The TSL’s Daily Horror Grindhouse: Return of the Evil Dead (dir by Amando de Ossorio)

Posted on October 5, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

First off, the 1973 Spanish horror film, The Return of the Evil Dead, is in no way connected to Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead films. Bruce Campbell never shows up in The Return of the Evil Dead and that’s unfortunate because the villagers who are menaced in this film probably could have used some help from Ashley James Williams.

Instead, The Return of the Evil Dead is a film that, over the years, has been known by many names: Attack of the Blind Dead, Return of the Blind Dead, Mark of the Devil 5: Return of the Blind Dead, and Night of Blind Terror. It’s usually referred to as being a sequel to Tombs of the Blind Dead but that’s not quite true. Instead, it’s more of a reimagining.

The film opens, as do almost all of the entries in this franchise, with a retelling of the origin of the Blind Dead. In Tombs of the Blind Dead, the Knights Templar were accused of heresy and hung, just to then have a bunch birds peck out their eyes. In Return of the Evil Dead, the Templars are once again pillaging Europe, sacrificing virgins, and practicing witchcraft. However, this time, they are captured by a group of Portuguese peasants. After being bound in the village square, the Templar leader announces that someday, he and his compatriots will return from the dead and seek vengeance on the village. The villagers respond by using a torch to burn out his eyes.

Jump forward 500 years. The village is preparing to celebrate the anniversary of what they call “the Burning.” We watch as they prepare for the festival and joke about the legend that the Templars will rise from their graves and spend the night seeking revenge. Murdo (José Canalejas), who is known as being the town pervert, watches the preparations and is suddenly attacked by a group of rock-throwing children. When Murdo falls to the ground, the children start to kick him. When Monica (Loreta Tovar) steps in and runs off the children, her boyfriend asks her why she’s wasting her time defending Murdo. Murdo, meanwhile, scurries off.

Meanwhile, the town’s mayor (Fernando Sancho) meets with Jack Marlowe (Tony Kendall). Jack has been hired to supervise the festival’s firework show and the mayor promptly tries to cheat him out of his payment. Jack discovers that the Mayor’s fiancée is his ex-girlfriend, Vivian (Esperenza Roy). Meanwhile, the mayor’s henchmen stand in the background and grimly watch.

In short, it appears that the village is cursed even before the inevitable return of the Blind Dead. And, in these scenes, it’s important to remember that, for the first half of the 1970s, Spain was still ruled by a dictator named Francisco Franco. It’s not difficult to see the village and its villagers as a metaphor for the Franco regime. Director Amando de Ossorio admitted as much when, in an interview before his death, he described Return of the Evil Dead as being the most political of all the Blind Dead films.

Naturally, the Templars do eventually return. Tired and bitter after years of being persecuted by the other villagers, Murdo sacrifices a young townswoman. As her blood pours over the graves of the Templars, the ground starts to shake and the Blind Dead come back to life and, once again, lay siege on the town.

The Blind Dead are still moving in slow motion and are just as decayed and deadly here as they were in Tombs of the Blind Dead. Interestingly enough, the scene where they ominously knock on the door of an isolated house was later recreated in John Carpenter’s The Fog. In fact, the entire film has quite a lot in common with The Fog, right down to the final siege on the church.

So, which is better? Tombs of the Blind Dead or Return of the Evil Dead? To a certain extent, it depends on what you’re looking for. Return of the Evil Dead is faster paced than Tombs of the Blind Dead and Jack and Vivian are far more likable than the leads from Tombs. As previously mentioned, Return has a stronger political subtext than Tombs. However, speaking for myself, I prefer the more atmospheric and fatalistic Tombs.

But ultimately, both Tombs of the Blind Dead and Return of the Evil Dead are superior horror films, perfect for Halloween viewing.

Horror Film Review: Frankenstein (dir by James Whale)

Posted on October 5, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Pity poor Frankenstein.

