Category: Telenasties

A while back we received a "Name That Trauma!" of a television movie that took place in the arctic and featured monkeys. That movie turned out to be 1973's A COLD NIGHT'S DEATH (A.K.A. CHILL FACTOR). Well if there is one thing I like better than a snowy setting it is monkeys, so of course I had to track this baby down! Directed by NIGHT GALLERY alum JERROLD FREEDMON, and starring none other than ROBERT CULP (SILENT NIGHT DEADLY NIGHT 3: BETTER WATCH OUT!) and ELI WALLACH (THE SENTINEL), A COLD NIGHT'S DEATH is one made-for-television movie that literally delivers the chills.

The action takes place at an isolated research laboratory in Antarctica and involves pretty much only the two leads mentioned (unless you count those cute monkeys). CULP and WALLACH have come to replace the last scientist who worked at the outpost who apparently went mad and killed himself by leaving a window open and slowly freezing to death. The more time our inquisitive friends spend in the outpost, the more paranoid and suspicious they become, both of their surroundings and of each other. Something is definitely amiss and each night brings them closer to the truth behind what really happened to their predecessor.

It's a privilege to watch the events unfold slowly but surely while the director takes time to really get into the heads of our opposing leads. You might be tempted to choose a side between these two men who have widely divergent approaches to rationalizing the ongoing occurrences, but it's nearly impossible to do so. Both actors deliver straightforward, admirable performances and it's difficult to understand why this movie is not far better known for that reason alone.

The bleak snowbound atmosphere and palpable anxiety between the two characters will be familiar to anyone who has seen JOHN CARPENTER's THE THING, but here the action is almost exclusively psychological and there's nothing and nobody around to break the formidable tension. It's really astonishing how much is done with so little here, just two men slowly unraveling a mystery, but thanks to the sincerity of its leads and the director's deft hand at blanketing everything in dense atmosphere, this film leaves you with a sense of dread that is pretty hard to scrape off your snowshoes.

Although we mentioned the film's shocking reveal and startling final moment in that previous "Name That Trauma" post, I won't do it again here, but even if you are already privy to COLD NIGHT's final twist, the film holds up strongly as a thriller regardless. CULP, who at one point is locked outside the station in the freezing snow wandering about like a zombie with icicles hanging from his face presents an image of a man who has somehow transformed into a monster in a monster-less film.

The real enemy here, ultimately, is the human mind and its sometimes soulless search for more knowledge. Ironically, we come to find that the research on the monkeys inhabiting the ice station involved recording their responses while encountering fear, but by film's end it is our two scientists and the audience itself who might have more experience in that field. This is a quiet, subtle venture and the severity of the isolation shown will get to you eventually whether you resist it or not. I can't think of many films television or otherwise that so convincingly portrays the tightening noose of cabin fever or takes such cunning advantage of mankind's natural fear of the unseen.

An airplane disaster flick from the seventies is a guilty treat all its own, but grafting a pseudo-satanic supernatural crisis upon this sub genre, in my opinion, takes it into the entertainment ambrosia zone. Directed by DAVID LOWELL RICH (who would later helm CONCORD…AIRPORT '79) THE HORROR AT 37,000 FEET is a schlock-adelic, made-for-television movie from 1973 that still soars high after all these years. Put simply, it's pure Kindertrauma gold; no adult could take it seriously and no child could ever possibly be immune to its potent dose of uncanny insanity.

Like any proper airplane movie, we are first introduced to an assortment of the cartooniest individuals imaginable all wearing their personal bugaboos upon their sleeves. Unlike most airplane movies, these stock characters soon find themselves contemplating the benefits of sacrificing humans to "the old ones." Blame the cargo, someone thought it would be a good idea to transport ancient druid stones from an English abbey to the U.S. to be reassembled, but said stones, once utilized in black masses, beg to differ. Before you can say "Silver Shamrock!" a dog is frozen mid bark and more goopy ooze than usual is pouring down the aisle in coach.

Now, I said that no adult could take this stuff seriously, but not fitting into that category exactly myself, I have to say that THE HORROR AT 37,000 FEET does indeed weave its own kind of unnerving spell. The soundtrack, mostly seventies era cicada chirps (which are eerily similar to the sounds emanating from the creature in JOHN CARPENTER'S THE THING, particularly when the beast takes its first victim, a hapless caged dog) garnished with ambiguous cult-like chanting brought me right back to the television horrors of my youth (albeit between snickers). A hooded figure even appears for a brief glimpse; c'mon you don't have to be into heavy metal to know those guys are scary!

I'm not sure there is enough room to go into how spectacular the cast is. WILLIAM SHATNER is an alcoholic priest questioning his faith, (it takes all my will power not to go on and on about the SHATNER but for the sake of my marriage, I'll move on); BUDDY EBSEN is some kind of rich tycoon guy (I've always wanted to mention EBSEN on these pages so I can bring up how crazy-cool his "Jed Clampet" paintings are, CHECK THEM OUT HERE); the unsinkable TAMMY GRIMES (who is so creepy she gave birth to AMANDA PLUMMER) is on board to play a dowdy doom saying occultist; and ROY THINNES (AIRPORT 1975 and SATAN'S SCHOOL FOR GIRLS) is the dude responsible for the whole mile high horror club. I could go on, but I think you'll get the idea when I inform you that the plane is co-piloted by TOURIST TRAP's Easter Island-faced CHUCK CONNERS and none other than RUSSELL JOHNSON "the Professor" from GILLIGAN'S ISLAND (naturally).

