Good morning, gentle readers, and welcome to the world wide premiere date of Star Trek: Section 31 from Paramount Pictures, CBS Studios, Roddenberry Entertainment, and Secret Hideout.  No, I've not seen the flick -- me and mine apparently doesn't 'fit the bill' to be an official media outlet so far as the suits are at Paramount and more -- so this is most definitely not a review.  I'm merely putting up a post to remind readers of the film's launch as well as to give a bit of greater commentary on the State of Trek as it pertains to this development.

In short: Ugh.

Reviews have come in over the Information Superhighway based entirely on the fact that the feature's actual premiere was two days ago.  A great many entertainment and fan sites are already piling on what looks like yet one more unmitigated cinematic disaster to the once revered Roddenberry legacy.  I've no desire to do that: mind you, I'm no fan of anything that's come out since Trek moved behind the pay wall, but I've not seen enough of it to feel my voice on those matters would be any more authentic than someone not watching.  I can say -- of what I've watched -- only Star Trek: Strange New Worlds' first season came close to being entertaining ... but, as I said, I'll leave that for what it is.

​Because I do like to talk about entertainment more from a historical perspective, I do have something I'd like to put out there this morning.

You see, a student of history will tell you that Paramount has long seen Star Trek as a Golden Goose when it comes to truly cracking some amazing financial rewards.  All the way back in the mid-1970's, in fact, the studio believed they could use the continuing adventures of the Starship Enterprise to launch their own network.  Indeed, Star Trek: Phase Two was originally scheduled to be the 'next generation' of adventure; and this was actively on the drawing boards back in the 70's.

What happened?

Well, a little something-something called Star Wars truly changed the face of entertainment as we know it.  George Lucas' space western showed that audiences were willing to go boldly where no one had gone before on the silver screen, and Phase Two went through a few other phases before eventually churning out 1979's Star Trek: The Motion Picture.  I don't talk about that much in this space because -- sigh -- so many Trekkies, Trekkers, and general Trek enthusiasts don't think it was that great of an experience (I disagree, as I still fervently love the production), so I won't go more into that.  All I'm really doing here is trying to set a bit of context, so deal with it.

In the mid 1980's, Trek was increasingly popular, so Paramount decided that perhaps going back to television would be a good idea.  Instead of pushing their own brand-new network, it was ultimately decided that they'd pursue TV syndication as a way of honoring those smaller broadcast outlets that truly were with Trek from the beginning (once the original show was cancelled, you found it all over the dial on such stations).  Star Trek: The Next Generation was born, and there we are.

But Paramount couldn't give up that idea of having their own television network; and in the 1990's they finally put their money where their mouth was -- Star Trek: Voyager wasn't exactly a barn-burner (so far as I'm concerned), but it was interesting occasionally to see just how those Federation values might work in a distant part of the universe where morality was a bit different.  Personally, I thought it failed to achieve anything worthwhile -- in fact, I've often suggested that Syfy's Farscape is the show Voyager should've been -- but, again, the suits knew what they wanted.  Unsurprisingly, UPN -- that beloved network they so long sought -- died perhaps not even a decade later, ultimately disappearing from the broadcast landscape.

​For all intents and purposes, Paramount+ -- in my humble opinion -- eventually emerged to pick up that baton and run with it.  The studio contracted Robert Kurtzman to bring Trek both into the future and behind a paywall as beancounters once more believed those dollar signs they dreamed about could be achieved.  While the suits have continued to throw money at the problem, none of what they've purchased has, ultimately, gotten any better ... and that pretty much sums up where we are today ... what with Star Trek: Section 31 appearing like the next travesty to happen to the franchise many of us believed would take us into the future.

I can remember back in the days of message boards getting into some heated exchanges with a great many fans.  You see, many of us had ideas that we thought might invigorate Trek: we could see throughout Voyager's run and well into Star Trek: Enterprise that the I.P. was struggling; and each of us had different takes on why it had fallen into such disrepute.  For me, it just didn't have compelling characters -- certainly not after The Next Generation -- and there was no significant impetus to follow anyone into the Final Frontier in any other iteration.  (Don't get me wrong: I liked a lot of the players on Deep Space Nine, but I never felt it congealed the way it should have.)  A good franchise creates characters you want to stay with, and that just wasn't happening ... but a few of us had a suggestion.

What I promoted way back then was that Paramount kinda/sorta recraft the TV universe around The Next Generation.  These characters had proven their popularity with fandom; and these stars could be put to good use if they were now somewhat broken up and re-assigned to Deep Space Nine and Voyager (for all intents and purposes).  Mind you: there was plenty of opportunity for crossovers (Voyager would have to be back home in the Alpha Quadrant, yes, in order for this to work) if these shows were to continue beyond their televised format, and that's what I wanted.  I wanted some TNG telefilms.  I wanted some DS9 telefilms.  I wanted some Voyager telefilms.  But what was missing would be key characters, and I thought that could happen if, say, Picard moved along, Riker moved along, and others moved along into these other spinoffs.  

Now, I'm not gonna re-litigate all of what I thought could've been a winning formula today.  That's not the purpose that I came here, frankly, so you can rest easy with this being my only look back into the past.  My point is that -- interestingly enough -- that idea many of us thought could help Trek into the future -- namely, the telefilm-style product -- is finally finding life a few decades after some of us in fandom felt it was a formula worth exploring.  Granted, Section 31 -- in its current shape -- doesn't look like a recipe for success, but that might be owed to the fact that Kurtzman and his company really don't look all that interested in making Trek for fans as much as they do making money for themselves.

As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!

-- EZ
​

Oh, Jurassic Park ... what have you wrought?!?!

Just as John Hammond warned us about the dangers of messing with dinosaur genetics, did no one think about the inevitable spinoffs and knockoffs that would result from a single blockbuster movie?  Such dreams became a reality when on this day in 1995 (in Turkey) Carnosaur 2 -- yes, there was an original as well -- enjoyed its first broadcast on television.  Yes, I think I've seen this one -- caught it back in the day on home video and don't recall being all that impressed -- but I'll leave it at that as the memory is a bit clouded.  I can remember thinking that some of the footage was simply re-used from the first installment (IMDB.com's Trivia Page for the flick confirms that); and that's always a disappointment when it happens so obviously.  Still, those things happen quite often in the low budget worlds crafted by genre producer Roger Corman.

​Interestingly enough, the film's dinosaurs weren't rendered in CGI: these were life-sized robotic puppets (well, as life-sized as the budget would allow), and it's probably likely that that fact alone caused its own share of issues for the storytellers.  Directed by Louis Morneau from a story by Michael Palmer, the monster movie starred John Savage, Cliff De Young, Don Stroud, Rick Dean, and Ryan Thomas Johnson in prominent roles.

Furthermore, IMDB.com indicates that Carnosaur 2 was originally slated for a theatrical run.  (There's no indication of which country or anything further.)  Apparently, that never happen, and this thing was rushed into the secondary market of home video and television as a consequences.  Were we robbed?  Well, an aggregate audience score under 4.0 on IMDB.com indicates maybe not so much.

In any event, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY you Jurassic critters of Carnosaur 2!  You don't look a day over 30 years young!

As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!

-- EZ
​

For those caught unawares: the great and prolific writer, director, and producer Charles Band is responsible for a great deal of the home video boom throughout the 1980’s and well into the 1990’s.
 
In fact, his IMDB.com profile confirms that – presently – he’s ushered an astonishing 432 different titles into celluloid existence; and that’s not small potatoes.  Though his was a bit disillusioned with how his projects were getting treated under his original imprint – Charles Band Productions – he had the presence of mind to close up shop and re-open under the name of Empire Pictures; and a solid assortment of popular home video rental and retail outings came to life as a consequence.  When Empire got a bit too big for its theatrical britches and experience financial shortcomings, Band recreated the wheel again under the moniker of Full Moon Entertainment; and he continues weaving tapestries for young and old alike to this day.
 
(Author’s note: those interested in knowing even a bit more about Band, his start in the business, and his lasting legacy are encouraged to pick up a copy of his autobiography Confessions Of A Puppetmaster: A Hollywood Memoir Of Ghouls, Guts, and Gonzo Filmmaking which I’ve reviewed here.)
 
