Halloween Horror Marathon 2022
Posted: Wed Sep 07, 2022 8:57 pm
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
[INT., PUBLIC RESTROOM, DAY[?]]
A bank of overhead fluorescent lights snap on one by one (several flickering erratically) to gradually reveal the image of a public restroom, one clearly residing within a long-abandoned building. The floors are coated with mucky grime, the tiles chipped wherever they're not missing entirely. The sinks are filled with gunk, the cracked mirrors so filmed with untold years' worth of condensation that they reflect no images back...not that you'd want them to. Most of the doors leading to the individual stalls are missing, save one, which hangs crookedly from a single rusty hinge. Said door is covered from top to bottom - on both sides - with graffiti that is alternately eloquent and profane. The toilets hold no water, just rings that indicate where the ghosts of waters past once resided. Every visible surface looks ready to ensure anyone daring to touch it will require a tetanus shot. All-in-all, not a place one would wish to conduct necessary bodily functions unless it were a dire emergency.
As the long-dormant lights reveal more of the room, in one corner is suddenly revealed the shape of a MAN, who is lying slumped in a murky puddle of water left dripping from a crack in the ceiling. In sharp contrast to the room in which the man currently resides, he is immaculately dressed in a nice, three-piece suit. A Burberry jacket, expensive loafers, a glittering gold watch that looks like it might have cost the monthly rent of the entire building the bathroom is contained within in better times. His face remains hidden to the audience, but we can see that the remnants of his thinning hair are meticulously slicked back. Some six feet away from him, a small TUBE TELEVISION SET has been set onto a small chair, its extension cord - augmented by several extensions - snakes out underneath the bathroom's closed door to points unknown.
The unpleasant buzzing of the flickering lights causes the man to showcase signs of life, raising his head groggily. He, with great care, extricates himself from the brackish puddle he is lying in and sits with his back braced against the wall. His ICY BLUE EYES scan the room with a surprising lack of...surprise at his surroundings. He looks down at his damp jacket and trouser legs with clear distaste, checks the time on his watch (pleased that it's still on his wrist), feels around in his pockets for his billfold (still there, still filled with money and credit cards), examines his head and body for signs of injury (nothing, aside from an unpleasant, lingering taste in his mouth, undoubtedly from whatever was placed in the otherwise lovely bottle of Chardonnay that was delivered to his hotel room the previous(?) night), then, crossing his ankles (one of which is securely manacled to a nearby pipe), simply...sits. Waiting patiently for some form of explanation as to his current predicament. He does not have to wait long, as the television set suddenly blinks on, revealing...
[CLOSE-UP, TELEVISION SCREEN]
We see the image of a PUPPET. It's a puppet with a shock of black frizzy hair and a bone-white face offset by a pair of spiral patterns emblazoned on each cheek. It is clad in a miniature, funereal-black suit with a bowtie with the same ruby red shade as the spiral patterns. Its SOULLESS DEAD EYES are also red, and they suddenly rotate in their sockets to look upon the man in the bathroom. It speaks to him in a corroded, electronically-processed voice that makes it impossible to identify the person behind it]
PUPPET: Hello...Doctor Lecter.
[The man smiles. It is a thin, cold, calculating smile.]
HANNIBAL LECTER: [in an elegant, politely conversational tone] Hello. I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage.
PUPPET: I have gone to great lengths to finally meet you. It took much research to follow the bodies left in your wake, the lives left shattered by your psychiatry practice. You have covered your tracks quite well, but not quite well enough, as we see.
HANNIBAL: I ascertained that as well. Now, you have my undivided attention. I have appointments to keep, but they can wait until our...business is finished. I realize that giving me your real name is probably not advantageous for you, but would an alias suffice so as to make out conversation a tad less..awkward?
PUPPET: You may call me...Jigsaw.
HANNIBAL: I suppose there's some backstory to that, but as our time together may be brief, we can dispense with such formalities. Now...how may I help you, Jigsaw? If you are in need of psychiatric counselling, there are easier ways to make an appointment. And they would not have required you to ruin a very nice suit.
PUPPET/JIGSAW: For that, my apologies, Dr. Lecter.
HANNIBAL: Please, I insist that my captors refer to me by Christian name.
JIGSAW: Very well...Hannibal. Now our little game can commence, provided that the seconal has completely worn off?
HANNIBAL: Ah, so that's what it was. [he smacks his lips, savoring the residual taste left in his mouth] An excellent choice.
