I just cannot be partial to slasher films. It’s never been my preferred horror sub-genre to start with, and, at this point in my life, these movies have become so predictable and devoid of story that I often find them boring. There are exceptions — some of the the original “A Nightmare on Elm Street” films (1984- 2003) and “Child’s Play” (1988) were grotesquely creative and had terrific supernatural setups that were well executed. But even the attraction of John Carpenter’s original “Halloween” films (1978, 1981) is still mostly lost on me.
With all of that said, I’ll still say that my horror fan friends were right when they told me that 2018’s “Halloween” was a superior sequel. It looks a lot better than the segments I’ve seen of of the campier followups in the 1980’s and 1990’s.
It’s far better filmed and directed, it’s occasionally scary and it benefits from a very good cast. (Jamie Lee Curtis is of course quite good as the film’s heroine and perennial “final girl.” I’m also always happy to see Will Patton on screen, and I like Judy Greer a lot.) The script occasionally shines unexpectedly, too — the screenwriters have a truly impressive talent for making minor characters vivid with funny throwaway dialogue. (One of the three screenwriters is actor-writer-comedian Danny McBride, who I liked quite a bit in 2017’s “Alien: Covenant.”)
I’d be lying, however, if I told you that I wasn’t occasionally bored by this latest “Halloween” — simply because its basic, boilerplate plot and conclusion seem endlessly redundant with those of other slasher films. There are few surprises toward the end — one “gotcha” moment was especially nice — but the overall story is just too tired. I’d rate this film a 7 out of 10 for its merits, but I can’t actually get excited enough about it to recommend it.
I indeed had this exact ant farm from Uncle Milton’s Toys in the early 1980’s; it was one of those things that Santa brought that my mother wasn’t altogether thrilled about. There were all sorts of admonitions Christmas morning about how I had to be extremely careful not to let the ants escape into our house.
I definitely remember the ants being smaller than those pictured below. They were little black beads that you had to squint to see — they seemed like baby versions of the larger subspecies skittering around everywhere outside. (Rural New York has some huge-ass ants, let me tell you. Part of the inviolable Kid Code was that you promptly stomped the big red ones, because those evil things could bite — even if it occurs to me now that none of us knew a single kid who’d been bitten.)
Nor did the ants in my ant farm build the kind of elaborate tunnel systems that you usually see pictured for ant farms. Mine were relatively unambitious.
I remember being told by my siblings that I had to handle the habitat very carefully, because if the tunnels collapsed, the ants would have heart attacks and die. I remember being blackly fascinated by that as a little boy — insects dying from frustration, like ruined architects. It seemed so bizarrely tragic. I have no idea if it was true or not. Maybe my mom just told my brother and sisters to say that so I would be extra careful not to break the thing, and inadvertently launch the Great Ant Jailbreak of 1981.
My ants eventually died anyway, curling up into static little black balls that looked like mouse droppings. I wasn’t too affected by it. You kinda don’t get attached to ants. I was far more saddened, for example, when the family dog tore through the Habitrail like goddam Mecha-Godzilla and ate Henry the Hamster.
But that’s a story for another day.
So I finally watched “The Wolf Man” (1941) for the first time a few nights ago, and I indeed had a lot of fun with it. Sure, it’s tame by today’s standards, and bit corny too, but it was interesting watching Lon Chaney, Jr. for the first time and seeing the granddaddy of all werewolf films.
Here are a few things that jumped out at me while watching the film and reading a bit about it afterward (and, yes, I do realize that most people already knew these things):
I only saw one third of Roy Ward Baker’s “The Monster Club” (1981), when I was maybe in the third or fourth grade. It was a typical 80’s horror anthology movie, and I walked in when my older brother was watching the third and final segment on television. I’ll be damned if that segment alone didn’t creep me out, though. (And the reviews of the film that I’ve read indeed name “The Ghouls” as the scariest entry in the trio.)
It’s pretty tame by today’s standards, or at least to my adult sensibilities. It was definitely a lower-budget scary story, and probably pretty safe for television even back then. But I watched it again the other night, and it still retains its creepiness after … about 35 years, I guess. The titular monsters are indeed “ghouls” in the classical sense — they are human-looking fiends that are very much alive, but that feed on carrion (which actually makes them the reverse of zombies, I suppose.)
I can’t vouch for the rest of the movie, as I’ve only seen snippets, which seem pretty cheesy. The wraparound segments star none other than Vincent Price and John Carradine, which will of course appeal to fans of classic horror. (Carradine actually portrays a fictionalized version of R. Chetwynd – Hayes, the prominent British author who penned the stories on which the movie is based.)
If you saw this back in the day and “The Ghouls” got under your skin, then let me know. I’d get a kick out of knowing that I wasn’t the only one.