Today, Lis and I continued to rewatch the Twilight movies on Netflix.
New Moon was the second part of the Twilight Saga. Because people in town are starting to notice that he hasn’t aged in ten years, Carlisle (Peter Facinelli) decides that the Cullens need to move to a new location. Edward explains to Bella that the worst thing a vampire can do is allow humans to discover that they exist. Edward also says that Bella can’t come with the Cullens because it would raise suspicion and it would also put Bella in danger, since even the members of his family are tempted to drink her blood. Bella says, “Change me!” and Edward says not unless they’re married.
The Cullens leave and Bella has a breakdown, and even her father wants to send her back to Florida to live with her mother. Finally, Bella starts hanging out with Jacob (Taylor Lautner), a member of the Quileute Tribe who is also revealed to be a werewolf. Werewolves and vampires hate each other, but the Forks werewolves had arranged a truce with the Cullens where they wouldn’t attack them as long as the Cullens didn’t bite any humans. If Edward had changed Bella, the truce would have been canceled and the werewolves would have had to attack Bella.
When Alice (Ashley Greene) misinterprets a vision of the future and thinks that Bella is dead, Edward leaves wherever it is he’s living and goes to Italy to ask the ruling vampire council to destroy him. Even though Jacob’s in love with her, Bella goes to Italy to try to save Edward’s life.
I remember really liking New Moon when I saw it because I was in a long-distance relationship and I could relate to what Bella was going through. When we rewatched it, I had forgotten how long the movie was and how little actually happens until Bella goes to Italy, which doesn’t even happen until the movie’s nearly over. The other thing I forgot about this one was that they really overdid the vampire makeup on Robert Pattinson at the start of the movie. He was so pale and wearing so much lipstick that everyone should have been able to figure out that he was a vampire just by looking at him.
When this movie came out, everyone was either Team Jacob or Team Edward. I was Team Edward because, again, I was in a long-distance relationship. But rewatching it, I realized that I should have been Team Jacob because he really was nicer to Bella and he wasn’t constantly sulking about everything like Edward. Jacob came with a lot less baggage and he was part of that tribe where you’re apparently not allowed to wear a shirt. No one in the tribe wore a shirt and they all looked like models. They probably all were models. This movie knew what we wanted to see.
I still enjoyed rewatching the movie. The men were all sexy and brooding. Anna Kendrick was funny. Dakota Fanning had red eyes and sent psychic pain waves. Bella said, “Change me,” and Edward looked tortured. It wasn’t as good as I remembered and it probably could have been cut down to 30 minutes without really losing much of the plot but it’s Twilight. If you know, you know.
I love Jimmy Stewart. He’s one of my favorite actors. If Charles Bronson had never existed, there’s a chance he could be my all-time favorite. I watch IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE (and cry) every holiday season, and I believe his series of westerns with Anthony Mann in the 1950s are some of the best ever made. And then there’s his work with Alfred Hitchcock. REAR WINDOW and VERTIGO are movies I discovered as a young and impressionable movie lover. They helped cement Stewart, and Hitchcock, as legends in my mind. In 1958, the same year that he made VERTIGO, Stewart starred in BELL, BOOK AND CANDLE with his VERTIGO co-star Kim Novak. I’ve owned the movie on DVD for years, but I’ve never sat down and watched it before. That changed today!
In this supernatural, romantic comedy, Stewart stars as Shep Henderson, an engaged publisher in New York City who finds himself falling for his beautiful neighbor, Gillian Holroyd (Kim Novak). The problem is that Gillian just happens to be a witch, and she has a bad past with Shep’s fiancé, Merle (Janice Rule). What starts as a ruse to get back at an old rival eventually turns into true love and Gillian doesn’t know how to handle these new feelings. Is she willing to confess what she’s done and give up her powers for a chance at love? I guess you’ll just have to watch and see!
