THE SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE (1982) *** Coming across the beloved cult film that was once not so beloved just might be the biggest hazard of movie spectatorship these days.
You better not ride on the general train of thought from the film’s original release or you just might get bludgeoned in the comments section by devotees of the cinematic item under discussion.
You have no taste! You’re an idiot! You just don’t get it! You’re too stupid to understand the undeniable genius! Blah blah blah!
I am thinking first and foremost about films like Halloween III, Howard the Duck, Sleepaway Camp, and Silent Night, Deadly Night.
Maybe you are reading my confession why I had not watched The Slumber Party Massacre until very recently.
I finally caught up with it on Halloween night 2022, I liked it well enough, and I can definitely understand why it’s held in such high esteem in some quarters though I certainly don’t like it as much as others so enthusiastically do.
The Slumber Party Massacre took a while to get started, packed with so many false alarms and jump scares that I began losing patience early on and it was not until the 45- or 50-minute mark that I became enveloped in suspense. The final 25-30 minutes are especially well-made and filled with plenty of impacting moments, so much so that I almost bumped The Slumber Party Massacre up to three-and-a-half stars even after the mixed reaction to the first two-thirds of the film.
All slasher films, whether it be the good, the bad or the ugly, have their gimmicks, be it their setting or their killer in everything from the favorite weapon of choice down to style.
The Slumber Party Massacre sold a good amount on the fact that it has a female director (Amy Holden Jones) and a feminist screenwriter (Rita Mae Brown), something not common for the horror genre overall and specifically the subgenre of the slasher.
Jones shows definite talent in her directorial debut, and it’s no surprise she later directed Love Letters, Maid to Order, and The Rich Man’s Wife and received screenwriting credits on Love Letters, Maid to Order, Mystic Pizza, Beethoven, Indecent Proposal, The Getaway (1994), and The Relic. She also married acclaimed cinematographer Michael Chapman (Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The Fugitive) in 1980 and stayed his wife until his death in September 2020.
Brown intended The Slumber Party Massacre to be a satire of the slasher genre, but Jones filmed it as straight horror.
However, satirical traces remain throughout The Slumber Party Massacre.Virtually all the male characters are super horny creeps and more than one female character survives all the murder and mayhem, for example.
Never mind that escaped serial killer Russ Thorn (Michael Villella) walks around in plain sight without a mask from the first scene on. He’s also one of a select few slasher film killers with quotes on the Internet Movie Database. Eat your heart out, Jason and Michael!
Also, never mind Thorn’s weapon of choice that could possibly be some kind of metaphor. Yes, it’s a power drill and I’m not sure of the symbology there! I also don’t believe there’s any greater meaning in the ways he meets his inevitable demise at the end of the movie.
The local radio station announces Thorn’s escape more than once, yet nobody seems to notice let alone care until it’s (almost) too late. I seem to remember one of the characters shutting off her car radio in the middle of one of the announcements.
Nearly all the characters are too preoccupied with their pursuits of pleasure at this very moment in time, just like the characters in any Friday the 13th film, to be concerned about some homicidal maniac on a rampage.
These satirical traces make The Slumber Party Massacre a good deal more interesting than, let’s say, Madman and The Prowler.
It works as both a satire and a straight horror film nearly 15 years before Scream came out.
In fact, not that I want to shout about it or anything, The Slumber Party Massacre works better than Scream.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME (1981) *** Happy Birthday to Me stands out from the early ’80s slasher film craze pack because a) it has superior production values with a name director (J. Lee Thompson, who directed The Guns of Navarone and Cape Fear) and a good cast including an unhappy Glenn Ford, b) it has a longer running time than the average 85- and 90-minute slasher film, and c) it has one of the most bizarre twist endings this side of Sleepaway Camp.
Just like fellow 1981 Canadian slasher My Bloody Valentine, also produced by John Dunning and André Link with distinctive elements for a slasher, Happy Birthday to Me calls to mind a prestigious Academy Award for Best Picture winner, 1980’s Ordinary People. (My Bloody Valentine recalled The Deer Hunter from the coal mine setting and overall working-class milieu, the prodigious beer drinking, and the more adult-like plot and romantic triangle.)
Let’s see, Happy Birthday to Me and Ordinary People both have the same elite upper middle class suburban prep school environment, traumatic events in the past, troubled teenagers, and a therapist who works with our troubled teen protagonist.
Happy Birthday to Me plays more like a glossy, lurid soap opera at times punctuated with some creative, gruesome murder set pieces.
Melissa Sue Anderson makes her motion picture feature debut in Happy Birthday to Me as protagonist Virginia Wainwright. She had nearly a decade of experience on TV by that point, though, most notably as Mary Ingalls / Mary Ingalls Kendall on the hit show Little House on the Prairie. You can bet playing a blind Mary for a number of seasons prepared an 18-year-old Anderson for her flashbacks, brain operation, therapy sessions, memory loss, and traumatic blackouts throughout Happy Birthday to Me.
Slasher films often pursued at least one name actor for their cast: Betsy Palmer (Friday the 13th), Ben Johnson (Terror Train), Leslie Nielsen (Prom Night), Lauren Bacall, James Garner, and Maureen Stapleton (The Fan), and Farley Granger (The Prowler).
Glenn Ford accumulated 110 acting credits from 1937 through 1991, highlighted by Gilda, The Big Heat, Blackboard Jungle, 3:10 to Yuma, Midway, and Superman. Ford (1916-2006) wouldn’t have wanted to be remembered for Happy Birthday to Me and he was reportedly a very unhappy camper making the film, heavily drinking throughout and hitting the assistant director after he called for a lunch break during the middle of one of Ford’s scenes.
He’s not all that big a role in Happy Birthday to Me.
Ginny Wainwright attends the snobby Crawford Academy and she’s a member of the school’s Top 10 clique, only the best and brightest. They are systematically eliminated apparently by Ginny, and we find out that none of the Top Ten attended Ginny’s birthday party four years before the start of the movie. They attended instead another party for a Top 10 member and Ginny and her mother are then involved with an auto accident that kills Ginny’s mother and leaves the surviving Ginny needing her experimental brain tissue restoration.
Ginny was originally planned to be revealed as the killer possessed by the spirit of her dead mother, but the film instead chose a shocking twist ending that remains the main reason why fans of the film remember it so fondly 40 years later.
