Edited by Stephen Jones

Illustrated by Randy Broecker

Published by Drugstore Indian Press (imprint of PS Publishing)

May 2023

512 pages

Paperback

ISBN: 9781786368997

RRP: £15.99

Review by Adrian Smith

If, like me, you love old movies, the chances are high that a love for the thrilling pulp magazines of the 1950s can’t be far behind. Robert Silverberg, now an award-winning science fiction author, was one of the most prolific writers (allegedly averaging around 1 million words a year) for dozens of magazines throughout that decade including Super-Science Fiction, Monster Parade, Fantastic and Monsters and Things, amongst many more. Capable of seemingly churning out stories in any genre he turned his hand to (including pornography when required), these short tales were designed to be read once and then forgotten once the next issue came along. Of course, what was once disposable is now highly sought-after and original copies of many of these short-lived magazines are out of reach to us mere mortals. Thankfully the almost equally prolific writer and editor Stephen Jones has compiled a representative sample of Silverberg’s horror and sci-fi stories published between 1957 and 1959 for this excellent new collection published by Drugstore Indian Press, accompanied by suitably retro illustrations from American artist Randy Broeker.

Most of the stories are just a few pages long, so no time is wasted before the thrills and chills set in. From premature burials, mad doctors, demons, werewolves, vampires and ghouls to aliens, global conspiracies, sinister cults and outer space adventures, the stories pack a pulp punch and are all very enjoyable, especially the ones with twist endings that would not be out of place in an episode of The Twilight Zone. With titles including ‘Secrets of the Torture Cult,’ ‘Beasts of Nightmare Horror’ and ‘Vampires from Outer Space’ (a precursor to Colin Wilson’s The Space Vampires perhaps?), Silverberg's imagination was extraordinary, producing a continual stream of stories, often published under pseudonyms so that it didn’t look like he’d written the entire magazine. In his introduction to this collection (he’s still with us, at the ripe old age of 89!), he discusses his early career and his need to keep the [were]wolf from the door by writing anything he could get paid for, and it was clearly good preparation for the highly-respected novels which would earn him fame later on.

Given the sheer number of short stories Silverberg produced, one can only hope that another collection from Drugstore Indian Press is on its way. These are really fun, pulpy stories that remind us of all of another era; when guys called Skip drove hot rods, when Big Jack hosted late-night talk shows about the occult on stations like WYXD, and when teenage librarians like Marty could accidentally raise the old gods using a stolen copy of the Necronomicon. Robert Silverberg’s Monsters and Things belongs on the shelf of any discerning 1950s nostalgia junkie.

Robert Silverberg’s Monsters and Things can be ordered from Amazon UK here: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Monster-Things-Paperback-Robert-Sliverberg/dp/1786368994

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By Hank Reineke

Nicholas Anez’s Science Fiction Thrills… Horror Chills is the fourth installment of the author’s “Celluloid Adventures” series, all published by Baltimore’s Midnight Marquee Press. Although I’m not familiar with Anez’s original triad, I can reliably muse - based solely on the strength of his newest effort - the preceding trio are as well-researched, informative and against-the-grain-in-opinion as is this new volume.

In his introduction to Science Fiction Thrills, Anez – full disclosure, a contributing writer to Cinema Retro magazine - informs readers that his intent in the writing of this current book is to “hopefully create interest” in fourteen –mostly dismissed upon original release – sci-fi and horror films. These were films that, in one way or another, failed to find an appreciative audience despite creative merit. Being a guy from New Jersey, I can appreciate Anez’s fighting up from the mat for recognition of these underdog efforts, championing under-performing films he posits as overlooked cinematic treasures.

The fourteen films that go under Anez’s microscope are: Son of Dracula (1943), Alias Nick Beal (1949), The Maze (1953), Donovan’s Brain (1953), 1984 (1956), The Mind Benders (1963), Crack in the World (1965), The Mummy’s Shroud (1967), The Power (1968), Journey to the Far Side of the Sun (1969), The Groundstar Conspiracy (1972), Who? (1974), The Medusa Touch (1978) and Capricorn One (1978). The latter title, Peter Hyman’s “space mission” conspiracy film Capricorn One is, of course, an odd man out in this study. Though not critically praised on its release, the film actually performed reasonably well at the box office.

Each of Anez’s contributing essays are formulaic in presentation: an introductory paragraph or two; a multi-page synopsis of the film’s storyline; a discussion of the movie’s production history (including full cast and crew credits); a review of a film’s critical reception and subsequent box office performance. The book is filled with a score of illustrations – both photographs and promotional memorabilia - all well-reproduced in balanced black-and-white saturations. The book additionally closes with an eight-page Appendix where the author lists his favorite sci-fi and horror flicks - as well what he considers the greatest performances by an actor or actress in both genres. Suffice to say, I share many of the author’s cinematic enthusiasms.

To his credit, Anez doesn’t argue that any of the films under examination - in an extremely readable and cogent two-hundred and fifteen page paperback - is necessarily a “lost classic.” But Anez does suggest that each film studied here offers challenging ideas and (mostly) cerebral storylines. Some of the films, he argues, were critically maligned or were proven box office disappointments for economic reasons: that is, a shortfall of money. Too often the production budgets allotted were simply too modest to mount and support the project’s ambitions. Having said that, Anez also notes the paucity of money wasn’t always the reason a particular film did not light up the big screen as hoped. The author opines some of the films perhaps simply fell to the wayside due to the carping of critics (i.e. the alleged miscasting of Edmond O’Brien as “Winston Smith” or of Michael Andersons’ “unobstructive” direction of George Orwell’s novel 1984).

Other films, such as Basil Dearden’s The Mind Benders, might not have met expectations due to the filmmakers having chose to mix multiple genre devices into their storylines. Anez gives examples: The Mind Benders is described as being “as much a domestic drama as a thriller.” He offers John Farrow’s Alias Nick Beal as “a supernatural horror story,” but one that “also fits in the category of film noir.” The author also contends that Robert Siodmak’s Son of Dracula (a personal favorite of mine, featuring an arguably miscast corn-fed Lon Chaney Jr.) remains “a vastly underrated horror movie that is also a romantic tragedy.”

It soon becomes apparent that Anez’s argument that certain films failed at the box office - or with film critics – was not due to the quality of the films themselves. Instead many were perhaps doomed by visionary “outside-of-the-box” productions that were tough to commercially pigeonhole. Perhaps these films didn’t achieve nor enjoy a measure of acclaim due to the schematics of the filmmakers. It’s suggested such creative teams, at their own expense, had gambled on their film’s commercial potentials – perhaps accidentally, perhaps purposefully. Ultimately, they chose not to cater to clichés or to rigid formulas or to the expectations of their target audience.

In the book’s afterword, Anez notes he chose to focus on “an era in which science-fiction movies depended on ideas and not special effects,” a time when horror films conjured chills “upon the power of suggestion and not graphic gore.” Reading through these essays it becomes obvious that Anez is a strong champion of scenarios that feature solid writing and cerebral storytelling. It’s of interest that of the fourteen films examined here, no fewer than eight had been adapted from pre-existing science-fiction novels or other literary sources published from the 1940s through the 1970s.

Anez acknowledges that some of these films under his microscope might now appear dated - even open to some ridicule by contemporary standards - for their dopey, unsophisticated poor-science-based projections. He muses other films might have been doomed at the box office by their gloomy, paranoid prognostications of a dreary, dystopic future. (Certainly none of the films Anez examines here can be thought of as “feel good” movies – quite the opposite, in fact). Such dystopic melancholia is reflected in Anez’s own opinions. He writes of his fear that contemporary exercises of political correctness and encroaching Orwellian cancel culture movements might yet alter - even expunge – aging artistic works and forms of “popular culture from the past.” “In today’s Hollywood,” Anez sighs, “nothing is implied anymore; everything is explicit.”

I’m probably not as fatalistic as Anez on some of the points he makes, though one can certainly understand – and even sympathize with – some of the arguments he makes. But by my reckoning, home video has - from inception - assured that a majority of cultural artifacts will survive in their original forms for some time well into the future. Certainly books and films and music reflective of the aggrieved historical period in which they were created will survive in their original state. How could they not? There’s too many of us who have carefully collected and curated these artworks to see them suddenly made unavailable. But it is also true that many of these works might – might - need to co-exist alongside a bowdlerized version for generations to come.

The real question is whether or not our shared histories – good, bad, tragic, celebratory or indifferent - can be erased easily? The jury is out on that point, and the debate on the historical revisionism of culture, I imagine, will be argued long into the future. It’s of interest that many of the future-looking films that Anez studies in Science Fiction Thrills… Horror Chills cautions and forewarns against the censorship of free ideas - be those ideas well-meaning, ignorant, brilliant or otherwise. I was going to end this review with Shakespeare’s famously reflective and internal ponder on the duality of intentions, “Ay, there’s the rub.” But I admit I almost didn’t, perhaps employing a bit of guarded self-censorship. After all, Shakespeare, the “immortal bard” of Avon, might not prove so immortal after all. He too is now a target of cancel culture.

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By Nicholas Anez

The incentive for this 4^th volume in my Celluloid Adventures series was a dismissive review in a reference book of the 1956 film version of George Orwell’s novel, 1984, calling it “a great disappointment and a lackluster adaptation of the briliant novel.” This derogatory opinion remains the general consensus among many critics. I disagree with this assessment, in part

because the movie remained in my memory long after I first saw it. Furthermore, I had read the novel so I knew that, though the adaptation was definitely a loose one, it was actually faithful to Orwell’s ideas. So I wanted to redress this negative opinion of the movie and proceeded to write about it. This led to my considering other movies in the science fiction and horror genres that, I believe, are also underrated. Thus was born the concept for Celluloid Adventures 4: Science Fiction Thrills….Horror Chills.

I should state at this point that I became a fan of science fiction and horror movies in my adolescence. I also loved Westerns (Shane is my all-time favorite movie) and it has always upset me when a good movie, particularly in my favorite genres, fails at the box-office. Thus, my objective in the first three volumes was to bring overdue attention to some of these movies. In these books, I discuss films within several genres while I devote individual chapters to science fiction and/or horror movies. For this fourth book, I decided to focus only on science fiction and horror because the ascendancy of these genres that began with Star Wars (1977) and The Exorcist (1973) relegated to relative obscurity many fine movies that preceded this dominance along with a few that followed. And it is some of these films that I wanted to retrieve from anonymity for this book. (Not coincidentally, my devotion to the genres more or less ended in the late 70s, coinciding with this ascendancy, but that’s another story.)

It was very rewarding for me to research the movies in Celluloid Adventures 4 because I discovered numerous interesting details about their development and production that I hope will make this book equally interesting. For instance, here are just a few of the many intriguing facts that I learned:

The director of one movie fired his own brother who had written the screenplay.

