On October 4th, 1986, CBS News anchor Dan Rather was attacked on the streets of New York by a man who, as he pummeled Rather, repeatedly shouted, “Kenneth, what is the frequency?!” When a doorman intervened to protect Rather, the man took off running. (Some accounts say that there were actually two men attacking Rather.)
Though he wouldn’t be identified for another 11 years, the attacker’s name was William Tager. Tager believed that the television networks were beaming signals into his brain. In 1994, he killed a stagehand while trying to force his way into NBC studios. In 1997, while Tager was serving a 25-year prison sentence, he was identified as the man who had attacked Rather. Tager was subsequently paroled in 2010.
The same year that Tager was arrested, R.E.M. released a song called What’s The Frequency, Kenneth? Though the song was clearly inspired by the attack on Rather, lead singer Michael Stipe has also said that the song was about an older man trying to understand the younger generation.
The video for What’s The Frequency, Kenneth? was directed by frequent R.E.M. collaborator Peter Care and features the band performing the song. The jacket worn by bassist Mike Mills once belonged to the legendary Gram Parsons.
Rumors that R.E.M. stands for “Rather’s Ear Muffs” were once popular but have been denied by the band. Instead, Michael Stipe selected the name after randomly coming across “Rapid Eye Movement” in the dictionary.
“Oh, nice guy, I hope. Everybody’s trying to kill me lately.” — Nick Parker
Rutger Hauer’s smile does almost as much work as his sword in Blind Fury (1989). It gives this cheerfully far-fetched action movie something that an elaborate fight sequence cannot supply on its own: a reason to enjoy hanging around its hero. Directed by Phillip Noyce, the film mixes bloody confrontations, broad comedy, and an unlikely friendship without always finding a comfortable balance. Yet Hauer moves through it with such relaxed charisma that the rough patches rarely become deal breakers. The story may be about getting a child out of danger, but the movie’s real attraction is watching an unconventional action star make an outrageous character feel strangely approachable.
Hauer plays Nick Parker, a Vietnam veteran blinded during the war and rescued by villagers who teach him to fight using his remaining senses. Years later, he sets out to find his old army buddy Frank Deveraux, played by Terry O’Quinn. Instead of a happy reunion, Nick discovers that Frank is mixed up with criminals and that his son Billy, played by Brandon Call, is in danger. After Billy’s mother is killed, Nick takes the boy under his protection. Their journey supplies the film with its basic rhythm: uneasy bonding, trouble, swordplay, and another stretch of uneasy bonding.
The film is an English-language remake of Zatoichi Challenged, the 17th entry in the long-running Japanese film series about the blind swordsman. Rather than simply borrowing a distinctive fighting gimmick, Blind Fury carries over the appeal of a capable outsider whom people consistently misjudge. Nick’s walking stick conceals a sword, but his friendly manner disguises his abilities just as effectively. Putting that figure into an American crime adventure creates an entertaining clash of styles. The gangsters belong to a familiar world of threats and brute force; Nick seems to have wandered in from a different kind of movie altogether.
Hauer makes that difference work by resisting the obvious tough-guy approach. Nick does not spend every quiet moment looking tortured or every confrontation trying to sound intimidating. He jokes, listens, and occasionally seems genuinely amused by the people around him. There is sadness beneath that warmth, but Hauer lets it register without demanding that the whole film stop and acknowledge it. His performance gives Nick a life beyond his usefulness in a fight. That matters because a character built entirely around extraordinary abilities can become dull surprisingly quickly. Here, the abilities are entertaining, but the person using them is usually more interesting.
The action follows the same principle: personality matters more than plausibility. Nick’s awareness of his surroundings is precise enough to make the premise work, and the film does not invite much scrutiny of the mechanics. Instead, Noyce builds sequences around timing, misplaced confidence, and sudden reversals. Someone decides Nick is helpless, moves in too close, and receives an unpleasant correction. The fights are often structured like physical punch lines, with a brief pause before the payoff. That playful quality keeps the swordplay from becoming monotonous, even when the outcome is obvious. We know Nick will handle the situation; the fun lies in how.
