(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 insurance investigator begins discovering that the impact a horror writer's books have on his fans is more than inspirational.”
 
Without a doubt, the best films from writer/director John Carpenter deal almost directly – but not exclusively – with paranoia.
 
In 1982’s The Thing – a remake of the Christian Nyby 1951 original The Thing From Another Planet – has long been considered Carpenter’s best work.  It’s a highly stylized look at how isolation and claustrophobia affect a South Pole crew of scientists cut-off from the outside world and being infiltrated by someone (or someTHING) who is most definitely not one of their own.  A few years later, 1988’s They Live ratcheted up the psychological tension even further.  When a homeless drifter discovers a pair of special sunglasses which allow him to detect subliminal messages planted everywhere, he and those around him begin to question just who is in control of society-at-large, suggesting an alien conspiracy to treat mankind like cattle.  Even the auteur’s earlier success – 1978’s Halloween – excels at showing just how the idyllic suburbs or small-town America can be turned on its head in a moment with Michael Myers delivered darks aplenty.  Evil – it would seem – could be everywhere and anywhere; and in Carpenter’s universe it’s perfectly acceptable and downright logical to keep one eye toward the present with the other one (if possible) always looking over one’s shoulder.
 
In 1994’s In The Mouth Of Madness, Carpenter directs a script from Michael De Luca, a screenwriter who transitioned out of the writing business and went on to a very storied future in the producer’s chair.  De Luca’s work previously – so far as Horror is concerned – was largely in the world of Freddy Krueger – another creation built heavily and heartily around what fear does to a fragile mind.  The budding talent put his worries and wit into scripts for Freddy’s Nightmares (1988-1989) – a somewhat lackluster TV iteration that really only used Krueger as a selling point and virtual host much in the way Rod Serling grounded The Twilight Zone – along with screenplays for Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare (1991) and The Nightmare Begins Again (1993).  Still, it’s easy to see how De Luca’s thought processes largely played into his developing In The Mouth Of Madness: indeed, there’s a dreamlike quasi-existence to everything that evolves in the 95-minute supernatural potboiler, so much so that its finale might have audiences wondering how much – if any – of what they just watched was real.
​

John Trent (played by screen veteran Sam Neill) isn’t just an insurance investigator: he’s among the very best of the trade.  On a quest to uncover right from wrong – or, better yet, reality from illusion – he’s built a career incredible at decoding charlatans who would have bilked the companies who’ve contracted him independently of untold millions; and he’ll stop at nothing to turn over every stone on the path to establish truth from fiction.  Those who hire him have come to expect only the very best, so when publishing magnate Jackson Harglow (Charlton Heston) believes his cash cow Horror author Sutter Cane (Jürgen Prochnow) may have fled the coup with his latest manuscript – In The Mouth Of Madness – in tow, the business mogul will stop at nothing to see the tome returned in kind.
 
Initially, Trent isn’t interested in the task, not seeing such a challenge as befitting his services.  Indeed, the investigator suspects that Cane’s disappearance might even be suspiciously linked to some fawning publicity campaign – one concocted by Harglow and his aide, Linda Styles (Julie Carmen), to ramp up a media frenzy in anticipation of the writer’s next release.  However, once Trent reads a few novels in an attempt to better understand the vanished author’s mind, he finds himself curiously drawn into the slowly-building mystery.  When he stumbles across the hidden truth that Cane’s oft-mentioned Hobb’s End – a quaint fictional New England town that houses a lot of the writer’s best Horrors – might actually be a real place, then he can’t help but take the job, taking Stiles with him on a road trip that just might turn out to be into oblivion.
 
A great deal of critical thought has been expended online and elsewhere about the fact that Cane – as an identity – more than casually resembles the living and breathing Stephen King, and there’s no reason to argue or even consider that De Luca or Carpenter wished otherwise for their audience.  King’s impressive career is exactly the kind of centerpiece around which a tale like Madness revolves as the script rather cleverly draws allusions to how our cultural preoccupation with being scared silly might be little more than a distraction from some deeper societal concerns.  Even though actor Prochnow looks nothing like the storyteller, I’ve no doubt that audiences of the day made the same association; and this foundation definitely serves the picture well.  Indeed, who among us couldn’t imagine an industry giant like King hiding the secret to our shared reality somewhere within his voluminous pages for only the unfortunate souls to discover?  It’s a magical association that pays off terrifically here.

Still, where I struggle with accepting Madness’ inspired premise – that reality and fiction may not be as detached from one another as we would like – lies precisely with the presentation here.  Essentially, this all boils down to a magic trick on the part of the storyteller; and – as twist endings can be as divisive as they are epiphanous – the film collapses under its own weight because all it has in that big reveal is just that … concealed trickery.  No one likes a bad magician much less one who cheats, but the film becomes a non-entity entirely once you know none of it was factual.  Sure, it might look good – arguably, it features some of Carpenter’s best cinematography – and it might sound good; but when the end leads you to believe that – ahem – none of it could possibly have happened then what did I just sit through?
 
You see, Madness is the kind of picture one can’t discuss without spoiling the finish, that being Trent comes to the fateful realization that not only is none of what he went through real, but neither is he.  How he reaches such a conclusion is interesting, and it definitely makes for great chitchat amongst watchers afterward.  But the end – regardless of the strength of the pieces – remains the same.  As it would seem, John Trent is nothing more than a character in a novel – one watched unfold onscreen instead of read off the page – and it’s this discovery that rips his world and sanity apart.  Even audiences watching closely couldn’t have possibly seen this tragic demise because it defies the logic of our seeing it with our own eyes.  Where other storytellers have done this sort of thing wherein their respective narrators are either dead, experiencing hallucinations, or losing their minds, De Luca and Carpenter fashioned theirs around the centerpiece that essentially is ‘John Trent never existed.  This is his story.’
 
I know, I know.  Trust me, I know.
 
I really can be a curmudgeon, but that’s why I’ll always point out that reserving such big twist endings is never without risk.  If viewers don’t accept the twist, then everything before it either doesn’t work or fails to resonate; and that’s probably why Madness is considered a box office failure.  Of course, I realize that the nifty little flick has over time been forgiven by so many who’ve discovered it and made it enough of a talking point to turn it into a Cult property; and yet that doesn’t remove the fact that deductively it’s a visual exercise in nothingness.  As I said, it might look pretty, and it might sound interesting … but when all there is waiting for you at the finale is an empty hole where a story should’ve been some of us will always feel cheated.
 
As for the players?
​

Well, Carmen is a wet blanket, frankly, never mustering any sense of interest or intimacy when the mood requires either.  Her character never quite has clear motivations – she’s either seriously attracted to Trent or not – but given the fact that she (like her counterpart) never really existed perhaps I’m reading far too much into this.  Heston only has a few scenes; and they work on the level they’re intended.  Prochnow has that innate gift of chewing scenery whenever asked to, and he turns in respectable work here no less.  While I’ve read a great deal of praise heaped on Neill’s shoulders at selling the whole premise, I honestly didn’t think he went far enough in the last reel.  Existential crises being what they are, there was ample room to be filled once he knows he no longer is, and I was honestly looking for something bigger than a big full-throated laughs.
 
In The Mouth Of Madness (1994) was produced by New Line Cinema and Panavision (Canada).  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, I can assure you that – wow – this film really looks fabulous in all the right places.  There are a handful of practical-effects bits – along with one CGI-style attempt – that don’t quite work, but they still feel charming enough to work.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Well, this is Arrow Films, and they rarely disappoint.  Along with the vast assortment of behind-the-scenes stuff, there are three commentary tracks – two of them feature Carpenter – but the one hosted by a couple podcasters was increasingly frustrating as neither demonstrated much knowledge of the production nor even got a few of the story’s key details correct (i.e. they kept confusing ‘insurance adjustor’ with ‘insurance investigator,’ two completely different jobs).
 
Recommended … but with minor reservations.
 
One of Carpenter’s best shot films sadly winds up to be one of his most befuddling as style trumps substance in 1994’s In The Mouth Of Madness.  Meta wasn’t barely even a thing yet when screenwriter Michael De Luca subversively propped it up on the silver screen, and perhaps the evolving identity philosophy needed a bit more time to germinate before trying to take root here.  What remains is curiously watchable regardless, though some may still take issue with the sheer psychological chaos of the closing scenes.  A big, big, big swing for the fences … but all we got was a bunt.
 
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 In The Mouth Of Madness (1994) 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
​

(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 three 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:
“Blade, now a wanted man by the FBI, must join forces with the Nightstalkers to face his most challenging enemy yet: Dracula.”
 
I’ve read that Blade 3 – aka Blade: Trinity – was a ‘troubled’ production for a good number of reasons.  Some of the behind-the-scenes activity clearly boiled over into smaller on-screen moments – what with so many character relationships being grounded on antagonism in the first place – and egos being what they are especially in Hollywood probably turned what could’ve been a no-brainer into something requiring vastly more energy.  The central truth remains that it’s a flawed conclusion to one of comic books otherwise better trilogies, and fans most definitely deserved better than this rather dour and disappointing close-out to the Daywalker saga.
 
