Movie Review: "Halloween" (1978)

 

How have I managed to avoid talking about John Carpenter’s Halloween all this time? Huh, weird. Oh, well, no better time than the present! 

What follows is a deep-dive exploration of this over-forty-year-old-movie, so copious spoilers abound. If you haven’t seen it yet, then go watch it first and then come back here. I’ll be waiting...muh-HA, HA, HA, HAAAA!!!

Ahem, sorry. Honestly I don’t know if I can say anything particularly original about this classic horror movie, except that it’s by no means a sacred cow. Yes, it’s an iconic seasonal thriller, which exhibits a surprising amount of restraint and suspense, but it’s certainly not a perfect film. In fact, Carpenter and company make some downright bizarre choices during its peppy 91-minute runtime.

The story is very simple; a decidedly appropriate choice when forging a modern addition to the “bogeyman” urban legend, typified by stories like “The Hook” or the “Backseat Killer." Out of the blue, six-year-old Michael Myers (aka “The Shape”) murders his sister on Halloween night. Then, 15 years later, he escapes from the booby-hatch, makes his way back home to Haddonfield, Illinois,  encounters Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) and inexplicably becomes obsessed with killing her and her friends. Meanwhile, Dr. Sam Loomis, played by Donald Pleasance, tries to warn local authorities that “death has come to your little town.”       

Right from its opening credits, Halloween grabs your attention and doesn’t let go. Between the iconic John Carpenter score, the classic orange font and the slow zoom towards the crudely-carved pumpkin, the movie sets up the perfect tone right from the jump. This is carried into the prologue, which sees a crowd of exuberant, costumed trick-or-treaters reciting the following traditional poem:

Black cats and goblins and broomsticks and ghosts,

Covens of witches with all of their hosts.

You may think they scare me, you're probably right.

Black cats and goblins, on Halloween night.

Trick or treat!

Needless to say, Carpenter and co-writer Debra Hill crammed so much atmospheric, creepy, seasonal tropes into their movie, it virtually guaranteed that Halloween would become the de facto flick that gets played ad nauseum this time every year.

What follows is another visually-stunning moment, especially for a movie made for under $400 K. Using the newly-developed Panaglide steadicam, Carpenter forces us into the perspective of the pint -sized killer as he sneaks through the house, dons a mask and stabs his older sister Judith to death with a butcher knife. It’s a truly chilling scene with squirm-inducing implications.

This introduces the first of many oddities. While l’il Michael is doing his best Norman Bates impersonation, our point of view suddenly moves away from Judith and over to the knife as it rises and falls out of frame several times. At first I thought 'Man, that is so dumb, if you were trying to kill someone with a knife, um, in theory, you’d be a fool to take your eyes off the intended victim for fear they'd try and escape.' But then a really chilling thought suddenly hit me: what if this kid is really enjoying the sight of the knife in his hand as he murders his poor sister in cold blood? In a precursor to a famous future scene, he’s already admiring his handiwork!

The prologue ends with a dazed Michael, dressed in his creepy clown outfit, standing on the front lawn holding the bloody knife. His parents rip the mask off of his face and they just stand there and stare at him as a crane shot slowly pulls away. This simple scene raises about a million questions in the eternal debate of "nature versus "nurture" and, contrary to what Rob Zombie may think, it's all of the origin story we really need to establish “The Shape.”

We then flash forward from 1963 to October 30’th, 1978 and meet Dr. Sam Loomis, played to absolute perfection by a twitchy, irritated and clearly-haunted Donald Pleasance. Loomis and his driver, Nurse Marion Chambers (Nancy Stephens), are en route to Smith’s Grove Sanitarium to oversee the transfer the now-adult Michael to another institution. Even though Loomis is supposed to be Michael’s shrink, talks openly about keeping his patient doped up to the gills, refers to him as “it” and then declares that “the evil is gone” after he escapes. Delivered by a lesser actor, these lines would come off as melodramatic and cheesy, but, in Pleasance’s capable hands, we’re instantly convinced that Michael Myers is nothing short of evil incarnate.                 

During all of this, the film's low-fi aesthetics help rather than hinder. Some of these shots look like they were captured by Carpenter himself while he was sitting in the backseat of the car, creating a nice sensation of claustrophobia. When the vehicle pulls up to the sanitarium and we see several spectral-looking escaped mental patients drifting around in the distance through the rain-soaked windshield, the effect is super-eerie and sets a really discordant mood.

