As much as I love Horror stories from around the world, I’ll still admit that I’ve always had a bit of a struggle with traditional Japanese ghost stories.
 
It isn’t that I dislike them because that’s about as far from the truth as one could get.  Still, I’ve had issues with a good many of the ones I’ve seen over the years for many reasons.  In some cases, ghosts steal too much of the focus, so I get to learn very little about the fleshy folks who encounter them.  At other times, the background and/or mythology of just how these ghosts came to be is a bit elusive if not downright vague; and, thus, I struggle to understand the significance of this particular story or that particular spectral ability.  In their defense, I’ve always remarked that they’re usually very stylish, and their producers go to great lengths to depict this bridging between two realities in wonderfully visual ways: but if I can’t relate to the characters in any meaningful way then it devolves into a great deal of pomp and circumstance that, frankly, I could do without.  They’re good … but they’re not good enough.
 
This being October – that famed time of year with ghosts and goblins and ghouls take center stage – I do have a good number of releases on tap for my and your enjoyment; and I’m particularly thrilled that the fine folks at Radiance Films have provided me with a complimentary screening copy of their forthcoming Daiei Gothic: Japanese Ghost Stories.  This set – which is advertised to release to the consumer marketplace on October 29, 2024 – showcases three films that I’ve heard of but never had the pleasure to watch much less review; and that’s about to change.  I’ll be spending some time with it in the days ahead, so I encourage readers to watch this space for what promises to be some wonderfully spooky content to help set the mood for the forthcoming Halloween silly season.
 
First up: 1968’s The Snow Woman is a cinematic adaptation of the Japanese dark fairy tale directed by Tokuzô Tanaka.  The script shows attached to Lafcadio Hearn and Fuji Yahiro, and the motion picture stars Shiho Fujimura, Akira Ishihama, Machiko Hasegawa, Taketoshi Naitô, and Mizuho Suzuki.  It’s the tale of a young artisan whose chance encounter with this dazzling spirit leads him to both happiness and despair all because he couldn’t quite keep his word to the woman he loved … not even when she kept her identity a secret for all those many years …
 
(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 …)
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From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“The lives of a master sculptor and his young apprentice are changed forever when they meet an evil witch during a snowstorm.”
 
For those unaware, a modest education is in order.
 
In Japanese folk lore, the Yuki-onna is a female spirit who answers to several other names, but all share the singular characteristic that she’s linked to snow.  Sometimes referred to as a ‘snow queen,’ her origins are a bit varied across several different regions, suggesting that she may’ve initially have been descended from the Moon, could be the spirit of an unfortunate soul who perished in the cold, or might possibly have been born from the snow itself.  There’s apparently a suggestion from a Japanese scholar that states if there’s enough of anything in life, then that thing is endowed with the gift of creating life to populate it.  As an example (per Wikipedia.org), a body of water that is deep and wide enough develops the ability to create fish to populate it.  Transitively, if a snowfall is plentiful enough, then it grows a snow woman to walk amongst its drifts.
 
However, the motivation of this spirit also varies from province to province.  Some tribes thought her appearance would serve as a warning to keep children indoors while still others align the sighting of such spectral entities as signaling a forthcoming bountiful harvest.  Though it isn’t uncommon for tales of her arrival to center around sorrow or woe, there are others that more strongly suggest her visits are meant more as cautionary reminders than anything else.  Because there are several significant variations, there really is no consensus around what expectation one might attach to encountering a Yuki-onna in the bitter and cold wild, but it should go without saying that the greeter will likely be changed … and not necessarily for the good.
 
In The Snow Woman, our Yuki (as played by Shiho Fujimura) is depicted as a powerful witch who comes alive during heavy snowstorms waiting for souls to take as a consequence for being out and unprotected in the frosty climate.  Yosaku (Akira Ishihama) – a young sculptor – and his mentor are travelling on foot when they are caught in a heavy downfall.  Seeking refuge in an empty shack, they light a fire and retire for the evening.  But it isn’t long before the snow woman – with her pale skin, golden eyes, and flowing black hair – happen upon them, and she quickly exacts her vengeance on the older man.  Bewitched by Yosaku’s good looks, she ultimately decides to spare him the same fate only if he agrees to live out the remainder of his days never divulging that he has met her eye-to-eye and lived to tell about it.  After all: a girl’s got a reputation to keep, am I right?
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Once back in the village, Yosaku inherits the task left behind by his deceased mentor: he’s charged with carving a statue from a tree for one of the local temples.  In fact, this was the reason he and the old man were out in the forest in the first place – searching for the right tree – and Yosaku understands and enthusiastically agrees to take this challenge upon himself even though his skills are not quite what they should be.  Yet it isn’t long before Yuki – now in human form – descends upon the village with hopes to find love with the young man she’s entrusted with her secret.  Just like no one recognizes Clark Kent as Superman, Yosaku has no idea that Yuki is the famed snow woman; and he falls head-over-heels in love with her in the process.  Eventually, they wed and start a family … but as often happens in fairy tales of this type Yuki’s secret is never far away, and that secret inevitably will come back to haunt her and him in ways they couldn’t predict.
 
The best folk legends always seem to end on a sad note, and The Snow Woman is no different.  It’s almost as if happiness is more of a curse than is keeping a secret – Yosaku loses his mother but gains a bride; Yuki gains a husband, but her spectral beauty makes her a sought-after prize by other, more powerful men; passion blinds talent when it’s not properly tempered; etc. – and the cycle of ups-and-downs can’t quite stop long enough for true love to prevail.  I suspect that there’s never any doubt amongst the viewership that these two lovers are destined to be torn apart; and the resulting 80-minute running time is largely spent trying to guess when it will happen.  The real question becomes whether or not Yuki will allow her love to change her mind – to let Yosaku go on living if he breaks his promise – and that card is cleverly concealed until the big finish.
 
Director Tanaka has produced a masterful adaptation from start-to-finish.
 
Though a few sequences play out perhaps a bit longer than absolutely necessary, the film retains a leanness I’ve not encountered in other Japanese ghost stories.  The striking visuals are reserved for just the perfect moments; and, as such, the powerful cinematography helps move the story and characters forward instead of resorting to cinematic theatricality.  It’s poetry for the eyes, and I’ve found it very rare in supply these days.  In particular, Fujimura rules the day: her snow woman is a dastardly creation but not overblown with staginess.  She properly ‘vamps’ here and there in spectral form – fixes a potential male suitor or the town spiritual leader with a steely gaze – and the actress manages to elicit chills that are the foundation of the ghost she inhabits.  It’s an exceptional performance especially given the fact that she spends so much of the time as the coy, submissive housewife that the townsfolk would never possibly believe to be a deadly, vengeful spirit.
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The Snow Woman (1968) was produced by Daiei Studios and Daiei.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Radiance Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be incredible: the press materials from Radiance state that this is an all-new 4K restoration, and I’m honestly smitten with delight over this one.  It just oozes goodness at every spot.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  I’m doing the copy-and-paste from the materials published on Blu-ray.com in order to get it right:
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• New interview with filmmaker Masayuki Ochiai
• A visual essay on writer Lafcadio Hearn
• Trailer
• Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Filippo Di Battista

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As I was provided with an industry copy, I always remind readers that I’m not typically provided the physical inserts, booklets, and artwork.  As such, I can’t speak about the efficacy of those items.
 
Highly Recommended.
 
Without being too hyperbolic, I fell in love with The Snow Woman (1968): this is, by far, one of the finest Japanese ghost stories I’ve ever seen.  Granted, I’m sure I haven’t seen as many of them as other critics have; but that doesn’t detract from the project’s greatness in any measurable way.  It’s a wonderful fable where girl-meets-boy, girl-curses-boy, boy-meets-girl, boy-weds-girl, and girl-turns-out-to-be-the-same-girl-who-cursed-him-in-the-beginning.  (Don’t worry: it’ll all make sense in the end.)  Thankfully, the script keeps everything simple – there’s just enough mythology to establish this world and its characters with not an ounce of bloat – and the performances and cinematography also stay on point, never rushing into overdrive or visually overstating the importance of a certain scene or sequence.  Just like a Grimm’s fairy tale, there’s a bittersweet ending … just the kind that might leave you wishing that there were more.
 
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Radiance Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Snow Woman (1968) – as part of their Daiei Gothic: Japanese Ghost Stories – 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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Believe it or not: as a young’un, I missed out on the whole Jonny Quest experience.
 