JIGSAW: I'm glad we share similar tastes in drugs, Hannibal. They do the job efficiently. I'm just surprised you were unable to detect it in the bottle I sent you.
HANNIBAL: Oh, I knew it there from the first cautious sip.
JIGSAW: But...
HANNIBAL: ...why did I continue to enjoy the Chardonnay? For one, it's a shame to waste even a single glass of such a fine vintage. Secondly, I was...curious.
JIGSAW: [confusion somehow registers through the buzzing, electronic voice] Curious.
HANNIBAL: Yes. Many have tried to track me down over the years, despite all of my precautions, but most have simply attempted to claim the reward. It's quite sizable, and the one who received it would be extremely well off. But no, you decided to drug me. You were not interested in claiming a financial windfall, you wanted me for other purposes. And as I've woken up in my current accommodations - [he holds his arm out to indicate the skeevy bathroom] - instead of handcuffed inside of a jail cell, I must admit I am very interested to see what's going to happen next.
JIGSAW: Ah. It's not often that one of my...subjects showcases more curiosity than fear. That will make this year's experiment all the more intriguing.
HANNIBAL: So, what's it to be? Considering the ankle chain, [raises leg to accentuate] I am to assume the nature of the experiment is to be very unpleasant.
JIGSAW: Oh yes, it will be exceedingly unpleasant. It will, in fact, revolve around the television set you're looking at right now.
[Hannibal raises an appreciative eyebrow]
JIGSAW: Today is October 1st. This month's experiment revolves around the human capacity for watching bad horror movies.
[Hannibal's face falls, almost imperceptibly]
HANNIBAL: [repeating] Horror movies. Bad ones.
JIGSAW: Some of the worst. You will in fact, be subjected to some of the worst horror films ever created by man. A non-stop flood of them, 24/7, until October 31st, when you will be released.
HANNIBAL: [mulling it over] I see. Not at all what I was expecting. Wouldn't setting me up to be consumed slowly by wild boars be a bit more fun?
JIGSAW: [scoffs] Like anyone would try something *that* illogical. Pure comic book nonsense.
HANNIBAL: And to what end? I hardly think watching inferior horror cinema is enough to make one beg for mercy.
JIGSAW: That's just the tip of the iceberg. Each film you see will contain a clue hidden somewhere within. One that pertains to an avenue for escaping the room you are currently residing in. This bathroom is just one of many rooms contained within this building. Each one is studded with traps. Some mildly irritating, others lethal. A quiz will follow each film. If you get enough answers right, the chain around your ankle will be released, the door will open, and you will be allowed into the next chamber. Get too many wrong... [He lets this ominous phrase hang in the air for a beat before continuing] A brief respite will follow to allow for necessary sleep. Then it will be onto the next day's torrent of feculent scary movies.
HANNIBAL: [musing] You're a film critic, aren't you?
JIGSAW: No...merely an amateur. A fan interested in sharing a hobby. And, just to alleviate the mental torture, you will sometimes find an authentically GOOD film hidden within the onslaught of schlock. Yet even these will contain vital clues.
HANNIBAL: Any particular theme to the selected films?
JIGSAW: On a day-to-day basis, perhaps. Sometimes it will be at my completely random whim. And be sure to take notes...there WILL be a quiz later. Popcorn and soda will be provided at set intervals to keep your energy levels. However, the popcorn will be stale, the soda flat.
HANNIBAL: Goody-goody.
JIGSAW: On that note, it's time for the seasonal festivities to begin. Keep your eyes on the screen, please, and our feature presentation - the first of many - will begin shortly.
HANNIBAL: I do hope I am able to weather the entire month. I would so like to meet you and discuss the films I am about to partake of...over dinner. [This is said with a lascivious glint in his eyes]
JIGSAW: Good luck, Doctor, and put your mental skills to the test...it's going to get grisly.
[With this, the image of the Jigsaw puppet vanishes, replaced with snow and the buzz of static. Hannibal folds his hands primly on his stomach, adjusts his legs as far as the ankle chain will allow him, and settles in, a funny little smile on his face. Suddenly the static vanishes, replaced by an FBI warning screen. With this, we, and the good Doctor are ushered into...the 2022 Horror Movie Marathon.]
[This year's Halloween Marathon is dedicated to the memories of David Warner, Fred Ward, Anne Heche, Clu Gulager, Ray Liotta, Joe Turkel, WIlliam Hurt, Ivan Reitman and James Caan]
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
[INT., PUBLIC RESTROOM, DAY[?]]