The villains give him plenty to handle, although they are more colorful obstacles than fully developed characters. Noble Willingham brings blustering nastiness to crime boss MacCready, while Randall “Tex” Cobb gives Slag an imposing presence. Their broadness suits a film that has little interest in subtle criminal psychology. They threaten, scheme, and underestimate their opponent, giving Hauer room to remain comparatively understated. The contrast is useful: Nick does not need to compete with their volume to control a scene. Still, the criminal plot itself is not especially compelling, and whenever the film spends too long explaining its machinery, the energy starts to sag.
The relationship with Billy is more important and more uneven. Their partnership brings out Nick’s patience and gives the journey something warmer than a string of violent encounters. But Billy’s resistance can feel like a screenplay requirement rather than a fresh observation about a frightened child. The movie needs them to clash before they connect, and sometimes you can see that calculation too clearly. Its handling of grief is similarly hurried. A devastating event becomes the starting point for an adventure that frequently wants to be breezy. Hauer helps bridge those gaps, though he cannot entirely erase the awkwardness.
That uneven tone is the film’s biggest limitation. Blind Fury wants its violence to sting, its jokes to land lightly, and its central relationship to carry genuine feeling, sometimes within the same scene. Not every transition works. Its fantasy of blindness also belongs firmly to action-movie invention rather than a grounded portrayal of disability. But the film remains enjoyable because it rarely becomes self-important about any of this. Noyce generally keeps the story moving, and Hauer gives its competing moods a common center. Even when the writing shifts gears abruptly, Nick still feels like the same person.
For a movie built around a concealed weapon, Blind Fury is surprisingly dependent on what its leading man leaves out in the open. Hauer’s humor, gentleness, and easy confidence make the familiar plot worth following and the ridiculous action worth accepting. A more generic performance might have left nothing but a novelty premise and a pile of defeated henchmen. Instead, there is a character whose company makes the journey enjoyable. The film is scruffy, sometimes clumsy, and never particularly deep, but it has the good sense to trust its star. Long after the plot details fade, that smile still does the trick.
Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Sunday, I will be reviewing the Canadian series, Degrassi: The Next Generation, which aired from 2001 to 2015! The series can be streamed on YouTube and Tubi.
This week, Terri hits her head.
Episode 3.17 “Don’t Dream It’s Over”
(Dir by Allan Eastman, originally aired on February 23rd, 2004)
Ellie and Sean are dating! The only problem is that Ellie has only had one previous relationship and that was Marco, who was just using her to try to keep people from realizing that he was gay. Even though Ellie really has every right to be pissed off with Marco (and Marco, over the past few episodes, has gotten pretty self-righteous and whiny), she still brings him along on her first movie date with Sean. As you can imagine, it’s kind of awkward. That said, Sean also invited Jay and Alex to tag along with him and it’s not like Ellie has anything in common with the two of them. Both Sean and Ellie need to ditch their friends and just learn how to spend time alone with each other.
Anyway, eventually, Marco tells Ellie that he’s tired of being her “security blanket” and that Sean could be really good for her if she’s willing to let down her defenses. Ellie apologizes to Sean for not being “a very good girlfriend” but then adds, “But you haven’t been a very good boyfriend either.” Sean replies that he doesn’t hate Marco but “I’m dating you.” He and Ellie reconcile. Awwwww! They’re such a sweet couple! I’ve never forgiven Degrassi for not keeping them together. But we’ll get to that during season 4.
Ellie and Sean are just the B-plot for this episode. The main plot features Terri and Rick Murray. Remember how Terri swore that, after Rick hit her multiple times, she would never forgive him or take him back? Well, it turns out that was a lie. Rick turns on his nerdy charm and says that he’s been getting therapy and Terri takes him back. Before taking Rick back, Terri was the only one of her friends who was still single. Now, she has a boyfriend but her friends are angry at her. During a weekend road trip, Paige tells Terri that Rick is a psycho. Rick overhears and gets angry. When Rick runs off, Paige yells at Terri to follow him if she likes him so much. Terri does that and discovers that Rick has run off to a field that, for some reason, is full of cinderblocks. Rick is yelling and screaming. Terri tells him to calm down. Rick shoves Terri and Terri falls to the ground and her head hits a cinderblock.
As a result, Terri ends up in a coma. Paige and Spinner blame themselves, with Spinner worrying that he’s going to be abusive, just like Rick. Rick withdraws from school but, as every Degrassi viewer knows, he will return in Season 4. However, Terri will not. This was Terri’s next-to-last appearance on Degrassi. Apparently, the actress who played Terri wanted to focus on her modeling career so the show’s writers put her in a coma. Yikes!