One movie is based upon a legend of the birth of a deformed monster.

One movie was made by a married couple that later engaged in an acrimonious divorce.

One movie failed upon its original release but played to enthusiastic audiences in New York

and Los Angeles 65 years later.

The screenplay for one movie is based upon actual inhumane experiments conducted in

prestigious universities.

The producer of one movie was forced to cast the actor who starred in it.

The director of one movie considers it among his worst.

One serious movie suffered because its studio promoted it as an exploitation movie.

The 14 movies that I highlight cover a period of three and one-half decades, from 1943 to 1978, and I would speculate that the average moviegoer today has not heard of most of them. With one exception, they were financial failures or disappointments, a fact that contributes to their obscurity. However, I believe that they still deserve the recognition and praise that they did not receive upon their original release. In my estimation, these are all excellent films but yet most of them did not attract wide audiences.

These movies include a wide variety of subjects. In Son of Dracula (1943), the main character is a woman who is not only eager to die but is also willing to kill the man that loves her. In Alias Nick Beal (1949), Lucifer is determined to condemn an innocent man him to eternal suffering. Both The Power (1968) and The Medusa Touch (1978) portray men with superior brains that have the capability to either save or destroy the entire world. One of them will choose destruction because he hates humanity with a passion.

Very few people have heard of the movie, Who? (1974), and those who have heard of it were probably confused by the title. And yet it is a poignant story of an altruistic man who is victimized by futuristic technology. The protagonist of The Groundstar Conspiracy (1972) also endures tremendous suffering from another type of futuristic technology. The future of the aforementioned 1984 (1956) is extremely frightening because it depicts a world in which a sweet-looking child will betray her own father to be tortured and perhaps killed.

I am hoping that this book will encourage people, including some of you who are reading this, to view these movies. They are all entertaining and, in some respects, provocative. For instance, after seeing The Maze (1953), you might actually sympathize with a monstrous amphibian. If you believe that a brain is lifeless once it is removed from its body, Donovan’s Brain (1953) may change your mind. You might also discover how fragile our brains are after viewing The Mind Benders (1963), a story about the cruelty of pitiless scientists. If you view Crack in the World (1965), you will witness how the earth is almost destroyed by a scientist with abundant hubris. Upon viewing Journey to the far Side of the Sun (1969), you will witness a benevolent scientist lose his sanity because of his extraordinary discovery.

There are moments of pure excitement and suspense as well as pure terror in these movies. Viewers of Capricorn One (1977) will inevitably break out in ecstatic applause at the sight of a rickety biplane suddenly appearing on an isolated desert road. This is the only movie among the 14 in this book that was a success – with the public if not the critics. In contrast, The Mummy’s Shroud (1967) played the bottom-of-the-bill of double features and was unnoticed upon its release. But I believe it deserves some kind of awareness.

So I hope that I have piqued your curiosity enough to encourage you to read about the making of these movies. But even if you choose not to buy the book, for your own safety, I implore you to please heed this warning: Beware the beat of the cloth-wrapped feet!

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BY HANK REINEKE

I will admit to a degree of bias up front. I’ve never been particularly enamored of MGM’s 1941 interpret of Robert Louis Stevenson’s famed novella Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And it occasionally bothers me that I’m not. The so-called “Golden Age” of the Horror film (1931-1948) has long been, and will likely always remain, my favorite cinematic era. Since the start of the home video revolution I dutifully acquired (and subsequently upgraded) practically every monochrome classic – OK, and some not-so-classic – genre films issued from that era to hold in my private collection. It was of little concern to me if a film was the product of a major studio (Universal, Columbia, MGM, Warner Bros. et. al.) or of a low-rent independent (Monogram, Republic or PRC). Practically every U.S and British film – as well as few from the continent – would find its way into my home archive.

So it’s telling that prior to this Blu ray debut of Victor Fleming’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, recently issued as part of the Warner Bros. Archive Collection, the only copy I’ve held in my collection is the old Laserdisc of the title. Published in 1986 as part of MGM’s “Great Books on Video” series. I simply never had the desire to channel any additional discretionary income into an upgrade of the film. So in some way the arrival of this High-Def edition by WAC was welcome. It has allowed me the opportunity to reassess long-held opinions or prejudices.

Similar to Stoker’s Dracula (1897) and Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) monster, Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886) stands as the third point of the immortal crown of literary monsters: the trio of select ghouls to have made a seamless transition from written page to the stage to the silver screen. Though the most celebrated earliest cinematic adaptation was the 1920 Paramount silent classic featuring John Barrymore as the titular rogue, even that film version wasn’t the earliest. Stevenson’s novella had been brought to the silent screen on a number of earlier occasions (1908-1914), though several of those earliest efforts are now thought forever lost in time.

Of the sound films, my favorite big screen adaptation of the novella will forever be Rouben Mamaoulian’s 1931 Paramount remake featuring Fredric March. In some manner of speaking, Mamaoulian’s version is a bit more faithful to Stevenson’s original work than MGM’s 1941 version, in other ways not. Stevenson’s conception of Mr. Hyde presents him not as physical monster with deformities, but merely a compassionless, selfish human whose heart has grown cold and actions sadistic. Hyde is described by Jekyll’s lawyer friend, Gabriel John Utterson (a major character of the novella completely missing from the Fleming version), as a sinister fellow with a “displeasing smile,” one who appeared “pale and dwarfish.” Stevenson’s Hyde gave off “an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation.”

But following in the wake of Universal’s box-office success in 1931 with Tod Browning’s Dracula and James Whale’s Frankenstein, it was in Paramount’s interest to portray Fredric March’s Mr. Hyde as a feral beast in a physical as well as psychological sense. The applied iconic make-up conjured by Wally Westmore for March’s Hyde was certainly appealing to the “monster kid” in me. When I was first introduced to images of March’s Mr. Hyde first in the pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland and later via the (very) occasional television broadcast, I was left duly impressed. As I was with the imaginative camera-trickery rigged by Mamaoulian and cinematographer Karl Struss. The sight of March’s mirror-reflected transformation from Jekyll into Hyde remains a stunning and impressive optical effect to behold even in 2022. It must have been mind-blowing to audiences some ninety-one years prior.

It’s not entirely clear why MGM chose to move forward with their own version of the Stevenson work, but in November of 1940 the trades were reporting that MGM was planning their own version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde to feature actor Spencer Tracy in the lead role. The following month it was announced in Box Office that veteran screenwriter John Lee Mahin (who had earlier adapted Stevenson’s Treasure Island for MGM in 1934) had been assigned scripting duties. In an interesting example of casting against type, the Pin-Up model and screen vixen Lana Turner was contracted to play the role of a good girl done wrong, with Swedish good girl Ingrid Bergman signed to portray a Cockney barmaid. It must be said, both actresses pull off their respective challenges rather admirably. Production on Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was to commence on Wednesday, February 5, 1941.

Despite the overall gloss of the MGM remake, Spencer Tracy’s Jekyll and Hyde is not nearly as enigmatic nor tortured a character as March’s was. Tracy’s a great actor of course, no one is contesting that. And I’m certainly not knocking his performance in the film; I’m sure he does all he can in role with the material given him. But as the most essential component of cinema is in its visuals, Tracy’s Hyde falls short - even if his presentation is more aligned with Stevenson’s original descriptions. Tracy’s Hyde is violent and malignant and an unpleasant suitor to both fiancé Beatrix Emery (Turner) and Ivy Peterson (Bergman), the maligned barmaid he uses and abuses. But Tracy’s Hyde remains a decidedly human monster in his appearance. Yes, he’s sadistic and manipulative but his soul conceivably, at least, might still be saved with a bit of religion, a session of drug counselling, or an anger-management class or two.

David Hanna, a drama critic and entertainment writer for the Los Angeles Daily News was hardly the only critic who, upon the film’s release, registered disappointment with Tracy’s physical non-transformation into the villainous Mr. Hyde. There had been a lot of Hollywood press ballyhoo that the sound stage was to be closed to all visitors when Tracy’s Jekyll-to-Hyde scenes were to be lensed. So the eventual ho-hum big reveal of the new “Mr. Hyde” was a crushing disappointment. Hanna sighed, “The first time Tracy changed character the make-up looked as though he just needed a brace on his teeth and a little filling to make him appear a most respected member of society.”

This opinion was shared by London’s Picturegoer magazine. Their critic offered, the “scenes when Tracy assumes a grotesque make-up are included to make one smile, rather than creep.” It’s true that Tracy’s Hyde is an underwhelming sight to behold. No physical personification of evil flashes before us. Tracy looks like someone who merely awoke from a night’s bender: mussed hair, sagging dark bags under crowfeet lined eyes, slightly askew, bushy eyebrows and a leering countenance.

Though Fleming’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was far from a box-office disappointment, it certainly wasn’t the impressive, timeless effort his two most recent pictures, The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind, had been – and would forever remain. Most critics seemed to agree Paramount’s 1931 was by far the better film. Though some argued Tracy was so capable an actor that he required “no gargantuan make-up to denote his transformation from the good Dr. Jekyll into the evil Mr. Hyde,” others countered this 1941 remake had problematic issues beyond make-up expectations. Mahin’s script offered a sprinkled layer of Freudian psychoanalysis into the mix, a reinterpret sure to offer cinemagoers a lesser experience. As the critic from Picturegoer noted, “March’s ape man make-up, crude though it was” managed to convey “a stronger sense of horror than Tracy’s milder conception, which comes as sheer anti-climax.”

There is an interesting “art against expectation” side note to all this. With the box-office of Hyde underperforming, Variety reported in September of 1941 that MGM had chosen to “revise its national campaign on the picture.” The original campaign (“A Good Woman – A Bad Woman. He Needed the Love of Both!”) hyped the film’s romantic elements at the expense of its (admittedly minor) horrific elements. A new campaign was struck, the “too prettified” and posh original publicity stills withdrawn. Replacement images were ordered, MGM choosing to “slice into the film for a blowup of Spencer Tracy’s face in the ‘Mr. Hyde’ impersonation.” This tactic and a new accompanying blurb (“It CHILLS you! Half-Man! Half-Monster!”) proved so successful in such markets as Detroit, that subsequent regional exhibitors were requesting use of the same ad mats used in that city’s exploitation campaign.

It’s possible there’s a gaggle of English professors who prefer the 1941 version above all others, but neither this version nor the better 1931 film is faithful to the original source material. Mahin script is interesting as it mines and mixes elements of both Stevenson’s work with ideas conjured by Oscar-nominated ’31 screenwriters Percy Heath and Samuel Hoffenstein. This is an “actor’s film.” There’s lots of long and drowsy oral discourses that take place in tony parlors, but as an adventure of any sort it’s exciting only in the smallest of episodes. Fleming and Mahin’s version might have made for a compelling, intimate stage show, but as a film it’s overlong and not terribly involving.

