On Saturday night, I watched Piranha, which featured the great character actor Kevin McCarthy in a supporting role. This led to me remembering McCarthy’s iconic performance in the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers (as well as his cameo in the 70s version). And that led to me remembering a book that I found at Half-Price Books a few years ago.
First published in 1999, They’re Here is a tribute to Invasion of the Body Snatchers, featuring essays about the films and interviews with some of the people involved. For instance, Stephen King and Dean Koontz both write about how seeing the original film influenced their later approach to horror. Jon L. Breen, James Combs, and Fred Blosser write about Jack Finney, the author of the book that served as the basis for the film. Other essays take a look at the remakes that were directed by Philip L. Kaufman and Abel Ferrara. Ferrara is himself interviewed and is as outspoken as ever. Also interviewed is Dana Wynter, who co-starred in the original.
However, the majority of the book is taken up with a terrifically entertaining and informative interview with Kevin McCarthy himself. McCarthy not only talks about filming the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers but also his entire career, his friendship with Montgomery Clift, and his status as pop cultural icon. Sometimes it can be disillusioning to read or listen to an interview in which an icon turns out to be kind of boring (call it the Steven Soderbergh syndrome) but, fortunately, McCarthy comes across as being just as eccentric, intelligent, interesting, and downright lovable as you would hope he would be. Kevin McCarthy, who passed away in 2010 at the age of 96, was one of the great character actors and this interview shows that he was …. wait for it …. quite the character! (Sorry.) The interview is a great tribute not only to McCarthy’s most famous film but also the man himself.
Seriously, if you’re a Body Snatchers fan but just appreciate great character acting, order a copy of this book!
In the small Austrian town of Hoffen, there’s been a murder.
Actually, there’s been more than one murder. Several women have been killed, stabbed to death by what appears to be an ancient dagger. The people of Hoffen are convinced that it’s the result of ancient curse, one that states that every male descendant of the original Baron Von Klaus is destined to become a sadistic murderer. However, there are only two living male descendants. Max Von Klaus (Howard Vernon, at his decadent best) has an alibi. Ludwig (Hugo Blanco) wasn’t even in town. So, if neither Max nor Ludwig committed the murders, then it had to be someone else in town, right?
Or could it be, as the townspeople suspect …. THE ORIGINAL BARON VON KLAUS HAS COME BACK TO LIFE!
Wait …. what? How stupid are these people? I mean, I know that small villages are supposed to be a breeding ground of superstition but it seems kind of obvious that it’s probably just some random human serial killer. Then again, if you believe in a centuries old curse, I guess it’s not that difficult to accept the idea of the dead coming back to life. I mean, it seems pretty stupid to me but what do I know?
While a police detective and a reporter investigate the crimes, Ludwig is shocked to discover that there’s a torture dungeon in the basement of the Von Klaus castle. Ludwig is encouraged to be the first member of the Von Klaus family to find the courage the destroy the dungeon and abandon the castle. Instead, Ludwig finds himself drawn to the dungeon. Will he be able to resist its musty charms or is he destined to become yet another sadistic Baron von Klaus?
Hmmmm …. a violent and loosely-plotted movie that’s set in a small Austrian village, one that opens with a close-up of two hands playing the piano and which features Howard Vernon as a decadent aristocrat. Even if you hadn’t already read the title of the review, the plot description alone should be all you would need to hear to know that The Sadistic Baron Von Klaus was a Jess Franco film.
Before he died in 2013, Spanish director Jess Franco was famous for being one of the most prolific directors around. He’s officially credited with directing 203 films but most sources agree that he was responsible for a lot more. Franco remains something of a controversial figure. Many of his films were bad. Quite a few of them were surprisingly good and atmospheric. Christopher Lee did several films with him and consistently defended Franco as being an intelligent artist who was often forced to work under less-than-perfect conditions. Franco was also a member of Orson Welles’s European entourage, with Franco even doing some second unit work on the sublime Chimes at Midnight. Speaking for myself, I’ve seen plenty of boring Jess Franco films. But I’ve also seen some surprisingly good ones. Female Vampire, Faceless, The Awful Dr. Orloff, Nightmares Come At Night, A Virgin Among the Living Dead, all of them are atmospheric, dream-like exercises in cinematic style.
