Horror Scenes That I Love: Dick Miller In The Howling

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

A true scene stealer, the character actor Dick Miller was a Navy veteran who earned a Phd in psychology, even while he was already appearing on stage. His 1952 move from New York to California was originally so that he could pursue a career as a writer. Instead, he ended up becoming one of the most beloved members of Roger Corman’s stock company. (Famously, in 1952’s Apache Woman, he played both a Native American and the townsperson who shot him.) Many of the directors who started their careers under Roger Corman continued to cast Dick Miller in their own films, keeping Miller busy as a character actor. Miller worked with everyone from Martin Scorsese to Joe Dante to James Cameron to Steven Spielberg to Jim Wynorski. Miller often played characters named Walter Paisley, a reference to his first starring role in Corman’s A Bucket of Blood.

In this scene from 1981’s The Howling, Dick Miller lets two reporters know what’s truly going on with the werewolves.

October True Crime: Karla (dir by Joel Bender)

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

When it comes to true crime cases, few are as disturbing as the story of Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka.

Paul and Karla were a young, married couple who lived in Ontario. They were both attractive. They were both popular. They were both superficially charming, in the style of someone who you might have taken a class with but the only thing you can really remember about them is their smile. And they were both killers. Paul Bernardo, a wannabe rapper who had previously made his money by smuggling cigarettes and who was also a serial rapist, murdered at the least three teenage girls, including Karla’s sister, Tammy. When Paul was arrested, Karla told prosecutors that she had helped Paul with his murders but only because he threatened and abused her. Prosecutors, perhaps moved by a picture that Karla’s friend took of her bruised face after one of Paul’s beatings, made a deal with her for her testimony. In return for testifying against Paul Bernardo, Karla was convicted only of manslaughter and given a 12-year prison sentence. (She was 23 at the time and would only be 35 when released from prison, assuming that she served the full sentence.) However, during the trial, video tapes of the murders were uncovered and showed that Karla had been a far more active participant in the murders than she had originally admitted. That included the murder of her sister, Tammy.

There were calls to rescind Karla’s plea bargain and to try her for murder but since her plea bargain had only required her to provide enough evidence to convict Paul, it was ruled that she had upheld her end of the bargain. While Paul Bernardo is currently serving his life sentence, Karla Homolka is now free and living somewhere in Canada.

Needless to say, the case drew international attention, both due to the circumstances of Karla’s plea bargain and also to Paul and Karla’s image of being the “Ken and Barbie Of Serial Killers.” It’s a case that continue to haunt Canada, an example of how the accused was ultimately treated with more respect than the victims. For her part, Karla continues to claim that it was all Paul and that she was forced into helping. Paul claims that he and Karla were equal partners and that the actual murders were all committed by Karla. Personally, I think they’re both lying.

2006’s Karla stars Laura Prepon as Karla Homolka. The film opens with her already in prison and being interviewed by a psychiatrist (Patrick Bauchau) who has been assigned to determine if there’s a risk of her reoffending. As Karla tells her story, we see flashbacks of Karla’s life with Paul (Misha Collins). Prepon and Collins are both chillingly believable as the soulless Paul and Karla. Laura Prepon plays Karla as being a narcissistic sociopath who is incapable of understand that she’s not the victim in this story. I imagine that Prepon’s performance probably captures the essence of the real Karla, even if Prepon doesn’t really look like her.

That said, the film itself is largely a surface level exploration of the case. The film’s script attempts to maintain some ambiguity as to whether or not Karla Homolka was a voluntarily participant in the murders or if she actually was just too scared of Bernardo to stop him. Prepon plays her as being a sociopath but the script still tries to play both sides of the debate and, as a result, the film falls flat. The film may be called Karla but it doesn’t really get into her head and, as a result, it has all the depth of an Investigative Discovery special. In the end, the film feels like it’s trying to exploit the notoriety around a famous case without taking a firm position on the case’s biggest controversy. When it comes to the crimes of Karla Homolka, that’s not an option.

Horror Song of the Day: Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

by Erin Nicole

Today’s song of the day is one that was used so memorably in An American Werewolf In London. From Creedence Clearwater Revival, here is Bad Moon Rising.