The subsequent scene where Michael steals their car is kind of lame, though. Loomis and Chambers are so easily overcome they might just as well have stepped out, left the keys in the ignition, let Mikey take the wheel, said “watch your elbow” and then gently closed the door for him. It doesn't help that the passenger side “window” that Michael shatters looks like a cheap piece of plastic and we then see a scrawny looking guy dressed in a hospital gown jacking up the car GTA-style. Sorry, but the concept of a mental patient who’s been locked away for 15 years expertly navigating a car is so patently ridiculous that Carpenter felt the need to include a ham-fisted throw-away excuse from Loomis later on in the movie.

We then switch scenes to Haddonfield on Halloween day. Just like in Friday the 13’th: Part III, California doubles for an easterly locale, but thanks to the excellent cinematography of the masterful Dean Cundy, everything looks appropriately dreary and washed-out here. The producers even went so far as to import bags of dead leaves to fling around the locations to give them the illusion of a midwestern fall. It’s a nice distraction from the fact that the weather and wet ground continuity here is pretty atrocious. 

We now meet Laurie Strode, earnestly portrayed by the delightful Jamie Lee Curtis. Even though she was actually 19 at time, her grandmotherly attire and mature countenance really strain her believably as a high schooler, perhaps even more so than “Michael Andretti’s” driving skills. This was Jamie Lee’s first role and, although her performance does oscillate between over-expressive, self-conscious, comatose and / or shrill, she’s boundlessly charming and does a marvelous job overall. As a classic “final girl”,  you like her, you care what happens to her and, frankly, that’s all that matters.

Laurie and her babysitting cash cow Tommy Doyle (Brian Andrews) pass by the old Myers house, abandoned since that fateful night. Carpenter does a masterful job filling parts of the frame with “The Shape” as he peers out the window at them. Since Halloween II got shit-canned and is no longer part of canon, I can’t help but wonder if Michael’s sole motivation to kill Laurie is just because she had the temerity to step on his porch?   

Whatever the reason, Michael starts popping up everywhere like a Jehovah’s Witness. He’s in Laurie’s back yard, skulks behind the bushes, scares the fertilizer out of some elementary school kids and cruises around town like he’s gotten hydraulics installed in his low-rider. The scene where he stares at Laurie while she’s in class listening to a lecture about fate is particularly effective. Since a slew of folks technically played “The Shape”, it’s tough to credit one specific person, but, by all accounts,  Nick Castle deserves a lot of the credit for establishing the iconic slasher’s walk, body language and presence.     

Around this time we also meet Laurie’s nominal gal pals. Lynda is played by P.J. Soles, who, at age 27, really strained the definition of “high schooler.” Lynda is written to be gratingly annoying, so it’s quite the testimony to P.J’s charm that I still kinda like her. Her penchant for saying “totally” every four to five seconds quickly gets old, however, and I can’t help but wonder if Carpenter and Debra Hill thought this is what teenagers sounded like back in 1977.

Then there’s Nancy Kyes as the sardonic, deadpan Annie Bracket, who, at age 28, really puts the "senior" in "high school senior." Look, I know what Kyes was going for here, but you can’t convince me that this is a good performance. Her sarcasm comes off as stilted and between her expressionless eyes (the blackest eyes?) and her odd delivery, I always feel as if she’s reading her lines off of a cue card. Oh well, at least the three female leads are visibly and audibly distinct from one another, which is more than I can say for most modern horror films. 

Around this same time, not co-incidentally, you might start to notice just how idiotic some of the dialogue is. Witness these l’il chestnuts:  

Lynda: The only reason she babysits is to have a place to... 

Laurie: Oh, shit!

Lynda: (indignant) I have a place for that.

***

Annie: I hate a guy with a car and no sense of humor.

***

Annie: Now you hear obscene chewing. You're losing it, Laurie.

***

Laurie: All right, Annie. First I get your famous chewing, now I get your famous squealing?

Yeeesh.

But for every stupid scene, there’s cinema gold, which normally involves Dr. Loomis in some way, shape (heh, heh) or form. I love the wonderful graveyard scene where the groundskeeper, Taylor, blabbers away at an increasingly-annoyed Loomis:

Taylor: Hey, you know, every town has something like this happen. I remember over in Russellville. Old Charly Bowles. About fifteen years ago. One night he finished dinner and he excused himself from the table and he went out to the garage...he got himself a hack saw and then he went back into the house and he kissed his wife and his two children goodbye and then he proceeded...

Loomis: (irritated) Where are we?

The scene’s big reveal of Judith’s missing headstone works as a simple, macabre little set-up that really pays off in spades later on.