Of course, a repertoire as vast as Band’s is necessarily going to have some good, bad, and ugly; and, yet, as far as this critic is concerned there are a great number of spectacular B-Movies that have been part and parcel of his epic run behind the camera.  Fans do argue that he’s somewhat of an acquired taste; and yet the stats of his success in home video speak for themselves.  While I admittedly prefer the stuff he was doing back in the 80’s and 90’s, I’ll also concede that I haven’t had the time as a purveyor to check out even a small sampling of what he’s done since the turn of the century; but I always keep my eyes open for recommendations of the SciFiHistory.Net readership.
 
Still, I hadn’t had the good fortune of experiencing his trip into the Shadowzone (1990), a Horror/SciFi title that in many ways feels like a low budget re-interpretation of a combination of John Carpenter’s earlier works.  Written and directed by J.S. Cardone, the film includes a talented line-up headlined by Star Trek’s Louise Fletcher and Blade Runner’s James Hong.  As imperfect as it might be, the project still represents to a good degree all audiences wanted from something that might’ve felt more direct-to-video than it ever did theatrical: a decent story, some appreciable cinematography, and a handful of good scares.
 
Why, what more could one want for a Friday or Saturday night distraction?
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
​

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Scientists experiment with Extreme Dream Sleep and find a Parallel Dimension. Now they find the door works both ways and something has come through.”
 
It’s been said that Alfred Hitchcock was one of the first screen directors to pioneer using a slowly moving camera about his movie sets in order to establish the look and feel of a particular story; and I’ve also read that many in academic credit John Carpenter with picking up that style of transforming it into his own storytelling hook.  While the name of J.S. Cardone might not bring with it the same intellectual influence, the opening of his Shadowzone certainly harkens back to the narrative technique: under his watchful eye, the lens moves across a somewhat off-the-beaten track and fenced in location that undoubtedly has something to hide.
 
Welcome to Jackass Flats, my friends, and let’s hope everyone gets out alive.
 
This is Horror, and that rarely happens.  Otherwise, it wouldn’t be Horror.  Am I right?
 
From there, Shadowzone takes our hero – Captain Hickok (played by David Beecroft – on a tour of duty beneath the Earth.  In this subterranean lair, Dr. Van Fleet (James Hong) and Dr. Erhardt (Louise Fletcher) have been experimenting on the subconscious minds of two subjects preserved in isolation tubes; and somehow – the script is never perfectly clear on this point – they’ve tapped into a shared reality wherein one’s fears and phobias can somehow manifest from this ‘shadow zone’ into our world where they’ll definitely develop an appetite for human flesh.
 
Essentially, audiences know what they’re likely going to get with a chiller of this variety.  Before you know it, all of these players find themselves trapped in this decrepit compound with no way out; and – like in Ridley Scott’s seminal Alien (1979) – they spend the bulk of the script trying to elude their shapeshifting captor(s).  But in true locked box mystery fashion, these familiar faces fall one-by-one until the last man standing must figure out a way to save not only himself but the rest of life as we know it in the process.  Yes, it’s predictable.  Yes, it’s been done before.  Yet, audiences show up again almost every time it’s tried.
​

Our noble military captain has been dispatched from Washington, DC for an impromptu safety inspection once Van Fleet and Erhardt’s “science” causes the bloody and seemingly explosive death of one unfortunate soul.  (What’s left of him lies in relative pieces on a hospital gurney.)  At this point, however, it’s not exactly clear whether the central creature is dining on human flesh or is just acting out negatively because of a bad day.  There’s an expository scene later which tends to once again imply that this crew is little more than the original ‘meals on wheels,’ but Cardone never felt it necessary to clarify his particulars: instead, he leads his cast through one bloody death sequence after another if for no other reason than what matters most is splatter.
 
As the hunky lead, Beecroft does just fine.  He flexes his jawline here and there whenever considering a harsh set of circumstances, so perhaps the actor knew all too well that he was serving second fiddle to these beastly pursuits anyway.  A quick glance of the man’s IMDB.com profile shows that he hasn’t appeared in anything after 2000, and that’s a shame: his leading man looks could very well have led to some other employment, but – then again – not everyone gets to be a George Clooney or Jim Varney.  It would’ve been nice had Cardone given the character a bit of a backstory – maybe some interesting service credentials or some greater reason why he was the man best suited for this mission – but such nuance didn’t matter all that much in B-Movies, a shame if ever there were.
 
While Wong does an affable enough job portraying the resident ‘mad scientist’ who’s trying to hide a great deal of his discoveries because – well – they just might not meet with moral approval, he gets dispatched fairly early in the picture, becoming the first of the Ten Little Indians to fall once Hickok is on the scene.  From there, Fletcher steps in quite nicely: though for some reason someone felt it necessary to saddle the actress with some character quirk of constantly applying Chapstick to her otherwise perfect lips, the actress still knew how to deliver even the most obvious conclusion (aren’t we all seeing this?) with the requisite theatrical aplomb.  She, too, suffers a grim demise; and is it too much of me to wish that maybe, just maybe, she could’ve gone out a hero?  As a talent, the lady knew her stuff; and I just wish she hadn’t spent so much of her later career in roles of cardboard villainy.  Even Nurse Ratchet deserved better.
 
Still, Cardone – as the director and the writer – keeps Shadowzone moving along quite nicely if not predictably.  For reasons I can’t quite figure out, he dropped after only about twenty minutes in a brilliant running gag: this facility is, literally, breaking apart all around them, and it makes for a few great early moments with folks banging on doors, smacking and jabbing buttons multiple times, and whatnot.  I kept looking for the base’s deficiencies to show back up for another bang, kick, or smack; but instead, the cast and crew just go through the motions.  It would’ve been funny had they continued the schtick up until the bitter end – it isn’t as if the lair was getting any better – but I’ll chalk that up to missed opportunities.
​

That’s the thing about B-Movies, however, that some folks get and some don’t: if it’s all going to be a little subpar anyway, then why not celebrate the shortcomings a bit more?  When big budget studio productions get to revel in their excess, why shouldn’t auteurs of the secondary features point out they’re shackled with sloppy seconds?  After all, it isn’t every day that scientists cast physically perfect human specimens as lab rats – ridiculously well-endowed men and superfluously bossomed women for what amounts to little more than a sleep study – so why not incorporate a joke or two about such ludicrousness along the way?  Of course, it’s a cheap and easy laugh, but even some of the best entertainment of critical record includes something of a throwaway gag.  (Remember Indiana Jones shooting a swordsman dead in the streets?)  Why (oh why) must our B-Movies be so … pretentious?
 
Shadowzone (1990) was produced by Full Moon Entertainment.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Full Moon Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, this release looks surprisingly solid: it’s been billed as a Remastered print, and this is probably as good as it has and will ever look.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Well, that’s a disappointment as the disc includes only a single theatrical trailer: with this older flick finding new life, it’s always nice if a production could give us diehard fans a little something extra.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
Though it’s little more than passable entertainment at best, I like to think something like Shadowzone is our passable entertainment: the folks who always find a way to embrace a middling effort that knows what it is, where it’s going, and why it exists in the first place.  Producer Band as a master at such a thing, and it’s a low-down dirty shame that more folks haven’t picked up that torch and run with it in the modern era.  That said, the story may not make perfect sense – I’ve thought about it over and over again, and I’m still convinced I’ll never quite understand how this ‘zone’ is possible much less how it works – but that’s okay.  The feature served its purpose, and now I’m off to discover something else … and, yes, it’ll likely wind up being in the Empire Pictures or Full Moon catalogue when the hunger strikes.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that I’m beholden to no one for my review of Shadowzone (1990) as I purchased my copy of this Remastered release with my own hard-earned cash from the Full Moon Entertainment website.

-- EZ
​

Purchase your copy of Shadowzone - Remastered (1990) right here:

The sad truth is that independent films – and even Folk Horror, in general – are, ultimately, not for everyone.
 
Their stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if the storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note, beat, or idea.  Though such flicks used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown, untried, untested, and unproven talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store.  Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to see them continued in modern times.

​Just as indie features can be a bit hard-to-swallow, Folk Horror can be even more of an ‘acquired taste.’

