Halloween Horror Marathon 2024

[Monterey Jack]

Halloween Horror Marathon '12

Halloween Horror Marathon '13

Halloween Horror Marathon '14

Halloween Horror Marathon '15

Halloween Horror Marathon '16

Halloween Horror Marathon '17

Halloween Horror Marathon '18

Halloween Horror Marathon '19

Halloween Horror Marathon '20

Halloween Horror Marathon '21

Halloween Horror Marathon '22

Halloween Horror Marathon '23



INT., HATCH, DAY[?]:

Fade in on a concrete bunker, right out of a 1960s fallout shelter schematic. It's set up as a living space for an occupant to spend significant amounts of time, up to and including years. There's a kitchen, exercise equipment, a shower (smells a bit of sulphur at times), bunks...and an elaborate and very large COMPUTER, occupying an entire room to itself. Old-fashioned reel-to-reel tapes spin endlessly, recording...something. Lights blink. A small table contains a small television monitor, probably dating back at least to the 1980s. The GREEN ON BLACK text displays nothing more than a blinking cursor at the moment. On the wall opposite the television monitor, a series of NUMBERS are featured on a board set up like an old departures/arrivals display in an airport. The current numbers being displayed consist of 010:00. As the camera DOLLIES IN on them, the numbers click over to 009:00.

INT., HATCH, LIVING SPACE, DAY[?]:

On the couch sits a rather rotund, bearded man, examining an old-school VCR. Scattered on the end table are a selection of VHS tapes, all rather dusty and clearly not having been watched in years, if not decades. This is HUGO REYES (HURLEY to his friends), Hurley opens the loading tray of the VCR and blows a cloud of dust out, coughing a bit. He brushes away as much dust as possible (thinking of hunting down some Windex in the kitchen to give the box a good cleansing), then starts to hook the VCR up to a small tube TV monitor he found in a storage space alongside the even more exciting discovery of the VCR and VHS tapes. He is smiling as he goes about his task, whistling a snatch of the song "Shambala" as he puzzles out the correct inputs connecting the VCR to the television monitor. As he's finishing up, a lanky young man enters the living space, a GUITAR slung casually over one shoulder. This is CHARLIE PACE, Hurley's friend. He begins to speak in a melodious Manchester accent.

CHARLIE: Hurley, I'm here to take your shift, and -- [he stops as he sees the small TV set] -- what on earth?!

HURLEY: [speaking back over his shoulder as he turns on the set] Dude, perfect timing! I was hoping I could get this thing working.

Charlie places his guitar behind the couch and sits down, grinning from ear to ear.

CHARLIE: Bloody hell! Where did you find that?

HURLEY: I was rooting around in one of the storage spaces, and found this under a tarp. That Desmond guy must have forgotten it was even in there, or something.

Charlie's eyes drift over to the pile of VHS tapes. His grin widens.

CHARLIE: We've got MOVIES?!

HURLEY: I couldn't believe it either, dude. It's like...I can't REMEMBER the last time we got to watch a movie. Or even an episode of Expose, or something.

Charlie picks up a random tape and eagerly examines the cover, then flips it around to read the back, as Hurley turns on the set and checks to see it's set on the right channel. He's rewarded with the familiar BLUE SCREEN that means the connection is correct. Suddenly, an attractive young blonde woman enters. This is LIBBY, whom Hurley has a major unspoken crush on.

LIBBY: Charlie, do you want a little company? I can get some laundry started, and maybe we could play a record or two.

Charlie holds up the tape he's been reading the back of.

CHARLIE: I've got something better, luv.

Libby's EYES WIDEN as she takes in both the familiar contours of the VHS box, as well as the glow of the blue screen on the television monitor.

LIBBY: Get...OUT! No one said the Hatch had movies!

CHARLIE: [tipping the VHS case in Hurley's direction] Thank Hurley, man, he's the one who discovered this little treasure trove.

Libby leaps at Hurley and plants a hearty KISS on his cheek. His face FLOODS BEET RED as he shyly lowers his eyes.

HURLEY: [clearing throat] It wasn't nothin', I was just bored, and poking around, and...man, there they were. I couldn't believe my luck.