What’s even a bit more odd to the flick’s failure is the fact that all three screenplays are attacked to the otherwise reliable David S. Goyer, the man who stepped in to helm Trinity, allegedly hoping that the elevation from screenwriter to director would do wonders for his career.  (I’ve read this agreement was already signed, sealed, and delivered prior to Blade II even hitting screens.)  Certainly, no person knew Blade any better than he did, so one would think the transition from writer to something more managerial would’ve been smooth sailing.  Alas, it wasn’t … and then some.  A great deal of the reported difficulty on-set and beyond seems to be linked directly to screen veteran Snipes – who had already established a reputation of being difficult to work with – so suffice it to say Trinity probably served as the nail in that franchise’s coffin, a somewhat death that Marvel Entertainment hasn’t been able to correct to this day.
 
In any event …
​

Times have turned tough for the Daywalker (played by Snipes) as some shadowy enterprise has convinced the Federal Bureau of Investigation to remove Blade from the vampire hunting business altogether.  A federal raid is successful in destroying the man’s compound, killing his friend and mentor Abraham Whistler (Kris Kristofferson), and delivering a fatal epiphany.  With no other choice, Blade surrenders into federal custody only to find himself broken free by the Nightstalkers, a band of hip and young hunters lead by Whistler’s daughter Abigail (Jessica Biel) and Hannibal King (Ryan Reynolds).  The group is keenly aware that an elite group of vampires have managed to find and resurrect Drake aka Dracula (Dominic Purcell) – the first vampire – in their bid to use Dracula’s DNA to purge any and weaknesses from their own systems and, thus, rule the planet in the sunlight.
 
So, narratively, Trinity certainly set the table with a pretty inviting meal.
 
Goyer’s script arguably brought the level of ambition to raise the stakes for a third showdown, expanding even upon the players in the Blade universe in creative ways.  Biel embodies the tough chip-on-her-shoulder daughter who is bent upon proving her modern ways of hunting vampires is a suitable replacement for her dead father’s, and Reynolds – seemingly stuck in his ‘Petulant Phase’ of acting – delivered some macho snark at every opportunity, perhaps robbing Snipes’ central character of his need to do so in the earlier outings.  Anyone who suggests that there’s no chemistry between the three really wasn’t paying attention – there clearly is undeniable tension, and for what it’s worth that pressure was a needed component to this triad – but I’ll concede that the script could’ve used a few ‘attaboy’ or ‘attagirl’ moments to lighten the load.
 
Where I personally thought Trinity struggled was in becoming an ensemble, one fairly evenly stacked between its good guys and bad.
 
When you morph from a mostly standalone hero franchise into a small(ish) Avengers-style line-up (which Trinity most definitely tried to do), the narrative waters naturally get a little muddied.  With more characters, there’s more backstory.  With more faces, there’s more dialogue.  With a few more places set at the proverbial table, there characteristically has to be more plot – more for these folks to do – and that isn’t handled with any deftness here.  In fact, things are resoundingly awkward at the Nightstalkers compound in that there’s all these people, and none of them really have anything to do.  Mind you, each gets an explanation; but there’s no suitable follow-up to show what special skills and abilities they bring to the table in times of crisis.  Largely, the audience is told, and we’re expected to accept it so that Blade and his two big co-stars can get back down to business.  A smarter script would’ve cut back on a few add-ons who, frankly, brought nothing but inevitable victimhood to the table.
​

Furthermore, Drake never really amounted to much of a central villain.  This omnipotent overlord had a litany of powers – i.e. invulnerability, immortality, shape-changing skills, etc. – get talked about and then given a bit of screen time only in small ways.  Because these nifty upgrades meant so much to leader Danica Talos’ agenda (Parker Posey), I expected them to get showcased more often than they did in Goyer’s script.  Instead, they were largely laid out like teases for the bloodsuckers – something to amp up their thirst for a chance to inherit them – and their impact was negligible.  It’s sad because such an assortment of clever aids could’ve truly increased the paranoia Blade and his fellow hunters might have to live with or work-around, but they’re mostly left to predictable plot twists and nothing more.
 
Of course, there are plenty of other reasons why Trinity just didn’t work, certainly not as well as the earlier installments.  The fact that the film’s big showdown feels like nothing more than a creative rehash of Blade II likely didn’t sit well with most fans; and given the reality that the film’s voiceover done by Reynolds kinda/sorta even implies structurally that it really wasn’t Blade’s story anyway I suspect those who came in expecting big things from the Daywalker were more than a bit disenfranchised.
 
Blade: Trinity (2004) was produced by New Line Cinema, Shawn Danielle Productions Ltd., Amen Ra Films, Marvel Enterprises, Peter Frankfurt Productions, and Imaginary Forces.  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 can assure you that the provided sights-and-sounds are very good: there are a few effects that don’t work as well as they could’ve, but nothing impedes the pace of the flick.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a great assortment of content – including multiple commentary tracks – so there is definitely something in here for everyone.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
Perhaps the third time isn’t always the charm as Blade: Trinity (2004) – while occasionally interesting – instead plays out in fits and starts, never quite getting anywhere near the magical fluidity of the trilogy’s first two installments.  Snipes always seems agitated, Biel seems a bit aloof, and Reynolds is constantly cracking wise.  The lack of cohesion kept me wondering just whose story is this anyway; and – come the big finish – I really didn’t give a damn to see so predictable a central baddie get summarily extinguished because such an ending was never really in doubt.  Blade deserved better – as did his fans – but this remains all they got.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary DVD of Blade: Trinity (2004) 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
​

The great challenge of independent filmmaking is to convey more while spending less.
 
Because these productions lack the backing of a major studio or a bevy of investors, they’re forced to cut corners and facilitate a bit of creativity on practically every conceivable level.  From casting choices to set decoration, these films tend to be regarded as ‘beyond frugal’ as the storytellers operate economically with every decision, packing scenes with only what is absolutely needed.  As for the stories they tell, these auteurs are truly only held back by whatever limitations they put on themselves, allowing for the freedom of movement to accomplish something vivid while maintaining the measure of creative license they believe makes them best capable to explore subjects that tickle their fancy.  It ain’t easy, but – against all odds – they make it work.
 
Of course, results vary; and it’s safe to say that they vary widely.  The truth is that not a great many of these indie flicks secure breakout success, but that’s not for a loss of trying.  In fact, more often than not these products become the darling – the ‘talk of the town’ – of the film festival circuit where hardcore aficionados, studio executives, and members of various sectors of film intelligentsia are seeking the next big thing.  Folks who gather here like a bit of the extraordinary, so it’s no wonder that 2024’s She Loved Blossoms More from writer/director Yannis Veslemes has scored points therein.  It’s exactly the kind of smallish spectacle with big ideas that earns accolades amongst such quarters.
 
Now … will it find a life beyond?
 
Erm … that’s increasingly difficult to say … almost as difficult as trying to build a time machine or cross through some interdimensional portal to bring back the dead …
 
(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:
“Three brothers build an unusual time-machine in order to bring their long-dead mother back to life.”
 
Though others might conclude otherwise, She Loved Blossoms More is a testament to grief more than it is the scientific or philosophical concepts sprinkled dubiously around its events. Three brothers – Japan (played by Julio Katsis), Dummy (Panos Papadopulos), and Hedgehog (Aris Balis) – remain holed up in the family house trying to work at constructing what at first blush might be a time machine; but as the action unfolds it becomes less definite.  Essentially, they’re hoping to somehow bring back their mother from the dead, and there is some suggestion the three of them believe that death is merely another dimension to which people and animals can come and go.  Honestly, there isn’t much science to their efforts – it’s truly all rendered more like magical Fantasy as the time machine is little more than their mother’s standing wardrobe – and, on that count, Veslemes and co-writer Dimitris Emmanouilidis could’ve used a bit more specificity.
 
In any event, they’re cataloguing failure after failure – so far, they’re greatest success is entrapping the head of a chicken in this alternate dimension while its still-living body remains in ours – and for a bit of relaxation they invite a beautiful young woman Samantha (Sandra Abuelghanam) to spend the weekend with them.  Naturally, she’s a burst of energy around these otherwise morose teenagers; and she serves as a much-needed distraction from their separate struggles with sorrow.  Eventually, she inadvertently creates a rift between two of the brothers who are both enticed by her charms; but once he realizes that she stands as an obstacle to continuing the unrequited love for his mother, Hedgehog has no choice but to use her as a subject for teleportation.  The result is Samantha’s detached head takes on a curious life of its own, babbling out incoherent poetry line after line.
​

Eventually, our budding young scientists come to believe that Sam’s soliloquies are actually fanciful directions from the other side – the dimension where dead people live on – and they’re convinced to follow that trail of breadcrumbs.  Seemingly, it does take them to a dark and foreboding existence, but it may or may not be the desired conclusion they sought as some somewhat Lovecraftian creatures are waiting for their arrival.
 
Unfortunately, that’s really all I can make of Blossoms because – much like matters of the heart – the truth is more than a bit elusive.  A lot of its imagery – while very lush, very vivid, and incredibly impressive – just doesn’t quite add up to anything greater than these individual pieces.  While Veslemes is deft at staging these vignettes of young people trying to find comfort in their lives, his tale is still a bit vague on the specifics of motivations beyond the desire to reconnect with their dead mother.  Did they think she was going to come back whole?  Were the ultimately seeking to slip back in time and change events so that she would survive the fated car crash and their father wouldn’t?  More was needed in the story department, but we’re instead offered up what could’ve been some drug-fueled imagery instead (FYI: all of these kids are users, rather heavy at that, at it shows).  My inability to separate some of reality from the hallucinations makes Blossoms a difficult prospect to grow.
 