Bad Moon Rising

I see a bad moon rising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightning.
I see bad times today.

Don’t go around tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

I hear hurricanes a-blowin’.
I know the end is comin’ soon.
I feel rivers overflowin’.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin.

Don’t go around tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.
Alright!

Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we’re in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.

Well, don’t go round tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

Don’t come around tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

Under the Moon’s Shadow: The Many Faces of the Modern Werewolf in Cinema

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Arleigh

“Beneath the full moon’s gaze, the werewolf’s howl reminds us that the monster we fear most lives within.”

Werewolves have been haunting movies for almost a century, capturing our deepest fears and hidden desires. But today’s werewolf films go beyond the classic horror formula, offering fresh takes that reflect different genres, tones, and cultural vibes. From the intense, action-packed Dog Soldiers to the emotionally charged coming-of-age story in Ginger Snaps, modern werewolf stories keep evolving. This piece explores five standout films—Dog Soldiers (2002), Ginger Snaps (2000), Wolfen (1981), The Howling (1981), and An American Werewolf in London (1981)—to see how they each put their unique spin on the age-old monster myth.

The Werewolf as Warrior: Dog Soldiers’ Brutal Siege

Neil Marshall’s Dog Soldiers breaks away from the lonely, tragic werewolf trope and cranks up the action. Set deep in the Scottish Highlands, it throws a squad of British soldiers against a ferocious pack of werewolves. This film turns the myth into a survival war story packed with tension and raw energy, reminiscent of classics like Aliens and Zulu. The werewolves here aren’t lonely victims—they’re terrifying predators, more beast than man, rarely fully shown to keep the suspense sharp. The movie focuses on the squad’s fight to survive and the bonds they share, putting teamwork and instinct front and center.

The werewolves are intentionally faceless threats, less about human drama and more about pure danger. Instead of personal transformation, Dog Soldiers is about external combat, the struggle between man and beast in its rawest form.

Adolescence Unleashed: Ginger Snaps and the Lycanthropic Metaphor

Ginger Snaps takes a totally different route, using werewolf transformation as a metaphor for female puberty and all the confusing emotions that come with growing up. The bridge between monster and metaphor is Ginger’s first period, which triggers her curse and mirrors the changes and fears of adolescence. The movie digs deep into sisterhood, identity crises, and the loss of control, wrapping its horror in psychological drama and dark humor.

Instead of flashy creature effects, Ginger Snaps keeps things subtle, focusing on emotional truth. It’s a personal story about change and fear of becoming “other,” making the monster symbolic of real-life struggles rather than just an external threat.

Urban Shadows: Wolfen’s Mystical Guardians of Decay

Wolfen stands apart for taking the werewolf myth into the world of urban decay and social unrest. Set in New York City’s rundown South Bronx, it follows detectives chasing a mysterious “Wolfen” creature tied to Native American spirituality. These aren’t just monsters—they’re ancient protectors fighting back against the destruction of nature by the city.

This movie trades fast-paced horror for slow-building atmosphere and social commentary. It uses the werewolf myth to reflect on displacement, environmental trauma, and the clash between nature and modern life.

Satire and Savagery: The Howling’s Shifting Tones

Joe Dante’s The Howling mixes body horror, camp, and satire in a way few horror movies do. The film tracks a journalist who stumbles upon a hidden werewolf colony and shifts effortlessly between chilling scares and self-aware humor. The transformation scenes set a new standard with unforgettable effects, and the movie sneaks in sharp critiques of media culture and cult mentality.

The werewolves in The Howling have a raw, animalistic design inspired by medieval art, which adds to the unsettling vibe. The film plays with expectations, flipping between serious horror and playful camp to keep viewers on their toes.

Tragedy and Humor: An American Werewolf in London’s Genre Fusion

An American Werewolf in London changed the game by blending horror, comedy, and tragedy all in one. It tells the bittersweet story of an American backpacker cursed after a werewolf attack in England. The special effects were groundbreaking, making the transformation scenes legendary. But more than the effects, its mix of sharp wit and real sadness gives it an emotional depth rare for horror films.