Libby sits down on the couch next to Charlie and picks up another tape, as Charlie drops a sly WINK in Hurley's direction, smirking. Hurley looked dazed, but happy.

LIBBY: So, what are we watching first?

CHARLIE: I don't know, it seems like our notty friend Desmond was a horror fan.

LIBBY: [smiling] Well, that's appropriate. By my calculations, it's about mid-October now.

HURLEY: [thinking] I think you're right. Man...October already.

CHARLIE: You sure you're up for something scary? I mean, this bloody Island is full of rampaging boars, polar bears, and -- did I mention? -- a monster that's a cloud of sentient smoke.

HURLEY: [sitting down next to Libby] Yeah, but, dude...that's what's so great about scary movies. They let you, like, face your fears, but in a way that's safe and comforting. I learned that when I was in the hospital.

CHARLIE: Oh, what were you in for? Break a leg? [he pulls up the corner of his somewhat tattered shirt, revealing a small scar on his lower abdomen] I had me appendix out as a lad. Had ice cream for a week, but I can't recall getting to watch any movies.

HURLEY: [suddenly deflective] Uhhhh, yeah, it was something like that.

[Libby, on the other side of Hurley, makes a curious, furtive face. Neither Hurley or Charlie notice]

HURLEY: Anyhoo...what's up first? [he picks up a box with the title THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU, thankfully the 1977 AIP version] This one looks like fun.

CHARLIE: [making a face] Not a patch on the 1932 version.

HURLEY: Sorry, dude, but Blockbuster doesn't have any copies in.

CHARLIE: [snaps fingers, with a smile] Bollocks.

LIBBY: [picking up box labelled THE WICKER MAN] I've heard good things about this one.

HURLEY: [takes box from Libby, flips over to read the synopsis] Yeah, this might work. And it's under ninety minutes, so we won't get interrupted when the button alarm starts to go off.

CHARLIE: Sounds like a plan. I'll check on when the button needs to be pressed. [he gets up and leaves the living space, humming a tune under his breath.]

LIBBY: And I'll see what snacks we have. [she gets up and heads towards the well-stocked pantry]

HURLEY: [calling after Libby] I think I saw some microwave popcorn on the third shelf!

[Charlie re-enters]

CHARLIE: Just entered the numbers. We've got 108 minutes of beep-less freedom.

[Libby re-enters with a box of microwave popcorn, with a bland, octagonal logo on the cover featuring the brand name DHARMA in the middle. She tears it open, extracts a bag, and pops it into the microwave as Hurley snags a few cold cans of Dharma-brand beer from the cooler. Charlie pops the rectangular shape of the VHS tape into the player and hears the satisfying, familiar whine as he hits the PLAY BUTTON on the still-dusty remote. Libby enters with a steaming bowl of freshly-popped corn in a large plastic tub, which she places next to the beer.]

CHARLIE: [Cracking open a can] To Hurley!

LIBBY: [Picking up her own can] I'll drink to that.