Now, Veslemes deserves a helluva lot of praise for accomplishing as much as he did in an independent feature as was quite possible.  I’ve not investigated what this one cost, but it looks wonderful in most places (some practical effects work better than others, but such is life), and the screen talent – while not given all that much to do – seem to hit their marks respectively.  Balis and Abuelghanam are stand-out, but they’re also given the most opportunity to shine in the script as is.  Actor Dominique Pinon makes a late appearance as the distant father/investor to the boys; and his time is interesting but his intentions, too, remain a bit shadowy.  Even if greater explanation would’ve been nothing more than exposition – which most of us usually loathe – that might’ve helped here as the last scene suggests our trio of dimensional travelers achieved something … though I’m at a loss to say more for spoiling it.
 
She Loved Blossoms More (2024) was produced by Blonde Audiovisual Productions, Creative Europe Media, Ekome, Faliro House Productions, Greek Film Centre (GFC), Hellenic Broadcast Corporation (ERT), and Rumble Fish Productions.  From what I’ve read, the film will be available for streaming purchase – on a variety of platforms – on October 3, 2025.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure you that the sights and sounds are, indeed, quite interesting across this one’s 80-minute running time.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  As I viewed this one via streaming, there were no special features under consideration.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
 
What writer/director Veslemes accomplishes with She Loved Blossoms More (2024) is aesthetically deep – not unlike the work done by Guillermo del Toro in some of his earlier pictures – but it still fails to connect in the fact and figures department.  If we’re not introduced well enough to the characters to both understand and sympathize with their journeys, then the trip lacks the meaning or impact it deserves.  Visuals can only take any trip some far – drug-laced or otherwise – and context needs to be established so that there’s value beyond the trickery.  There are hints here of something grand … but come the finish the remain little more than hints.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Dark Sky Films provided me with complimentary streaming access to She Loved Blossoms More (2024) by request for the expressed purpose of completing his review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

-- EZ
​

(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 ferocious dinosaur awakened by an Arctic atomic test terrorizes the North Atlantic and, ultimately, New York City.”
 
As monster movies go – of which The Beast Of 20,000 Fathoms (1953) most certainly is – audiences have seen this type of structure before.
 
Essentially, the script – credited to Lou Morheim, Fred Freiberger, and Ray Bradbury (IMDB.com also lists a few uncredited scribes as well) – hosts a big brave event in the beginning which serves as the catalyst to set something loose upon mankind, just the kind of incident everyone will live to regret (though some don’t).  In this case, an arctic nuclear test unearths the dreaded rhedosaurus – a fictional creation – from its hibernation beneath mountains of ice and snow.  Step by step, the plot progresses, forcing the dinosaur – in pursuit of its natural habitat – to move closer and closer to mankind.  As the isolated attacks rise, it grows increasingly incumbent upon our hero – physicist Tom Nesbitt (played by Paul Hubschmid) – to not only convince the authorities that not only what he witnessed at the North Pole is real but also to prepare for it to eventually come ashore and wreak havoc on the little people.
 
By ‘little people’ I mean EVERYONE!
 
Furthermore, the narrative emotional mechanic of the traditional monster movie – which Beast assuredly follows as well – is that it could be argued that the central creature is as much a victim as are the bodies it instinctively leaves in its wake.  The rhedosaurus – much like Frankenstein, Godzilla, King Kong or Rachel Zegler’s Snow White – didn’t ask to be born.  It didn’t demand to be released into the civilized era.  It didn’t mean to perch at the top of the food chain.  Merely as a consequence of breathing, it feeds and moves around to explore its world, as does anything; so the audience – while horrified at what the rhedo accomplishes in the pursuit of a normal day – also grows a modicum of sympathy for ‘the big guy.’  After all, it isn’t the Beast’s fault that those pesky U.S. government scientists hatched a nuke at the top of the world.  It’s not the Beast’s fault that the blast served as a gloriously radioactive wake-up call.  Now that it’s up, it has to eat, doesn’t it?
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Now that it’s clear exactly what Beast is – as an enterprise unto itself – the celebrations can begin because this humble little effort from 1953 paved the way for hundreds if not thousands of imitators to follow in its era and the decades ahead.  Director Eugène Lourié hired Ray Harryhausen – a protégé of stop-motion legend Willis O’Brien who rather famously brought King Kong to the silver screen in 1933 – and, together with screenwriters, they hammered out the tale of the dinosaur’s introduction to the modern era.  Having the effects specialist collaborating so closely on the story was a stroke of genius because Harryhausen could uniquely visualize what was possible with the technology of the day, minimizing the chances for production to get bogged down shooting.  Given the fact that even Lourié had a reputation for bringing creative solutions to life affordably, Beast might be one of genre filmdom’s best and earliest examples of synthesis – the collaboration of like-minded storytellers – coming together and achieving something that revolutionized filmmaking.
 
Still, the truth is that – back in its day – Beast was a bit ignored by the industry.
 
As is often the case, some of this snub can be attributed to the fact that it isn’t a conventional Comedy or highbrow Drama, the kinds of which the Hollywood elite and its minions more readily celebrate for being centered around performers as opposed to flashy visuals.  Beast – like so many of its competitors – were considered to be ‘kiddie fare,’ something conceived and shot ‘on the cheap’ and meant to appeal to teenage ticketbuyers.  Even though color filming had been available for a generation or more, studios chose specifically to film such genre entries in black-and-white, thus minimizing their cost.  Consequently, even the better Science Fiction and Fantasy films of the day were frowned upon, often reducing them to B-Movie status even though some productions cast marquee names in big roles and employed respectable budgets.
 
While Beast was a box office hit, reportage suggests that another Science Fiction classic – George Pal’s equally influential The War Of The Worlds – received more of the glory (but not fortune as its ticket sales were less than half of Lourié’s picture).  Indeed, War received an impressive three Academy Awards nominations – Best Film Editing, Best Sound Recording, and Best Special Effects – and even managed to take home the coveted trophy for its effects work at the end of the evening.  However, I have read – to some confusion – that the Academy at the time had a specific procedure used for christening a picture with the big Effects award; and their process – for reasons I don’t understand – required them to highlight only a single film in some categories as opposed to nominating several in contention.  For these reasons, Beast was somewhat overlooked … though, in 2004, it did finally receive a bit of its due when the Hugo Awards nominated it in their ‘Retro’ category for Best Dramatic Story … which it lost out again (gasp!) to Pal’s flick.
 
Of course, none of this is to suggest that Beast is perfect.
​

A common practice of the day saw a great many cinematic efforts opening with the voice of a powerful narrator setting the stage for watchers, and Lourié did the same.  William Woodson’s authoritative tone practically demands viewers sit up and take notice of what is otherwise a dry recitation of facts already presented visually; and I can’t help but wonder is a bit more nuance – say, dropping this technique entirely and just beefing up the story with another scene or two – would have been a better choice.  It certainly would’ve separated Beast a bit more from what had already become a tiresome genre cliché, but perhaps that one change is too much to ask.
 
Additionally, Swiss-born actor Paul Hubschmid (as Paul Christian) serves as the story’s protagonist, the nuclear physicist who just happens to find himself smack dab in the middle of an unplanned return to some Jurassic dangers.  While Google.com reports that the player generally did not act/speak with an accent, his character in Beast most definitely does, so much so that one might began to wonder if producers were trying to introduce some subtext about foreigners being better at science than were Americans.  Normally, I’m not distracted by such creative choices; but perhaps that it just seems so out of place here befuddles me as to why it was pursued.
 
In particular, a good number of 50’s Sci-Fi projects incorporated a bit of romantic entanglement into the action, and Beast is no different: Nesbitt falls uncharacteristically quickly head over heels for the fetching Lee Hunter (Paula Raymond), the personal assistant to famed paleontologist Prof. Thurgood Elson (Cecil Kellaway).  Again, these relationships might not be so awful if they weren’t handled as if they were as creative afterthoughts – or a studio executive’s insistence that love stories will increase a project’s chances of getting females to the theater.  As was all too common onscreen back then, these relationship scenes are a bit leaden – perhaps even a bit forced and arguably unbelievable – but thankfully they do not figure prominently into the dinosaur action.
 
Without a doubt, Beast surpasses those few hiccups, never really allowing anything to hold back the central story once everyone knows what’s going on.  It’s an incredible efficient feature – at 80-minutes running time, it never weaves away into unnecessary sidebars or frivolity of any stripe – with the script properly teasing the rhedosaurus’ lesser appearances to set the stage for a blockbuster no-holds-barred finale.  It’s rare to see this level of expertise at work in a classic film, and the picture is a gem as a consequence of all these influences coming together so well.
 
However, there is one more message percolating in Beast’s opening moments as well as across the breadth of its bow that I think worth mentioning. 
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Even that opening narration – which I’m no fan of – underscores the fact that man – as a species – lives always at great risk.  Compared to the universe, we’re puny things.  Up against deadly diabolical that could be microscopic, we’ll fall to the ground, unable to help ourselves from toxins we don’t realize.  Be it at the uncharted path of science or the harsh, inclement cold of the North Pole or the use of weapons of mass destruction that we cannot quite fully understand, mankind can and might always be insignificant.  Indeed, once we’ve accidentally set free the genie that we can’t put back in the bottle – or a rhedosaurus? – might we inadvertently set ourselves on the path to our own extinction?  The very best of the projects from the 1950’s exposed this reality without pounding their respective drums, and Beast’s nuanced handling of that sentiment deserves its own round of applause.
 