Anyhoo, despite all of the creepy Michael sightings, Laurie still packs up her knitting needles and oversized pumpkin and heads out to meet up with Annie. NOTE: sharp-eyed viewers will notice the work “EVIL” spray-painted on a wall at the 28 minute mark as Laurie walks by. After Annie picks up her bahd, the two drive around for a bit, share a joint and talk about boys. Then, when they spy Laurie’s dad Sherriff Leigh in the distance, they inexplicably drive right towards him and voluntarily pull over, just so we can get an expository scene to explain how Michael got all of his accesories.

Carpenter finally starts cooking with gas as the pair drive towards their babysitting gig. But first we have to excuse the fact that neither Laurie nor Annie notice that they’re being blatantly tailgated by the same weirdo in a white Bill Shatner mask driving the same asylum-tagged station wagon from earlier. Nice use of “Don’t Fear the Reaper”, though.

By shooting on location in this real, relatively-boujee neighborhood and firmly establishing the film's "geography", Carpenter keeps building a realistic mise-en-scène. This,in turn, does wonders for audience immersion. Around this time, Carpenter’s soundtrack also starts to incorporate some really eerie musical stings, sustained notes and plodding, dirge-y piano, making it one of the most effective scores in horror film history.         

We then cut back to the Myers abode, where we learn that, unlike Jason Voorhees, Michael apparently has no qualms about killing and / or chowing down on house pets. This is also a warm up for what "The Shape "does to poor Lester the German Shepherd later on.  As if all of this verboten, unsanctioned animal murder isn’t bad enough, Donald Pleasance single-handedly creeps us out with this iconic speech to the skeptical Sheriff Brackett:

“I met him fifteen years ago. I was told there was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding, in even the most rudimentary sense, of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six year-old child with his blank, pale, emotionless face, and the blackest eyes, the Devil's eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him and then another seven trying to keep him locked up, because I realized that what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply...evil.”

Pretty chill-inducing, but this gives way to a head-scratching moment when Loomis unwisely pish-toshes Brackett’s solid plan to go to the media and alert folks that a homicidal maniac is in their midst. In retrospect, this is a pretty egregious error, especially in light of who the first victim turns out to be. Loomis also doggedly clings to the idea that Michael is going to return to his family home, which he never does. Nice going, Sherlock.

Oh, well, at least this sets up a delightfully-oddball scene later on where Donald Pleasance scares the shit out of aspiring bully Lonnie Elam by doing a weird Idris Elba impersonation and then adopting the sort of “I’m amused by my own fart” facial expression that I’ve only ever seen Brent Spiner do a handful of times while playing Data on Star Trek.  

Mere moments after Loomis gives his terrible advice, the bodies start dropping. If you're anything like me, there comes a point where you'e practically begging for Annie to die, if only to stop Nancy Kyes from warbling on incessantly about Paul. Nevertheless, her demise is well set up and executed, no pun intended. As for Bob’s death, it’s one of the greatest slasher kills of all-time. Between the superhuman strength exhibited, the “butterfly board” end result and Michael tilting his head back and forth to admire his handiwork, this scene instantly became the grist for endless speculative playground conversations in the late 70’s and early 80’s.

Before we go any further, I just wanted to make a quick observation about the movie’s tremendous sense of mood. By using liberal clips from classic movies like The Thing from Another World, Carpenter is clearly wearing his influences on his sleeve. In fact, the scene where Tommy gets a glimpse of Michael carrying Annie’s body is a direct homage to Invaders from Mars. That unnerving, theramin-esque music from Forbidden Planet playing in the background just sells it to the hilt. Given all of the trick-or-treaters, pumpkin carving and horror movie marathons on T.V., you couldn’t make a more Halloween-y movie on your Halloween-iest day with an electrified Halloweenification device.            

Alright, back to the mayhem. As far as I’m concerned, Lynda and Bob deserve to be killed, not because they had sex, but because they boned in some strangers bed. I mean, rude, am I right? I’m almost 99.9% sure they had absolutely zero intention of washing those sheets before they left. Slightly less scary than that thought is Michael dressing up like a spoopy ghost and donning Bob’s “Aunt Selma” glasses. I really like Michael’s penchant for disguise here and I kinda wish he’d explored this budding hobby a bit more in future entries, but I guess the producers of the series wanted him to exclusively use the ol’ “hammer versus nail” approach.  

Speaking of Michael, we finally start seeing some stingy glimpses of him, accompanied by that labored “I’m-slowly-smothering-to-death-underneath-this-cheap-Halloween-mask” breathing sound that everybody recognizes. The mask itself, a deformed Don Post Captain Kirk head sculpt, painted bone-white with the eyebrows removed and the hair all fucked up, is genuinely unsettling. I don’t know if future changes were made for legal reasons, but every subsequent mask that appeared in the series was a pale imitation of the first.