You see, I’ve mentioned before many times that I grew up in what was commonly called “a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere.”  This was the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, so – television broadcasts being what they were – our humble home might’ve had six channels on a good day (with cooperative weather) all provided via antennae.  (Yes, eventually, we had cable, but that’s another story.)  While the other households may’ve had a few more spots on the dial, ours had to do with a bit less; and the vast majority of children’s programming wound up being heavily syndicated U.S. stuff interspersed with a good deal of foreign imports.  This didn’t bother me back then – as a child, I really had no barometer with which to measure the good from the bad – and it wasn’t until I arrived in college, starting making friends, began comparing our backgrounds, and whatnot that I realized there was this vast catalogue of TV franchises that didn’t require dubbing from Japanese to American English.
 
Furthermore, unlike today’s youth, we didn’t have home video and/or streaming back in the day, so it isn’t as if something like Jonny Quest – which premiered on televisions in the 1960’s and then ventured into syndication – was accessible to audiences of the time.  Either it was broadcast in your area at a reasonable time or it wasn’t, so there was no means with which to go and ‘catch up’ so you had a stronger foundation when chatting up your choices with your contemporaries.  While I do recall catching an episode or two as part of some bundled programming with a popular children’s show broadcast out of Chicago, that was my only time spent with Quest, Hadji, Race, Benton, and Bandit.  As such, that bug just never bit me, and I honestly never thought much about it.
 
Of course, some of that changed when the Cartoon Network added The Venture Bros. to its Adult Swim line-up.  Once that phenomenon became a somewhat household name, I did a bit of research and learned that a great many of its best comic bits were directly descended from the concepts and characters Quest originally delivered.  Indeed, there are some strong associations between the two properties, so strong that to speak about them separately might be challenging to fans of both; and I’m glad that I’ve had the chance to ‘bone up’ just a bit on my Quest exposure with Warner Archive’s latest release.
 
The Hanna-Barbera Double Feature Collection showcases two animated telefilms – Jonny’s Golden Quest (1993) and Jonny Quest Vs. The Cyber-Insects (1995) – that were completed before Hanna-Barbera was folded into Warner Bros. Animation.  Because of this fact alone, I’ve read online that some consider them the last true iteration of the franchise: it would surface again in 1996-1997 in serial format under the name of The Real Adventures Of Jonny Quest, though I’ve read on Wikipedia.org that the show’s reinvention with a slightly older cast of young heroes met with great controversy behind and during its production.  When it ended up largely as a ratings failure, Quest purists pointed back to these two movies as being the end to something special.
 
(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 …)
​

First up, Jonny’s Golden Quest …
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Investigating reports of synthetic gold lead Jonny Quest and the Quest Team to a showdown with Dr. Zin!”
 
Even though I’d grown up largely unaware of the wider Quest mythology, I had very little difficulty stepping into this first experience, a somewhat hodgepodge of several separate plotlines linked solely by the team’s search to locate the evil Dr. Zin and stop him from changing life as we know it with his cloning technology.  There’s plenty of action; and the various escapades really only service to give these adventurers a little something extra to do in order to fill the 90-minute running time that resembles the good old-fashioned good vs. evil construct of standard cartoon fare.  Also, it’s largely kid-centric – meaning that Jonny, Hadji, and Bandit get in on far more action than do the adults – so I can only imagine that young’uns probably had a good time with this when it originally aired on television.
 
Still – as I pointed out – not all of these plotlines flowed together perhaps as seamlessly as they could’ve.  These days, it hasn’t been all that uncommon for some superhero-style animated shows to plot out two- or three-episode arcs in order to weave a more complex story for their watchers who prefer a bit of longer-form narrative.  In a few spots, Golden Quest feels more like it was conceived as three separate thirty-minute episodes strung together; and the action matches the usual breaks wherein the broadcast would be paused for sponsors’ commercials.  Because it felt so obvious, I did have some trouble staying focused on the whole affair.  It’s entertaining, yes; but the brazen fade-to-blacks kept reminding me it was all ‘just a show’ and not quite a major motion picture.
 
However, the writers rather effectively gave Jonny a modest bit of character development: after his mother is stricken down before his eyes, he grows increasingly incensed with the idea of exacting his revenge over Dr. Zin for his part in her demise.  This is an idea that might be a bit dark for younger audiences, especially in today’s ‘cause du jour’ climate.  Although it’s handled with some restraint, the script does allow for the young man to eventually achieve peace with what happened: his struggles to control his emotions make for a few smaller moments along the way, even giving pause to the fact that he’s growing up anyway and becoming more aware of the fairer sex, a development highlighted by the addition of Jessie Kenyon to the Quest team.
 
Why, audiences were likely even treated to young Jonny getting his first kiss … albeit one on-the-cheek!
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Our second feature is Jonny Quest Vs. The Cyber-Insects …
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Jonny and the team reassemble with the addition of Race's daughter, to battle another creation of Dr. Zin's.”
 
Unlike Golden Quest, Cyber-Insects both feels and works far more like a traditional motion picture experience.
 
The installment is cleverly bookended with a segment exploring Jonny and Hadji’s ascendancy to mature young adults – think ‘teens’ – as they’ve both been tasked with stealing a sacred jewel in some South American ritual meant to show they’ve come of age.  Jonny’s recklessness curtails his gaining the approval of the Orinoco natives; so, alas, the boys are turned away with the instruction that our franchise’s lead must learn to both control his emotions and cooperate with others as a team, a motif that rears its head at several opportunities across this 90-minute adventure.
 
What endeared me more to this telefilm than the previous was the fact that it functioned as a true stand-alone throughout, delivering one major plotline around which all of the subplots remained in tandem.  When A clearly leads to B which clearly sets up C and so on and so forth, viewers are taken on a journey with the key players; and there’s greater connectivity between the watchers and the ones being watched.  Golden Quest – while entertaining – showed a bit of raggedness at its scenes, feeling all-too-often like something strung together not so much out of necessity as it was to fill time; that isn’t the case with Cyber-Insects.
 
Furthermore, this sequel dispenses with having to introduce new players – i.e. Jessie Kenyon becomes Jessie Banyon now that the truth of her heritage is out of the way – so the focus stays a bit more cleanly on plot and characters with the team committed to rescuing the captured Dr. Quest and the orbiting Quest Station from the hands of Dr. Zin.  This time out, the mastermind is exploiting genetic technology to engineer massive intelligent bugs – along with a side order of weather manipulation – in a bid to have all the nations of Earth bow down and accept him title as emperor to our planet.  Essentially, Jonny and the others engage in a race against time to both save his father, save the space station, and save the Big Blue Marble from the direst consequences.
 
And that impetuousness that Jonny felt in the opening?
 
Again, the scriptwriters introduce circumstances along the way that allow the young hero to face his shortcomings.  While it might grow a bit predictable in a few spots – once you know Jonny’s prone to run off half-cocked, it becomes easier to anticipate when he’s apt to do so – the undercurrent of the action still evolves to show he’s confronting that dark habit and making strides to improve.  Yes, he masters those temptations in the last reel; and he, Hadji, and Jessie all join hands in the second Orinoquian ceremony to show that we’re stronger together than we ever are apart.
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I’d also be remiss if I failed to point out that Cyber-Insects resonated much stronger as the kind of storytelling upon which the aforementioned The Venture Bros. capitalizes on in order to deliver its manic mirth.  It’s easy to see how this format has lasted so long in animation and survives to this day as an influence upon newcomers to the genre who want to tap the same sensibilities for a new generation of viewers.  In a few spots, Cyber-Insects even reminded me of the 1980’s animated incarnation of Flash Gordon (from Filmation), one of the favorites I enjoyed in my teenage years.  It’s all meant to be good clean fun – with heroes worth cheering and villains worth despising – and you just don’t get that all that much these days.
 
Jonny’s Golden Quest (1933) was produced by Hanna-Barbera Productions, USA Network, and Turner Program Services (TPS); while Jonny Quest Vs. The Cyber-Insects (1995) was produced by Hanna-Barbera Productions and TNT.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) was coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds of both productions to be exceptional from start-to-finish: the one warning I’d caution is that there are a few sequences in Cyber-Insects wherein the team is in extreme danger and the animation gets a bit too herky-jerky before settling down.  It’s a bit overdone, but it doesn’t last too long, thankfully.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Alas, the disc has nothing.
 
Recommended.
 
Hanna-Barbera animation fans have a bit to get excited about with the home video release of Jonny’s Golden Quest (1993) and Jonny Quest Vs. The Cyber-Insects (1995); and I suspect what legion of fans surrounding the Quest dynasty itself might be tickled pink as well.  Though I can speak to how thrilled hardcore enthusiasts might be with this particular iteration of the intellectual property, both telefilms feature respectable animation (maybe a cut above some Saturday morning television fare), plenty of action, and a thrilling story with which to get lost in the mayhem.  Personally, I enjoyed the Cyber-Insects flick more – Golden Quest really took the long way to get to a fairly elementary story – as it feels a bit more like the great toons of the late 1970’s and early 1980’s that captivated me as a viewer.