The Sadistic Baron Von Klaus is middle-of-the road Franco. Despite plot similarities and the presence of Howard Vernon, it’s not as memorable as The Awful Dr. Orloff (which came out the same year) but it’s also clearly put together with more care than some of Franco’s later films. The plot really doesn’t hang together but that’s to be expected from a Franco film. For that matter, way too much time is spent with the police inspector and the journalist. But, visually, the black-and-white cinematography is gorgeous and, as he often did for Franco, Howard Vernon does a great job of epitomizing the decaying aristocracy of Europe. The film is deliberately paced but Franco does do a good job of creating an feeling of impending doom. Each scene seems to be leading towards the discovery of a terrible secret, with Hoffen coming to life as a town fueled by superstition and repressed desires. The scene in which the Von Klaus torture chamber is used is shockingly violent (the film’s title is not kidding about the sadism) but it also highlights the film’s theme about the impossibility of escaping the sins of the past. Considering that this film was made while Europe was still struggling to rebuild after World War II and when General Franco was still in control of Jess Franco’s native Spain, that was probably intentional on the director’s part. The Von Klaus curse stands in for the fear that fascism, dictatorship, and war was always destined to rise again.
The Sadistic Baron Von Klaus is not one of Franco’s better-known films but it is one that shows that Franco could make an effective film when he had the time, the money, and the motivation.
At the height of the Vietnam War, the U.S. Government came up with a plan that could have changed the course of the war.
What if the government developed gigantic, super-fast, occasionally jumpy piranha? And what if they set those killer fish loose in the rivers of Vietnam? Would those fish swim through North Vietnam and take out the VC? Sadly, the war ended before the government got a chance to test out Operation Razorteeth. With the war over, the government was stuck with a bunch of killer fish. Scientist Robert Hoak (Kevin McCarthy) ignored all orders to destroy his mutant fish because they were his life’s work. (Awwwwwwwww!) He kept an eye on them and did everything he could to prevent them from getting into the nearby river.
Unfortunately, Dr. Hoak’s best wasn’t good enough. Because the piranha have gotten loose and now they’re making their way down to the river! They start out eating skinny dipping teenagers, fisherman, and Keenan Wynn. (They’re good enough not to eat Wynn’s adorable dog, which I appreciated.) Further down the river, there’s a summer camp and a water park! It’s definitely not safe to get back in the water but sadly, that’s what several people insist on doing throughout this film. Even when the water is full of blood, people will jump in. (It’s easy to be judgmental but it is a pretty river. I don’t swim but I honestly wouldn’t mind living near a river that looked that nice. Instead, I have to make due with a creek.)
Floating down the river on a raft and trying to warn everyone is the unlikely team of Maggie (Heather Menzies) and Paul (Bradford Dillman). Maggie is a detective who has come to town to track down the two teenage skinny dippers who were eaten at the start of the film. Paul is a drunk. Well, technically, Paul is a wilderness guide and he does spend the entire movie wearing the type of plaid shirt that would only be worn by someone who goes camping every weekend but really, Paul’s main personality trait seems to be that he enjoys his booze. Paul’s daughter is away at the summer camp. Yes, that’s the same summer camp that’s about to be visited by a school of piranha. AGCK!
Produced by Roger Corman and obviously designed to capitalize on the monster success of Jaws, Piranha was an early directorial credit for Joe Dante. Dante would later go on to direct films like The Howling and Gremlins. Piranha was also an early screenwriting credit for the novelist John Sayles, who would use his paycheck to launch his own directing career. As a director, Sayles specializes in politically-themed ensemble pieces, which is something you might not guess while watching Piranha. (Piranha does have an anti-military subplot but then again, it’s a film from the 70s so of course it does.) Like the best of Corman’s film, Piranha works because it sticks to the basics and it delivers exactly what it promises. Piranha promises killer fish biting away at anyone dumb enough to get in the water and that’s what it gives us. As an added bonus, we also get some occasionally witty dialogue and Joe Dante’s energetic, self-aware direction.
As is typical with the films of both Corman and Dante, the cast is full of familiar faces. Along with Kevin McCarthy as the mad scientist and Keenan Wynn as the eccentric fisherman, Dick Miller shows up as the waterpark owner. Richard Deacon, who made a career of playing bosses and neighbors on various sitcoms in the 50s and 60s, plays the father of a missing teenager. Director Paul Bartel plays the head of the summer camp, who may be a jerk but who still heroically jumps in the water to save several campers. (Bartel’s moment of heroism is one of Piranha’s best scenes and, significantly, it’s played without irony. You’ll want to cheer for the guy.) Finally, the great Barbara Steele plays the government scientist who shows up to clean up Operation Razorteeth.