A bank of overhead fluorescent lights snap on one by one (several flickering erratically) to gradually reveal the image of a public restroom, one clearly residing within a long-abandoned building. The floors are coated with mucky grime, the tiles chipped wherever they're not missing entirely. The sinks are filled with gunk, the cracked mirrors so filmed with untold years' worth of condensation that they reflect no images back...not that you'd want them to. Most of the doors leading to the individual stalls are missing, save one, which hangs crookedly from a single rusty hinge. Said door is covered from top to bottom - on both sides - with graffiti that is alternately eloquent and profane. The toilets hold no water, just rings that indicate where the ghosts of waters past once resided. Every visible surface looks ready to ensure anyone daring to touch it will require a tetanus shot. All-in-all, not a place one would wish to conduct necessary bodily functions unless it were a dire emergency.
As the long-dormant lights reveal more of the room, in one corner is suddenly revealed the shape of a MAN, who is lying slumped in a murky puddle of water left dripping from a crack in the ceiling. In sharp contrast to the room in which the man currently resides, he is immaculately dressed in a nice, three-piece suit. A Burberry jacket, expensive loafers, a glittering gold watch that looks like it might have cost the monthly rent of the entire building the bathroom is contained within in better times. His face remains hidden to the audience, but we can see that the remnants of his thinning hair are meticulously slicked back. Some six feet away from him, a small TUBE TELEVISION SET has been set onto a small chair, its extension cord - augmented by several extensions - snakes out underneath the bathroom's closed door to points unknown.
The unpleasant buzzing of the flickering lights causes the man to showcase signs of life, raising his head groggily. He, with great care, extricates himself from the brackish puddle he is lying in and sits with his back braced against the wall. His ICY BLUE EYES scan the room with a surprising lack of...surprise at his surroundings. He looks down at his damp jacket and trouser legs with clear distaste, checks the time on his watch (pleased that it's still on his wrist), feels around in his pockets for his billfold (still there, still filled with money and credit cards), examines his head and body for signs of injury (nothing, aside from an unpleasant, lingering taste in his mouth, undoubtedly from whatever was placed in the otherwise lovely bottle of Chardonnay that was delivered to his hotel room the previous(?) night), then, crossing his ankles (one of which is securely manacled to a nearby pipe), simply...sits. Waiting patiently for some form of explanation as to his current predicament. He does not have to wait long, as the television set suddenly blinks on, revealing...
[CLOSE-UP, TELEVISION SCREEN]
We see the image of a PUPPET. It's a puppet with a shock of black frizzy hair and a bone-white face offset by a pair of spiral patterns emblazoned on each cheek. It is clad in a miniature, funereal-black suit with a bowtie with the same ruby red shade as the spiral patterns. Its SOULLESS DEAD EYES are also red, and they suddenly rotate in their sockets to look upon the man in the bathroom. It speaks to him in a corroded, electronically-processed voice that makes it impossible to identify the person behind it]
PUPPET: Hello...Doctor Lecter.
[The man smiles. It is a thin, cold, calculating smile.]
HANNIBAL LECTER: [in an elegant, politely conversational tone] Hello. I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage.
PUPPET: I have gone to great lengths to finally meet you. It took much research to follow the bodies left in your wake, the lives left shattered by your psychiatry practice. You have covered your tracks quite well, but not quite well enough, as we see.
HANNIBAL: I ascertained that as well. Now, you have my undivided attention. I have appointments to keep, but they can wait until our...business is finished. I realize that giving me your real name is probably not advantageous for you, but would an alias suffice so as to make out conversation a tad less..awkward?
PUPPET: You may call me...Jigsaw.
HANNIBAL: I suppose there's some backstory to that, but as our time together may be brief, we can dispense with such formalities. Now...how may I help you, Jigsaw? If you are in need of psychiatric counselling, there are easier ways to make an appointment. And they would not have required you to ruin a very nice suit.
PUPPET/JIGSAW: For that, my apologies, Dr. Lecter.
HANNIBAL: Please, I insist that my captors refer to me by Christian name.
JIGSAW: Very well...Hannibal. Now our little game can commence, provided that the seconal has completely worn off?
HANNIBAL: Ah, so that's what it was. [he smacks his lips, savoring the residual taste left in his mouth] An excellent choice.