[Charlie sucks down a mouthful of suds, some of which overspill onto his shirt, which he absentmindedly brushes away. Libby leans against Hurley's comforting bulk with a contented sigh. Hurley rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, mouths a silent "Thank you" and shuts them in disbelieving pleasure for a moment before opening them again to look at the screen, where the familiar FBI LOGOS are finishing up. As an ominous DESCENDING TROMBONE plays on the soundtrack, the fuzzy but thankfully still acceptable picture quality flickers and reveals...The 2024 Halloween Horror Marathon.



~~~~~~~~~~~~

This year's marathon is dedicated to the memories of David Emge, Charles Cyphers, Shelley Duvall, Susan Backlinie, Roger Corman, Donald Sutherland, M. Emmet Walsh, Carl Weathers...and my father, who took me to my first movie at the age of five and instilled my love of cinema -- scary and otherwise -- from an early age. The theater seat next to me will always be empty in my heart. I love you and will miss you dearly.

[AndyDursin]

All my best to you and your family MJ on the loss of your Dad.

My Dad passed nearly 2 years ago now and so much of my memories of growing up in the 80s were going to see movies on Friday afternoon after he'd leave work and I'd get out of school. It got even better when I was in high school and we'd go to some good R rated fare like GOODFELLAS...I treasure all of those times as you will remember your Dad instilling all of that in you too.

Looking forward to this year's roundup as always!

[Monterey Jack]

My Dad passed nearly 2 years ago now and so much of my memories of growing up in the 80s were going to see movies on Friday afternoon after he'd leave work and I'd get out of school. It got even better when I was in high school and we'd go to some good R rated fare like GOODFELLAS...I treasure all of those times as you will remember your Dad instilling all of that in you too.

When my Dad retired about a dozen years ago, we became movie-buddies again in his Golden Years, often going to the movies together for things he thought looked interesting (mainly historical epics, biopics and the like...sadly not a lot of "dad cinema" these days ). Last October, I brought over the 2010 remake of The Wolfman to watch at his place (he thought it deserved an Oscar for Best Visual Effects to go with the Makeup win). I'll miss him.

[AndyDursin]

Ironically, I am pretty sure THE WOLFMAN was the last time I took my Dad to a movie theater...way back in 2010. He still got out a lot but we never did the movie thing so much after that.

[Monterey Jack]

1.) Blink Twice (2024): 7.5/10



Horror and pointed social commentary have been like peanut butter & chocolate since almost the inception of cinema itself...what better pressure valve release is there for the evils of the world than a vindictive catharsis coated in a shiny, accessible genre shell? Actress Zoe Kravitz makes her directorial debut (she also co-scripted with E.T. "Phone Home" Feigenbaum) with this post-#MeToo feminist saga of two young working-class women named Frida and Jess (Naomi Ackie and Alia Shawkat), who slide into the orbit of a charming, hunky tech billionaire, Slater King (Channing Tatum), who sweeps the two away for an impromptu vacation on his remote tropical getaway (he owns the whole damn island). Once there, they're plied with all the champagne, sunny vistas and big fat blunts they could ever hope for, but the seemingly never-ending party-hearty atmosphere soon grows ominously too pointed and strained, and when Jess goes missing with her fellow guests acting like she never existed (shades of Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes), Jess soon gets to the bottom of the trip's deeply sinister intentions.

Blink Twice starts off with the same puckish, lightly satiric tone of something like the recent The Menu, but when the curtain is peeled (or should I say Peele'd) back on what's really going on, the movie suddenly darkens in a way that throws the movie's balance off. It's hard to laugh at the film's more broad, comic touches when it revolves around...well, something that required an on-screen "trigger warning" screen before my showing of the film (think Weinstein...). That said, Kravitz shows real talent behind the camera, with a gliding, elegant craftsmanship that milks the material for an uneven yet compelling mixture of dark humor, alarming abuses of power and vengeful grindhouse satisfaction. Plus, the supporting casting certainly has an unusual number of familiar faces (from Geena Davis to Christian Slater to Kyle MacLachlan to ballooning Sixth Sense moppet Haley Joel Osment!).

[Monterey Jack]

2.) Shaun Of The Dead (2004): 10/10



Still a slice of fried gold twenty years(!) later, Edgar Wright's first major film (just reissued to theaters) remains a bloody hoot of a zombie comedy, with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost as a pair of London slackers, Shaun & Ed, who are so blinkered in their slovenly day-to-day routine they barely even notice when the city is overrun with the walking dead.

