of a sadistic killer’s obsession. Set in the eerie and remote countryside, the film is a suspenseful and psychologically disturbing journey as Leslie Lee is assaulted by three criminals on a murder spree after they arrive at her farmhouse, where she lives with her paralyzed grandfather.

As Lisa fights for her survival, the film takes audiences on a suspenseful rollercoaster ride, filled with tension, brutality, and psychological terror. Axe is a relentless thriller that explores themes of brutality and vulnerability, and an unflinching portrayal of isolation and terror, which has led to its cult status in the realm of exploitation cinema.

This is your EverLovin’ Joey sayin’ I’ll BE back with the letter B! So bring me an apple, without a razor blade in it, please!