The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953) was produced by Warner Bros., Jack Dietz Productions, and Mutual Pictures Of California.  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 can assure you that provided sights and sounds are pretty fantastic across the running time: yes, some of the effects work has aged better than others, but it’s still glorious to see what was possible with a bit of effort and some modest capital back in the day.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a few shorts related to the work of Harryhausen (mostly) along with the theatrical trailer.
 
Highest Recommendation Possible.
 
I’ll never apologize for knowing (and lavishing praise over) what I like, and The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms is a theatrical home-run, the kind that should have genre fans cheering no matter what era they claim as their own.  Part monster movie, part social commentary, and part carnival attraction, the film set in motion the ‘giant creature mania’ that studios and audiences embraced – and continue to embrace – to this day.  Rounding out the year of its release in the Top 10 highest grossing pictures, The Beast roared to the crowd’s delight.  And, the film proved that Special Effects – some truly groundbreaking stop-motion contributions from pioneering Harryhausen himself – could indeed shoulder the weight of building whole universes on film.  A rarity of sheer spectacle, this Beast is a landmark occurrence – a true first of its kind – and it most definitely deserves our attention.
 
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 Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953) – as part of their 50’s Sci-Fi 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
​

(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:
“Astronauts returning from a voyage to Mars are caught in a time warp and are propelled into a post-Apocalyptic Earth populated by mutants.”
 
Occasionally, the difficulty in assessing a film comes from the fact that some pictures – despite a good budget, a talented cast, and an interesting premise – just go nowhere.  This isn’t to say that a certain production is ill-conceived or poorly assembled because sometimes the opposite is true.  Rather, it’s merely that some tales just don’t resonate beyond their time and place, leaving audiences to enjoy what they saw but rarely return to the world created because … well … what for?
 
Such is the fate of World Without End (1956), a perfectly capable and mildly intriguing effort from writer/director Edward Bernds.  His yarn about four 1950’s era alpha males thrust via time travel into the 26th century dabbles with enough content to keep their journey thought-provoking but never quite achieves anything greater than the sum of its small parts.  While considered only a B-Movie by Hollywood standards, it does have the added plus of being shot in colorful Cinemascope; and – though no specific box office records exist – Google.com suggests its ticket sales were good enough to consider it successful.
 
But … is it remembered?  Even more important, is it worth being remembered?
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Astronauts Eldon Galbraithe (played by Nelson Leigh), John Borden (Hugh Marlowe), Herbert Ellis (Rod Taylor), and Henry ‘Hank’ Jaffe (Christopher Dark) complete their exploratory orbit of Mars, turn their ship about, and head back toward Earth.  Out of nowhere, they’re suddenly thrust forward at inconceivable speeds, the kind wherein time dilation begins to effect their journey.  Eventually, they crash land onto a habitable planet where their particular set of survival skills are clearly going to come in handy.  Abandoning their spacecraft, they head out in search of civilization.
 
After encounters with some giant carnivorous spiders and a caveman-like species bent on destroying them, our four heroes stumble upon a cave which serves as the entrance to an underground base.  As Fate would have it, they’re rescued by some elderly scientists who explain that the planet is actually what remains of Earth in the distant future after mankind collapsed in nuclear wars.  Though our people haven’t quite gone extinct, they’re relegated to living subterranean in order to avoid death at the hands of the mutant survivors roaming the world above.
 
It doesn’t take long for the men to realize that – if our species is going to endure – they’ll need to retake the surface.  As these older scientists – peaceniks who’ve sworn off weapons and defense because of how they toppled the previous age – lack the skills, cunning, and desire to save Earth from elimination, the explorers decide its incumbent upon them to lead the group into the next era.  They hatch a plan and build a weapon – a bazooka, of sorts – and head back out into the wilderness with the determination to dethrone these mutates no matter the cost.
 
To his credit, Bernds squeezes an incredible amount of plot into World’s 80-minute running time, pacing his adventure out well enough that it grows no moss.
 
What starts out looking like another routine spaceborne adventure turns a bit more thoughtful with ideas of time dilation, Cold War dynamics, and social advancement.  Once the crew returns to Earth of tomorrow, the picture maintains a steady stream of action up until the crew joins the ranks of the underground city dwellers; and then the story twists a bit more reflective as they’re forced to confront this new somewhat bastardized way of life.  Whereas they wish to kick butt, take names, rock the boat, and accomplish something, they’re surrounded by other men all sedate (to a fault) and philosophical (to an even greater fault) while the women remain curiously young, vibrant, adventurous, and attired in typical 50’s age miniskirts.  (Hubba hubba!)  The script even manages to include the classical scheming and sniveling villain named Mories (Booth Colman) who wishes to see the astronauts convicted and exiled over what amounts to their brazen display of toxic masculinity, and who says a bit of conventional melodrama ever hurt any film’s chances back in the day?
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Unfortunately, Bernds never quite gives a telling explanation as to why the two sexes of this subterranean people have fallen into somewhat dire straits.  To my recollection, there’s no accounting for why the men are all somewhat grizzled and gray, just as there’s no basic rationalization for why all of the women are glowing and – ahem – seemingly hungry for sexual conquest.  There is some brief discussion suggesting that the children produced in this current timeframe have begun to grow weak, disinterested, and dispirited with their lives and their living conditions, a sentiment that our heroes almost immediately attach to the reality of existing without processed air and available sunlight.  But the obvious visible differences between the genders really could’ve used a bit more, and the absence frustrates the overall experience.
 
Reflexively, one might conclude that as these elders had sworn off so much of what epitomized 1950’s men – namely serving as breadwinners in a world wherein Communism was on the march and vulnerability at the hands of one’s adversaries was heavily frowned upon – that perhaps they simply lost their maleness.
 
As a matter of fact, these elders blame such manliness for leading to mankind’s collapse in the first place, a curious position but one not without some likelihood.  As such, it’s quite possible that these surviving leaders actively seek no return to form.  Sitting around, wearing hats and tunics while pontificating what action might achieve consensus on all social matters is their chosen existence.  Why not?  It’s served them so well!  Of course, they can’t see how the choice has reduced them to soulless administrative bureaucrats, the kind who no longer take interest in the spirit and drive that fueled exploration, both scientific and territorial, maybe even sensual.  The only future resident who expresses a sexual appetite is Mories – he winds up almost instantly in conflict with the astronauts, eventually trying to frame them for a murder he commits – and it grows clear that he was the misnomer amongst his peers instead of the norm.  Galbraithe, Borden, Ellis, and Jaffe have the requisite machismo, enthusiasm, and blue-collar smarts to kick mankind’s evolution into the high gear; and these women – hungry for such resolve – responded accordingly.
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But as some might claim it resides in our human DNA, the hunger to improve our individual and shared circumstance inevitably rises to the surface, and that’s more than just a metaphor in World Without End.  Armed with a weapon unseen for ages and a willing female mutant guide whom Elllis has fallen head over heels for, our champions both retake and reshape society back to the way things used to be.  The former astronauts achieve the change they so desperately sought, and then – like men – they even roll up their sleeves and get about the business because they’re unwilling to let their world come to its bitter stop.  For better or worse, the past becomes present, and viewers are left to speculate whether or not it’ll all work out for the better next time ‘round.
 
World Without End (1956) was produced by Allied Artists 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 can assure you that the provided sights-and-sounds are quite good consistently across the running time, with even the practical effects work holding up reasonably well.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Alas, the disc boasts absolutely nothing but the flick itself.
 
Recommended.
 
Despite the visual promise of being captured in Cinemascope (which still looks good decades later, kids), World Without End (1956) never quite distinguishes itself from the theatrical competition of the decade and winds up having a bit too much in common with what’s already been delivered to the silver screen.  While sameness isn’t necessarily a bad thing, writer/director Bernds keeps everything moving at a brisk pace, so much so that audiences probably never noticed they’d seen this before.  A better-than-average cast still can’t do more than produce an average effort with what they were given: a perfectly adequate middling adventure that’s heavy on ideas but light on variation.
 
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 World Without End (1956) – as part of their 50’s Sci-Fi 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
​

The late Betty Friedan was an American feminist who across her lifetime both studied and wrote about issues facing women throughout the ages.
 
Though her cultural popularity truly didn’t begin until the early 1960’s with the publication of her book The Feminine Mystique, a great deal of her thought, evaluation, and research involving gender evolved over the course of the 1940’s and 1950’s as she examined issues affecting women.  It was during this time that she noticed what she called ‘the problem that has no name,’ a phenomenon impacting the fairer sex over society’s requirement that they find contentment largely as wives and mothers.  Friedan argued that this stressor led to female struggles with isolation; and women everywhere – rather than confront this cause and effect head-on – instead chose to internalize such frustrations, sometimes resulting in the development of larger psychological problems.  Such limiting expectations kept half of our society from achieving personal and professional fulfillment, and the author called upon all of mankind to essentially ‘do better.’
 