No, not Victor von Frankenstein, though he certainly suffered greatly for playing God. How much he suffered depends on which version of the story you see or read. If you’ve read the book, you know that Victor lost his family, his love, his mentor, his best friend, and eventually his own life. Victor is usually a bit more resilient in the films. For instance, if you go by what we’ve seen in the Hammer films, Baron Frankenstein was pretty much indestructible. The only thing he lost was his sanity, sacrificed as he continually insisted on making the same mistake over and over again.

And when I say “Pity poor Frankenstein,” I’m not referring to the monster either, though he certainly deserves some sympathy as well. The monster never asked to be brought to life. He may have destroyed castles and killed people and tossed little girls into a lake but Frankenstein’s Monster rarely seemed to mean any harm. He was just scared, confused, and often abused.

Instead, when I say pity poor Frankenstein, I’m referring to the 1931 film. It’s a classic horror film, one that, after 85 years, still holds up remarkably well. It’s probably the best directed of all the Universal horror films, with James Whale bringing his own dark wit and idiosyncratic style to the film. As was often the case with films of the era, some of the performances are better than others but no one can find fault with Boris Karloff’s definitive portrayal of Frankenstein’s monster.

And yet, for a lot of filmgoers, Frankenstein will always just be that movie where Colin Clive rants, “It’s alive! IT’S ALIVE!” That scene is justifiably famous but it always bothers me when it shows up as an isolated clip, devoid of context. I’ve seen it used in documentaries. I’ve seen it used on snarky news programs where it’s almost always used to poke fun at someone. I’ve even seen it used in a car commercial.

You’ve seen it too. It’s one of those scenes that everyone has seen, regardless of whether or not they’ve sat through the entire movie:

When you watch this scene without any context, it’s easy to smirk. You might assume that the entire film is Colin Clive ranting and Dwight Frye snorting. It’s only after you’ve seen the entire film that you appreciate Clive’s performance. Throughout the entire first part of the film, Colin Clive plays Henry Frankenstein as being unstable but also rather withdrawn. He’s almost vampiric, hiding inside of his laboratory all day and only coming out at night to rob graves with the hunchbacked Fritz (Dwight Frye). He’s almost a recluse, which is why his fiancée, Elizabeth (Mae Clarke) asks his best friend, Victor (John Boles), and his mentor, Dr. Waldman (Edward Van Sloan, who also played Van Helsing in Dracula) to check in on him.

When the monster does move its hand and Clive shouts, “It’s alive!,” it’s the first sign of true emotion that Frankenstein has shown through the entire film. He’s spent a lifetime dreaming of playing God and, now that he has, it overwhelms his mind. Much like poor Ralph Norton in The Mummy, Clive sees something that defies all reason and he has a breakdown.

I have to admit that, for me, the first third of the film drags. That may not have been as much of a problem in 1931, when audiences were seeing the story for the first time and didn’t already know what was going to happen. In 1931, the slow start undoubtedly helped to build up suspense. But, when seen today, there is a temptation to say, “Get on with it!”

(Of course, I tend to say that with all Frankenstein movies, because I’m impatient and there always seems to be an endless number of scenes people digging graves and stealing brains until we finally get to the good part. If anything, the 1931 Frankenstein doesn’t take as long to get going as some of the later Hammer films, many of which treated the monster as almost an afterthought.)

Fortunately, Frankenstein does get on with it. When the monster finally comes to life and Colin Clive has his moment of divine madness (“This is what it feels like to be God!”), the film shifts in tone. If anything it becomes a bit of a dark comedy. Henry (who is noticeably more subdued after his outburst, a bit like a drug addict who is only now starting to come down after being awake for a week) and his friends now have to not only hide the monster but try to figure out how to deal with it. Every few minutes, it seems like another villager or Frankenstein relative is dropping by the castle. Having created life, Henry now has no idea what to do with it. Being God isn’t as easy as it looks. Having created life, all Henry can now do is keep the doors locked and attempt to go back to living a relatively normal life. In this case, that means preparing for his wedding.

