Entertainer Johnny Roman (Ed Winter, best-known as the crazed Colonel Flagg on M*A*S*H) sends an invitation to New York P.I. Mike Hammer (Stacy Keach), asking him to come to Vegas for a job. Hammer refuses. Vegas is not for him. He’s pure New York. So, someone has Hammer abducted and thrown out of an airplane over Vegas. Luckily, they gave Hammer a parachute. Unluckily, for them, Hammer is now in Las Vegas and he’s pissed off.
Johnny, who says he had nothing to do with the kidnapping and just wants Hammer to help him deal with a singer who has been stealing from him, is killed by an explosive device while hosting a telethon. Everyone suspects Hammer. When the singer that Hammer was supposed to investigate also turns up dead, Hammer is again suspected. Hammer has to clear his name while dealing with guest stars ranging from Lynda Carter to Michelle Phillips to Jim Carrey.
Stacy Keach was Mike Hammer for most of the 80s, playing Mickey Spillane’s notorious detective in a television series and in several made-for-TV movies, like this one. Television was an awkward fit for Mike Hammer, or at least Hammer the way he was imagined in the books. Mike Hammer was written to be a killer with his own brand of justice. He was not written to be a nice person. Instead, he was the brutal but intelligent warrior that you hoped would be on your side. The television version of Mike Hammer was considered to be violent for the era but the show still toned down Hammer’s signature brutality. Keach’s Hammer still killed people but he no longer gloated about it. Stacy Keach, with his trademark intensity, was a good pick for Mike Hammer, even if the show’s scripts often let him down.
This movie is hamstrung by the fact that it was made-for-TV. Hammer is not happy about being in Las Vegas but he can’t go off on the city in the same way that he would have in one of Mickey Spillane’s novels. Keach still gives a good and tough performance as Hammer, getting as close to the character as anyone could under the restrictions of 80s network television. The mystery is interesting, though Hammer doesn’t really solve it as much as he just waits until all the other suspects have been killed. The main attraction of this one is the amount of guest stars who show up. Lynda Carter is a great femme fatale and it’s always good to see Michelle Phillips, even in a small role. Jim Carrey, in his pre-In Living Color days, plays an accountant and does okay with a serious role.
Who could play Mike Hammer today? It’s hard to say. There aren’t many believably tough actors around anymore and even those who do seem like they could hold their own in a fight don’t have the gritty world-weariness that the character requires. (Just try to imagine Dwayne Johnson reenacting the end of I, the Jury.) A few years ago, I would have said Frank Grillo. In the 90s, Bruce Willis would have been the perfect Hammer. Today, though, Mike Hammer’s time may finally have passed.
“Say goodbye to classical reality, because our logic collapses on the subatomic level… into ghosts and shadows.”
John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness is a criminally underrated entry in his canon—a blend of philosophical, apocalyptic horror and supernatural mystery that’s as unsettling as it is deliberately strange. Released in 1987, the film often gets eclipsed by Carpenter classics like The Thing and In the Mouth of Madness. Even so, it stands out as a unique organic link between science-driven paranoia and cosmic horror—the sort of film that grows on you as you unravel its layers.
The setup is simple but immediately offbeat: In a derelict Los Angeles church, Father Loomis (Donald Pleasence, always at his nervous best) stumbles on a swirling green cylinder hidden away in the basement. Loneliness and age hang over Loomis as he realizes this is no mere relic but possibly the essence of absolute evil—the literal embodiment of Satan. Sensing he’s in over his head, the priest reaches out to Professor Birack (Victor Wong), a physicist whose rational mindset is quickly tested by the uncanny. Birack arrives with a diverse team of grad students and lab techs, each bringing curiosity, skepticism, and just enough personality to keep things lively.
What starts as an academic investigation quickly goes off the rails. Strange, shared dreams trouble the researchers—fragmented transmissions from the future, warning of disaster in unsettling, VHS-glitch style. Meanwhile, the area outside the church transforms into a kind of urban wasteland: homeless people, gripped by an unseen force, stumble with zombie-like intent, trapping the group inside. Inside, members fall prey to unsettling phenomena, from unexplained possession to increasingly grotesque violence. There’s a sense that the evil in the cylinder isn’t content to simply stay put—and the combination of supernatural implication and scientific uncertainty gives everything a persistent, gnawing tension.