Gentle reminder: keep in mind, folks, that I'm coming at the Quest phenomenon almost entirely as a newbie.  I can't evaluate how well these telefilms relate to the vastness of what came before.  With fresh eyes and an open mind, I had fun with these, and I hope many would agree.
 
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 Jonny’s Golden Quest (1993) and Jonny Quest Vs. The Cyber-Insects (1995) – as part of their Hanna-Barbera Double Feature Collection – 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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There’s an art to delivering what I call television-grade Horror and Fantasy that not a lot of creators can effectively manage.
 
By its very nature, Horror is and should be disturbing (on some level) as it’s the genre that uniquely explores those dark, dark things that make every one of us tick.  In watching it, we get to vicariously experience some of life’s most dangerous settings, watch as its characters encounter the direst circumstances, and revel in the highs and lows that correspond to our brains releasing the adrenaline, endorphins, and dopamine along the way.  It can be an encounter like no other – visually, artistically, psychologically, etc. – and, yet how can creators deliver something truly shocking while appeasing the demands of network television censors?
 
Well, Rod Serling was probably one of the very best to do so.  His Golden Era delight – The Twilight Zone – managed to spin yarns in such a way that the characters and their various circumstances needn’t resort to spilling buckets of blood in order to convey the shock of it all.  Granted, he went a bit darker in the 1970’s with Night Gallery – his second anthology that focused a bit more of the supernatural – a series that benefitted more in the creation of a more oppressive atmosphere than did his Zone.  As a storyteller, Serling rather effectively took theatrical R-rated premises and dialed them back into the PG-rated neighborhood, delivering things that could still go bump in the night but didn’t rely heavily on special effects, make-up, and oozing prosthetics to make their requisite noise.
 
Structurally, 1981’s superb Horror/telefilm Dark Night Of The Scarecrow – directed by Frank De Felitta from a script by J.D. Feigelson and Butler Handcock – feels very much like it could fit snugly into the Serling Broadcast Universe.  While it both does and doesn’t rely on Serling’s signature twist ending, the tale still takes a general concept – here it’s the indictment of those who would take the law into their own hands and render vigilante justice owed more to their own bigotry than any true measure of right and wrong – and pushes it about as far as possibly while ‘twisting’ the narrative into the realm of the improbable.  Starring Charles Durning, Lane Smith, Robert F. Lyons, Claude Earl Jones, and Tonya Crowe, it’s a nightmare come back to life in a small town that starkly looks a little something like the one many of us grew up in …
 
(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 …)
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From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In a small Southern town, four vigilantes wrongfully execute a mentally challenged man, but after the court sets them free mysterious "accidents" begin to kill them off one by one.”
 
At some point, each of us came across a blowhard.  You know the type?  A blustering, bigoted fool who thinks he knows better than anyone else.  Despite the fact that he rarely shows any life experience that would suggest a foundation for such intellect, he spouts his nonsense and corrals followers to his cause more over the emotional intensity of his banter than anything else.  Seeing the world with his own professed absolutes, he casts judgments on anything in sight; and he’s never happy until he can convince everyone around him to embrace his ideas or ideology even though he’s never run for office nor held any position of distinction in his circle of influence much less the nearest city hall.
 
Otis Hazelrigg (played by the late, great Charles Durning) is such a man.  As apparently the only postal worker in a small Southern town, he sees all, knows all, and condemns all that fails to meet with his personal satisfaction; and – even worse – he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut over his discontent with the smallest insult.  In the film’s opening, he’s shown spying via binoculars on Bubba Ritter (Larry Drake) – a mentally-challenged adult – picking flowers with the young Marylee Williams (Tonya Crowe) in a vibrant open field.  Disapproving of their friendship, Hazelrigg spreads his gossip to his local cronies – Harless (Lane Smith), Philby (Claude Earl Jones), and Skeeter (Robert F. Lyons) – that someone should put a stop to that relationship before something bad happens.
 
Not all that much later, Marylee is attacked by a guard dog when she trespasses beyond a locked gate.  When Bubba shows up at her house with the injured, bleeding girl in his arms, assumptions are naturally made even though the simpleton repeats over and over and over “Bubba didn’t do it!”  As the dimwit flees for home, the news of the child’s condition reaches Hazelrigg who promptly responds with rounding up his fellows and forming a lynch mob to see Ritter dealt with once and for all.  After a chase, they find the young man disguised as a scarecrow leaning on a cross in the family field.  The deranged postal worker takes the first shot with his revolver, and then his posse responds, filling Bubba’s body full of lead.
 
Had they shown only a few minutes more restraint, then they would’ve heard the news that Marylee was, in fact, attacked by a dog but was going to recover.  Feeling he has no other recourse, Hazelrigg stages the scene to appear as if the armed men were defending themselves from Bubba – he places a pitchfork in the dead man’s hands – and the frame-up is complete.  In court, the case gets dismissed on technicalities, leaving this four-man murder squad free and clear to go about the rest of their lives and besmirching the Ritter family’s good name.
​

What develops from here is a fairly standard and slightly predictable tale of vengeance.  Once Marylee is back in good spirits, she begins preaching to the citizenry that Bubba was peaceful and would never have tried to harm anyone, not even those who were hunting him in a frenzy of misplaced righteousness.  It doesn’t take long for her words to reach Hazelrigg’s ears; and he confronts her, threatening her to mind her own business as there’s no way she could possibly know what happened.  Plainly, she replies, “Bubba told me.”
 
One by one, the mob find themselves confronted by a lone scarecrow suddenly appearing out of the ether on the edge of their respective properties; and, one by one, they’re dispatched by circumstances the law can only determine to be unfortunately accidental.  As the bodies begin to pile up, Hazelrigg realizes his time will come, pitting him on a collision with forces beyond our world.
 
Much like those journeys hosted by Rod Serling, Dark Night Of The Scarecrow delivers some wonderful developing tension without resorting to the usual practical effects.  There’s a great deal implied and not much shown; though a death or two are deliciously grim – hello, woodchipper – director De Felitta accomplishes far more with this nuanced exploration of violent redemption than audiences today might have patient for.  If you’re looking for bloody payback, then you might want to turn elsewhere: but if you’re patient and accepting of good drama delivered by a talented cast all wrapped up with some excellent cinematography, the Dark Night is worth surviving.
 
In fact, when it comes to nuance there’s another nugget worth discussing.
 
Feigelson and Handcock’s script rather deftly traffics closely to the subject of pedophilia, perhaps even groundbreakingly so for the early 1980’s.  Clearly, Hazelrigg suspects that something sexually inappropriate is at risk between Bubba and Marylee, and this appears to be at least circumstantially the man’s fear in the opening segment.  And why wouldn’t this be?  He sees Bubba as a half-man-half-child not in proper control of his mind and body; and, thus, Hazelrigg sees himself as needing to assume the role of the child’s protector.  Interestingly enough, it’s no less than Bubba’s mother – Mrs. Ritter (Jocelyn Brando) – who confronts the ill-tempered postal worker with the allegation of “I’ve seen how you looked at that girl!”  Could it possibly be that Hazelrigg’s deep-rooted hatred of Bubba is nothing more than projection on his part of his hidden desire to bed the child against her will?  Rarely have I seen this topic proposed as strongly as it is here in 80’s television, and it’s handled with a masterful touch.
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Even after all of this, there’s still more to relish about Dark Night.  The setting has an almost timeless quality to it: while I don’t believe the script ever clearly specifies where and when we are (despite the obvious indicators), the story could be told almost in any era.  Granted, it’s the kind of spectacle that works best in rural areas – you’re not going to see a scarecrow in the big city, thank you very much – so it’s appropriate to think of the telefilm as another entry into the whole Folk Horror sub-genre, one that excels in crafting its own mythology specific to the place and its people.  Performances are solid – Durning is a great lead though one of the interviews in the special features discusses he was hesitant to take the part because of its dark angle – and the talent on display should be commended for knowing what spooky truly looked like and making it come alive.
 
Dark Night Of The Scarecrow (1981) was produced by Wizan TV Productions.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at VCI Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the delivered sights-and-sounds to be exceptional from start-to-finish; the film honestly benefits from some very good cinematography, even more so considering this was shot for television and not theatrical presentation.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The film comes as part of a two-disc set paired up with Dark Night Of The Scarecrow 2, a sequel-of-sorts that takes place over four decades later and is vastly inferior.  Additionally, there are multiple commentary tracks and a few extra shorts that make this collection worth your attention.
 
