All of Them Believers

 

One thing to miss about this new world of entertainment run by streaming services: losing that time in college you flipped through channels, stumbled upon a scene where a cheery housewife was electrocuted in front of her young son and Martin Sheen, then had to run to a class only to spend the next 20 or so years wondering what that movie was, and where it could possibly go from there. Had you known the answer was "Law & Order episode complete with before-they-were-famous faces and facial spider egg nests," just imaging what your 20s may have been like.

Anyway, it's 2022 and I finally found said film. 

Quick Plot: Dr. Cal Jamison is ready for a fresh start. You would be too if after a cheerful morning run, you came home to watch your loving wife be horrifically electrocuted by a hotplate and spilt milk as your young son watches on. It's enough to make a man pack up his life and move to 1987 era New York City, where a comfy job as a psychologist for traumatized police officers awaits. 

Cal heads east just in time for a series of brutal child murders to sweep the headlines. Someone is killing young boys of color in what seems like ritualistic sacrifices. Local detective Tom (baby-faced Jimmy Smits) is undone by the discovery, warning his new therapist that everyone is in danger before stabbing himself in the middle of a Harlem diner.

The lieutenant on the case (Robert Loggia!) senses something bigger at play, which slowly takes Cal down a dangerous path of how some of the city's most elite and powerful titans of industry have acquired their strengths. It's a little creepy, a little silly, and definitely more than a little racist.

Voodoo is something no white American should really use as the subject of film. No matter how many positive characters (such as Cal's friendly housekeeper) you toss in, it's basically impossible to not turn your story into one that casts dark-skinned non-traditional Christians as monsters. They talk in TONGUES. They DANCE frenetically. They plant mysterious dust on your stylish compact so your face can erupt in a spider-filled rash. THEY'RE EVIL, you see.

If there's a silver lining of The Believers, it's that (minor spoiler) the actual villains are whiter than a Ritz Carlton tablecloth...though they require the tools and skills of the Caribbean to execute their impressively evil plans. So yes: still kinda racist. 

The Believers was based on a novel by Nicholas Conde, with a screenplay by a pre-Twin Peaks Mark Frost and directed by Midnight Cowboy and Marathon Man's John Schlesinger. The film certainly carries the gritty New York energy of those titles, and at times, makes for an engrossing mystery that puts a very specific spin on Rosemary's Baby. But it also seems to exist in a world entirely of its own, one that wants to engage in the lives and practices of Afro-Cubans, but also, has no earthly idea how to do so without marveling at their exoticism. 

It's a shame, and I honestly don't know how much of my thoughts watching The Believers had to do with the movie itself or the nagging feeling that in 2022, it just felt irresponsible. There are some fun (if predictable) big plot swings, high stakes all around, and a nice little punch in its coda that makes this film stick with you. But also, it's, you know, a bit silly and a lot ill-advised. 

High Points

Martin Sheen's Cal is a very particular protagonist of the era: a renaissance man with an FBI profiler's brain, FBI recruit's physical stamina, and CBS-style FBI leading man luck with the ladies. It's a ridiculously written role, but it's the skill and charisma of Sheen that both makes it work and ultimately holds the entire film together

Low Points

I've said enough about the implicit racism of the film, so I'll move on to a missed opportunity: there's a reveal around two side characters that should have deep weight, but never feels fully explored (especially when one has a last minute change of heart). In a nearly 2-hour movie that doesn't seem to mind building out some side characters, I don't really understand why these two are left so unresolved

Lessons Learned

Don't cry over spilt milk: just clean it up quickly with your dirty running socks before it can lead to the electrocution of a loved one

It is inappropriate to tell knock knock jokes before breakfast

In the '80s, it was common for landladies to have professionally done headshots hanging proudly in their bedrooms

Rent/Bury/Buy

In the scheme of Rosemary's Baby-inspired late '80s NYC-set ritualistic murder mysteries, The Believers is pretty rad. It's got A-list talent behind and in front of the scenes, and it tosses more than a few surprises your way. It's also a movie made by (and for) a whole lot of white people spinning something they probably don't understand very well into some wacky plot fodder. I think it's old enough that one can watch it with that grain of salt firmly in cheek and still have a grand time. At the time of this posting, it's streaming on Amazon Prime, though the movie seems to hop services more often than the subway breaks down, so good luck!