What follows is an absolute master class in suspense. When Laurie discovers Michael’s “murder tableau” at the Wallace house, you can almost hear the last puzzle piece of the slasher genre fall into place. The whole set up is so weird and disjointed that it legit feels like the product of a diseased mind. Then, at the 1:16 mark, Dean Cundy’s brilliant cinematography comes through again, with "The Shape" suddenly materializing from out of the darkness. It is, without a doubt, one of be the most iconic shots in horror film history.  

Jamie Lee Curtis absolutely shines in the harrowing finale, particularly when she’s banging on the neighbor's door and begging for help. When the porch lights wink out, it’s not only a heart-rending moment, it's also a pretty damning commentary on trend of modern objectivism. Granted, she does lose the audience a little bit when she voluntarily discards Michael’s trademark butcher knife instead of using it to protect herself. Granted, the whole “false ending” cliche was actually established here, but when she chucks the weapon away for the second time at the 1:24 mark, theater-goers back in 1978 must have collectively screamed “WHAT THE FUCK YOU DOIN', BISH?!?” so loud that the entire country heard it.

We then get our last supremely-stupid script convenience as Loomis realizes that it might be a good idea to look at something other than the Myers house and, lo and behold, he finally notices the abandoned Smith’s Grove Sanitarium Scramble Wagon™ parked ten feet away. He then lopes to the rescue as Laurie’s two babysitting charges run screaming out of the house.   

This leads us to another truly unsettling moment as "The Shape" sits up and slowly turns his head, Nosferatu-style, in the background behind a traumatized Laurie. Mikey fails another point-blank stabbing attempt, his mask gets wrestled off (for no good reason) and then Loomis appears, emptying the contents of his service revolver into him. Sadly, this intense scene is undermined by the sort of pantomimed jig that only a toddler would do if you aimed a finger gun at them, which is then followed by the most cliche "body hits the ground" sound effect in cinema history. 

But then the movie ends perfectly. Loomis looks over the balcony to confirm what he already knows: that Michael has vanished into the night and the resulting 'Well, d’uh’ reaction from Pleasance is completely priceless. Carpenter then finishes up with a montage of establishing shots, overdubbed with Michael’s omnipresent breathing. The connotation is effectively and disturbingly communicated: evil is everywhere...and it never dies.    

Halloween was by no means the first slasher movie, that particular distinction likely belongs to either Bob Clark’s Black Christmas or Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But Carpenter was the first film-maker to codify everything so successfully that this budding sub-genre dominated the world of horror for almost a decade.  

Sure, the movie is by no means perfect, but it’s classy, restrained, stylish, atmospheric, tense, genuinely suspenseful and deserves to be ritually revisited around this time every single year.

Tilt: up.

Movie Review: "Friday the 13'th: Part III"

Although Jason Voorhees finally achieved Pokemon-style middle evolution in this entry, Friday the 13'th: Part III suffers from a draggy first half, some really annoying and unlikable characters and a lot of goofy and distracting visual conceits that resulted from the whole "3-D" gimmick. Mercifully it picks up considerably towards the end, giving fans some promise that the best may be yet to come.

To no-one's surprise, the plot is only a slight variation of what's come before. Traumatized Chris Higgins (Dana Kimmell) decides to confront her demons by visiting her family's isolated cabin close to Crystal Lake, a place where she was attacked by a stranger a few years earlier. Unfortunately, she also brings along a pack of triggering "friends", including horny couple Debbie (Tracy Savage) and Andy (Jeffry Rogers), tag-along Vera (Catherine Parks), annoying prankster Shelly (Larry Zerner) and stoners Chuck (David Katims) and Chili (Rachel Howard). 

As Chris inexplicably tries to re-connect with her pushy ex-flame Rick (Paul Kratka), the group runs afoul of a local biker gang (???) who siphon gas out of their van and case out the nearby barn for what I can only assume are flip-able antiques. Unbeknownst to everyone, Jason Voorhees has not only survived his confrontation with Ginny in Part II, he's also working on some personal makeover goals and a myriad of creative ways to murder every single living thing within a hundred mile radius.

Just like in the previous installment, viewers have to sit through a tiresome recap of the previous film. On one hand, I kind of admire this superficial adherence to continuity. Unfortunately, the whole thing drags on waaaaay too long, especially if you're watching these movies back-to-back. Oh well, at least we aren't subjected to some idiotic scene where Jason follows Ginny back to her flat in downtown Stroudsburg, waits for her to retrieve a comforting pint of Häagen-Dazs and then stabs her in the head with a dry-erase marker.