Thompson (1914-2002) reportedly got so much into the spirit of the enterprise that he was throwing around buckets of blood on set. The final 40 minutes pile up the corpses.
Columbia Pictures went for both the bloody and bizarre in promoting Happy Birthday to Me, a minor hit in the summer of 1981.
The poster has an image of the most famous murder set piece of the movie.
JOHN WILL NEVER EAT SHISH KEBAB AGAIN.
Steven will never ride a motorcycle again.
Greg will never lift weights again.
Who’s killing Crawford High’s snobbish top ten?
At the rate they’re going there will be no one left for Virginia’s birthday party … alive.
Happy Birthday to Me … Six of the most bizarre murders you will ever see.
WARNING: BECAUSE OF THE BIZARRE NATURE OF THE PARTY, NO ONE WILL BE SEATED DURING THE LAST TEN MINUTES … PRAY YOU’RE NOT INVITED.
Factual accuracy is not this poster’s strong suit, since there’s nine deaths in the movie, there’s no John character in the movie, Steven’s the one killed by kebab, and Etienne’s the one done in by a motorcycle.
BATS, BATS, BATS & JAWS WITH CLAWS: NIGHTWING, PROPHECY, GRIZZLY Distinguished character actor David Warner (1941-2022) almost redeems large portions of the 1979 killer vampire bat picture Nightwing, and he’s the reason that it rates out around two stars rather than one or possibly even worse.
Pardon the pun, but Warner truly bites into his dialogue and his monologues are the best moments in Nightwing. Phillip Payne comes across a little batty himself, more often delightfully so than not, and that batty quality would seem to come naturally with the territory of studying and killing plague-infested vampire bats.
The film’s best moments are definitely not the special effects and the vampire bat attack scenes, which almost had me laughing as much as The Bat People or Prophecy or perhaps the ultimate cinematic disaster disaster movie The Swarm.
Generally, I love the prerequisite genre scenes where the scientist explains the phenomenon on the rampage within the movie to a slack-jawed authority figure who usually downplays whatever threat it might be and decides to keep the park / town open.
It rarely ever lets me down, and I enjoyed Nightwing every time Phillip Payne goes all Dr. Sam Loomis on us about vampire bats.
Youngman Duran: It just doesn’t seem natural for a man to spend his life, his entire life, killing bats.
Phillip Payne: Not just bats. Vampire bats. I kill them because they’re evil. There’s a mutual grace and violence in all forms of nature; and each specie of live gives something in return for its own existence. All but one. The freak. The vampire bat alone is that specie. Have you ever seen one of their caves?
YD: No.
PP: I killed over 60,000 of them last year in Mexico. You really understand the presence of evil when you go into their caves. The smell of ammonia alone is enough to kill you. The floor of the cave is a foul syrup of digested blood. And the bats: up high, hanging upside down, rustling, fighting, mating, sending constant messages, waiting for the light to fade, hungry for blood, coaxing the big females to wake up and flex their nightwings to lead the colony out across the land, homing in on any living thing; cattle, sheep, dogs, children, anything with warm blood. And they feast, drinking the blood and pissing ammonia. I kill them because they’re the quintessence of evil. To me, nothing else exists. The destruction of vampire bats is what I live for.
Alrighty then.
Almost none of the small pleasures from Nightwing are to be found in Prophecy, films released only a week apart during June 1979.
Prophecy alternates between a serious, more ambitious movie about ecological concerns and land rights in a dispute between Native Americans and the polluting paper mill, domestic scenes involving a husband (Robert Foxworth) and his wife (Talia Shire), and silly monster attack scenes that belong in something like Food of the Gods or Bigfoot, two bad monster movies from earlier in the ’70s.
Rather, I meant laughably bad monster attack scenes.
None of the elements gel well together in Prophecy.
Prophecy gets awful preachy at times, maybe not too much of a surprise given the film’s title, and Foxworth’s Dr. Robert Verne makes for a rather lackluster and thus unlikable protagonist. Foxworth does not give Prophecy a jolt like Warner does in Nightwing, and his scientific explanatory scenes are pedestrian.
Dr. Verne and his wife Maggie do not have the relationship that, let’s see here, pugilist protagonist Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stallone) and Adrian (Shire) do in Rocky and Rocky II, ironic considering that Rocky II and Prophecy were both released June 15, 1979.
Their domestic scenes are a drag, and I think less of Foxworth’s Dr. Verne from early on because of the way he treats his wife.
Veteran character actor Richard Dysart (1929-2015) gives the best performance in Prophecy, and it’s not even close. Dysart plays the role of the detestable paper mill company man Isely so effectively that it’s one of the film’s greatest disappointments when it cuts away from his graphic dismemberment by mercury mutant bear Katahdin late in the picture. We’ll have to settle instead for Dysart’s grisly death scene in John Carpenter’s The Thing.
The Katahdin we actually get in the finished product and the one in the promotional material (and dialogue) are not exactly one and the same, which hearkens Prophecy back to low-budget precursors like The Giant Claw and The Wasp Woman more than contemporaries like Alien and Dawn of the Dead, but without the fun of any of those movies.
Leonard Maltin described the monster as a giant salami, Isely said that it’s larger than a dragon with the eyes of a cat, Time reportedly said that it’s Smokey the Bear with an advanced acne condition, and Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert called it a cross between an earthworm and a bear (Siskel) and a grizzly bear and Godzilla (Ebert).
Given that it’s Kevin Peter Hall as the man in the monster suit, one might be tempted to call it a cross between Predator and Harry and the Hendersons.
Manbearpig!
Grizzly, a killer bear picture released three years before Prophecy, works a lot better than Prophecy because it succeeds at a much more modest level of ambition.
It’s required by law that every review mention Grizzly is a Jaws rip-off or we can go right on ahead and call it Jaws with Claws.
We have a law enforcement officer (park ranger), a military veteran (helicopter pilot), and a scientist (naturalist) on the hunt for a giant killer animal (grizzly bear). We also have a park supervisor who refuses to close down the national park despite a series of brutal deaths. The park supervisor allows hunters into the forest to hunt and kill the bear, while media converge on the scene for sensational coverage, but eventually our three main characters must try and do the deed themselves.
