A Special Kind of Nanny

If there’s a movie about an anatomically correct medical mannequin that somehow inspires family strife and murder, you can bet your bottom dollar it’s getting covered here at the Doll’s House. Hence, after sitting atop my queue through the change of the seasons, 1988’s cult classic Pin finally gets its chance.

Quick Plot: Ursula and Leon grow up under the questionable parenting skills of their haughty mom and doctor dad, a cold and clinical man who naturally earns a few raised eyebrows based primarily on the fact that he’s played by Terry O’Quinn. For the kids, the warmest relationship they seem to have is with Pin, the full-size medical dummy that  hangs out in dad’s office and occasionally offers advice, makes bets for clothing, has sex with the middle aged nurse and explains the birds and bees.

Naturally, Ursula and Leon don’t grow up to be Mr. and Ms. Well Adjusted. Ursula takes a few trips to the backseats of the football team, eventually leading to an abortion at 15 performed by...dad. Naturally. 

Leon, on the flip side, blossoms into the awkward David Hewlett (yes, the surly dude from Cube), a promising young man with little personal skills and a continued obsession with befriending Pin. When their parents die in a car accident, a frilly aunt attempts to move in but to Leon, the tragedy is the perfect chance to make Pin an official member of the family.

Pin is certainly an odd film, one that seems to scream ‘cult classic!’ in its very concept. Within the first few scenes, I felt a strong Flowers In the Attic vibe, something that made perfect sense once I learned it was based on a novel by future V.C. Andrews ghostwriter, Andrew Neiderman. Like those modern gothic tales or 1980’s Magic, Pin is far more about the dysfunction bred in cold families (particularly those upper class Caucasian ones) than the exploits of a killer doll.

There is indeed something strange about Pin, but it’s clearly Leon who needs a little help. Ursula pieces it together from a part-time job at the library, where she spends some time working, some time flirting, and a fair amount of the rest researching schizophrenia. Leon is damaged and confused, primarily from being raised in such a detached manner coupled with his own possible leanings towards mental illness. The story of Pin could have been told without the presence of a creepy skinless mannequin, but director Sandor Stern and his strong cast work off it to create a unique and unsettling tale.

High Points

The characterization of Ursula and Leon works incredibly throughout the film, an impressive feat when we see them as innocent children, curious adolescents, daring teenagers and finally, sad adults

Low Points

There’s definitely a drag felt in the film’s latter half, where there’s not necessarily a drive at any conclusion

Lessons Learned

When working in a library, avoid the urge to hum

If you’re normal, you can look forward to eventually feeling ‘the need’

Counting down from 100 by 7s is hard at any age

Rent/Bury/Buy

Pin is oddly hard to find on DVD, but North American audiences should take advantage of it streaming on Netflix. The film is far from perfect, but it’s quietly creepy and truly unique, well worth 90 minutes out of your evening. Plus, this is probably your only chance to see John Locke perform ventriloquism and letting that pass you by is akin to not pushing that button in 108 minutes. Think on that, won’t you?

Sunnydale Minis

There's something I love in this world just slightly less than my two cats, yet have talked about on this website far less than the remake of It's Alive, odd because that is something I don't love at all.

I speak, of course, about a small television phenomenon known as Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I...you know, kinda dig it*

*Note: Kinda dig translates into have watched the entire series run in full at least three times*

Savvy Doll's House readers should be well aware that we're smack in the middle of a special month I've dedicated to vertically challenged villains. Over its seven year lifespan, Buffy introduces us to several bad boys that fit right in.

Fear Itself, Gachnar the Demon

Giles: Xander, don't taunt the demon.

Xander: Why, can he hurt me?

Giles: No. It's just...tacky.

But seriously, Gachnar IS a cute wittle dweam demon. Sure, he's the cause of the Scooby Gang's worst Halloween party ever, leading Buffy to fight zombies, Willow to flee fireflies, Oz to wolf out pre-full moon and Xander to go invsi-girl, but he's also the size of Dollman with the vocal strength of the Mayor of Munchkin City. Who knew Napolean complexes extended to the supernatural?

The Puppet Show, Sid the Demon Hunter

Sid: Though Buffy’s first season remains my own personal least watched and liked, it did produce perhaps my favorite conversation ever spoken on television:

Willow: I think dummies are cute. You don't?
Buffy: Eww. They give me the wig. Ever since I was little.
Willow: What happened?
Buffy: I saw a dummy, it gave me the wig. There really wasn't a story there.

Doesn’t that capture the very essence of dummies? We can't explain why they're so unsettling, but show a perfectly adjusted adult the horrifically horrible TV ad for Magic and I cannot promise you she will not require therapy or at the very least, a clean pair of pants. 

The beauty of The Puppet Show (aside from the show's sole ending cap featuring the worst/best ever rendition of Oedipus Rex) is that Sid, the frisky little talent show star-to-be, isn't actually the baddie of the episode. Quite the opposite: he's a demon killer himself, a former hero confined to a wooden body following a pesky 50+ year curse. He still remains a little creepy--dummies with Frank Sinatra smoothness still don’t fare well when hitting on high school girls--but ultimately, Sid is a a good guy confined to the body of, well, a Good Guy.