This is not a bad episode. I love Ellie/Sean as a couple and Ephraim Ellis gave a strong performance as Rick quickly switched from being sweet and nerdy to angry and dangerous. The most interesting thing about this episode is how it set up almost all of the major Season 4 storylines, from Rick’s return to Sean’s breakdown to Ellie’s growing confidence.
Next week: it’s the battle of the bands as Craig and Ashley go to war!
Syama Pedersen’s Astartes is a striking piece of independently created CG animation that understands what makes Warhammer 40,000’s Space Marines frightening: they are not simply soldiers in oversized armor, but instruments of overwhelming, methodical violence. Across its five installments, the short turns a boarding operation into an exercise in mounting dread, establishing the Adeptus Astartes’ superiority without lengthy exposition. Its greatest achievement is making their power feel tangible—not through declarations of their legendary status, but through the terrifying ease with which they overcome resistance.
The film does an exceptional job of showing just how far above baseline humanity the Astartes truly are. The human defenders are not merely smaller figures standing opposite larger opponents; their desperate resistance provides a measuring stick for the Marines’ extraordinary capabilities. Against the squad’s speed, precision, and armored resilience, ordinary soldiers seem tragically outmatched. What would be a desperate, chaotic battle for a human combatant appears almost routine to an Astartes. The contrast makes these warriors feel genuinely superhuman rather than simply well-equipped, exposing the immense gulf between humanity and the living weapons created to fight its wars.
Pedersen’s animation strengthens that distinction by reconciling enormous weight with startling agility. The Marines’ footsteps suggest industrial machinery, yet their movements become sudden and predatory when combat demands it. They never seem burdened by their bulk; their armor feels inseparable from their bodies. Their brutality is equally convincing because it is procedural rather than theatrical. They do not posture, celebrate, or waste movement—they identify threats and eliminate them. That absence of visible excitement makes their violence more unsettling: this is not uncontrolled rage, but the disciplined application of lethal force.
The visual and sonic presentation gives that violence its crushing impact. Claustrophobic corridors emphasize the Marines’ imposing size, while heavy footfalls and thunderous weapon reports make every advance feel consequential. Detailed environments establish the setting’s grim atmosphere without burying the action beneath visual clutter. When the mission encounters stranger powers and unknown technology, the short shifts toward cosmic horror, reminding viewers that even these formidable warriors inhabit a universe capable of threatening them. Its sparse exposition occasionally sacrifices clarity, particularly for newcomers, but the resulting mystery makes the world feel larger than the mission unfolding onscreen.
That such an assured production began as one animator’s independent project makes Astartes even more impressive. Pedersen’s work caught Games Workshop’s attention and led the company to hire him in 2021 to create official Warhammer animation—a remarkable transition from fan creator to professional contributor to the universe he admired. The recognition feels earned because the short does more than reproduce familiar armor and iconography: it translates the Space Marines’ defining qualities into movement, sound, and atmosphere. Their superiority is not simply part of the background lore; it becomes the organizing principle of every encounter.
Pedersen later contributed as a layout artist to “Warhammer 40,000: And They Shall Know No Fear,” the Astartes-centered episode of Amazon Prime Video’s Secret Level. His contribution formed part of a collaborative production rather than another solo undertaking. It is, in this reviewer’s estimation, the anthology’s best episode, carrying forward the same understanding that makes Astartes so compelling: Space Marines should feel simultaneously disciplined, brutally efficient, and terrifyingly inhuman. His involvement provides a fitting continuation of the original short’s achievement, bringing that distinctive approach from an independent fan project into a major studio production.
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Sundays, I will be reviewing Homicide: Life On The Street, which aired from 1993 to 1999, on NBC! It can be viewed on Peacock.
This week, we take a trip into the past.
Episode 6.10 “Sins of the Father”
(Dir by Mary Harron, originally aired on January 9th, 1998)
A white advertising executive is found whipped and hung in an abandoned building in a black neighborhood. Lewis and Falsone (ugh) investigate. Lewis is disturbed when he visits the executive’s mansion and discovers that his library is full of pictures of family members of fought for the Confederacy. (The show makes sure to emphasize that a Confederate battle flag is hanging on a wall.) The man’s wife insists that the man was only interested in the history of his family and that he wasn’t a racist. Later, when Lewis and Falsone investigate the home of a suspect whose work van was seen near the crime scene, Lewis discovers that suspect’s bedroom is decorated with pictures of black activists. Lewis says that he instinctively knows that its all connected.
