Gaslight (White Diamonds Edition)

 

Every time I move, I play the mathematical nightmare game of trying to figure out what I should be doing about cable. Anyone younger than me may be googling the definition of ‘cable.’ Those older are just asking, “Spectrum or Optimum?” Those in between wonder about Fios. 

Sometimes it is a bit of a mind boggle to realize how many languages this particular moment in time is speaking without realizing they’re different. We are our own Tower of Babel, a precarious stack of cable boxes atop routers spewing out cut cords like dead vines. 

Inevitably, because I am now officially old, I flirt with such things as Hulu Live or YouTube TV and realize in the end, I’m just going to keep that darned fossil of a cable box…though now a smaller pebble that makes my RoKu look like overweight.

All this is to say that with my ridiculously overpriced cable plan (look, a lifelong baseball fan will almost always be stuck giving in to the network gods) I now get TCM (Turner Classic Movies, for the younglings). And that means I have constant access to film classics that are often hard to find or more specifically, hard to remember that I want to find them. So when something in the genre hits that digital guide, it’s a safe bet that I’m going to make that $10.99 DVR do its job.

Quick Plot: Ellen Wheeler is the kind of glamorously wealthy English(?)woman who sleeps in full makeup and drinks brandy from fine glassware in a sprawling garden estate. She also looks a lot like Elizabeth Taylor.

There's been a lot of talk in the last few years about what it means to be a movie star, and how that kind of categorization has been dying out in an age of 21st century media. I disagree with the sentiment (Florence Pugh, Michael B. Jordan, Sydney Sweeney to name a few new ones). Still, when those unusual violet eyes catch the film’s lighting in such a way that you get an all-out diamond sparkle, you kind of understand the phrase "the camera loved her.”

But the world doesn't seem to love Ellen. A few years earlier, her husband died in a car crash. That's sad, but it's a harsher memory when his passenger was a much younger, also dead mistress.

Ellen moved on well enough to remarry, but things seem tense between new husband John. One night, during a chaotic storm, Ellen spots a dead body sitting in front of the window of the abandoned house next door. The police are summoned to predictably find no sign of foul play, and John is doubtful of his wife’s state of mind. Much like every beautifully wealthy British(?sure) woman of her time, Ellen is recovering from a nervous breakdown.

Bestie Sarah (genre all-star Billie Whitelaw) is visiting and quickly sides with John, which only fuels Ellen’s fury. There are also shady psychiatrists, mysterious gardeners, finely worded paperwork, and all the other details you look for in this kind of story. 

Based on a successful play, Night Watch was directed by Brian G. Hutton, better known for war movies like Kelly’s Heroes. He seems a good fit for this material and cast. The story feels like a rather straight British mansion mystery, but the film never feels as if it was confined to a stage. Part of that is the pure star power of Elizabeth Taylor, but it’s also the simple joy of a raging thunderstorm and heavy classical score. We use the word “cozy” to describe a lot of mysteries these days, even when they involve homicide. Night Watch seems to have that same perfect mood.

High Points

I wasn’t terribly surprised at the film’s second-to-last reveal, but I was fairly shocked at the level of violence and pure viciousness in the primary act(s) of violence. It takes Night Watch to a brutal place I didn’t see coming, and it makes the denouement that much more chilling in its own eerie way

Low Points

I’ll be a little vague here as to avoid spoilers, but I do wonder if the film needed just a hair more of one character’s chronic betrayal to better tie things together

Lessons Learned

Everything is bigger and better in Spain

Dead bodies are easier to cope with than dead husbands

Ulcers and golf make for a terrible combination

Rent/Bury/Buy

There are certainly better versions of this kind of tale than Night Watch, but I still had a fantastic time with its twists and turns (even if a clever viewer could probably call most of them out early on). Elizabeth Taylor commands the screen and leads us into a gloriously satisfying finale. If you’re experiencing any kind of itch that only a 1973 British mystery can scratch, this one will feel great. 

30 Odd Foot of Clicks

Random reminder that I have a podcast (even I forget) and that in my most recent episode, the great Christine Makepeace and I dove into Red Rooms and its obvious pairing, 1995's The Net. 

I wrote about The Net a lifetime ago, but found it even more impressive this time around. As a thriller, it's perfectly sleek, but the real surprise was how once you look past the details (floppy disks, PIZZA DOT NET), the actual story is just as relevant THIRTY YEARS later.

