So I fucking did it: 31 days of (mostly) soft horror recommendations! I know this sort of thing is easier for some folks, but damn, I’m fucking exhausted.
As I’ve previously mentioned, my wife and I have a long-running tradition of just tucking in for Halloween, wrangling wings from BW3 a.k.a. Buffalo Wild Wings — sorry, not sorry as their spicy garlic wings are some of the best things on Earth — and eating candy and watching movies.
Beforehand I send her a list of film suggestions that encompass ‘classic’, ‘cult’ and ‘contemporary’ horror films and she chooses three from ‘em based on trailers and descriptions. (I do not want to be one of those asshole dudebros that force works onto others. Also, this year, just like with Horrorclature 2023, they were all cozy horror films.)
So here’s what we decided on this year. (These are just brief notes! I got other shit to do, y’all!)
CLASSIC
VIY (1967)
This is the first Soviet horror film and it’s all spooky witchy folk horror goodness. Goddamn, the production design and casting here is perfect, especially during the three days the philosopher is stuck in a church with a witch. I still can’t believe that the Soviets went ~40 years without making a horror film.
CULT
THE PHANTOM OF PARADISE (1974)
This has been on my watchlist for a while, and we always love a campy musical, and this delivers in a very Brian De Palma way. If you are a film nerd, you know that De Palma is all about extolling works he loves, and this modern rock opera interpretation of THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA delivers. (I’ll note: it predates Webber’s version by over a decade!) From his split-screens, to his hallmark adoration for Hitchcock, to his fondness of THE WHO’s rock operas and remarkable characters, this is quintessential De Palma and I love it.
Also, it features Jessica Harper, as in motherfucking SUSPIRA lead Jessica Harper. Also in SHOCK TREATMENT! What more could you ask for?
CONTEMPORARY
WEREWOLVES WITHIN (2021)
I rewatched this just a few weeks ago, but I was so stupidly excited to rewatch it again. This film is so, so, somuch fun. It is the perfect amalgamation of cast and script and direction and camerawork. It is funny and witty and spooky and occasionally gory and a glorious ride of a film.
ADDENDUM
Due to scheduling matters, we ended up screening the above the weekend before Halloween, but decided to watch one more scary work on Halloween proper, which I already featured yesterday: MILLENNIUM’s The Curse of Frank Black. There’s no trailer or anything, so you’ll have to settle for my write-up:
I am a huge fan of the website AUTOSTRADDLE. Yes, it is a queer-centric site and I do identify as queer, but AUTOSTRADDLE is specifically a website for lesbian culture that is also trans and non-binary inclusive.
I fall under none of those labels. Okay, well, genderqueer, but I present as a dude. I feel more akin to their writing than, well, just about any other culture site out there. They have a certain sensibility — a brusqueness and forthrightness coupled with insight — that brings me joy, although I do occasionally feel like an interloper. I have numerous tabs of their posts in my browser at all times. I want to send more eyeballs forward, and perhaps you’ll enjoy it and maybe even become an A+ member. (I am a proud supporter!)
I first discovered the site via Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya, who wrote for the very influential A.V. Club website before the working conditions went to shit, and she is now a writer and managing editor for AUTOSTRADDLE.
Kayla is brilliant and recently posted the sequel to her HORROR IS SO GAY collection of queer-adjacent essays about horror works, which is a far better collection than what I’ve been doing all month. Among other things, it features a deep dive on the works of Jennifer Reeder, who I have posted about and am always delighted to see others extoll her films.
I’d be bereft to mention their selections of horror films based on your astrological sign. While I’m not all that into horoscopes, this is fun and I absolutely cannot deny that I’m undeniably a Cancer, to a scary extent, and despite — well, this entire fucking site — I have not seen any of the films they assigned to my sign.
While I’ve always identified Halloween as Goth Christmas — see tomorrow’s post — it is also Gay Christmas and Kayla linked to a fantastic piece about exactly how it became know as ‘Gay Christmas’. This is history that should be known and she’s doing the work. I would not have discovered it if it weren’t for her or AUTOSTRADDLE.
AUTOSTRADDLE is a great site, one that really knows how celebrate Goth and Gay Christmas! I do hope that you click through to some of their non-horror posts as well, as they’re writing amazing works and I’m happy to call myself a supporter, even if I’m a genderqueer dude.