​Bits and pieces of their stories need to be defined in order to be fully grasped and appreciated; and not every viewer who buys a ticket is all that much interested in ‘learning’ as opposed to be sufficiently ‘entertained.’  It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night.  When full-blown Horror can be immensely popular, Folk counterparts tend to be a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, a bit less bloody … and much more thought-provoking.

Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of.

Today’s fright: 2018’s Edge Of The Knife is the story about one small tribal community’s brush with unexpected tragedy and how its effects stretch to the point wherein an intervention becomes necessary to bring one member back from a mental break.  It’s a grim tale performed well, but I’ll admit right up front that my opinion of it might feel a bit different than others who discuss storytelling … and that’s because in some ways I just don’t feel necessarily qualified.
 
Curious?
 
Let’s get to it …

​(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“When a man accidentally causes the death of the son of his best friend, the man is wracked by grief and runs off into the woods.”
 
One of the first lessons I learned from a college professor who was very fond of films is that these productions can be ‘acclaimed’ for any number of legitimate reasons … and, yet, that doesn’t necessarily mean they need be celebrated universally.  Sometimes, that’s how I approach a film I’m encouraged to screen only to find myself a bit confused as to what I might be missing.  While some stories resonate more broadly with audiences, others are best reserved for those who perhaps understand a certain cultural depiction.  There’s nothing wrong with admitting, “Sorry, but I just don’t get it.”
 
For me, Edge Of The Knife (aka SGaawaay K'uuna) both is and isn’t a good example of this phenomenon.  While bits and pieces of its simple story – a young boy’s life tragically ends from a boating accident, and this grief tears through a small Indian community in different ways – are easy to identify with, there’s still a vast degree of slowness and downright stillness to the direction from Gwaai Edenshaw and Helen Haig-Brown.  Unfortunately, this 101-running time feels like its vastly longer, and that’s because the narrative is chocked full of extended sequences that stretch well beyond the substance of the point being made.  While some of it goes a long way toward establishing mood and emotion, I’d still insist that the pacing could’ve been vastly improved with some creative restraint.
 
From what I’ve read, however, Edge has received a great deal of its acclaim because it was the first feature-length production centered not only on the Haida (an indigenous tribe of the Pacific Northwest Coast of North America, per Google.com) but also it explores a tale drawn from Haidi legends.  That fact alone is indeed impressive, causing me to briefly tip my hat to all of those involved.  Even though I might naturally be inclined to point out the ways one could improve upon the storytelling, I’ll pass up on that strategy, saying basically that such an achievement is noteworthy, and here’s hoping that we see more of it.
 
Where I might take issue still is why anyone would suggest including this release as part of a Folk Horror collection.
 
To my understanding (and, again, I could be slightly off base here, so haters beware), Folk Horror explores that fertile ground between what one might define as civilization and the uncivilized.  It often involves locales cut off from society at large, and there’s typically an element of folklore – wives’ tales, superstitions, and the like – that worm a path through the central plotline.  But what gets depicted here deals more with a culture’s shamanistic cures to a level of displayed psychosis (or psychological struggle); and I almost feel a bit … erm … dirty suggesting in any way that their beliefs (and maybe even their wider belief system) might be little more than falsehoods or artistic delusions.

Perhaps this is where we’ve come to socially in this era of our shared history.  When my job is to both educate and entertain, I might still feel compelled to avoid discussing an idea or two here or there because I don’t want to be – in any way – insensitive; and as a consequence, I’m a bit squeamish saying anything further about the narrative.  Suffice it to say, the Haida of this story experience a heartbreaking calamity, and grief – as we all know – gets featured and explored in several ways.  What evolves over these 100+ minutes is something I don’t feel competent to classify, quantify, and criticize because, frankly, it feels wrong.
 
Performances are good, though a bit unimpressive at times.  There are a few moments of humor surprisingly here.  The cinematography is good, and I appreciated the conclusion.  But … is this Horror?  Is this Folk Horror?  I guess it fits the hardcore parameters to some even though I’m hard-pressed to give this one an enthusiastic thumbs up on that score.  It feels more like a dramatic effort with an uncurrent of psychological Horror, but what do I know?
 
Edge Of The Knife (2018) was produced by Niijang Xyalaas and Kingulliit Productions.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Severin Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I do believe this was all shot on HD Video – at least, it certainly looks that way – and I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be very good across the run.  As for the special features?  There’s an interesting audio commentary but even better was the documentary that focuses a bit more on the mechanics of getting the project off the ground – its challenges, its highs and lows – which I enjoyed more.  Also, there are a few shorts films accompanying it all.  A good package.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
Far be it from me to decide what is and what isn’t authentic Folk Horror.  While I’ll certainly not disparage anyone who thinks Edge Of The Knife (2018) fits within the sometimes-curious mold, I’ll tread lightly – with great respect – by asking, “Aren’t we doing a disservice to a people’s culture by – ahem – classifying it as superstition?”  This is why I do consciously avoid discussing some features – I’m disinclined to offend anyone with my observations, especially involving a heritage I know little about – but to each his own.  As a finished product, Edge is still a bit underwhelming if not clunky in a few spots as a story; and a much tighter presentation would be appreciated if this one ever receives a makeover.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Edge Of The Knife (2018) – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – by request for the purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ
​

Purchase your copy of All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 here:

The sad truth is that independent films – and even Folk Horror, in general – are, ultimately, not for everyone.

Their stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if the storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note, beat, or idea.  Though such flicks used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown, untried, untested, and unproven talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store.  Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to see them continued in modern times.

​Just as indie features can be a bit hard-to-swallow, Folk Horror can be even more of an ‘acquired taste.’

​Bits and pieces of their stories need to be defined in order to be fully grasped and appreciated; and not every viewer who buys a ticket is all that much interested in ‘learning’ as opposed to be sufficiently ‘entertained.’  It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night.  When full-blown Horror can be immensely popular, Folk counterparts tend to be a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, a bit less bloody … and much more thought-provoking.

Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of.

Today’s fright: 1952’s Finnish-language chiller The White Reindeer weaves the classic web of ‘girl meets boy’ with the added layers of ‘girl might have been born a witch’ and ‘girl resorts to poorly phrased love potion to make boy love her even more.’  Written (in part) and directed by Erik Blomberg (1913-1996), the feature starred the man’s wife and screenwriter partner Mirjami Kuosmanen (1915-1963) who only a short ten years later would pass tragically from a brain hemorrhage.  Yet, their screen collaboration here remains one of great distinction: not only was it the recipient of the 1953 Cannes Film Festival prize in the category of ‘Best Fairy Tale Film’ but also it scored three big wins – ‘Best Music,’ ‘Best Cinematography,’ and ‘Best Leading Actress’—at the 1952 Jussi Awards, Finland’s equivalent to the U.S.’s Academy Awards.

​Setting aside the accolades, The White Reindeer has some plusses and minuses so far as this reviewer is concerned.  Like many pictures of the bygone era, it spends a good amount of screen time invested in narrative sequences that stretch on a bit longer than completely necessary, so much so that I suspect there’s a vastly slimmer cut of the flick that might even sit well with today’s TikTok sensibilities.  The performances are good (for what they are), and – to my surprise – there’s so little dialogue one wonders what was truly gained by structuring it almost like a story from the era of silent films.
​

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A newlywed woman goes to the local shaman to get some help with her love life, but instead she gets turned into a white reindeer vampire.”
 
A great number of fairy tales have been written exploring the theme of misunderstood or unrequited love; and this is essentially the frozen territory staked out by The White Reindeer, a tragic affair pulled from Finnish mythology and delivered to the silver screen with icy conviction.  Wikipedia.org credits the film from Erik Blomberg as his professional debut; and the writer/director definitely delivers the goods in a way that warrants the kind of appreciation given by scholars and academics alike, though it might feel a bit slim if not occasionally bloated cinematographically by mainstream audiences.  Those who are fascinated by folklore around the world will probably find a few sequences worthy of note, but even they might find their patience tested with several sequences that stretch languorously longer than they need.
 