Anyhoo, now that we all feel like dinosaurs, it only feels right to see ANOTHER studio-sized techno-horror from the same year.

Quick Plot: A technology firm has teamed up with a maximum security prison to enlist inmates in some virtual reality testing. Ex-cop turned convicted murderer Parker Barnes (the world's best movie star Denzel Washington) and a pre-Saw Costas Mandylor are hunting serial killer SID 6.7 in a video game sushi restaurant when something goes wrong. Our beloved before-he-was-Jigsaw-5.0 is killed, as investors decide to pull the plug on this totally reasonable experiment.

Not so fast. Head developer Darrel Lindenmeyer (the kind of wormy little man who you'd meet and say, "I bet his last name is Lindenmeyer") is so proud of SID 6.7 that he simply can't bear to say goodbye. If you love something, you set it free, even if that something is a computer program amalgam of 200 serial killers condensed into baby Russell Crowe's buttocks.

SID is quick to turn LA into his own very '90s murder playground. He storms a rave and MMA fighting event, always framing his kills in perfect view of a running camera. 

Naturally, there's only one man who can stop SID's rampage. 

Well, one man and a randomly paired blond sidekick with a precocious child perfectly constructed to be put in danger.

Virtuosity was probably never going to be a great film. The fact that I've taken multiple paragraphs to set something up before reaching the 20 minute mark of a 98-minute film and STILL haven't addressed half of the cast (OSCAR WINNER LOUISE FLETCHER FOR GOODNESS SAKE) should probably indicate that there's a bit too much going on here. 

Even Denzel thought so. The biggest drag in Virtuosity is whatever the heck the plan was for Kelly Lynch's Dr. Madison Carter. She's a criminal psychologist intent on teaming up with Parker to catch and profile SID. Naturally, she's also a single mom to baby-faced, perfectly kidnappable Kaley Cuoco. 

As a sci-fi action thriller, Virtuosity can be pretty fun. But Lynch's Carter just sticks out as an unnecessary chess piece in an already overstuffed game. It's not surprising that the first bit of behind-the-scenes trivia for this film is that the script turned Parker and Madison's relationship romantic. Whether that was ultimately cut for time, chemistry, or racial politics (most sites suggest it was Denzel Washington who thought it would alienate filmgoers), the end result of this pairing is just...off. This woman should NOT be tagging along as a seasoned cop/convicted murderer hunts down a terminator. The minute you see her equally blond-headed child, you clock exactly what will be the final conflict of what could be a far more interesting story.

So no, Virtuosity is not a hidden gem in a Blockbuster pile. It has heavy script issues that are both helped and hurt by the very '90s CGI and overall aesthetic. There's certainly a charm to its very of-its-time style. The film is never boring. But also, mostly, not that good.

High Points

Maybe it was a direct effect of having just watched the divine Sandra Bullock take over the screen in The Net, but there really is something to seeing a true movie star in action. Denzel Washington is obviously capable of deeper performances, but his work in this fairly dumb thriller is just more evidence of how insanely perfect he is as an onscreen presence.

Low Points

Aforementioned mess of Kelly Lynch's role, shoehorned into an already messy narrative and topped with one of the worst '90s haircuts to boot

Lessons Learned

You can always count on a '90s movie killer to speak in sadistic dad jokes

Never trust a computer nerd with a name like Lindenmeyer

It should probably go without saying, but there's no universe in which combining 200 serial killers into one mainframe is a good idea

Rent/Bury/Buy

Virtuosity is by no real definition a good movie. The choppy storytelling suffers from whatever happened behind the scenes, making the overall product fairly unsatisfying. But hey, there are only so many '90s techno thrillers, and even fewer that boast someone with the heft of Denzel Washington. 

Northern Exposure

Good gosh do I love a period film set in the freezing waters of absolute doom. We get so few. We need so many more. 

Quick Plot: Welcome to the 19th century Arctic, an easy-living destination filled with fresh fish and jolly drunken cheer.

Oh, how I kid.

Life is miserable. Young widow Eva manages a sad fishing outpost once run by her late husband Magnus. Eva and her crew pass the time with ale and ghost stories told with panache by the superstitious cook Helga, but it's a rough routine. 

One fateful afternoon, helmsman Ragnar spots a sinking vessel stuck in The Teeth, the same treacherous rocks that claimed Magnus some years earlier. With their own resources so limited, Ragnar refuses to lead a rescue despite good-hearted sailor Daniel's plea to do the right thing. Eva reluctantly agrees with Ragnar's decision, but when some delicious salted pork from the doomed ship rolls onto their land, the group decides to investigate. 