Stewart makes almost anything enjoyable just by being himself. That amazing voice, combined with his natural humor and charm, gives me something I can latch ahold of, and I always pull for his characters. Kim Novak is just so beautiful, and downright sexy, as Gillian. This character has spent her life operating by one set of rules and all of a sudden, she’s trying to figure out how to deal with feelings she hasn’t dealt with before. Her ability to cast spells and work magic takes on a different meaning when the hearts of people she loves are at stake, and Gillian soon has a crisis of conscience. Stewart and Novak have incredible chemistry, which goes a long way in helping this complicated romance work.
And then there’s the movie’s setting. I came in October for a romantic story involving witches and warlocks, but I ended up with characters falling in love in New York City at Christmastime. I could see this as a movie I watch every year over the holidays moving forward, especially since Stewart is the star. I know my mom will love it!!
The film also features an incredible supporting cast that includes Jack Lemmon, Ernie Kovacs, Hermione Gingold, Howard McNear and Elsa Lanchester, who’s especially effective as Gillian’s Aunt Queenie. If you leave the movie feeling like you want to go back and watch the old show BEWITCHED, starring Elizabeth Montgomery, I’ll just let you know that makes perfect sense. This movie was actually an acknowledged inspiration for that classic series.
BELL, BOOK AND CANDLE may feature a witch as a main character, but this story doesn’t feature any scares. It’s a fun romance with a charming premise and a great cast. Even a witch has a chance for love, and when that chance is with someone played by Jimmy Stewart, that’s about as magical as it gets!
“Ignore It” hit home. For the uninitiated, it was a story about alcoholism, abuse, and the pathological need to ignore it. I know this because I lived it. I can spot an alcoholic miles away. I was so afraid of my father, who was a car guy, that even today, when I smell motor oil or a garage, an icy chill shoots down my spine. He was the beat the snot out of his son type and I ended up being the party guy or isolation varietal.
I watched the film and then confirmed it with the short story “You’re going to notice a woman in your home, you must ignore her” by Jeff Speziale that the story was about a different alcoholic than my dad. In this story, the alcoholic abuser was the mother. An alcoholic mom hits harder because she’s supposed to protect you from everyone. Women are the foundation of a civilized society and family that’s why when men are dying on the battlefield, they cry for their mothers. We see this evidenced in psychology because female psychopaths are underdiagnosed; it is too hard even for a mental health professional to admit that a woman could be an evil pathological liar. We could always accept evil men, but evil women were portrayed as lacking agency- they were possessed or a succubus. In other words, it either was not their fault or they weren’t really human in the first place. Denial, the absolute rejection of an obvious fact, rules the day. Alcoholism lives in denial because it the perfect form of secrecy.
In this short, the father explains to the son that the monster is back and it has to be ignored; so, I read this as mom is on a bender again -the monster is back. During dinner, the father tries to maintain order, but the mother finally gets up and goes to the kitchen because it is the favorite place of the hidden stash. There is also a moment where there is a monster hand on the daughter’s shoulder; it is not a claw. It is a caress, but still terrifying because a drunk mom is unpredictable like dynamite. When the daughter sees the monster and she lets a tear out; it is shame falling down her face, causing an immediate and violent reaction from the monster.
The narrator in the short story tells the reader to share the infection. The narrator’s request has two interpretations: a positive one and a real one. The positive one is that we need to out the disease and take power from it to stop it. The real one is that the pain is too great for him to experience alone; so, if you share it, you lessen his own burden.
Mike Mignola’s Hellboy: Almost Colossus gets its best mileage out of a simple question: what makes someone a monster once you look past the body they were born—or built—into? This two-issue miniseries takes the unfinished business of Hellboy: Wake the Devil and turns it into a compact Gothic adventure with a surprisingly tender center. There are disturbed graves, shadowy ruins, unnatural bodies, and a villain whose ambitions are considerably bigger than his conscience. But underneath that familiar horror setup is a story about two artificial beings who respond to their existence in very different ways. One wants to make the world suffer. The other barely knows how to face it.