Yes, yes, and yes: one might argue that protracted structures are necessary steps for creating a bit of the requisite atmosphere.  The setting is in the deep, deep treacherous frozen tundra where only a handful of men, women, and children might account for the tiniest of villages; and this isolation feeds directly into our heroine’s need to connect both physically, emotionally, and spiritually with her husband.  Part witch story and part morality tale – always be careful what you wish for – Reindeer settles easily into the sub-genre of Folk Horror in practically every way possible.  Still, I can’t imagine any of its substance or impact being sacrificed had Blomberg clipped 10-to-15 seconds off of his expansive shots of endless snowy plains and the hunters sledding across them.  By the final reel, it isn’t as if we haven’t seen such activity before, so it grows tedious.
 
Pirita (played by Mirjami Kuosmanen) is prophesied at the time of her birth to be part of a growing folk community which celebrates life in song and dance.  Once she matures into adulthood, the lovely lady catches the eye of one of the tribe’s hunters – Aslak (Kalervo Nissilä) – and the pair are eventually joined in marriage.  However, their life as a couple is hardly what the lady wished for as her man spends so much time away on hunting expeditions, choosing to run with ‘the pack’ of men, dogs, and reindeer.  Hoping to lessen her loneliness, Pirita asks the local shaman to cast a spell – one that could make it impossible for a hunter to resist her charms – and as anyone can imagine the wish goes horribly wrong.
 
Did the lady seriously forget that hunters first and foremost long to chase wild beasts across the wild frontier?
​

Eventually, she finds she can transform into the white reindeer (of the title), a caribou that’s revered in local legend for bringing tragedy and suffering in its wake.  Naturally, this is what happens as the sightings of Pirita in animal form bring out the local hunters who are hell bent on seeing the things killed only to, one by one, fall victim to the lady’s treachery.  Eventually, husband and wife collide on the battlefield – well, hunting grounds, anyway – and Aslak emerges aghast once his triumph turns to tragedy with the realization that it was his beloved he struck down in the closing moments.
 
As this is reported to be Blomberg’s first film, I’m willing to chalk up some of the visual bloat to being a bit of a beginner.  Again, it isn’t as if there’s a great deal of waste here cinematically: my point is that once a point is made then I’m looking for the story to move along, and that doesn’t always happen.  It’s all captured in stark black-and-white, and the man uses both shadows and some old school camera trickery to accomplish vastly more than others have done, so there’s no denying the noirish charm to what he brings to the feature.  Also, he alternates comfortably between some tight, closed in housing to some reasonably expansive frontiers, a technique that helps underscore the fact that even wide-open spaces might offer little reprieve for a woman who wants little more than her husband’s arms around her.
 
But, wow, Kuosmanen is a big-time star here. 

​Whether she is batting her eyelashes at the local revelry or staring sternly into Blomberg’s camera, she commands a great deal of attention to her plight when it’s needed.  Much like a siren from the aforementioned silent era, she renders her emotions with a mastery of expression, never leaving any doubt as to what she’s thinking or expecting in any of her close-ups.  Who knows what her career in film might’ve amounted to had she lived longer as it’s her time in the lens that gives this Reindeer so much of its visual punch.
 
The White Reindeer (1952) was produced by Junior-Filmi.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the film folks at Severin Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional across the flick’s 74-minute running time.  (There are some very slow fades to black that, too, could’ve been restored a bit better, but it is what it is.)  If you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a few short films along with a commentary-like experience from a podcast called The Projection Booth that’s good but only occasionally a bit too chatty.
 
Recommended.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The White Reindeer (1952) – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – by request for the purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Purchase your copy of All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 right here:

It’s often been said that you can tell a lot about a person by the company he (or she) keeps; and I’ve often applied that same maxim to films.  In other words, you can tell a lot about a film by the company in which it gets associated.
 
According to Wikipedia.org, it was during the 1980’s that a handful of prominent filmmakers began urging the United States Congress to enact a body that could preserve films that had demonstrated “historical, cultural, and aesthetic” appeal to the art form.  Chiefly, this was because a great number of motion pictures were starting to get tinkered with from their original form in order to be commercially marketed both to television and home video; and these storytellers and artists were concerned that the lasting legacy of good stories was facing the prospect of getting reshaped into something different than was originally intended.  As such, the National Film Preservation Act was first passed in 1988; and – the very next year – the first twenty-five features were inducted into the National Film Registry.  Among these entries were films beloved by audiences and academics alike; and – yes – 1956’s The Searchers was in that inaugural class.
 
What else was there, you might ask?
 
Well, there were a few of them that – frankly – were cultural no-brainers.  1941’s Citizen Kane and 1942’s Casablanca had long been regarded as some of the very best storytelling of theatrical note, as were such inductees as 1939’s Gone With The Wind, 1946’s The Best Years Of Our Lives, and 1954’s On The Waterfront.  While I hadn’t seen all the included films, I had at that time seen The Searchers; and I’ll admit to being a bit befuddled.  As a Western, I’d certainly seen ones I thought better – that young and naïve critic I considered myself – but I wasn’t all that surprised that the John Ford directed feature had the reputation it did amongst filmmakers.  I didn’t know this until much later, so I’m glad that I’ve had the chance to look at the film once more thanks to the kind people at Warner Archive.
 
Even at this late day in my life, I think I’ve finally been able to put into words why I’ve struggled with the picture as well as why it just doesn’t quite resonate as strongly with me as have so many others.  Some might disagree – such is life – and some might even suggest that I’m a Looney Tunes for sticking with my position; but I’ve always tried very hard to stay true to myself in the process of evaluating stories, why they do or don’t work, and even why they deserve the recognition they achieve over time.  The Searchers certainly qualifies as one whose reputation has grown over time – it wasn’t anywhere near a box office hit back in its day – and perhaps that shows that art ultimately finds its audience, maybe even after many have looked elsewhere.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An American Civil War veteran embarks on a years-long journey to rescue his niece from the Comanches after the rest of his brother's family is massacred in a raid on their Texas farm.”
 
While I’m not as young as those who discuss films online these days, I’m probably not among the oldest, either.  I certainly grew up at a time when cinema – in particular – was changing: the 1960’s and early 1970’s say many genre entries trying to grow increasingly relevant with the times, but syndication television programming was still made up of shows like The Lone Ranger, The Cisco Kid, The Rifleman, and Have Gun – Will Travel.  While each of these may’ve had their respective narrative territories that they staked out, there was one thing I recall all of them having in common: as a watcher, you knew who the goods guys were, and you knew who the bad ones were.
 
A good deal of their stories were simple yarns – some black-hatted newbie to the town would show up and commit some nefarious deed, requiring that our white-hatted heroes saddle up and ride for the purpose of righting that singular wrong.  Rarely was there any nuance – the viewers didn’t have to watch closely to know who was on the side of justice in most cases because costuming alone pretty much told them everything they needed to know – and everything was wrapped up tighter than a box in the final reel.  It might be a showdown or some deserved fisticuffs after a protracted horse race, but justice returned the town to what it was before evil reared its head and balance was reached.
 
While theatrical Westerns were largely cut from the same cloth, there came a time wherein these big budget spectacles inevitably realized that they had to do what they were doing on the big screen a bit differently than what studios could deliver faster and cheaper on the small.  We were growing and changing as a society, and some storytellers felt that our myths should as well.   There’s always a measure of revisionism that comes into play, and these efforts began questioning the ideas of what good and evil authentically looked like across a lawless and uncivilized frontier.  Maybe the good guys didn’t always wear white.  Maybe the bad guys didn’t always wear black.  Maybe even the men and women we originally thought were the good and righteous lot had something to hide, and maybe those feared gunslingers weren’t as morally honorable as films had led us to believe.
 
In this respect, The Searchers – as directed by Ford and scripted by Frank S. Nugent, Alan Le May, and Charles Dorat – casts iconic cowboy and lawman John Wayne in the guise of Ethan Edwards, a former soldier of the Confederacy who stayed away from home for some time even after the Civil War ended.  When he does arrive back to the Edwards homestead, he’s welcomed warmly and embraced by his brother and the man’s family … and yet things don’t quite look as clean and wholesome as they might’ve in other motion pictures.  Why, brother Aaron is a bit of a homebody, not much for violence nor taking a stand on any issue unless conscripted by the local constabulary.  At the dinner table, Ethan proves himself to be a bit of a racist when he takes issue with breaking bread with Marty Pawley (Jeffrey Hunter), an adopted sibling with only one-eighth Cherokee ancestry.  And – dare I say? – it looks like Ethan and his sister-in-law Martha (Dorothy Jordan) can’t help but steal loving glances at one another whilst no one else is looking?
 