It doesn't go well. Though they find a few barrels of lamp oil, they also discover some rightfully frantic survivors trying to hitch a ride onboard. Ragnar tries to fight them off but ends up pulled into the water. Daniel hammers one in the face to save Eva. It's ugly and no one feels very good about their choices...especially when the bodies wash up on shore the next day and strange signs point to a haunting. 

Hungry, cold, and terrified, the team quickly descends into chaos. But are they being hunted by a wronged draugr, or their own madness?

The Damned is a rich slice of period horror that falls short of greatness in part because, well, it's simply too short. At just 90 minutes, the film moves fairly quickly, even if it also has the feeling of a slow-burning ghost story. The problem is that its big finale culminates in a twist that should hit hard before the screen fades to a silent black. Instead, it had me scratching my head. 

I won't spoil The Damned's ending, as I do still recommend this as a worthy atmospheric watch. But the fact that I sat through the end credits tossing things over in my head, then pounced on internet threads to see if there was a consensus is telling. And that most Google searches that start "the damned movie" include "ending explained" and descend into arguments isn't something to be ignored. 

Director Thordur Palsson clearly has talent. Even in its warranted literal darkness, The Damned looks and feels like a much grander period film than its fairly low budget would normally suggest. There’s not a bad performance in the bunch. Tension is built effectively. And yet, when all of these things are put together and add up to a truly confusing end note, it’s hard to give the film a full pass. 

High Points

Come on, it's a sleek horror film set in the 19th century arctic! What's not to enjoy?

Low Points

It's often the nature of snow-set ensembles that characters in heavy layers and tightly wound scarves are hard to differentiate. This is in full swing in The Damned, where we're stuck with a whole crew of frost-faced white men who blend together so quickly that I never really had a footing of anyone’s individual identity, making it difficult to even do a head count as the terror grew

Lessons Learned

Ocean-bloated corpses make cozy hideaways for eels

Always listen to the cook

A stopped watch is haunted at least twice a day

Rent/Bury/Buy

I’m very glad I watched The Damned. It was a great moody way to spend a late Sunday afternoon in the dark, and the fact that its first 89 minutes was so strong makes me almost forgive it ending so poorly. If you’re the kind of forgiving genre fan who can look past an unresolved (and I don’t mean ambiguous: I mean genuinely undecided) ending, this is well worth your eyes. 

Just a Friend You Haven't Met

 

If you had asked me two days ago what my life was missing, I might have said something silly like "world peace."

Now that I've watched Never Talk to Strangers, it's clear that the answer was in front of me all along (or at least since 1995):

a slow motion montage of sex and trust falls

Quick Plot: Dr. Sarah Taylor is a criminal psychologist currently in the middle of evaluating an accused rapist murderer Max Cheski (the always welcome Harry Dean Stanton). Following the disappearance of her fiance one year earlier, Sarah's personal life mostly involves gently fighting off neighbor Dennis Miller, until one fateful evening when she meet-cutes Tony Ramirez in the wine aisle.

This is a man who knows his cabernet and looks and sounds like Antonio Banderas. How can she resist?

Sarah and Tony begin a steamy relationship that quickly fizzles out when she reacts weirdly to him shooting a moving clown target at a carnival. It only takes one reminder of Tony's luscious body hair to send her straight back to his industrial loft, because it's the 1990s and every sexy mysterious man lives in an industrial loft. 

While her personal life is on the ups, her work days are a bit scratchy. Sarah's estranged father shows up in his Willy Loman drag to restart their rocky relationship. Cheski makes a few veiled threats. Then she gets a few presents: a bouquet of dead flowers, her own published obituary, and her precious orange tabby Sabrina cut up in a gift box.

The police give the super helpful and comforting advice that they can't do anything about this, and that Sarah's best bet is hire a private detective (the more things change...). He reports some unpleasant details about her new beau, but this being a '90s erotic thriller, there's always a whole lot more to the story.

And whoa boy there is! I would never dream of spoiling this oddball slice of Snackwell's era junk food. Director Peter Hall had a long career in theater, and he doesn't quite seem to know how to make Jordan Rush and Lewis A. Green's messy script come together (would anyone?). But then there's Rebecca DeMornay's steely blue eyes running down Antonio Banderas's bare chest, while slow motion flashbacks, and the kind of twist ending that sings like a soap opera aria. 