It’s not until the sadistic Fritz torments the frightened monster with a torch that this horror classic truly becomes a horror film. And it’s significant that the true monster here is not Frankenstein’s Monster but instead Fritz. When the monster kills Fritz, he does it out of self-defense. When he strangles Dr. Waldman, it’s because Waldman was about to cut into him with scapel.

And then there’s the little girl. How this scene must have shocked audiences in 1931! It’s still shocking today, because we’re not used to children dying in movies, not even horror movies. Of course, the monster doesn’t mean to hurt the girl. The girl is the first person to show the monster any sort of kindness. It’s just that the monster doesn’t understand that the girl won’t float like the flowers.

The sequence where the girl’s father carries her body into the town square is perhaps one of the most devastating ever filmed. Not only does the father’s grief contrast with the happiness of the villagers but it also contrasts with the attitude of Henry and Elizabeth who are busy preparing from their wedding, ignorant of what Henry’s creation has done.

Or, at least, they are until the monster confronts Elizabeth in her bedroom.

I love that dress.

It all ends, of course, with a confrontation between Henry and his monster and a windmill being set aflame. There’s also a happy coda that, in the best tradition of horror, feels a bit tacked on. Fortunately, those of us who know our film history know that the story didn’t end with this film. It continued with The Bride of Frankenstein, which I’ll be reviewing tomorrow.

As for Frankenstein, it’s a classic and it’s pretty much required viewing for any film lover. Boris Karloff’s performance as the confused and often child-like monster is both poignant and menacing. Watching the film, you just wish that the world had been nicer to him.

(Then again, that approach didn’t exactly work out well for the little girl with the flowers…)

Frankenstein is so much more than just Colin Clive shouting, “It’s alive!” If you haven’t actually sat down watched the entire movie from beginning to end, you owe it to yourself to do so today.

Horror On The Lens: Mark of the Witch (dir by Tom Moore)

Posted on October 5, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Today’s horror on the lens is Mark of the Witch, a little oddity that was filmed in 1969 and released in 1970. It’s a film about what happens when the spirit of an executed witch possesses a college student.

This is an admittedly low-budget and, some would say, amateurish production but certain scenes have a nice dream-like feel and, in the role of the witch, Marie Santell doesn’t leave a bit of scenery unchewed. I especially enjoy her speech at the start of the film.

Plus, Mark of the Witch was filmed in my hometown of Dallas, Texas!

Enjoy!

Horror On TV: Tales From The Crypt 2.6 “The Thing From The Grave”

Posted on October 4, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Welcome to tonight’s excursion into televised horror!

These old episodes of Tales From The Crypt are pretty fun, aren’t they? Originally, I was planning on only showing Tales From The Crypt on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday but I’ve been enjoying the show so much that I’ve decided to add a Tuesday showing as well.

Tonight’s episode is called The Thing From The Grave and it originally aired on May 8th, 1990. It stars Teri Hatcher as a model who falls in love with a photographer played by Kyle Secor (yes, the same Kyle Secor who went so brilliant over the top in The Purge: Election Year). Hatcher’s boyfriend, an abusive asshole played by Miguel Ferrer, gets revenge but, since this is Tales From The Crypt, things don’t go quite the way that Ferrer intended. Nothing can kill love, which is something that I’ve always believed!

This episode was directed by Fred Dekker, who also directed a brilliant film called Night of the Creeps, which I really should review someday.

Enjoy!

The TSL’s Daily Horror Grindhouse: Tombs of the Blind Dead (dir by Amando de Ossorio)

Posted on October 4, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

(After you read my review, be sure to check out Arleigh’s thoughts on this film!)

If you really want to see something scary this Halloween season, I suggest tracking down Tombs of the Blind Dead, a Spanish film from 1971.

Who are the Blind Dead? Well, the obvious answer is that they’re a group of dedicated horsemen who have not allowed being both dead and blind to keep them from accomplishing their goals. Of course, since all of their goals are evil, that’s not necessarily a good thing. When they were alive, the Blind Dead were 14th century knights. (The usual assumption is that they were Knights Templar, even though this is never specifically stated.) Accused of witchcraft and heresy, the knights were executed and, as their corpses hung from the gallows, bird pecked out their eyes. The bodies were eventually buried in an isolated Spanish monastery.