The best scene, out of literally dozens, involves the dumbstruck surviving passengers' attempts to appease the evil presence on the plane with a sacrifice. Flirting with becoming a vicious mob, they grab a doll from a little girl (thank God there is always a little girl on these doomed flights) and decide to go voodoo crazy on it and repurpose it as an effigy. They glue fingernails onto the doll, hair, and even draw some kind of crazy clown face on it. It doesn't make much sense (I'd like to think the evil was smart enough to detect the difference between a living human and a doll), but the scene is just too lunatic not to love. Further joy is found when the mock sacrifice begins to bubble with brown ooze as it is rejected by the unappeased spirits.

To say they don't make 'em like this anymore is to put it lightly. There's a real swingers lounge atmosphere that prevails here with much of the cast chain smoking, guzzling booze, and making chauvinistic advances to pass the time between attacks. Eventually though, it is SHATNER who has been spewing dramatic monologues about his lost faith in God and humanity who holds the key to their dilemma. Ultimately he comes to the conclusion that the presence of evil itself signifies that there is also "good" in the world and he plows forward to sacrifice himself and save the day. His cheap, unconvincing, blue-screen martyr-death resembles a Colorforms version of Ripley's swan dive suicide in ALIEN3 combined with the opening hat plunge from SID AND MARTY KROFFT'S LIDSVILLE. It will likely be etched in my mind for all of eternity.

I thought that I had pretty much seen all the truly remarkable television horror flicks from the seventies, but I'm glad to say I was wrong yet again. One can gripe about the inconsistencies and the silliness that abounds (check out the super fake model airplane!), but THE HORROR AT 37,000 FEET is savvy enough to never waste any time (Let's hear it for 73 minutes!) and personally, I found it consistently captivating in one way or another throughout. I have no problem declaring it a trash masterpiece (trash-terpiece?). I'm truly sorry I missed this one back in the day of its original airing because there's no question in my mind that it would have freaked me out to no end and possibly had me assembling voodoo sacrifices out of my BIG JIM action figures (as with SHATNER, don't get me started on BIG JIM's "The whip"!)

UNK SEZ: Read More about THE HORROR AT 37,000 FEET at our pal Amanda's MADE FOR T.V. MAYHEM!

NOTE: HORROR AT 30,000 FEET is not currently on DVD but I found this priceless film and many others HERE.

CURSE OF THE BLACK WIDOW is considered by some to be a lesser work of director DAN CURTIS, but if you ask me even a lesser work by this guy is worth a look. CURSE introduces us to a familiar CURTIS protagonist, a somewhat down on his luck investigator who must work against a system that believes he is a lunatic for entertaining the idea that the solution to the problem at hand may be supernatural in origin.

In this case, a string of murders in L.A. by a femme fatale slowly begins to appear to be the work of a woman who has the ability to transform herself into a giant spider thanks to an Indian curse. As far fetched as the concept is CURTIS is able to ground at least the first half of the film in a gritty and groovy seventies reality before taking his shoes off and delivering a B-movie showdown with a papier-mâché arachnid. What separates CURSE from most of CURTIS' productions is the fact that it eventually reaches a knee-slapping, ridiculously camp crescendo but that's also what makes it so much fun.

At a time when most television movies featured women being endlessly accosted in parking lots, it's actually refreshing to find a mostly male victim roster here. (Of course centering the tale on a woman who is half spider and lingers around singles bars to catch her prey is hardly the height of feminism either). As dated as some of this happily is, CURSE still manages to come off as pretty progressive for showcasing an apparently gay mortician and a very butch girl Friday played to the hilt by ROZ KELLY. I may have said some less then flattering things about ROZ "Pinky Tuscadero" KELLY in the past, specifically in reference to her less than stellar performance on THE PAUL LYNDE HALLOWEEN SPECIAL. In fact, if I remember correctly, MR. CANACORN himself issued a fatwa against me in order to defend her dubious honor. Well, all I can say is that I am now deeply ashamed of myself because, in this movie, she frakin' owns!

In fact, as much as CURSE definitely has a great dark CURTIS vibe throughout, I gotta say the entire cast is what makes it so special to me. It may not send you to bed freaked out of your mind because a spider lady might get you, but who can say no to these actors? ANTHONY FRANCIOSA of ARGENTO's TENEBRE is the more than a likable lead and he is surrounded by such greats and not-so-greats as VIC MORROW, DONNA MILLS, JUNE LOCKHART, JUNE ALLYSON, SID CEASER, MAX GAIL of BARNEY MILLER, and last, but certainly not least, the living legend and poster girl for fractured personalities everywhere, someone who should never be shown a hot dog lest she "loose control," PATTY (CALL ME ANNA) DUKE! C'mon you know you can't resist this! It's like someone mashed up that giant spider episode of GILLIGAN'S ISLAND with KOLCHAK and then forced some LOVE BOAT stragglers to perform in it! CURSE in no way CURTIS' finest hour but if you are a fan of seventies television and laughable giant monsters it may be yours.