Oh, before I go any further, I think it should be noted that everything that happens in this film occurs on Saturday the 14'th and Sunday the 15'th. #truthinadvertising #themoreyouknow 

Anyhoo, although we're spared the sort of epic level idiocy that kicked off Part II, we get something here that's almost as bad. Keen on updating his look from hillbilly couture to business slayable, Jason visits a nearby corner store presided over by the gross, schlubby Harold (Steve Susskind) and his gratingly-annoying shrew of a wife, Edna (Cheri Maugans). IMHO, Jason can't murder these two assholes fast enough.

About around this time you begin to realize that returning director Steve Miner isn't just content to create a normal field of depth within the frame to take advantage of the 3-D process like a normal director of movie-type things. Nope, he's also gonna stick a bunch of random shit into the camera lens like Count Floyd's Monster Chiller Horror Theater. By the time this flick is over, the audience has practically fellated the following objects:

1. A clothesline pole.
2. A T.V. antenna.
3. A rubber snake on a wire.
4. A rat.
5. A bat. Um, of the baseball variety.
6. A joint.
7. An eyeball.
8. A haybale.
9. A wallet. 
10. A chain-covered fist.
11. A yo-yo.
12. A pitchfork.
13. Flying popcorn kernels. 
14. Jason's grasping mitts.
15. An axe handle.

Hey, kids, you too can play along at home! What gratuitously-lame visual 3-D stunts did I miss? List 'em in the comments below to win a chance of me giving a fuck! Seriously, though, every time I see this shit it just jettisons me completely out of the movie. 

Only slightly less annoying is the introduction of (very) broad comedy to the series, with sad-sack Harold being mercilessly hen-pecked by his repellent wife Edna. Hell, even their names are as basic as you can get, giving me the impression that screenwriters Martin Kitrosser, Carol Watson and (the justifiably uncredited) Petru Popescu are barely trying here. Humor is a really tricky element to balance in these movies, with Part V completely sunk by broad, obnoxious, over-the-top characters but, in the hands of a talented director, Part VI's comedy soars. But, hey, more on that later...

So, yeah, as far as I can tell, this intro is there just to burn up some run time and get Jason into some sleek new duds. I guess one plus is that we finally get to see him out of the environs of Camp Crystal Lake, but even that turns out to be a detriment. Y'see, the production team moved Part III 's shooting location from the atmospheric East Coast (Warren County, New Jersey in Part I and New Preston and Kent, Connecticut in Part II) to friggin' Saugus, California. 

And it really shows. We see palm trees in the distance on Vera's street, the grounds of Higgins Haven look arid and sun-baked and "Crystal Lake" is now a tiny, muddy-looking swamp. All of the chilly, atmospheric, "summer camp" visual qualities of the previous two movies has completely drained away, only to be replaced with blue skies, sandy shorelines, green pond scum and dusty paths that look more at home in a friggin' cowboy flick.  

So, between the protracted Part II recap and the Edna / Harold mercy kill, we're forced to sit through  the screenwriting equivalent of Donkey Kong throwing barrels at Mario. I guess, by this point, Steve Miner and his screenwriters were just like "Well, fuck it, people seem cool with the formula, so let's not fix the unbroken!" As a result, the characters in Part III feel like empty tin cans and Jason is the  pellet gun. 

Soooo, when your goal is just to knock off a bunch of walking corpses, an elaborate plot is actually kinda anathema to this goal. Unfortunately, it also means that Miner and company are forced to dick around a lot in order to achieve a modest run time of 95 minutes. 

And dick around they do, mainly in the barn. That fucking barn. First we get a scene where Rick pointlessly hefts bales of hay, then Fox auditions for American Pickers by slooooowly walking around, taking an inventory of everything she comes across. And, if that wasn't enough, Chuck n' Chili also meander around the place, prompting Shelly to go looking for them. It's all so phreakin' dull. 

Padding the scream, er...screen time is one thing, but Miner and company also throw continuity under the bus as well. At one point, Chris tells Rick about some creepy weirdo she encountered in the woods a few years back and, no, I'm not talking about Mitch McConnell. Anyway, during the flashback that follows, Jason should look like he did in Part II because, need I remind you, the events of that film happened just days ago. But nope, he looks identical to the unmasked Jason we see at the end of this flick, and they didn't even bother to dress him up in denim overalls, a blue plaid shirt and a burlap sack. This whole scene reeks of pure laziness.