The future members of the Blind Dead

Jump forward six centuries. The year is 1970 and Spain is still under the repressive grip of the feared dictator, General Francisco Franco. (This is important because some critics have suggested that the Blind Dead were meant serve as a metaphor for Franco’s regime.) The monastery sits deserted, an otherwise menacing ruin on the beautiful Spanish countryside. There’s a train that regularly runs by the monastery but the train’s conductor is always quick to tell his son to never stop the train. The monastery, he explains, is a cursed place and no one should go near it.

Unfortunately, someone does go near it. A passenger on the train, Virginia (María Elena Arpón) is annoyed that her boyfriend, Roger (Cesar Burner) has been flirting with Virginia’s former schoolmate and lover, Betty (Lone Fleming). So, naturally, Virginia hops off the train and decides to take a cheerful stroll across the Spanish countryside. With night falling, she decides to camp out in the ruins of the old monastery.

Now, if you guessed that this leads to a bunch of decaying blind knights coming out of nowhere and chasing her down, you’re absolutely right. That’s exactly what happens. And, when Betty and Roger come to the monastery to investigate what happened to their friend, the Blind Dead are waiting for them.

The Blind Dead are also waiting for that train, which leads the film to its bloody conclusion…

Now, you may have noticed that I was very careful not to describe the Blind Dead as being zombies. That’s because the film’s director, Amando de Ossorio, frequently stated that the Blind Dead were not meant to be zombies. He stated that, if anything, the Blind Dead were mummies with vampiric tendencies. He also pointed out that, unlike zombies, the Blind Dead are not mindless. Instead, they are calculating, deliberately cruel, and, unlike the living, they work together. Because of this, they’re even more dangerous and frightening than your typical zombie.

So, what distinguishes The Tomb of the Blind Dead from every other mummy/vampire/zombie/living dead film? It’s certainly not the film’s plot. This is one of those films were characters frequently do the stupidest thing they can at the worst possible time. Instead, it’s the fact that the Blind Dead themselves are pure nightmare fuel. Some of it is the brilliant makeup. The Blind Dead truly do look like they’ve spent the last 600 years decaying. Some of it is the fact that the Blind Dead are shockingly cruel and merciless, even by the standards of a European horror film. When they finally do get on that train, no one — not even the cute little girl who sobs as her mother is killed in front of her — is shown a hint of mercy.

But you know what makes the Blind Dead truly frightening? It’s an amazingly simple thing. de Ossorio films them in slow motion. I know that doesn’t sounds like much but, along with the film’s brilliant soundtrack, it really does create a relentless atmosphere of impending doom. When you watch the Blind Dead as they ride their similarly decaying horses across the Spanish countryside, you truly do feel that they’ve come from a different time and place. The Blind Dead are so relentless and determined that, even though they may move slowly, there’s still no way you could ever escape them.

(And, of course, it doesn’t help that the Blind Dead are basically indestructible. You can shoot the walking dead in the head and go on about your day but that’s not going to help out when it comes to the Blind Dead.)

Amazingly, when Tombs of the Blind Dead was first released in the United States, the film’s American distributor added a nonsensical prologue that described the Blind Dead as actually being super intelligent apes and changed the film’s title to Revenge From Planet Ape, all in an attempt to cash in all the popularity of Planet of the Apes.

That PG-rating should clue you in on just how much material was cut out of Tombs of the Blind Dead in order to make Revenge From Planet Ape!

Well, Tombs of the Blind Dead may not actually involve any super intelligent apes but it’s still a shocking and effective horror film and I highly recommend it for your Halloween viewing. Just make sure you see the uncut Spanish version!

The Films of Dario Argento: Deep Red

Posted on October 4, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

I’ve been using this year’s horrorthon as an excuse to watch and review all (well, almost all) of Dario Argento’s films! Today, I take a look at one of Argento’s best — 1975’s Deep Red!