Wright (who co-scripted with Pegg), makes a parody of the zombie genre that's as much a loving send-up as it is a superior example of same, with a daisy-chain of jokes, visual puns and slapstick (or perhaps splatstick) that keep repeating with an escalating sense of play, and Pegg & Frost make for a winning pair of Cornetto-craving doofuses, as they try to ferry Shaun's estranged girlfriend (Kate Ashfield) and dotty mum (Penelope Wilton) through the "Zed-word"-filled streets to a safe haven at the local pub, where they'll hopefully wait out the apocalypse while hoisting a frothy pint and a packet of crisps. It's also a movie so dense with subtle set-ups and callbacks that it rewards multiple viewings with fresh insights, but this is the kind of horror-comedy that's imminently rewatchable regardless. And remember...dogs can't look up.

[Monterey Jack]

#3 Beetlejuice (1988): 8.5/10



With its belated sequel coming to theaters tomorrow (hopefully worth the wait...!), it was time to revisit one of Tim Burton's earliest features, his cracked comic fable of The Maitlands, Adam and Barbara (Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis), a young, happy couple living in rural Connecticut who, while swerving to avoid a dog, crash their car into the river. Emerging sopping wet, they return to their idyllic home, only to find a "Handbook For The Recently Deceased" on their end table, which leads them to realize they perished in the crash. Confined to their house, suffering from a spectral form of cabin fever, their moods are not improved by the arrival of the Deetzes, dotty, fresh-air craving real estate broker Charles (Jeffrey Jones), his brittle, nervous second wife Delia (Catherine O'Hara) -- who wants nothing more than to tear the Maitland's homey abode apart to remold it in her own hideously kitschy image -- and sullen teenage daughter Lydia (willowy Winona Ryder), the only one of the three who can actually see and communicate with Adam and Barbara. The Maitlands are aghast as they witness the rude intrusion into their former home, and are tempted to hire the services of Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton), a grotty, pervy "Bio-exorcist" who promises he'll be able to scare those pesky living folk out of their home...but not without his own unsavory ulterior motives.

Burton's been doing his thang for nearly four decades now, and his by-now familiar style has been absorbed into the mainstream so thoroughly it's hard to remember a time when his outre black-comic visions seemed fresh and innovative, as far from the traditions of "regular" cinema as could be imagined (even fantasy cinema). Beetlejuice represents that early, sprightly period of his career reaching its apex, all of the director's trademarks (costumes festooned with stripes & spirals, pale-faced protagonists with racoon makeup ringing their eyes, an overall atmosphere of cheerfully macabre kookiness).

Keaton -- despite only appearing sparingly -- is a hoot as the titular "Ghost with the most", utterly fearless in appearing as vulgar and revolting as possible as he mugs and cackles with self-satisfied glee. Ryder cements herself as one of the definitive 80s Goth Girl archetypes, her deadpan ennui making for a perfect contrast to the movie's day-glo color schemes and surreal visions of the afterlife as the ultimate waiting room from Hell (which would cop a Best Makeup Oscar win). And while Baldwin and Davis are a tad bland in the leads, Burton's hurtling, fat-free pacing and the infectious, oompa-oompa rhythms of Danny Elfman's music keeps the movie spanking right along, from one big, goofy laugh to the next (a mid-movie setpiece -- with the Maitlands puppeteering the Deetzes and their dinner guests in an impromptu sing-along to Harry Belafonte's "Day-O", is a highlight). Hopefully Burton can retain some of his youthful spirit for the forthcoming sequel, but regardless, the 1988 original remains a blast of creative fun.

[Monterey Jack]

4.) Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024): 7.5/10



Sometimes you can go home again -- or at least get within the same neighborhood -- in Tim Burton's belated yet surprisingly spirited sequel to the 1988 hit that established himself as one of the most unique, maverick auteurs of his day. Decades after her run-in with the titular "Ghost with the most", Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder) is making a living as a paranormal investigator, with a manager/beau Rory (Justin Theroux) who wants to keep the gravy train running even as Lydia is being overwhelmed with flashes of Mr. Geuse (Michael Keaton). Is it just delayed post-traumatic memories, or is Beetlejuice back? Meanwhile, Lydia's estranged teenage daughter, Astrid (Burton's Wednesday ingenue Jenna Ortega) wants nothing do do with his mom's crackpot