The immediate problem is Liz Sherman’s deteriorating condition. During Hellboy: Wake the Devil, her fire brought an ancient homunculus to life, but the transfer left her without the powers that had sustained her. Now Hellboy and Kate Corrigan need to find the creature and discover whether that process can be reversed. It is a clean, urgent premise that gives the story direction without requiring another elaborate explanation of Hellboy’s destiny. The stakes are personal rather than cosmic. Liz is dying, and Hellboy is not about to stand around waiting for someone else to fix it.
That smaller scale is one of the comic’s biggest strengths. Hellboy: Wake the Devil has the pleasure of watching several supernatural threats overlap, but Hellboy: Almost Colossus benefits from having less to juggle. Mignola takes an incident that could have remained a disturbing subplot and follows its consequences. Liz’s awakening of the homunculus was not just another strange encounter in a haunted castle. It created a life while endangering another, and the people involved now have to deal with that imbalance. The supernatural events feel consequential because they leave emotional damage behind.
The homunculus, Roger, is the heart of the story. His physical appearance initially places him within the familiar territory of the lumbering artificial monster, but Mignola quickly complicates that impression. Roger is not thrilled to be alive. He is frightened, confused, and overwhelmed by guilt over the suffering connected to his awakening. His desire for death gives the story an unsettling sadness. Life has arrived before understanding, and he has no idea what to do with either. Rather than making him immediately lovable, Mignola allows his distress to remain awkward and uncomfortable, which makes his eventual choices more affecting.
Roger’s older brother provides the nasty counterpoint. Another homunculus created through alchemy, he has responded to his origins with resentment and grandiosity. His solution to feeling wronged is to build himself into something powerful enough to dominate everyone else. Other bodies become material for his ambitions, and other lives become expendable. He is grotesque not simply because of what he is, but because of how casually he reduces people to things. The contrast with Roger is sharp: one brother is horrified by the possibility of causing harm, while the other treats harm as a necessary step toward greatness.
That distinction gives the comic its moral backbone. Mignola does not suggest that unnatural creation automatically produces evil, nor does he make suffering an excuse for cruelty. Both brothers have reasons to feel alienated, but they still make different decisions. Roger’s brother converts his grievances into a claim of superiority. Roger must learn that guilt does not have to end in surrender or self-destruction. It can become responsibility. That is a substantial idea for such a short adventure, and the story makes it tangible through the brothers’ behavior rather than stopping to explain its own message.
The Frankenstein influence is easy to recognize, particularly in the loneliness and resentment surrounding manufactured life. What makes this more than a familiar variation is how naturally those concerns fit Hellboy himself. His appearance suggests danger, and his origins carry implications he refuses to accept as instructions. Roger’s predicament echoes that larger conflict without turning the miniseries into another extended discussion of prophecy. Hellboy becomes an example of the difference between what someone looks like and what someone chooses to do. He is not delivering inspirational speeches, either. He is simply trying to save a friend.
His blunt attitude helps keep the material from becoming too mournful. Hellboy can move through an ancient horror as though it is an especially irritating assignment, and that practical impatience gives the comic some welcome personality. The humor does not erase the danger; it makes his concern feel less theatrical. Kate also helps ground the investigation. Her presence supplies a human perspective beside Hellboy’s familiarity with the bizarre, and her vulnerability gives the confrontation immediate stakes beyond the brothers’ argument. Their partnership makes the supernatural setting feel inhabited rather than merely arranged for atmosphere.
Visually, Mignola makes the ruins and artificial bodies feel like parts of the same uneasy world. His heavy blacks and simplified forms give stonework a looming presence, while the homunculi look assembled, weighty, and uncomfortable in their own shapes. The pages do not need elaborate detail to suggest history. A dark opening or a fragment of architecture can imply whole rooms of forgotten experiments. James Sinclair’s coloring supports that starkness, allowing the drawing’s silhouettes and shadows to carry the mood. The result feels closer to a grim illustrated folktale than a glossy superhero adventure.