Strongly Recommended.
 
Wow.  Even as a kid who came of age in the 1980’s, I just don’t remember Dark Night Of The Scarecrow, and that saddens me somewhat.  It’s the kind of thing I would’ve loved to have seen on television of the day, and I undoubtedly would’ve loved it as much then as I do in discovering it today.  While I do have some misgivings with the closing scene – it both embraces its ‘Twilight Zone’ quality and ignores it to a small degree – the rest of the feature is winning entertainment.  Though Durning is a bit uneven when the action isn’t of dire consequence, he certainly fills the shoes of the town villain nicely; and it’s really grand to see that spectral influences from the other side aren’t willing to let him ‘get away with it’ any longer.  High marks.  Great film.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at VCI Entertainment provided me with a complimentary 4K UltraHD Blu-ray of Dark Night Of The Scarecrow (1981) 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
​

Wikipedia.org defines Folk Horror – a subgenre of the wider Horror film category – as fiction that utilizes folklore in order to weave its wicked web.  While some argue that Folk Horror is by and large little more than an extension of tales exploring the supernatural, a key difference is that the setting itself takes on a life of its own in the story, so much so that the place, circumstances, and characters cannot be separated from one another and yet have the journey preserved.  All of these bits and pieces – i.e. an isolated setting (often rural), the spirituality and its practitioners, their beliefs and superstitions, etc. – work in unison to create the whole; and it’s their precisely balanced union that makes the experience unique to this world as defined.
 
An article on Collider.com lists what that site purports to be the 25 best Folk Horror movies of all time (keep in mind, readers, that such lists are often highly subjective, which is why yours truly tends to avoid them).  The author identifies such projects as Wes Craven’s The Serpent And The Rainbow (1988) as an example of the subgenre.  Other entries include 2018’s The Apostle, 1968’s Witchfinder General (starring the legendary Vincent Price), and 2019’s somewhat divisive Midsommar.  Even 1999’s Sleepy Hollow from Tim Burton gets a nod; and I point out these films to show that Folk Horror is not a new invention (as some have claimed it to be) but rather it’s a storytelling motif that’s been around for some time and will likely be here as long as there are cows in them there fields.  (Remember: it’s typically a rural setting.  Cows?  Rural?  Get it?)
 
Though I could be wrong, I’ve often pointed out that Folk Horror isn’t all that popular with mainstream audiences.  Occasionally, a flick like The Blair Witch Project (1999) breaks through all of the other cinematic noise and brings a welcome success to the playing field; but it seems to me that uniquely stronger entries – like Midsommar or 2018’s Hereditary – don’t resonate as strongly with mainstream audiences as do more conventional features like, say, the Friday The 13th saga, the ongoing bloody exploits of Michael Myers, or any one of the Saw chapters.  I think it takes a special kind of fan of Horror to wade through one of these folksy properties; and, as such, their successes are often more critical than commercial.  They may not lose money, and yet they don’t become household I.P.s, either.
 
2024’s Exhuma – written and directed by Jang Jae-hyun – is a solid example of what Folk Horror looks like in far East.  Its story revolves entirely around a spiritual component tied directly to the Korean people, making it the kind of tale that would be difficult in any sizable way to Americanize a knock-off.  It stars Kim Go-eun, Choi Min-sik, Lee Do-hyun, and Yoo Hae-jin in prominent roles; and – even though I rarely highlight such information before my break below – each player turns in a fabulously nuanced take on their specific characters.  While I may’ve struggled a bit here and there to understand fully what was taking place, it’s still a grand tale told against the backdrop of cultural mysticism unlike anything else you might see in cinemas this year.
 
(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:
“The process of excavating an ominous grave unleashes dreadful consequences buried underneath.”
​

In my quest to discuss film, I’ve written before about Eastern mysticism.  It’s an idea that covers a whole wealth of topics, not the least of which include ideas of love and acceptance, one’s place in a complex universe, and how life is a combination of what we both see and cannot see.  It’s a deeply spiritual manner in which one assesses oneself in union with others and nature; and it’s been the subject of a great many Horrors from Japan, China, and Korea.  Some link it to an altered state of consciousness, but I do try to keep it on a level that I’ve no trouble comprehending if not a point that there’s at least modest consensus.
 
Exhuma offers some fabulous narrative examples of how the Korean culture looks at things like life and legacy so very differently than we do here in the West.  Park Ji Yong (played by Kim Jae-cheol) asserts that there remains a lingering curse on his family owed to the burial of his grandfather, an ancestor whose history is shrouded in a bit of mystery.  Park enlists a Korean shaman Lee Hwa-rim (Kim Go-eun) and her partner Yoon Bong-gil (Lee Do-hyun) to both locate the grave and exhume it under the ceremonial ritual so that the body can be finally laid to proper rest.  To do so, Lee and Bong-gil require the assistance of Kim Sang-deok (Choi Min-sik) and Go Yeung-geun (Yoo Hae-jin), Feng shui experts schooled in the manner of handling the deceased in order to ensure all cultural customs are properly respected.
 
However, problems begin to surface with Kim Sang-deok eventually locates the grave, and it’s clear that the Park family has not disclosed everything known about their deceased grandfather.  His coffin was placed out of spiritual alignment – suggesting that he would not be welcomed into a peaceful afterlife – and the small tombstone lacks the markings to indicate who exactly was buried in the unhallowed ground.  The expert senses a dangerous energy surrounding the area, but he’s finally convinced to go ahead with the plan if a ritual is performed to remove the curse during the exhumation.  Suffice it to say, things don’t exactly go as planned – do they ever in the world of Horror – and the grandfather’s evil spirit is accidentally released and must be recaptured and destroyed if the Park family is to have any peace.
 
This is really only the first act of what unfolds in a traditional three-act story.  Vanquishing the troubled soul serves to only open the door to the fact that the burial site hides an even greater secret, one linked to some rather dark, shared history between Korea and their past Japanese occupiers.  Our four spiritualists come to learn that there’s an even greater demon waiting in the wings; and only they – working together with the knowledge of the cultural expertise – might stand between this awakened warlord with a thirst for human blood.
 
For reasons I don’t quite understand, the story is structured in chapters, each section highlighted with some white text detailing the chapter and title.  Though I’m usually accepting of such post-production trickery, I found it a bit pedantic here.  Is this some fairy tale you’re trying to portray; and – if so – why does it feel like the chapters are a screenwriter’s invention and not organically tied to plot points?  While the occasional text call-out might’ve been necessary to explain something elementary – like the passage of time – these just didn’t feel all that necessary.  Unless these chapter headings align with some kind of cultural association that I’m unaware of (not being of Korean heritage), I’m uncertain of why anyone would’ve seen value in their insertion.
​

Exhuma delivers thrills and chills mainly on the back of its cast’s brilliant performance and some incredibly foreboding atmosphere crafted by director Jang Jae-hyun.  The plot isn’t always easy to follow – especially for this admitted Westerner – as a greater command of Korean history and folklore might’ve even raised the bar a bit more.  Thankfully, the visuals and some minor exposition here and there go to great lengths to provide the required context – albeit a bit quick in some spots – so I didn’t feel as if I were missing anything essential once I arrived at the climax.  One sequence wherein Sang-deok verbally walks through the steps necessary might feel a bit too elementary to some; while that’s a legitimate gripe I’d still argue all involved saw it as necessary to show just how the rules of mysticism worked to give our heroes a chance to live to see another day when faced with such unimaginable odds.
 
Exhuma (2024) was produced by MCMC, Pinetown Production, and Showbox Entertainment.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Well Go USA Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  Wow.  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the delivered sights-and-sounds to be astounding.  There’s some fabulous use of special effects here and there to convey both ghostly apparitions and the menacing giant of a demon; and they weave rather seamlessly with everything as photographed.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Alas, there’s a single making-of bit that really feels more like a bloated theatrical attraction, and that’s all she wrote.  It’s nice, but, yes, I would’ve liked to know vastly more about (minimally) the cultural trivia showcased throughout the work.
 
Strongly Recommended.
 
Bluntly, Exhuma (2024) is likely not going to be for everyone.  There’s a series of slow payoffs to the dark tale; so, yes, it does take a bit of time before really kicking into the more traditional track that fuels a great many Horror features.  The folk elements are fairly heavy in the first half and then they get displaced a bit when the chills grow a bit more conventional.  I wouldn’t be surprised for some to find the pacing a bit disjointed.  But the dynamic whole is still one solid vision – one elevated by the great work of some marvelous onscreen talent – and if you’re patient then you’re definitely going to be rewarded in the last act.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Well Go USA Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Exhuma (2024) 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
​

​Under SciFiHistory.Net’s ‘Monsters Of A Sort’ category, I take a look at features that kinda/sorta dabble in sensibilities very close to (if not downright demonstrative of) film noir and/or the unconventional screen mystery.  Despite maintaining a heavy (and near constant) diet of genre projects, I’m not always satiated by just Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror; so I do like – from time-to-time – to add a little substance from these other realms.  It helps widen my perspective.  It helps cleanse my palate.  It keeps me fresh … and a ‘fresh me’ is good for all of you, my faithful readers.
 