After the successful release of Four Flies on Grey Velvet in 1971, Dario Argento announced his retirement from the giallo genre. His next film was 1973’s The Five Days of Milan, a historical comedy-drama with a political subtext. The Five Days of Milan was a huge box office flop in Italy and, to the best of my knowledge, it was never even released in the United States. To date, it is Argento’s most obscure film and one that is almost impossible to see. In fact, it’s so obscure that, in two of my previous posts, I accidentally called the film The Four Days of Milan and apparently, no one noticed.

Forgotten Argento

After the failure of Five Days, Argento returned to the giallo genre. And while he was undoubtedly stunned by the failure of his previous film, Argento ended up directing one of the greatest Italian films of all time. If The Bird With The Crystal Plumage and Four Flies on Grey Velvet were both great giallo films, Deep Red is a great film period. It is Argento at his over the top best.

Now, before I go any further, I should point out that there are many different versions of Deep Red floating around. For instance, it was released in the United States under the title The Hatchet Murders and with 26 minutes of footage cut from the film. For this review, I watched the original 126-minute Italian version. I’ve always preferred the original to the shorter version that was released in America. Oddly enough, Argento has said that he prefers the shorter version.

Deep Red opens with a blast of music that both announces Argento’s return to the giallo genre and also provides some hints to his future as a filmmaker. Whereas his previous films had all featured an excellent but rather serious score by Ennio Morricone, Deep Red was the first Argento film to be scored by Goblin. There’s a gothic, almost operatic playfulness to Goblin’s work on the film. (If the Phantom of the Opera had ended up working in Hollywood and writing film scores, the end result would have sounded a lot like Goblin.) Goblin’s deafening score works as the perfect sonic companion to Argento’s constantly roving camera and vibrantly colorful images. (The blood spilled in Deep Red is the reddest blood imaginable.)

Deep Red‘s protagonist is Marcus Daly (David Hemmings) and, like so many Argento protagonists, he’s both an artist and a man without a definite home. At one point, he explains that he was born in England, grew up in America, and now lives in Italy. He’s a jazz pianist but he supports himself by giving music lessons. In a scene excised from the American cut, Marcus tells his students that, while classical music should be respected and appreciated, it’s also necessary to be willing to embrace art that some critics would dismiss as being “trashy.” Marcus, of course, is talking about jazz but he could just as easily be Dario Argento, defending his decision to return to the giallo genre.

While Marcus plays piano and tries to help his alcoholic friend, Carlo (Gabriele Lavia), a German psychic named Helga Ulmann (Macha Meril) is giving a lecture when she suddenly announces that someone in the audience is a murderer. Later, Helga is brutally murdered by a gloved, hatchet-wielding attacker.

(Helga’s murder scene is always difficult for me to watch, even if Argento doesn’t — as Kim Newman pointed out in a review written for Monthly Film Bulletin — linger over the carnage in the way that certain other horror directors would have. I have to admit that I also always find it interesting that Helga is played by the same actress who, that same year, would play the evil Lady On The Train in Aldo Lado’s The Night Train Murders. Playing one of the Lady’s victims was Irene Miracle, who later co-starred in Argento’s Inferno.)

The only witness to Helga’s murder? Marcus Daly, of course. He’s standing out in the street, having just talked to Carlos, when he looks up and sees Helga being murdered in her apartment. Marcus runs up to the apartment to help, arriving just too late. And yet, Marcus is convinced that he saw something in the apartment that he can’t quite remember. Deep Red is yet another Argento film that deals with not only the power of memory but the difficulties of perception. Marcus knows that he saw something but what?

Well, I’m not going to spoil it for you! In this case, the mystery and its solution makes a bit more sense than the mysteries in Argento’s first three films. Argento isn’t forced to resort to debunked science, like he did in both Cat o’Nine Tails and Four Flies on Grey Velvet. One reason why Deep Red is so compulsively watchable is because, for perhaps the first time, Argento plays fair with the mystery. After you watch the film the first time, go back and rewatch and you’ll discover that all the clues were there. You just had to know where to look.