Piranha is simple but entertaining. Dante’s direction is energetic and, despite the film’s self-referential tone, the killer fish are just savage enough to be scary. It’s a film that tell us not to get back in the water but which understands that the temptation might just be too strong.
Today’s Horror on the Lens is The Norliss Tapes, a 1973 made-for-TV movie that was also a pilot for a television series that, unfortunately, was never put into production.
Reporter David Norliss (Roy Thinnes) has disappeared. His friend and publisher, Stanford Evans (Don Porter), listens to the tapes that Norliss recorded before vanishing. (Stanford Evans, it must be said, is a great name for an editor.) Each tape details yet another paranormal investigation. (Presumably, had the series been picked up, each tape would have been a different episode.) The first tape tells how Norliss investigated the mysterious death of an artist who apparently returned from the grave.
For a made-for-TV movie, The Norliss Tapes is pretty good. It’s full of atmosphere and features a genuinely menaching yellow-eyed zombie monster. The film was directed by Dan Curtis, who was responsible for several made-for-TV horror films and who also created the deathless TV show, Dark Shadows. Curtis also directed a few feature films. Burnt Offerings,for instance, will be forever beloved for its scene of annoying little Lee Montgomery getting crushed by a chimney. If you ever get a chance to listen to the director’s commentary that Dan Curtis recorded for the Burnt Offerings DVD release, you must do so. Curtis comes across as the crankiest man on the planet and it’s actually kind of fascinating to listen to. His irritation when Karen Black keeps asking him if he knows the name of the actor who played the ghostly chauffeur is truly an amazing thing to here. (For the record, the actor’s name was Anthony James, he also had important supporting roles in two best picture winners — In The Heat of the Night and Unforgiven — and yes, he was one of the best things about Burnt Offerings. Karen Black knew what she was talking about.)
But back to The Norliss Tapes!
Admittedly, this is not the first Halloween in which I’ve shared The Norliss Tapes with our readers. Back in 2015, The Norliss Tapes was one of our “horrors on the lens.” Unfortunately, there’s only so many good quality, public domain horror films available on YouTube so, occasionally, a movie is going to show up more than once over the years. But, as long as it’s good film, who cares?
Born in what is now Poland but what was then Germany, the late Ulli Lommel got his start as a frequent collaborator with the enfant terrible of New Wave German cinema, Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Lommel acted in several of Fassbinder’s films and Fassbinder produced Lommel’s third film as a director, the acclaimed The Tenderness of Wolves. In the 70s, Lommel relocated to the United States and, after marrying heiress Suzanna Love, he became a prominent part of the New York City art scene. He hung out with Andy Warhol. He made films about punk rock. He directed three films, Cocaine Cowboys, The Boogeyman, and The Devonsville Terror, that proved that he actually did have some talent when it came to taking on thrillers and horror films.
And then, it all pretty much fell apart. Reportedly, after he and Love divorced, he lost not only his frequent star but also his main financial backer. Lommel spent the rest of his lengthy career directing zero-budget horror films that were best-known for featuring stock footage that was lifted from his previous films. Starting in 2005, he started making direct-to-video movies about real-life serial killers. In interviews, Lommel insisted that his films were not exploitive but that, instead, his serial killer films were meant to offer up a critique of the hypocrisy of American society. And while it’s easy to roll your eyes at Lommel’s claim, I have no doubt that he was being, in his own way, perfectly sincere. His serial killer films are famous for not sticking to the facts but they should be even more famous for their emphasis on alienation and loneliness. All of Lommel’s serial killer films focus on people living on the fringes of society, ignored by those who would rather pretend that they didn’t exist. Lommel consistently portrayed serial killers as being a symptom of a much bigger disease.
Unfortunately, Lommel made his films with very little money and on a very tight shooting schedule. Reportedly, Lommel’s philosophy was to almost always only shoot one take. If someone screwed up a line or if there was a glaring continuity error or if the camera crew briefly appeared in the background, so be it. Indeed, because Lommel’s later films were so deliberately chaotic and semi-improvised, it was often difficult to tell if a continuity error was actually a mistake or something that Lommel deliberately planned.
Sadly, this led to Ulli Lommel getting a reputation for being one of the worst directors of all time. That’s not fair, though. Whatever one might say about his low budgets or his odd style, one cannot deny that Ulli Lommel had a unique vision and that he stuck with it. That’s more than you can see for most bad directors. If nothing else, you’ll never mistake a Ulli Lommel film for being the work of any other director.