Superstar + Season 6, Jonathan

Buffy: "Giles, do you have a Jonathan swimsuit calendar?"

Giles: "No. (pause) Yes. It was a gift."

One of the many reasons teenage girls and college professors alike adored the world of Sunnydale was the fact that it felt like a genuine place. Remember how on Beverly Hills 90210, a school introduced as a large, thriving megapolis where two Minnesotan twins would never register on any radar, the Peach Pit gang ultimately ended up being the only kids that had any significance on campus (save for the occasional guest star)? 

Buffy didn't do that. This was a one-Starbucks town that felt real, primarily because of its residents. Week after week, we recognized the head football jock Larry and witchy outcast Amy. Cordelia's minions didn't always have lines, but they generally had a consistency that made us believe they were more than extras of the week. 

No character personified this better than the dweeby, conflicted, and incredibly short Jonathan, played for all of Buffy's running time by future Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Pryce copywriter Danny Strong. At 5‘2 (still a half inch hanging over me) he was just about the only male that could make the diminutive Sarah Michelle Gellar look tall, something used to great effect for both comical and poignant reasons. 

But wait you say, isn't this month about villains? And now you’re throwing in TWO sympathetic little guys? Settle down, little ones. Remember that Sid may be a heroic demon hunter, but he’s still a ventriloquist’s dummy and hence, still evil. More importantly, dear Jonathan did indeed take on a darker turn as the years continued, flirting with a megalomaniacal alternate universe in the fan-favorite episode Superstar before turning all out evil--well, kinda sorta--in Season 6. Though Jonathan ultimately remained the least nefarious of Buffy's arch nemes--ises, he did indeed contribute to mild acts of civic crimes and for that alone, he earns his place here.

So give it up, wannabe Scoobs: who am I forgetting?

Doll Face Meme!

So I'm a woman of a few talents (surviving bad cinema, badminton, Boggle) but like any mere mortal, certain skills elude me. Organization. Social planning. Planning. Planning socialism, you get the idea.

For instance, I announced a contest several months back which still excites me, and yet I've yet to select a winner. What this means is 1) I will do so this weekend and 2) Said winner will receive a special "I'm sorry I'm a procrastinating poophead prize," fear not, not comprised of poop. This also means I will start reviewing the recommended films with intros from the lovely and daring souls who entered.

Also, it's social blogging season and like most times of year, I rarely seem to be 'wid it.' I've had half a Billy Loves Stu  inspired meme sitting in my draft box for a month, 9 entries into my Horror Digest  honored Willies, and terribly lax thank yous for Versatile Blogging. 

But finally, I found a trend I can easily hop onto! No, not Bandz or street dancing (well, kind of street dancing...hint hint bonus episode of the GleeKast coming at you in 3D!) but the Screen Grab Meme Spectacular bestowed upon me by none other than the baton-twirling BJ-C of Day of the Woman .  Bloggers are ordered to grab a few images with one unifying theme. Now I combed through my globby brain for days trying to figure out what would be appropriate before finally bashing my own noggin with a frying pan for overlooking the obvious.

Starting with The Godfather of Dollinema...

whose name need not be said

Baby Oopsy Daisy, Demonic Toys

Dolly Dearest, Chucky's first true love

Cowboy Curtis (I'm guessing), from Stuart Gordon's Dolls

My Cheat (not screen grab of cinema)

Billy Baloney, Pee-Wee Herman's naughty friend. True story: despite my doll phobia, this thing lived in my house all through my childhood. As recently as three years ago, my mother kept it on top of the refrigerator and would occasionally bring it to the dinner table with the prime aim of making me uncomfortable.

Dream Warriors Got No Strings!

One of the eeriest (if memory serves) PG-Rated films of all time, Roland Emmerich's (yes, that Roland Emmerich) Joey, aka Making Contact

Further proof that all dummies are evil: Anthony Hopkins and Fats, Magic 

May and Suzy

The soon-to-be-Criterioned Night of the Hunter

It takes a bad man to combine clowns with dolls. 

Steven Spielberg, I see your true soul.

Blade, the respectable leader of the Puppet Master series

Mannequins = Dolls all grown up.

Mannequins=me crying in the corner

Tourist Trap 

An underrated anthology classic, Tales From the Hood

And we conclude with the question that's plagued mankind throughout the ages:

How'd it get buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurned?

I was supposed to use this space to tag fellow bloggers to make them work, but how can I focus on choosing who to assign Googling to when the best YouTube compilation of all time is screaming at me?

I ate his liver with some wood chips and a nice chianti

Unless I’m crunching on nachos, I don’t normally make noises while watching films. No yelps, rare gasps. I couldn’t even tell you what my actual scream sounded like, which I suppose is a good thing although it seems, as a horror fan, somewhat sad.