Today’s distraction is titled Conflict.
 
Produced by Warner Bros., Conflict was originally released (in the United States) on June 30, 1945.  The film was directed by Curtis Bernhardt, a storyteller who – in the 1930’s – escaped Europe as the Nazi menace was prosecuting Jews and fled to America.  The man does have an interesting connection to Science Fiction: he directed 1933’s The Tunnel, a SciFi/Drama about the trials and tribulations of constructing an undersea tunnel from Europe to the U.S.  From what I can surmise, the script – from Arthur T. Horman and Dwight Taylor – was the adaptation of an earlier work called “The Pentacle” attributed to Robert Siodmak and Alfred Neumann.  The picture stars Humphrey Bogart, Sydney Greenstreet, Alexis Smith, Rose Hobart, and Charles Drake in prominent roles.
 
As per my usual format, the film’s synopsis appears below.  My two cents on its construction and delivery follows.
 
(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 engineer kills his first Wife, then woos her sister.”
 
Despite being a huge fan of the works of the late Humphrey Bogart, I’ll still admit that there are a great many projects his name was attached to which I haven’t had time to see.  A good handful of them I have seen bits and pieces of over the years, but – when it comes to the whole shebang from start-to-finish – it might be that I’ve enjoyed about a dozen of them.  (What can I say?  Writing about film keeps me too busy most weeks to throw on something casual, so I take what I can get when I can get it.)  I do make a serious effort, however, when I see something old getting rescheduled from any of the distributors I work with; and – lo and behold – the good people over at Warner Archive have opted to re-release one of the actor’s 1945 projects, Conflict, on Blu-ray.
​

You knew I couldn’t pass this one up.
 
An old habit of mine – especially when it comes to productions from the earlier days of Hollywood – is a like to read a bit of what’s been written about them on the Information Superhighway.  If you know where to look, then there’s a wealth of reputable (and sourced) tidbits out there: not all of it is relevant critically, mind you, but I have found that knowing a certain factoid often explains a notable deficiency in the finished product – especially an actor or actress’ performance – so I’m apt to do a little digging.
 
Interestingly enough, there’s a nugget up on Wikipedia.org that suggests Bogart was somewhat reticent to take on the lead of the duplicitous wife-killer.  (There’s no extensive explanation as to his particular reasoning, but it’s interesting trivia nonetheless.)  Arguably, his career was on a high; and it stands to reason that he may not have wanted to put his chops to use in such a nefarious manner.  My impetus to point this out is that, frankly, there’s no reservation that comes across to me that he didn’t give the part the very best of his skills and attention: he’s quite convincing at all times, though I’ll fault a less-than-stellar script for muddling some of his character’s motivations as the story rolls along.
 
From the outside, it seems to friends and family that Richard (played by Bogart) and Kathryn Mason (Rose Hobart) were in marital heaven.  On the eve of their fifth anniversary, they’re once again getting together with friends to commemorate their union despite the fact that, privately, the fabric of their consensual relationship has begun to fray.  It would seem that Richard has been secretly coveting the attentions of Kathryn’s sister Evelyn Turner (Alexis Smith), and his wife can no longer stay quite about his wandering eyes.  (Yes, it’s a bit surprising to this viewer because Hobart is such a dish!)  In fact, Kathryn is downright aggrieved by it all.
 
Eventually, Richard conspires to murder his wife, an act that will understandably free up his time so that he can explore what he senses are reciprocal emotions from Evelyn though I’ll admit that there’s no significant indication of any in the film.  She’s clearly torn by this turn of events – along with the expression of marital intent from another potential suitor, professor Norman Holsworth (Charles Drake) – but if she truly feels anything other than a stronger-than-normal familial attachment to her brother-in-law it’s never spelled out in the picture.  Of course, that doesn’t impede Richard, and perhaps this is why he becomes so easily entranced with the idea that Kathryn has somehow survived her death and is toying with him in ways that grow more elaborate in the passing days.
 
What’s truly afoot is a rather involved game of cat-and-mouse between Mason, the police, and Dr. Mark Hamilton (Sydney Greenstreet), a family friend who has already deduced that Richard is the guilty party and sets up toying with him psychologically in hopes to break the man of his silence.  Without going into all of the somewhat exhaustive details, Hamilton’s scheme is the kind of thing that only exists in movies; there’s no possible way authentic police would allow a private citizen to orchestrate such a detailed series of pranks to create doubt in Richard’s mind because none of it would likely hold up in a court of law.  It’s theatrical trickery – and, yes, it grows more and more extensive as the story goes along – but it’s the kind of thing audiences usually lap up happily: we do so love it when the killer gets served his ultimate comeuppance, and that’s the point of it even with the required suspension of disbelief.
​

Also, the script introduces a narrative hook – the question of whether evil can be removed from the mind of the thinker – early on yet never really does much with it.  By trade, Mason is an engineer while Hamilton is a practicing psychologist; and the two have more than a single exchange about how a construct both works and serves a fundamental purpose.  In Mason’s line of work, it’s how a project ultimately gets designed, built, and survives; without it, there’s nothing standing once the construction is said and done.  Similarly, Hamilton points out that he cannot effectively remove an impure thought or motivation without the risk of mental collapse of his patient because so much resulting activity ends up getting tied to that element of the foundation.  The script then manages to detail this relationship; and yet – in the big finish – we end up knowing what the two already told us ninety minutes before … so why bother?  It would seem that the hook was better than the delivery.
 
Still, performances are quite good.
 
As I said above, you’d never know that Bogart wasn’t interested in the affair with his time spent on the screen.  It doesn’t exactly simmer, but he rather admirably hits all of his marks, showing that his slowly cracking resolve will likely serve his undoing.  Greenstreet is always good, holding his own against his costar while balancing out his ‘jolly old self’ moments alongside some secret skullduggery.  Hobart isn’t long in the picture, and yet she, too, manages to hold her ground in those early exchanges with Bogart.  While good, Turner’s character just needed better material to work with: this noir(ish) Thriller never gives her all that much to do but walk around wide-eyed – happily or sad – and there’s a gaping hole of murk behind who she is, what she wants, and whether or not she ever imagined Richard would be more than an in-law or an outlaw as far as she was concerned.
 
Conflict (1945) was produced by Warner Bros.  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 from start-to-finish.  There are a few fade-in tricks that get employed two or three times suggestive of some psychological efforts on Dr. Hamilton’s part, but they don’t convey anything beyond the initial crack in Mason’s resolve.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Well, there are some classic cartoons, a few WB shorts, and the audio of a radio play adaptation of the film to enjoy, but there’s nothing of significance that probes the film … and, yes, it would’ve been nice to have a little something.
 
Recommended.
 
As a huge fan of the Bogart catalogue, I’m a tad disappointed to admit that I didn’t enjoy Conflict (1945) a bit more.  While the main plot – that of a man so desperate to pursue the illicit promise of a love affair with his sister-in-law that he’d murder his wife – is the kind of subject matter film noirs have explored to great delight, the picture never quite figures out what to do with its cast of supporting players well enough to have them seem like something greater than pawns in motion on a screenwriter’s chess board.  Bogart and Greenstreet deliver some great exchanges, but there’s just not much memorable in here beyond the occasional flickers.  Though I expected more, I got just enough for my attention; and the somewhat hokey conclusion feels more like a Columbo ‘Movie of the Week’ moment than it does a big, theatrical finish.
 
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 Conflict (1945) 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
​

Around the world, there are storytellers who feel it incumbent upon themselves to take deep and lasting looks at the truly unconventional if not downright forbidden.
 
Of course, these filmmakers come in all shapes, sizes, and subject matters.  In the United States, the critically lauded David Lynch has built a career around exploring unsettling ideas just beyond the reach of the socially acceptable via surreal and often dreamlike settings and circumstances.  Canadian director David Cronenberg has often examined that mysterious space where science and medicine intersect with the human experience, delivering dark stories that ponder the depths of desire.  Similarly, Spanish movie maker Jesús Franco broaches more traditional Horror elements – vampires, werewolves, demonic spirits, etc. – and yet imbues then with new life by super-charging his tales with exploitation and sexuality.
 
