An Irregular Guide to the Horror Film

by Resa Haile

Around Halloween, it can be fun to have your own mini-Horror Fest, featuring some old favorites, along with movies you haven’t seen before.

Among horror fans, there is a wide range of taste. Some of the newer horror films have been dubbed “torture porn,” as they seem more concerned with vicarious enjoyment of the extended and graphic suffering of the characters than with thrills and chills. Horror, like many genre terms, is fairly elastic, encompassing psychological terror (Rosemary’s Baby, The Innocents); the horror comedy (Theatre of Blood, Buffy the Vampire Slayer—the series); the ghost story (The Haunting, The Uninvited); the slasher flick (Halloween, Scream); the monster movie (The Creature from the Black Lagoon, An American Werewolf in London); and more.

While some horror fans may love them all, many fans of old horror movies are not going to warm to torture porn, and many may even have a problem with the Friday the 13th and Halloween movies. Conversely, fans of more graphic horror films may find the old Universal horror films to be “creaky.”

One snowy night last winter, I settled down to watch the old Universal version of Dracula (1931) starring Bela Lugosi, and featuring a score by avant-garde composer Philip Glass. The modern score added something to the atmosphere of the movie, as did the howling wind outside. Many people would not be able to watch this version of Dracula seriously—they would find the black-and-white cinematography off-putting, the style of acting artificial, the special effects not special enough. Yet all of these things add to the atmosphere if you allow them to cast their spell. Lugosi in Dracula has the role of his lifetime, “living” in his spooky old castle (there appear to be armadillos in the castle, or are they supposed to be rats?), not drinking…wine, listening to the music of the “children of the night.” The movie also contains the memorable, and often-parodied, web sequence.

The sequel, Dracula’s Daughter (1936), begins moments after the ending of Dracula and features Gloria Holden as the Countess Zaleska, trying to escape her family’s curse. It is also a memorable old-school horror film, even without being graced by a new Philip Glass score.

The original version of Cat People (1942) is probably the most famous film to feature French import Simone Simon. She has the lead role as Irena, a woman who believes if she has intimate relations with her husband, she will turn into a panther. One of the truest examples of psychological horror, since it is never clear whether her affliction is what she believes it to be or if she suffers from a delusion.

The sequel, Curse of the Cat People (1944), has little to do with the original story, and is not really a horror movie at all (although it is very charming). In the remake of Cat People (1982), starring the German actress Nastassja Kinski, there is no such ambiguity about the heroine’s affliction. I also found this to be a very interesting movie. (It may be of interest to trivia buffs that Klaus Kinski, Nastassja’s father, starred in the remake of the silent vampire film, Nosferatu.)

In the film Fright Night (1985), Roddy McDowall had one of his best roles as Peter Vincent, a former horror star whose glory days are past. The character’s name is a tip of the hat to horror movie legends Vincent Price and Peter Cushing. Cushing is particularly to the point since, as the tireless Professor Van Helsing, he chased and killed Christopher Lee’s Dracula in many a Hammer horror film.

In Fright Night, the hero, Charlie (William Ragsdale), believes a vampire has moved in next door to him. His friends, who think he is having mental problems, convince him to enlist the aid of Peter Vincent, now the host of a local late-night horror show, Fright Night. Peter agrees—for a price—to help them convince Charlie that he is wrong. The moment when Vincent realizes Charlie is not wrong is one of my favorites in the movies.

There is a sequel, Fright Night II (1988), which also has much to recommend it. Charlie’s insistence to his college girlfriend about the greatness of Bram Stoker’s most famous book, and the results of that argument are priceless. In the sequel, as often seems to happen, the ick factor gets an upgrade.

So, as you light the jack o’ lantern, lock the doors securely, and microwave the popcorn (or perhaps use JiffyPop, as Drew Barrymore did in Scream—er, well, maybe not…), turn the lights down low, get settled in, and just remember:

It’s only a movie.

Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Review by Resa Haile

In 1872, twenty-five years before the publication of Dracula by Bram Stoker, a vampire tale by another Irish writer saw the light of day. This story was Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. It is not difficult to find a copy today, as it is included in many vampire, ghost, and horror anthologies, as well as being published in slender book format on its own.

The true heroine of the tale is not Carmilla, but the narrator, who “bear[s] an English name.” She and her father come to the titular character’s aid when the lady (apparently) suffers a malady while traveling with her mother. The mother is on “a journey of life and death, and cannot stop,” so it is arranged for Carmilla to come and stay with the heroine and her father.