In its review of July 1941, a scribe from Variety hit the nail on the head: “It may be that Fleming, keeping closer to the literal than spirit of the text, missed some of the more subtle points.” ’31 Director Mamaoulian would likely agree with that assessment. He boasted a few years hence that his version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde remained the “best one ever made.” “Spencer Tracy is a very competent actor,” Mamaoulian mused to the St. Louis Post Democrat. “But the man who plays Jekyll has to be superbly handsome. As Fredric March was. Then the changeover to Hyde is gripping. Tracy was miscast.” ‘Tis true in MGM’s 1941 version the potion brewed by Dr. Jekyll this time out was, at best, a weak tea.

This Warner Archive Collection Blu ray edition of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is presented here in a pristine 1080p High Definition 16x9 1.37.1 and DTS-HD Master 2.0 Mono Audio. There’s hardly a visual blemish throughout, and it is doubtful admirers of the film will find any fault with this transfer. This is a bare bones release, the set’s only special features are the film’s original trailer and removable English subtitles.

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BY HANK REINEKE

Michael Curtiz’s Doctor X is a more technically extravagant version of the original stage production of playwrights Howard Warren Comstock and Allen C. Miller. The play was first tested at the Fox Theater in Great Neck, Long Island, for a single night’s performance on January 10, 1931. It was immediately followed by a brief run at Brandt’s Carlton Theatre in Jamaica, Queens, where newspaper adverts suggested theatergoers “Bring Your Shock Absorber” along. The production then moved to Brandt’s Boulevard Theatre in Jackson Heights, Queens, New York, for several performances, only to be followed by a week-long preview and fine-tuning at Brandt’s Flatbush Theater in Brooklyn beginning January 26.

The three-act “mystery melodrama” would finally make its Broadway debut at the Hudson Theater, off W. 44^th Street, on February 9, 1931. The stage play featured actor Howard Lang in the role of the sinister Dr. Xavier, but the mystery wouldn’t enjoy a terribly long run on the Great White Way. The Hudson would eventually shutter the doors on the production in mid-April 1931.

It’s no coincidence that four Brandt-owned theatres were successively engaged to showcase the early previews of Doctor X. The play had been intentionally co-produced for the stage by the theatre owners William and Harry Brandt. Billboard would note in December of 1930 that the two brothers had chosen to enter the field of theatrical production as a potential remedy to offset the “slack business conditions on the subway circuit.”

The early reviews of the Brandt’s showcase were mainly positive, especially when considering the decidedly grim fare offered. The critic from Brooklyn’s Times-Union thought Doctor X a “swell show.” The paper reported that the gruesome goings-on of Jackson Height’s preview had not only caused a woman in the balcony to scream in fright but that other patrons nervously called “for the lights to be turned on” midway through the program. Whether such outbursts of fright were genuine or simply publicity ballyhoo stunts may never be known. But likely more of the latter than the former.

Not everyone was impressed. Brooklyn’s Standard-Union newspaper took a contrarian view of the stage show’s ability to curdle the blood of attendees. In the paper’s review of February 10, 1931, their critic would grieve that Doctor X was a mostly undistinguished effort, “Freighted with all the dismal baggage of those lamentable pastimes known as mystery thrillers.” “Even though the authors, no pikers, have arranged almost an endless procession of synthetic horrors,” the review mercilessly continued, “spectators are no longer hoodwinked by such drowsy tidbits. No longer can an actor with an anaemic makeup or panels that slide open terrify theatergoers into submission.”

Nonetheless, and though the play opened to mixed reviews, some of the New York dailies were impressed. There were enough good notices to allow the Brandt’s to run advertisements suggesting Doctor X as “New York’s Only Mystery Hit: Electrifies Press and Public Alike!” The critic of the New York Herald Tribune thought it a grand affair, trumpeting, “’Doctor X’ holds the best claim for some time to the grand heritage of such creepy works as ‘The Bat,’ ‘The Cat and the Canary’ and ‘The Spider.’” These references to past and successful mystery-melodramas of the stage were not only interesting but prescient: all three of these theatrical properties were subsequently licensed by Hollywood studios to be brought to neighborhood movie screens. Such transitioning of properties from Broadway to Hollywood was, as referenced by the above review, not unusual.

Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood’s The Bat had made its Broadway debut at the Morosco Theatre on August 22, 1921. That play would be belatedly adapted for the screen as a vehicle for Vincent Price in 1959. John Willard’s The Cat and the Canary would debut on the boards of the Majestic Theatre on June 14, 1937, and enjoy no fewer than three film treatments: there was Paul Leni’s celebrated silent film version of 1927, a popular Bob Hope mystery-comedy of 1939, and a late-arriving 1978 British production featuring Honor Blackman, Michael Callan and Edward Fox. Fulton Oursler and Lowell Brentano’s The Spider would make two appearances on Broadway with an initial staging at Chanin’s 46^th Street Theater in March of 1927 and, again, at the Century Theater in February of 1928. That play would be brought to the big screen twice, first in 1931 as a straightforward murder mystery, then reconfigured in 1945 as a film noir-style mystery picture.

Interestingly, Lionel Atwill was working on a different Broadway stage at the same time Doctor X was concurrently running at the Hudson. Atwill was working one block north at Broadway’s Morosco Theatre, the featured player in Lee Shubert’s production of The Silent Witness (opening date 3/23/31). The Silent Witness too was quickly picked up by Fox and following that show’s Broadway run, Atwill traveled out to Hollywood to star in the play’s film version, co-directed by Marcel Varnel and R.L. Hough. Though there were reports that Lionel Atwill was to return to the New York stage directly following that film’s wrap, in early March 1932 newssheets reported that Warner Bros. had asked him to remain in Hollywood for a spell. He had been offered the title role in their recently optioned property Doctor X.

In succeeding weeks, more details would emerge of the forthcoming production. On March 17 there were reports that Michael Curtiz had been signed to direct Doctor X and that silent film star Mae Busch (“absent from pictures some years”) was also offered a small role. On March 19, the Hollywood Reporter would relate that actor Tommy Dugan had signed on for two new Warner Bros. pictures, the first being Doctor X. On March 20, it was reported that popular ingénue Fay Wray was brought on to the picture, with shooting scheduled to “begin this week.” Warner Bros/First National’s Technicolor film production of Doctor X would wrap – very quickly, considering the elaborate sets designed and constructed - in early May of 1932. The film’s projected release was set for late July.

There’s a lot to like about this film. With the release of Doctor X, Warner Bros. was most likely hoping to siphon off some of the public interest and box office that Universal was enjoying with such macabre fare as Dracula and Frankenstein. Though the studio fell short of producing an iconic film, they nevertheless produced a pretty decent B-picture that offered a modicum of thrills and chills. One of the true highlight’s of the film version of Doctor X, is the art deco “mad scientist” laboratory sets of designer Anton Grot. The sets were so elaborate and grand that the New York Herald Tribune would run a fifteen paragraph long - and impressively detailed - tribute on Grot and his designs. That article, “Built-in Menace Hangs Over All in Anton Grot’s House of Doom”), includes an unusual for the period in-depth interview with the designer. The article also notes that no fewer than “192 sketches and blueprints” of imaginative and elaborate design had been drafted in preparation for shooting.

Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

Latest Title in the Paramount Presents Line Debuts March 30, 2021

Legendary director Cecil B. DeMille’s grand spectacle THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH arrives for the first time on Blu-ray as part of the Paramount Presents line on March 30, 2021 from Paramount Home Entertainment.

A two-time Academy Award-winner^*–including Best Picture and Best Writing, Motion Picture Story–THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH captures the thrills, chills and exhilaration of the circus.  Featuring three intertwining plotlines filled with romance and rivalry, DeMille's film includes spectacular action sequences, including a show-stopping train wreck. THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH also boasts a sensational cast, including Betty Hutton, Cornel Wilde, Charlton Heston, Dorothy Lamour, Gloria Grahame, and James Stewart. 

Newly restored from a 4K scan of the original negative, this essential movie of the Golden Age of Hollywood packs action, romance, laughs and treachery into an epic only DeMille could create, resulting in one of 1952’s biggest hits.

The limited-edition Paramount Presents Blu-ray Discâ„¢ includes the newly restored film in collectible packaging with a foldout image of the film’s theatrical poster and an interior spread with key movie moments.  THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH Blu-ray also includes a new Filmmaker Focus with film historian Leonard Maltin, exploring the making of the film and its reception, as well as access to a Digital copy of the film.

About Paramount Presents

This collectible line spans celebrated classics to film-lover favorites, each from the studio’s renowned library.  Every Paramount Presents release features never-before-seen bonus content and exclusive collectible packaging.  There are 14 additional titles available in the Paramount Presents collection: Fatal Attraction, King Creole, To Catch a Thief, Flashdance, Days of Thunder, Pretty In Pink, Airplane!, Ghost, Roman Holiday, The Haunting, The Golden Child, Trading Places, The Court Jester and Elizabethtown.

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BY HANK REINEKE

On 14 April 1940, W. Ray Johnston, the President of Monogram Pictures Corporation, was resting at the Baker Hotel in Dallas, Texas. On the following day he was to meet with MPC’s company shareholders in the hotel’s ballroom. The New York Herald Tribune would report that Monogram, later lovingly christened the most famous of Hollywood’s “Poverty Row” studios, was to announce their ambitious 1940-1941 program of fifty films: twenty-six features and twenty-four westerns. One of the films announced for imminent production was The Ape, an adaptation of the Adam Hull Shirk 1927 stage play.

Johnston announced that big screen’s preeminent boogeyman, Boris Karloff, was to star in their horror new vehicle. Karloff would be cast as an obsessed scientist driven to madness and murder in pursuit of an otherwise noble goal. For Karloff’s fans, there was something familiar with this scenario. The actor was, once again, cast as a generally well-meaning, good-hearted soul whose medical ethics would be expeditiously abandoned in the course of research. If you’ve already screened The Man They Could Not Hang (Columbia, 1939), Black Friday (Universal, 1940), The Man with Nine Lives (Columbia, 1940), or Before I Hang (Columbia, 1940)… well, then you’ll know what to expect here. Except this time we also get an escaped and possibly murderous circus ape for diversion.

1940 had been a busy year for Boris Karloff, the actor having already appeared in several far more polished productions for the bigger studios: Universal, Warner Bros., Columbia and RKO. The Ape would the last of the films Karloff would make for the more austere Monogram in the 1930s and 1940s: his previous entries were all in the studio’s “Mr. Wong” series of atmospheric detective mysteries. The Ape, which the Hollywood Reporter would report was scheduled to commence shooting on 15 July 1940 was to be something of a summer vacation for Karloff. The film’s production was planned to be wrapped in a mere week’s time.