Unlike the external threats in Dog Soldiers or Wolfen, this film focuses on the inner turmoil of becoming a monster and the tragic human cost. The humor lightens the mood but never undercuts the emotional punch.

Thematic and Stylistic Divergence: A Closer Look

What stands out most when looking at these films is just how differently each approaches the werewolf myth, using it to tap into a wide variety of fears and ideas.

Tone and Mood

The films differ widely in tone. Dog Soldiers is intense and gritty, pulling viewers into a tense battle for survival marked by an unrelenting external threat. In contrast, Ginger Snaps is more reflective and symbolic, presenting the werewolf as a metaphor for adolescent change and identity struggles, especially in the context of female puberty. Its tone is intimate and emotionally charged.

Wolfen adopts a slower, more brooding atmosphere, emphasizing mystery and social critique through ecological and urban decay themes. The Howling fluctuates between genuine body horror and camp satire, challenging viewer expectations with its mix of fear and humor. Finally, An American Werewolf in London balances horror and comedy with a tragic undertone, creating an emotional complexity that few other werewolf films achieve.

Narrative Focus

The stories told by these films further highlight their differences. Dog Soldiers centers on a group dynamic, focusing on survival against a faceless external menace. Ginger Snaps is more inward-looking, exploring personal growth, family bonds, and the emotional upheaval of transformation.

Wolfen zooms out to look at social and environmental issues, making the werewolf a symbol of nature fighting back against urban chaos. Similarly, The Howling blends personal horror with cultural critique, exploring media obsession and cult psychology, all while keeping the story focused on its characters. An American Werewolf in London chooses to dive deep into one man’s tragic journey, showing the emotional impact of becoming a monster.

Cultural Themes

Together, these films show how the werewolf myth can reflect whatever fears or themes society is grappling with. Dog Soldiers taps into worries about survival and overwhelming outside forces; Ginger Snaps gets at the confusion and pain of growing up; Wolfen reflects alienation and environmental concerns; The Howling examines media hype and societal madness; and An American Werewolf in London highlights inner conflict and loss.

This broad range of themes and styles proves the werewolf legend is still incredibly adaptable—still a powerful way for films to engage with human experience in all its complexity.

Other Modern Werewolf Films in Context

Beyond these main works, many other films contribute to the werewolf legacy. The Company of Wolves (1984) explores gender and sexuality through fairy tale visuals. Silver Bullet (1985) adapts Stephen King for a small-town horror tale. Joe Johnston’s The Wolfman (2010) revives gothic horror with modern effects and includes standout makeup work by Rick Baker, delivering a visually rich yet emotionally complex take on the classic. Mike Nichols’ Wolf (1994) uses lycanthropy as a metaphor for aging and desire.

Most recently, Leigh Whannell’s remake of The Wolfman (2024) offers a fresh perspective on the myth, blending psychological horror with visceral transformation sequences. Whannell’s version emphasizes the protagonist’s internal struggle and familial curses within a contemporary setting, melding suspense with a nuanced character study and updated special effects to appeal to modern audiences while honoring the gothic roots.

Adding a lighter touch is The Monster Squad (1987), where a group of kids face off against classic monsters—including a reluctant Wolfman—in a mix of horror, adventure, and youthful courage. Its playful tone offers a nostalgic, fun take on the werewolf legend, proving that these creatures can captivate across genres and generations.

Together, these films highlight how the werewolf myth keeps evolving, adapting to reflect new cultural moments and storytelling styles.

Conclusion: Why the Werewolf Still Howls

The lasting power of werewolves in cinema lies in their extraordinary adaptability. These films show how the werewolf morphs to fit different narratives and cultural concerns: from brutal external threats in Dog Soldiers to metaphors for personal growth in Ginger Snaps; from mystical protectors in Wolfen to symbols of media mania in The Howling; and from tragic heroes in An American Werewolf in London to youthful adventurers in The Monster Squad.

The werewolf is not just a monster of flesh and fur but a cultural shape-shifter—malleable, symbolic, and endlessly fascinating. Its transformations mirror not only physical change but societal anxieties, personal struggles, and the complexities of human nature. This versatility guarantees the werewolf’s howl will echo across cinema for generations to come.