Upon watching the trailer for Magic, I realized something. As I released loud “ew. ew. ew. agh. eiahhhhhh”s  at seeing a closeup of a smiling ventriloquist’s dummy taunt the audience--or just me!--with a nonsenical poem, it dawned on me that the last time I made such noises involved plastic jaws dropping and moaning in David Schmoeller’s Tourist Trap.


Big shocker: Dolls scare me.

But you know what? Watch this:

And convince me your pants are clean.

Quick Plot:

A young Anthony Hopkins plays Cork, a struggling magician in need of a gimmick. Enter Fats, his foul-mouthed wooden doppleganger and genuine crowd pleaser. A few sold-out NYC shows and a warm fuzzy agent Ben "Gangrene" (played by the most comforting actor in cinema history, Burgess Meredith) later, Cork and Fats get an NBC pilot deal. Fame, fortune, and funny voices all in one!

Naturally, there’s a catch. Before signing the Standard Rich And Famous Contract, Cork is supposed to take a medical test. He refuses on the grounds of his ‘principles,’ which we can infer may have something to do with his strange and extremely fraternal relationship with the wooden man quipping on his knee.

Cork flees the big bad city and returns to his childhood home in search of Peggy Ann Snow (Ann Margret!), the girl that got away. Now married to an outdoorsy husband who travels a lot, Peggy is quickly charmed by Cork’s newfound confidence and outspoken puppet companion. They make sweet swelling-soundtrack worthy love while ominous harmonica cues capture a possibly jealous Fats unamused by his friend’s diversion.

Is Fats a Chucky-esque killer with New Yawk charm, or a mere scapegoat for the unstable mind of the unstable accented Cork? The answer is fairly obvious and not really part of a twist, but the way director RIchard Attenborough (yes, the amber cane wielding John Hammond from Jurassic Park) plays with the pair’s relationship is always intriguing. Hopkins is a marvel, particularly when speaking in the insanely terrifying cackle of a large-headed doll. Mostly though, Magic is more disturbing than jumpy.

Yes, every single closeup of that wooden monster made me wince. I mean, look at the thing:

Ick ew ick aghhhh. 


But putting aside personal fears-

Jeez!

Let’s focus on the strange sadness of Cork’s fragile mind. While we never get much of a backstory, it’s clear that Fats isn’t the best influence on our shy magician. Sure, he wears matching sweater sets--

(which would be adorable if it wasn’t disgustingly terrifying)

but like the cool guy in any tale, Fats has the power to turn his weaker-willed friend into something fearsome. Nobody knows this better than Gangrene who, in the film’s most arresting scene, challenges Cork to go five minutes without being interrupted by Fats. It’s the most uncomfortable segment I’ve seen in some time.

Credit also goes to novelist/screenwriter William Goldman for crafting such a neat and haunting dynamic. Couple that with the careful notes played by Hopkins--note the little things, like how his voice slowly starts to resemble Fats as his madness becomes more apparent--and the fine direction by Attenborough and you have an unnerving and tragic tale.

High Points

Ann Margaret’s presence is solid (and her breasts are quite fabulous), Hopkins is super as Cork and all the more impressive as twisted voice of Fats (odd that the actor can do an American accent in dummy form but not human), but it’s Meredith who truly makes Magic something truly, well, magical. Part of it may be my personal attachment to the actor, who made me cry in everything from Rocky to an animated version of Puff the Magic Dragon I got for free at Wendy’s, but the actor’s work as the sharp, but compassionate agent brings out the true tragedy of Cork’s state of mind

Mild Spoiler:

Although the body count is minimal, the two major kills are incredibly frightening. The camera shots of Fats swinging his surprisingly heavy body towards the camera and later, holding a tiny switchblade in his tiny non-opposable fingers is enough to give a hardened doll-watcher like me nightmares

Low Points

I suppose I could quibble with the fuzzy explanation of Fats' birth and Cork's lonely childhood. While we can infer from a very '70s flashback that Cork's dad was less than impressed by his son's whittling, I wanted a little more history of just how something as terrifying as Fats could come to be 

Lessons Learned

The definition of cute=Ronald Regan, at least according to dummies

Having a limey dad (who oddly enough, enjoys American football) and growing up in the Catskills will cause you to speak with a distinctively British accent unless, of course, you’re throwing your voice


NYC cab drivers are crappy secret keepers

Lessons From the Holy Book of Hollywood Agents

Never forget that an actor killed Lincoln

No man must ever touch a Rolls but a Rolls man

Rent/Bury/Buy

While Magic is more akin to Psycho than Child’s Play, I still find myself twitching nervously every time I see this:

The film is worth a careful watch for a whole lot of reasons, from its surprising pedigree to sad themes and absolutely positively undeniably creepy villain. The DVD has several features, the best of which is a 30 minute short that details the history of ventriloquism (always evil) and the making of Magic, including neat tidbits about how even Hannibal Lector was terrified of the dummy designed to bear a slight resemblance to his own mug. Fats himself gets the last lines, and while his self-aware attitude is funny in the latter Chucky style, he remains, in every moment of his existence, the kind of thing that makes me go agh. 

and stop it!

Excuse me while I go tend to my nightmares.