Speaking of Jason, he's played here by British stuntman / brick shithouse Richard Brooker and, thank gawd because (controversial hot take inbound), he's actually my all-time favorite Jason. He's just this big, hulking, lanky, simian-limbed, hunchbacked monster with a practical, workmanlike attitude towards killin' folks. The first time we see him in all of his goalie-masked splendor, he just casually strolls into frame, aims a spear gun at Vera, skewers her skull, throws the weapon down in disgust and then looks back at Higgins Haven as if to say 'Fuck, now I've gotta come up with seven more distinctly different kills for all o' dese annoying motherfuckers. *Sigh*, I'm gonna be up all night!'          

Most of the kills are pretty pedestrian and, even worse, a lot are meant to take advantage of the whole 3-D gimmick, like the hatchet, knitting needle, pitchfork, the aforementioned speargun and the eye-poppin' head squish. The latter two, plus the laughably-bad 3-D snake attack from earlier, are all hampered by the sort of blatantly fake-looking string work that's usually reserved for an Ed Wood Jr. movie. 

At least some of the kills are decent. In fact, one of my all-time favorites is when Andy gets a machete to the crotch while he's showing off, walking around the cabin on his hands like a doofus. And, despite the obvious string work, I do love that speargun kill, as well as the call back to Kevin Bacon's death when Debbie gets perforated while reading Fangoria in the hammock. And, hey, at least the film-makers went through the bother of showcasing Jason's creepy penchant for leaving corpses strewn around the camp to freak out the remaining survivors and ramp up their terror level.  

As soon as Jason "borrows" Shelly's goalie mask...

WARNING - SIDE RANT: Oh, please, for the love of everything holy, can we please stop calling it a "hockey mask"? Y'all sound like Americans when you say shit like that. Do catchers wear a "baseball mask"? Fuck, no! It's a goalie mask, plain and simple! Jezis! 

...and lumbers on screen for the first time, you can actually witness a horror film icon being born in real-time. And, mercifully, the film's pace finally picks up from there on in. 

The heightened action is augmented by yet another great score by the legendary Harry Manfredini. Not only does his usual suite of bangers entertain and thrill here, I love the little touches, like the stings he throws in when Chris is desperately slashing at Jason with a knife. Also, bonus props to Manfredini and co-writer Michael Zager for giving us the gloriously-dated main credits disco theme, which they recorded under the appropriately-cheesy moniker of "Hot Ice." Seriously, this is probably the best piece of spoopy Halloween music ever recorded: 

So, as you've noticed, I've left the character for last, mainly because they were clearly an afterthought to the screenwriters as well. I think the biggest issue is that my brain really can't reconcile how Chris knows all of these random dipshits and why she'd invite them to her family's cabin, especially if she's in such a fragile mental state. Particularly inexplicable is the presence of "Cheech & Chong with the serial numbers filed off": Chuck and Chili. Seriously, how would Chris even know these two yahoos? Chuck is, like 40, at least. 

Next up is Shelly, who has since become a fan favorite, which I can sorta understand since Larry Zerner is perfectly cast as the prototypical horror movie prankster. You gotta remember that, back then, casting directors would often pluck awkward looking nerds out of obscurity, sometimes right off the street, for roles like this. Nowadays, directors always seem to use generic, pretty-looking underwear models and then splotch a lame strawberry birthmark on their face to make them feel self conscious and "ugly." Lame.

Anyway, I think Zerner does a great job as Shelly, but he's also completely sold down the river by the screenwriters. This is a real shame since he's only one of two characters to get any sort of development at all. Sadly, the script fails to generate any sympathy for Shelly...just witness:

• He scares the shit out of his "friends" by stalking them in a creepy, see-through plastic mask a la the killer in Alice, Sweet, Alice. Please note that one of these people is Chris, who is clearly traumatized by some undisclosed event.
• When Andy encourages Shelly to "be himself" he replies "Would you be yourself...if you looked like this?" and then lifts his mask off. Like, seriously, who would want this morose motherfucker around?
• He introduces himself to his potential date Vera while wearing the aforementioned creepy mask...and then fucking apologizes to her when he takes it off. Falking hopeless. 
• Since he's depicted as a sad, pathetic, man-child / attention whore who doesn't learn anything, Shelly singles out assault victim Chris by faking his own death with a prop axe to the head. For the record, he thinks its hilarious, but everyone else thinks he's a cunt. Sorry, but I'm with the majority on this one.
• He pretty much flat out asks Vera if she wants to bone and then, when she has the unmitigated gall to say "no" (but reassures him that she's willing to chat when she gets back to the cabin!), he calls her a "bitch" under his breath. So, I gotta ask, do incels have a picture of this twat up on their chat boards?
• While Vera is sitting lakeside, Shelly pops out of the water wearing a fucking goalie mask and carrying a speargun. Which, let's face it, is definitely the inspiration for this scene from The Simpsons. This subsequently lowers her guard when a similarly-attired Jason shows up later and kills her. 
• While snooping around in the barn, the little creep actually says: "Chuck? Chili?  What're you guys doing in there? You guys doin' somethin' I shouldn't see?"...and then proceeds to keep poking around. Ew.
• Shelly is such a notorious "cry wolf" POS that when he eventually shows up with a slashed throat, Chili understandably assumes that he's faking it again. This delays her reaction, lowers her guard and sets her up to be killed by Jason as well. Thanks, you putz.  