And it is! It turns out that the dead man was a descendent of Patty Ridenour, a notorious woman who, in the pre-Civil War days, used to capture free blacks and sell them into slavery. The man was murdered by Dennis Ribgy (Lawrence Mason), a descendant of one of Petty Ridenour’s victims. When Rigby is brought in for questioning, he confesses without much pressure. Every one has been very eager to confess this season.
This idea behind this episode was interesting, even if it didn’t quite pay off as well as it probably should have. (If any case ever called out for Lewis and Pembleton to work together, it was this one. But, of course, that would mean that Falsone wouldn’t be in the spotlight and we certainly couldn’t be fortunate enough to have that happen.) Maryland was a border state during the Civil War, one that tried to play it both ways by remaining both a slave state and a member of the Union. Even though it didn’t join the Confederacy, slave auctions were still occurring in Maryland during the Civil War. Because it didn’t secede, it was left out of the Emancipation Proclamation and slavery wasn’t actually outlawed in Maryland until a year later. Though Patty Ridenour was a fictional characters, there were no doubt many people like her in Maryland and the rest of the North as well.
(A lot of white people tend to assume that just because their ancestors lived up North, that somehow means there wasn’t a hint of racism to be found in their family tree. Historically, the opposite was often true.)
Again, the idea behind this episode is interesting. At the same time, Falsone feels out-of-place as Lewis’s partner. (Considering all of the interest that Falsone has shown in the Luther Mahoney shooting, it’s a little hard to believe he and Lewis would have the type of friendly relationship that they do in this episode.) This is a case that Lewis and Pembleton, two proud black men with different approaches to the job and the differing views of guilt and innocence, should have investigated together. Actually, if the show really wanted to get brave, it would have partnered Lewis with Gharty, who is the detective most likely not to understand why being in a house full of Confederate memorabilia would make Lewis feel uncomfortable. Either way, it would have led to a better debate about the legacy of slavery than having Lewis partner up with Falsone, a detective who doesn’t seem to have strong feelings about anything other than his ex-wife and the Luther Mahoney shooting.
This episode has a few arty flashbacks to Patty Ridenour riding her horse and whipping her victims. At first, I thought the flashbacks were out of place but, by the end of the episode, I better appreciated them and their purpose in the narrative. The flashbacks show how the evil of the Patty Ridenours of the world continued to infect everything that came since.
Finally, I should mention that this episode featured Bayliss and Ballard going out on a date. Gharty wasn’t happy about that. Personally, I think Bayliss and Ballard make for a cute couple!
“I’m afraid, sir, I don’t believe God loves me at all.” — Tanya Degurechaff
Saga of Tanya the Evil (Yōjo Senki) sounds like a gimmick until its strange ingredients start working together. A ruthless Japanese salaryman gets reincarnated as a little girl, joins the military in an alternate European world, and ends up fighting a war involving rifles, artillery, and airborne magic. Somehow, this becomes both an entertaining action series and a nasty joke about corporate ambition. Across its two seasons and full-length film, the central irony never loses its bite: Tanya wants security, but everything she does to earn it makes her more useful on the battlefield. Being exceptional turns out to be a terrible career move.
It also stands out as one of the better isekai properties because reincarnation actually matters to the story. Where much of the genre uses another world as a shortcut to wish fulfillment, Saga of Tanya the Evil turns a second life into an argument about identity, faith, and survival. Tanya’s previous existence is not background information discarded after the opening episode. Her corporate mindset shapes her decisions, while her confrontation with Being X gives her new life a personal conflict. Remove the reincarnation premise, and you lose the machinery that makes the series interesting.
Adapted from Carlo Zen’s light novel series The Saga of Tanya the Evil, illustrated by Shinobu Shinotsuki, the anime began with a twelve-episode season in 2017. Saga of Tanya the Evil: The Movie followed in 2019, continuing the story rather than offering a disposable side adventure. The second season, Saga of Tanya the Evil II, followed in 2026. The viewing order is straightforward: first season, movie, second season. Together, they expand one soldier’s survival scheme into a wider examination of a war that keeps growing beyond anyone’s control.