Take his 2005 film about the Son of Sam. The film is 80 minutes of David Berkowitz (played by Yogi Joshi) wandering around New York with a confused look on his face. Whenever he sees anyone, a voice commands him to kill while another voice chants “Son of Sam …. Son of Sam.” Meanwhile, there are flashforwards to the recently arrested David Berkowitz, meeting with his public defender and subsequently asking a priest (played by Lommel himself) to exorcise the demons from him. Then there are flashbacks to Berkowitz at some sort of Satanic coven meeting where the high priestess won’t stop laughing. (In typical Lommel fashion, the high priestess is clad in her underwear while everyone else in the cult is dressed in black.) Then, there’s another set of flashbacks to Berkowitz talking to an old woman who may or may not be a part of the cult. Then a dog shows up and gives Berkowitz a meaningful stare.
It’s a mess with no real plot and making it through the entire 80 minutes is a true endurance test. The film not only screws up the facts behind the murders (i.e., the real-life Berkowitz shot people sitting in cars, the film’s Berkowitz shoots a drug dealer standing in a doorway) but it also buys into Berkowitz’s self-serving claim of having been manipulated by a Satanic cult, a claim that falls apart under scrutiny and common sense but which was still recently presented as fact by a Netflix miniseries. We’re told that the film is taking place in the 70s, which is good because, despite the presence of one awkward conversation about going to Studio 54, you’d never know it otherwise.
And yet …. there’s an intensity to Lommel’s vision that I have a hard time totally dismissing. The movie plays out like a fever dream and the visuals are so chaotic and so random and just so weird that it’s hard not to feel that Lommel probably did manage to capture what it was like inside of David Berkowitz’s messed-up head.
Don’t get me wrong. Son of Sam is not a good film. It’s a mess and it’s repetitive nature gets boring fairly quickly. But it’s also hardly the work of the worst director of all time. Instead, it’s uniquely Lommel.
That’s what I found myself thinking as I read R.L. Stine’s 1991 YA suspense thriller, The Girlfriend. Scotty is the book’s main character. He’s got a great life ahead of him, despite the fact that he’s an idiot. Scotty has been accepted to Princeton. He’s the quarterback of high school’s football team. His family is rich. He’s dating Lora, the head cheerleader. He and Lora have just been elected homecoming king and queen. However, Lora and her family are going on vacation to Paris and that means that she’ll miss the homecoming dance! Scotty will be a king without a queen! Scotty is so upset over this that he makes out with Shannon. Shannon has just moved to town and no one knows anything about her. Scotty certainly knows little, beyond the fact that she claims to have three overprotective older brothers and that one of them is former wrestler. Oh, and Shannon’s in love with Scotty. She likes to call him “baby.”
Now, when I say that she likes to call him “baby,” what I mean is that the word “baby” appears close to a million times in this book. I didn’t actually sit down and count all of the times that the word appeared, of course, but I am a fairly observant reader and it seems like a million is close to the right number.
Of course, overusing the word “baby” is not the only thing that Shannon does. Shannon turns out to be a bit unstable and more than a little possessive. She sets out to make Scotty and Lora’s life as miserable as possible but you know what? Good for her! Seriously, Scotty is a jerk and Lora’s incredibly bland for someone who can go to Paris whenever she feels like it. Shannon provides the book with what life it has. She’s a jolt of pure energy, forcing all of the dull people around her out of their complacency. Though it may or may not have been Stine’s intention, it’s impossible to read The Girlfriend without spending the whole time looking forward to what Shannon is going to do next. Unfortunately, she does kill two pets and, as a result, I can’t really be on Team Shannon but, even after that, she’s still more interesting to read about than either Scotty and Lora.
Anyway, The Girlfriend is an entertaining work of Stine fiction. Scotty is a uniquely unlikable lead character but Shannon brings a much-needed jolt of life to the proceedings. It’s too bad that she never returned for a sequel. Of course, it’s not too late. Scotty’s probably still working at his Dad’s architectural firm. Maybe it’s time for Shannon to stop by for a visit.
The back cover of this book announces, “THE CHARGE: Bad filmaking!”