Now, frankly, these examples are still a bit passé when it comes to others, such as the flicks from Spanish storyteller Eloy de La Iglesia.  While I’m no expert on his catalogue (to any degree), I can say that I’ve read that a great many of his productions have been described as ‘quinqui’ (or ‘cinema kinki’), a strain of features exploring what some might call the underbelly of society.  As such, he touched upon drug use, brutality, sexual depravity, and juvenile delinquency, all of it rendered a bit salaciously with concentration on detail.  I don’t think is to say he glamorized bad behaviors to any degree; rather, he strove to shine light on things a bit abnormal from the cinema, and this resulted in a bit of controversy surrounding his various works.
 
All of this brings us to The Creature (1977), a drama that I’ve read some suggest had a mildly supernatural component which I, unfortunately, see as little more than wishful thinking.  From a script written by Enrique Barreiro, The Creature plumbs the psyche of a married couple who’ve struggled for some time to conceive a child only to fail again and again.  It stars Ana Belén, Juan Diego, and Claudia Gravy in prominent roles; and – in case you haven’t heard – there’s a fourth star of the – ahem – canine variety.  It’s the dog’s inclusion as a potential paramour for the disturbed Bélen that led to the film being snubbed during distribution.
 
What can I say?  It’s a ‘dog eat dog world’ out there.
 
(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:
“Married woman miscarries after dog attack. Vacation helps her bond with stray dog of same breed. Her relationship with the dog strains marriage, forcing her to choose between husband and canine companion.”
​

Those who would dismiss The Creature based entirely on its presence of bestiality would be losing sight of the fact that Barreiro’s script is, actually, a rather good and sometimes tender one when it confronts with the difficulties of a married couple – a man and a woman from different sides of the track, as they say – in securing shared happiness.
 
Cristina (as played by the luminous Bélen) is the wife of Marcos (Juan Diego), a popular television star with aspirations beyond his feel-good variety show hosting job, ones that might lead to being a contender with the emerging political party of the day.  In fact, Marcos is being heavily courted by the upcoming diplomatic brass because he’s so well-known and respected by the little people who make up the home viewing audience; and it’s this social influence that’s beginning to tear at the fabric of his marital relationship.  He’s begun an on-again-off-again adulterous relationship with his playful cohost Vicky (Claudia Gravy), one he’s willing to put aside when Cristina announces that she’s almost miraculously become pregnant once more.  They’ve had troubles conceiving a child, but now that it looks like they’re about to be blessed Marcos vows to clean up his act in preparation for becoming a father.
 
Trouble begins to brew when – at a roadside gas station wherein they stopped for a fill-up – Cristina is attacked by a black dog for no discernible reason.  While not outwardly injured, she quickly begins to sense contractions, demanding that Marcos rush her to the nearest hospital.  Soon, they learn the unfortunate news that she’s lost the child, and her prospects for another pregnancy are dire, indeed.
 
Saddened by these unforeseen developments, Marcos takes her away for a vacation, hoping that a change of scenery might lift his wife’s spirits.  While spending time on the beach under the sun, the couple are approached by another black dog – one who appears almost identical to the canine from earlier – a kind beast who only wants for some attention from the lovely lady.  At the end of the holiday and on the drive home, they spy the animal chasing the car, prompting Cristina to insist her husband stop the vehicle so that she can bring the seemingly abandoned beast home with them.  Begrudgingly, he agrees, and the new family speeds away.
 
Once they are back in the normal environment, Marcos begins to notice that his wife is investing more and more time with the dog than she is him.  Eventually, she’s taking the faithful Bruno everywhere, and her lack of attention to her spousal duties puts an even greater strain on their relationship.  The man reaches his breaking point when he comes home late one evening only to discover that his wife has apparently spent the evening in her wedding gown frolicking in – ahem – some inappropriate ways with the animal, with Bruno now occupying his side of the best and refusing to budge.
 
There’s a bit more to the unfolding story – the family priest suggests surrendering the dog to a shelter, Marcos rekindles his affair with Vicky, Cristina slumps back into a crippling depression when Bruno briefly falls for one of his own species, etc. – but the second half of the film never quite shakes the foundation of ‘girl-meets-dog, girl-loves-dog, and dog-loves-her-back’ so I’ll dispense with those particulars.  For reasons that are never perfectly clear, Cristina has transferred all of her spousal affections to Bruno; and – once it becomes that there’s no way back – she’ll stop at nothing to live out the rest of her days happily at their weekend retreat with man’s best friend instead of man himself.  To complicate matters, the lady even becomes pregnant once more; and de la Iglesia never clarifies whether her impending spawn belongs to Marcos – who has raped her as a response to his rejection – or Bruno, though I suspect many will agree that the canine is about to be a daddy.
​

Through all of this madness (there is some obvious political messaging going on but not being up on my Spanish history I can’t make much sense of it), what truly propels the story forward is the work of Bélen.  A celebrated actress in her native country, she moves rather delicately through Cristina’s highs and lows, never quite showing the obvious tears at the seams of her womanhood.  Despite the obstacles and even the attachment of so much of her esteem to that of the family pooch, she maintains the composure of her high-class upbringing, even occasionally reminding Marcos that her family and friends saw him as being a bit beneath her stature.  Diego – in contrast – keeps trying to make sense of Marcos’ life separately and as her would-be suitor, but even he realizes that he cannot stand in the way of the woman still in search of personal happiness when it can’t be found in the home.
 
As I stated above, I’ve read some commentary online that suggested a kinda/sorta supernatural attachment on the part of the two black dogs featured in The Creature.  While I don’t recall the specifics, I believe the inclination was that the gas-mart canine sensed something amiss within Cristina not limited to the health of her unborn child, that perhaps it saw the ‘hole in her existence’ and attacked it on her behalf as she’d buried such hurt deep in her subconscious.  Once it had been properly frightened off, this allowed for Bruno to detect a void that needed to be filled; and – as a faithful servant – the dog acted accordingly, perhaps to a fault.  While such theorizing is interesting (and it certainly gives the reader something to consider beyond the offensiveness of the evolving sexual relationship between beauty and the beast), I don’t make too much of it myself.  Academics like for their to be some explanation to such behaviors, and I’m okay with just concluding that Cristina has serious “doggy issues.”
 
The Creature (1977) was produced by Alborada P.C. and Guión Producciones Cinematográficas.  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 found the provided sights-and-sounds to be exceptional from start-to-finish: there was one small sequence that seemed a bit out-of-focus, but I’m not sure whether that was intentional or not.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts two interviews exploring the film through different perspectives along with a brief introduction to the picture from a 2023 special screening.  Also worthy of mentioning is the fact that – according to the product packaging – this is the first time this story has been available in North America, likely owed to the controversy it provoked upon its original release in 1977, and that alone might make it worth a glance for some of you.  You know who you are.
 
Recommended.
 
Here’s the thing, folks: keep in mind that just because I recommend a picture doesn’t in any way mean that it’s going to be for everyone, and that’s definitely the case with Eloy de la Iglesia’s The Creature.  A psychological Drama exploring love, loss, and – ahem – bestiality is understandable taboo to the great many readers who traffic in this space on SciFiHistory.Net.  Still, I can’t dismiss the fact that there’s a bizarre almost infectious quality to the story as told – with solid performances and some very good cinematography here and there – which pulled me into its spell wanting to know a bit more than, perhaps, the flick tells.  Sometimes, such magic alone is worthy of note, and it’s that incantation that can’t quite be denied.
 
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 Creature (1977) 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
​

Folks, word has reached the World Wide Web this morning of Producer Robert Watts' passing.

For those who don't recognize the name, Watts was instrumental in helping George Lucas to bring both The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Return Of The Jedi (1983) to fruition.  He also collaborated with the Lucasfilm founder aboard Raiders Of The Lost Ark (1981), Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom (1984), and Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade (1989).  As another feather in his cap, he worked for the Walt Disney Company in bringing Who Framed Roger Rabbit to theaters in 1988.

Interestingly enough, IMDB.com also indicates that before he got into the world of producing, Watts shared responsibilities as production and/or location manager in the 1960's.  Lo and behold, the talent worked alongside Stanley Kubrick at some point in delivering the ground-breaking 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) to audiences.  That's quite a connection, especially for those of us who relish cinematic Science Fiction and Fantasy as strongly as we do.

Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Mr. Watts.

May he rest in peace ...

-- EZ
​

For the record: Horror and Comedy do not easily mix.
 