I honestly don’t mind too much that Grizzly follows the Jaws formula because Christopher George, Richard Jaeckel, and Andrew Prine are good in their roles and I care about them in their battle against a primal beast.
Honestly, it’s as simple as that, whereas I didn’t particularly care about the overwhelming majority of the human characters in Prophecy and did not care one way or another whether they lived or died just as long as the end credits rolled.
Grizzly, thankfully, is also not preachy, it’s endearing and entertaining on a basic level, and it’s a pleasant way to spend 90 minutes.
Granted, the three main actors and characters are not anywhere near the same level as Roy Scheider’s Sheriff Brody, Richard Dreyfuss’ Matt Hooper, and Robert Shaw’s Captain Quint, just like William Girdler’s no Steven Spielberg, but I still think Grizzly has earned a place right alongside such ’70s killer animal staples as Night of the Lepus, Frogs, Squirm, Kingdom of the Spiders, and Piranha.
FRIDAY THE 13TH: THE FINAL CHAPTER (1984) *** Once upon a time, I called Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter the most schizophrenic movie ever made and what I mean by this bit of hyperbole is that The Final Chapter largely alternates being a rather brutal, occasionally mean-spirited horror movie sequel and a jovial teenage sex comedy especially made explicit in casting Lawrence The Last American Virgin Monoson in one of the key supporting roles.
The Final Chapter has some of the best and also some of the worst moments in the entire 12-movie Friday series, easily the best cast and most likable characters from (almost) top to bottom, Tom Savini’s return as makeup artist, Harry Manfredini’s first-rate musical score, Ted White’s brutal conviction selling his kill scenes as Jason Voorhees, and it’s arguably the quintessential Friday the 13th movie.
Let’s hit a couple of the high points first.
The Final Chapter introduces us to Tommy Jarvis (Corey Feldman), a 12-year-old boy with a hyperactive imagination and penchant for monster make-up and masks not unlike Savini; Trish Jarvis (Kimberly Beck), Tommy’s older sister and our Final Girl; Mrs. Jarvis (Joan Freeman), Tommy’s and Trish’s single mother; Gordon the Family Dog, the golden retriever whose fate remains uncertain. Anyway, this family dynamic is something fresh and new for the Friday series.
Crispin Glover, one of the great movie eccentrics, makes his mark on The Final Chapter and his Jimmy becomes one of the most unforgettable horny (dead) teenagers in a series that served them up by the hundreds as fodder for the slaughter. Jimmy and his buddy Ted (Monoson) especially feel like refugees from a teenage sex comedy, like they continued playing their characters from My Tutor (Glover) and The Last American Virgin (Monoson). Jimmy’s dance and exit line in this movie have become the stuff of slasher movie legend.
Feldman and Glover provide us two of the most likable characters in any of the dozen Friday movies, something that’s ironic given the fact The New Beginning (which arrived in theaters around 11 months after The Final Chapter) has almost no likable characters among the largest cast of corpses in series history. Never mind that Tommy did not exactly pan out in The New Beginning and Jason Lives like the endings of The Final Chapter and The New Beginning seemed to promise.
I almost forgot Rob (E. Erich Anderson), the older brother of a character killed by potato sack Jason in Part 2. Rob seeks revenge against Jason and fortunately he meets Trish and Tommy first, though ultimately it does not matter because Rob represents one of the great missed opportunities. Here’s a character who could have served as a basis for an entire movie and The Final Chapter makes him completely underwhelming. His death scene, designed to be poignant, instead becomes laughable (‘He’s killing me. He’s killing me’) and it wishes it could be as enjoyably bad as the bookseller’s death in Dario Argento’s Inferno. You might recall that the creepy old book retailer’s done in by rats and a homicidal Central Park hot dog vendor.
Now, we’ve moved on to the more negative.
Our first two new corpses in The Final Chapter represent one of my least favorite scenarios that’s commonly found in Friday movies. We spend several minutes, it feels even longer, much much much longer, with super horny morgue attendant Axel (Bruce Mahler) and super uninterested Nurse Morgan (Lisa Freeman) before they are massacred by Jason. Maybe it’s only a few minutes, but I never want to watch their scenes ever again to find out. I’ll use their introduction as my cue to go make some scrumptious butter popcorn.
Like the beginning of Part III and the obligatory murder of the lakefront store owners, these are minutes of my life that could have been attended to better things, even during a Friday movie.
The Final Chapter loves breaking glass and characters falling through windows.
The Final Chapter gets straight at the heart of the ambivalent relationship between parent company Paramount Pictures and the Friday movies.
One immediately gets the feeling that Paramount wanted The Final Chapter, you know, to be the end of Jason once and forever because the studio hotshots were ashamed to be associated with such a disreputable and sleazy franchise, but, alas, at the same time, The Final Chapter leaves the door open for more sequels with one of the series’ trademark endings. Paramount walked through that very door — actually, more like sprinted — when The Final Chapter returned a hefty profit.
The Final Chapter finished in the top 25 box office for 1984 and put together a $11.1M opening during the weekend of April 13.
Friday, April 13, 1984. The Challenger returned to Earth from their 11th space shuttle mission. India beat Pakistan by 54 runs to win the first Asia Cricket Cup in Sharjah, United Arab Emirates.
Paramount released A New Beginning on March 22, 1985, and 1983 and 1987 are the only years of the ’80s without a Friday the 13th movie. Do 1983 and 1987 belong to another decade?
I more or less grew up with the Friday movies, so I might be more forgiving of them for all their numerous faults than people who grew up in different times.
Then again, I might not be, because I only consider Jason Lives (the best made and the only entry that deserves a place near second- or third-tier classic horror movies like Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man), Part III (the most suspenseful and the one where Jason acquires his legendary hockey mask), and The Final Chapter even worth recommending. Most of the rest of them have their isolated moments, all of them are excuses for reels of sex and violence and vulgarity, and the movies definitely created their own distinctive space in the cinematic marketplace.
How did the world end up with 12 Friday the 13th movies and legendary status for both the series overall and serial killer Jason Voorhees specifically, when similar movies like My Bloody Valentine, The Burning, Happy Birthday to Me, and Madman failed to produce one sequel among them. Granted, the original Friday finished 15th in the 1980 American box office sweepstakes and the first three sequels also proved to be solid hits among strong competition, while The Burning grossed $700 thousand, Madman $1.3M, My Bloody Valentine $5.7M, and Happy Birthday to Me $10.6M.
THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2 (1986) *** I wanted to like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 considerably more than I did, because of the way director Tobe Hooper (1943-2017) and screenwriter Kit Carson (1941-2014) mixed in satire and dark comedy with all the material that seems like a prerequisite for a sequel to only one of the most infamous movies ever made, 1974’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
Unfortunately, though, leading lady Caroline Williams’ harried disc jockey Stretch — yes, even women from Texas have names that play right alongside Slim and Tex — spends a good 75 percent of her screen time screaming. Williams screams more than Fay Wray in The Most Dangerous Game and King Kong and Mystery of the Wax Museum combined, more than Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween and The Fog and Prom Night and Terror Train and Halloween II combined, and more than all the heroines combined who have faced Jason and Freddy and Michael over the last couple decades. Williams probably wishes they paid her by the scream.
All that infernal screaming begins to bog Massacre 2 down in the middle stretches of a film that both starts and finishes rather strongly.
Massacre 2 also features a Dennis Hopper performance that rates a distant fourth behind River’s Edge, Blue Velvet, and Hoosiers in the unofficial Hopper-portrays-an-epic-burnout-not-totally-unlike-himself (though, to be fair to Hopper, his Blue Velvet character goes beyond, way beyond, the pale of the normal cinematic psychopath) in 1986 competition.
Since Hopper (1936-2010) portrays former Texas Ranger and Sally and Franklin Hardesty-Enright’s uncle Lt. Boude ‘Lefty’ Enright and Cannon Films released Massacre 2, wouldn’t it have been absolutely fantastic if Cannon action hero Chuck Norris played the ranger pursuing vigilante justice against the ripped, twisted, absolutely positively deranged (not to mention cannibalistic) Sawyer family.
Both Chainsaw movies start with narration and an opening crawl.
The original: The film which you are about to see is an account of the tragedy which befell a group of five youths, in particular Sally Hardesty and her invalid brother, Franklin. It is all the more tragic in that they were young. But, had they lived very, very long lives, they could not have expected nor would they have wished to see as much of the mad and macabre as they were to see that day. For them an idyllic summer afternoon drive became a nightmare. The events of that day were to lead to the discovery of one of the most bizarre crimes in the annals of American history, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
The sequel: On the afternoon of August 18, 1973, five young people in a Volkswagen van ran out of gas on a farm road in South Texas. Four of them were never seen again. The next morning the one survivor, Sally Hardesty-Enright, was picked up on a roadside, blood-caked and screaming murder. Sally said she had broken out of a window in Hell. The girl babbled a mad tale: a cannibal family in an isolated farmhouse … chainsawed fingers and bones … her brother, her friends hacked up for barbecue … chairs made of human skeletons … Then she sank into catatonia. Texas lawmen mounted a month-long manhunt, but could not locate the macabre farmhouse. They could find no killers and no victims. No facts; no crime. Officially, on the records, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre never happened. But during the last 13 years, over and over again reports of bizarre, grisly chainsaw mass-murders have persisted all across the state of Texas. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre has not stopped. It haunts Texas. It seems to have no end.
Made on an estimated $80-140,000 production budget, the original deserves such descriptive phrases as grainy and gritty. Gory, no. Disturbing, yes definitely, terrifying, for sure, with a more than macabre sense of humor, especially during the best dinner table scene this side of Tod Browning’s Freaks. I about lose it every time the family wants the 124-year-old Grandpa Sawyer to end Sally’s life with one crushing blow of a hammer and this cannibalistic codger just can’t find the strength to do it, ultimately giving Sally the opportunity for escape.
More than a decade later, Hooper wanted Massacre 2 to be a dark comedy, accentuating those elements from the original. Meanwhile, naturally, Cannon desired a finished product more along the lines of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or at least its shocking reputation.
The finished product plays more like a compromise.
Both films are reflective of the times they were made. The original, released on the first day of October 1974, came out in the midst of Richard Nixon’s resignation speech, the Watergate scandal that brought Nixon down, the final year of the Vietnam War, the Oil Embargo 1973-74, and general discord in the land. The sequel, released on Aug. 22, 1986, gives us cannibals with ‘family values’ a few months before former Hollywood actor turned politician Ronald Reagan’s speech centered around the family unit and giddy excess in every single frame to produce a bigger but not better Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
The original has this insidious way of getting underneath our skin and dominating our thought patterns, and none of the slicker sequels, remakes or imitations even come remotely close to its power to provoke.
NOTE: The parody of The Breakfast Club earns the film’s poster four stars.
ODDS AND ODDS: THE VIKINGS, DOLLS, THE MONSTER SQUAD, SCREAM BLACULA SCREAM Richard Fleischer’s The Vikings calls to mind epic grand adventure pictures Captain Blood, The Adventures of Robin Hood, The Sea Hawk, and The Sea Wolf, not to mention The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad from the same year (1958) and John Boorman’s Excalibur from 1981.
Kirk Douglas’ lust for life recalls Errol Flynn’s in Captain Blood, Robin Hood, and Sea Hawk and Janet Leigh’s incredible beauty compares with Olivia de Havilland’s in Captain Blood and Robin Hood, as well as Helen Mirren’s in Excalibur. Never mind that Leigh and Mirren play characters named Morgana; however, their beauty and first name are where their characters’ similarities begin and end.
In other words, The Vikings belongs to the fine cinematic tradition of swashbucklers, hair-raisers, cliff-hangers, nail-biters, period costume pieces, and historical fiction.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that it has an uncredited Orson Welles narrate. The Vikings, in Europe of the eighth and ninth century, were dedicated to a pagan god of war, Odin. Trapped by the confines of their barren ice-bound northlands, they exploited their skill as shipbuilders to spread a reign of terror, then unequaled in violence and brutality in all the records of history. Good stuff.
Highlights include Douglas’ Einar and Curtis’ Eric having key body parts removed, the former his eye by a falcon and the latter his hand in a bout of capital punishment. These moments undoubtedly make The Vikings one of the most gruesome films in 1958 this side of the British classic Fiend Without a Face. Oh, that’s a golden oldie.