Bram Stoker acknowledged the debt he owed to his predecessor. As Dracula would later later do, Carmilla cultivates a personal relationship with her victim. With the increase of intensity in Carmilla’s devotion, the object of her affections becomes more listless and unwell.

Reading Carmilla today, one may be struck by an undercurrent of lesbianism in Carmilla’s pursuit of her victims, who are always female. (The movie The Vampire Lovers is based on this book.) It is possible that Le Fanu thought females seemed more vulnerable to becoming victims of a predator, even when the predator was female.

It is interesting that Carmilla’s heart beats and she breathes, two things that rarely occur in modern vampire fiction. This story is quite atmospheric and well worth the time for anyone interested in the roots of horror fiction.

Artwork accompanying this article is by Resa Haile.

The Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud

Book Review by Resa Haile

Welcome to London, England, over a hundred years after the death of Gladstone. The government is ruled by magicians, who ride in chauffeur-driven cars, but are dealing with trouble in the Colonies. Then there are the non-magical folk, called commoners, who are second-class citizens, some of whom accept their fate, and some of whom rebel.

This is the world of the three books of The Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud, a world in which the magicians have almost no powers of their own. The magicians’ power consists of being able to summon and bind spirits from the Other Place, and to enslave them. The magicians call these spirits “demons,” but this is not among the names they give themselves.

In the first book of the trilogy, The Amulet of Samarkand, we meet Bartimaeus, a five-thousand-year-old djinni who has gone through many cycles of enslavement by magicians and has the sarcastic wit and world-weary attitude to prove it.

Bartimaeus is summoned to London by Nathaniel, an eleven-year-old magician-in-training who lives with his master. Magicians are not allowed to have children of their own, but are sometimes assigned apprentices by the government. (There is a reference to incidents which occurred in Italy some time previously, presumably a clever nod to the Borgias-as-magicians in this twisted history.)

Nathaniel charges an unwilling Bartimaeus with the unwelcome task of stealing an amulet of great power from a dangerous magician. Bartimaeus has no choice but to obey. All Bartimaeus wishes to do is return to the peace of the Other Place, but he keeps getting pulled back in.

Within the adventures that continue through The Golem’s Eye and Ptolemy’s Gate, you will find generous helpings of poetry and sarcasm, often within the same line, as well as observations on the nature of freedom, personal choice, prejudice, and the class systems that occur in almost every society.

Besides, these books are just so much fun.

Readers who haven’t yet experienced the world created here are missing a treat. If you’re wistful for Harry Potter or you just like a good adventure yarn, give Bartimaeus a try.

The Amulet of Samarkand, The Golem’s Eye, and Ptolemy’s Gate are available in print and in very well-performed audio books.

Sweeney Todd

Movie Review by Resa Haile

I remember actors from the Broadway production of Sweeney Todd on talk shows, singing songs (most memorably Len Cariou’s version of “Not While I’m Around”) from the show. As an admirer of both Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter, I was curious about the film version. I have to say, though, the subject matter—spoiler alert here for those who don’t know—left me feeling a little trepidation, a little queasiness, if you will.


A friend of mine and I, after considering various movies to see over the Christmas break, took the leap and went to see Sweeney Todd. Although I personally have seen slasher flicks with less blood, fans of the current genre of torture porn (which, sadly, passes for horror now), may find the film a bit tame.

The plot concerns a wronged man, a barber, who returns from years of exile and imprisonment in order to seek his revenge. In the process of doing so, he meets and throws in his lot with Mrs. Lovett, maker of the “worst pies in London,” a woman as mad as he is himself. As Mrs. Lovett, Helena Bonham Carter is a bedraggled porcelain doll with the largest eyes imaginable, and she and Johnny Depp make the perfect Goth couple. Or they would, if Sweeney Todd could forget to glower long enough to notice her exisstence.

The movie is almost a study in black and white (with frantic splashes of crimson, of course), but the most memorable segment for me is a candy-coloured fantasy Mrs. Lovett has about the perfect life she and Sweeney Todd could have together. Even in her own fantasy, she cannot manage to make him smile.

Fans of the Harry Potter movies may be pleased to see some familiar actors here. In addition to Bonham Carter, there is, for instance, Alan Rickman, he of the leonine face and the voice that drips honey. Rickman, who plays Sweeney Todd’s nemesis, is known to many moviegoers as Professor Snape. There should be none of the Snape-ish debates over his character here, however: He is a bad man.

