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 finish off the 1960s!
4 Shots From 4 Horror Films
Even The Wind is Scared (1967, dir by Carlos Enrique Taboada)
Witchfinder General (1968, dir by Michael Reeves)
Rosemary’s Baby (1968, dir by Roman Polanski)
The Nude Vampire (1969, dir by Jean Rollin)4
The short is a fun watch. Adult children go home to split inheritance and the middle-child goes bonkers starts killing everyone.
The film is not listed on imdb, but I will provide a link.
The middle child daughter is arguing with her older brother who wants his new wife to get a share of the inheritance. However, this really doesn’t happen because you have to follow the will and unless the brother’s wife were listed to inherit, she’s not getting anything. However, the movie has to happen; so, let’s ignore that.
There is a beginning, middle, and an end. The film has a strong pacific northwest vibe. It is over the top and fun because of it. If you can get past the legal fiction related to the inheritance and I am assuming that you likely don’t care, this short will thoroughly entertain.
“Violence is a language written in blood; it tells the story of those who refuse to be silenced.”
Coralie Fargeat’s 2017 film Revenge is an intense and striking blend of horror and thriller that refreshes the rape-revenge genre with a strong emphasis on female empowerment and resistance. At its core, the film follows Jen, a young woman who is brutally assaulted and left for dead in a desert. Against all odds, she survives and seeks brutal revenge on her attackers. What makes Revenge stand out is its blend of graphic, realistic violence and a striking, highly stylized visual approach, resulting in a film that is both visceral and symbolic.
Revenge sits within a long tradition of rape-revenge films that includes both grindhouse exploitation and serious art films. One of the earliest and most influential films in this tradition is Ingmar Bergman’s The Virgin Spring (1960), a somber and moral exploration of a father’s response to his daughter’s rape and murder in medieval Sweden. Bergman’s film inspired many later works, including Wes Craven’s famously brutal The Last House on the Left (1972), which reinterprets the same story through the lens of exploitation horror. Other notorious examples include I Spit on Your Grave (1978), known for its graphic depiction of sexual violence and violent retaliation. More recent films like Jennifer Kent’s The Nightingale (2018) revisit these narrative themes with psychological and political depth. Fargeat’s Revenge draws on this history, combining symbolic storytelling and thematic depth with the raw brutality and energy of grindhouse exploitation.
The narrative structure of Revenge is familiar: Jen, introduced as the mistress of a wealthy man, is assaulted by his friends. Her lover Richard tries to silence her by pushing her off a cliff, but Jen survives, severely injured and impaled on a tree. Her journey is one of intense physical suffering, but also resurrection and fierce empowerment. The film’s use of bright, vivid colors such as hot pinks and blues shifts the story into a surreal, symbolic space where gender roles are exaggerated and the desert becomes a mythic battleground where Jen fights to reclaim control.
Fargeat depicts Jen’s trauma and physical recovery through graphic and detailed body horror—not simply for shock, but as a visual metaphor for reclaiming agency. For example, Jen’s self-treatment of her impalement wound with a hot beer can brands her skin and symbolizes her rebirth and determination. These elements mark a clear departure from earlier rape-revenge films that sensationalized female suffering, shifting the focus to the survivor’s power and autonomy.
Cinematographer Robrecht Heyvaert’s work enhances this dynamic, contrasting the bright, harsh desert landscape with the cold, sterile luxury of Richard’s home. This contrast symbolizes the clash between raw survival and social control. The violence throughout the film is explicit and often hard to watch, but it is deeply rooted in the reality of trauma rather than fantasy.
Matilda Lutz’s performance as Jen is a key strength of the film. She transforms from a vulnerable, objectified figure into a fierce, focused avenger. The male antagonists are less developed, serving as archetypes of toxic male dominance—entitlement, violence, and cowardice—and their downfall reflects the collapse of that social order.
While Revenge maintains the fast pace and suspense of a thriller, its focus on graphic body horror and trauma places it firmly within the horror genre, aligning with the French Extremity movement known for its intense depictions of suffering and transgression. The source of horror here is not supernatural but very much rooted in the physical and psychological impact of violence.
The film has been praised for its technical skill and its focus on female resistance and empowerment. Instead of exploiting female suffering, it forces audiences to confront violence and trauma in a way that centers strength and rage. This is a clear reimagining of the revenge narrative through a modern lens that highlights resilience.