Naturally, one can’t go too wrong with any picture where Ernest Borgnine plays a character named Ragnar and spouts screenwriter Calder Willingham’s dialogue like a bountiful fountain, for example What man ever had a finer son? Odin could have sired him, but I did … and Look how he glares at me. If he wasn’t fathered by the black ram in the full of the moon my name is not Ragnar.
Back in the day, my friend would call on quotes from Airplane and Austin Powers for our amusement, and it’s a crying shame that we had no idea about The Vikings, because I think lines such as You sound like a moose giving birth to a hedgehog and The sun will cross the sky a thousand times before he dies, and you’ll wish a thousand times that you were dead would have perfectly fit a night of carousing, especially for two byproducts of a school with Vikings for its mascot.
Rating: Four stars.
— I finally got around to watching Stuart Gordon’s Dolls for the first time.
Finally, because I love Gordon’s first two features Re-Animator and From Beyond.
I must say that I wasn’t disappointed by Dolls, though it’s a step down from From Beyond and a good two or three from Re-Animator.
Alas, Dolls belongs to a slightly different but no less venerable tradition than Re-Animator and From Beyond, both of which cross mad scientists and low-budget exploitation (nudity, gore, etc.). Think Frankenstein meets Dawn of the Dead.
Dolls, meanwhile, recalls such touchstones as The Old Dark House and The Devil-Doll, not to mention the 1979 Tourist Trap. See if this plot sounds familiar: On a dark and stormy night, six people — a dysfunctional family (husband and father, wife and stepmother, and daughter / stepdaughter) and a young man with two hitchhikers — find the nearest house (The Old Dark House) and they have to fight to make it out of the other end of the motion picture alive because their kindly old hosts are magical toy makers with killer dolls (The Devil-Doll, Tourist Trap).
Like both Re-Animator and From Beyond, Gordon and Dolls screenwriter Ed Naha jump off from their basic old-fashioned plot structure with inspired moments of madness.
Dolls also predates Child’s Play by more than a year and rather than just one killer doll, it has a horde … but Child’s Play, created by Don Mancini, spawned Child’s Play 2, Child’s Play 3, Bride of Chucky, Seed of Chucky, Curse of Chucky, Cult of Chucky, and Child’s Play (2019), plus short films Chucky’s Vacation Slides and Chucky Invades and the TV series Chucky.
So, apparently, not all killer doll films are created equal.
Rating: Three stars.
— The Monster Squad starts with an absolute genius idea: Take a group of kids, horror movie fans one and all, and have them do battle against Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, Wolf Man, Mummy, and Gill Man.
Yes, what an absolutely positively brilliant idea by screenwriters Shane Black and Fred Dekker, whose names ring a bell loud and clear for genre fans. Others will be familiar with their work regardless whether they know their names or not.
Black made his fame and fortune first for the script of the buddy cop picture Lethal Weapon and some of his other credits include Predator (he plays Hawkins), The Last Boy Scout, and The Long Kiss Goodnight.
Dekker’s other feature directorial credits are the fantastic Night of the Creeps and the not-so-fantastic RoboCop 3.
The Monster Squad gives us both protagonists and monsters that we like, and that goes a long way toward producing a memorable motion picture experience.
The Wolf Man gets his due for a change. The fat kid Horace kicks the Wolf Man in the groin and unleashes the film’s trademark line Wolfman’s got nards! In 2018, Andre Gower, one of the stars of The Monster Squad, directed a documentary named Wolfman’s Got Nards, which looks at the impact one little cult horror film made on fans, cast and crew, and the movie industry.
Anyway, in a movie filled with nifty little moments, I love it when the Wolf Man regenerates after he’s blown up real good.
On the site Drinking Cinema, I found a game for The Monster Squad so drink whenever: 1. Dynamite EXPLODES! 2. A monster dies! 3. You hear a sweet insult. 4. You learn a new monster fact. 5. The cops are having a really hard time figuring out that, um, hello, the perps are various Jack Pierce creations. 6. You see amazing dog acting. 7. You witness a patented Monster Slow-Walk. 8. There’s a monster scare!
I give The Monster Squad a slight deduction for the obligatory music video montage right around the midway point of the picture.
Rating: Three-and-a-half stars.
— Vampirism and voodoo go together rather well and their combination helps Scream Blacula Scream become one of those rare sequels I prefer over the original.
I thought William Marshall’s performance as the title character was the redeeming factor in Blacula and he’s every bit as good in Scream Blacula Scream. Marshall just has a commanding screen presence and he brings both a gravitas to a character and legitimacy to a movie that otherwise might be laughable with the wrong person in the main role. He’s equally effective in every guise of this character — the debonair Mamuwalde who has a definite charm with the ladies befitting an African prince (which he indeed was before the racist Dracula cursed him and imprisoned in a coffin until Blacula awakened in 1972 Los Angeles), the menacing Blacula with his fangs bared, and the more reflective Mamuwalde who hates the dreaded vampire curse.
A highly respectable box office return — not voodoo, no matter what the plot synopsis might read — brought Mamuwalde / Blacula / Marshall back.
In the first movie, Mamuwalde / Blacula comes to believe the lovely Tina’s the reincarnation of his long dead wife Luva. Well, it definitely helps that Vonetta McGee plays both Tina and Luva. By golly, doesn’t this plot thread just get you every single time?
In the sequel, Mamuwalde / Blacula believes in the voodoo powers of Lisa Fortier. She can provide a cure and exorcise the curse once and forever.
Scream Blacula Scream came out two weeks after Coffy and had it been made later in 1973 after Pam Grier busted out as a star playing Coffy, her Lisa Fortier character in Scream Blacula Scream would have undoubtedly been different. Grier plays a more traditional leading lady and screaming and shrinking damsel in distress in Scream Blacula Scream, and she’s definitely no shrinking violet in either Coffy or Foxy Brown. So if Scream Blacula Scream had been produced more in the aftermath of both Coffy and Cleopatra Jones, which came out a month after both Coffy and Scream Blacula Scream, surely American-International — one of the best exploitation film outlets — would have wanted Grier to play one badass mama jama vampire killer rather than her more stereotypical role.
Fair warning: Scream Blacula Scream ends on an extremely jarring note. I remember thinking, in the immortal song title of Peggy Lee, is that all there is? Despite the fact of that ending, you might be surprised to find that I am granting Scream Blacula Scream three-and-a-half stars. Yes, it is just that good.
THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH (1956) *** I would have liked to been a fly on the wall (but not Mike Pence’s head) for several conversations throughout motion picture history.
For example, when Chevy Chase was offered Oh Heavenly Dog. We all remember that one, right, where Chase plays a private detective who’s murdered real early in the picture and then, almost just like Warren Beatty in Heaven Can Wait, he’s reincarnated as, wait for it, Benji. We see Benji solve the murder and hear Chase on the soundtrack. Yes, it’s a real movie.
Another example would be how Alfred Hitchcock reacted when he was told his Man Who Knew Too Much star Doris Day would sing Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be) not once but twice during the movie — the first time about 12 minutes in and the second with about 12 minutes left.
Isn’t it obvious, though, that Hitchcock wasn’t into Que Sera, Sera, even before Day sings that line about 500 times.
I search it up (as the kids today say) and find this juicy bit of IMDb trivia: Throughout the filming, Doris Day became increasingly concerned that Alfred Hitchcock paid more attention to camera set-ups, lighting, and technical matters than he did to her performance. Convinced that he was displeased with her work, she finally confronted him. His reply was, ‘My dear Miss Day, if you weren’t giving me what I wanted, then I would have to direct you!’
Apparently, Day (1922-2019) herself was initially turned off by the notion of singing what became her signature song, even in death. She thought it was a forgettable children’s song.
I call this 1956 version The Woman Who Sang Too Much.
The Man Who Knew Too Much ’56 (a remake of Hitchcock’s own 1934 film) predominantly works because of the performance of James Stewart and a couple spectacular set pieces.
Despite this being the least of the four features Stewart made with Hitchcock, way behind Vertigo, Rope, and Rear Window (in that order), we follow the events from beginning to end mostly because of the inherent pull of Stewart … and we also know that even during a lesser Hitchcock film, that sly old master, that dirty old dog, would still come up with something to wow us.
Here, it’s the murder of the mysterious Frenchman in Morocco and the attempted assassination of the prime minister at Royal Albert Hall. Personally, I still prefer Jimi Hendrix’s two nights at the Royal Albert in February 1969. Que sera, sera, right?
Bernard Herrmann, the man responsible for the scores to seven Hitchcock films as well as Citizen Kane and Taxi Driver, makes a cameo as the conductor.
Hitchcock apparently made his trademark cameo around 25 minutes in, but I missed it. Que sera, sera, right?
Especially now that I’m blaring Hendrix’s Hear My Train A Comin’.
PETEY WHEATSTRAW (1977) *** Rudy Ray Moore (1927-2008) created his own comedic universe on film, featuring outrageous characters with sped up chases and kung fu, stand up and musical interludes, and sexual exhibitions articulating his vision — basically party records brought to low-budget live-action cartoon.
Imagine a foul-mouthed, sexually-explicit Sanford and Son crossed with Benny Hill and Kung Fu and populated with pimps, madams, prostitutes, crooked cops, gangsters, and other larger-than-life figures designed to amuse or titillate.
I definitely had a strong negative reaction to Disco Godfather and then worked my way back through Dolemite, The Human Tornado, and finally Petey Wheatstraw, arguably the ultimate expression of the essence of Rudy Ray Moore and his iconic characters. Full title: Petey Wheatstraw, the Devil’s Son-in-Law.
Anyway, I now know that I should have started with Dolemite and then proceeded chronologically through Moore’s filmography. Maybe I’ll go revisit Disco Godfather and like it more because Moore as either Dolemite or Petey Wheatstraw grew on me to such a degree that I became more than willing to forgive him for Disco Godfather and his overindulgence in Put your weight on it. Maybe his rhyming abilities wore me down, or maybe I just find the idea of a middle-aged stand up comedian well-versed in kung fu greatly appealing.
Petey Wheatstraw is absolutely positively ridiculous and we’d not expect anything less or want anything else from Mr. Moore and gang. Moore plays our title character, a popular stand up comic nothing like the real Moore, and rival comics Leroy (Leroy Daniels) and Skillet (Ernest Mayhand) plot and scheme to get the more popular Wheatstraw to change the date of his show. Leroy and Skillet, not the most adept smooth talkers in the world and who are under extreme pressure for their enormous debt, finally resort to deploying their henchmen in street violence. They gun down a kid in cold blood and then an entire neighborhood — inc. Petey Wheatstraw — at the kid’s funeral. In the afterlife, Petey naturally makes a deal with the Devil (G. Tito Shaw) — he can return to life if he marries the Devil’s daughter, the world’s ugliest woman, of course, and provides Lucifer a grandson. Petey also takes control of the Devil’s cane that provides Mr. Wheatstraw incredible powers. Wheatstraw was taught the martial arts relatively early in his life — Petey Wheatstraw knows kung fu and Petey Wheatstraw knows crazy.
Petey Wheatstraw doesn’t fool around one bit — like Moore and his characters themselves — and it makes a leap straight for the joyously absurd with Petey Wheatstraw’s pre-credits narration and a flashback to Wheatstraw being born in the form of a 6-year-old child. The film goes on its merry little way from that point forward and I thought I had found myself in the midst of the most sublimely ridiculous sight I’ve ever seen when Wheatstraw and his associates have to fight off the Devil’s minions. Then, they did it again and I felt like I had died and gone to Heaven.
WE HAD OURSELVES A REAL GOOD TIME: BLACULA, DOLEMITE, TNT JACKSON, THE DEVIL AND MAX DEVLIN Max Schreck, Bela Lugosi, Carlos Villarias, Lon Chaney Jr., John Carradine, Christopher Lee, Klaus Kinski, George Hamilton, Frank Langella, Gary Oldman, and Leslie Nielsen.
That’s a lot of bared fangs, deadly stares, and spectacular deaths over the decades.
Fair warning: Best get outta here with that Tom Cruise, Gerard Butler, Robert Pattinson bull.
Blacula star William Marshall deserves his rightful place among the best screen vampires. For example, he’s definitely better than, oh, let’s say, Carradine, who played Dracula in House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula, and Billy the Kid vs. Dracula and often looked like somebody had squeezed some fresh lemon juice in his eyes. A few months after Marshall debuted as Black Dracula, Lee appeared in his sixth Dracula film — cleverly titled Dracula A.D. 1972 — and Lee’s spiraling lack of enthusiasm for the role that made him famous bites you right smack dab in the neck.
