I’d like to be able to tell you that TERRIFIER 3 is not quite my cup of tea but then I went and slurped that putrid cup of tea down and thoroughly enjoyed it so I can’t. I respected the first two gore-happy TERRIFIER flicks that featured Art the clown (portrayed by David Howard Thornton whose hell-mime performance is beyond reproach) as decent enough edgy diversions (so too writer/director Damien Leone’s anthology debut ALL HOLLOWS EVE (2013) in which Art is portrayed by Mike Giannelli) but this new, more potent outing gave me something that I won’t forget too soon. Part of the reason it clobbered me so is because it’s mostly set on Christmas (I’m an Xmas horror fanatic) but the main weight of its body slam on me was due to the fact that I saw it in a packed theater and the audience’s excited, nearly giddy trepidation was palpable. Well, it turned out Leone’s sicko manifesto made me feel unsafe and challenged for its entire runtime which brought me fondly back to my earliest days of watching forbidden horror on VHS and sneaking into theaters as a kid to behold repulsions I wasn’t sure I could endure. BTW, I was kinda mortified (though not too surprised) that a couple brought their children with them to this unrated yuletide bloodbath. The oldest child couldn’t have been more than ten! I thought I was surely privy to a ground zero kindertrauma event and that the kids would drop like flies fleeing to the nearest exit (I at that age surely would have, I barely made it through JAWS) but when this cinematic onslaught of entrails completed, the entire family (and their last name wasn’t ADAMS) stood up and clapped while laughing maniacally. It was both a relief and more than a little bit disturbing.

If TERRIFIER 3 had only physical violence to offer I probably wouldn’t have been that effected (this was illustrated to me by the fact that I was more distraught about a rat being injured than any human (you know how I roll)). Beyond the wince inducing physical mayhem, Leone conjures an astonishing thick brew of truly malevolent deranged delirium (and it’s all deliciously dunked in clashing grainy and sparkling hues reminiscent of CHRISTMAS EVIL (’80) and SILENT NIGHT DEADLY NIGHT (’84)). I was honestly more taken aback and unnerved on a bad mojo level by Art’s corpse-y female cohort’s lipless grimace and the absolutely gruesome dilapidated home the rotting duo hibernate in than almost anything else. A tone is set early on (strangely enough by Art’s squirming about on its on accord, decapitated head) that exactly zero rules apply and the game board could be mercilessly knocked off the table and stomped on (like a poor rat) at any time. It really feels like a no holds barred, punk as hell, assault on normalcy in general that is bizarrely equally as liberating as it is psychologically assaulting (it’s probably for the best that poor misguided (but well-meaning) Siskel and Ebert did not live to see this day but it’s fun to imagine their jaws dropping through the cloud floor of heaven anyway). Will I ever watch this demented chaos grenade again? At first I thought definitely not, but then I remembered those seedy, unflinching mad dog dives into depravity from my youth (looking mostly at you MANIAC (’80), NIGHTMARE (’81) (which this film especially mirrors in its mad eeriness) and PIECES (’82)) that over the years morphed into adorable naughty puppies in my mind and then I wasn't so sure (who am I kidding? I’ll probably watch it every Christmas but sadly alone because there’s no way Aunt John could ever withstand it; dude tapped out of TURISTAS ('06)). I’m not saying this is the finest of film-making (Even at two hours, it still cheats a shortcut to its climax) but its pure audacity, refreshing transgressive nature and clear love of its intended audience shine brightly. One thing is for sure, like it or not, Art the clown is here to stay. Hey, every generation deserves its own horror icons and if earlier generations find them appalling, amoral or in just plain bad taste, well, that’s all the better!

Natalie Erika James (who delivered 2020’s impressively depressing RELIC)’s recent ROSEMARY’S BABY prequel APARTMENT 7A is commendably detailed and admirably respectful of its source material yet it lacks any punchy impact and for every fine, nuanced acting performance there’s a regrettably awkward dance number. As a huge fan of Ira Levin’s novel and Roman Polanski’s film adaptation, I have to admit it kept me reasonably entertained by stuffing me to the gills with fan pandering Easter eggs throughout but unfortunately its inability to bring anything new to the table ultimately makes it hit more like an aperitif than a satisfying meal. An unrecognizable Julia Garner (WE ARE WHAT WE ARE, THE LAST EXORCISM PART II) is Terry Gionoffrio a would be Broadway star who falls victim to the same Satanic cult that would soon torment Rosemary Woodhouse in the classic tale (this minor character appears briefly in both the OG book and film, she’s the gal who Rosemary meets in the laundry room who eventually jumps to her death out of a window of the Bramford building (portrayed by the legendary Dakota) and inadvertently introduces Rosemary to the adorable yet diabolical Castevets. Frankly, the character doesn’t quite sync up with her previous incarnation but I’m willing to blame her tannis root necklace for any inconsistencies).