business...until the death of grandfather Charles (Jeffrey Jones is obviously persona non grata, so his death in a plane crash is amusingly retold via a claymation sequence), which brings her back into the orbit of Lydia and her flamboyantly grieving stepmom Delia (Catherine O'Hara). Returning to the town of Winter River for the funeral, the trio of women find themselves pulled in different directions, as Rory uses the funeral for an impromptu wedding announcement with a nonplussed Lydia, Delia tries to commune with her late husband -- with disastrous results -- and Astrid enters into a flirtation with local boy Jeremy (Arthur Conti). Did I mention Beetlejuice's old flame Delores (Burton's flame, Monica Bellucci), who literally staples herself back together and searches for vengeance, and the former actor-turned-undead police office (Willem Dafoe) who's investigating the string of soul-sucked victims left in Delores' rapaciously hungry wake?

There are a lot of plates spinning in the overstuffed screenplay (credited to Burton's Dark Shadows scribe Seth Grahame-Smith and Wednesday creators/writers Alfred Gough and Miles Millar), and Burton can't help but let several of them wobble as the movie progresses. Bellucci cuts a striking figure as Dolores (the latest of Burton's pieced-together, voluptuous Corpse Babes), but she's not really given much to DO after an admittedly amusing flashback showcasing her courtship with Beetlejuice when he was still alive, for some reason narrated by Keaton in subtitled Italian! And Astrid's relationship with Jeremy comes to an abrupt halt when he's dropped out of the movie in a most literal manner.

What does work in the film is Keaton's leading performance, which he clearly still relishes playing. He falls back into character with assured ease, and despite being 73(!) now, he remains remarkably spry, bringing an infectious physical energy to his gleefully disgusting mugging. Also, compared to a lot of veteran filmmakers who started off in the analog era of the 70s and 80s and who Talk The Talk about using as many "old-school" filmmaking techniques while inevitably falling prey to the ease and comfort of CGI (Steven Spielberg's Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull comes immediately to mind), Burton actually Walks The Walk, filling his movie with pleasurably vintage stop-motion and animatronic effects that lock in Lego-tight with the original movie's visual aesthetic.

Not every gambit works -- there's an attempt at a Carrie-style "stinger" ending (replete with Pino Donaggio's musical score!) that's just odd, and the surplus of song cues on the soundtrack reduces Danny Elfman's score to a supporting player. Yet, considering how bad this could have easily turned out, we should count ourselves lucky that Burton even got within shouting distance of the original. While patchy, it still offers enough of his playfully ghoulish soul to satisfy fans who have been waiting longer than Beetlejuice was in that waiting room.

[Paul MacLean]

Season of the Witch (4/10)

I was scouring Amazon for something to watch the other night, and came across this movie, which -- according to the product description -- was directed by Wolfgang Petersen. I was was surprised I'd never heard of it but the premise was intriguing -- dealing with witchcraft during the era of The Crusades, so I figured the director of Das Boot and The Neverending Story might bring something interesting to the subject.

However, my eyebrows were raised from the opening scene. Why was the director of Troy relying on CGI armies (and rather unconvincing CGI armies at that)? The ensuing story centers on two knights (Nicholas Cage and Ron Perlman) who are thrown in the dungeon in a small village for "deserting" the Crusades (uh, knights were of royal status, and to a significant extent, above the law -- they weren't modern-day "grunts" who faced arrest for being AWOL). The pair are offered a pardon (as if a local magistrate has any authority over anyone with a peerage) if they will transport a young woman (accused of being a witch) to a far-off castle where she can be tried.

Season of the Witch falls somewhere between Solomon Kane and an Uwe Ball movie, a schlocky exploitation flick, which I was repeatedly tempted to switch-off, but stuck-out to the end. The final insult came with the end credits -- which began with "Directed by Dominic Sena". Amazon clearly got the product information wrong for this one, which is pretty infuriating -- In only watched it because I was told Petersen directed it. Of course that explained why the production value wasn't exactly on the level of A Perfect Storm. That said, Dominic Sena is a fine filmmaker (Kalifornia was one of the better "indies" of the 1990s), though it is sad a filmmaker of his talent was saddled with this turd of a script. Sympathies also to Cage and Perlman, who turn in very good performances, as well as Claire Foy as the girl who may or may not be a witch. The film also makes good use of Hungarian and Austrian locations.