Not the One With Jewish Gary Oldman

If there’s one thing the woman in me finds frightening, it’s pregnancy.

Think about it.

There’s something GROWING INSIDE YOU. EATING what you eat. INHALING what you breathe. FEELING what you feel. It’s just SITTING there like some couch surfing broke friend, giving you nothing in return for nine months but morning sickness, bodily restrictions, and, if you’re taking your prenatal vitamins, outstanding hair.

(Based on observing friends and family carrying children, my understanding is that the only benefits one reaps during pregnancy are an increased chance of getting a seat on the subway and truly outstanding hair.)

Yeah yeah yeah, I know. The horrors of stretch marks and labor pains are eradicated by the birth of your beautiful perfect baby and all that jazz. Sure. I believe you. But what if said offspring is…

Not. Quite. Right.

Quick Plot: Brooke Adams plays Virginia Marshall, a children’s book author happily married to a successful lawyer and living the white collar dream of any American in the 1980s. The only thing missing is a baby, something Virginia and hubby Brad have been trying to make for several years but have hit roadblocks with both infertility and the nagging specter of Virginia’s occasional bouts with depression.

Enter James Karen as a wait-list-worthy gynecology superstar known for his stunning success with in vitro treatment. Past beneficiaries include Virginia’s annoyingly proud pal Cindy and a young Kathy Griffin’s New Age man-hating girlfriend. Never mind the fact that Cindy’s supposedly genius toddler drowned her older brother or that Kathy Griffin’s wife has turned violent. The baby seems fine so all must be in order…right?

The Unborn comes 17 long years after the better known mutated killer baby film It’s Alive but still follows in its tiny footsteps. Both films are interested in the oddness of the childbirth process, though The Unborn focuses most of its attention on the actual period of pregnancy. Where Larry Cohen’s wonderful It’s Alive trilogy was ultimately about a reluctant man coming to terms with fatherhood, The Unborn is more a scientifically minded Rosemary’s Baby exploring a hesitant mother-to-be learning her reservations might have been more justified than common cold feet.

As Virginia, Brooke Adams is the real strength of The Unborn. She’s a hard-working professional woman with a sarcastic sense of humor, someone who has to fight the urge to roll her eyes every time fellow women speak of the glow of motherhood and wonders of their perfect children. Both the writing and performance are impressively sharp for Virginia, making her come off as an actual person that you or I could certainly know (or even, in some cases, actually be). It’s a shame then that the ending ultimately betrays her.

I’m not going to spoil The Unborn, but if you’ve seen almost any My Child Is Evil film, there’s a good chance you’ll see the final shot coming. Well, I doubt your imagination will be that specific since once we meet the baby, it’s quite a unique little work of puppetry, but still: the outcome is obvious, and yet, quite unearned.

Directed by Rodman Leprechaun 2 Flender, The Unborn is a far better film than its VHS-only reputation might lead you to believe. Because Adams and the character-based writing (by “Henry Dominic, which is apparently a pseudonym for the Catwoman team of John D. Brancato and Michael Ferris) is so good, the audience is led to believe we’re watching an ambitious thriller about parenthood, the medical industry, and what it means to carry a child. Virginia’s past with clinical depression is a fascinating story thread that goes far in establishing her fears even before the mysterious rashes and cat-killing fetus shows its true colors. Much like how It’s Alive began with parents who almost terminated their pregnancy at its first signs, The Unborn starts with a self-aware woman unsure if she has what it takes to be a good mother. Sure, the film ultimately resolves that, but it seems like there was a more interesting answer to that question.