The salaryman’s new identity is Tanya Degurechaff, an orphaned girl living in the Empire, an alternate-world counterpart to Imperial Germany. Instead of a familiar fantasy kingdom, her new home resembles early twentieth-century Europe, where a World War I–style conflict unfolds in the 1920s and magic has been incorporated into military operations. Trenches, artillery, and bureaucratic command structures exist alongside flying soldiers who turn magical ability into another weapon of industrial warfare. The setting gives Tanya a system she thinks she understands and a conflict she cannot simply outsmart.
At heart, Tanya is pretty much a black-hearted upper-management executive reincarnated into the body of a young girl. The new appearance does not come with a softer personality or a sudden appreciation for human connection. Behind that small face is the same calculating adult who judges people by productivity, obedience, and usefulness. She approaches military service like a corporate ladder, hoping excellent performance will earn her a comfortable position away from danger. The contrast goes beyond appearances: she brings the cold logic of the boardroom into a world where a bad performance review can become a death sentence.
Crucially, the series does not try to sell Tanya as a hero. She is the protagonist, absolutely, but being the person whose story we follow does not make her morally admirable. If anything, her ruthlessness, manipulation, and willingness to treat people as expendable give her more villainous traits than heroic ones. The writing’s real achievement is making us root for her without hiding those red flags. We understand her goals, enjoy her ingenuity, and want to see how she escapes the next impossible situation, even when her methods make us uncomfortable. The series earns our investment without requiring our approval.
The first season establishes where that personality comes from. Before reincarnation, the salaryman was an efficiency-obsessed manager whose treatment of a fired employee ended with that employee murdering him. A confrontation with a self-proclaimed god, whom he labels Being X, turns death into an argument about faith. Being X apparently believes hardship will produce religious devotion; Tanya treats the arrangement like an unfair workplace dispute. It is a wonderfully petty foundation for such a violent story. Neither side seems interested in understanding the other, and ordinary people get caught inside their cosmic disagreement.
Tanya’s career supplies another layer of comedy. Her logic is recognizable: work hard, impress management, secure a comfortable position. Unfortunately, her superiors interpret every achievement as evidence that she belongs somewhere more dangerous. The military sees a dedicated prodigy where Tanya sees an employee trying to qualify for a better assignment. That gap between intention and reputation keeps the story entertaining while exposing her biggest blind spot. She can calculate battlefield risks with frightening precision and still misjudge how other people will interpret her behavior.
Unlike many isekai protagonists, Tanya does not arrive with modern knowledge and coast toward a better life. Her experience gives her advantages, but it also reinforces her limitations. She expects rational behavior to produce rational outcomes, even when the people around her operate through patriotism, fear, ambition, or wounded pride. Watching someone who considers herself exceptionally practical repeatedly misread the human side of her situation is darkly funny. Her old worldview survives reincarnation intact; the new world keeps demonstrating why it was never as foolproof as she believed.
Season one also makes its military structure matter. Promotions, command decisions, and strategic misunderstandings shape what Tanya can accomplish. The aerial mage battles provide immediate excitement, but the larger attraction is watching individual cleverness collide with a huge organization. Briefings occasionally slow the momentum, particularly when another stretch of terminology separates the audience from the next confrontation. Still, that administrative texture belongs here. Without it, Tanya’s managerial personality would have much less to push against, and the series would become a more ordinary superpowered-warrior story.
Visually, the anime embraces an abrasive personality. Tanya’s exaggerated expressions make her look less like an adorable mascot than a miniature officer whose customer-service smile has completely collapsed. Some character designs take getting used to, but the battlefield presentation is easier to appreciate. Airborne movement, magical attacks, and conventional weapons create an energetic mixture, while gunfire and explosions give the combat physical weight. Beneath the ridiculous premise, the fighting needs to feel dangerous, and the production generally understands that assignment.
Saga of Tanya the Evil: The Movie takes that foundation and pushes the spectacle harder. It functions as a direct continuation, so newcomers should not expect a patient introduction. Its strongest dramatic addition is Mary, the daughter of a man Tanya killed. Her hatred gives the conflict a personal dimension that military reports cannot contain. Tanya understands killing through operational necessity; Mary experiences its aftermath as grief and revenge. That contrast punctures the comfortable distance created by Tanya’s narration. What looks like another successful operation from her perspective can be a life-shattering tragedy from someone else’s.