Erm … what happened to the good guys?
 
There’s no denying that Ethan Edwards is the hero of The Searchers, certainly as much as Martin Pawley come the big finish; and yet there’s also a bit of antihero in him as well.  As times change, our heroes also go through a bit of cultural upheaval, meaning that we might begin to ‘search’ for just what makes the definition of a protagonist work in a new era of civilization.  Clearly, there is good and bad in each of us – or, at least, the propensity to achieve good works as well as something less than reputable – and that’s the wild frontier that’s staked out in Ford’s mold-breaking outing.  It’s a film that both is as true a Western as ever was while it also defies expectations and pushes its characters and themes into territory as untouched as the prairie.
​

There’s never any doubt that Edwards has done some unconscionable deeds on behalf of civilization.  Indeed, the man hints amply at decisions he’s had to made as well as the turmoil he tucks away deep inside as a consequence of having to live with such choices.  This was more likely the reality of braving such an explored and dangerous expanse that was the true Wild West, much more than those simple ‘black versus white’ stories that worked so well on broadcast television.  When some in the audience might’ve been a bit aghast at seeing their quintessential screen savior in such a light – Wayne’s reputation definitely preceded him at this point in a career – that fact alone might explain how and why contemporary viewers rejected the outing in its time and place.
 
What I can say is that I’ve no doubt this is why The Searchers failed to win me over when I first saw it.  Being raised on ‘oaters’ in a single context did me no favors, and I saw the picture as more of an anti-Western than anything else.  (Frankly, I still see some of it that way these days, but I’ve tempered my dislike of a few scenes.)  What else would you call a film that serves up a somewhat ill-tempered protagonist struggling with racism and also depicts the U.S. Cavalry as a force for destruction as opposed to the brigade previous tasked with showing up to save the day?  Ford’s myth just didn’t quite jive with what I’d known before, so I somewhat dismissed it in my mind.
 
As I’m decades older, I can say that I’ve made peace with the flick.  While I’ve never hated it – it has some of the best cinematography ever to grace these untamed territories – I struggled to celebrate it as have so many of my cultural betters.  Some have argued that I didn’t “get it,” but I’ve always insisted that I just didn’t quite agree with its messaging.  As I’ve repeated many times on SciFiHistory.Net, I abhor messaging from either side of the political spectrum; and there are definitely times when The Searchers beats its own drum for better or worse.
 
Like Ethan Edwards, I prefer to think that I, too, might best serve humanity by staying outside, existing just beyond the mainstream’s safety and security where danger lurks in every shadow.  I may be wrong more than I’m right, but one still can hope you go into the golden years by making more friends than you’ve ever killed.  Like that tall stranger, I think there’s a quiet nobility in knowing one’s strength and weaknesses and accepting whatever foibles evolve consequently.  At least, you’ll always know where you stand with yourself … and perhaps that’s all that really matters in the end.
 
The Searchers (1956) was produced by C.V. Whitney Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights and sounds to be as monumental as when they were first conceived: the film looks utterly fabulous in 4K.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  There’s a great audience commentary along with some exceptional looks into the film’s enduring history worth your discovery.  It’s a great, great collection.

Highest Recommendation Possible.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Searchers (1956) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

Growing up, I was a huge fan of police procedurals, in general, but what truly tickled my fancy were the adventures of private eyes.
 
These independent dispensers of justice – as they are sometimes called – weren’t always portrayed in media as private eyes.  Sometimes they were retired novelists.  Other times, they might’ve taken the shape of the seasoned town doctor.  That was the beauty of falling into this niche of fandom: these brilliant minds of deduction could very well have come from any professional pursuit.  Anyone with a brain could apply, and anyone with a desire to solve puzzles was up to the task.  From the banker who noticed a curious series of sizable withdrawals to the gaggle of kids who wanted to be Sherlock Holmes, everyone could match wits and take down the baddies, not just those folks who carried a badge.
 
After all: we don’t need no stinking badges!
 
At its core, The Cell (2000) is no different.  I suspect that’s how visionary director Tarsem Singh may very well have approach Mark Protosevich’s script: once you pull away all of the fanciful technology of the equipment giving technicians access to their patient’s subconscious, you’re left with the kind-hearted problem solver – Catherine Deane (as played by Jennifer Lopez) – pairing up with FBI Agent Peter Novak (Vince Vaughn) in order to solve a crime and save a life.  And had all of it stayed that simple, then maybe I would’ve come away with a greater appreciation for the effort.
 
What happened?
 
Well, social politics got in the way, spoiling for me what was an otherwise interesting concept.  While I did admire the construct and have nothing but praise for a good degree of its execution, I’ll almost always pull away when the yarn resorts to progressive posturing at any point.  Though what I see may not look the same to readers, I’m still happy to share just where I thought this Lopez and Vaughn team-up turned a corner and asked me to celebrate something that which I don’t believe, nor think any of you should either.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“An F.B.I. Agent persuades a social worker, who is adept with a new experimental technology, to enter the mind of a comatose serial killer in order to learn where he has hidden his latest kidnap victim.”
​

I’ve always suggested that audiences want to root for the side of good whenever it comes up against evil; and – for the bulk of The Cell’s story – that much is true.
 
Singh’s direction of Protosevich’s story feels at times like a somewhat watered-down version of Se7en (1995), that David Fincher police procedural that left audiences feeling like they needed a shower and left Gwyneth Paltrow’s character as little more than a head in a box.  (Spoilers?)  The significant difference, however, is that The Cell spends time ‘in the head’ of its antagonist and protagonist – literally – and the resulting visuals lack that grim world reality that helped Se7en deliver its measure of creepiness and revulsion.  Because so much of it is in the imagination and memory of serial killer Carl Stargher (Vincent D’Onofrio, in a very good performance), it just never feels as horrific as I think it needed to be.  Still, when a crowd sees the man’s evil visions, it becomes easy for them to cheer for the good guys, especially when Novak – a complete and unprepared initiate – chooses to enter this spirit world to save Deane’s consciousness after it’s been figuratively captured by Stargher.
 
But because these accompanying visuals are delivered within a kind of rock music video template – indeed, Singh got his directing start in the heyday of MTV – I just didn’t take them seriously.  When you were raised as I was back at a time when every band was actively pushing the envelope artistically and such optical punctuation could be enjoyed 24/7, these stylings – while good – just lost a lot of their originality, their persuasiveness, and their narrative power.  As such, Stargher’s nightmares – the narrative spine to the film if ever there were – weren’t all that stupendously terrifying.  They were, in fact, not all that unlike what David Lee Roth, Nine Inch Nails, R.E.M., and even Madonna had already shown us.  If we survived those, then we – as Lopez and Vaughn – would certainly survive these.
 
Another uncomfortable truth, however, is that Hollywood had arguably invested at this point a great deal of their hopes for the still budding theatrical career of Ms. Lopez.
 
She had emerged as a power player in 1998 in Steven Soderbergh’s praised-to-the-point-of-being-overpraised Out Of Sight, a bit of a caper flick which benefitted more from being based on the work of novelist Elmore Leonard than it did with the singer-turned-actress’s involvement.  (Yes, I said what I said.)  The powers that be had anointed the lady with the California crown; and given the fact that they were as equally invested with cashing in on the science of virtual reality – of which the film’s central science closely resembles – a bona fide phenomenon on the big screen then how could their pairing go wrong in The Cell?  Well, that might be the fact that Lopez displays no ability to functionally emote in the picture, and it shows rather painstakingly to be the case here as she spends the bulk of her scenes looking on, trying to muster an expression, and speaking in a volume barely above a whisper.  Mind you: she looks good in the role, especially in that form-fitted latex rubber suit … and I’ve no doubt that’s ninety percent of what these movers and shakers based their decisions on.  Unfortunately, you still can’t fix a lack of talent in post.
​

Where I struggle with Hollywood productions like The Cell is over its rather obvious or even lazy political posture.  Frankly, dabbling in social justice has killed a good number of competent thrillers.  Somewhere along the way this picture tried to veer both Right and Left, leaving me (and perhaps others) struggling with just what to make of its confused psychosexual histrionics, so much so that maybe we all would’ve been better off if Lopez and Vaughn simply kissed at the end.
 