The two-issue format does leave some limitations. Liz functions mainly as the reason for the mission, and the older brother’s ambitions could have supported more development. Reading Hellboy: Wake the Devil first also gives the opening greater emotional weight. Still, the brevity keeps the story from diluting its strongest material. The climax matters because Roger has to decide what kind of being he will become, not simply because something enormous needs to be punched. Hellboy: Almost Colossus delivers the Gothic spectacle, but its real achievement is making compassion feel like an active choice. The most human figure in the story may be the one who has the least idea how to be human.
If I had to choose two words to describe Mike Flanagan’s “reimagining” of Carrie, they would probably be “fan fiction.”
In fact, it’s sometimes humorous just how obviously this miniseries is a work of fan fiction. Carrie White (blandly played by Summer Howell) may be a bullied and sheltered girl with telekinetic powers, but now she has a best friend, Emaline (an equally bland Thalia Dudek, who looks less like a 2026 teenager and more like the bassist in a 1990s riot grrrl band), who also has a power and always has the best advice and the snarkiest comebacks! What would Carrie do without her best friend Emaline? And while Margaret White (Samantha Sloyan) is still present as an overprotective and paranoid force in Carrie’s life, there’s now another maternal figure named Adelaide (Kate Siegel) who exists to talk about how those with secret powers are always being held down by a society that’s just not capable of accepting how important they are. Adelaide opens each episode with a monologue that feels like it was written by a 2017 college freshman who has just watched Linda Sarsour on YouTube. Watching the miniseries, one gets the feeling that Flanagan and his writers really wanted to make a show called Emaline and Adelaide and decided to graft them onto Carrie.
Ever since this miniseries was announced, there’s been a lot of talk about how Flanagan has updated the story. In this case, that means there’s an emphasis on phones and social media, as if teenagers couldn’t find a way to hurt each other even before technology caught up with them. In fact, social media is pretty much to blame for everything that happened. The audience is meant to violently roll their eyes at Margaret White for believing in conspiracy theories and religion while, at the same time, accepting a portrayal of the dangers of social media that makes Aaron Sorkin look even-handed and calm. One gets the feeling that if this show had been made just a few years earlier, it would have found a way to blame Margaret White and Chris Hargensen for the January 6th riots. There is a riot in the sixth episode, but it just involves all of the students doing a massive walkout to protest Chris Hargensen’s secret Instagram account. “Death to Hargensen!” the students chant, and it briefly seems like maybe Flanagan is going to make a bigger point about how the bullies can become the bullied, but ultimately, this is too much of a work of fan fiction to delve too deeply into anything that complex. It’s also too much of a work of the streaming era to introduce an idea that can’t be neatly summed up in 15 seconds.
Yes, this is a new version of Carrie. If King’s novel and De Palma’s film gave us a Carrie White who was never happy until that one prom night and who lashed out after that happiness was stolen from her, the Mike Flanagan miniseries gives us a Carrie who becomes the most popular girl in school even before prom night. No longer does Tommy (Joel Oulette) ask Carrie to prom as a favor to his guilt-ridden girlfriend, Sue Snell (Siena Agudong). Instead, he asks Carrie as a friend. Carrie’s no longer sheltered and shy. Instead, she’s somewhat smug and annoying. She sneaks out of the house many times before prom night. She goes to a party. She goes to the junkyard and curses like a sailor while showing off her powers. Her best friend Emaline is impressed. What would Carrie do without her best friend, Emaline? Of course, by changing all of this, Flanagan robs the story of all of its emotional power. This is probably the first version of Carrie where I’ve actually found myself getting annoyed with Carrie as a character. Towards the end of the miniseries, she just becomes so smug and self-righteous, like the girl at school who used to sweetly pull you aside to tell you that your skirt was too short. This is a version of the story that lets Carrie off the hook. Emaline is the one who suggests that she use her powers to get revenge. Adelaide and her dumbass cult are the ones who accidentally set fire to the school. Carrie dances in the street with Emaline and, for a few seconds, you actually find yourself wishing for the calming hand of Ryan Murphy.