That start date was apparently delayed. As the date of shooting neared, it was obvious that production would have to be pushed back. On 10 July 1940 the Reporter scribed that “Kurt” Siodmak (who would soon pen Universal’s iconic The Wolfman) had been signed “yesterday.” If true, then that “yesterday” was a mere six days prior to the original announced first-day-of-shooting allotted to Siodmak to actually write the script. The newssheet also promised that the latest thriller from Monogram would “carry a top budget,” that being a “top budget” if measured by Monogram’s parsimonious standard. Shortly following the Siodmak announcement, the Hollywood papers would report that actress Maris Wrixon had been “borrowed from Warners” to appear as the film’s wheelchair-bound heroine, actor Gene O’Donnell also signed to play her romantic paramour. Sadly, The Ape mostly wastes Wrixon’s talent - and her arresting physical attributes - as she’s mostly confined to a wheelchair throughout the film, a blanket draped over her no doubt elegant legs.

Though Siodmak had already shown talent for writing the scripts on such screen-thrillers for Universal’s Invisible Man series, Monogram wasn’t terribly enthused with the draft turned in. It’s likely the producer’s balked at some of the “too-expensive-to-reproduce-on-the-cheap” foreign location settings that Siodmak’s draft would call for. So a second writer was quickly brought onto the project to tighten things up. A New York Daily News gossip columnist wrote on 22 July that he had recently enjoyed a luncheon with the writer Richard Carroll who “has just finished a Boris Karloff script. Something about an ape.” In the film’s credits, Siodmak was credited for his adaptation of Shirk’s play, and perhaps more generously as co-writer of the screenplay. Siodmak would later rue that little of his original story was brought to the screen.

Box Office would further report on 29 July that William Nigh was hired onto the project as the film’s director. Tom Weaver, who would write the definitive study on these low-budget horror films, Poverty Row Horrors!: Monogram, PRC and Republic Horror Films of the Forties (McFarland, 1993) suggests filming did not actually start until early August… which was really pushing things: theater programmers planning on booking The Ape were given a hard release date of 13 September 1940. Weaver, who along with Richard Harland Smith, provides a commentary to Kino Lorber’s Blu ray of The Ape, is one of the principal reasons to purchase the disc. This musty old film, more sci-fi than horror really, has been kicking around the public domain almost since the beginning of home video, but has never looked better than it does here.

If you’re a fan of Karloff or of these old Monogram horror films of the 1940s, this Kino Lorber Blu-rayis certainly the edition to get. Aside from a few emulsion scratches here and there, this film has never appeared looking as fine, having been sourced from a 2K master held by the Library of Congress. The print used in the transfer is from the British release, distributed in 1940 by England’s Monarch Film Corporation. It’s presented here complete with the British Board of Censors title card on the film’s front end.

As much as I love Boris Karloff, this is, in all honesty, one of his less memorable films. Upon its release in 1940 the Los Angeles Times was kind to Karloff’s performance if not thrilled with the film in general. Of Karloff, the review conceded, “No matter how farfetched the story, he always makes it believable.” The Hollywood Reporter thought Shirk’s original stage play was far more thrilling as a horror vehicle: “In wise realization that horror, as such, no longer holds its former popularity on the screen, most of the obvious chills have been removed from the screen version.” Variety thought the resulting film totally dire, with the “Ultimate weight of the flick as a suspenser is nil and most of the footage is extremely boring.”

The sixty-two minute film didn’t make much of public splash upon release, curiously playing first on co-bills alongside non-genre efforts as Gene Autry westerns. Occasionally, The Ape was, on its second and third turns, more fittingly paired with another Monogram effort The Revenge of the Zombies (1943, featuring John Carradine) on programmed midnight “Spook Frolics.” Such midnight screenings were probably the best setting in which to enjoy The Ape. While I personally love these sort of horror-cheapies of the 1940s, they are, admittedly, not everyone’s cup of tea. Most fans of vintage-classic horror much prefer Bela Lugosi’s poverty-row efforts for Monogram as – by intention or not – they all seem to have a deliriously looney vibe about them that rackets up the entertainment value. The mad scientist in The Ape might be crazed, but compared to Lugosi’s madder-than-Hell and far more sinister Dr. Paul Carruthers in The Devil Bat (1940), Karloff’s Dr. Adrian comes off as bland and dangerous as… well, as television’s Dr. Marcus Welby M.D.

This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray of The Ape is presented here in a 1.37:1 aspect ratio and in 1920x1080p with a monaural DTS sound and removable English sub-titles. The set also includes several bonus features including two separate audio commentaries: the first by author Tom Weaver, the second by film historian Richard Harland Smith. The set also features a Poster and Image Gallery, and the theatrical trailers for Black Sabbath, The Crimson Cult (both featuring Karloff) and The Undying Monster.

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“NUCLEAR NIGHTMARE”

By Raymond Benson

It was a surprise to discover this engaging, tightly-written and directed thriller—released in 1950!—about a possible nuclear nightmare taking place in London. In fact, the film was awarded the Oscar for Best Story (back when that category still existed). The writers were Paul Dehn (who would years later co-pen the script for Goldfinger and, after that, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold) and James Bernard (primarily known as a film score composer, best remembered for his work for Hammer horror pictures).

The Boulting Brothers (identical twins!) were a sort of British Coen Brothers at the time, having made numerous quality movies from the late 1930s to the 1970s, usually directing separately. Seven Days to Noon is the only picture on which both brothers are credited as directors.

While the tale is fiction (and based on a novel), it plays as if it’s a true story. A brilliant nuclear physicist, Professor Willingdon (Barry Jones) has written a letter to the Prime Minister, saying that he’s stolen one of the suitcase-sized nuclear bombs from the British weapons development facility, and he will detonate it on the following Sunday at noon (seven days from the beginning of the picture) if Britain does not announce the cessation of atomic weapons creation. Willingdon goes into hiding to wait out the days, staying in shabby rooms-to-let near the center of London. One of his landladies is the colorful (and morally dubious) Goldie (Olive Sloane). Scotland Yard Superintendent Folland (Andre Morrell) teams up with one of Willingdon’s colleagues, Lane (Hugh Cross), who happens to be sweet on the professor’s daughter, Ann (Sheila Manahan), to try and figure out Willingdon’s whereabouts.

The picture goes into fine detail on how such a scenario might play out in the city. For the first couple of days, the public is kept in the dark; but as the deadline draws near, an evacuation must occur. A fifteen-mile radius is determined to be the danger zone, and the filmmakers illustrate what a problem this would entail.

The result is a suspenseful, beat-the-clock doomsday picture that foreshadows by almost fifteen years other similar cautionary movies like Dr. Strangelove or Fail-Safe. The film moves quickly through its near-ninety-minute runtime, generating tension and chills galore.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration is a solid black and white, suitably grainy presentation in 1920x1080p with optional English subtitles. Alas, there are no supplements save for a theatrical trailer and some for other Kino releases.

Seven Days to Noon is terrific stuff, a shining feather in the cap of the British film industry.

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“DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

By Raymond Benson

“Don’t look at me!” shouts Frank Booth, the sociopath played by Dennis Hopper, but that, of course, is exactly what David Lynch wants you to do.

Lynch was nominated for a Best Director Oscar for this singular, extraordinary film that shook audiences around the world in 1986, and it’s the picture that solidified the filmmaker as perhaps the heir to the surrealists of the 1920s. It’s a polarizing film that makes audiences uncomfortable and sometimes outraged, and yet it possesses signature stylistic and thematic aspects to which Lynch has returned many times in such fare as the more mainstream (but also surreal) television series Twin Peaks, and the dreamlike fugues of pictures like Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive.

After the box-office and critical failure of the sci-fi extravaganza, Dune (1984), Lynch exercised his option with producer Dino De Laurentiis to make a smaller, personal movie of his choice (with a drastically reduced budget). It is a work of striking brilliance and power, despite the negative reactions from some viewers (including Roger Ebert) to the violence against women depicted in the story. But this is what the movie is about, and it is handled with frank and often shocking, but artfully drawn, imagery in a film noir framework. Lynch’s recurring themes of lost innocence, exploring the dark underbelly of a seemingly all-American small town, voyeurism, good versus evil, and the “mysteries of love” are on full display.

Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) is a college student who has come home to visit his hospitalized father in his small town of Lumberton, North Carolina. While walking through a field, he finds a severed human ear. He dutifully brings it to the police station, and then becomes friendly with the detective’s daughter, Sandy (Laura Dern). While on a date, Sandy tells him that she overheard her father discussing the case, and it involves a lounge singer named Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini). Jeffrey takes it upon himself to play detective on his own and break into Dorothy’s apartment. Suddenly, Jeffrey’s safe little world is turned upside down and he is sucked into a cabal of sadistic criminals led by Frank Booth (Hopper, in a truly scary, nightmare-inducing performance). Dean Stockwell, Brad Dourif, and Jack Nance are among the gang members, and each of them are as eccentric and creepy as their boss.

It’s a tale of a Boy Scout who discovers hard truths about the world we live in, and of a woman who sacrifices her soul for the safety of her husband and son. At its heart it is a profound statement on love and what we as humans are willing to do, not for it, but because of it. Blue Velvet is an uncompromising work of art that will stand the test of time, the quintessential David Lynch film, the one that can be buried in a time capsule to represent his entire oeuvre.

Besides the excellent cast, the gorgeously dark cinematography (by Frederick Elmes), and the bravura direction, Blue Velvet also marked the beginning of Lynch’s relationship with composer Angelo Badalamenti, whose music has become identified with the filmmaker’s titles. Alternating between the dreamy and beautiful to the menacing and dark, Badalamenti’s score perfectly captures Lynch’s mise-en-scène as the director takes us from the bright, sunny cheeriness of Lumberton’s surface to the ugly, nefarious underground that most likely exists in all towns across America.

BY PETER BENASSI

It was the enormously ambitious and costly film project they said would spectacularly flop; the 1937 feature length cartoon feature that even his own family tried to talk him out of making; the realised dream of an all cartoon motion picture, three years in the making, which broke new ground and cemented his place in film history. It could have failed and it was a gargantuan gamble, but it paid off handsomely and Walt Disney never looked back after the supremely seminal Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs became a global sensation and set him on his way to certain success with a succession of captivating cartoon classics. Then came the parks, the publications, the inevitable merchandise and the rest, as they say, is history. So much for this being “Disney’s Folly” which Snow White was unfortunately nicknamed - even during its production! Indubitably, the film serves as a life lesson in believing in yourself and following your dream. The visionary that was Walt Disney surely deserved every cent of success for the wealth of wonder and excitement for which he was responsible.