Only in Tinseltown – that not-so-quaint Sodom and Gomorrah that’s produced such financial heavyweights and morally compromised lightweights as Harvey Weinstein, Woody Allen, and (allegedly) Kevin Spacey – can the infamous serial killer be portrayed as the chief victim.  (Call me ‘old-fashioned,’ but I still prefer knowing evil is truly evil.)  The script is structured to explore the historical compulsions and how they developed to force an innocent young child on this path, once again ascribing the central guilt smack onto the shoulder’s Progressive’s favored villain – ‘the old white man.’  While D’Onofrio’s work as the emotionally troubled Carl Stargher is occasionally compelling, the script’s ‘magic bullet’ is to immediately cast him as the victim of an abusive father, thus visually and eventually literally ‘washing away’ his sins (in the river) even though, as FBI Agent Novak explains, Stargher willfully made the choice to follow his heart’s gory pursuits.
 
Were that the end of the whole affair, then perhaps I might not have felt so ill at ease; and yet The Cell worsens matters by granting Deane the chance to cleanse our killer of his misdeeds in a ceremony reminiscent of any backwoods baptism: she dips him backwards into the water only then to hold him under until he drowns!  (Yes, I’m fully aware this thematically bookends an earlier sequence suggesting that Carl’s earlier baptism – a religious ceremony if ever there were – was part of the cause to all of his celebrated madness but stick with me here.)  Not only is this disrespectful to an act meant to bring a person closer to God but also the storytellers would have you celebrating Deane – painted as the best choice for this experimental program – essentially drowning a young boy on film.  Dismiss considering this symbolism as a cure, and you’re left with as cold-blooded an act that Stargher ever committed.  That seems like a bridge too far for this simpleton.
 
I live in a world where words and pictures and ideas mean things. 
 
They’re not just thrown together without meaning or context, and the result is that their messages – intended or otherwise – can be interpreted differently across members of any audience.  What you see isn’t necessarily what I see, and that’s entirely okay.  (Isn’t that what psychology teaches us?  That just because child abuse turned one youngster into a lunatic doesn’t necessarily require that it do the same of all?)  As such, not everyone will see The Cell as a commentary on the inherent blessings of capital punishment, but – as I always remind readers – I only speak for myself.  Though I’ve no problem had Stargher been sentenced by a jury of his peers to hang at midnight, I still take issue with the depiction of any medical or psychological professional – who should pledge to ‘first do no harm’ – euthanizing a patient clearly mentally incapacitated because ‘her heart’ told it was the right thing to do … even if that heart might belong to the original P. Diddy girl, Jennifer Lopez.
​

The Cell (2000) was produced by New Line Cinema, Caro-McLeod, RadicalMedia, Katira Productions GmbH & Co. KG, and Avery Pix.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert … wow.  I recall seeing this one theatrically back in the day, and this 4K print just looks fabulous in so many ways.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  In order to be precise, I’m doing the noble copy-and-paste from Arrow’s press release previously published on Blu-ray.com:

• NEW 4K RESTORATIONS of both the 107-minute Theatrical Cut and the 109-minute Director's Cut by Arrow Films, approved by director Tarsem Singh
• Includes bonus disc containing a previously unseen version of the film with alternate aspect ratio and alternate grading created by director of photography Paul Laufer
• Original lossless DTS-HD MA 5.1 audio
• Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
• Illustrated collector's book containing new writing on the film by critics Heather Drain, Marc Edward Heuck, Josh Hurtado, and Virat Nehru
• Limited edition packaging with reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Peter Savieri

DISC ONE - FEATURE & EXTRAS 4K BLU-RAY

• 4K Blu-ray presentation of both the Theatrical and Director's cuts of the film in its original 2.39:1 aspect ratio with Dolby Vision (HDR10 compatible)
• Brand new audio commentary with film scholars Josh Nelson & Alexandra Heller-Nicholas
• Brand new audio commentary with screenwriter Mark Protosevich & film critic Kay Lynch
• Archive audio commentary with director Tarsem Singh
• Archive audio commentary with director of photography Paul Laufer, production designer Tom Foden, makeup supervisor Michèle Burke, costume designer April Napier, visual effects supervisor Kevin Tod Haug, and composer Howard Shore
• Projection of the Mind's Eye, a new feature-length interview with director Tarsem Singh
• Between Two Worlds, a new in-depth interview with director of photography Paul Laufer

​
DISC TWO - ALTERNATE VERSION & EXTRAS BLU-RAY

• Previously unseen version of the Theatrical Cut of the film, presented in 1.78:1 aspect ratio with alternate grading, from a 2K master created by director of photography Paul Laufer
• Paul Laufer Illuminates, a new interview about the alternate master of The Cell presented on this disc
• Art is Where You Find It, a new visual essay by film scholar Alexandra Heller-Nicholas
• The Costuming Auteur, a new visual essay by film critic Abby Bender
• Style as Substance: Reflections on Tarsem, an archive featurette
• Eight deleted/extended scenes with optional audio commentary by director Tarsem Singh
• Six multi-angle archive visual effects vignettes
• Theatrical trailers
• Image gallery

 
Once more, I remind readers that as I’ve only received a manufactured copy of the disc, I cannot speak to the efficacy of any associated print materials such as artwork, inserts, booklets, essays, and the like.  With those items, I’ll always caution you with the usual ‘buyer beware’ caveat.
​

Recommended.
 
Even at twenty-five years young, there’s no denying the visual flourish of The Cell (2000): it’s a flick that even had to invent a new kind of camera technology to make it look as vivid and nightmarish as it does in some key sequences.  My issues with it, however, go surpass the aesthetics.  Beyond Vaughn’s steadfast FBI character committed against even his own health and safety to get to the bottom of a gruesome serial killer’s campaign there’s just no one else in this murky story to root for ... well except for the Stargher's last potential victim.  As popular a choice that Lopez may’ve been for the lead back in the day, she’s just all wrong as the supposed brainiac social worker hoping to ‘Mother Hen’ all of her patients into wellness.  A stronger actress might’ve made me feel otherwise; but – at this point – it’s all academic anyway.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of The Cell (2000) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ 
​

As part of your continuing education in Horror Studies, might I bring the class's collective attention to I Drink Your Blood?

For clarity's sake, I Drink Your Blood was first released on this day -- albeit IMDB.com indicates this was a limited theatrical run -- all the way back in 1971.  What this typically means -- for those unaware -- is that the film may not have enjoyed a big theatrical push but rather a small string of theaters.  Sometimes, this might mean only a single locale!  The truth is that this Horror -- written and directed by the late David E. Durston (1921-2010) -- may not have been seen by many but has built a reputation over the years for being more than a bit bloody.  In fact, it bears the distinction of the being the very first feature to be granted the fated X-rating by the Motion Picture Association of America based entirely on its level and depiction of violence.

Woof!

Am I right?

​Alas, folks, yours truly has never seen this one, but it is a flick that has popped up from time-to-time in my research.  I can tell you -- entirely from what I've read -- is that the story appears to have taken the story of the maniacal Charles Manson as its founding inspiration, and then Durston truly built up the carnage by by having the cult gets infected by a rabies-type virus whilst wrecking havoc over a small American town.  Apparently, Durston also credits a news story involving a small town in Iran whose people dealt with a similar set of circumstances, so let's just say the man knew a good thing when he was it and went about amplifying the bloodshed for theatrical audiences.

Additionally, I have read that there were plans afoot quite some time ago to do a contemporary remake; and yet it would appear that those intentions fell apart when Durston passed away back in 2010.  Who knows?  Maybe another go-round will present itself for interesting parties in the years ahead, so I think everyone should keep their eyes peeled for a little something more.
​
IMDB.com's Trivia Page for I Drink Your Blood also indicates that this was the first time that Scream Queen Lynn Lowry graced the silver screen with nudity ... if that tickles your fancy.