It then offers up a list of 12 films (most of which are horror films, though a few are not) that were dismissed by the critics. The book features 12 essays, each providing a defense of one of the films in question. Those 12 films are:
Maniac (1934), which is defended by Bret Wood
Sh! The Octopus (1937), defended by John Soister
Voodoo Man (1944), defended by Gary Don Rhodes
Unknown Island (1948), defended by John Parnum
Scared Stiff (1953), defended by Ted Okunda and James L. Neibaur
Indestructible Man (1956), defended by Don Leifert
Rodan (1957), defended by Don G. Smth
The Tingler (1959), defended by Tom Weaver
The Flesh Eaters (1964), defended by David J. Hogan
When Dinosaurs Ruled The Earth (1970), defended by Mark A. Miller
King Kong (1976), defended by Robert A. Crick
Dune (1984), defended by Susan Svedha
There’s a few things that you’ll notice about this list. First off, you’ll notice that — as I already pointed out — not all of these films are horror films. Dune, in particular, is a surreal science fiction epic. Like all of David Lynch’s films, there are elements of horror but the film itself isn’t actually a part of the genre. Secondly, I was surprised to discover that Rodan and The Tingler apparently needed to be defended. Finally, just by looking at the release dates of the film included in the book, you’ll probably be able to guess that Guilty Pleasures of the Horror Film has been around for a while. The book was first published in 1996. I picked up my copy at Recycled Books of Denton, Texas, way back in 2006. And finally, in 2021, I got around to reading the entire thing. It’s funny how that works out some times.
With all that in mind, though, it’s an enjoyable book and each essayist does a good job of making their case. (The fact that it took me so long to get around to reading it has everything to do with me having ADHD and nothing to do with the quality of the book itself. My office is currently full of very good books that I need to get around to reading. And I will!) While I think the natural instinct of most readers will be to automatically jump ahead to see what the essayists has to say about David Lynch’s version of Dune (and perhaps the 70s version of King Kong), my favorite essays dealt with Indestructible Man and Flesh Eaters. While I was already familiar with the surprisingly grim and violent Indestructible Man, reading David J. Hogan’s thoughts on Flesh Eaters inspired me to make a commitment to watch and review the movie sometime this October. Really, what more can you ask for from a book like this?
Despite the fact that they’re not all horror films and I’ve never really been comfortable with the term “guilty pleasure,” (despite the fact that I’ve used it more than a few times), Guilty Pleasures of the Horror Film is an enjoyable book for those of us who love the genre and who are always willing to defend an unfairly maligned film.
Luna, a blonde wearing a miniskirt, walks down a city street. She goes to a high-rise apartment building and is buzzed in. She doesn’t live in the building but someone who is expecting her does. She gets on an elevator, one that is full of people. One person in the elevator obviously notices when she enters. Eventually, everyone gets off the elevator, except for Luna and that one person. As the elevator approaches the top floor, Luna is suddenly stabbed to death. The murderer flees. When the elevator reaches the top floor, three residents discover Luna’s dead body….
And none of them seem to care!
Professor Isaacs (George Riguad) stares at the body, unconcerned. Miss Moss (Maria Tedeschi) makes a few judgmental comments about the victim. Mizar (Carla Brait) does, at least, scream when she finds the dead body but, ultimately, she’s more worried about how she’s going to get downstairs so that she can get to her job as a stripper/performance artist in a sleazy club.
Yes, we’ve entered giallo territory! The Italian giallo films are known for their brutal murders, stylish visuals, convoluted plots, and their black-gloved killers. However, what I always find to be most disturbing about them is that it’s rare that anyone really cares about all of the murders or the victims. Instead, giallo films are often full of bystanders who, at the most, get mildly annoyed at the idea of their day being interrupted by someone else’s murder. The typical giallo takes place in a heartless world, one where even the most grotesque scenes are often viewed with a disturbing nonchalance. That’s certainly the case with the opening of the 1972 Italian film, The Case of the Bloody Iris.
The rest of the film centers on Jennifer Langsbury (Edwige Fenech) and Marilyn (Paola Quattrini), two models who have recently been hired to star in a series of print ads for the building. They also live in the building, which would seem convenient if not for the fact that there’s also a killer on the loose who is only targeting young, single women. Even without the murders occurrin around her, Jennifer is struggling a bit getting adjusted to the world. Before becoming a model, she was a member of hippie sex cult and the cult’s leader, Adam (Ben Carra), has a bad habit of randomly showing up and demanding that she return to him. However, Jennifer is far more interested in Andrea Anitnori (giallo mainstay George Hilton), the handsome architect who built the building and who has an obsessive phobia about blood, which is going to be a bit of a problem because a lot of blood is about to be spilt.