Often times, it’s this feminist backdrop that a great many critics and academics examine 1958’s Attack Of The 50 Ft Woman.
 
Directed by genre regular Nathan Juran (under the pseudonym of Nathan Hertz) from a story by Mark Hanna (who penned the script for The Amazing Colossal Man just a year earlier), Attack tells the story of Nancy Archer.  As the wealthy matriarch of a small California town, she deliberately makes her own struggles with mental and substance abuse the talk of the town as well as she draws attention to the ongoing shenanigans of her openly philanderous husband Harry.  As some insist, perhaps it’s her own frailty that serves as the catalyst for Nancy being so susceptible to the inevitable change of growing 50 foot tall and extracting personal revenge.  Perhaps it’s that female desire to break out of the preconceived molds that society has placed upon her shoulders – those that Friedan wrote about – which ultimately causes her pained, lumbering rampage in the film’s closing moments.
 
The truth here might just be that – like beauty – the message is in the eye of the beholder.  Though the lady clearly rebels against the victimhood she suffers, it’s that same rebellion which leads to her downfall.  In this story, man isn’t so much the enemy as is, say, electricity; and onlookers were likely sympathetic over dear ol’ hubby Harry’s death given the fact that his wife had grown to be a bit of a handful … a 50-foot vengeful handful, at that.  Also, the fact that all of this – the circumstances, the battle of the sexes, the alien craft, and very poor-quality special effects, etc. – were rendered in such a way to mimic ‘high camp’ kinda/sorta removes any thunderingly thematic seriousness from the equation whatsoever. 
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(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 an abused socialite grows to giant size because of an alien encounter and an aborted murder attempt, she goes after her cheating husband with revenge on her mind.”
 
The truth is that even bad films can have good ideas.  By ‘good ideas,’ no one is insisting that everyone could, would, and should agree; rather, it’s only to suggest that there might be some nugget of insight or some inspiration taken from an admittedly unimaginative story that’s still worth considering.  Often times, these shrewd ideas weren’t necessarily the invention or intention of the film’s writer or director.  Instead, they get attached by the audiences who see the picture, and they wind up championing it for what could be personal or cultural observations.
 
That – and a whole lot of unplanned comedy – is why a feature like Attack Of The 50 Ft Woman – and others like it – find life beyond the weight of the canisters that held the original print.  It transcends the mundane even though it, frankly, is probably an effort best left to some of the screen’s worst attempts.  It’s so bad it’s good.  It’s so good that it’s sometimes awful.  Men may see a testament to embodiment of female rage, seeing their worst fears brought to life on the silver screen for the first time.  Ladies may notice the subtle dangers of unchecked misogyny or even the greater dangers of a society neglecting the needs of women for far too long.  Feminists may’ve interpreted the plight of Nancy Archer (played by the luminous Allison Hayes) as a parable for empowerment.
 
Whatever the case, nothing excuses the fact that it’s a tale that’s – ahem – patently absurd.
 
After catching her husband Harry (William Hudson) making eyes at the town floozy Honey Parker (Playboy’s 1959 July Playmate of the Month Yvette Vickers), Nancy races for the safety of home only to swerve from a massive glowing orb landed in the roadway.  She gets out of the car to investigate and is suddenly manhandled by a giant alien who reaches out to her.  Terrified, she turns and runs all the way back to town where Sheriff Dubbitt (George Douglas) and Deputy Charlie (Frank Chase) – knowing she pays the tax bills on behalf of the entire county – agree to escort her home.  On the way, they give the UFO landing site and her story a cursory investigation, believing that she’s more likely ‘on the bottle’ again or suffering one of her well-documented mental breakdowns.
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When news of his wife’s otherworldly encounter reaches Harry, he and Honey realize that this might be their way to finally be together: by painting Nancy’s incident as another psychological episode, they can have to recommitted to the nearby sanitarium, leaving the lady’s $50M estate in their hands as custodians.  They’ll seize her wealth for their own purposes and disappear into the sunset to live happily ever after elsewhere.  Nancy will become a responsibility of the state, and no one will ever hear from her again.
 
Back at home, Nancy’s faithful butler Jess (Ken Terrell) begins to suspect Harry’s duplicitousness, and he repeatedly tries to rescue his benefactor for his clutches.  Not long after the unfaithful husband abandons his wife with the gigantic alien upon her second encounter, Jess joins forces with the sheriff to save Nancy; but before they can find her they’re chased off by the ship’s gargantuan pilot.  Lo and behold, the lady has returned to her house, but – infected by space radiation – she’s begun to grow beyond the conventional dimensions.  Before long, she’s a tall drink of water, indeed, and she’s intent on directing her personal animus at both Honey and Harry.  Marching into town, she rips the roof off the corner bar, kills the mistress, grabs her spouse in her clutches, and lumbers into a nearby power line which kills the pair of them with a little help from the sheriff.
 
Among the many problems plaguing Attack – far too many to mention – is the fact that on its budget of circa $86,000 there really was no capital for even modestly believable special effects.  To Juran’s credit, he capitalized on Hanna’s script by limiting the bulk of his spectacle to the final reel, making roughly the closing 10 minutes of a 66-minute feature to the money shots.  Sadly, a great deal of them end up rendering Hayes in a tall but mostly transparent state; so the end result is exceedingly underwhelming.  There are a few shots with miniatures that work a bit better; and yet it’s hard to overcome the utter schlock that services as the best the production team could afford.  It’s easy to see why so many consider the film a Camp/Cult Classic because that’s essentially what survives these decades later.
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About the best that can be said for the picture is that – while heavily flawed – it still manages to dish out performances that work only so far as the script intended.  Hayes vacillates between love, frustration, and hate reasonably well – she had truly made a mark in B-Movies already – and she makes for a compelling enough centerpiece to ground the flick when needed.  Similarly, Vickers manages to fill the shoes of a pretty yet conniving shrew who has her hooks into a man with access to money, and she’s entirely unwilling to relinquish her hold on him: he’s her ticket to a better life, and that has to count for something, especially in Smalltown Anywhere, U.S.A.  Hudson is about as slimy as slime goes, and the actor keeps audiences up-to-date on his devious intentions: just when you think he could be growing a heart, he snuffs out any chance at redemption of his own accord.
 
In fact, one might suggest that Attack flourishes in much the same way a great many Film Noirs of the era did: there’s surprisingly no admirable, relatable, or redeemable character in here anywhere.  The sheriff’s motivations are suspect – as are his deputy’s by association – and even the medical professionals called to the scene to aid Nancy in her transition from small to big don’t appear all that much interested in their patient’s true state, somehow keeping a 50-foot woman sedated and sheltered away magically in the estate’s master bedroom.  What’s a lady gotta do in this town to get a breath of fresh air?  About the closest one comes to a sense of nobility and/or responsibility is the butler Jess, but even he’s eventually shown as powerless against the other stronger males and the social structure that paints him as marginal.  Attack is surprisingly void of a protagonist; and yet there are antagonists to spare.  Curiously, that in itself is a notable accomplishment.
 
Because of when it was made and released, Attack was a modest box office hit.  The 1950’s paved the way for a good number of giant monster movies.  A good portion of the ticket buyers were allegedly moved to see it on the silver screen because of its theatrical poster: the one-sheet – rumored to be one of the most popular in all of filmdom – depicted a well-over-50-foot scantily clad Hayes wreaking havoc on some freeway overpass, clutching cars and throwing them about in heated destruction.  Mind you, none of this action was actually seen in the completed film, so chalk up a huge win for the folks in the advertising department for doing their part to generate buzz amongst the masses.  Google.com reports that the studio enjoyed a half-million dollar return on their modest investment, and there were even talks about a possible sequel.  None happened, and perhaps we’re all the better for that.
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Attack Of The 50 Ft. Woman (1958) was produced by Woolner Brothers 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 can still attest that – only a fundamental level – this might be as good as the flick has ever looked and sounded … and that isn’t exactly implying high praise.  The obvious inferiority of the special effects is only more pronounced in these sequences, so please please please go into it knowing you’re not getting filmdom’s finest moments.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a commentary track which I believe was produced for the studio’s 2022 previous release; and it’s mildly informative.
 
Alas … only Mildly Recommended … but it’s still worth the view for laughs alone!
 
In a small town, Nancy Archer was a big lady (in more ways than one), but even she eventually succumbs to the dangers of her own bloated size in Attack Of The 50 Ft. Woman.  The film remains a testament to why cult movies become cult: they’re not necessarily well made – nor compellingly told – and yet they still manage to say something strongly enough to make audiences take note despite the obvious cringe in the manner of presentation.  On so many levels, the film is plain silly; but it’s easy to contend why it’s also the kind of thing which needs to be seen to be truly believed and appreciated. 
 
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 Attack Of The 50 Ft. Woman (1958) – as part of their 50’s Sci-Fi 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
​

Believe it or not, the decade of the 1950’s has long been considered by many to be ‘the Golden Age’ of the Science Fiction film.
 