Something tells me I might be a little more generous with this harmless companion piece (It’s certainly less egregious than say, the 1976 made for TV sequel LOOK WHAT’S HAPPENED TO ROSEMARY’S BABY, Ira Levin’s own wanting literary follow-up SON OF ROSEMARY and the convoluted rehash miniseries from 2014 starring Zoe Saldana) if only earlier this year we hadn’t been gifted the remarkable on every level prequel THE FIRST OMEN. As it stands, I’m going to give this one a pass for housing the great Dianne Wiest’s interpretation of Minnie Castevets as it’s worth the price of admission alone (Kevn McNally as Roman is no slouch either). I wish this seemingly sincere attempt had the capacity/audacity to knock it out of the park, it almost seemed like it might for a while, but I left it feeling like the highest point of excitement it delivered for yours truly Involved the late in the game appearance of the same painting of a burning church that ominously hung in the Castevet’s apartment in the original. Sure it had me excitedly pointing at the TV but I’m thinking in retrospect that I deserved richer revelations.

As much as I worship Tobe Hooper’s vividly traumatizing 1979 miniseries based on Stephen KIng’s Classic (and my personal favorite) novel SALEM’S LOT (I wouldn’t kick the 2004 re-do starring Rob Lowe out of bed for eating crackers either), I have no qualms about a fresh take on the endlessly viable material. The fact that it was announced that a new vision would be helmed by Gary Dauberman whose horror credits include writing the screenplay for 2017’s successful adaption of King’s IT and directing the spooky romp ANNABELLE COMES HOME had me about as optimistic as I could get about such a thing. Ultimately, on many fronts, Dauberman delivered; the casting is top notch, the seventies setting is splendid, the counterintuitive crispy brightness adds a level of freshness, it successfully develops its own visual style (seemingly influenced by Mike Flanagan’s oeuvre and Carpenter’s THE FOG), it offers a brand new, unpredictable climax (involving a Drive-in theater no less) and there is a clear overall understanding of which set pieces are most potent. Sadly, its artistry is frequently betrayed by its format as wild, careless pruning inflicts this by rights, epic tale. It’s almost like watching a Viewmaster version of the film as grand, impressive scenes click by with an absence of connective tissue and characters are rushed along with the patience of attention deficit speed dating.

I can understand the greedy urge to lessen the runtime to get more showings out of a theatrical release but once this flick was bound for cable someone really should have cared enough to loosen its corset (especially considering its been said that the main reason it premiered on cable rather than in theaters was due to a desperate need for content; I’m no math wiz but a longer runtime would have meant even MORE content). Now I’m hearing that an entire opening sequence was filmed involving hero Ben Mears (Lewis Pullman, who like the rest of the cast is quite good) as a child being traumatized in the Marsten House (which looks incredible here constantly looming over the entire town) and my mind reels at just how much that springboard scene would have added to the film in regards to Mears’ motivation and the town’s history in general. I truly hope at some point we get to see exactly what the director fully intended (apparently, more than an entire hour was excised) because what’s present intrigues and I hate to see such an earnest offering undeservedly hobbled (a MISERY reference seemed appropriate). That said, I’d say this condensed version is still worth a watch due to its unique style and its clawed handful of effective scares but it’s quite clear it could have had much more bite if it was allotted the properly sized real estate its grand source material unquestionably deserves.

Hey, maybe I can curb my expectations by watching something original rather than relying on prequels, sequels and remakes! IT’S WHAT’S INSIDE sorta fits the bill although I suppose it could be argued that nothing new is under the sun and this body-switching bonanza could just as easily be titled FREAKY FRIDAY PART 12 (sorry, I refuse to do an ELECTRIC BOOGALOO joke). A bunch of attractive yet charm deficient post college couples gather at another isolated estate to flirt, quarrel and dredge up past grudges (are we sure this is original?) before a wedding. Everything goes horribly awry when a harmless game of body switching made possible by a smuggled-in, state of the art device ( just go with it) muddies waters and puts your truly's ability to remember character’s names to the ultimate test (wish I brought a pad and paper!). Just when you think things could not get worse, two hapless attendees fall to their deaths resulting in a impromptu contentious game of “musical chairs” except with bodies that is made even more stressful by the threat of cops on their way to surely muck up things further (as they do). Wait a minute, this movie is actually really great once you get used to it! I admit I was about to turn it off when I realized it would require me using dusty parts of my brain but after maneuvering past a few fuzzy curves, and getting a handle on the kindly markers set in place (thankfully the young folk often wear name tag Polaroids of their true selves or are filmed in red when their real identities are in play) I was good to go. I’m happy to say this movie really can lay claim to being its own wild beast, sports many a clever camera trick and is pretty damn innovative all around. I’m even going to go so far as to say it’s genuinely funny and clever as hell! I’m glad I didn’t jump ship after all, and now I’ve even got that strange itch to watch it again! Huh, whatdoyaknow, I’m now highly interested in whatever writer/directer Greg Jardin does next! Bravo, sir! You won this old, long-COVID suffering, curmudgeon over!