Carpenter directs the film with measured, stifling precision. His color palette—rotting yellows, bruised greens, washed-out sunlight—creates a perpetually uneasy mood. He uses slow tracking shots and carefully composed frames to ratchet up suspense, and the score (co-composed with Alan Howarth) pulses with ominous synths that buzz beneath all the dialogue, making even the film’s quieter moments feel restless and charged with threat. Compared to the gooey spectacle of The Thing, the terror in Prince of Darkness is more metaphysical—less visible monsters, more eroding reality.
Sound and image work together to keep the audience on edge: moments of unsettling silence are punctuated by visual oddities, like swarms of bugs or the warped geometry of the church’s shadows. The group’s scientific attempts to decode the evil—a jumble of quantum theory, apocalyptic Christian lore, and unsettling mathematics—do more to ramp up anxiety than offer answers. Carpenter seems to delight in ambiguity; the revelations never clarify so much as deepen the void, giving shape to a primordial kind of fear.
The film’s most iconic device is its recurring nightmare sequence, where the group—cut off from the world—witnesses a cryptic, shadowy figure emerging from the church, broadcast as a tachyon transmission from the future. It’s classic Carpenter: deeply unsettling, oddly hypnotic, and open to any number of interpretations. The blending of science fiction and theological horror feels fresh and ambitious, and it’s fair to say these sequences alone have ironically kept the film alive in horror culture discussions and remixes.
The cast, featuring Pleasence and Wong, manages the film’s shifts in tone—moving from banter about theoretical physics to genuine terror with surprising ease. The grad students are likable enough for you to root for, especially Lisa Blount and Jameson Parker, who carry the emotional brunt as things collapse. Alice Cooper’s cameo as a silent, menacing street dweller further anchors the film’s reputation for “unexpected creepy” in the best way possible.
While there are flashes of gore—possessions, injuries, even some memorable stabbings—Carpenter resists making violence the centerpiece. The real horror here is psychological: paranoia, loss of agency, and the collapse of foundational beliefs. Where The Thing was about trusting (or not trusting) your friends, Prince of Darkness is about grappling with a world where even faith and science seem powerless and interchangeable in the face of the unknown.
Thematically, this is Carpenter at his most cerebral and bleak. The notion that neither faith nor science can adequately tackle the unfathomable echoes Lovecraft, yet Carpenter grounds it all in urban decay and deadpan dialogue rather than Gothic flourish. The questions get bigger—what good is faith if truth is poisonous, and what does science matter against a force older than logic? Dialogue about quantum uncertainty and theological paradoxes isn’t there to solve anything, but to make everything less secure.
If the film has a flaw, it’s that its pacing feels deliberately patient—some might say slow. Tension accumulates gradually, and you’re invited to sit in the discomfort as the group loses sleep, loses one another, and loses touch with reality. As the stakes escalate, the line between dream and waking life shreds, leading to an ending that’s haunting, ambiguous, and deeply open-ended. There’s no neat wrap-up or cathartic victory—only trauma, unsolved terror, and a lingering sense that evil never really left, just waited.
It’s this refusal to explain or comfort that gives Prince of Darkness its lasting cult appeal. Carpenter puts cosmic pessimism front and center: knowledge itself stands as a kind of curse, and both faith and reason bend beneath the weight of mystery. Rather than offer solutions, the movie warns about the dangers of peeling back reality’s surface—a theme that’s only grown more unsettling in the years since it was made.
Watching Prince of Darkness now, the film may not fit everyone’s idea of a fun Friday-night scarefest. But if you want horror that’s slow, dense, and sticks with you, this is essential viewing. Carpenter delivers a bleak, hypnotic nightmare about what happens when explanations fail—when the universe itself seems ready to swallow us whole. Whether you’re a die-hard genre fan or someone looking for something different, Prince of Darkness is cult horror at its most unshakable—proof that the scariest stories are often those that leave their deepest secrets unexplained.
Entertainer Johnny Roman (Ed Winter, best-known as the crazed Colonel Flagg on M*A*S*H) sends an invitation to New York P.I. Mike Hammer (Stacy Keach), asking him to come to Vegas for a job. Hammer refuses. Vegas is not for him. He’s pure New York. So, someone has Hammer abducted and thrown out of an airplane over Vegas. Luckily, they gave Hammer a parachute. Unluckily, for them, Hammer is now in Las Vegas and he’s pissed off.
Through the Shattered Lens 