The movie’s climactic confrontation provides an especially strong action showcase, although the road there can feel crowded. Characters and military developments compete for attention, and dialogue sometimes interrupts battles that already communicate their stakes. The film works better as the next substantial chapter than as an independent feature. Still, Mary’s furious directness makes a useful counterweight to Tanya’s calculations. Their conflict sharpens the distinction between following Tanya and endorsing her: we may want her to survive, but the story gives us reasons to understand why someone else desperately wants her stopped.
The second season shifts attention toward Tanya’s Salamander combat group and the increasingly punishing demands of the Eastern Front. Shortages, winter, guerrilla attacks, and repeated operations complicate the promise that one brilliant maneuver might solve everything. Season one establishes why Tanya excels at fighting; the continuation asks what that excellence is worth when the larger conflict resists a clean solution. Training a new unit also returns to an enjoyable tension: Tanya treats people as organizational components while remaining responsible for keeping them functional. Her managerial instincts help, but they cannot make the battlefield behave like a well-run department.
That broader scope brings a trade-off. Peace efforts involving neutral Ildoa and competing priorities within Imperial leadership deepen the political picture but make the story less immediately accessible than its original survival hook. Enjoyment increasingly depends on an appetite for logistics, negotiations, and the gap between tactical success and strategic progress. For the right audience, that is an upgrade. Tanya becomes trapped within institutions that reward effective violence without knowing how to stop needing it. Another battlefield victory does not necessarily bring her closer to peace.
Taken together, the two seasons and film offer dark comedy, military fantasy, and a central character who is fascinating precisely because she is not a conventional hero. The franchise can be talky, its designs can be off-putting, and Tanya’s behavior frequently deserves condemnation rather than applause. Yet the writing keeps us invested in her struggle without pretending those problems disappear because she gets top billing. For viewers new to anime, Saga of Tanya the Evildeserves a place on their must-see list, especially if dark humor, military strategy, and morally complicated protagonists sound appealing. It makes excellent use of its reincarnation premise and turns an alarming collection of red flags into someone we cannot stop watching.
One of the most influential movies in my life opened on November 1, 1985. While most 12 year old boys were interested in movies like BACK TO THE FUTURE, RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II, THE GOONIES, and ROCKY IV, and don’t get me wrong, I liked those movies, the film that stood head and shoulders above the rest for me was DEATH WISH 3! I had become obsessed with Bronson, and this would be the first of his films that I would own on VHS. And I would watch it daily. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize that maybe it wasn’t the cinematic masterpiece of its time, but I don’t care, the movie is part and parcel of who I am. The characters, the contraptions, and Charles Bronson earned it a place in my Hall of Fame. There may be better movies, but only a few movies come along at the perfect time to create a lifetime obsession. DEATH WISH 3 is that movie for me.
Though Horrorthon may be over, that doesn’t mean we can’t reach back to a horror film for today scene that I love This is scene comes from the 1931 classic, Frankenstein. The scene below features neither Colin Clive or Boris Karloff. Instead, Edward Van Sloan breaks the fourth wall and, in his humorously avuncular way, lets the audience know what’s in store for them.
Today, of course, we all know the story of Frankenstein and his monster. However, imagine how audiences in 1931, many of whom probably knew nothing about the story they were about to watch, must have felt when Edward Van Sloan specifically took a minute to warn them that they were about to see something terrifying. You have to remember that Van Sloan was talking to the first generation of regular filmgoers and he was introducing them to one of the first true horror films of the sound era. Today, it’s easy to smile when Van Sloan says, “You can’t say we didn’t warn you.” In 1931, I imagine it probably sounded more like a dare. Van Sloan was asking, “Do you have the courage to stay in theater?” It’s kind of charming, isn’t it?
Edward Van Sloan was a bit of fixture when it came to the early Universal horror films. Not only did he play Henry Frankenstein’s mentor but, in the same year, he played Prof. Van Helsing in Dracula. He also had a key supporting role in The Mummy. When it came to explaining the supernatural and the undead, no one else did it with quite the class of Edward Van Sloan.