Got all that?
The Case of the Bloody Iris is a typical, if entertaining, giallo, which means there’s a lot of sex, a lot of blood, a lot of bizarre suspects, and a few incredibly incompetent police detectives. It’s also pretty damn enjoyable, even if it doesn’t exactly break a lot of new ground as far as the genre is concerned. While director Giuliano Carnimeo never matches the visual heights of an Argento, a Bava, a Martino, or even a Lenzi, he still does a good job keeping the action moving and he shows just enough of a flair for capturing stylistic violence to make his film worthy of the genre. While the mystery itself doesn’t always make a lot of sense (which is actually to be expected when it comes to the giallo genra), The Case of the Bloody Iris features Edwige Fenech and George Hilton, two mainstays of the genre, at their best and (even though dubbed) most charismatic. It’s an enjoyable little thriller, one that’s worth the 90 minutes that it takes to watch it.
Seth (Paulo Costanzo) and Polly (Jill Wagner) thought they were going to enjoy a nice weekend camping in Oklahoma. Unfortunately, as they drove out to the campsite, two unexpected things occurred.
First off, they got carjacked by Dennis (Shea Whigham) and his drug addict girlfriend, Lacey (Rachel Kerbs). Dennis was a murderer who had just escaped from prison so, needless to say, he really needed a ride.
Secondly, after getting a flat tire, the foursome pulled their vehicle into a lonely gas station. At first, it didn’t appear that there were any attendants at the station but that quickly proved to be incorrect. There was an attendant at the station but, unfortunately, he had been infected by a weird space fungus that transformed him into a homicidal monster. Soon, Dennis and his hostages are trapped as infected humans and animals laid siege to the station.
That’s the plot of the 2008 film, Splinter. Splinter is a good example of a genre of horror film that’s known as the “dumbasses get trapped out in the middle of nowhere” genre. I’ve actually driven through and occasionally even lived in Oklahoma and Arkansas and, if my memories are correct, there really aren’t as many deserted shacks and gas stations as you might think. But, in the movies, there’s at least a dozen sitting off the side of every country road. Inevitably, a character will make the mistake of going into that deserted building and suddenly it’s zombie apocalypse time! Or, if the zombies are busy, aliens might land. Or some hulking dude wearing a burlap sack and carrying an axe might show up.
It’s a popular genre, mostly because it exploits a very real fear. Anytime you enter a previously unknown location, especially if you’re alone and it’s the middle of the night, you’re aware that anything could happen. It’s probable that you’ll just run into someone working the night shift and he’ll make some awkward joke while you’re getting a coke out of the cooler. But it’s also possible that you might walk in on a robbery or a murder or a zombie outbreak or an alien invasion or Kirk Cameron might be there, forcing everyone to watch Saving Christmas. I mean, these things could happen! And then, what can you do? You’re stuck there, in an unfamiliar place. The only thing you know is that something nearby is plotting to attack you. That’s not something that we like to think about but the risk is always there. (For the record, I don’t believe in zombies, aliens, or Kirk Cameron but still….)
Splinter does a pretty good job tapping into those very real fears. Yes, the monsters and the deaths are memorably grotesque and there’s a lot of gore (for those of you who are into that) but the film is most effective when it concentrates on the claustrophobic atmosphere of that isolated gas station. From the start, the film creates a feeling of unease and, once the main characters find themselves trapped in that gas station, there’s not a slow spot to be found. Once a person or an animal is infected by the fungus, it becomes relentless in its efforts to destroy. Finally, the film is dominated by the great Shea Whigham, who gives a ferocious but charismatic performance as Dennis. Surely, I’m not the only viewer who watched this movie and thought Polly should dump Seth for the convict, am I?
Splinter is a good film for Halloween. Clocking in at 82 minutes, it won’t leave you bored and it will definitely stick in your mind anytime you stop by a gas station late at night.
Today’s horror on the lens is a surprisingly violent and grim made-for-TV movie from 1977, Night Terror!
In Night Terror, Valerie Harper plays a woman trying to drive to Denver, overnight. Unfortunately, she catches the attention of The Killer (played by Richard Romanus), a mute psychopath who spends his time driving up and down the highway, killing random people. This is a pretty well-done and suspenseful made-for-television movie, featuring good performances from both Harper and Romanus. I wrote a more in-depth review of the film back in May so give it a read after you watch the movie.
(Or before you watch the movie. I’m not going to tell you how to do things.)
Through the Shattered Lens 