ADDENDUM
If you’re looking for more horror/goth-centric queer essays, I highly recommend GOTHIC QUEER CULTURE from Laura Westengard. I will warn you that it is surprisingly more entangled with trauma than I expected.
I’ve previously penned about William Castle’s cinematic escapades, specifically regarding THE HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL and the influence of Castle on Joe Dante’s work (and THE TINGLER? Definitely an influence. You can see it not only in MATINEE, but also GREMLINS 2).
Yet again, my favorite local arthouse theater — the Music Box — hosted another Castle screening by the same folks (this time presented in Percepto! Whatever that is!), all interactive and enthralling!
If you are or have been an avid MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 viewer, you’ve seen THE TINGLER before. They, well, they do eviscerate it. Despite a rocky premise and a number of clumsy lines and awkward special effects, it’s far smarter than they give it credit.
The always magnanimous Vincent Price is a scientist who is investigating the physiological logistics of fear. He postulates that fear is imbued by a creature — the titular Tingler — that only manifests itself when one is terrified. He sets out to prove his point, and matters escalate.
I don’t need to tell you that Price is amazing here — he always shows up and gives his all, no matter the material — but the film is surprisingly gorgeous, especially the print that we saw. The contrast of blacks and whites are measured but effective; there’s a surprising amount of center-framing, and well, everyone just looks splendid, even the Tingler! (Yes, the Tingler definitely is poorly puppeteered, but the design is great and it glistens like it’s real!)
What is most astounding about this work — and unfairly discounted — is its reliance on a deaf and mute individual. This is one of the earlier genre films I can think of that utilizes ASL and deafness as a plot point without belittling the character. Said character is the wife of an older man, and together they pointedly run a theater that exclusively shows silent movies. Her husband mostly communicates with her via ASL, despite the fact that she can read lips.
(I will note that this film does slightly disparage her by briefly labeling her as ‘deaf and dumb’. She is not dumb.)
This is a film that explicitly asks you to scream at certain points. (I’ll note, everyone at the Music Box gamely participated, myself included! It was a lot of fun!) However, the crux of the film is centered around a woman who cannot scream, who has no voice, who can only communicate via visual motions. What’s more filmic than that?
Castle gets a lot of shit for being a schlocky, gimmicky director. Yes, he definitely more than leaned into that, but hell, so did Hitchcock. Did Castle rig up electrical shocks in theater seats to thrill audiences? Yes. Did I attend a screening featuring a number of campy interactive performances, solely meant to titillate? Yes. However, the work does have an empathic heart beating under the schlock.
If you do choose to watch THE TINGLER, please bear that in mind.
DOCTOR X, directed by endlessly exhausted motherfucking Michael Curtiz — oh, did you know he also directed a little film named CASABLANCA? Also, well over a hundred other films? — is mostly notable for its technical details as opposed to its plot, which is wildly chaotic.
If you are older than 12, you’re probably familiar with the traditional Technicolor film look; it’s all vividly colorful and eye-popping and glorious. THE WIZARD OF OZ would be nothing without Technicolor.
That’s not how Technicolor started out. While it was one of the first non-hand tinted color film processes — in the early days of film, folks actually hand-colored individual frames, or entire reels were dunked in dye — it started as a two-color rendition, which was rather garish, mostly a glowing green and a ruddy red-brown.
While those hues were novel, they didn’t quite suit most dramas or comedies being produced by Warner Bros. who had signed an exclusive agreement with Technicolor. Then they realized: “Hey those Universal horror films seem to be doing well, and they’re just black-and-white. Let’s give that a go!”
As a result, the world received DOCTOR X and THE MYSTERY OF THE WAX MUSEUM (which was later adapted as HOUSE OF WAX). They didn’t set the world on fire like Universal horror films, but folks did take note of them.
For a long time, the only way to watch either of them were via shit transfers of deteriorated prints. The vibrancy of the Technicolor process? Nowhere to be seen. Two-color Technicolor? More like one-color Technicolor. When I said they were shit transfers? They were shit-colored, all brown and muddy and not at all appealing.
UCLA, as they often do (along with significant backing) took considerable measures to restore both films to their prior glory. The two colors glow in a singular way that you simply don’t see in films. It’s a very specific look. However, if a film isn’t shot with that in mind, if it’s shot thinking ‘oh, this is full color’ then, well, it’ll look ill-designed and flawed.