High Points

The world has never fully appreciated just how sexy a screen presence Antonio Banderas has. Never Talk to Strangers gets it

Low Points

I think it simply has to be a tradition that anytime Dennis Miller plays an ex-boyfriend in a '90s thriller, he comes off as the kind of scummy toxic male who would whine about being in the friend zone and is easily the worst part of his respective film

Lessons Learned

We're all just animals with beepers

There's no such thing as a good domestic pinot noir

Electric heaters are always dangerous, even more so when INSTALLED OVER A BATHTUB 

Rent/Bury/Buy

Never Talk to Strangers is a terrible exploration of mental health, and a damn fun watching experience. You can find it streaming on Tubi in all its sexy saxophone-scored glory. 

Bobo Calling

 

About every 9 episodes or so of any Law & Order installment, something truly beautiful happens. The detectives are investigating some clue, maybe a leftover receipt or diary entry, when they find themselves entering the kind of storefront you can smell from behind your television screen. 

The shop proprietor is almost always a portly, fiftysomething man with a belly bursting out of his stained silky shirt's bottom and chest hair knotted through a gold chain or three. If we're lucky, he's eating a sandwich.

The kind of sandwich that makes a movie mortician drool.

Our ridiculously good-looking detectives are never charmed, not by his affable manner nor offer for a discount on some new gold watches. "Cut the crap," they say, only to prompt the kind of sentence that calls for a cheer and toast.

"I RUN A LEGITIMATE BUSINESS."

Sometimes the show does a remix, putting the same words in the perfectly lipsticked mouth of a well-dressed madam insisting her escort agency provides companionship without anything illicit. It hits just as hard. 

Anyway, can't say WHY I thought of that when watching Out of the Dark. Is it because we have TWO instances of this? And they come in the form of Paul Bartel as a seedy motel manager and Karen Black as a glorious manager at a phone sex hotline?

Quick Plot: It's a regular late night at Suite Nothings, where beautiful women humor their callers while filing their nails and reviewing their taxes. The job is fairly easy, though nobody enjoys it when frequent customer Bobo rings in to discuss mutilation while referring to himself in the third person.

Employee Jo Ann leaves the office for a late night dog walk and stumbles upon a playful man dressed in a clown mask. While most single ladies would quickly exit that kind of situation, this one plays along until he brutally murders her. 

The detectives are on the case, though not before Bobo kills again. Some signs point to Kevin, Suite Nothings' Kristi's photographer boyfriend. There's also Stringer, the weird little accountant who helps the ladies get maximum state and federal returns. Since he's played by Bud Cort, you certainly can't rule him out.

Out of the Dark is an odd little film. There's a sort of New York Ripper-ness about its attitude towards violence against women in that it wants us to find its killer pathetic, but the actual reveal is so clunky and nonsensical that it left me more confused than triumphant. It also suffers from underserving its charismatic cast. Karen Black has one scene of character building establishing her as a fascinating working mother going through a messy divorce, and...well...that never comes up again. There's an interesting dynamic between the female detective who sees things far more clearly than her older, embittered, and very male partner, but guess who gets to save the day?

Ultimately, there's a whole lot that is deeply unsatisfying about how Out of the Dark ends. At the same time, you get Divine!

It's a mixed bag. I enjoyed this movie more than its quality probably should allow. Make of that what you will!

High Points

I wouldn't call Out of the Dark a feminist masterpiece, but director Michael Schroeder does a refreshing job of showcasing his sex workers as smart, fun, and simply cool women. It's not the kind of thing I expect from a 1980s slasher

Low Points

I know cultural sensitivity is an evolving thing, but in any world, was it necessary to play mariachi music during the one scene of dialogue with a Mexican woman?

Lessons Learned

Nobody gives great accounting quite like a weirdo

Animated creatures weren't in demand for phone sex in the late '80s

When in doubt, stick with the utility stocks

Rent/Bury/Buy

Out of the Dark doesn't really come together in the end, but it's a genuinely fun ride along the way. The film treats its female characters well (well, when not killing them) and has enough familiar faces to satisfy fans of camp. Fun fact: I watched the first half of this on Shudder, then turned on that network the next day to find out it was no longer available. Thankfully, if there was ever a movie that screamed, "this is probably on Tubi," it's Out of the Dark. So find it there!