So, yeah, I'm definitely pro-Dead Shelly. Notwithstanding his flirtation with heroism RE: the biker gang and his safety-related contribution to Jason's iconic look, I'd say good riddance to the annoying prick. 

Paul Kratka's Rick Bombay (?) doesn't fare much better. Despite the fact that Chris is clearly rattled about something, he's constantly begging her for sexual table scraps. Kratka is charismatic enough, but he just comes across as a whiny, self-absorbed meathead. Ergo, my favorite scene featuring Rick is when Jason hurls him through a window in a nice homage to Brenda being medicine balled into Alice's cabin in Part I.   

There really isn't much to be said for Tracie Savage as Debbie and Jeffrey Rogers as Andy. Tracie is fine, although her performance feels stilted and self-conscious. As for Jeffrey, he nails the whole cocky fuck / discount Scott Baio thing. Of all the main cast, I'd say Catherine Parks as Vera is the most appealing character in relation to her woefully-low screen time. 

Speaking of low screen time, I just need to bitch about the presence of David Wiley as Abel. I'm not gonna slight Wiley here, it's more of a rant about how Steve Miner inexplicably killed off poor Walt Gorney's Crazy Ralph in Part II...only to introduce yet another insane local soothsayer. Walt Gorney is a gorram international treasure, Steve...why'd ya murder my boi and then introduce a virtually identical character in the follow-up? This was another squandered opportunity to build on the lore of the series, ya hack!  

But the thing that really cracks me up about Part III is the incongruous biker gang that's apparently terrorizing this virtually-deserted stretch of rural New Jersey. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this trio was the product of lazy, creatively bankrupt Californian screenwriters who think that it's a good idea to make the first two black Friday the 13'th characters be criminals. For the record, Nick Savage and Gloria Charles are fine as Ali and Fox respectively, but I really can't take Kevin O'Brien seriously as "Loco", mainly because he reminds me of Scott Thompson's Buddy Cole posing as a gay biker, a thought which always makes me giggle.

Then, last but not least, we have Dana Kimmell as Chris Higgins. Following up from Amy Steel's Ginny in Part II is a pretty unenviable task, and Kimmell definitely suffers in comparison. Although she's definitely the ultimate "(final) girl next door", Dana's performance feels really labored, like she's trying too hard to sell every line. Still, she's plucky, winsome and the script mercifully treats her as innovative, quick-thinking and resilient.

After Rick abandons Chris like the asshole that he is, our girl proves to be more than a match for Jason, an aptitude that start to border on unintentionally funny. At one point, she rains the entire ENGLISH 418 - 19'th Century Novel required reading list down on Jason's fiberglassed noggin' and then wards him off with a knife. Then, after noticing that his mask offers precious little protection from the back, she smokes him right in the ol' cue-ball with a double-handed junk of wood. 

Equally amusing: Jason suddenly starts limping after Chris stabs him in the leg...in contrast to THE MASSIVE MACHETE INJURY HE SUSTAINED TO HIS LEFT SHOULDER just hours before. This wound was so deep and grievous that it would have completely shattered his clavicle and upper ribs, but, hey, no biggie. 

Much to my chagrin, we soon find ourselves back in the barn for the big climax, but at least Chris uses her familiarity with the environment to get an upper hand on Monsieur Voorhees. Pretty soon the hunter has become the hunted and it all leads up to a legitimately thrilling and tense finale. The very end of the film also earns more brownie point from me, mainly because it pays homage to the fake-out finales of the first two flicks wile honoring Betsy Palmer's Pamela Voorhees as the alpha and omega of the series. 

All told, the movie starts out shaky, brings Jason into the realm of horror icon, and then ends with a thrilling denouement. And, although the producers original intended for this to end the series, Part III did so well that a sequel was soon green-lit!

But let's save that campfire tale for another time!  

      

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Movie Review: "The Wicker Man" (1973)

Sadly, if you mention The Wicker Man in polite conversation nowadays some chuckle-head will invariably drop to their knees and start doing their best scenery-chewing Nic Cage impersonation:

But long before Neil LaBute's ill-conceived, meme-a-licious remake was crapped into existence, the  original Wicker Man from 1973 not only birthed the "folk horror" sub-genre it eventually became a celebrated cult classic. Star Christopher Lee even went so far as it call it the "best film he ever made."