It is true that I found it hard to have much sympathy for the title character, who goes from a man on a mission for vengeance to a killer of innocents for profit. (I also confess to having to go to the lobby for a bit while the cast sang about “the best pies in London”—queasy again.) The story, nonetheless, is operatic in its tragedy, and the ending is sort of perfect, with the blood of innocent and guilty flowing together in the kind of tableau of human foolishness that might make a nice addition to Madame Tussaud’s.

Afterwards, surprisingly, my friend and I went out and had some pie. But it wasn’t meat pie, so that was all right.

Pushing Daisies Blossoms

Series Review by Resa Haile

Pushing Daisies premiered in the fall 2007 television season to critical buzz and moderately-good ratings. The writers’ strike caused the series’ first season to be very short, and the second season had only thirteen episodes shot before cancellation. It is available on DVD.



Artwork by Resa Haile

This series was different from anything else on television. Narrated by Jim Dale, frequent Broadway star and well known as the reader of the Harry Potter audio books in the U.S. (On a side note, he also starred in the all-but-forgotten Digby The Biggest Dog in the World, and Digby is the name of the dog on Pushing Daisies as well.) The narration allows the audience to know when the regular characters are saying what they mean—and when they aren’t. It also provides wry commentary and gives the audience backstory and additional information.

Narrator: At that moment, the Piemaker felt a mixture of happiness and trepidation.

Ned (the Piemaker): Why is it always a mixture?

Pushing Daisies is the story of Ned, also known as the Piemaker, who has a special gift, or, possibly, curse. Ned has the ability to raise the dead with his touch.

There are certain rules that go along with Ned’s ability. If he touches the resurrected again, that touch is permanent death. If he doesn’t touch the resurrected again within one minute, the price of another death is extracted.

When Ned was a boy, he brought his mother back to life, causing the death of the next-door neighbor, father of Charlotte “Chuck” Charles, the girl he loved. (Some fans of the show have theorized Ned’s last name is Edwards, so that he would be Edward Edwards, a nice match-up with Charlotte Charles.) Of course, since Ned hadn’t yet figured out any of these rules, his mother was soon gone again as well. The dog Ned had as a child is still with him, but Ned can’t pet him. This leads to some funny scenes with Ned remote-petting Digby and other such devices.

Ned (Lee Pace) learns that his touch has a huge effect on the flavor of fruit (I can’t help but wonder if fruit or plants are dying mysteriously somewhere nearby) and becomes a maker of pies. Eventually, he opens a shop called “The Pie Hole,” which is shaped like a pie. He lives in an apartment above, and his waitress, Olive Snook (Broadway baby Kristen Chenoweth, whose wicked singing skills are sometimes put to good use in the series), lives in the apartment next to his. She nurses a crush on Ned, although he tries to avoid touching people.

Private eye Emerson Cod (Chi McBride) discovers Ned’s secret and uses him to revive murder victims in order to solve the crimes. Although the interrogations include a lot of dialogue, I did time one, and the victim was returned to the state of death in under the minute required.

One such victim, however, turns out to be Ned’s childhood love, Chuck (Anna Friel), and he cannot bring himself to touch her the second time. She becomes part of the investigation of her own murder, and part of the detective team, which later grows to include Olive.

A suspect with a heightened olfactory sense refers to Chuck, poetically, as a “girl smelling of honey and death.” Chuck wears unusual but often charming outfits that sometimes hearken back to 1930s movie heroines and sometimes channel Audrey Hepburn by way of Emma Peel. Everybody gets into the act when kooky and colourful undercover costumes are called for.

Chuck must keep her re-life a secret from her aunts (played by Swoosie Kurtz, with eye patch, and Ellen Greene, of Little Shop of Horrors fame, who also gets to sing), who raised her. Ned and Chuck love each other, but can never touch, thus solving the television quandary of keeping a couple from getting together without making one or both of the people involved seem like total jerks.

Chuck and Ned are probably more together than most television couples who can touch, making creative use of plastic wrap and beekeeping outfits. Some of the cases include a dim sum restaurant that runs illegal gambling using food instead of cards for its poker game, the murder of a bigamist, a disappearing act with a killer ending, and pop-up books (Emerson Cod ends up taking a break from his hobby of knitting to create one).

Emerson’s sarcasm makes a nice counterpoint to the sweetness of Chuck and Ned, and, if I sometimes find myself wishing Olive’s love for Ned could be requited, there seem to be several possible secondary candidates to win her heart. Besides, her burgeoning friendship with Chuck is entertaining.

The show is a brightly-colored film noir screwball comedy whodunit fable, with beautiful fairy tale set design and smart, witty writing and acting. The final episode tries too hard to pull all of the loose ends together, making me want to delete the last few minutes and write my own ending, but the series is wonderful overall.