As always, thanks for reading ... thanks for sharing ... thanks for being a fan ... and live long and prosper!

-- EZ
​

One of the things Hollywood does exceedingly well – in my humble opinion – is they know how to dramatically distort the truth for the benefit of good storytelling.
 
(No, no, no: I don’t mean this as an insult.)
 
As an example, consider 1987’s entertaining and award-winning The Untouchables.  Directed by Brian De Palma from a script by (in part) David Mamet, the film explored the era of American Prohibition, specifically highlighting the violent collision between crusading federal agent Eliot Ness and charismatic bootlegger Al Capone.  Having read more than a fair share of books recounting the facts and figures of this era, I can assure you that it’s been proven that these two figures likely never came face-to-face – there’s even some argument suggesting that Capone most likely couldn’t have picked Ness out of a police line-up were one held – and yet De Palma’s story would have to believe the exact opposite was reality!
 
Still, The Untouchables is undoubtedly great moviemaking precisely because it does what Hollywood does so well: it seizes the right dramatic elements, spins them together alongside some winning fictional commentary, and reshapes history well enough to encourage the audience to pay close attention.  It may not be the right thing to do, but it happens almost every time these dynamic purveyors of drama try to give viewers something compelling to enjoy.  They take a little bit of artistic liberty in order to dramatize such adversarial relationships, and only those of us who resist being ‘none the wiser’ truly know otherwise.
 
Another great example worthy of consideration is 1951’s The Tall Target, a Film Noir inspired Crime Thriller exploring the facts and possible fantasy involving one of the earliest assassination attempts befalling Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States of America.  Directed by Anthony Mann from a story by George Worthing Yates, Daniel Mainwaring, and Art Cohn, the film stars Dick Powell, Paula Raymond, Adolphe Menjou, Marshall Thompson, and Ruby Dee in prominent roles.  Set almost entirely aboard the train racing to get the new President-elect to Washington D.C. for his inauguration, the tale brings to life a chapter in American history that many experts suggest never took place … or, at least, never quite took place.
 
You be the judge.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A New York City detective, traveling by train between New York and Baltimore, tries to foil an on-board plot to assassinate President-elect Abraham Lincoln before he reaches Baltimore to give a major pre-Inauguration speech in 1861.”
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Any student of American History can confirm that it was Abe Lincoln who, sadly, was the first President assassinated.
 
The truth to the matter – if one spends a bit more time investigating his Presidency – suggests that he was often considered ‘at risk’ for assassination.  These were volatiles times – what with the country split into North and South factions – and these states were at war in situations wherein it’s been said that families had turned against families in the national bid to resolve the crisis surrounding slavery.  A fair amount of reading into the Lincoln years examines some of these lesser-known attempts, and great number of experts – on both sides of the political spectrum – agree that Honest Abe may’ve been at risk; but there’s vast disagreement over the prospect of just how authentic that peril may’ve been.
 
One of the greater instances involves what’s been called the ‘Baltimore Plot.’
 
As I’ve come to understand the facts of this case, detective Allan Pinkerton was hired by railway magnate Samuel M. Felton to ensure Lincoln’s safety while traveling by train to the nation’s capital for the inauguration ceremonies.  Apparently, Felton had been made aware that there were ne’er-do-wells hoping for a chance at any number of stops wherein the President-elect would be stopping to address the citizens of various cities along the way; and the company officer – as well as being a patriot – didn’t want to risk the chance of having his establishment being associated with a possible dark incident of history.   It’s been said that Pinkerton and his associate – detective Kate Warne – uncovered evidence of multiple assassination plots specifically planned for the stop in Baltimore, forcing the head of security to consider measures to further safeguard the elected leader.  Still – as history shows – Lincoln and his party successfully passed through the city a few days later without so much as a shot being fired.
 
Proving that Hollywood loves a good conspiracy, The Tall Target glamorizes several of the facts surrounding the alleged conspiracy to kill a President.
 
First, instead of crediting the Pinkertons with uncovering foreknowledge of the whole affair, the script invents a New York City homicide detective named – get this – John Kennedy (played by Dick Powell) who gets wind of the plan and takes the law into his own hands to singlehandedly board the train and track down the culprits before they can do the deed.  (Wikipedia.org denotes that there was a NYPD officer named John Alexander Kennedy who claimed to have originally grown wise to the plot, but, alas, there’s no way he could’ve done anything more than factually alert his superiors.)  Naturally, he’s portrayed as having a heart of gold, willing to sacrifice his career to protect Mr. Lincoln, and it’s all the stuff of great cinema.
 
Second, the story exponentially expands on known facts to give Kennedy a bit more to do than sit-and-wait for the criminal or criminals to act.  According to the script, supporters and secessionists alike boarded the train with hopes of giving the new President a piece of their minds; and this conveniently grants the big city detective plenty of ‘the usual suspects’ to loosely ‘interview’ and ‘shadow’ in his hopes to snoop out the real culprit before the last reel.  The conspiracy expands to involve even possible members of the U.S. military stationed onboard to participate in the inauguration ceremonies along the way; and the script even makes room for other theories – a Corsican barber named Ferrandini was also spied to possibly be the puppet master owed to his ties to a pro-Confederate movement at the time – to spend a little time in the limelight.
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Lastly, the storytellers concoct a bit of extra espionage suggesting that Kennedy’s activities were so well known to sympathizers that they even went to such great lengths to impersonate the man aboard the train, though I’m at a loss to figure out precisely what purpose such an impersonation could’ve ultimately served.  Yes, it gives our hero an initial mystery and some protracted action that requires his much-needed attention – he can’t get a ticket in his name because it’s already been issued and occupied by someone else – but it feels as like screen trickery.  It devolved into a convenient subplot on the part of the imaginative writers to ramp up the intrigue when the plot to kill a President really should’ve been ample enough.
 
Still, none of these reservations do all that much of a disservice to The Tall Target.
 
What emerges is a tightly wound yarn wherein not only the lives of a few men remain in jeopardy but also the fate of a still-emerging nation.  Target goes to great pains to clarify the stakes of its time and place – America was only on the cusp of falling into one of the bloodiest campaigns in all human existence, namely the Civil War – and these tensions simmer appreciably in almost every scene.  Though history remembers Abraham Lincoln with some much-deserved grace, he was a man of some controversy when he was alive; and this makes for a great deal of the film’s continued relevance.  It’s never easy changing the hearts and minds of a nation, and such efforts should always be worth revisiting: thankfully, Target emerges as good a Hollywood effort as it could be, and that’s saying something given how it still plays a bit fast and loose with the facts.
 
The Tall Target (1951) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM).  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional across the picture’s running time of 78 minutes.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Well, there are a few items on here – cartoons and a radio drama – but there’s nothing truly specific to the film, and, yes, that’s a miss as I would’ve liked to have known much more about this wonderful production.
 
Highly Recommended.
 
While I have read that The Tall Target (1951) was a verified miss at the box office, that shouldn’t deter those interested at what entertainment and history effectively co-existing in a picture should look like.  Powell gives a great leading performance – he was a reliable talent for his era – and he imbues the whole caper with the proper degree of ‘what if?’ given that, historically, audiences already know going in that Abraham Lincoln wasn’t felled by a sniper’s bullet in Baltimore, Maryland before he rose to the highest elected office in the land.  Plus, there are enough subplots to keep viewers riveted even though it becomes clear fairly early on who the real mastermind is.  Though this one failed in its day, it truly deserves a second brush with history.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Tall Target (1951) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
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The sad truth is that independent films – and even Folk Horror, in general – are, ultimately, not for everyone.
 
The stories can be a bit odd at times, never quite feeling as if the storytellers wanted to explore anything greater than a single note or beat.  Though such flicks used to be populated with second tier stars and starlets trying to stretch creatively if not approach something completely different, these projects seem to have fallen on hard times: very few of them see the light of day any more – a sad fact that might be owed to the presence of so many unknown, untried, untested, and unproven talents – or they wind up in the direct-to-DVD video bin at your local big box discount store.  Film festivals across the fruited plain still manage to serve them up when given the chance; but even those outlets have fallen into disarray as many organizers just can’t quite seem to muster the funds to see them continued in modern times.
 