Picking up a copy of “Disneyland” comic from a selection of periodicals in the doctor’s surgery when I was a very young boy was enough to captivate me and ordain me as a Disney devotee. It became a weekly reading staple of mine from that point on, taking in “Mickey Mouse” comics along the way. I never missed “Disney Time” on the Beeb and the first big Disney movie for me at the cinema was Lady and the Tramp. It completely blew me away and even at that tender age, I knew that there was something extra special about this particular animation; everything about it was so wonderfully lifelike (I then had no knowledge of such animation processes and techniques such as rotoscoping). I eventually knew all the Disney characters by heart and longed to see the other films on the big screen. One by one, during school holidays and Easter weekends, I would get the invaluable opportunity to thrill to these masterpieces: Pinocchio (1940), The Jungle Book (1967), One Hundred and One Dalmatians (1961), The Rescuers (1977). However, the one Disney production which never played at any of our local cinemas was the one film I wanted to see most of all. And that was Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, having adored the classic Grimms fairy tale as a nipper and from which the film was adapted. Finally that day came when I was in my early teenage years and I actually visited the cinema to see it after all that time. I would have much preferred to have seen it as a child, but it still cast its magic spell over me and delivered the goods I had longed to see.

I think what appealed to me most about the Disney films, especially Snow White, were the genuinely frightening moments in his films that featured the villains of the piece. That stirred something deep inside me and was instrumental in making me a horror film aficionado as I grew older.

So, back to Snow White. Disney did something quite remarkable with the oft-told and much loved Grimms Brothers favourite Everyone knows the story of how a young princess, forced to flee for her life when her insanely jealous mother Queen demands she be killed because she is more beautiful, encounters a cottage full of dwarfs, becomes a mother to them and then is brought back from death by love’s first kiss, delivered by a handsome prince for whom she always had the hots. After which, it goes without saying, they all live happily ever after.

However, making a short and sweet little story into a full length animated and consistently entertaining film is no mean feat, but Disney knew exactly what he was doing and his invention and attention to detail here is extraordinarily admirable. There are no longeurs whatsoever and the film is carefully and cleverly paced and crafted to ensure that there is no extraneous material inserted to pad out the picture which has an the 83 minutes running time. For a start, the dwarfs are imbued with their own personalities and named accordingly; then there is that unmistakable anthropomorphic charm with the woodland creatures who befriend the gentle and sweet-tempered Snow White, help her with household chores but most importantly play a pivotal part in the exciting climax; beautifully written songs are introduced into the story along the way and could easily stand alone as classics in their own right. All of this works wonderfully well and never looks out of place or appears poorly judged.

BY ROD BARNETT

The horror sub-genre generally known as 'Nature Attacks' blossomed in the 1970s and probably reached perfection with Jaws (1975). Certainly Jaws was not the first movie to put humans at the mercy of a relentless animal antagonist but it's success guaranteed that it would never be the last. Being very well respected and most profitable film of its type there was little doubt that more such movies would be made but while much fun can be had watching the various carbon copies with monsters of all types, it's the nature attacks tales that stretch outside the basic formula of Jaws that are the most interesting. That's not to say that most of these films are good but they are usually fascinating viewing just to see what threat from the animal kingdom can be blown up to epic proportions to frighten the public. I'm sure the producers of The Bees (1978) had Hitchcock's brilliant The Birds in mind as a template but that is a level of competence that this film could never reach.

Somewhere in South America a United Nations science outpost has Dr. Miller (Claudio Brook) running some tests and experiments on African killer bees. Miller is part of a team that is working to figure out a way to increase the production of honey and their plan is to crossbreed African killer bees with less deadly bees to create a new, less aggressive but highly industrious breed. Unfortunately, the lure of top grade honey is too enticing for a local villager who, along with his young son, sneaks into the killer bee compound at night. The pair of would-be thieves disturb the bees, resulting in the son’s death and the father's disfigurement. The nearby villagers blame the death on Dr. Miller so they storm the research compound, releasing the bees and killing Dr. Miller.

Dr. Miller’s wife Sandra (Angel Tompkins) smuggles some of the remaining bees back to America and takes them to Dr. Sigmund Hummel (John Carradine) who also happens to be her uncle. Siggy, as he is called, is the head man of this UN bee project in the States and has been working in the field for years. With the assistance of John Norman (John Saxon) and Sandra, Dr. Hummel tries to continue Dr. Miller’s research. While their work progresses, a group of greedy American businessmen try illegally importing some killer bees of their own into the United States. Their plan goes horribly wrong and their courier is killed in transit, thus releasing his bee stash into North America and off we go into disaster film territory. The bees set up shop in a cave near a public park (!), begin multiplying, building hives and occasionally stinging a person to death.

As the bees become a bigger and more deadly problem threatening to destroy the human race, the UN team begins to make some real progress and actually slow the insects' advance for a while. But at that point the bees evolve into a species smarter and more deadly than anyone could have imagined, leaving Dr. Norman,fighting to find a way to communicate with the creatures to stave off the end of humanity. I don't want to give away the completely mad ending so that the curious can marvel at it's unusual solution to the problem. I'll just say that finale is almost worth getting through the rest of the movie just to witness.

Let's be clear about this now - The Bees is a terrible film. It's inept in a dozen different ways with awful dialog, a ridiculous romance angle, ham-fisted villainy and generally wretched acting. The only two actors that make it out of this mess with their self-respect intact are Saxon and Carradine, even if that venerable actor is saddled with a truly stupid German accent. I love John Carradine and it was great to see him featured so prominently in a film this late in his career. He’s good in his role but I did find myself constantly distracted by the sight of his arthritic, crippled hands. I'm aware of Mr. Carradine's arthritis problems later in life but this was the first time I've seen a director choose not to hide this deformity onscreen. It drew my attention repeatedly and made me wince whenever I saw him holding things or picking up objects. Saxon is the only actor who seems to be rewriting his dialog on the fly, which is to say that his lines sound the least stilted and juvenile throughout. Saxon finds a way to seem naturalistic in his role even when he is being asked to do some pretty dumb things and, as a plus, he gets to have a gratuitous fist fight.

I wish The Bees was a better movie. I really enjoy the nature attacks sub-genre and the idea of swarms of malevolent insects engulfing people automatically gives me the chills, so I'm a fair mark for the story being told here. But this film is so poorly produced and badly written that it is impossible to ever take anything seriously. I can get behind the film's basic message of dialing back the harm we do to the environment before we damage something vital but the entire affair just seems like an under budgeted amateur mess. Most of the time it feels like a 1970s Saturday morning cartoon script that somehow got made into a feature film. On the plus side I do have to give the director credit for some creative use of (a lot) of stock footage to show the military's fight against the invading bee horde. This footage is well integrated and the scenes of the Rose Parade were very well done with a surprise appearance by President Gerald Ford before the bees descend.

Just one more note about the film that I can't ignore. The sort of jazzy score by Richard Gillis is pretty bad and entirely inappropriate to the events it is used under. It feels like music written for another story idea that got grafted onto this film out of necessity. It is almost always out of place and distracting especially after the seventh or eighth time the same few bars of music leap out of the soundtrack to emphasize whatever is happening. The music might work in another movie but here it's overused and its repetitive nature just grates on the viewer's nerves.

Luckily for fans of nature amok movies The Bees has been release on Blu-ray by the fine folks at Vinegar Syndrome. The movie looks and sounds fantastic putting to shame the poor quality transfers from video sources I've seen in the past. In fact, I can't imagine a better looking presentation of the film and one might even say the excellence in evidence here is better than the film deserves. The only special features are the movie's trailer and a very nice ten minute interview with the film’s director Alfredo Zacarias. Zacarias speaks with a lot of passion about The Bees and it's clear he really felt he was doing something important. I certainly don't think this is a good movie but I can appreciate the work the director put into this project and hearing his story from his own lips might have been the best part of this Blu-ray.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

By the early 1970s there had been a revival of interest in the format of anthology suspense/horror stories. This genre had been all the rage in the late 1950s and early 1960s with shows like "The Twilight Zone", "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" and "Thriller!" (hosted by Boris Karloff) attracting loyal audiences. "Twilight Zone" creator and host Rod Serling had two bites at the apple when he introduced "Night Gallery" as a TV movie in 1969 (giving young Steven Spielberg his first major directing gig) and then spun it off into a moderately successful weekly TV series. The early to mid-1970s also saw a major resurgence in horror-themed anthology feature films. The concept was hardly a new one for the big screen as the first major film of this type was "Dead of Night", released in 1945.  Roger Corman oversaw some similarly-themed big screen anthologies in the early to mid-1960s, many of which were inspired by classic horror stories based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe. Not to be outdone, Amicus Films, a rival of Hammer Studios, debuted their anthology concept with the 1965 release of "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors". By the early 1970s we had "Tales From the Crypt", "Vault of Horror", "The House That Dripped Blood" and many others.  All of the short stories were based on the same theme: a bunch of disparate characters encounter some supernatural occurrences with the less savory people ending up getting their just desserts through ironic circumstances. In 1983 producer Andrew Mirisch decided to give the anthology concept a try by teaming with producer/screenwriter Christopher Crowe and pitching the concept to Universal. Mirisch had found success in recent years with two popular TV series: "The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries" and "Buck Rogers in the 25th Century". Universal gave the green light for McCarthy's proposed series "Nightmares". The concept was to feature a self-contained horror tale within a half-hour format. For various reasons, including the possible demise of a similarly-themed show titled "Darkroom", the idea for a weekly series was nixed. However, Universal liked what they had seen and decided to morph the concept into a feature film, retaining the title "Nightmares". It consisted of four individual tales and the film was directed by the esteemed Joseph Sargent, who had some high profile TV series and feature films to his credit. The result was an unremarkable but consistently entertaining film that is not as sharp or memorable as some of the best anthology films but superior to some of the weaker ones. 

"Nightmares" dispenses with a gimmick used in many anthology films: having a creepy host reveal each of the stories. These just open "cold" without any attempt to link the plots or characters. First up is "Terror in Topanga" which finds Cristina Raines as a young mother who is hopelessly addicted to smoking. One evening she discovers she is out of cigarettes and decides to make a drive into town from her rural home in order to get a pack. Her husband admonishes her and insists that she stays home. Seems there is a manhunt on for a homicidal maniac who has butchered a police officer and who has been terrorizing other residents. Naturally, Raines ignores the advice and sneaks out of the house. The ride to town proves to be ominous with a few red herrings thrown in to mislead the audience, including her encounter with a hitchhiker on a lonely road. When she does make it to the store, it's manned by a wacko clerk (played the inimitable Anthony James) who is somehow more frightening than the maniac. By this point, Raines regrets her decision and is eager to race home. Despite the fact that there is a murderer on the loose, she refuses to lock the doors to her car, even when she leaves it to enter the store. This leads to a predictable development that comes about when she (in true horror movie crisis cliche mode) discovers she is coincidentally almost out of gas. Every major gas station is closed but she eventually finds a lone station on a foreboding mountain road. She has a tense encounter with the sole employee on duty who looks at her menacingly even as he pretends to pump gas. The payoff is based on one of the oldest urban horror legends but the tale is briskly paced and highly entertaining with Raines giving a fine performance as the increasingly nervous victim-to-be. 