4 Shots From 4 Horror Films: 1950s Part One

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

This October, I’m going to be doing something a little bit different with my contribution to 4 Shots From 4 Films. I’m going to be taking a little chronological tour of the history of horror cinema, moving from decade to decade.

Today, we look at the start of the 1950s.

4 Shots From 4 Horror Films

The Strange Door (1951, dir by Joseph Pevney)

The Black Castle (1952, dir by Nathan H. Juran)

The Maze (1953, dir by William Cameron Meznies)

House of Wax (1953, dir by Andre De Toth)

Horror Book Review: Off Season (by Jack Ketchum)

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Arleigh

“Man is the cruelest animal.” — Friedrich Nietzsche

Jack Ketchum’s Off Season wasn’t my first venture into extreme horror, but it was an important stop along the way in my continuing exploration of splatterpunk—those raw, confrontational horror stories that don’t flinch from showing you every grisly detail. I’d already spent time in the grand guignol worlds of Edward Lee, Richard Laymon, Poppy Z. Brite, and Brian Keene, and I thought I’d built up a decent resistance to the genre’s more intense offerings. Then I opened Off Season, and within a few chapters, I realized this was going to hit differently. It’s less a fun horror romp and more of an ordeal—one that leaves you feeling like you’ve just crawled out the other side of something vicious, primal, and deeply unsettling.

Ketchum builds his novel around the infamous legend of the Sawney Beane clan—a family of cannibals who, according to folklore, hunted travelers along the Scottish coast in the 15th century. He strips that story out of its historical setting and drops it into the rocky, isolated coast of Maine, replacing the medieval backdrop with an environment that still feels dangerous and untamed. The setup is simple enough: a group of friends from New York rent a secluded cabin, expecting a peaceful getaway, and instead find themselves hunted by a clan that’s every bit as savage as their legendary counterparts. There’s a vibe here that’s partly Romero zombie survival horror, partly John Carpenter claustrophobic menace, but the big difference is that these villains aren’t supernatural—they’re unsettlingly human, real in their hunger and their primal needs. They do what they do because it sustains them, and somehow that makes them worse than any ghost or monster.

While Wes Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes mined similar ground with a more stylized, exploitation-film aesthetic, Ketchum’s take leans hard into plausibility. His cannibal clan feels like a natural, if disturbing, product of generations of isolation and inbreeding, kept alive through hunting, killing, and eating whoever wanders too close. That realism is what makes the violence hit so hard. Ketchum describes their assaults on Carla, her sister Marjie, and their companions with an unapologetically matter-of-fact tone—no flourish, no dramatics. The worst moments aren’t always the attacks themselves, but what he shows inside the clan’s cave home. Kids scamper across jagged stone like feral animals, gnawing meat straight off the bone. Adults pair up in incestuous “unions” meant only to keep the bloodline going. It’s both grotesque and disturbingly believable.

That refusal to hold anything back is part of why Off Season has been linked to splatterpunk, the horror subgenre that gained fame (and infamy) for pushing gore, moral transgression, and human depravity to the forefront. Some critics wrote it off as “horror pornography,” too focused on shock value, but fans saw it differently. In Ketchum’s hands, it’s not about gore for gore’s sake—it’s about stripping away all the comfort zones and exposing something ugly yet honest. When you finish one of these novels, you’re not left thinking “That would never happen.” You’re left thinking “That could happen. Under the wrong circumstances, that would happen.”

One of Ketchum’s storytelling choices is speed. The pacing is fast—there’s just enough time to understand who the characters are before the horror crashes down. That keeps tension high but also means the victims aren’t deeply fleshed out. They’re more representative than personal, standing in for civilization as a whole rather than pulling us into their emotional worlds. You don’t get many chances to connect with them deeply. Instead, you watch them transform from vacationers into survivors, and in some cases, those survivors become something just as savage as the people hunting them.