That said, the way that Argento tells the story is still far more important than the story itself. Argento’s first three films may have been stylish but Deep Red finds Argento fully unleashed. The camera never stops moving, the visuals are never less than stunning with the screen often bathed in red, and Goblin’s propulsive score ties it all together. This is one of those films from which you can’t look away. It captures you from first scene and continues to hold you through the gory conclusion. Deep Red is an undeniably fun thrill ride and, even today, you can easily see why Argento frequently refers to it as being his personal favorite of his many films. In fact, Argento even owns a store in Rome that is called Profondo Rosso.

But you know why I really love Deep Red?

It’s all because of the relationship between David Hemmings and Daria Nicolodi. Daria Nicolodi plays Gianna Brezzi, a reporter who helps Marcus with his investigation. After three films that featured women as either victims or killers, Gianna is the first truly strong and independent woman to show up in an Argento film. I know that some people have criticized the scenes between Hemmings and Nicolodi, feeling that they drag down the pace of the movie. I could not disagree more. Both Hemmings and Nicolodi give wonderful performances and their likable chemistry feels very real.

Gianna and Marcus arm westle. (Gianna wins. Twice.)

To me, that’s what sets Deep Red apart. You care about Marcus and you care about Gianna. Yes, the mystery is intriguing and the murder set pieces are brilliantly choreographed, and Deep Red is definitely Argento at his best. But for me, the heart and soul of the film will always belong to the characters of Marcus and Gianna and the performers who brought them to life.

Deep Red was the start of Dario Argento and Daria Nicolodi’s long and often contentious relationship. (Dario and Daria’s daughter, Asia Argento, was born around the same time that Deep Red was released and has directed two films, Scarlet Diva and Misunderstood, that deal with her often chaotic childhood.) This relationship would play out over the course of six films and, as much as I love those six films, it’s always a little sad to consider that, when watched in order, the provide a portrait of a doomed and dying romance, one that did not particularly end well. (It is possibly not a coincidence that, with the exception of Deep Red and Tenebrae, Daria Nicolodi suffered some type of terrible death in every film she made with Argento.)

But, regardless of what may or may not have been going on behind the scenes, Deep Red remains a triumph for both its director and its stars.

Horror Film Review: The Mummy (dir by Karl Freund)

Posted on October 4, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Did H.P. Lovecraft enjoy movies? I’d love to think that he did but in all probability, he didn’t. After all, Lovecraft frequently wrote, in both his fiction and his personal correspondence, that he found the modern world to be “decadent.” He was not a fan of technological development, viewing it as being the source of civilization’s decline.

In all probability, Lovecraft did not enjoy the movies. When The Mummy was first released in 1932, it’s probable that Lovecraft did not rush out to a local Providence movie theater and buy a ticket.

And, really, that’s a shame. Of the many horror films released by Universal Pictures in the 1930s, The Mummy was perhaps the most Lovecraftian. The bare bones of the film’s plot could have easily been lifted from one of Lovecraft’s stories: a group of rational and educated men are confronted with an ancient evil that defies all reason. When the title character is brought back to life by a man foolishly reading from the fictional Scroll of Thoth, one is reminded of not only the Necronomicon but also of the dozens of other fictional-but-plausible texts that have appeared in the works of both Lovecraft and his successors. Just the sight of the Mummy coming back to life causes one man to have an immediate nervous breakdown, a fate shared by almost every Lovecraft protagonist who was unfortunate enough to learn about Cthulhu, Azathoth, and the truth concerning man’s insignificant place in the universe.

The story of The Mummy goes something like this: In ancient Egypt, a priest is caught trying to bring his dead lover back to life and, as punishment, he is mummified alive and locked away in a tomb. Centuries later, a group of explorers discover the tomb. The mummy comes back to life and, ten years later, he abducts the woman (played by the very beautiful Zita Johann) whom he believes to be the reincarnation of his former love.