That isn’t the case with DOCTOR X. This film was shot by Ray Rennahan, an early master of the Technicolor process. His deft handling of lighting and hues is what makes DOCTOR X exceptional. Plot-wise, DOCTOR X is definitely bizarre and intriguing while at the same time being more than a bit staid and boring. While it’s essentially the tale of a Jekyll-and-Hyde serial killer mystery sussed out by cops and scientists, the means of how they do so are rather twisted and involve a lot of handcuffs and chairs and re-enactments for what I can only deduce as dramatic intent. However, it’s also injected with a lot of pratfalls, poorly conceived attempts at humor, stuttering pacing, and a terrible romantic subplot that even scream queen Fay Wray can’t make work.
While the use of color is the star here, the sets bolster the film. They’re all angular, stark and all over-powering in a German expressionist way. They’re mesmerizing and striking and compelling and draw you into a scene in ways the script fail to do so.
In other words: this is a film where the production values justify its existence, and this restoration does the film justice and returns it to its former glory.
POSTSCRIPT
I’ll note that, even when Technicolor finally mastered full-color, it was mostly via extremely complex and very heavy cameras that shot scenes on three reels — one red, one green, one blue — and it was optically combined in post. Think about that when you see push-ins in films of the late 30s and 40s.
Yeah, and you think CGI FX artists have it rough.
Lastly: I had this film slated for Horrorclature 2023 before I noticed that my local favorite art house theater — the Music Box — would be screening a 35mm print and, of course, I attended. A lot of the finer production details noted above are because of the introduction the programmers at the Chicago Film Society provided. They always do great work and, if you’re in the midwest? They program films not just in Chicago, but all around!
This Sunday’s repost features John Water’s SERIAL MOM, a cutting satire of sympathy towards serial killers and celebrity culture. It also features an astounding cast who are all in on the joke and they lean so far in that you feel that the camera might tip over.
Given the terrible uptick of interest in awful true crime podcasts — don’t get me started — and Netflix sexy serial killer biopics, it was well-ahead of its time. While it has a lot to say about how outsiders view and celebrate dangerous murderers, it is hilarious and — as Waters always does — manages to balance levity with social messaging.
“On the twenty-third day of the month of September, / In an early year of a decade not too long before our own, / The human race suddenly encountered / A deadly threat to its very existence.
And this terrifying enemy surfaced, / As such enemies often do, / In the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places…”
And after that prelude, we’re thrust into the grimy doo wop of LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS.
Directed by Frank Oz, this is one hell of an immaculately constructed misfit of a musical adaptation of a deviant off-Broadway production. Retaining the original writer Howard Ashman and songwriter Alan Menken — both of whom went onto to craft Disney works that influenced generations — I’m gobsmacked this was ever made. (Allegedly David Geffen, head of self-titled Geffen studios was a huge fan and willed this to the big screen.)
To think that it all started with this oddity of a basement musical based on a Corman B-movie, a B-movie that is mostly only known because it was one of Jack Nicholson’s early films.
(Can you imagine a world without the influence of Roger Corman? I sure as hell can’t.)
The premise is twisted but simple: botany enthusiast Seymour works at a flower shop in Skid Row — a very destitute downtown in an unnamed city full of poor loners and losers — and finagles an interesting plant that he names Audrey II, after Audrey, the co-worker he has a crush on. It turns out that the interesting plant is a carnivorous alien that feeds on human blood. Seymour nurses it into a monstrous creature and matters escalate.
The process of converting a counter-culture work from the stage to screen can be trepidatious, especially when you’re spending a lot of money and working with a major studio. Fortunately, all of the stars aligned for LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS. It features the best of both worlds, which you immediately see in the set design.
“…so I live downtown … that’s your home address / You live downtown … when your life’s a mess / You live downtown when depression’s just status quo. / (Down on Skid Row.)”
While Skid Row does look like a Hollywood set, all flat and confined, the streets and alleyways are covered in dirt and grime and shame. (In other words: Hollywood.)
“Someone show me a way to get outta here. / ‘Cause I constantly pray that I’ll get outta here. / Please won’t somebody say I’ll get outta here. / Someone gimme my shot or I’ll rot here.”
LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS manages to straddle the best of both worlds: it’s wildly, vividly strange and unique and still has the anarchic energy of subversive theatre, but also has so much fucking Hollywood money behind it. (At the time, it was the most expensive Warner Bros. production ever.)
“Come and look at the plant some more! It’s just going to get bigger and more interesting!”
The cast is astounding: Rick Moranis is perfection as dweeby Seymour and has pipes that you never, ever would have expected from him. Ellen Greene as Audrey is the only one retained from the off-Broadway production and I can’t imagine this work without her; the fifties blonde hair, her nasal, high-pitched, breathy — but surprisingly not irritating — voice imbues Audrey with so much character. You are not human if you aren’t moved by her half of Suddenly Seymour. Steve Martin practically steals the show with his sadomasochistic dental practice number. Bill Murray is one of his patients! Motherfucking John Candy is an over-the-top radio host!
“Let me guess: you got tied up.”
“No, just handcuffed a little.”
I’d be remiss to neglect the invincible, untouchable Greek chorus: Tichina Arnold as Crystal, Michelle Weeks as Ronette, and Tisha Campbell as Chiffon. (If you’re of the age that I am, you may remember Campbell as the charismatic Gina from the TV show MARTIN.) They’re all hilariously brusque when they aren’t perfectly performing doo wop accompanied by tight dance routines. They tie the entire work together, and they riff off of a number of prior musical works including WEST SIDE STORY.
“We’re on the split shift!”
“Yeah, we went to school ’til 5th grade, then we split!”
The real star, of course, is Audrey II, voiced by Levi Stubbs of THE FOUR TOPS. His gregarious and dramatic and uniquely pitched voice breathes life into one of the most articulated and astoundingly animated puppets ever created. The amount of work put into Audrey II — willed into the world by veterans of Jim Henson’s puppet company — is astounding. (I’ll note that working with Audrey II required certain compromises from the performers, such as having to lip sync in half-speed during certain scenes. The fact that you can’t even notice that while watching is not only a testament to the puppeteers but also the performers.)
“I’m just a mean green mother, a real disgrace, / And you’ve got me fightin’ mad. / I’m just a mean green mother from outer space, / Gonna trash your ass! Gonna rock this place! / I’m mean and green, / Mean and Green! / And I am bad.”
I touched on the sets previously and while they’re claustrophobic and often constricted, this adaptation is shot with the verve and energy of a Barry Sonnenfeld film, making the most of tight close-ups while also utilizing deep focus to layer background action, and somehow feeling cartoonish but grounded at the same time. Especially of note is how the Greek chorus is slowly revealed — almost as angels — to back Seymour and Audrey when they finally admit their feelings for each other.
Lastly, goddamn, Menken’s songs. They’re all so wildly catchy and captures the hooks of classic Motown while also being subversive in only the way Menken could pen. Once you watch this film, you’ll be humming and haunted by his songs for days and days.
“Shing-a-ling, shing-a-ling-ding, what a creepy thing to be happening! / (Look out! Look out! Look out! Look out!) / Shang-a-lang, feel the sturm and drang in the air. / Sha-la-la, stop it right where you are. / Don’t you move a thing. / You better / (Tellin’ you, you better) / Tell your mama somethin’s gonna get her / She better — everybody better — beware!”
I’ll note that the theatrical cut’s final act is wildly different from the Director’s cut. I will not spoil matters, but the Director’s cut is very self-indulgent, cost a fuckton of money, and — even for my goth sensibilities — very cruel and dark. I will simply say this: it is extremely nihilistic and goes full kaiju.
“You’re not gonna get away with this! Your kind never does!”
I appreciate being able to see both cuts nowadays via Blu-Ray, but holy fucking shit, if I’d seen the Director’s cut as a youth? Sheer fucking nightmare fuel.
“I’ve done terrible things, Audrey.”
This is a production that has inspired so many over so many years, and this film adaptation not only does it justice, it also makes the most of the medium while staying true to the work’s roots. It’s a remarkable film that will certainly inspire more for years to come, which is an odd thing to say about a film centered around a blood-thirsty singing plant, but we all find inspiration and empathy in the oddest of places.
Back-to-back cosmos-enacted zombie horror films! First, NIGHT OF THE CREEPS and now a quintessential take on Los Angeles: NIGHT OF THE COMET!
This is another repost, as Sunday is a day of rest. I’m not religious, but I do think it’s a it’s a healthy action and I will be relying on Sunday reposts here on out because I do need to prepare for NaNoWriMo.