You see, audiences were really just starting to embrace stories about the atomic age, space travel, and the growing prospect of ‘life out there.’  Storytellers were not only starting the set the playing field for what was possible but also were ever so slowly pushing the boundaries of what effect science might have on our collective development.  As a consequence, filmmakers and producers were equally challenged to find cost effective ways of translating such heady concepts into something that could be captured before the lenses; and audiences – their appetite whetted to go where no man had gone before – were swept up in the process, mesmerized with visions of spaceships, aliens, giants, shrinking people, the atom, time travel, and more.  A quick search of IMDB.com indicates that more than 200 features played on movie screens over that fertile period, so it’s easy to understand why many in filmdom and academia look back on it with some fondness.
 
Of course, it should equally go without saying that not every tale was up to the task of catapulting viewers into tomorrow.  A good number of the pictures – owed to the lack of a respectable budget or even a bankable premise – never quite achieved landmark status; and, yes, there are a handful or two (or three) that should probably have been – ahem – left in the oven to cook a bit longer or thrown aside over the risk of ruining someone’s reputation.  Storytelling always comes with great risk.  Great risk raises the audience’s expectations.  Not everything imagined in a screenplay could be rendered with the 50’s state of special effects – many of which were practically invented on-the-fly as were the costumes, props, and sets – so a healthy bit of schlock made it to the marketplace, tarnishing the genre’s reputation when it was just getting started.
 
Thankfully, studios and distributors continue to release the good, the bad, and even the ugly of these adventures for modern consumers to rediscover; and that’s always a cause for celebration in this corner of the Information Superhighway.  The good people at the Warner Archive dug deep into their vault for their 50’s Sci-Fi Collection, a re-release of four features – 1953’s The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms, 1954’s Them!, 1956’s World Without End, and 1958’s Attack Of The 50 Ft. Woman – as just the latest example of keeping the past present in circulation.  As one might expect, the quality of the storytelling varies; and yet this still might serve as the best evidence for the highs and lows of SciFi and Fantasy searching to connect with viewers of the era.
 
(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 …)
 
(ADDITIONAL NOTE: In order to meet my statutory obligations to the distributor, I am penning this review a bit differently than I normally do.  Being up against a deadline, I am collecting my thoughts on the set here; in the days ahead, I’ll update this post with links to full reviews on each feature.  Keep your eyes peeled, readers!)
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Attack Of The 50 Ft. Woman (1958)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“When an abused socialite grows to giant size because of an alien encounter and an aborted murder attempt, she goes after her cheating husband with revenge on her mind.”
 
Undoubtedly, Attack is the kind of film that exemplifies what can happen when the production mechanics just can’t match the intensity of the premise.  The special effects used throughout the picture – from a mysterious fallen spacecraft to the 50-foot woman herself – benefit only from being consistently bad; and that’s honestly being kind on my part.  The central problem is that producers were only able to render such giantism with a pervasive transparent quality – viewers can, literally, see through them on the film – and this negates any sense of realism whatsoever.  The result is a B-Movie that shows its B-Movie budget, so this is a hard one to watch except for the obvious laugh factor.
 
The matriarch of a small desert town, Nancy Archer has apparently been under heavy emotional strain for some time now.  Certainly, it doesn’t help matters that her philandering hubby Harry seeks to have to recommitted so that he can not only seize her fortune but also run-off with his newest gal pal; and Attack really never separates its Science Fiction from the silliness of its core melodrama.  At best, a case could be made that the lady’s eventual unanticipated growth – space radiation being the guilty culprit this time and not our own primitive knowledge – could be an allegory for her attempt to finally be heard, to finally be seen as women of the era were struggling with identity issues.  Given the fact that her eventual struggle is delivered so ridiculously (the giant hand prop looks like a middle school paper mâché project), I’m guessing Attack was never cited as an inspiration for any iteration of the Women’s Movement.
 
Plenty has been written about the fact that Attack continues to have a long and healthy life among those who worship cult films, and that isn’t hard to accept.  From the inanity of its mechanics to its downright stultifyingly performances across the board, the film easily gets classified as ‘high camp’ more often than it does SciFi or Fantasy.  On that front, Attack is probably worth a second look, one that I’ll just remain thankful that – as a whole – it clocks in at a palatable 65 minutes.  Be thankful for small favors.
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For the full review of the film, click here.

The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A ferocious dinosaur awakened by an Arctic atomic test terrorizes the North Atlantic and, ultimately, New York City.”
 
In 1993, audiences were thrilled beyond belief when director Steven Spielberg joined forces with author Michael Crichton to show people that dinosaurs weren’t only necessarily a thing just of the past.  The result?  Jurassic Park ignited a frenzy at the box office, launching a franchise that endure at the cineplex over three decades later; and the flick spurred an effects revolution that made this prehistoric critters the stuff of legend once more even on the small screen.  As usually happens in this case, knockoffs continue to deliver some Jurassic goodness probably once or twice a year around the world; and a whole new generation of children were brought up believing that extinction may not be our collective end.
 
Fundamentally, 1953’s The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms accomplished what Spielberg and Crichton did four decades earlier.  Special effects pioneer Ray Harryhausen unleashed the seminal ‘Beast’ – the Rhedosaurus – on watchers, and it was their worldwide interest that sent ticket sales selling to the total of over $5M globally.  While some suggest that Beast’s story is striking similar to the Crichton book, many others more rightly point out that its much closer in tone, theme, and pace to 1954’s Godzilla, a feature production that wouldn’t hit screens until the next year.
 
Though I’m not as big a fan of the film as are a great many others, I’ll still attest that the single greatest reason to see it is for Harryhausen’s work.  His stop-motion effects would essentially set imaginations alive, and its this technology that most credit as launching the ‘giant’ monster movie’ as its own sub-genre.  A great deal of its DNA continues to proliferate imitators everywhere, but this is where the mighty behemoths first truly got their due in theaters.  Harryhausen – as the central magician – continued spreading his legacy across other flicks – several I honestly enjoy a bit more – but this is really where the future began so far as lumbering atomic creatures will tell you … if they could speak.
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For a full review of the film, please click here.

Them! (1954)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“The earliest atomic tests in New Mexico cause common ants to mutate into giant man-eating monsters that threaten civilization.”
Hands down, Them! is the highwater mark for this set.  The film has long been celebrated by fans, and there are a good number of filmmakers who’ve sounded off on the greatness of the project.  While some of the practical effects may not hold up as well, Them! still demonstrates what was possible at the time, and it remains not only one of the earliest attempts at the ‘Giant Bug’ sub-genre of SciFi and Fantasy but also continues to be one of the best.  Additionally, it’s one of my very own favorites.
 
Something is amiss in the great state of New Mexico when local authorities stumble across a little girl wandering on the edge of the desert.  Lo and behold, her family’s travel trailer is located not far away, and the unit has been destroyed.  It doesn’t take long before federal authorities become involved, with the specialists acting on a theory that the little Ellinson girl might have been traumatized by some native species which may’ve been substantially altered by the nearby atomic bomb tests in Alamogordo.  Before they know it, everyone comes face-to-face with these massive overgrown ants who have adapted to a diet of human flesh!
 
What makes Them! noteworthy is the fact that – like the best Science Fiction does – it makes its concept relatable to audiences on every level.  Which among us wouldn’t be troubled over the sight of giant insects?  Who out there in the audience wouldn’t run for his life to escape such a menace?  What are we collectively to do should our evolving science produce something that could – if left unchecked – take us to the brink of extinction?  As any dinosaur enthusiast can attest, we were built as a species to stand alongside such gargantuan predators; and Them! cleverly positions how we might culturally be doing something today which could lead to our destruction tomorrow.
 
It’s a cautionary tale, one woven with impressive effects and captivating visuals; and, yes, it definitely still holds up well today.
​

World Without End (1956)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Astronauts returning from a voyage to Mars are caught in a time warp and are propelled into a post-Apocalyptic Earth populated by mutants.”
 
In plain and impartial language, World Without End is exactly the kind of middle-of-the-road production that the vast majority of projects of the era assemble: it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t awful, either.  In hopes of finding the broadest appeal possible, writer/director Edward Bernds through a great many ideas into the script.  Space exploration, time dilation, the dangers of nuclear proliferation, sociology, colonization, evolution, anthropology, and even the traditional good versus evil figure into the procedure at various points.  In fact, there’s so much going on thematically when less would probably have made for a finer effort: I’ve read that it wasn’t a big box office success but only distinguished itself from the competition well enough to also be considered a solid B-Movie.
 
On return of their scouting mission of the planet Mars, the crew of the XRM are suddenly catapulted by accident at previously unheard-of speed back toward Earth.  Arriving home several centuries later due to the effects of time dilation, they find that our species had explored itself through nuclear war.  Eventually, these former astronauts uncover that pockets of survivors remain in struggle with one another – a primitive group along with some peaceniks living underground – and the ongoing battle has kept the world-at-large from recovering.  Naturally, these four alpha males come up with a plan to return civilized man to the top of the food chain, even if that means going at it all on their own.
 
Filmed in Cinemascope (an anamorphic widescreen format invented in 1953), World benefits greatly in this collection by seriously looking and sounding really, really, really terrific.  While the exterior shoots were relatively predictable, the interiors of the space capsule and the subterranean compound housing the surviving scientists are a delight to the aesthetics of what early Science Fiction films and shows (like the inevitable Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea, Lost In Space, and Star Trek) would grow into.  Arguably, a case could be made that World’s early influence was probably greater than has been studied (as I’ve watched much from the 60’s that looks markedly similar); and maybe someday a scholar will brush off some old texts and give this nifty little film the comparison its owed.