"Bishop of Battle" goes in an entirely different direction. It eschews dark, foreboding places in favor of a bright suburban home and a crowded game center at a shopping mall. Emilo Estevez is J.J. , an obnoxious high school kid with a mad passion for playing the titular game. He becomes so obsessed with reaching the "13th level" (something few have supposedly ever been able to do) that he begins to withdraw from his parents and friends. His attempts to reach his goal become the stuff of local legend and big crowds gather to watch his attempts- but he always falls a bit short of his ultimate victory. Goaded on by the graphic of the Bishop of Battle, who constantly tempts him to keep trying, J.J. ends up defying his parents, who have ordered him to cease and desist from game-playing. One night he breaks into the arcade and begins his final battle with the Bishop. It leads to a disastrous but predictable conclusion. This segment is well-acted by Estevez and, despite the fact that we can predict the "shock" ending, it plays out well enough. Most of the enjoyment, however, comes from seeing how positively archaic "state-of-the-art" gaming was back in the early 1980s.  

"The Benediction" features Lance Henriksen as a priest serving in a tiny desert parish who undergoes a crisis of faith. Having witnessed so many terrible things happen to good people, he decides to hang up his frock and leave the priesthood. His fellow priest tries to talk him out of it, but he is determined to go his own way and start a new life. A big clue as to what awaits him comes with the rather awkward plot device of his being given a gift of holy water to keep him safe on his travels. This promising concept of a priest at odds with his faith is soon abandoned for a ludicrous scenario in which he becomes menaced by a black truck with an unseen driver that keeps appearing out of nowhere and smashing into his car, rendering it inoperable. The demonic vehicle then attempts to kill the priest in a series of spectacular attacks. One of the more ridiculous aspects of a tale that borrows shamelessly from the classic TV movie "Duel", the God-awful Universal cheese fest "The Car" and Stephen King's novel "Christina", is the fact that throughout this entire ordeal not a single other vehicle is anywhere to be seen. We know we are in a horror flick but there still has to be some semblance of reality. Henriksen gives a good performance but "The Benediction" is the weakest of the four stories in "Nightmare".

"Night of the Rat" is the best-remembered segment of the film because of its outrageous premise. Veronica Cartwright and Richard Masur are a young couple with a cute little girl (Bridgette Andersen) who live a normal life in a suburban neighborhood. Mysterious sounds begin to occur and lead them to believe that rats are in the house. The headstrong husband insists he can handle the problem and indeed he does catch and kill the critter. However, this only leads to an escalation of terrors as inexplicable destruction begins to take place all over the house. Absurdly, the husband still insists he can solve everything but when cabinets start falling and dishes crashing, the wife calls in an exterminator who tells her that it appears the house is possessed by something of old German horror legend: a seemingly indestructible giant rat who is out to get revenge for the killing of her baby. The crazy premise actually works better than you might think thanks to the superior performances of the three leads who manage to keep straight faces even when confronted with a five foot rodent who invades their daughter's bed.  The special effects of the rat itself look a bit laughable by today's standards but are admirable if one considers the technology of the era and the limited budget. The segment is the most enjoyable of the four and does contain some genuine chills before it's over-the-top finale. As with "The Benediction", there is a gnawing lack in credibility in that, despite the virtual wholesale destruction of this neighborhood home in the dead of night, apparently not one neighbor is aware of the situation. 

Shout! Factory's horror label Scream! Factory has released "Nightmares" as a Blu-ray special edition. The main bonus feature is a highly enjoyable commentary track with Andrew Mirisch and Cristina Raines, who appears throughout the track even though she is only in the first segment. Seems she and Mirisch are old chums and had worked together on other projects. Their memories of this particular film get very spotty occasionally but the commentary rolls smoothly thanks to the moderator, film historian Shaun K. Chang, who runs the highly addictive retro film blog Hill Place (click here to access). Chang keeps the conversation light in tone and, not unusually for film historians, seems to have more facts about the making of the film than the people who actually made it. There is plenty of interesting discussion about the background of the movie as a TV project and some very amusing conversations with Mirisch about how "Nightmares" looks a lot richer in terms of production values than the notoriously cheap Universal productions of the era. (Mirisch notes that he was determined to avoid using the same staircase that appeared in seemingly every Universal TV show.)  Chang also brings up a more disturbing and poignant fact: that actress Bridgette Andersen, one of the most prolific child actors of the time, died in 1997. Although he doesn't discuss the cause of her death of out respect for her memory, research shows she died at age 17 due to a heroin overdose. In terms of other aspects of the commentary,  none of the three participants engage in pretentious analysis of the film and all seem content to regard it as a fun, if not overly significant entry in the horror film canon of the 1980s, though Mirisch concedes at the end of the commentary track that, having seen the film for the first time since 1983, it has aged better than he had expected. The special edition also contains a well-made original trailer and two ominous radio spots. (Remember when they advertised movies on the radio?) In all, a highly impressive Blu-ray release- but with one caveat. The packaging notes that there is a commentary track with Andrew Mirisch and Cristina Raines but doesn't even mention Shaun K. Chang, who does most of the heavy lifting in terms of setting the relaxed tone and getting Mirisch and Raines to reflect on long-forgotten aspects of the film. C'mon, Scream! Factory- how about giving credit where it is due?

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

The Vinegar Syndrome video label continues to unearth obscure examples of 1960s erotica. None is more bizarre than "Infrasexum", a 1969 concoction by director/actor Carlos Tobalina, who would ultimately be regarded as one of the more prolific hardcore filmmakers. Back in '69, however, it was still difficult to get theatrical showings of hardcore films, which were generally relegated to 8mm film loops sold in adult book stores. Tabolina tried to push the envelope with "Infrasexum" but was still confined by the dreaded "community standards" obscenity laws that mandated only soft-core movies could generally be shown without causing a major legal flap from local conservative groups that had routinely declared war on pornography.  "Infrasexum" (I have no idea what the title means and apparently neither did Tobalina) attempts to tell a poignant story about the toll the aging process takes on sexual libido. The film opens in the offices of Mr. Allison (Eroff Lynn), a fifty-something successful business executive who is despondent over the routine lifestyle he is leading. He has money galore but exists in a gloomy state of mind. He's also depressed (in this pre-Viagara era) about his inability to perform sexually with his bombshell wife (Marsha Jordan), who prances about their penthouse clad in a see-through nightee. Determined to start a new life, Allinson sends his wife a goodbye letter, turns the control of his company over to two trusted employees and takes off for parts unknown. He immediately feels liberated from the day-to-day grind. He ends up in Las Vegas and almost reluctantly wins $250,000 in cash. He doesn't need the money but for the first time in ages he feels he's on a winning streak. He drives to L.A. where he has a chance encounter with Carlos (Carlos Tobalina), a somewhat kooky but charismatic man who routinely grubs money from him but also introduces him to a new lifestyle with his hippie friends. Before long, Allison is taking in rock shows in discotheques on the Sunset Strip and experimenting with pot. Carlos tries on several occasions to cure Allison's sexual problems by setting him up with willing young women but the result is always frustrating failure to launch. At one point an unrelated sub-plot is introduced in which Allison is kidnapped by two thugs who threaten his life and shake him down for big money. They also murder a helpless young woman in his presence. In one of the lamest action sequences ever filmed, Allison breaks free and kills both men in an unintentionally hilarious manner. Allison treats this presumably life-altering incident as though it's a minor distraction and before long is taking up his lifetime's goal of becoming a painter. An admiring young woman invites him back to her house but, once again, Allison can't seal the deal between the sheets and he has to call Carlos over to act as his stand-in!

It's difficult to say exactly what Tobalina expected to accomplish with this film. Is it an attempt to present a poignant look at the frustrations of the aging process with some full-frontal nudity tossed in? Or did he intend to simply dress up a sexploitation film with some legitimate dramatic story line aspects? In either case, the result is downright weird.  Tobalina's insertion of a gruesome murder also seems like an after-thought designed to appeal to horror movie fans. It's got plenty of gore but is so unconvincingly shot and directed that the sequence elicits more laughter than chills. Whatever early talent Tobalina might have conveyed on screen is compromised by the bare bones production budget, which was probably close to zero. Technical blunders abound. In some scenes you can see the shadow of the cameraman in center frame. In others, people's voices are heard even though their lips aren't moving. Still, the film at least aspires to be superior to most soft-core grind house fare of the era. As a trip back in time, it has merit. It presents some wonderful, extended views of the Las Vegas Strip, for example, and we can relish the marquees extolling such performers as Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Durante, Don Ho and Little Richard. Tobalina also gets out of the bedrooms long enough to take us on a scenic tour of local L.A. sites as well as the Sierra Nevadas. Tobalina is at his best when he gets out of the boudoir and shows us travelogue-like footage.  On a coarser level, the film also provides an abundance of good looking young women who romp around starkers. The movie would be primarily of interest to baby boomer males who want a trip back in time to an era in which such fare was considered daring and controversial. It's bizarre qualities will also appeal to fans of cult sexlpoitation films. 

The Vinegar Syndrome release looks great and the remastered print even shows us the grit and dirt that occasionally appeared on the camera lens.  An original trailer is also included that is truly a laugh riot, in that a God-like voice virtually commands us to see "Infrasexum" because it's a "classic". 

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BY TIM GREAVES

Not to be mistaken for the cannibal monstrosity from Umberto Lenzi with which it shares its title, Eaten Alive is a 1976 tale of terror set in the Louisiana swamps and was directed by Tobe Hooper in the wake of his phenomenal success with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre two years earlier. From the outset Eaten Alive shares its predecessor's mien of ill ease (though not to such stomach-tightening effect), but little of its wicked humour. Indeed it's an all-round far crueller film and positively bubbles over with bloodshed.

Producer Mardi Rustam – who also wrote the story with colleague Alvin L Fast, TCSM's Kim Henkel then adapting it for the screen – was aiming to ride the tidal wave of Jaws' success; what the results lacked in quality (certainly if Rustam felt truly inspired by Spielberg’s film) was voraciously compensated for with lashings of cheap thrills and squalid chills.