In my estimation, they’ve always been like oil and water.  Sure, they’re both liquids, can be poured into glasses, and even share the same space somewhat; yet they’ll always retain their individuality when push comes to shove.  Combining them can be accomplished sensibly, and they can go together rather nicely if and when the sentiments are pushed toward outright farce or parody.  (For example, the Scary Movie franchise has successfully lampooned a good many of Horror’s tropes to great comic effect.)  As a consumer, I’m still somewhat reticent to embrace their mash-up; but as a critic I’m ready, willing, and able to evaluate such theatrical outings despite the fact that on the way in I’ll always remind readers that it’s hard to impress anyone who isn’t a fan of horrified nonsense.
 
Now, I realize that may sound harsh to some of you, and – if that’s the case – then you might wanna buckle up before you dip below into my two cents on The Convent (2000).  It’s an interesting experience to say that least.  Directed by Mike Mendez from a story by Chaton Anderson (who also enjoys a small role in the picture), it’s a story about a bit of … of … well, that’s where the wheels that should be going round-round-round on the bus are instead coming off a bit.  Essentially, it’s a haunted house story – albeit set in a condemned convent – along with a bit of spirit possession; and, yet, it’s still opaque when it comes down to characters we should root for and ones worth their sacrifice.
 
(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 group of college students break into an abandoned convent and become possessed by demonic spirits.”
 
On a base level, Horror requires a degree of misanthropy.
 
Its films are often populated with stereotypes because writers don’t feel it necessary to develop them meaningfully since they’re apt to be killed off anyway.  Oh, yes, you may get one or two creations that audiences genuinely care about; but since the entire plot revolves around the blood lust of a killer, monster, demon, or something else, the lion’s share of good ideas is reserved for creature origins, fantastic kills, and artistic staging.  Horrors that lean a bit more toward the dramatic break this mold somewhat, and yet even they have to fulfill the needs of the ticket buyer which will inevitably boil down to being tickled pink by the gratuitous violence unspooling right before their very eyes.
 
The Convent does and doesn’t quite follow the prescribed formula, and that’s probably why some have embraced its gooey goodness.  Without a doubt, its young cast of good-looking but modestly dim-witted ‘victims in waiting’ all act and speak the way college-aged talent does in these pictures.  However, they’re one-by-one possessed by the lingering spirits of those who have fallen previously in this dilapidated building – and it all happens reasonably quickly – so we don’t get to know them in any important way.  And as the possessed?  Well, there isn’t an ounce of individuality at play, so they exit about as relevant as they entered the whole ordeal.
 
To the film’s credit, director Mendez largely ignores the usual tropes of this age group: there are no make-out sessions, there are no bouncing bared breasts, and there’s really no time for them to run about making the usual stupid decisions teens suffer ad nauseum in the genre.  Rather, they’re here until they’re not … and, yes, that is mildly refreshing.  They’re still driven by hormones and one or two make the effort to veer off in that direction, but The Convent is surprisingly deft when it comes to sidestepping what audiences come to expect with the packaging.
 
In its place?
 
Well … it’s an awful lot of schtick.  And I’m no fan of schtick.
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Because The Convent leans heavily into dialogue and humor that might impress the average fourteen-year-old, its smarter choices end up meaning very little.  Chitchat moments grow exaggerated very quickly such as when the film’s practicing Satanist – Saul (as played by David Gunn) – delivers his lines as though he’s headlining some ‘Shakespeare in the park’ production of Hamlet.  He’s so over-the-top – and there’s no doubt it’s deliberate – that it loses any possibility of being real, reinforcing the fact that this is all schlock and not to be taken seriously.  Well, if that’s the case, then why am I to be frightened when sparks start flying, blood starts spurting, and the dead start rising?
 
Again, I don’t doubt that there’s an audience for this kind of fare because pictures of this sort get made and released on home video or pay cable all of the time.  That’s all well and good for watchers who like that sort of thing.  It’s never resonated with me – as I explained above, there’s just no equilibrium between the disparate elements – and I find myself cringing in lieu of laughing.  While the great Adrienne Barbeau’s entrance serves to finally center the action – she plays the older version of the young lady whose plight basically destroyed the convent back in 1960 – even she can’t quite seem to shoulder this one across the finish line.  It’s good work, mind you – she’s a legend in this genre, and it’s easy to see why – and, yet, it still feels incomplete in small ways.
 
It's also worth noting that – in all of this – the real surprise was the character of Mo (Megahn Perry).  Goth was a bit of a Hollywood sensation around the time of the film’s production, and Mendez and Anderson were prescient to include a young ‘Goth gal’ in the whole bloody affair.  Perry both looks and acts the part winningly, so much so that audiences were likely misdirected into thinking who might be the ‘Final Girl’ in all of this.  Sadly, Mo becomes one of the dearly departed brought back by the building’s curse – in fact, I’m quite certain she’s the first to succumb – and the best thing in here (so far as I’m concerned) was robbed from us way too early.
 
Lastly, I’m a fan of practical effects work in Horror, Fantasy, and Science Fiction; and – on that front – The Convent has some interesting highs and notable lows.
 
While the make-up and prosthetics are interesting and probably on-par with anything done in its day, the splatter bits suffer from perhaps vary between ‘tolerable’ to ‘ridiculous.’  A few of the walking dead glow downright eerily with what I’m guessing had to be some iridescent body paint (or something), and those sequences make for some striking visuals.  Mendez achieves some herky-jerky effects with what was obviously some post-production trickery; but I’m amiss as to what it was meant to say about demonic possession.  Style over substance works to limited effect whenever it’s tried, so I’d rather some of that visual polish had been dialed back a bit as the resulting scenes might’ve actually been scarier instead of just plain goofy.  Instead, it occasionally feels like a bad music video, and that distracts from the carnage.
 
And daddy loves his carnage, my friends.
 
The Convent (2000) was produced by Alpine Pictures.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Synapse Pictures.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I thought that this 4K remaster (per the product sleeve) look pretty grand: there’s a bit of grain here and there, a few spots are obviously hindered by darkness, and a possible blemish once or twice but it still looks stylish the way B-Movies typically do.  Some of the practical effects don’t hold up as well in High Definition, but I don’t believe anyone was intended to take the casual yet comical beheadings all that serious.  As for the special features?  Wow.  Synapse Films continues to make a name for itself in showcasing some of these obscure oddities; as such, I’m doing the faithful copy-and-paste of the technical rundown from their original press release (on Blu-ray.com) so I don’t leave anything out:

• NEWLY REMASTERED IN 4K UNCUT VERSION, supervised and approved by director, Mike Mendez
• DOLBY VISION/HDR PRESENTATION OF THE FILM
• 4K BLU-RAY/BLU-RAY COMBO PACK
• 5.1 stereo surround mix from the original 16-track audio masters
• Cast and crew audio commentary, featuring director Mike Mendez
• "Lords of Hell" audio commentary featuring Saul and Dickie-Boy
• Video tour of both THE CONVENT and KILLERS film locations
• Vintage "Making of" featurette
• Vintage original studio Electronic Press Kit (EPK)
• "It's Always Something with a Virgin" Liner notes booklet from Corey Danna
• Deleted scene
• Gore outtakes
• Still gallery
• Promotional trailers
• Optional English SDH subtitles for the main feature
• REGION-FREE

 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
There’s a solid gonzo/guerrilla mentality that underscores the flow of The Convent (2000), a kinda/sorta slapdash of everything but the kitchen sink when it comes to Horror/Comedy hybrids.  The jokes are, sadly, predictable; and when not even the jump scares work as designed I’m not entirely convinced the production was supposed to be anything more than a one-timer.  Still, I’ve read that the project enjoys a cult following – not sure how, even less sure why – and ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’ is the only explanation for that phenomenon I can imagine. 
 
Come for the goth chick but stay for the Barbeau.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Synapse Films provided me with a complimentary 4K UltraHD Blu-ray of The Convent (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 
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Honestly, I forget where I heard this story, but it's too good not to mention in this space.

I was watching an interview, and -- from what I can recall -- it was with either actors Marc Singer or John Amos.  I wish I remembered which it was, but -- as I often remind you kids -- daddy's getting old.  In any event, both of these men appeared alongside each other in peak heroic form aboard The Beastmaster (1982), one of the fondly remembered screen Fantasies that created such a memorable decade of the 1980's.  In any event, this was apparently they're first day of shooting together on set.  Both of them were called out to the set; and -- this being the first time seeing one another fully in costume -- they met onstage ... and, apparently, they took one look at one another and just staring laughing without control.

For those of you who don't quite get it, maybe Google it.  Singer is wearing next-to-nothing, and Amos (shown above) might be mistaken for a guy on the way to a BDSM convention.

What can I say?  Costuming was what it was back in the day.

I'd seen Amos in a variety of projects over the years, and I recall watching him in a few televised interviews.  Though he was never what one might call a marquee name, he certainly held himself up alongside the very best he shared screens big and small with.  He was always affable -- had this big laugh -- and just seemed like a real down-to-Earth guy even though he was surrounded by show business wherever he turned.