Just as indie features can be a bit hard-to-swallow, Folk Horror can be an ‘acquired taste.’  Bits and pieces of their stories need to be defined in order to be fully grasped and appreciated; and not every viewer who buys a ticket is all that much interested in ‘learning’ as opposed to be sufficiently ‘entertained.’  It’s a unique sub-genre that knows no bounds because its parameters can be expanded to new frontiers so long as the core foundation sticks close to rural settings, superstitions, community or even communal settings, and other related things that go bump in the night.  When full-blown Horror can be immensely popular, Folk counterparts tend to be a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, a bit less bloody … and much more thought-provoking.
 
Thankfully, there are a handful of great distributors out there – like those at Severin Films – who refuse to let experimental and independent cinema die; and they’ve awarded me a fabulously expansive set – All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Volume 2 – that I’ve really only begun scratching the surface of.
 
Today’s fright: 1972’s Who Fears The Devil might be better known under its alternate title, The Legend Of Hillbilly John.  At least, I’d heard of it under that name, but I still had never seen it.  That’s been rectified now; and while I may not feel any more cultured for having done so I still respect the effort minimally for what the film may’ve meant to its respective moment in history.  Devil is that rare flick that belongs to another time and another place right down to its seams, and it shows.  While that fact may not be enough reason to grant it any special endorsement, the unintended laughs resulting from backwoods depiction might be.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A wandering ballad singer in the Appalachians meets an ugly bird-type creature, is transported back in time, finds himself involved in the Devil's work.”
 
Having seen so many films and having written about so many, I do still struggle occasionally with finding something to say about a particular feature.  While some have told me this is a textbook case of writer’s block, I’ve pushed back, clarifying that it isn’t as if I come out of any screening with my head perfectly empty; rather, it’s a flick’s inability to cohesively ping somewhere in my gray matter – there’s no memorable hook, there’s no significant character, there’s no central message or theme, etc. – that causes me to stumble.  Such a disconnect doesn’t last for long, thankfully: sometimes it can be cathartic just sitting down at the laptop and plunking keys.
 
The shortcomings of Who Fears The Devil are – ahem – quite numerous.  Setting aside some of the more obvious ones like the change in film texture, the uninspired cinematography, the befuddling amateurishness of its presentation (even from some notable faces), one’s still left with the fact that it’s a simple yarn about a simple people who, simply, aren’t all that interesting.  While this doesn’t detract so much from the world that screenwriter Melvin Levy tried to craft from the Manly Wade Wellman novel, I’m still not entirely certain director John Newland led with his best foot forward.
 
John (played by Hedges Capers) is a wandering soul – not so much a simpleton as he is a down home type with not a care in the world except to sing the songs he writes and, perchance, take down the Devil in whatever form he takes – and he’s living his best life strumming a guitar, crooning his folk tunes, and fornicating in the woods with Lily (Sharon Henesy).  But when the forces of darkness converge on his part of the Appalachian backwoods – such as the mighty machines pressing down the Earth in order to pave an all-new six-lane highway – John will rise up, write some his best works, and maybe even step through a portal into the past in his bid to undo the days of Pennsylvania slavery!
 
Ah … good grief.
 
Those of you who were raised on mythology know that it was someone as impressive as Hercules – the son of a God – who was tasked with completing his labors; and there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with giving the same life’s mission to someone as wholesome as young John.  The singer is about as impressionable as they come.  He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve.  There’s no doubting his commitment to living a good and gracious life.  In fact, John – as a character – represents a great many kindred spirits who emerged from the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s: that virtuous, free lovin’ hippie/musician who wanted to live a life day-by-day in pursuit of whatever form social justice of the day asked of him (or her).
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Whereas Hercules accomplished his deeds with brain and brawn, John pretty much is limited to singing a single tune, which is why so much of his soundtrack is pretty much interchangeable.  It’s all delivered with toe-tapping goodness, and there’s nothing all that distinctive about any of the melodies.  Both archetypes might share a level of one dimensionality, but John still isn’t opposed to clubbing the life out of a mighty evil fowl known as ‘Big Ugly’ or ‘Ugly Bird’ when given the chance.  And, yes, he does that with the same guitar in which he sings about peace, love, and understanding … sorely, the clubbing sequence gets no singular ditty … which I take as a big miss.
 
The central problem – in spite of the fact that there could be many successive ones which spring off – is that John – as the protagonist – is really little more than a caricature drawn effectively from a certain time and a certain place in U.S. history. 
 
He’s the free-spirited flower child whose only grievance is what troubles him today.  “Don’t let the man get you down, you know?  He’ll only be the man as long as you let him!”  Because the dark influences of his time and place grow and change, the villain – the man, the Devil, call it what you will – John perseveres, staying true to his counterculture core and rising up to fight (in song) these new forces of oppression when they evolve.  He loves himself.  He loves his world.  He loves his gal.  Why, he loves all!  Nothing will stop his desire to love!  Nothing!  Though he does not change – hell, he might even be incapable of change – he’ll make the thinnest of adjustments necessary to fight tomorrow’s evil but never sacrifice his time spent just with himself and his guitar.  (Luke Skywalker had his lightsaber, and Hillbilly John has his acoustics.)  A peacenik to his DNA, all that matters most is that he keep singing … because singing is the way of the future, don’t you know?
 
Of course, some of this is exaggeration, and I truly mean no disrespect.  Who Fears is structured like three short stories strung together around our lead as a mythic centerpiece; and – to be perfectly fair – John is only a participant or an observer in a fair share of the action, almost as if he’s along for the ride as little more than a cautionary voice.  When others suffer an untimely ending, that’s really only fodder to serve as fertilizer for the singer’s next tune.  Both he and Mr. Marduke (Severn Darden) are constructs who help move these separate stories forward, and a good portion of the procedure feels little more than a backwater fairy tale that Appalachian mothers and fathers might’ve told their children at bedtime.  It works appreciably on the level (in a few spots), though the whole premise lacks any narrative weight because of the primitive execution. 
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For the record, this little forgotten tale actually involves a great number of familiar faces.  (Yes, it’s a shame that most of their effort feels wasted.)  Producer Barney Rosenzweig is no slouch, and he went on to be a very accomplished voice in primetime television.  While Capers wasn’t exactly an unknown and has a great singing voice, he still gives the picture his full attention even in the smallest moments.  But the wider cast includes some established players from the era who had done or were still doing great things, including Denver Pyle, Harris Yulin, Susan Anspach, Alfred Ryder, and R.G. Armstrong, veteran character actors and actresses if every there were.  Sadly, the end result remains the same, but it’s not – as they say – for a lack of talent.
 
Who Fears The Devil (1972) was produced by Two’s Company.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Severin Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert … geesh.  The film quality varies as so many different places across the story – it’s occasionally bright and vibrant, only to then dip into very flat and washed out colors – that it’s hard to give this one anything other than a respectable attempt.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts an audio commentary and a few other items, but what I found most interested was a 30-minute interview with producer Barney Rosenzweig: his memory is pretty solid, and he details the struggles – both the highs and lows – of the production.  Adding to the fact that he’s just a delightful guy to listen to, and this makes for a must-see … even when he’s admitting that Who Fears really didn’t turn out the way he wanted.  A truly great and informative extra.
 
Alas … only Barely Recommended.
 
In most cases, one might encourage folks to view an oddity like Who Fears The Devil (1972) for nothing more than novelty’s sake: it’s clear that many in an audience will have seen nothing like it – accidentally or deliberately – and that might be enough motivation to spur a curious one to pop it in and give the disc a spin.  My hesitancy there, however, is that come the big finish what has been gained except to experience a peculiarity for “shits and giggles,” as they say?  Very little is learned here, and the performances, cinematography, and overall effort is so quaint is best left to those who traffic in Hicksploitation as, otherwise, there’s just so very little redeeming traits here.  It’s not a complete catastrophe … but it’s close.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Severin Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of 1972’s Who Fears The Devil (aka The Legend Of Hillbilly John) by request – as part of their All The Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium Of Folk Horror Vol. 2 – for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
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