I fucking love this film. It’s a whimsical teen zombie film, witty, surprisingly progressive, vibrant, and has one of the more nuanced sisters dynamic I’ve seen in genre films. It’s brilliant and well-worth your time this month.
NIGHT OF THE CREEPS opens on a darkened spaceship. One alien creature embraces a black experimental canister as it runs from two aliens in pursuit, guns blazing.
“That experiment must not get off this ship!”
Of course, the experiment is forcefully freed from the ship and finds its way to Earth. The experiment? Sluglike things that infect creatures through the mouth and immediately turns the host into a desiccated zombie.
The experiment ends up being unleashed at Corman University and matters escalate, mostly around semi-dweebish Chris Romero and his disabled friend J.C. Hooper who requires crutches, as well as Cynthia Cronenberg, the schoolmate Chris pines for, but a blockhead named Brad stands in the way.
“Sorry, Brad. Don’t take it personal.”
NIGHT OF THE CREEPS (CREEPS going forward) writer/director Fred Dekker has had quite the Hollywood career, spanning close to 50 years, writing everything from HOUSE to THE MONSTER SQUAD to IF LOOKS COULD KILL to 2018’s THE PREDATOR. However, NIGHT OF THE CREEPS feels like his mission statement, his visual thesis for his love of films.
From the knowing winks with a number of character’s surnames being shorthand for Dekkers influences. As noted above, you already have (John) Romero, (Tobe) Hooper and (David) Cronenberg. There’s also Detective Ray (John) Cameron, Detective (John) Landis, Sergeant (Sam) Raimi, and officers (Wes) Craven and (Mario) Bava.
There are also a number of other great inserts, such as Corman mainstay Dick Miller — see GREMLINS 2 and CHOPPING MALL — and all-around horror actor Tom Atkins (the aforementioned Detective Ray Cameron), as well as a mother watching a late broadcast of PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE.
Those who know, know, and horror fans will feel like they’re in good hands.
“Zombies, exploding heads, creepy-crawlers… and a date for the formal. This is classic, Spanky.”
While CREEPS doesn’t quite have the menace or scares it could, that’s beside the point. While it moves surprisingly briskly it’s the characters here that shine, notably Chris and J.C.
“OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.
“Do you think it’s taking the Lord’s name in vain to say ‘OH MY GOD.’ a whole bunch of times really fast like that?”
“I believe you’re allowed to break the commandments in certain situations.”
J.C. is one of the more positive portrayals of a disabled person I’ve seen from a genre film of the 80s. Genre films of that time rarely featured them or if they did, it was in a ham-fisted, clumsy, and insensitive way. While we never quite know exactly why J.C. can’t walk without the aid of crutches, we do see that he is very self-sufficient and accepting of needing them, and his friend Chris is also accepting and never patronizing. He is a good, respectful friend, although occasionally an unappreciative asshole.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: male friendship is very rarely the focal point of films, and they have an intense friendship. They look out for each other and have each other’s best interests in mind. Early in the film, J.C. is the one who steps up and takes the initiative in order to draw Cynthia’s attention to Chris, while also deflecting her blockhead boyfriend Brad.
“I bust my ass to help you and you get chickenshit again. And I push and I push and I don’t give up. And why? You don’t even know. You don’t even care. Because it’s important to me that you’re happy. Is that so crazy?”
Like many mid-80s genre films, there is definitely a queer subtext here. Hell, it isn’t even really subtext, although it’s never exactly addressed in the film’s dialogue, but, well, just read the following excerpt:
J.C.: “[You] just get depressed all the time like you are. So fuck you.”
Chris: “Yeah, well, fuck you too.”
J.C.: “You try it.”
Chris: “You’d let me.”
J.C.: “You want me to.”
Chris: “You wish.”
[PILLOW FIGHT BREAKS OUT]
Granted, J.C. isn’t ‘swishy’ like how most gay men were portrayed in genre films at the time. However, more than a little of the dialogue indicates that J.C. is definitely queer.
“I walked, Chris. All by myself. I love you. Good luck with Cynthia.”
It is not subtle! I’m shocked that folks argue about this! (That said, I do spend a lot of time reading and writing about queer genre works.)