Atli Örvarsson's score sounds like it was modeled on a temptrack of Trevor Jones (later Trevor Jones scores -- not The Dark Crystal or Last of the Mohicans).

[Monterey Jack]

5.) Jaws (1975): 11/10

6.) Jaws 2 (1978): 8/10





I usually watch these at the beginning of summer (in the lead up to the Fourth Of Joo-ly), but a bum UHD disc of the original made me put them off. Now, in the last few weeks of the summer season, it's time to bid farewell and adieu to beach fun with a pair of movies that scared more people away from the water than any in cinematic history.

Steven Spielberg's original remains one of his absolute best films (incredibly, only his second theatrical feature), a ruthlessly effective roller-coaster thriller about a marauding Great White Shark terrorizing the fictional island community of Amity, and how Chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider), ichthyologist Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) and crusty sea cap'n Quint (Robert Shaw) set out to sea in an attempt to quell the massive predator's feeding frenzy.

What could anyone really say at this point about the massive impact Jaws had on moviegoing and pop culture in general when first released nearly 50 years ago? All one can do is admire the young, hungry Spielberg's careful craftsmanship, the brilliant orchestration of tension and release (this is a movie where the laughs explode off the screen as much as the frights), and John Williams' anxiety-ridden score, with the most famous, oft-referenced and parodied musical signature since Bernard Herrmann's Psycho. Add to that a terrific trio of leading performances (Quint's sober monologue about "Why I'll never put on a lifejacket again" is one of the most mesmerising pieces of acting in cinema history), and you've got a whopper of a fish story that will never grow old, never be seen as outdated or "problematic", that will continue to thrill new generations of moviegoers when it's approaching its 100th anniversary. Drink to your leg...?

The massive worldwide success of Jaws (which was pretty much ground zero for what would become the "Summer Blockbuster" studios have been chasing since) meant, of course, that Universal started casting a big net to reel in a sequel to cash in. Jaws 2 turned out to be as good as a blatantly "unnecessary" sequel reasonably could be expected to be. Three years later, Amity Island is still licking its wounds and trying to rebuild after that infamous summer, and Chief Brody is supervising that reconstruction of the town spirit when more aquatic disappearances and deaths start occurring. Just accidents that a shell-shocked Brody is making into something more in his mind, or is another shark cruising in the waters, looking to turn the townsfolk (including Brody's sons, Michael and Sean) into a veritable smorgasbord?

This is a sequel that was a hard birth, and director Jeannot Szwarc (who replaced original director John Hancock a few weeks into photography) has to be commended to picking up the pieces and delivering a movie that, while it obviously lacks Spielberg's singular vision, nevertheless delivers the goods when the shark makes its appearances (burned in a boat explosion, this is the "Scarface Shark" of the franchise) and who juggles the dozen or so teenage characters around Brody's sons with aplomb. None of the teen characters are very well-sketched, but compared to the hateful ciphers who would doff their tops and get run through with dripping machetes in the 80s "slasher movie" cycle that was just around the corner, they're a likable bunch of kids you don't want to see munched (there's a surprisingly poignant moment where one girl offers up a humble, heartfelt plea for deliverance as the group drifts on the wreckage of their sailboats, drifting out to sea and pursued relentlessly by their fishy foe).

And despite only doing the movie to honor a contract with Universal, Scheider doesn't phone it in, delivering a lacerating portrayal of a man who went through the most terrifying experience of of life, and who finds himself becoming unglued at the mere suggestion that another shark may have arrived. Add to that another superb John Williams soundtrack, which thankfully doesn't rest on his Oscar-winning predecessor and who offers up a bevy of new thematic material ("End Title, End Cast" is one of the most beautiful pieces of music he ever wrote), and you've got a sequel that offers up a more-than-satisfactory facsimile of the original's thrillers without insulting the audience (the insults would come with the gimmicky Jaws 3D and the wretched Jaws: The Revenge in the 80s). Watch these one more time before summer gives way to fall, but do it...before you go swimming.

[Monterey Jack]

7.) The Front Room (2024): 0/10