For a full review of the film, please click here.
​

Recommended.
 
In all honesty, the 50’s Sci-Fi Collection (2025) should be celebrated by the genre’s most ardent fans as these films fairly aptly demonstrate the challenges presented to studios at the dawn of the Golden Age.  From resurrecting subterranean creatures of another time to the clear and present danger the emerging Atomic Age presented to mankind, these flicks let it all hang out, never thinking twice about what some internet knucklehead decades later might make of them but instead dishing out fantastical visions of some extraordinary circumstances.  Flaws be damned, these original stories still resonate because each and every one of them here have been tried again and again and again.  That fact alone suggests that these pioneers rightfully earned a place in film history even if what they produced might also be worth a chuckle by comparison to what reaches screens big and small today.
 
Suck it, haters, and travel back to where these things were done first.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray set of 50’s Sci-Fi 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
​

​(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 lonely teen discovers her family's ties to witchcraft.”
 
To Hellbender’s credit, the film both is and isn’t a story about witchcraft; and that alone might be one of the best reasons to check out this interesting ‘variation on a theme’ from writers, directors, and actors John Adams, Zelda Adams, and Toby Poser.
 
Granted, there’s a great deal of spectral energy implied in the vast majority of the motion picture.  Both mother (played by Poser) and daughter Izzy (Zelda Adams) are dabbling heavily in the dark arts.  Both ladies appear to possess a unique command over this small, backwoods corner of the universe.  Both demonstrate the ability to conjure up abilities far beyond those of mortal men and women.  But the script adds another layer – a genetic one – which suggests they’re also descendants of a different breed of human being – a ‘Hellbender’ – and its this substance that gives their shared story something more to think about that just spells, incantations, cauldron boiling, and like-minded chicanery.  They might just be something audiences never thought possible.
 
Even as an independent feature – a quick Google.com search will tell you that the flick was shot for less than $2.00 – Hellbender has an impressive denseness to it.  Conceived and shot during the height of the dreaded COVID Era, the picture capitalizes on an impressive use of space – the screen talent rarely appear together in the same frame, but you likely won’t notice – so much so that the vastness of some simple imagery creates its own identity.  In creative ways, the directors almost dare viewers to look away or find something more impactful than the elegance of these small moments captured in time, whether its off-the-beaten-path, inside a quaint farmhouse, or slathered in blackness with faces lit by little more than candlelight.  It’s the kind of aesthetic some cinematographers would kill for, and that’s astonishing to believe it was truly captured ‘on the fly.’
​
Now, none of that praise removes the fact that Hellbender has some serious hurdles even accomplishing what it does with bare bones efficiency.
​

The directors indulge themselves with far too many supernatural montages – both the mother and the daughter use such ghostly trickery to monitor one another (and, it would appear, the world-at-large) – and all of that business grows a bit tiresome from its overuse.  Also, not all of their supernatural gifts and even their family history are explained cogently enough to avoid some narrative pitfalls.  (Where exactly does this mythology begin?  Why are mother and daughter so heavily invested in their music?   Why hasn’t Izzy even remotely wondered before if her mother was deceiving her?)  The pervasive vagueness might tickle some in the audience, but I’m always of the mindset that knowing more helps to enhance the resulting atmosphere: knowing less is almost always a liability.
 
Thankfully, the cast is small – nepotism rules! (I kid, I kid) – and not a great deal of range is required of anyone.  Poser is a bit bland in the first half, mostly making great use of her stated good intentions to keep her daughter safe if not somewhat dumb about the true nature of their shared heritage; but she gets better in the second half when she’s given vastly more to both process and respond to.  Some might even begin to suspect her motivations all along were a bit more nefariousness until she’s finds herself cornered by the huge error of her ways; whether she’s owed sympathy or crucifixion could be a great talking point for those mulling over what to make of her dire circumstances.  Zelda Adams is quite good consistently as she handles both her character’s naivety and her slowly emerging self-awareness in just the way a young skull full of mush might.  There’s a bit of clunkiness around her loss of innocence – the screaming bits were a bit too theatrical – but there’s no denying the delight of her epiphany in learning she’s a veritable monster-in-waiting.  If her destiny is truly right around the corner, then Izzy might just be owed a screen follow-up that’s hinted at in the closing scene.
 
In some ways, Hellbender feels like it could’ve been a vastly shorter film, and – who knows? – perhaps it began life in that way.  It ends up being spread out over more time than was possibly necessary, but an argument could also be made that telling this story any other way might’ve required a bigger budget and a fuller cast … two elements which would’ve produced a vastly different experience.  Still, bits and pieces throughout feel like they were created more to expand only on visual ideas instead of organically serving its sharp mother/daughter plotline; as such, some montage vignettes play out more like afterthoughts by editor (John) Adams instead of deliberate planning by him and his cowriters.  Director David Lynch rather famously bogged down the action of his TV universe of Twin Peaks doing much of the same; what he found stylistically communicative audiences deemed confusing if not occasionally outright distracting.  This is not to say Hellbender isn’t pretty – it sometimes looks like a million bucks – but rather there’s a bit of random excess that could be trimmed.
​

Hellbender (2021) was produced by Wonder Wheel Productions.  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, I can still contend that the film both looks and sounds impressive from start-to-finish: there were a few sequences wherein audio sounded a bit muddled – miking issues? – but nothing distracted from the resulting wizardry in any substantial way.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  This is Arrow, and they never disappoint.  There’s a good handful of associated fare – music videos, a visual essay, behind-the-scenes, trailers, etc. – but the best is probably the family’s commentary track.  It’s wonderfully lively: though it may not reveal the kind of filmmaking mechanics other tracks I’ve listened to have, it was still rather wholesome being given a backstage pass by the band itself.  Very fun.
 
(Also: Arrow’s promotional materials indicate that the purchase includes a collector’s booklet.  As I’m only provided an industry copy of the disc itself, I cannot speak to the quality or efficacy of those materials.  In those cases, I always caution “Buyer beware.”)
 
Recommended.
 
Hellbender (2021) likely won’t fit everyone’s definition of Horror and/or Folk Horror – as it’s categorized on IMDB.com – but rest assured it heavily dabbles in both maybe even to the point of absurdity.  (Realistically, how long can a human being exist on eating just twigs and berries?)  Setting aside those distractions, the film delivers a very solid foundation around which sequels and/or prequels could follow; but future installments might benefit commercially by dialing back some of the pretentious arthouse tendencies of splashy inserts (with questionable meaning) and greater focus on specificity.  While fans are forgiving of things like narrative bloat and highbrow visuals, they still prefer knowing exactly what’s going on when, where, and why.  Such peculiarities might make Hellbender different, but that doesn’t necessarily make it better.
 
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 Hellbender (2021) 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
​

Having grown up a fan of the hard-boiled dime-store novel, I take every opportunity I can to submerge myself in such literary and theatrical goodness whenever I can find it.
 
The truth is that my own admitted bias to loving those universes where ‘crime doesn’t pay’ and vengeance is quick and often time dispensed from the end of a pistol can often get in the way of being critical of such projects.  Despite there existing a great many examples of detective fiction from the past, most of what authors, producers, and screenwriters attempt today winds up being little more than watered down slop, reinterpretations of so many vastly superior webs spun before.  Though I appreciate the influence of such landmark novels and films might have on modern storytellers, I’d rather have them try to do something bold, new, and innovative with such archetypes instead of just putting their own spin on an established yarn.  Otherwise, why really make the effort?  Flattery is cheap, after all, and the dark and lonely streets are long and wide enough to allow for something fresh, aren’t they?
 
At first blush, 1991’s Cast A Deadly Spell appears to be little more than a clone of 1941’s The Maltese Falcon, arguably one of the greatest detective films and itself a remake of the 1931 original.  From the novel by Dashiell Hammett adapted and directed by John Huston, 1941’s Falcon told the story of private eye Sam Spade (played by Humphrey Bogart) investigating the death of his partner tied directly to a scheming but lovely femme fatale and her quest to obtain a rare statue of unimaginable wealth.  Essentially, if you replace Spade with H.P. Lovecraft, keep the partner alive but fashion a kinda/sorta ‘dead to me’ paradigm, and swap out the delicious sculpture for the dreaded Necronomicon (the Book of the Dead), then you have a respectably similar story, all the way down to Spade/Lovecraft allowing the love of their lives to take the fall because – well – that’s just the way things go.
 
(For those of you who don’t know it, the real H.P. Lovecraft was a celebrated writer who dabbled in Horror, Science Fiction, and Fantasy in rather cosmic ways that are still celebrated by filmmakers today.  It definitely heightens one’s appreciation of this film knowing that – along with a fair amount of the author’s big influences – and I strongly encourage readers to head on over to Wikipedia.org for a quick education.  Don’t worry: my review will still be here when you get back.)
 
However, what makes these films fundamentally different is that the devil is always in the details, and – in Spell’s reality – magic exists alongside the book … and there are a whole lot of everyday users.
 
(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:
“In a fantastical 40's where magic is used by everyone, a hard-boiled detective investigates the theft of a mystical tome.”
 