With his booming voice, commanding screen presence, and legitimate acting chops, Marshall (1924-2003) owns Blacula and makes it infinitely better than some cruddy hunk of cinematic junk like Blackenstein. He brings an unexpected dignity to what might otherwise have been a throwaway film.
Rating: Three stars.
— I enjoyed Dolemite a whole lot more than Disco Godfather, my first Rudy Ray Moore experience, and not only because I’m now calling the former picture Boom Mic Motherfucker.
Disco Godfather lost me by about the millionth or maybe it was by the billionth time Moore (1927-2008) exclaimed Put your weight on it, a slogan that needless to say would not be adopted or adapted by 1980 U.S. Presidential candidates Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, and John B. Anderson. Despite the fact that it tried cultivating a social conscience, Disco Godfather needed some weight put on it, because it was the cinematic equivalent of an anorexic crackhead.
Moore has been called The Godfather of Rap and both Dolemite and the character himself almost instantly serve notice why. Jailbird Dolemite’s first lines are Oh, shit. What the hell does that rat-soup-eatin’ motherfucker want with me? One could play a reasonable drinking game with how many times Dolemite utters motherfucker in the movie, because it’s not every time Cheech & Chong say Man in Up in Smoke (reportedly 285 times) or everybody says Carol Anne in Poltergeist III (121). You won’t get wasted, best shit you ever tasted, from Dolemite. You’ll probably feel pretty good and the alcohol will help laughter.
The plot: Dolemite gets released from prison and fights the criminals and corrupt police officers who sent our favorite cinematic pimp up the river in the first place. Really, though, Dolemite is about the profanity, fight scenes, female (we’ll forget about the male) nudity, and complete utter ridiculousness, all of it done over-the-top. Never mind that it’s a time capsule into Bicentennial-Era America filed right alongside Dog Day Afternoon.
To be honest, though, I was distracted from the plot and everything else by the unpaid co-star Boom Mic Visible, who’s absolutely the funniest motherfucker in Dolemite. According to IMDb, The boom mic is visible in many shots of original Xenon VHS to DVD transfer from the 1980s. The film was originally transferred without the proper ratio ‘gate’ of 1:85.1, revealing more of the top and bottom of the frame than the film makers originally intended. The 2016 Vinegar Syndrome Bluray release was re-transferred from an archive print of the film, at the proper ratio, so the boom mics are hidden in many shots. The Bluray release also includes a ‘boom mic’ version of the new transfer, intentionally revealing the boom mics for comic effect.
Now we know.
The actor John Kerry (not that John Kerry) played Detective Mitchell in Dolemite and it’s a missed opportunity that nobody ever asked 2008 U.S. Presidential Candidate John Kerry about his experiences making Dolemite, what Rudy Ray Moore was really like, etc. That’s a real shame.
Rating: Three stars.
— TNT Jackson is definitely not a good movie, but I am still feeling a certain lingering affection for it that other (better) movies wish they could make me feel for them.
What else could be said about some of the worst martial arts sequences ever committed to celluloid, from the very first fists and feet of fury scene all the way to the grand finale. Would you believe punches and kicks that do not connect but still inflict damage? Would you believe the heroine could punch right through the villain? Well, prepare yourself for TNT Jackson.
TNT Jackson falls short of the standard established by similar pictures Coffy and Cleopatra Jones, because, let’s face it, TNT Jackson star Jeannie Bell falls below Pam Grier and Tamara Dobson, respectively. Sure, former playmate and bunny Bell looks absolutely stunning with her great hair, great face, and great body, but she can’t act her way out of a paper bag and we don’t really believe that she could fight her way out of one if she wasn’t the star of the movie. Miss Jackson and her inevitable white chick nemesis (Pat Anderson) wage what’s possibly the worst cat fight ever in the history of the movies. It’s a doozy, and that describes the vast majority of the 72-minute TNT Jackson. Yes, that’s right, 72 minutes, a genuine throwback.
The late, great character actor Dick Miller (1928-2019) earned a screenwriting credit on TNT Jackson, but apparently producer Roger Corman had it rewritten by Ken Metcalfe, who plays the sleazy sub-villain Sid in TNT. Miller does not appear in TNT Jackson.
It’s amazing TNT Jackson romantic lead and main villain Stan Shaw did not get The Sensational, Smooth, Suave, Sophisticated, Stunning Stan Shaw for his screen credit, but maybe just maybe that’s because he overplays his smooth, suave, sophisticated ways so much that we’re tired of his jive real quick. Heck, even Shaw’s afro overplays it throughout TNT Jackson. I’ve not seen this much overacting by hair since, oh, let’s see, Chu Chu and the Philly Flash or maybe I’m mixing up Carol Burnett’s decorative head cover (wait, that’s just part of her costume) with her maracas.
Basically, I can’t hate too much on TNT Jackson like I do Chu Chu (more like Poo Poo and the Poopy Gas), since director Cirio H. Santiago remade TNT a few years later as Firecracker and substituted (white) Jillian Kesner for Bell in the title role. Both movies have similar plot elements, namely infamous topless fights, and Metcalfe in a similar role, but Firecracker does it better.
After watching TNT Jackson, I could not help but gravitate toward AC/DC’s song and the chorus ‘Cause I’m T.N.T., I’m dynamite / T.N.T., and I’ll win the fight / T.N.T., I’m a power load / T.N.T., watch me explode. Bonus points for TNT Jackson, ones that keep it from a two-star rating.
The best version of TNT Jackson is the two-minute promotional trailer put together by Joe Dante and Allan Arkush for New World Pictures circa 1974 or 1975. The voice-over narration takes it to greatness: TNT Jackson, Black Bombshell with a Short Fuse! This Hit Lady’s Charm Will Break Both Your Arms! She’s a One-Mama Massacre Squad! TNT’s Mad and That’s Real Bad! With That Dynamite Bod She’s a Jet Black Hit Squad! A Super Soul Sister and a Bad News Brother Under Cover and Out to Blast a Killer Army That’s Poisoning the People with Deadly China White! You Best Pay the Fine or She’ll Shatter Your Spine! Black Chinatown, Where Flesh is Cheap and Life is Cheaper! TNT Jackson, She’ll Put You in Traction!