To reiterate: this portrayal of J.C. is far more sensitive and well-developed than most genre folks penning horror at the time, and still feels positive. Yes, he’s ‘Chris’s queer best friend’ but he also has nuance and heart and feels real.
I will note that there is one way where the film lets us down regarding J.C., but it’s a spoiler, so see below:
Spoiler
Unfortunately, this film does bury its gays. And the disabled. J.C. was doomed from the get-go, sadly.
[collapse]
Setting that aside, Tom Atkins is brilliant as hard-boiled Detective Ray Cameron. He gets some of the best lines and his performance straddles both serious and camp. Allegedly, it’s his favorite film that he’s been a part of, and that’s high praise.
NIGHT OF THE CREEPS is an eminently watchable film, fantastic for Halloween, but also just for everyday viewing. Dekker put his heart and soul into this film, was bolstered by everyone he knew he wanted to see his creation through, and it paid off in every which way.
“Thrill me.”
ADDENDUM
There are two different cuts of this film: the Theatrical Cut, where the ending is very bleak, and the Director’s Cut, which sets up a sequel. Obviously, go with the Director’s Cut. I have no idea why the producers and/or editors thought that the theatrical ending would result in better financial success because yikes. It is an utter killjoy of an ending.
I am someone who considers themselves a horror fan — even though it took me a long time to become one — but there are some franchises I never glommed onto. CHILD’S PLAY’s one of them. I watched the first, maybe the second, and while they never took themselves too seriously, I didn’t find much to intrigue me.
Then I watched BRIDE OF CHUCKY.
Obviously, CHILD’S PLAY is Don Mancini’s babydoll, but it feels like he was a bit tired of the formula after three sequels and thought it was time to shake things up. Consequently, he took inspiration from one the greatest horror films of all time: BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN.
While James Whale’s masterpiece is inferred in the title and, hell, even featured in BRIDE OF CHUCKY, Mancini puts his own spin on it, namely making the bride the unbridled star of the show and leaning into outright horror-comedy.
Jennifer Tilly exudes gleeful darkness and mayhem as Tiffany, Chucky’s prior paramour. She’s been pining for him for a decade and finagles Chucky back to life in hopes they’ll get hitched and live happily ever after. Chucky laughs in her face upon hearing her nuptial dream. Tiffany dumps his ass, locks him up with a wedding-dressed doll, and tries to move on. Chucky gets free, kills her, but she ends up trapped in said doll. The two coerce two teen star-crossed lovers into transporting them across state lines to get Chucky’s talisman which will allow them to escape their plastic bodies. Matters hilariously escalate.
BRIDE OF CHUCKY is far, far more irreverent and cutting than prior CHILD’S PLAY films. There are a lot of winks and nods — including one quip from Chucky noting that, if he had to describe the circumstances that got him where he is now, it would take a movie and two or three sequels — but they all are fun, witty, and hilarious. This is a well-steered lark of a film that entertains on every level: great set-pieces (not one, but two grandiose vehicular explosions), savvy dialogue, imaginative kills, and a jaw-dropping ending.
While Brad Dourif gamely reprises his role as the voice of Chucky, the real star here is Jennifer Tilly. I wouldn’t say that Tilly is underrated, but she is often under-utilized, shoehorned into ditzy, insubstantial characters. (Not always, of course. Watch BOUND!) That’s not the case here. Tiffany has agency. She’s the guiding force here. Is she obsessed with serial killers and death and violence and havoc? Yes. However, she is a lot of fun and she takes no shit, she’s determined, she’s smart and capable and she knows how to get what she wants.
Tilly plays every single facet with aplomb, from faux-seducing her weak-willed asshole goth, to making an overstuffed meal of voicing ‘doll Tiffany’. Without her, this film would be forgettable. With her, it’s iconically memorable.
I need to note that this was Rated Q’s October screening. I’ve previously written about Rated Q but, if you are unfamiliar: Rated Q is a monthly film event at Chicago’s Music Box Theatre, organized by local misfit Ramona Slick. They solely program queer and cult films. Each screening features three drag performances that intersect with the film’s fashion and soundtrack. It’s not for everyone but — for me — it’s a chance to revel in joyous performances and be around like-minded individuals and laugh and grin and feel elated for two hours.