Horrendously inept horror flick about a married couple, Norman (Andrew Burnap) and Belinda (Brandy Norwood), who are still reeling from the stillborn death of their first child, and who are currently working on their second, when Norman gets the bad news that his father has died...and that his harridan of a stepmother, Solange (Kathryn Hunter) will be moving in to live with them. The pregnant Belinda (who recently walked away from her teaching job in a huff) tries to be as good a sport as possible, considering that Norman's considerable inheritance from his father's will is contingent on keeping his stepmom happily ensconced in their home, but the old lady is a sly, drippingly courtly old-school racist, not to mention willfully incontinent(!) and who rearranges their living space to suit her own whims. Not only that, but Solange also seems to have designs on Belinda's unborn child, replete with a pack of grinning, sub-Rosemary's Baby oldsters who lay hands upon her distended belly while sporting lip-quivering gibberish that's just the tip of the iceberg of surreal, unintentionally funny sequences in this turd.

I don't call movies "unintentionally funny" very often, because too often movies advertised as such tend to be merely bland and boring, leaving me in a depressed funk, but The Front Room truly is a Laff Riot of the best possible sort, with Hunter's performance as the leering, self-soiling, Solange being one of the most embarrassing -- yet deeply funny -- performances from any actor in a long time. She's like the William Hickey of the 1990s given a sex change and delivering a turn in a cracked Truman Capote croak that turns every line into a sonnet of silliness, whether it's referring to the byproducts of her own uncontrolled bowels as an "Emm-Eee-double-Ess MESS!!!" or going into an impression of a fussy toddler having a food-throwing dinner table tantrum that had me staring aghast at the screen like Paul Sheldon witnessing Annie Wilkes doing her snuffling impression of her pet pig in Misery.

Adding to the fruitiness of the production is a bizarre, entertaining score by Marcelo Zarvos, with its Bernard Herrmann-like chimes and stabbing strings supported by a crooning theremin that sounds more like it was written for a 1950s sci-fi spoof than for a domestic thriller (admittedly, it'd sound great separated from the source it was written to support). This is a movie that's terrible, yet it's so bonkers and over-the-top I can't help recommending it for fans of bad horror cinema. Take the "Front" out of the title, and you've got the movie this most resembles both in terms of objective quality and subjective entertainment value. Incredibly, it was co-written and directed by Max & Sam Eggers, the brothers of the gifted Robert Eggers (The VVitch, The Northman, the forthcoming Nosferatu), which proves that talent doesn't always fun in the family.

[Monterey Jack]

8.) Speak No Evil (2024): 8/10



Effective, slow-burn thriller about a struggling couple, Ben & Louise Dalton (Scoot McNairy and Mackenzie Davis), still reeling from a recent marital infidelity, who, along with their emotionally-fragile daughter Agnes (Alix West Lefler) meet a fellow, flagrantly enthusiastic couple, Paddy & Ciara (James McAvoy and Aisling Franciosi) and their mute young son Ant (Dan Hough) whilst vacationing in Italy. They separate while Paddy & Ciara make an offer to have the Daltons come visit their remote homestead in order to unwind and get away from the crush and bustle of their London flat. The Daltons accept, and at first the picturesque beauty of their hosts' farmhouse and the surrounding fields and woods are intoxicating, but Paddy & Ciara's overly ingratiating Good Host behavior slowly begins to become suffocating, tipping over into the realm of inappropriateness in ways that at first feel like obligatory social cues are simply being overlooked, but soon become obvious said cues are not even being taken in in any way. The Daltons now find themselves turn between the awkwardness of trying to extricate themselves from a "holiday" that's growing ever more stress-inducing and a burgeoning fear that their grinning, jokey hosts are simply...off in a way that's more sinister than they can accept.

Remaking a 2022 Danish film (unseen by me), screenwriter and director James Watkins does a good job toeing the line of when a social obligation hits that point where one couple finds themselves unable to tolerate behavior from another, but struggle to excuse themselves in a way that will avoid looking rude or ungrateful. It's McAvoy's performance as Paddy that really holds the film together, though, subtly shading his Venus Flytrap turn as the patriarch of his odd family unit in a way that just manages to convince the viewer that the Daltons would put up with his eccentric flourishes just long enough to hit a point where they can't pull out. It all culminates in the obligatory violent catharsis at the climax, and while the burn getting there may be a bit slow for some viewers, those who allow it that simmer will be rewarded with a savory stew of genre unease.