Yes, I know that Stephen King has endorsed Mike Flanagan’s changes. That doesn’t mean that I have to. The fact of the matter is that Stephen King has consistently shown that he will endorse just about anything, and it’s also been a while since King has written anything that can match the power of his earlier work. There’s a world of difference between the youngish and struggling writer who originally wrote Carrie and the wealthy boomer who is now probably better known for his angry tweets than his more recent literary output. As well, it’s obvious that King likes Flanagan. Flanagan is the ultimate fan. And yet, considering that Flanagan’s best film, Hush, was also his simplest, one can’t help but feel that Flanagan would do well to stop adapting his heroes and maybe just try to focus on creating unapologetic suspense.
It’s the curse of elevated horror. Right now, the critics who hate entertaining horror love slow-moving elevated horror. They go on and on about the subtext, as if there wasn’t subtext to be found in the horror movies that were made in the past. The truth of the matter is that the subtext is usually the least interesting thing about these films and series. Making a film or a show that is critical of capitalism and religion is hardly the radical act that the critics seem to think it is. There’s nothing particularly interesting or special to be found between the lines when it comes to this version of Carrie. Indeed, for all the time and effort that the series puts into villainizing Margaret White and Chris Hargensen, they’re ultimately the most interesting characters because Samantha Sloyan and Alison Thornton are the only two performers who are allowed to break free from the show’s rigid ideological structure. (Samantha Sloyan especially deserves a lot of credit for finding a hint of reality in her portrayal of Margaret.) Chris and Margaret are compelling because they’re the only characters who don’t just parrot the accepted lines and the accepted thinking. They’re the only characters who seem to have a life and an outlook that was formed by something other than the demands of the show. We’re meant to shake our heads when Margaret becomes an online celebrity with a podcast, but instead, we’re interested and almost happy for her because Margaret is actually doing something unexpected and making an effort to take actual control of her life. It’s hard not to feel that this version of Margaret White deserved a better ending than what the show gave her. In the end, Margaret feels less like a villain and more like a victim of the show’s writers and their own feelings about religion and politics. (One wonders if the writers realize that their show ultimately makes the case that all of the tragedy could have been avoided if the government had simply stayed out of it and just allowed Margaret to continue to homeschool her daughter.) If previous versions of Carrie seemed to be designed to appeal to shy outsiders, this version of Carrie is designed to compliment self-styled victims who don’t have the self-awareness necessary to realize that they are now the bullies.
In the end, Carrie feels like a forgotten Showtime series from 2018 and, if it had been made by anyone other than Mike Flanagan, no one would care.
Watching the original House on Haunted Hill is a bit of a Halloween tradition here at the Shattered Lens.
First released in 1959, The House on Haunted Hill features Vincent Price as a millionaire who invites five people to a party that he and his wife are throwing in a supposedly haunted house. Price explains that anyone who can actually make it through the entire night will receive $10,000. (That’s the equivalent of a $110,000 today.) Is the house truly haunted? The groundskeeper (Elisha Cook, Jr.) certainly seems to think so!
This is a classic haunted house movie, featuring Price at his best and a number of genuinely fun twists. Even if you’ve seen it a hundred times, you need to watch it again. Here is …. THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL!
Inferno (1980, dir by Dario Argento, DP: Romana Albano)
Today’s horror song of the day comes from Keith Emerson’s soundtrack of Dario Argento’s Inferno. Emerson did not have an enviable task, having to follow up Goblin’s soundtrack for Suspiria. But Emerson pulled it off, crafting a score that compliments Goblin’s earlier work while maintaining an identity of its own.
Today’s horror scene that I love comes from 1959’s House on Haunted Hill. As the film opens, Vincent Price takes a moment to speak directly to the audience and introduce the characters who are coming to spend the night at the house. Price, who is one of the patron saints of October, delivers his lines with such relish that it’s impossible not to stick around to see who survives the night.
4 Or More Shots From 4 Or More Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