I am noting this because these screenings are my favorite monthly event and I will never shut up about them, but also because usually most folks attending these screenings are extremely familiar with the work. That was not the case here. While exiting the theater, I overheard so many folks exclaiming that BRIDE OF CHUCKY was so much better than they expected; far funnier than they’d anticipated; so much smarter than they thought it’d be when they bought a ticket. Everyone left glowing and happy and elated, and that’s exactly the experience Rated Q — and BRIDE OF CHUCKY — provides.
This is a perfect genre film. It is immaculately cast, the writing is smart and knowing without calling attention to itself, the direction is tight, the production design is vibrant and surprising, the lighting is colorful and has narrative impact, it has great needle-drops, and it’s a lot of fun!
“If you’re done being nice for no reason, I want you to scream!
“Chapter five: Let’s all chant the word ‘balls’.”
This film — adapted from the videogame of the same name that I’ve never played but should probably seek out — is essentially a twist on John Carpenter’s THE THING. Sam Richardson plays Finn Wheeler, a very kind-hearted and nice ranger whom is tasked to oversee the potential pipeline, overseen by one slimy industrialist played by Wayne Duvall, in my home state of Vermont. Sam forms an immediate bond with mailperson Cecily, effortlessly and charismatically played by Milana Vayntrub. Folks and animals are murdered and and all signs point towards a werewolf enacting them, and everyone suspects everyone else of being a lycanthrope. Matters escalate and culminate in a wonderfully executed end-scene.
Mishna Wolff’s script is confident and exacting. It’s tightly constructed and not a single exchange is wasted. She imbues so much character and humor — this film is fucking hilarious — while moving the action forward and it has something to say! This is a script that leaves me in awe.
Then there’s the cast. Holy fucking shit, there’s so much talent here. As noted, it’s led by Sam Richardson, the heart of everything he’s involved in, not just VEEP but if you haven’t watched DETROITERS? You need to remedy that immediately.
“Oh my god, I’m broken up, aren’t I?”
“I think so. Want to do something violent?”
I want to emphasize Milana Vayntrub’s work here. Sadly, she is best known for AT&T commercials (of which have not been the greatest situation for her), but she’s a brilliant and versatile comic actor — if you’ve seen the now-unavailable Yahoo series OTHER SPACE from MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 creators you know that already — and WEREWOLVES WITHIN showcases her range. She’s funny and witty and quippy and knows exactly what she’s doing and knows how to handle it.
“We’re having a good old-fashioned sleepover.”
“With guns, though.”
“With guns, yes.”
I don’t mean to overlook the rest of the cast because — goddamn — everyone here is amazing. Catherine Curtin as innkeeper Jeanine! Goddamn Harvey Guillén from WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS as a very rich and entitled queer and AMERICAN HORROR STORY staple Cheyenne Jackson as his partner! Brilliant and prolific Michaela Watkins as one fucked-up wife, and the severely underrated Michael Chernus from ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK as her husband! I could go on! It is an amazing group and the casting director deserves so many accolades for wrangling all of this talent.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Pete, but your dog only barked at Jews.”
I used to take notes via notebooks and the macOS/iOS app Scrivener, but have recently shifted to using a whiteboard that is right behind my office desk. I just pivot in my chair and write and holy fuck, I now realize: I write a lot. Physically writing your thoughts in a way that stare you in the face is vastly different from type on a screen.
As the photo conveys, this is a long-winded way of saying: the dialogue here is very memorable and noteworthy and I did get to the point where I told myself: “You do not need to physically write out every quip because otherwise you will fill the board and have to erase earlier quips.” (The blue? That’s for WEREWOLVES WITHIN. The whitespace at the bottom? That’s because I can only crouch so low.)
“You’re the mailman!”
“Person, yeah. Gender is a construct.”
I haven’t even tackled the class commentary! There’s a lot of it!
This is an immaculate, perfectly realized genre film that does what genre films do best: couch subtext in sensationalism and, even better, it does so through nuanced and unique characters within an intensely realized space.
“Gotcha, homewrecker!”
“Yeah, this town is batshit.”
I’m shocked that it hasn’t been extolled further — I imagine because it’s only available to stream via Hulu — but damn, it makes for perfect Halloween viewing.
![SERIAL MOM (1994) [REDUX]](https://mediaclature.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/serial-mom-poster.jpg)
![NIGHT OF THE COMET (1984) [REDUX]](https://mediaclature.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/night-of-the-comet.jpg)