The adventures and (sometimes) misadventures of private detectives has always been a winning prospect with audiences.  Though there are dozens of reasons why this is the case, a few of the most prominent ones are the fact that (1) everyone love a good puzzle to solve, (2) viewers are challenged to match their own skills to a leading protagonist, and (3) the prevailing pursuit justice – whether by hook, by book, or by crook – fascinates those of us who still appreciate a world where right and wrong come into conflict.  We’re all drawn to the imperfect hero – the white knight who wants to achieve a measure of proper closure – so the mission to both uncover the guilty party and see righteousness in whatever form it takes win the day remains one of the best forms of entertainment.
 
1991’s Cast A Deadly Spell ups the ante by setting its world-weary shamus – Harry Phillip Lovecraft (Fred Ward) – in an alternate universe where magic is very real and practiced by the good, bad, and ugly every day.  The vast majority of how that’s depicted in the 90+-minute flick is routine – waiters levitating drinks to be poured, secretaries opening filing cabinets and retrieving folders with telekinesis, smokers conjuring flames off their fingertips to light cigarettes, etc. – and this is how screenwriter Joseph Dougherty conceptualized the extraordinary coexisting with the ordinary.  Because its practice had grown so mainstream, the mere sight of something out of the ordinary – by all accounts – grew unexceptional.  This wouldn’t necessarily make it less special, but viewers might have to watch a bit more closely to see and appreciate its effects.
 
Complicating things a bit, Dougherty also opted to include what some might consider elements a bit tangential to magic.  For example, vampires exist in Spell, though there’s no patently logical reason I can fathom as to what makes them simpatico with wizardry.  Furthermore, werewolves exist, and all I can say about that is that because werewolves at one time evolved kinda/sorta from a blood curse so maybe their involvement makes a bit more sense.  Still, living entities like zombies and/or gargoyles and/or gremlins and/or unicorns also figure into the procedural in big and small ways; and – once more – I struggle to see just how their participation makes narrative sense other than the fact that, well, Dougherty wanted them there.
 
The observation isn’t meant as criticism because the way the script works structurally is to throw all of these various ingredients into the visual stew to demonstrate that our hero – Lovecraft – neither has use for them much less notices their effectiveness to any measurable degree.  They are simply there: casual things sharing space in the same big city as obstacles needing to be overcome only when he’s on-the-job.  His only routine exposure to them is when his underpaid but overprotective landlord – Hypolite Kropotkin (Arnetia Walker) – relies on them in countless ways and tries to invoke their spectral potential, making Lovecraft and her various interactions the kinda/sorta wry comic interplay that’s part of the backbone to the classic private eye story.  Someone is always fondly keeping an eye out for him, and she definitely serves in that role, even up to the point of slapping a self-locking protective gauntlet on his forearm in the lead-up to the film’s big showdown.  While it isn’t shown to produce any positive effect, Lovecraft still survives, so perhaps all of us – the detective included – should be thankful for small favors.
​

To Ward’s credit, the actor is about as close to recapturing the screen magic of the late Bogart as I’ve ever seen, and it is a feat worth watching.  From his somewhat deadpan delivery to his cynical observations of the world and those around him, Ward classically draws on what’s been done before in this sub-genre – the detective story – and gives it a modest layer of polish required for the resident mysticism.  Though his spoken cadence never quite matches what and how Bogey did, it’s close enough for anyone watching to know that’s most likely what everyone involved intended.  Awarding-winning director Martin Campbell probably had a field day bringing these scenes to life and keeping everything in orbit of Ward’s genius portrayal here, and who could blame him?  Audiences don’t get that level of virtuoso every day, especially in a genre project.
 
Furthermore, Spell’s supporting cast is a handful of familiar faces who manage to flesh out this curious time and place to great effect.  The irreplaceable David Warner stars as Amos Hackshaw, a local political patriarch from which the coveted Necronomicon has been stolen; and he’s up against a hard ethereal deadline with which he needs to book returned.  His daughter – the virginal Olivia Hackshaw (Alexandra Powers) – is the kind of leading lady who’ll stop at nothing to corner the market on the male gaze; and even she will stop at nothing to get a rise out of Lovecraft if he’ll notice her.  Harry Bordon (Clancy Brown) is the shamus’ former partner, a decorated policeman who left the force once he realized the grass was greener once fertilized with magic.  And his chief henchman Tugwell (Raymond O’Connor) manages to ooze just enough Peter Lorre intensity – without the predictable lilting vocals – to make him an obvious stooge whose last day is just over the horizon.
 
So far as I’m concerned, the weak link in all of this is a young Julianne Moore.
 
In the guise of torch singer Connie Stone, she’s the “one that got away” from Lovecraft but never quite demonstrates why he’d fallen head-over-heels for her in the first place.  Stoic and often unmoving, her performance lacks even the smallest spark of life beyond the script page.  The actress breathily croons out one number after another at the marquee act at The Dunwich Room (another Lovecraft reference) and eventually makes pitiful goo goo eyes again at her former lover; but anyone who knows anything about detectives and their past loves probably suspect there could be ulterior motives to such attention.  Even that subtext – a trope common to these films – is missing, and that hurts.  Unfortunately, this was one of the actress’ earliest roles, and it shows: she brings no measure of inflection or emotion to even what was supposed to be sensually steamy, and her leaden presence kills damn near every scene she’s in.  If she’s supposed to be Spell’s narrative counterweight to Falcon’s Brigid O’Shaughnessy (Mary Astor), then she fails miserably, barely evoking anything greater than a mere line reading at worst.  What she accomplishes is more akin to Lauren Bacall’s Vivian Rutledge in 1946’s The Big Sleep – another great Bogart film – and, for the record, I didn’t like it there, either.
 
My chief complaint with all of Spell – which is a very, very, very good film – is that, sadly, it never really does anything with its central conceit, that being all of the action is set in a world wherein not only magic but a whole lotta other love exists. 
​

Basically, everything else otherworldly, spiritual, and/or otherworldly – with one single exception – could be removed from the film, and nothing would be lost or gained: the whole idea of the Necronomicon and the baddies associated with it would have to remain – there would be no story otherwise – but literally everything else could be jettisoned because it serves as little more than screen filler.  Sure, minor tweaks would have to occur – the bit with the runes, the schtick with the gargoyle, the slapstick with the gremlins, etc. – but the core story could remain.  With all that’s been said and/or written about this telefilm, I went in expecting a lot more: while not disappointed – it’s heart, soul, and aesthetic are definitely in the right place – I still came away with the overwhelming sense of “Is that all there is?”
 
To the film’s credit, Spell did garner a bit of extra attention after its initial airing on HBO that deserves mention.
 
Composer Curt Sobel and songwriter Dennis Spiegel took home top honors from the 1992 Primetime Emmys in the category of ‘Outstanding Individual Achievement In Music And Lyrics’ for their tune “Why Do I Lie?”  Also, the production itself received another Emmys’ nomination in the category of ‘Outstanding Individual Achievement In Sound Editing For A Miniseries Of Special.’  Even more flattering (in my opinion) is the fact that the 1992 Saturn Awards nominated the telefilm in the category of ‘Best Genre Television Series’ because of its quality despite the fact that it wasn’t a series (though it did have a sequel a few years later).  While I don’t always agree with awards or the way they can be dished out in undeserving ways, I still concede that often times such institutions do ‘get it right,’ and I think the high quality of Spell should be uncontested by any who discover its charms.
 
Cast A Deadly Spell (1991) was produced by Home Box Office (HBO) and Pacific Western.  A quick Google.com search shows that it’s presently available for streaming on a variety of platforms.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I can still assure readers that most of Spell looks and sounds exceptional: this being 1991, the effects work is obviously dated, but the practical (in camera) and make-up work is probably the best that was being done in its era.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  Alas, I viewed this one via streaming, so there were no special features under consideration.
 
Recommended.
 
While Cast A Deadly Spell didn’t win me over the way it has so many, it’s still a wonderful little picture that deserves the cult(ish) audiences who’ve discovered and continued championing its goodness over the decades.  The cast is (mostly) solid – though a few feel shoehorned into somewhat underwritten roles – and the whole milieu proves that there’s always life (and death) in the business of private investigations.  If anything, the underuse of its magic, its creatures, and the whole pagan shebang frustrated me to no one; and if some enterprising young producer decides to dust this one off and give it new life then I’ll hold out hope such oversight can get corrected with more than a few abracadabras!
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that I’m beholden to no one for this review of Cast A Deadly Spell (1991) as I viewed it via my own subscription to HBO Max.

-- EZ
​

Folks, I've just noticed that word has reached the World Wide Web regarding the passage of actress Paula Shaw.  Hers isn't exactly a name many might recognize -- her genre credentials are a collection of some small roles -- so I'm going to copy-and-paste the information provided on her corresponding Daily Citation Page (July 17th) for those interested:

When two of the biggest Horror icons of their day came on the silver screen in 2003's Freddy Vs Jason, Paula Shaw joined the proceedings in the role of Jason's mother.  Other genre appearances include work aboard such properties as Communion (1989), M.A.N.T.I.S., The X-Files, The Outer Limits, The New Addams Family, So Weird, The Twilight Zone, Chupacabra Terror (2005), Killer Bash (2005), R.L. Stine's The Haunting Hour, Supernatural, iZombie, Van Helsing, Android Employed, and Day Of The Dead.  Though she's no longer with us, Shaw was born on this day in 1941.

Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Ms. Shaw.

May she rest in peace.

​-- EZ