That shift happens in the second half, when the remaining characters fight back. The counterattack is satisfying in its own crude way, but Ketchum never dresses it up as righteous victory. The brutality of revenge feels just as ugly and unrelenting as the initial assault. By the end, what’s been preserved isn’t humanity—it’s just the body count in favor of the people we started with. The survivors get out, but they’re not unchanged. It’s not the kind of ending that makes you breathe a sigh of relief. More like an exhale that admits, “We made it, but look at what it cost.”

When Off Season first came out in 1980, it caused an immediate stir. Its content was so graphic that some bookstores wouldn’t carry it, and an edited version had to be released to calm the outrage. Years later, Ketchum went back and put out the uncut edition, restoring everything that had been stripped away. Reading that version today is reading the novel as he intended—nothing softened, nothing taken off the table. And in the world of extreme horror, that kind of authenticity is prized. It’s part of what’s given Off Season its staying power; it’s not just a book, it’s a dare.

Underneath all the blood and carnage is a question that sticks with you: If people were cut off from society long enough—if they lost the rules, the moral codes, the comforts—how far would they regress? Ketchum’s cannibals don’t feel like the spawn of evil forces. They feel like us, just pushed far enough in the wrong direction. Their behavior doesn’t come from cruelty for cruelty’s sake. It comes from basic survival drives—hunger, reproduction, and dominance. That’s why they’re such unnerving villains. They’re an evolutionary throwback you can imagine existing somewhere out there, beyond the maps, waiting for someone else to wander too close.

Finishing Off Season doesn’t give you that neat sense of closure other horror stories sometimes aim for. It doesn’t even give you release. It leaves you worn down, a little grimy, and maybe even unsettled in ways you didn’t expect. That’s the difference between horror built on supernatural scares and horror built on human brutality. The latter lingers; it’s harder to shake because you can’t make it go away just by telling yourself, “It’s only fiction.” With Ketchum, you’re never entirely sure.

As far as splatterpunk milestones go, Off Season earns its reputation. It’s both a challenge and a gut-punch—the sort of book that reminds you horror can still be dangerous. It’s not for every reader—if you’re expecting subtle ghost stories or stylish monster tales, you won’t find them here. What you’ll find instead is a grim, fast-paced nightmare about people who’ve let go of everything we’d call human and replaced it with something primal, something real in their hunger and their primal needs. And in the end, that may be the most disturbing thing about them—they’re not from another world. They’re from ours.

Watch Your Back (AI Short Film), Review by Case Wright

Posted on October 12, 2025 by casewright

What film would Alex Magana make if he were a robot? This is a question that no one wanted answered, but Elevate Studios said, TOUGH, you are gettin it! And get it we did!

Many worry that AI will take over the world and our jobs; well, I’m here to tell you that you are 50% correct! AI will likely take your job, but not the world because it’ll just be too busy making boring/terrible short films.
Hey Robots, look I get that you feel like you got a full head of steam here, but why make terrible movies? We have people for that and those are jobs that are too good for you.
This short is about a priest called into perform and exorcism and he proceeds to punch the possessed woman and the demon leaves her. Yes, that was the whole film. I feel less now that I have seen this.

I put together a short myself using AI to show what it will be like when AI displaces humans:

Will the Robot unalive us all? I don’t know, but they will sure try to bore us to death!

Horror On The Lens: Teenage Caveman (dir by Roger Corman)

Posted on October 12, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Future serious actor Robert Vaughn made his film debut in 1958’s Teenage Caveman. Directed by Roger Corman, Teenage Caveman tells the story of a rebellious young man (that’s Robert Vaughn) who chooses to defy his father’s warnings and venture beyond the caves and into “the forbidden zone.” He’s told that monsters roam in the forbidden zone and indeed, at least one of them does. However, neither the Teenage Caveman nor his father are prepared for what lies at the heart of the forbidden zone.

(What will he find out there, Dr. Zaius?)

Robert Vaughn later said that, out of all the bad films that he made, this was the worst. Personally, I think he was being a bit too hard on the film. It’s not good but it is definitely fun. Along with watching all of the dinosaur stock footage, you get to wonder how a caveman — especially a teenage caveman! — could possibly have such perfect hair. Even more importantly, if you stick with it, this film has a twist ending that has to be seen to be believed.

Here is Teenage Caveman: