Showing posts with label horror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horror. Show all posts

Sunday, November 23, 2025

The Krell Laboratories Podcast: The Movies and Mr. King

I had a long conversation with besties, Anna Maurya and Jenni Shwaner, about this year's crop of Stephen King adaptations, including The Monkey (2025), The Life of Chuck, The Long Walk, and The Running Man (2025). We also discuss the recent anthology of stories set in the universe of The Stand, The End of the World As We Know It. We are all long-time "constant readers," as King would have us, but we're not entirely uncritical. Join us, won't you?

Anna is also on this week's Horror 101 episode talking about Cannibal Holocaust. Like Chuck in The Life of Chuck we contain multitudes.





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Wednesday, October 15, 2025

The Pendulum Swings


“And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave.”

― Edgar Allan Poe, The Pit and the Pendulum

The last time I saw Roger Corman's version of The Pit and the Pendulum (1961) was over 16 years ago. I know this because I wrote a capsule review about it here back when I was using this blog as a notepad. It is not my favorite of the Poe films, but on re-watching it this morning I think it's the film that really nailed the Poe films in place as a cultural force. It's also a film that follows a rule of sequels insofar as its first half is exactly the plot of Corman's House of Usher, and some of the specific story beats are also identical. Corman isn't traditionally thought of as an auteur, but at least while he was making his Poe films, he totally was one. Once the film sheds House of Usher, it winds up gathering a number of other trends loose in the genre and creating a unified theory of Gothic filmmaking circa 1960. It's a hugely influential film, not least because it looks to the Italians and one-ups them at their own game. Corman even borrowed Barbara Steele to drive home the point.

Friday, October 10, 2025

Shakin' All Over

I originally saw Tremors (1990, directed by Ron Underwood) when it was in theaters and then never afterwards. I may have seen bits of it when it was on television, but I don't remember ever sitting down to watch the whole thing in the thirty-five years since. I remember renting the hell out of it when I was running a video store, which was maybe a sign that it should be in the rotation for Halloween. It was popular. It's still popular if the response to me watching it on social media is any indication. One of my friends calls it a masterpiece. Another claims that it's the anti-A24 horror movie. I can see that. The monsters in Tremors are purely the embodiment of a hostile universe, and not some metaphor for trauma or grief or whatever other literary therapy themes art horror likes to weave into their metaphors these days. Moreover, Tremors is antithetical to the middlebrow horror of our own age in which the nuclear family under threat is the ultimate horror bogey. The graboids in Tremors are none of that. They hearken to an older storytelling tradition, when our ancestors gathered around the campfire to hear stories of mighty heroes slaying monsters. Admittedly, we don't really have "mighty heroes" in this movie, but Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward as our two protagonists will do in a pinch. Tremors is old fashioned in another way, too: it's nothing but fun.

Saturday, October 04, 2025

Look Into My Eyes

H (2002, directed by Jong-Hyuk Lee) appeared right at the crest of the K-horror boom of the early aughts, so it found its way into relatively wide distribution around the world when it maybe ought to have remained a local obscurity. I mean, it's fine, I guess, but at a time when Korean films generally were carving out a reputation for impeccable film craft, it seems curiously deficient as a film narrative. It's clunky when it had the wherewithal to take advantage of a burgeoning pool of talent. Its leading actress, for example, was in the K-horror masterpiece, A Tale of Two Sisters, in the same year. That's a comparison it cannot withstand, but there are a few other touchstones before which it also shrinks in magnitude.

Friday, October 03, 2025

Waiting on the Worms

For some incomprehensible reason, my local Pride celebration was held this year on the first weekend of October. The organizers and the local LGBTQ+ community center partner with our local art house to show queer-themed films in the run-up to the event. This year's slate includes a pioneering lesbian rom com (Saving Face), a key film of the New Queer Cinema of the 1990s (My Own Private Idaho), and the recent trans horror film, T-Blockers (2023, directed by Alice Maio Mackay). This last film kills three birds with one stone for me: I get to support art made by trans people, I get to support my local art house, and I get to add it to the pile of horror movies for this year's spooky season. Of the three, the first two are more important than the last, particularly in the present political moment. T-Blockers is in a tradition of DIY filmmaking that exists at the fringes of the horror genre and on the fringes of cinema itself, a swamp previously inhabited by the likes of John Waters, Russ Meyer, Kenneth Anger, Joe Christ, Maya Deren, Ed Wood, Adam Wingard and Simon Barrett, and The Blair Witch Project. This is not a commercial cinema, though some movies and filmmakers do sometimes escape into a capitalist marketplace. There are so few resources available to filmmakers in this sector that it's a miracle anyone makes any films at all here, so it is with some admiration that I note that Alice Maio Mackay has made six films before she turned 21, all while transitioning. That she is trans is an extra pair of concrete shoes to wear during the process. Maybe things are different in Australia, but the obstacles in her path have defeated more talented directors than her. T-Blockers is a bit of a mess, but it exists outside the demands of what constitutes a well-made movie. That it exists at all is a feat of will that most filmmakers could not muster. It goes to show that if you really want to make a movie, nothing can stop you.

Nota bene: you may find this post overly political. What can I say? I am a trans person living in 2025 America writing about trans art. If you don't want the politics that entails, you might be more interested in my posts on classic Hollywood films. Or engaging somewhere else entirely.

Wednesday, August 06, 2025

Looking Back at Peeping Tom at Horror 101

I was invited to the panel at Horror 101 with Dr. AC again to talk about one of my very favorite horror movies, Michael Powell's Peeping Tom. I haven't ever written about Peeping Tom, but now I kinda want to. My friend, Lee Price, is on the panel, too, and he has written a marvelous piece about the film at Wonders in the Dark.





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Tuesday, April 29, 2025

Eye of the Beholder

The plot of The Ugly Stepsister is Cinderella as seen from the point of view of Elvira, the elder stepsister. As the film opens, Elvira's mother, Rebekka, has married Otto and moved herself and her girls into his house. At the wedding feast, however, Otto dies of apoplexy. This sends Otto's own daughter, Agnes, into a depressive spiral, and in one such mode, she tells Elvira that her father only married Rebekka for her money. "What money?" Elvira declares before storming off to tell her mother that her dead husband wasn't rich after all. The entire family is now in dire financial straits, because Rebekka is already negotiating the sale of the estate's assets to pay its debts. A glimmer of hope arrives in the form of an announcement from the palace. Prince Julian is to wed and will choose his bride from the virgins of the kingdom. Elvira adores Prince Julian. She reads his poems from a book she keeps with her all the time and aspires to marry him even before the palace announces its wedding ball. Agnes is indifferent. She's got a beau, but she's also penniless, so she plays along. Rebekka will only support Elvira's chances though, even when faced with Elvira's shortcomings. She sends her to Dr. Esthetique for a make-over--removing her braces and resculpting her nose among other things--and then packs her off to finishing lessons under the strict eye of Madame Vanya and her partner, Sophie von Kronenberg. There, she learns deportment and grace, but she's initially hopeless. She also comes into possession of the egg of a tapeworm, which she swallows in order to lose weight. The mountain seems too high to surmount, though, because Agnes is too perfect and she overhears the Prince out in the woods commenting on her appearance with the vow that he could never "fuck that!" Elvira has fortune on her side, though, and Agnes is disqualified from attending the ball when Rebekka discovers that she is not a virgin. She keeps her in the house as a scullery rather than have a scandal on the eve of the ball. She destroys Agnes's dress and leaves her at home. Agnes has help, though, when the ghost of her mother summons silkworms to weave her a new dress. At the ball, Elvira's "improvements" catch the prince's eye and he chooses her for the dance. Elvira is not well, though. The tapeworm has sapped her nutrition and there are ominous rumblings from her stomach. She holds it together long enough to see a mysterious veiled stranger enter the ballroom and sweep the prince off his feet. When the veil is momentarily lifted, only Elvira sees that it is Agnes come to thwart her. But Agnes's enchantment ends at midnight and she flees the ball, losing one of her shoes. The prince vows to marry the girl who fits the shoe. At home, Elvira wrestles the other shoe away and finds that her foot is too big for it. Drastic action is required...

A warning to the curious. I am a jaded viewer of hundreds, maybe thousands, of horror movies. There are things in this film to shock even a jaded viewer like me. The filmmakers don't pull their punches here. If you are sensitive to this...well, don't say I didn't warn you.

Monday, March 31, 2025

The Krell Laboratories Podcast: Rita (2024) and The Devil's Bath (2024)

My irregular podcast returns with conversations with friends of the blog, Kevin Matthews and Anna Maurya about two historical international horror movies from last year, Rita (2024, directed by Jayro Bustamente) and The Devil's Bath (2024, directed by Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala). Among the best horror movies of the last few years, sez I.





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Sunday, February 23, 2025

A Monkey on Your Back

"I was in New York on business about four years ago. I was walking back to my hotel after visiting my people at New American Library when I saw a guy selling wind-up monkeys on the street. There was a platoon of them standing on a gray blanket he'd spread on the sidewalk at the corner of Fifth and Forty-fourth, all grinning and bending and clapping their cymbals. They looked really scary to me, and I spent the rest of the walk back to the hotel wondering why. I decided they reminded me of the lady with the shears . . . the one who cuts everyone's thread one day. So keeping that in mind, I wrote the story, most of it longhand, in a hotel room."
--Stephen King, "Story Note on 'The Monkey,'" Skeleton Crew, 1985

The new film version of The Monkey (2025) is a bit of a departure for director Osgood Perkins. It has a grotesque sense of humor that I didn't know he had and an instinct for the grand guignol that is new to his films. Ordinarily, his films are mood pieces that trade on atmosphere and menace more than plot, but this one is a cartoon. It shares with the Stephen King story its central idea of a wind-up monkey that causes death when it's wound up to action. In the story, the monkey has a pair of cymbals. In the movie they've changed it to a drum for reasons of copyright (they did not want to run afoul of Disney and their army of lawyers). It's a minor change. It also takes from the story its central characters, two brothers who find the monkey in childhood and realize its power. Apart from that, this is a film that ranges far afield of King's story, which is nothing new to the author. "Based on" is too strong a credit for what this takes from King. "Suggested by" might have been more apt. That doesn't mean that it's bad. Just different.

Saturday, February 08, 2025

No Strings Attached

I've got no strings
So I have fun
I'm not tied up to anyone
They've got strings
But you can see
There are no strings on me!
--"I've Got No Strings,"
lyrics by Leigh Harline, Pinocchio (1940)

Note: here there be spoilers. You have been warned.

One of my favorite types of movies is the sub-genre of the crime film where a bunch of characters try to pull off something shady and everything starts to unravel once some element or other goes wrong. Bonus points if the criminals involved are all dumbasses who compound every mistake with wrong decisions. These films are often hilarious. I was not expecting such a film when I sat down for Companion (2025, directed by Drew Hancock). There's a lot of noise surrounding this film about how even its poster is a spoiler, but I caught wise to the obvious spoilers early on. Any savvy viewer will recognize this film's essential nature early on. It's a variant on The Stepford Wives. What happens when a Stepford Wife wakes up to her situation? Got it. But the crime story? Oh, THAT was a surprise. And now I'm spoiling it for you. Cheers, mate.

This is also another film about the singularity along the lines of Her or Ex Machina. Like the AI protagonists in both of those movies, this film's Iris (Sophie Thatcher) has a legitimate beef with the humans who made her. If you are interested in the philosophical dimensions of AI, you are directed to those other two films, because this one is purely pulp entertainment. What philosophy there is is entirely accidental and bound up with the sub-genre rather than with any intentionality on the part of the filmmakers. Mind you, it is in the nature of genre to unconsciously marinate in what's in the culture around it and feed that culture back in the subtext, and that's what happens here. Plus, it has the vitality of pulp fiction. It's an easy watch, which is maybe the best way to smuggle ideas to an audience.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

The Tameness of a Wolf

"He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf,
a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath."
--William Shakespeare, King Lear, Act III, Scene VI,




Leigh Whannell's new re-imagining of The Wolf Man loses the definite article at the start and a lot more besides as Wolf Man (2025), a film that has good ideas that it fails to execute to the best of its ability. It's a film that looks at the elements of the werewolf myth and ditches most of the mythology. It drops the silver bullet and the moon and the invulnerability. It keeps the transformation and the contagion at its core, though, things that could be explained away as disease.  In doing so, it discovers the kernel of a body horror movie on the Cronenberg model. It bears more than a passing resemblance to The Fly, with a salting of the generational trauma of The Brood, but with neither of those films' instinct for violating taboos. The most galling thing about it is that Whannell is certainly capable of rising to the challenge. His version of The Invisible Man can stand in the company of Cronenberg's best horror movies unashamed. But this? This is the kind of film that Blumhouse releases in January (Blumhouse is this film's production company). It's not as bad as something like Night Swim, but it's nothing you'll remember once it's out of theaters.

Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Said the Spider to the Fly...

The prologue of Sting (2024, directed by Kiah Roche-Turner) is a concise and entirely satisfying little short story in which a woman suffering from dementia hears alarming things from her air vents and calls an exterminator. When the exterminator arrives, he's pissed to discover another exterminator's truck parked in front of the woman's building. He reads the woman the riot act when she answers the door. Then he gets to work, only to discover that he's not at all prepared for what he finds in her vents. The end of the story has a wicked whip of the tale. It reminds me a bit of short stories by Robert Bloch or John Collier or Ray Bradbury, or of E. C. Comics (who tended to loot their stories from writers like Bloch or Collier or Bradbury). It's a poisoned bon bon, a cookie full of cyanide. A tasty warm-up act, if you will. The rest of Sting isn't up to the level of its prologue, alas, but the prologue provides enough good will to carry an audience through the film. Or, at least, it carried me through to the end.

Sunday, January 12, 2025

Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't

The Damned (2024, directed by Thordur Palsson) is a film that shows the widening influence of Robert Eggers on cinema. Elements of all of Eggers's films can be spotted in this film, including the visual design of his recent version of Nosferatu. This is a film that dwells in cold and shadow, making extensive use of its bleak Iceland-in-winter location. One could see Anya Taylor-Joy in the lead in this film rather than Odessa Young, but Young is fine in the part of a woman running a remote fishing station in the 19th century. The screenplay is less disciplined than Eggers, though, including an ending that leaves the audience with questions. The rest? Claustrophobic and chilly, a crucible where close company in isolation fails to prevent anyone from going mad. Superstition runs roughshod over otherwise rational people.

Thursday, January 09, 2025

Needles and Pins

The Girl with the Needle (2024, directed by Magnus von Horn) is a film so relentlessly grim that a home viewer might opt out of it before it is too far done. Indeed, the crux of its true crime origins doesn't even come into the picture until the film is half over. An interested audience should seek it out in theaters if it opens nearby, if only to concentrate their attention. I had no such luck. Given the state of the world at this moment in time, I considered whether or not I wanted to see things through to the bitter end. I stuck it out. The film has a point. It has several, in fact. It's a meditation on the precarious lot of women in societies past and present. True. And as such it is very much a film for this moment in time. It's also an interrogation into what true monstrosity entails. It could be mistaken for social realism in its early going before it veers into a full blown Gothic. But then an alert viewer may remember that it gives the audience a warning of its true intentions before the credits even appear, when it projects faces on top of faces in shifting distortions that make monsters of ordinary humans.

Monday, October 28, 2024

Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know

One of the least heralded tropes in the horror toolbox is the idea of wrong geometry, the idea that the shape of the world is just a little off. It's a trope that finds expression in that meme that presents people with obsessive compulsive disorder with an 89 degree angle. The idea of wrong geometry gets a work out in stories like The Haunting of Hill House, where walls are upright and doors are sensibly shut, or At the Mountains of Madness, where the city of the Great Race of Yith defies Euclidean notions of dimension and sanity. It's an effective trope because when it's done well, it's profoundly disorienting. Wrong geometry--specifically wrong geography--is at the heart of Lovely, Dark, and Deep (2023, directed by Teresa Sutherland), in which being lost in the woods is a gateway to more cosmic horrors.

Monday, October 21, 2024

Slouching Toward Bethlehem

I don't think more than five minutes had elapsed at the start of Immaculate (2024, directed by Michael Mohan) before I started thinking about the Magdalene laundries and residential schools. What goes on in the convent depicted in this film is not so far outside the actions of the actual Roman Catholic Church that the film can be dismissed as mere exploitation. Don't get me wrong, it IS exploitation, but that's beside the point. It has such theological and ideological axes to grind that it was bound to find Evangelical Christians and devout Catholics and right wing trolls of all sorts squawking when the film reached its end. This film hasn't got time for their bullshit. It has a particular shape of reality it wants to express and it uses bludgeons to present it. It's crude, but it's brutally effective.