JIGSAW: I'm glad we share similar tastes in drugs, Hannibal. They do the job efficiently. I'm just surprised you were unable to detect it in the bottle I sent you.
HANNIBAL: Oh, I knew it there from the first cautious sip.
JIGSAW: But...
HANNIBAL: ...why did I continue to enjoy the Chardonnay? For one, it's a shame to waste even a single glass of such a fine vintage. Secondly, I was...curious.
JIGSAW: [confusion somehow registers through the buzzing, electronic voice] Curious.
HANNIBAL: Yes. Many have tried to track me down over the years, despite all of my precautions, but most have simply attempted to claim the reward. It's quite sizable, and the one who received it would be extremely well off. But no, you decided to drug me. You were not interested in claiming a financial windfall, you wanted me for other purposes. And as I've woken up in my current accommodations - [he holds his arm out to indicate the skeevy bathroom] - instead of handcuffed inside of a jail cell, I must admit I am very interested to see what's going to happen next.
JIGSAW: Ah. It's not often that one of my...subjects showcases more curiosity than fear. That will make this year's experiment all the more intriguing.
HANNIBAL: So, what's it to be? Considering the ankle chain, [raises leg to accentuate] I am to assume the nature of the experiment is to be very unpleasant.
JIGSAW: Oh yes, it will be exceedingly unpleasant. It will, in fact, revolve around the television set you're looking at right now.
[Hannibal raises an appreciative eyebrow]
JIGSAW: Today is October 1st. This month's experiment revolves around the human capacity for watching bad horror movies.
[Hannibal's face falls, almost imperceptibly]
HANNIBAL: [repeating] Horror movies. Bad ones.
JIGSAW: Some of the worst. You will in fact, be subjected to some of the worst horror films ever created by man. A non-stop flood of them, 24/7, until October 31st, when you will be released.
HANNIBAL: [mulling it over] I see. Not at all what I was expecting. Wouldn't setting me up to be consumed slowly by wild boars be a bit more fun?
JIGSAW: [scoffs] Like anyone would try something *that* illogical. Pure comic book nonsense.
HANNIBAL: And to what end? I hardly think watching inferior horror cinema is enough to make one beg for mercy.
JIGSAW: That's just the tip of the iceberg. Each film you see will contain a clue hidden somewhere within. One that pertains to an avenue for escaping the room you are currently residing in. This bathroom is just one of many rooms contained within this building. Each one is studded with traps. Some mildly irritating, others lethal. A quiz will follow each film. If you get enough answers right, the chain around your ankle will be released, the door will open, and you will be allowed into the next chamber. Get too many wrong... [He lets this ominous phrase hang in the air for a beat before continuing] A brief respite will follow to allow for necessary sleep. Then it will be onto the next day's torrent of feculent scary movies.
HANNIBAL: [musing] You're a film critic, aren't you?
JIGSAW: No...merely an amateur. A fan interested in sharing a hobby. And, just to alleviate the mental torture, you will sometimes find an authentically GOOD film hidden within the onslaught of schlock. Yet even these will contain vital clues.
HANNIBAL: Any particular theme to the selected films?
JIGSAW: On a day-to-day basis, perhaps. Sometimes it will be at my completely random whim. And be sure to take notes...there WILL be a quiz later. Popcorn and soda will be provided at set intervals to keep your energy levels. However, the popcorn will be stale, the soda flat.
HANNIBAL: Goody-goody.
JIGSAW: On that note, it's time for the seasonal festivities to begin. Keep your eyes on the screen, please, and our feature presentation - the first of many - will begin shortly.
HANNIBAL: I do hope I am able to weather the entire month. I would so like to meet you and discuss the films I am about to partake of...over dinner. [This is said with a lascivious glint in his eyes]
JIGSAW: Good luck, Doctor, and put your mental skills to the test...it's going to get grisly.
[With this, the image of the Jigsaw puppet vanishes, replaced with snow and the buzz of static. Hannibal folds his hands primly on his stomach, adjusts his legs as far as the ankle chain will allow him, and settles in, a funny little smile on his face. Suddenly the static vanishes, replaced by an FBI warning screen. With this, we, and the good Doctor are ushered into...the 2022 Horror Movie Marathon.]
[This year's Halloween Marathon is dedicated to the memories of David Warner, Fred Ward, Anne Heche, Clu Gulager, Ray Liotta, Joe Turkel, WIlliam Hurt, Ivan Reitman and James Caan]