The story kicks off with a very fresh-faced Robert Englund attempting to abuse 'the new girl' in a grimy brothel. Immediately deciding that prostitution isn't for her, the young lass packs her bags and sets off on foot into the night. But it's very much a case of ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’ when she stumbles across the remote Starlight Hotel and its creepy proprietor Judd (Neville Brand); after attempting to assault her, he prongs her to death on the tines of a pitchfork and feeds her corpse to the huge crocodile he keeps in an enclosure in the back yard. It’s a brutal and extremely graphic sequence but one via which Hooper adeptly alerts the audience that he's upped the ante to deliver something rather more visceral then he did with TCSM (which for all its notoriety is a largely bloodless affair, functioning primarily on a psychological level). The rest of the movie’s runtime pivots on Judd serving up hotel guests as crocodile chow for no discernible reason beyond the fact he's mad as...well, as a box of baby crocs.

Given the unbridled success of Hooper's earlier film, it's no surprise that Eaten Alive is often given short shrift and indeed it is inferior, mainly due to sluggish pacing and the fact it was shot in its entirety on a soundstage; although the hotel exteriors –wreathed in swirling mist and bathed in a quease-inducing red glow – have an appealingly stylised look, it's also painfully obvious one is looking at a studio-bound set, replete with the tell-tale hollow sound resulting when interiors feebly posture as exteriors. However, if you can look past this handicap, and claustrophobic dread coupled with sleaze by the bucketful float your boat, then there's plenty on offer here to keep you entertained.

The cast alone is worth tuning in for. Complementing Brand's frenetic turn as the maniac hotel manager there are fun appearances from legends Mel Ferrer (whose career had certainly seen better days) and Addams Family icon Carolyn Jones (almost unrecognisable as the decrepit Madam of a brothel). Also on hand are Stuart Whitman as a local sheriff oblivious to the carnage being perpetrated on his patch and TCSM's leading lady Marilyn Burns, who fortuitously discards her frightful wig early on but still ends up bound and gagged by our resident psychopath... the poor girl didn't have a lot of luck in Hooper's films, did she? There's also a bizarre turn from William Finley as a disgustingly sweaty guest with a penchant for barking like a dog, giving Brand strong competition in the most deranged character stakes.

Alternatively lurking under titles such as Horror Hotel, Starlight Slaughter and Legend of the Bayou, when Eaten Alive was issued in the UK on VHS in the early 80s under the moniker Death Trap it immediately drew unfortunate attention that earned it a place among the infamous 'video nasties' and it was withdrawn from circulation. Previous DVD releases have reportedly been pretty much substandard across the board (although I haven't seen any of them to be able to comment fairly). But one thing's for sure: Arrow's new uncut Blu-ray/DVD combination package is anything but substandard, in fact it's absolutely terrific, doing Robert Caramico's stylish cinematography more fitting a service than one could have ever imagined possible. 

As if such a superior, uncut presentation of the film alone doesn't make this one a worthwhile purchase, Arrow has bundled in an impressive collection of sweeteners. There are new interviews with Tobe Hooper (who also appears in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it introduction tagged onto the start of the movie), supporting actress Janus Blythe and make-up artist Craig Reardon, as well as older ones with Hooper, Robert Englund and Marilyn Burns. Mardi Rustam provides an informative commentary and there's also a 20-something minute featurette that delves into the life of the Texas bar owner upon who the film is loosely based, as well as a healthy selection of trailers, radio and TV spots, plus a gallery of poster art and lurid lobby cards. A final gem appears in the form of a gallery of original 'comment cards', collected from attendees at a preview screening of the film back in 1976, with the incentive for filling them out being a reward for the best 'new title' suggestion. Most of the remarks are pretty uncharitable, with an amusing standout being the one on which the viewer sarcastically requests to be informed of any subsequent title change so that he/she doesn't inadvertently go to see it again!

Cinema Retro has received the following press release:  

“DARK WAS THE NIGHT received an overwhelming response at ScreamFest and the Lincoln Center’s New York Film Festival Sidebar Scary Movies Series and is now in theaters across the country and available Day and Date on VOD, and Digital platforms including ITunes and Amazon instant video.

Kevin Durand (The Strain) and Lukas Haas (INCEPTION) star as local policemen who go to battle against an ancient evil. The script, from Tyler Hisel, appeared on the 2009 Black List of best un-produced scripts, a rarity for the monster genre, under the title THE TREES.  Rounding out the cast are Bianca Kajlich (Undateable), Sabina Gadecki (the ENTOURAGE movie), Heath Freeman (SKATELAND), Steve Agee (@midnight) and Nick Damici (LATE PHASES).

Maiden Woods is a remote and quiet town, but something stirs in the dark woods surrounding this isolated community.  Sheriff Paul Shields (Kevin Durand) and his deputy (Lukas Haas), struggle to confront their own personal demons while facing down a new breed of raw terror.

DIRECTED BY

Jack Heller

STARRING

Kevin Durand, Lukas Haas, Bianca Kajlich, Steve Agee, Nick Damici, Sabina Gadecki, and Heath Freeman

WRITTEN BY

Tyler Hisel

PRODUCED BY

Dallas Sonnier, Jack Heller, Stefan Nowicki, Dylan K. Narang, Joey Carey

EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS

Ross Dinerstein and Kevin Iwashina

Caliber Media, Sundial Pictures, Preferred Content & P Street Films

Kevin Durand Stars in a creature feature that is downright poignant.

–CRAVEONLINE

Director Jack Heller does a fantastic job of doling out the scares and ratcheting up the tension in increasing intensity.

– AINT IT COOL NEWS

Smart effects design and cinematic discretion, make the damn thing work! â€“

ROGER EBERT.COM

Holds attention by withholding the usual genre tropes... A notch above standard horror, suspense. Tech and design contributions are nicely turned all around. 

- VARIETY

There’s certainly talent in Jack Heller’s fright film “Dark was the Night,” beginning with its cast. (Kevin Durand) conveys tender sorrow and steely resolve with understated dexterity. 

-THE NEW YORK TIMES

A trip into the woods that will give you chills, but provide you with the urge to press “play” over and over again – highly recommended. 

- DREAD CENTRAL

One hell of a great movie! One of the best horror films of the year. Don’t miss it!

- HORRORNEWS

This could be the next great horror franchise. â€“ FANGORIA

Jack Heller is a graduate of the University of Southern California School of Cinematic Arts. Jack made his directorial debut with the Micro Budget film Enter Nowhere, starring up and coming stars Scott Eastwood (The Longest Ride), Sara Paxton and Katherine Waterston (Jobs, Inherent Vice), the independent film was released by Lionsgate. As a music video and commercial director, he has worked with artists including, Miley Cyrus, Big Sean, and Chief Keef, as well as brands such as Beats By Dre, Pac Sun, British Knights, Stussy, and Hood By Air.  Heller has produced over 20 feature films including the upcoming Bone Tomahawk starring Kurt Russell, Patrick Wilson, Matthew Fox, and Richard Jenkins and is a founding member of the production company Caliber Media. Dark Was the Night is his second feature film as Director. 

Watch the Trailer now via the  Official DARK WAS THE NIGHT homepage and like the film on FACEBOOK!

SECOND TAKE: ALTERNATE OPINIONS ON FILMS PREVIOUSLY REVIEWED BY CINEMA RETRO 

BY TIM GREAVES

William Castle’s Strait-Jacket was a pretty big deal for Joan Crawford. Her biggest successes lay behind her, but she was shrewd enough to understand that even a low-budget horror film was money in the bank and, with the alternative for many actresses of her age (and younger) being protracted unemployment, she put her heart and soul into it. She participated in a pre-production featurette entitled “How to Plan a Murder”, alongside director/producer (and unsurpassed gimmick maestro) William Castle and writer Robert Bloch, jovially discussing the best ways to dispose of someone on screen. And, upon its release in 1964, she toured with the film, making a number of personal appearances that drew crowds in their droves. As to her performance within, if nothing else she should be applauded for having the temerity at the age of almost 60 to play not only a character some 15 years her junior, but (in flashbacks) a character some 35 years her junior; the latter, it has to be said, she monumentally fails to pull off!

In front of her terrified little girl, Lucy Harbin (Crawford) takes an axe to her philandering husband and his lover, after which, despite protestations of her innocence, she is hauled off – in a strait-jacket, no less – to an institution for the criminally insane. Twenty years later she is deigned fit for release and goes to stay on a ranch with her brother (Leif Erickson) and his wife (Rochelle Hudson), and her own daughter (Diane Baker) who has been in their care and is now an adult on the verge of matrimony. But as Lucy struggles to exorcise the demons of her past and attempts to forge a relationship with the daughter whose growing-up she has missed, she begins to have visions of decapitated heads and bloodied axes. Is she losing her mind, or is something far more sinister going on? Suffice to say it isn’t long before the murders begin…

A touch creaky by today’s standards and riddled with some pretty clunky dialogue, it’s nevertheless easy to conceive that Strait-Jacket was fairly shocking stuff back in the day. However, it’s fair to say that it’s still a very watchable little chiller, with a tangible snifter of Psycho running through its veins. Beyond the fact it emerged from the pen of Psycho-scribe Robert Bloch and was shot in crisp black and white (which served to lessen the impact of a number of its sanguinary sins), the premise of an elderly woman with a penchant for hacking up those who cross her prowling about a remote property certainly has a ring of familiarity about it. And, as with Psycho, it’s just possible that not everything is as it first seems. Anyone familiar with the twists in 1964’s Bette Davis starrer Hush…Hush Sweet Charlotte (which, it should be noted, Strait-Jacket preceded into theatres by some 11 months) will probably cotton on to what’s going on.

The cast is strong, particularly Diane Baker as Crawford’s daughter and George Kennedy as a bad-toothed ranch-hand-turned-blackmailer (who, despite carrying an axe everywhere, may as well have “red herring” tattooed on his forehead). Watch out, too, in the opening scenes for the uncredited screen debut of Lee Majors in the role of Crawford’s so-to-be-headless hubby. But, make no mistake, this is 100% Crawford’s show, effortlessly traversing personality swings that vacillate between pitiably timid and contrite and vampishly gregarious and carefree. Proof, were it needed, that regardless of the quality of the material at hand, she always gave it her all. (For further compelling evidence on this score, check out 1970’s Trog.)

Where What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, released two years earlier, remains this writer’s favourite Joan Crawford film, for undemanding chills and spills – or simply to see the actress firing on all dramatic thrusters – they don’t come much better than Strait-Jacket. And be sure to keep your eyes peeled to the screen for the closing Columbia Pictures logo, slyly tinkered with by Castle in a wickedly comic wink that none of this stuff should be taken too seriously.