“Dominic’s” script also flirts with some amusing satire on the general culture of pregnancy and parenthood. Virginia’s yuppie friends set the bar for having obnoxious pride in their kids, something dashed rather horribly when one of them commits fratricide. The lighter touch is Griffin and her girlfriend espousing crystal energy and placenta power to a group of dubious non-lesbians. It’s still funny 21 years later.

So what doesn’t work about The Unborn? Sadly, the actual horror movie portion. Once we meet Mini Marshall, all the carefully wrought tension evaporates into bad puppetry and a rushed conclusion. At just 80 minutes long, The Unborn could certainly have taken more time in its resolution, though any more time spent showing the actual monster would have only hurt all the work building it up.

Ah well. The baby still looks better than Bijou Philips’ monster kid in the It’s Alive remake.

As does the crayon drawing made by my cat.

High Points

With the help of a surprisingly smart (when dealing with character) script, Brooke Adams absolutely nails the role of Virginia. Like Mia Farrow’s Rosemary, Virginia is pretty much onscreen for the film’s entire running length, making it vital that Adams registers with the audience. She does.

Low Points

Blargh

Lessons Learned

A dozen or so children still read in this country

There is something called placenta recipes and they are apparently delicious

The best venue to reveal the horror of expensive fertility clinics is generally not a lightweight morning talkshow

Look! It’s…

A young dark-haired Lisa Kudrow as James Karen’s assistant

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Unborn is currently streaming on Netflix and anyone with a passing interest in pregnancy horror will certainly get something out of it. My disappointment comes from the film’s squandered potential, but thanks to Adams’ performance and the occasionally very clever script, the film is still more than worthy of a watch. Especially if, like me, you just want the world to acknowledge how weird the act of pregnancy truly is.

Killer Babies AND Lascivious Dwarfs? It's like a chocolate covered candy cane!

Let us hop into our time-traveling Volkswagen (watch your head, tallies) and drive into the recent past. Around a year and half ago, I reviewed a film called The Sinful Dwarf, a gleefully twisted little tale about often nude newlyweds, forced prostitution, sodomy via cane, and the titular and VERY sinful dwarf.

Why now do I mention this slice of ‘70s sleaze? Well today’s Vertically Challenged Villain-filled feature, The Devil Within Her, ALSO features a sinful dwarf, and you know what folks? it saddens me how rarely I get to say that.


But what's even more exciting than a sinful dwarf attempting to seduce Joan Collins as she's clad like a belly dancer? Why, a DOUBLE DOSE review of course! My good pal and incredibly esteemed blogging colleague, The Vicar of VHS, also caught a little devil within him fever today and if you head over to Mad Mad Mad Mad Movies, you can read his most glorious thoughts.

Quick Plot: Joan Collins (whom you all remember so fondly from Empire of the Ants) plays Lucy, a newlywed new mom with an exotic dancing past. As the film opens, Lucy is having a difficult time giving birth to her son, so much so that the process prompts doctor Donald Pleasance to declare “This child doesn’t want to be born!”

Cue the title (sometimes indeed, I Don’t Want to Be Born!).

With ten fingers, ten toes, and a surprisingly sharp set of teeth, Baby Nicky comes home with Lucy and her daft Italian husband Gino. Immediately after, the family (and stuffy British nanny) notice something is amiss. Sure, all babies cry, but not all bite and toss furniture around the nursery.

Around this time, we as loyal horror viewers must try to decipher the culprit to Nicky’s oddness. Taking the time and place in account (1970s, Rosemary Baby/Exorcist ripoffland) we can deduce it probably involves demonic possession. Maybe a polluted water supply or dubious prenatal vitamin for a more earthly explanation?

Nope. Silly ideas, those. Can’t you tell that Nicky was corrupted because mom once spurned the romantic advances of an angry cabaret dwarf named Hercules?

Didn’t see that coming, did you?

Yep. Hercules has somehow wormed his sexy spirit into a cute baby (usually dressed up like a girl, for who knows why). We know this because of two reasons:

1-An extended, hilarious flashback wherein Lucy recounts Hercules’ failed seduction

2-The fact that any time Nicky acts evil, the film is cross-cut with closeups of the middle-aged Hercules dressed in a bonnet.