A24’s trailer for Jane (WE’RE ALL GOING TO THE WORLD’S FAIR) Schoenbrun’s I SAW THE TV GLOW had me all prepared for an IT FOLLOWS-esque suburban curse flick crammed into a Candle Cove repressed memory nineties nostalgia taco shell. While there certainly are sharp slivers of horror spiking this poetic, fluorescent fish aquarium-toned ode to outsiders and their dependence on media for a social life, it’s more of a coming of age character study than anything else (albeit a mighty surreal one). Owen (Justin Smith who I recognized from the video game THE QUARRY) is a cautious wraith-like teenager who can’t seem to materialize enough to cast a shadow at home or at school. He eventually meets a slightly older gal named Maddy (Bridgette Lundy Payne) who indoctrinates him into the comfy world of obsessive serial television fandom and the buffering delights of wrapping yourself in the toasty warm blanket of dissociation. Maddy’s go-to trap door escape from reality is “The Pink Opaque” a young adult dark fantasy series complete with monster of the week episodes and a “Big Bad” named Mr. Melancholy (who looks like a still from 1902’s A TRIP TO THE MOON sans the rocket in the eye). Maddy describes the program as “More real than real life” and I’m in no position to judge her as in the nineties I was known to claim BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER was more important to me than my actual life (I no longer think that but must admit I was much happier when I did).

Over the preceding years, both Owen and Maddie are haunted by their connection to the show and struggle to understand the ever fuzzy (and possibly adjustable) line between fantasy and reality. Although much of the journey depicted is frustratingly vague, willfully muddled and downright mumbly at times, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for these characters who find it easier to relate to fictional beings on a television screen than the abrasive clods that surround them in life (Fred Durst is Owen’s step dad – you know that can’t be easy). Sure, I’m still slightly disappointed I didn’t get my (wrongfully assumed) scarefest on but I’m glad I caught this earnest tribute to square pegs (another great TV show) and the art that nurtures them when no-one else will. One scene that I found particularly poignant has Owen catching up with his beloved program decades later only to discover that age has not been kind and what once seemed profound now seems prosaic and what was once scary is now laughably lame. We’ve all been there (but let it be known that BUFFY still rules).

James (of the soul devouring EDEN LAKE) Watkin’s SPEAK NO EVIL is a superior thriller (and remake of a 2022 Danish film) that boasts stellar performances and hearkens back to the “Blank From Hell” suspense films that elbowed horror flicks to the side during the late eighties/early nineties (I’m thinking their heyday blossoms with FATAL ATTRACTION and wilts with THE TEMP). In this case, James McAvoy (who has proven his psycho chomps and then some in SPLIT & GLASS and should really play Jack Torrance some day) is Paddy, a host from hell who along with his hippy-ish spouse Ciara (STOPMOTION’s Aisling Franciosi) and socially stunted (with good reason) son Ant (Dan Hough) welcome the far too trusting Dalton family (BLACK MIRROR: San Junipero’s Mackenzie Davis as borderline unfaithful wife Louise, Scoot McNair (MONSTERS) as ineffectual husband Ben and Alix West Lefler as neurotic preteen Agnes) to spend the weekend in their gorgeous yet sorta slummy farmhouse in the Italian countryside (BTW, I thankfully never have to worry about the incidents depicted here befalling myself as the only thing I hate more than traveling is staying in someone else’s home overnight and I therefore have made a pact with myself never to do either again if at all possible).

The getaway gets off to an uncomfortable start as Paddy who knows very well that Louise is a vegetarian, tries to force feed her a duck he roasted after telling tales of the fowl's remarkable spirit. From there things get worse and worse as personality clashes pile up, an unexplained surplus of fancy watches emerges and someone (not me this time) outs themselves as a fan of the Bangles and particularly their #1 charting power ballad "Eternal Flame". The tense situation ultimately comes to a head when the Daltons learn the tastes of their eccentric hosts lean less toward SCHITT’S CREEK and more toward WOLF CREEK (if ya catch my drift). This is a real nail biter with a satisfying conclusion and I enjoyed how there’s never a moment when you think the ultimate showdown will come between the two patriarchs as clearly the formidable Louise is the Dalton’s best chance of survival against the runaway rage train that is Paddy. Unfortunately SPEAK NO EVIL, through no fault of its own, happened to be the first film I watched after the mind-blowing cinematic hand grenade that is THE SUBSTANCE and therefore sometimes felt about as quaint as a Holly Hobbie Chloroforms set in comparison. Nevertheless, this chunk o’ menace still operates like a well tuned STRAW DOGS-esque fret machine and its main pillar performances (McAvoy & Davis, natch) are super compelling, top notch and something to shout about.