Rating: Two-and-a-half stars. Trailer: Four stars.
— Before The Devil and Max Devlin, it had no doubt been a long time since Walt Disney Studios depicted Hell in one of their films.
For example, Hell’s Bells from 1929 and Pluto’s Judgement Day from 1935 leap first to mind, two animated shorts that might blow people’s minds who normally associate animation with cute-and-cuddly innocuous fare at this late point in history.
To be fair to the older films, which are both far superior to the main film currently under consideration, feature length The Devil and Max Devlin doesn’t spend a lot of time in Hell.
Well, actually, according to some former President, right, aren’t California and Hell the same?
I wonder, given the subject matter and the presence of Bill Cosby in one of the starring roles, if The Devil and Max Devlin will go or has already gone the way of the controversial, divisive Song of the South — suppressed for seeming eternity by the folks at Disney. I found them both in the dark, dank recesses of the Internet and I hope that I won’t go to jail or Hell for either cultural sin.
Anyway, I like the locations (especially Hell) and I like the high concepts behind The Devil and Max Devlin like a slumlord trying to save his soul by giving the bad guys three unsullied souls and it turned out to be perfect casting to have Cosby in the role of the Devil’s helper, but the movie gets so bogged down in plot details that it evolves into a real slog and we just want more than anything else in the world at the moment for the movie to finally be over. At least, if nothing else, that’s how The Devil and Max Devlin made me feel watching it.
GRAND HOTEL (1932) *** MGM once boasted More stars than there are in Heaven and as I typed out those words, sounds and images from Grand Hotel played on the motion picture spread inside my head.
Of course, because Grand Hotel put Greta Garbo, John Barrymore, Joan Crawford, Wallace Beery, and Lionel Barrymore — five good old-fashioned movie stars — together. A commercial and critical success, Grand Hotel gave Hollywood a casting model still with us today, as well as the custom that a luxurious setting must host our stars. They even named the movie after this luxurious setting.
Part of the appeal of watching Grand Hotel to this very day — nearly 90 years after the film’s original release, for crying out loud — derives from drawing parallels between the real-life performer and their character, especially true for Garbo, John Barrymore, and Crawford.
Top billed Garbo (1905-90) plays ballerina Grusinskaya, but it’s virtually impossible to not draw the parallels with the actress herself when we hear the famous words, I want to be alone. Or I think Suzette, I’ve never been so tired in all my life. Yes, I listened to the Kinks’ “Celluloid Heroes” so many times before I watched Grand Hotel that the song informed every second of seeing Garbo in arguably her most famous movie role, Don’t step on Greta Garbo as you walk down the Boulevard / She looks so weak and fragile, that’s why she tried to be so hard / But they turned her into a princess / And they sat her on a throne / But she turned her back on stardom / Because she wanted to be alone.
Garbo appeared in eight films after Grand Hotel, her final one being George Cukor’s Two-Faced Woman in 1941. That one came with the slogan Go Gay with Garbo! Her first talking picture, 1930’s Anna Christie, simply hyped Garbo Talks!
John Barrymore (1882-1942) first made his motion picture fame as Dr. Henry Jekyll and Mr. Edward Hyde in the 1920 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Barrymore’s life played out like Jekyll and Hyde, seeing that his matinee idol looks earned him the nickname ‘The Great Profile’ and benefited him in romantic lead parts in Grand Hotel (as the formerly wealthy Baron Felix von Gaigern, who specializes in thievery and gambling with Garbo his potential mark) and Twentieth Century (arguably his best performance as tempestuous temperamental theatrical director Oscar Jaffe) before many years of heavy drinking finally wore him down into a shell of his former self. John Barrymore died 10 years after Grand Hotel premiered, at the age of 60 from pneumonia and cirrhosis of the liver. He’s more famous today for being Drew Barrymore’s grandfather, but his acting talents are well-preserved on celluloid and I’d start (and possibly finish) with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Grand Hotel, and Twentieth Century.
Crawford (1904-77) has remained a divisive figure some 50 years after her final movie — Trog in 1970 — embodied by the essay The Feminine Grotesque: On the Warped Legacy of Joan Crawford by Angelica Jade Bastien that reappeared on RogerEbert.com during Women’s History Month. No lesser authority than Crawford herself described her Grand Hotel character Flaemmchen as “the little whore stenographer,” and the actress’ eternal divisiveness stems in part from her infamous reputation for sleeping her way to the top. Bette Davis said of her arch rival, She slept with every star at MGM. Of both sexes.
Kansas City (Missouri)-born Beery (1885-1949) shared the 1933 Academy Award for Best Actor — with Fredric March from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde — for his performance as the title character in the feel good heartstring yanker The Champ. The Champ premiered Nov. 21, 1931. Grand Hotel premiered 143 days later and Beery plays a character, General Director Preysing, who proves to be a complete 180 from The Champ. Beery chews through the scenery not only on Grand Hotel but every other movie MGM had in production at that moment in time.
John’s older brother Lionel Barrymore (1878-1954) etched his place in history as the epitome of villain, Mr. Henry F. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life. So to see him play such a likable character in Grand Hotel might be a great shock for most viewers who are only familiar with Barrymore through It’s a Wonderful Life. He’s definitely a scene stealer in Grand Hotel.
Ironically enough, Lionel Barrymore presented Beery with his Oscar statuette. Barrymore won Best Actor the previous year for his performance in A Free Soul.
I must admit, though, that I prefer International House, taglined in 1933 as ‘The Grand Hotel of Comedy’ and released by Paramount, over Grand Hotel. International House gives us a cast that includes famous gold digger Peggy Hopkins Joyce, W.C. Fields, George Burns and Gracie Allen, Rudy Vallee, and Bela Lugosi, plus Stoopnagle and Budd, Baby Rose Marie, and Cab Calloway. We have Calloway and his band performing “Reefer Man,” Fields smoking opium and driving his American Austin automobile through this grand hotel in Wuhu China, Doctor Burns and Nurse Allen bantering, and plenty more Paramount pre-Code shenanigans stuffed into a 70-minute cinematic confectionery. By comparison, Grand Hotel, lasting more than 110 minutes, seems awful staid and stodgy.
That said, Grand Hotel serves a lasting reminder of how powerful star power used to be.
Attack of the Killer Librarian 