[Monterey Jack]

9.) Sweet Sixteen (1983): 4.5/10



A rash of murders sweeps a small Texas town -- victims found stabbed over and over in a vicious frenzy -- and the local sheriff (Bo Hopkins) finds himself at a loss. Does it revolve around a teenage girl (Aleisa Shirley) who's on the cusp of her sweet sixteenth birthday party, and who makes casual accusations of predatory behavior towards a local Native American handyman (Don Shanks)?

Typical exercise in early-80s whodunnit slashers, Sweet Sixteen isn't an incompetent movie, but it doesn't distinguish itself in any particular way, with suspense that's routine, kills that mostly consist of stabbing scenes done with clumsily shot step-printed slo-mo, and a final reveal of the killer's identity that's so out of left field there's no pleasure in putting the jigsaw puzzle pieces together.

[Monterey Jack]

10.) Soul Survivors (2001): 3.5/10



A quartet of college students, Cassie (Melissa Sagemiller), Sean (Casey Affleck), Matt (Wes Bentley) and Annabel (Eliza Dushku) plunge into a river after a horrible road accident, with Sean perishing in the crash. Returning to her studies months later, Cassie is wracked with guilt...which isn't help when she starts seeing images of Sean on the campus, not to mention visions of an eerie, faceless man (his features obscured by an opaque plastic mask) randomly pursuing her. Can a local priest (Luke Wilson) help her make sense of her increasingly fractured, self-loathing state of mind?

Utterly bland and forgettable exercise in psychological suspense plays like an episode of a TV series (or segment of an anthology feature) padded out to 84 minutes...it's both far too long (you'll get what's going on after a half-hour) and not long enough. For a movie made in the waning Miramax era of horror schlock, it gets bonus points for attempting something a little more thoughtful than your typical Scream clone (and sexy Dushku, in her Maxim prime, is awfully easy on the eyes), but it's never especially scary, and the obligatory Big Tweest can be seen coming from miles away.

[Monterey Jack]

11.) The Substance (2024): 9/10



Wild, caustic satire of aging and vanity stars Demi Moore as Elisabeth Sparkle, a past-her-prime actress who once was the toast of Hollywood, and how finds herself getting squeezed out of her gig hosting a cheeseball exercise show by her swinish cad of a boss (Dennis Quaid), who wants someone "Younger and hotter". Despondent, Elisabeth -- in the wake of a terrible car crash that somehow leaves her miraculously uninjured but shaken to the core -- finds herself courted by a doctor's assistant, who hands her a USB flash drive upon which is contained a concise message about a mysterious...well, substance that can allow her to enjoy her youth and beauty again. Intrigued, she injects said substance into her veins, and soon an entirely new person is birthed out of her back(!). Young, taut, gorgeous, this idealized new version of Elisabeth (who dubs herself "Sue", played by Margaret Qualley) enjoys the freedoms of her freshly-minted self (starring in an updated version of Elisabeth's workout show, being madly desired by young, attractive men everywhere), but there's a catch, Sue needing to "trade off" with Elisabeth's inert body once every seven days in order to keep a perfect balance between their two halves of the same whole. But greedy Sue wants more time to herself, taking more and more of Elisabeth's sheer essence by remaining in charge well past the seven-day limit, leading to an increasingly dessicated and warped Elisabeth to question whether her decision to cling to her departed youth in such an extreme manner is more curse than pleasure.

Written and directed by Coralie Fargeat, The Substance is like what would have happened had David Cronenberg and F/X makeup whiz Rob Bottin collaborated in the 80s to adapt one of those tidy EC Comics "Be careful what you wish for" cautionary fables. The film is full of grotesque, darkly funny body-horror ookiness, and the performances of its leading ladies give it a good deal of dramatic juice. Moore has never been better in a movie, giving her performance as a faded star looking middle age in the face and flinching a raw, lacerated edge, while Qualley plays her doppelganger's joie de vivre to the hilt, which is quickly swallowed up by her disenchantment and avarice with having to share her life with her older self.

The film works this pair off of each other in increasingly catty and malicious ways, leading to an astonishing extended climax that will likely turn off a good portion of the mainstream audience expecting more tidy genre thrills (I can't believe something like this is getting a wide release on nearly 2,000 screens) but will delight those with a taste for the extreme and surreal. This is bound to attain a fervent cult audience, and while certainly not for all tastes, is something -- love or hate it -- that you won't be able to shake very easily.