The story centers around the investigations of an Uber-religious Police Sergeant named Howie, played by Edward Woodward of The Equalizer fame. After learning about the disappearance of a young girl named Rowan Morrison, Howie travels via seaplane to isolated Summerisle off the west coast of Scotland. Once there, he discovers that the locals are being pretty cagey about Rowan and pretty soon their collective stories are rife with inconsistencies. 

Seemingly even worse for the Puritanical cop are the villager's ethical and spiritual views. To Howie's horror, they've collectively veered away from Catholicism and fallen back into their old Pagan beliefs. Their pub songs are overtly ribald and cheeky, folks bone outdoors right in front of each other and the fetching daughter of the innkeeper, Willow (Britt Eklund), enthusiastically attempts to seduce Howie with a pretty alluring nude dance / spell combination. 

Sounds like an awesome getaway to me, but, for the repressed police officer, it's a worst case scenario. Between his palpable disgust over the "heathen's" libertine behavior and the hubris that stems from his false sense of moral and spiritual high ground, Howie soon finds himself at odds with the island's ancestral leader, Lord Summerisle, played by Christopher Lee. Eventually the officer starts to unravel the mystery surrounding the girl's disappearance, leading to one of the most shocking and powerful twist endings in cinema history. 

Unlike most modern horror pictures, the setting, performances and the music are all top notch here. Shot on location in a series of small Scottish towns, the film's mise en scene is completely convincing. The various shops, the Green Man pub, Summerisle Castle and all of the exteriors really sell the illusion of authenticity. 

This is augmented by a soundtrack that  starts off deceptively innocuous, via folksy tunes like "Corn Riggs"; a song I suspect only makes sense to people who own a disproportionate amount of sheep. But then, thanks to bangers like "Maypole Song" and "Fireleap", the movie's aural presence starts to veer into increasingly esoteric, odd and unsettling territory. "Willow's Song", for example, is hauntingly- evocative of both the scene where it's used as well as the film's overall cock-eyed tone.

Equally convincing are the film's off-kilter performances. Edward Woodward plays Detective Howie with stick-up-the-ass perfection, bringing the perfect balance of pent-up distaste, Catholic arrogance and patronizing bravado to the role. He shows tremendous range, especially when things start to go sideways, upon which time he's forced to pivot from square-jawed swagger to twitchy, sweaty desperation.    

As for Christopher Lee, he shares some great "OooOoo...snap!" exchanges with Woodward, such as the following:

Howie: Oh, what is all this? I mean, you've got fake biology, fake religion...Sir, have these children never heard of Jesus?

Summerisle: Himself the son of a virgin, impregnated, I believe, by a ghost.

(Howie suddenly looks visibly shaken)

Summerisle: Do sit down, Sergeant. Shocks are so much better absorbed with the knees bent.

Even as a rational, modern viewer who knows full well that the medicinal properties of toads are limited at best and blood sacrifices can be messy and complicated, Lee's portrayal of Lord Summerisle is so cool, confident and self-assured that I'm tempted to call up my travel agent and rent a B&B there  next May Day weekend. 

Genre fans will certainly appreciate the brief, albeit welcome, presence of penultimate Hammer horror Scream Queen Ingrid Pitt, who plays the tightly-wound town librarian, who we later see um,...unwinding in the bathtub. Diane Cilento is also wonderfully flinty as Miss Rose, the local schoolteacher. I love her verbal sparing match with Howie and how genuinely perplexed she seems to be by his obstinate, and abstinent, ways.

Then there's the impossibly-gorgeous Britt Ekland who, by all accounts, didn't have the best time filming The Wicker Man. Even though the Swedish actress was dubbed by two other women to sound convincingly Scottish, but I think she was perfectly cast as the ethereal Willow and her performance is still downright mesmerizing. Also deserving mention is her on-screen pops, Alder, played by Lindsay Kemp. There's a wonderfully slippery, besotted and vaguely degenerate quality to Kemp's demeanor, which sets off alarm bells whenever he's on screen.

But, honestly, the film's two greatest strengths are its script and the escalating parade of oddities that we bear witness to, leading up to a finale which I can only describe as the cinematic equivalent of being struck in the head with a surfboard. Between the discordant tone, quirky performances and the increasingly-inexplicable conveyor belt of visual and aural oddities, the film maintains a gloriously sustained atmosphere of creeping dread throughout the entire run time.

The Wicker Man might be the great-grandfather of the "folk horror" sub-genre, but it's also still one of the best.     

 

Tilt: up.