In glancing over his professional profile on IMDB.com, it's pretty clear he didn't do a great number of hardcore genre projects, but there are some worth mentioning.

His first real foray into Science Fiction was as a series regular aboard Future Cop, a TV serial that had a big city police department enlisting an android to walk the beat opposite a season police veteran.

1983 saw the actor venturing into screen Horror with a big role aboard Dance Of The Dwarfs, a flick that cast him alongside Deborah Raffin and Peter Fonda.

From there, the man also secured opportunities in such enterprises as Beauty And The Beast, Two Evil Eyes (1990), Night Trap (1993), Touched By An Angel, Hologram Man (1995), The Outer Limits, and Voodoo Moon (2006).

Alas, none of us lasts forever ... well, except in film.  I saw that word reached the World Wide Web yesterday of the man's passing, and I wanted to get this post up as a quick reflection on the man's lasting legacy.

Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Mr. Amos.

May he rest in peace ...

-- EZ
​

To the wide, wide, wide swath of creatives around the world, there’s nothing greater in mythmaking to plumbing the highs and lows of the human soul.
 
Why we do what we do – why we think the things that enter our mind – has always been of singular fascination to those who have a bit of time on their hands and wish to pursue documenting it for the ages.  This has led countless people to pursue the search of self via books, dialogue, counseling, meditation, and any other avenues that might shed even a little bit of light on identity.  I, too, have committed my share of ink to the subject – some have told me that my endless writings on films and what they mean to me are part and parcel of the same methodology to understand my place in the cosmos – and, while I accept that may be some burning motivation buried deep in my subconscious, I’ve grown a bit old in the tooth to spend too much time on any psychological wild good chase.  Accepting we are what we are and then going about the business of living life is the first step toward wisdom; and I encourage each of you who traffic in SciFiHistory.Net to find peace with those sentiments and go out and seize the day as time permits.
 
Phenomenologically, history for each of us begins at birth, and I believe it’s this trend that keeps new storytellers from thinking there’s still something to be said on this topic despite the volumes upon volumes upon volumes already created.  While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a new take or new iteration, I’d argue that it’s still incumbent upon those who go where angels fear to tread to – minimally – bring something new to the table in the process.  As the saying goes, why reinvent the wheel when we already have one that works perfectly?  If the goal is to just have a shinier one or one with hip and current ‘bling,’ then you run the risk of delivering something that likely won’t get noticed all that much beyond the contemporary bells and whistles … and, yet, maybe that’s good enough for those perfectly accepting of one more trip around the narrative sun because … hey … what else ya got?
 
So, yes, I’ve seen stories like Me, Myself, & The Void before.  (Hint: that isn’t an insult.  It’s merely an observation.)  By taking a dash of 1946’s It’s A Wonderful Life along with a hint of 1943’s Heaven Can Wait and maybe even sprinkling on a wee smidge of 1990’s Jacob’s Ladder, writer/director Tim Hautekiet (along with contributions from Nik Oldershaw) have crafted a modern era ‘vision quest’ on the part of a fumbling comedian struggling with finding peace of mind in a world that offers little remorse for the worn and weary.  The Fantasy/Comedy stars Jack De Sena, Chris W. Smith, Kelly Marie Tran, Akilah Hughs, and James Babson in key roles; and it’s presently available for digital purchase via a variety of internet platforms.
 
Is it fresh?  No.  Is it new?  Meh.  Is it worthwhile?  I’d say so, but that’s mainly because I like what it does with its players and its circumstances even though there’s a bit of predictability to its obvious feel-good sentimentality when all is said and done.
 
(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 …)
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From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Trapped in a mysterious void outside the bounds of time and space, a struggling stand-up comedian must investigate how his body wound up motionless on his bathroom floor and wake himself up before it's too late.”
 
Some audiences struggle a bit with cinematic Fantasy mostly because their various filters are prone to criticize theatrical sentimentality because “it ain’t the real world.”  This is why a film like 1989’s Field Of Dreams might resonate so strongly with a certain percentage of viewers and yet fall flat with realists who point out that there’s no such thing as ghosts much less ghosts that live in an Iowa cornfield.  If watchers can’t suspend their disbelief long enough to merely enjoy the merits of a good story, then they’re likely to experience frustration with Me, Myself & The Void for many of the same reasons.
 
Bluntly, it’s a light-hearted Drama (with fantastical elements) that dabbles in the ether between life and death, between consciousness and unconsciousness.  Jack (played by Jack De Sena) is a comedian struggling under the weight of his own world and his own choices in ways a bit too thick to count.  While he can’t seem to keep the various women in his life happy – Mia (Kelly Marie Tran), Anna (Akilah Hughes), Tanya (Sophia Esperanza), and mother Amanda (Kristin Carey) – he’s willing to make only superficial attempts to please them all, a strategy that only lengthens the divide between him and them.  Like many comedians, Jack is really only using laughter to conceal the pain he sees in himself and the world around him, never giving these troubles anything more than lip service in the process.  And he’s struggling to maintain his only authentic relationship with his best bud Jack (Chris W. Smith), eventually even inadvertently pushing him away while careening under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
 
Rather than explore this trauma from legitimate rock bottom, director Hautekiet instead has Jack waking up in a dark and endless otherworld we’ll call ‘the Void.’  In here, Jack can be onstage seemingly bombing to hit any good punchlines while he’s simultaneously back in his apartment, peering down at his injured body lying motionless on the bathroom floor.  The mirror is cracked.  His head is bleeding.  Clearly, he’s in need of some medical assistance – or is he? – and he can’t quite remember exactly where either of him are, exactly how either of them got here, and what it all might mean for the nature of his existence.  In this Void, Hautekiet allows Jack and the various people of his life to reconnect, walking through moments of recent memory all in hopes of trying to figure out who might be responsible for the version of himself on the bathroom floor and whether or not there’s still time to save himself.
 
As can happen in Fantasies of this sort, there’s no real hard-and-fast setting of rules.  Jack is soon joined by Chris; and, together, they spend a great deal of time conducting their existential investigation, more of it intended for laughs than anything else.  As they move through these various scenes, they come to understand that they can interact with the real world from this other side but are always restricted from changing events for the better.  Still, it isn’t too long before both of them realize that there are risks in life and laughter – some of which can bring dire consequences – and they’re even joined by an angelic version of Mia who eventually serves as the catalyst to pulling off the band-aid over the many scars left in the wake of Jack’s flawed choices.  In the end, all of this evolves into a journey of discovery – albeit with some magical elements – leaving our main character with a shot at redemption in exactly the way that happens in heartwarming movies.
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Back in my college days (many moons ago, folks), I acted in a good number of stage plays; and there’s a great portion of Me, Myself & The Void that feels as if it may’ve been derived from such a project.  People and places are rather simply defined – several sequences are shot in what looks to be an open black soundstage decorated with only the essentials the cast of characters required – and it isn’t difficult to imagine how some of this might’ve worked in front of a live audience.  I bring this up because, frankly, there’s nothing quite like live theater for emotionally connecting with those watching: there’s a closeness – an intimacy – that makes all of it work on another level, something that gets sacrificed a bit when converting stories to film.  Still, the picture solidly hits enough strong notes that I suspect many who stumble upon this undertaking will enjoy it for what it is, not looking necessarily for any deeper meaning and, instead, admiring the house that Jack built.
 
Me, Myself & The Void was produced by Echobend Pictures, Extraordinary Alien Films, and TimH.  Based on a quick Google.com search, the production shows as presently available via a handful of streaming platforms.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure you that the film both looks and sounds exceptional from start-to-finish.  There are a few small sequences that use some in-camera trickery as well as what looks like some minor special effects, but it’s all supportive of the entire experience and doesn’t distract in the slightest.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  As I viewed this one via streaming, there were no special features under consideration.
 
Highly Recommended.
 
At times, Me, Myself & The Void (2023) feels like it may’ve evolved from an experimental live theater piece (again, not an insult as I love that vibe) while there are other scenes that could only have worked as a motion picture.  Because this might be the blending of two genres, I’d strongly suggest that it makes advantage of being the best of both worlds.  Performances are solid – Tran underplays a lot of her moments (in my opinion), and maybe she was trying to give her character some motivation owed to other circumstances or cut scenes – and I’d still advise audiences to be accepting of creative staging.  This is cinematic Fantasy – maybe not of the highest order but still evident – and it helps to immerse yourself in its charm even when there are hints of potential doom.  That’s just how it all works best.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Echobend Pictures provided me with complimentary streaming access to Me, Myself & The Void (2023) 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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