Revenge stands as both a tribute and a reinvention within its genre. It nods respectfully to the moral complexity of Bergman’s The Virgin Spring, the shock tactics of grindhouse staples like The Last House on the Left and I Spit on Your Grave, and the psychological depth of The Nightingale. Yet it simultaneously reinterprets these influences, making a statement that is both timely and provocative.
Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge is a powerful and contemporary entry into the rape-revenge genre, blending horror and thriller conventions with a focus on survival and agency. The film explores the physical and emotional effects of trauma and the possibility of reclaiming power through violence. Its vivid visuals, symbolism, and intense violence challenge audiences to rethink assumptions about gender, justice, and survival. It is a film that provokes strong reactions while delivering a deeply felt story of empowerment and resilience.
I love the 1959 film, Attack of the Giant Leeches.
The set up is a classic one. In the humid bayous, a sweaty and unappealing store owner (Bruno VeSota) discovers that his much younger wife (the great Yvette Vickers) has been cheating on him. In one scene, he forces his wife and her lover to enter the swamp. It’s terrifying because the swamp is full of …. GIANT LEECHES! I’m a Southern girl. I’ve spent some time in the bayous. Let me tell you, swamps are creepy enough without the addition of giant leeches.
Full of sultry melodrama and bayou atmosphere, Attack of the Giant Leeches is one of the best of the giant monster films of the 50s. It’s amazing was radiation can do!
Artist Unknown
Someone’s about to get a close shave.
You know producer Buck Houghton had high hopes for the opening episode of Season 3 of THE TWILIGHT ZONE when it aired on September 15, 1961. It stars up and coming actors of the time, Charles Bronson and Elizabeth Montgomery, who were all over TV screens in the 50’s and early 60’s, with Bronson emerging as a strong character actor in movies as well. The two would be major stars within a few years, but they weren’t quite there yet.
This episode, titled “Two,” opens with “The Woman” (Elizabeth Montgomery), who is wearing a tattered dark military uniform, wandering into a bombed out, deserted city, and spotting the remains of a restaurant. Tired and hungry, she goes in and digs around until she finds an old can of chicken. As she’s opening the can, “The Man” (Charles Bronson), who’s wearing a tattered, light-colored uniform, walks in on her. Immediately attacking him with a combination of meat cleavers, bottles, pots and pans, The Man tries to hold her off until if becomes clear that he’s going to have to subdue her, which he does with one vicious punch that knocks her out cold. At this point it’s clear that these are the last two remaining survivors of a devastating war, on opposing sides no less, that completely destroyed the world. When The Man wakes The Woman up by dumping a pot of cold water on her face, he gives her back her chicken and tells her that there is no reason to fight anymore, as everyone else is dead. She doesn’t understand what he is saying so he walks off in frustration. The Woman doesn’t trust The Man, but she begrudgingly starts to follow him around to keep an eye on him. Will they kill each other? Will they join forces to survive? Could they even fall in love? Writer-Director Montgomery Pittman answers all of these questions over the course of the episode’s brisk 25 minutes.
The allegorical “Two” was a bold choice to open the popular TV show’s third season with its minimalist production set in a few sections of a single bombed-out town and featuring only two characters who barely even speak, especially Montgomery, who says two words throughout the entire episode. Not that much really happens either, so it’s the type of episode that lives or dies based on the performances of the lead actors, and Bronson and Montgomery both deliver outstanding work. Bronson, a dependable character actor at this point in his career, is especially good as The Man. His square-jawed stoicism unravels enough to reveal a weary vulnerability and desire for a connection with another person, even when they’re supposed to be mortal enemies. It’s ultimately a romantic part and Bronson kills it. For those who mostly know Bronson from his post DEATH WISH action star roles, parts like this are a revelation. Montgomery, still a few years away from beginning her iconic portrayal of Samantha in BEWITCHED, is quite beautiful even when she’s this grimy. Her performance as The Woman is even more challenging as it’s almost completely a physical performance, and she shines as her character transforms over the course of the episode.
Ultimately, “Two” may resolve its setup a little too quickly to be realistic, but I still enjoyed it immensely. The performances are outstanding and its hopeful denouement left me with a smile on my face.
Tonight’s televised horror is The Cloning of Clifford Swimmer. Peter Haskell stars as Clifford Swimmer, an angry jerk who is unhappy with his marriage. He’s come up with a plan, though. He’s going to have himself cloned and then, after leaving his clone with his family, he’ll be free to live his life. However, Swimmer discovers that things never work that simply when it comes to creating a clone. This is a clever story with a great twist at the end.