I’ve watched The Mummy a few times and one thing that always surprises me is how little we actually see of the Mummy as a mummy. After he’s accidentally resurrected by Ralph Norton (Bramwell Fletcher), the Mummy steps out of his sarcophagus and stumbles out into the streets of Cairo, leaving a now insane Norton to giggle incoherently about how the mummy just stepped outside for a walk. That is pretty much the last time that we ever see the Mummy wrapped up in bandages. When we next see the Mummy, he’s going by the name Ardath Bey and he bears a distinct resemblance to Boris Karloff.

Karloff gives one of his best performance as the sinister and calculating Bey. Of all the horror films that were released by Universal in the 1930s, The Mummy is perhaps the only one that can still be considered to be, at the very least, disturbing. That’s largely due to the fact that, as played by Karloff, Bey is the epitome of pitiless and relentless evil. I’m always especially shaken by the scene in which Bey uses his magical powers to make a man miles away die of a heart attack. It’s not just the fact that Bey has the power to do something like this. It’s that Bey seems to get so much enjoyment out of it. There’s a sadistic gleam in Karloff’s eyes during these scenes and his expression of grim satisfaction is pure nightmare fuel.

Just compare Bey to the other Universal monsters: The Invisible Man was driven insane by an unforeseen side effect of his formula. Frankenstein’s Monster was destructive because he didn’t know any better. The Wolf Man spent five movies begging people to kill him and put him out of his misery. And while Dracula was certainly evil, he had as many limitations as he had power. He couldn’t go out in daylight. He was easily repelled by both crosses and garlic. He often didn’t do a very good job of hiding his coffin. Ardath Bey, on the other hand, was not only evil but apparently unstoppable as well.

The rest of the cast is pretty much overshadowed by Karloff but fans of the old Universal horror movies will enjoy picking out familiar faces. They’ll recognize David Manners from Dracula. Edward Van Sloan also shows up here, fresh from playing Van Helsing in Dracula and Dr. Waldman in Frankenstein. But ultimately, it is Karloff who dominates the film and that’s the way it should be. There’s a reason why Boris Karloff could get away with only his last name appearing in the credits. He was an icon of both cinema and horror and The Mummy reminds us why.

For a film that was first released 84 years ago, The Mummy holds up surprisingly well. There have been countless movies about homicidal mummies over the years but none have yet to match the original.

4 Shots From Horror History: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Haxan, Nosferatu, The Hands of Orlac

Posted on October 4, 2016 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 take a look at the first half of the 1920s.

4 Shots From 4 Films

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920, dir by Robert Wiene)

Haxan (1922, dir by Benjamin Christensen)

Nosferatu (1922, dir by F.W. Murnau)

The Hands of Orlac (1924, dir by Robert Wiene)

Horror On The Lens: Time Walker (dir by Tom Kennedy)

Posted on October 4, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Today’s horror on the lens is 1982’s Time Walker!

Time Walker tells the story of what happens when a mummy that’s actually an alien awakens on a college campus. As you might guess, mayhem and bad fashion choices ensue. To be honest, Time Walker is not the best horror film ever made. In fact, it’s actually pretty bad. However, it is definitely a time capsule of the era in which it was produced and it has one of those WTF endings that you kind of have to see for yourself.

Enjoy!

Horror On TV: Tales From the Crypt 2.2 “The Switch”

Posted on October 3, 2016 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Tonight’s excursion in televised horror comes the second season of HBO’s Tale From The Crypt. Originally broadcast on April 21st, 1990, The Switch tells the story of an elderly millionaire (William Hickey) who is desperately in love with a younger woman (Kelly Preston). When she tells him that she’s looking for a younger man, he goes to extreme lengths to become that younger man.

The episode was directed by Arnold Schwarzenegger and features good work from both William Hickey and Kelly Preston. And, of course, the whole story ends with a sardonic twist that, once again, reminds the viewers that the universe is just as random and meaningless as Werner Herzog says it is.

Enjoy!