Note: there are spoilers here.

Wednesday, October 16, 2024

Once Upon a Time

I did a podcast a while back discussing Kier-la Janisse's massive folk horror documentary, Woodland's Dark and Days Bewitched, in which one of the panelists (not me) suggested that the parameters of what constitutes "folk horror" might be too broad to be useful. His suggestion was that all horror is folk horror or none of it is. I've been thinking about this idea lately because there's another big folk horror box set on the horizon and because I remembered something after the podcast that's been preying on my mind. There's a section in Stephen King's Danse Macabre in which the author plays a game with the reader. He asserts that all good horror movies are folk tales of a sort or another and suggests describing the plots of well-known horror movies beginning with the classic opener: "Once upon a time." He offers twenty examples. Here's one: "Once upon a time, three babysitters went out on Halloween night. Only one of them was alive come All Saint's day." And another: "Once upon a time there were two children, very much like Hansel and Gretel, in fact, and when their father died, their mommy married a wicked man who pretended to be good. This wicked man had LOVE tattooed on the fingers of one hand and HATE tattooed on the fingers of the other." One more: "Once upon a time, there was a sad girl who picked up men in bars, because when they came home with her she didn't feel so sad. Except one night, she picked up a man wearing a mask. Underneath the mask he was the boogeyman." You get the picture. Thinking about these kinds of framings, I'm inclined to think that all horror is folk horror. It's all folklore and fairy tales. Some movies lean into that idea harder than others. Hard enough that "folk horror" seems like a subgenre when maybe it's not. But then, maybe it is.*

In any event, that big folk horror box looming on the horizon includes two films by Juraj Herz, a director probably best known for The Cremator. The one that caught my eye was the 1978 version of Beauty and the Beast (Panna a netvor, or "The Monster and the Virgin," as the copy I have translates it). This is a film I've had for a long, long time on a gray market VHS sent to me by a pen pal. It's been sitting unwatched in a drawer for decades. Its appearance on the list of films on the next edition of All the Haunts Be Ours prompted me to see if I still had it and if it was still playable. I did and it was. I was a fool to wait so long. It's good. It's very good.

Monday, October 07, 2024

Veterans of the Psychic Wars

Although The Fury (1978, directed by Brian De Palma) is the director's dumbest film--which is saying something--it has its compensations. Prime among them is the director's film sense, which is entirely separate from the story on screen. De Palma knows where to put the camera and when to move it. He uses slow motion and sound (or the lack thereof) to impart a sleek maximalist commercial veneer to the film. He also knows how to be cruel to the audience, like he's in some parasocial BDSM relationship with them. The Fury is also a mini-summary of his career at that moment. It's a psychic thriller a la Carrie, a paranoia thriller like Sisters (complete with sinister experiments at shadowy institutes), and it's a conspiracy film that anticipates Blow Out. It even has that wonky sense of absurdist anti-establishment humor from his earliest films. Then it blows it all up in one of the biggest what the fuck climaxes in film.

Friday, October 04, 2024

Just After Sunset

It never occurred to me that Jerusalem's Lot was a sundown town until two of the central characters in the story were racebent. If you don't know what a sundown town is, it's a town where it was illegal to be out on the streets after sundown if one belonged to a despised minority. This was traditionally directed at African Americans, but other not-white peoples have fallen prey to this as well. It is perhaps too much to ask that the new version of Salem's Lot (2024, directed by Gary Dauberman) actually do something with this idea. They almost get it. So close. But, alas, no. The way race is completely ignored in a film set in Maine in 1975 is conspicuous. There aren't a lot of black people in Maine. But this is off in the woods. 'Salem's Lot is a different kind of sundown town, a fact elided by Gordon Lightfoot's "Sundown" on the soundtrack. A little on the nose maybe, but not wrong.

Wednesday, October 02, 2024

The Krell Laboratories Podcast: The Substance (2024)

I'm kicking off this year's October Horror Movie Challenge with a conversation with my friend, Donna K, about The Substance (2024, directed by Coralie Fargeat).

30 films (or more) to go.

My total progress:
New to me films: 1
Total films: 1







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