It originally aired on November 1st, 1974 as a part of ABC’s The Wide World of Mystery. Unfortunately, whoever uploaded this film to YouTube has disabled playback so you’ll have to click on the link to watch it!
That Richard Burton is today best-remembered for his tumultuous marriages to Elizabeth Taylor and for his performances in several less-than-worthy films is unfortunate as Burton was also one of the most highly regarded staged actors of his generation. In fact, late in his life, Burton often expressed regret that he had ever left the stage for films to begin with.
In 1964, Burton played Hamlet on Broadway, in a production that was directed by John Gielgud. (Gielgud also provided the voice of the Ghost.) This is a video-recording of both that production and Burton’s acclaimed performance. Burton brings an intense and almost divine madness to the role. Watching, one can see why Burton would have preferred to have been remembered for this instead of for playing Mark Antony.
Six construction workers (played by Clint Walker, Carl Betz, Neville Brand, James Wainwright, James A. Watson, and Robert Urich) are boated to an isolated island off the coast of Africa. An oil company has assigned them to build an airstrip on the island. On the first day of work, they come across a meteorite buried in the ground. When one of the men tries to pick up the meteorite with the bulldozer, a blue light envelops the bulldozer and, at the same time, fatally injures Robert Urich. Possessed by the meteorite, the bulldozer starts to track the remaining workers down, killing them one-at-a-time. It’s a killdozer!
Based on a short story by Theodore Surgeon and made-for-television, Killdozer asks the question, “Have you ever seen a big, bulky bulldozer attempt to sneak up on someone?” Given that Killdozer is not fast and it’s not very agile, it should be easy to escape it but the construction keep doing dumb things, like getting drunk or trying to hide inside a copper tube instead of just running away. The surviving men wonder how they are going to make it until help eventually arrives. Maybe if you hear Killdozer coming, you should could just step to the side or maybe you could even run behind Killdozer. Instead, the construction workers keep trying to fight it head-on. Every time Killdozer pauses from noisily rolling across the island and sits still because it senses one of the workers might be nearby, I’m reminded that Killdozer is an absolutely ludicrous film but that it’s also wonderfully strange and that it’s also impossible to enjoy it on some level.
The cast is good and, for the most part, so is the straight-forward, waste-no-time direction. The Killdozer deserved an Emmy and maybe its own series but instead, it just had to settle for cult stardom.
When is a Sinbad film not a Sinbad film?
When it’s The Magic Voyage of Sinbad!
Sinbad (Sergei Stolyarov) returns to his land after going on a great quest. He sees that half of the citizens are rich and happy and always dancing. He sees that the other half are poor and never happy. Those of us watching see that the film’s version of Persia looks a lot like Russia. Sinbad announces that he is going to capture the Bird of Happiness and bring it back to his people. He sets sail and is given help by the daughter of Neptune. Sinbad visits many lands and spend some time underwater, where Neptune offers him the hand of his daughters and there’s also an octopus hanging around and watching in the background. Sinbad never finds the Bird of Happiness but it doesn’t matter because he realizes that his people have all the happiness that they need in Persia.
The Magic Voyage 0f Sinbad may seem like a strange Sinbad film and that’s because it was never a Sinbad film in the first place. It was actually a Russian film called Sadko, about a young Russian man who tries to prove himself by finding the Bird of Happiness. In America, Sadko was even released under its original name and plot in 1953. No one paid much attention to it.
Then, in 1962, Roger Corman got his hands on the American distribution rights for the film and he decided to rerelease it. He changed the title to The Magic Voyage of Sinbad and he hired a young film student to write narration for the film and to also “translate” the film’s dialogue so that it could be dubbed into English. The very Russian Sadko instead became a film about Sinbad, the legendary Persian sailor.
The Corman version went on to become the better-known version, largely because it was featured on Mystery Science Theater 3000. Personally, I prefer the Corman version because the badness of the dialogue and the overly solemn narration go a long way toward making up for the fact that this is a 79-minute movie about someone searching for something and failing to find it. After making so many grand promises, Sinbad returns to his home and tells everyone that he actually lied and they don’t need the Bird of Happiness to be happy. The film ends abruptly, probably because the people rose up and tossed Sinbad in the ocean at that point.
As for that film student who wrote the script, Francis Ford Coppola later did alright for himself.
Through the Shattered Lens 