A dwarf in a bonnet is a beautiful beautiful thing.

Are you now preparing to give up your firstborn dwarf for this movie?

Like Unborn Sin*, The Devil WIthin Her is a terrible, horrible, no good very bad movie. Like Unborn Sins, it’s also funnier than anything Kevin James has ever eaten. Part of that comes from director Peter Sasdy’s stone-cold serious approach. Even when dwarfs are dancing with handkerchiefs and Carline Munro--clad in enough accessories to make an ‘80s era Madonna call it tacky--is talking, The Devil Within Her remains a ‘supernatural drama,’ trying with all its Herculean might to tap into the soul of Rosemary’s Baby.

But Joan Collins is no Mia Farrow, explicit sex scene be damned. Hubby Gino is a lovable goof, and Eileen Atkins out-Italian-accents Sophia Coppola with her heroic nun. Somewhere in the mix, a skinny Donald Pleasance tries to keep a straight face when philosophizing over evil vs. medicine. And a dwarf dances. 

I can’t think of any other way to really make you want to watch this movie.

High Points

Aside from the hilarious babysitter death, wherein a cheerful woman is pushed headfirst into a rocky lake by a wee little baby hand? Um. The fact that Joan Collins’ son is possessed by the soul of a living dwarf named Hercules pretty much does it for me

Low Points

Well you know...there’s no real explanation for how the angry dwarf managed to possess Joan Collins’ son. But he did, and that’s just fine

Lessons Learned

Italians make the best husbands

The great thing about not breastfeeding is that it allows you to drink hard liquor just three days after bringing your baby home

The biggest limitation of the medical profession is that you can’t write a prescription to fight evil

When you suspect your child of being possessed by the soul of an angry dwarf (nope, I really can’t stop saying that), be careful where you walk. You never know where a perfectly tied noose is hiding for for the right opportunity to hang you

Rent/Bury/Buy

If you live in the United States and still haven’t gathered your monthly savings for Netflix, let this be your inspiration. The Devil Within Her is streaming on Instant Watch, and really, your life will be better when you watch it. Sure it boasts the most ridiculous reason for possession ever (you got NOTHING Doll Graveyard) and the easiest exorcism ever. Seriously. The big finale is a frail nun reading Latin over a giggle infant.

It’s so much more amazing than words can ever possibly explain.

*NOTE: Unborn Sins is the film that will come to define our times or at least, February's Month of the Vertically Challenged Villains. It is one of the greatest things I have ever seen put to screen, but time keeps preventing me from giving it the proper photo treatment. You will know what this means when the day comes this month and your mind is blown.

Don’t Tell Mom, The Babysitter Will Probably End Up Dead

Ti West’s The House of the Devil is the new darling of the horror community which meant I was hesitant to watch and review it because a) many others have already done so and b) my expectations are rarely met (I’m sorry Trick ‘r Treat. I really like you but can we just be friends?). Hearing such mountainous heaps of praise from nearly every blog and podcast I respect left me no choice.

I had to enter The House of the Devil.

Quick Plot: College student Sam (Jocelin Donahue) is about to rent an adorable two bedroom home, mostly to escape germs and her promiscuous roommate’s date nights. Unfortunately, she suffers the condition shared by many coeds by not really having much in the bank. To earn a few bucks, Sam answers the mysterious ad for a baby$itter posted on a campus corkboard.

After much hesitation, girlfriend chatting, and pizza not-eating, Sam accepts the job. BFF Megan (Greta Gerwig) drives her to the secluded home of Mr. and Mrs. Ullman where things are, not surprisingly, not quite what they seem. 

They’re weiiiiiiiiiiird. You should know you’re in trouble when Tom Noonan, that 10’ tall enigma of fine thespianhood with genre cred, opens the door with painful politeness and far too much gratitude. Plus, Mrs. Ullman (the fine Mary Woronov) wears fur and the local pizza guy is more polite than a Jehovah’s Witness on a Saturday morning. I’ll cease any more detail on plot to protect the House of the virgins, but honestly, most of the story ends just about there anyway.