The film is available on disc as part of Sony Pictures’ Choice Collection and comes with a respectable array of supplementary goodies. Along with “Battle Axe” (an entertaining retrospective that runs just shy of 15-minutes and includes an interview with Diane Baker), there’s the vintage promo featurette mentioned at the start of this review, some 1963 Crawford wardrobe test footage, brief axe test footage (conspicuously more gruesome than anything that made it into the finished film) and a TV spot. Regrettably the transfer of the film itself is a little disappointing, the image often resembling that of an old VHS recording desperately in need of a tweak on the tracking; not a deal-breaker, but certainly worth keeping in mind.

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CLICK HERE TO READ LEE PFEIFFER'S ORIGINAL REVIEW OF "STRAIT-JACKET" 

By Lee Pfeiffer

I'll admit to not being very conversant regarding the films of George Romero, aside from Night of the Living Dead. With the remake of his 1973 thriller The Crazies now in theaters, I thought it would be worthwhile checking out Blue Underground's Blu-ray release of the original film. Despite the title, which insinuates this is some kind of campy monster movie, I was quite surprised the film is a highly effective suspense movie played straight-faced and without over-the-top characters or situations. The storyline finds that a top secret government experiment in biological warfare has gone astray, leaving residents of a small Pennsylvania town infected. Suddenly, many locals begin to display signs of madness that eventually culminates in their acting as raving, murderous lunatics. As the townspeople scramble to prevent themselves from being infected, they must also deal with the horrendous problem of fending off attacks from friends and loved ones who are now hunting them down to kill them. This frightening scenario clearly inspired the slicker and more polished British film 28 Days Later and its sequel 28 Weeks Later, but Romero's production is also highly effective in delivering the chills.

By Hank Reineke

In similar fashion to the spectral forces that compelled Richard Dreyfuss to the base of Devil’s Tower in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, each July I’m similarly drawn to Phoenixville, Pennsylvania to celebrate the Colonial Theatre’s annual Blobfest.  As some of you may remember, the Colonial found itself under attack in the closing reel of the classic sci-fi film The Blob (Paramount, 1958) and today, more than fifty years on, the theater remains under siege.  With roots in the local community (the film was shot in and around Phoenixville, Downington, and Chester Springs, PA), The Blob remains, without doubt, the uncontested star of the weekend’s ghoulish activities.  But the gelatinous creature generously shares his annual turn in the spotlight with fellow ne’er-do-well monsters of galactic and science-gone-awry origin.  Though I enjoy Citizen Kane as much as the next guy, Blobfest is more my kind of cinematic event and I’m grateful that there are still movie-houses that offer repertory programming beyond the usual mélange of classics sanctioned by the American Film Institute.  Though born in the shadow of the Empire State Building, my yearly return to comparatively rural Phoenixville feels something of a homecoming.  Coming of age in the 1960s and early 1970s, a too great percentage of my Saturday nights were misspent in front of the family television watching ghoulish broadcasts of Chiller Theatre on WPIX and Creature Features on WNEW out of New York City.  Similarly, weeknights, weekends, and recesses were reserved for study of the gloomy stills featured in the pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland - and, when you could find it on the newsstand, the far less celebrated Monster Times. 

Count me among those who think John Carpenter's 1982 remake of Howard Hawks' The Thing is far superior to the original. Yes, Hawks' film was great for the 1950s, but you can't compare the genuine chills of Carpenter's version to James Arness running about in a shabby costume. Yet, Carpenter's film was a box-office disappointment. Released within weeks of Steven Spielberg's cuddly alien classic, E.T., poor old Thing couldn't get arrested. Even worse, attempts to market toys for the R-rated film seemed doomed from the start and resulted in a hybrid action figure cobbled together by pieces of left over Mattel toys, followed by the infamous Thing Snowcone Maker! We're not making this up folks, as it's all meticulously cataloged on the superb Kindertrauma website, which is dedicated to all the things that terrified you as a child. (Yes, there are plenty of images of clowns on the site).  The one question not answered continues to haunt us: was The Thing played by the same Thing who played himself in every episode of The Addams Family? - Lee Pfeiffer

To read every thing about The Thing click here

Sorry for the crude headline, but there's no other way of putting it. One of the film industry's greatest genres has been beaten into the ground by armies of talentless hacks. Not only are most original horror films dreadful, these uninspired, no-talents have systematically revisited genuinely scary films and ruined their legacies as well. Writer James Christopher has a very perceptive article in the Times of London explaining why there are precious few genuinely scary films made any more. Filmmakers simply don't understand the difference between suspense and gore. In Psycho, there are only two murders - but the film is still paralyzingly scary. Nicholas Roeg's Don't Look Now is virtually all based on the power of suggestion, not special effects - and it remains one of the most terrifying films ever made. Robert Wise's The Haunting eschewed special effects for a literate script and a great cast: no screaming teenagers trying to avoid a guy with a buzzsaw. I still can't watch the movie with the lights out. Nowdays, there has been an abundance of gore, but few genuine chills. Off the top of my head, I can only think of two really scary films that I have seen in the last decade: The Blair Witch Project and 28 Days Later. Not coincidentally, both had miniscule budgets and had to rely on innovative methods and nuance to provide the scares. Armed with a larger budget, the producers of the sequel to the latter film, 28 Weeks Later fell victim to going overboard and threw in everything but the kitchen sink (though the film is still head and shoulders over the "dead teenage" epics released seemingly every week - and it does have a kick ass final scene.)

James Christopher recalls the impact William Friedkin's The Exorcist had on audiences in 1973 and why it is still arguably the greatest horror film ever made - and he gets comments from other noted filmmakers about the demise of one of the cinema's most time-honored genres. - Lee Pfeiffer

To read, click here

Looking for a chill during the dog days of summer? Check out the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s delicious quartet of Roman Polanski thrillers: Summer Chills: Four by Roman Polanski. Screening Monday, July 30, and Wednesday, Aug. 1, at the Walter Reade Theater at Lincoln Center in New York. The series features the acclaimed director’s cult favorite The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967) and all three classics in what some commentators have labeled the Apartment Trilogy: Repulsion (1965), Rosemary’s Baby (1968), and The Tenant (1976).

Given the horrors contained in the Apartment Trilogy, what would our favorite Polish director have made of today’s rental market? A first-time viewer of Rosemary’s Baby might take away this central message: You’ll need no less a connection than SATAN to land a three-bedroom apartment in the Dakota when you’re a newly married, out-of-work actor and have no visible means of income.

The Tenant, a harrowing tale of urban isolation and paranoia, is instead a single renter’s nightmare: Not only have you (Roman Polanski) just moved into the apartment of a suicide victim, your landlord (Melvyn Douglas) hates you. The more you attempt to keep out of everyone’s way, the more things keep going terribly wrong. Like finding the former tenant’s tooth in the wall. Or the nightmarish visions none of your fellow tenants believe—even the one of the mummy-woman in the bathroom window across the courtyard who stares at you as you attempt to pee. The message: Living alone, while initially liberating and bohemian, usually ends in your becoming That Weird Guy Down the Hall Who Does Creepy Drag. The only solution is to throw yourself out the window.

If you fail the first time, repeat.

Repulsion, conversely, is more of a cautionary tale about what your anti-social roommate does when you go on vacation. So desperate is she for company, hands will reach out of the walls. Figures will appear in mirrors. She will pull your food out of the fridge, then not eat it. Psycho-sexual frustration will lead to her crawling around on all fours and delusions of rape. The message: Roommates, like pets, are high maintenance, especially when left alone. Either take them with you on vacation, or while you’re away, call your answering machine and make soothing sounds into the phone.

Back to Rosemary’s Baby, I can’t resist. Oft-cited as one of the “scariest films of all time,” I think of it as more of a touchstone of inspired casting – maybe the most inspired works of casting ever. Stuffed to the rafters with everyone from 1930’s contract players (Patsy Kelly, Ralph Bellamy); robust, British thespians (Maurice Evans, in a role that fits him like an old houseshoe); vaudevillians (Phil Leeds, Elisha Cook), Broadway actors (Ruth Gordon, Sidney Blackmer) and a winking cameo by William Castle, the film’s co-producer (Robert Evans would not let him direct as part of the deal at Paramount) – it’s hard to imagine a better ensemble. But according to IMDB.COM and other sources, the leads and supporting roles were the result of weeks of negotiations, turn-downs and second choices. Polanski wanted Tuesday Weld for the lead, and Castle wanted Mia Farrow. Jane Fonda was made an offer for the lead, but turned it down so she could make Barbarella (1968). Both director and producer wanted Robert Redford for the role of Guy Woodhouse, Rosemary's husband, but negotiations broke down when Paramount's lawyers served the actor a subpoena over a contractual dispute involving Silvio Narizzano’s film Blue (1968). Other actors considered for the role of Guy were contemporary leading men: Richard Chamberlain, Robert Wagner and James Fox. Legend has it that even Laurence Harvey campaigned for it, and Polanski tried to convince Warren Beatty to do it before offering it to John Cassavetes, who in 1968 was more known as a TV actor. Perhaps most intriguing to imagine, for the roles of witch coven leaders Minnie and Roman Castevet, Polanski suggested Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne (!) the renowned husband and wife Broadway acting duo. Might they have given their roles more of a Noel Coward drawing room feel, consistent with their theatrical careers? I guess we’ll never know. Hard to imagine Minnie Castevet as anyone other than Ruth Gordon, in her Oscar-winning performance.

Two other well-cast bit parts are by Emmaline Henry, who played Dr. Bellow’s wife on I Dream of Jeannie (Rosemary and Guy’s party scene) and Victoria Vetri, 1968’s Playmate of the Year, who plays the ill-fated, adopted runaway Terry Gionoffrio. When Rosemary meets her in the laundry room and asks “Aren’t you Victoria Vetri?” she replies no, “but everyone says I look like her.” It is,of course, Victoria Vetri, all 36-21-35” of her! – David Savage

READER COMMENT:

Wende Wagner also appeared in "Rosemary's Baby," a film that used the Dakota but wasn't supposed to be set there...Robert Redford in "Blue"? It's bad enough with Terence Stamp, but Redford? The mind boggles!- Rory Monteith

The producers of the forthcoming documentary about the making of Jaws- The Shark is Still Working-have launched a major new trailer for the production on their web site. They have scored a coup by having actor Percy Rodrigues to narrarate. Rodrigues provided the narration for the film's original trailer in 1975 and his dramatic reading sent chills through the spines of audiences months before Jaws went into release. The long-in-production tribute to Steven Spielberg's classic thriller continues to attract prestigious names. Recently, actor and Cinema Retro contributor Richard Kiel was interviewed about the influence the film had on the character of Jaws, who he played in the James Bond films The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker. The new trailer perfectly captures the legacy of the film and the enduring enthusiasm for all things Jaws-related. To view the trailer, visit the official web site by clicking here.