Other stuff happens, but The House of the Devil succeeds--and yes, it truly does--based on atmosphere. West clearly went to great lengths to ground everything about The House of the Devil in that golden age of creepiness known as the late ‘70s to early ‘80s, when Satan made more cameos than Christopher Walken. From the high-waisted jeans to grainy cinematography, every second onscreen is a new form of retro.

Also, it’s a damn scary movie, providing you accept a film primarily built on the oft used term, rarely mastered format, ‘slow burn.’ There are a lot of viewers--solid genre fans among them--who will say The House of the Devil doesn’t work, and they’re not necessarily wrong. Like The Haunting, Rosemary’s Baby, or even The Others, The House of the Devil is more about atmospheric buildup than blood (which is not to say there is none; a few fantastic practical effects practically drip goo off the screen). It might pull you in. It might not.

It got me, and I’m extremely happy that it did. The Ullmans are creepy, also quietly polite in a way that makes you believe Sam would accept their mysterious job. The actual house is a classic example of haunted gothic, made all the more eerie by the impending lunar eclipse. While we as an audience long to pull Sam’s flip-out bangs out of a situation that simply HAS to be wrong, Donahue does a perfect job at conveying smart caution mixed with simple monetary need. Like us, she enters the house sensing something off, then slowly lets her guard down as the jump scares prove groundless. By the time hell really starts burning, it’s incredibly jarring because we’ve already survived countless ups and downs. The payoff might seem a little too quick, but that’s only because we’ve had so much fun getting nervous with an hour’s worth of carefully constructed tension.

High Points

Gold stars to the whole cast, from Donahue for centering the story to Gerwig adding sassy and believable humor and the perfectly pitched Noonan and Woronov for being the definition of eery awesome

Guns are generally not that interesting on camera, but The House of the Devil finds several ways to make them truly frightening

Low Points

Um. I’m coming up short. If there’s any fault in the seamless direction of The House of the Devil, it shows somewhere in the bloody finale, which is simply not quite as stand-out as the masterful buildup.

Lessons Learned

Massachusetts is home to really awful pizza

Hard candy from old people is always gross, even when said elderly are Satanists

Don’t smoke. Seriously. Just don’t.

Rent/Bury/Buy

Every fan of the horror genre should give The House of the Devil a fair chance, but I do fully expect a vocal portion to find this an underwhelming and boring film. However, if you’re tired of self-aware slasher satires and just want an old fashioned spooky flick, this is a definite watch and, once proven, a solid purchase. The DVD includes some featurettes and an informative filmmaker and crew commentary (which, considering the skill at work, is a great investment for those interested in the technical side of filmmaking). Playful performances, masterful atmosphere, and an energetic throwback spirit makes it something truly special.

Twinkle Twinkle Little Sociopath

The surprisingly fertile sub-genre that is Evil Children Unleashed could inspire any horror fan to pump out a few kids of his or her own. It’s not that we long to suffer death or insanity at the pudgy little fingers of adorably twisted spawn; we just really like watching them work.

The beauty of Joshua, aside from it being an eerie little thriller, is that it’s ready made for a double bill. Play it before the more recent evil child-mothered-by-a-slowly-slipping-into-madness-Vera Farmiga and you’ve got a good four hour block of cheerily twisted tube tying/vasectomy-getting inspiration (unless, of course, you agree that Rhoda Penmark earned that penmanship medal).

Quick Plot: New money New Yorkers Abby (Farminga) and Brad Cairn (Sam Rockwell) welcome the birth of their angelic daughter while their 9 year old son, Joshua, slowly starts to reveal subtle signs of sociopathy. School hamsters die. Baby Lily goes from sweet to colicky. A stuffed panda bear is gutted and yuppie parents suffer through a talent show more painful than the early rounds of American Idol. Something is indeed rotten in the state of the Upper East Side.

As if Joshua’s blossoming bloodthirstiness and Lily’s increasing volume wasn’t enough, there’s also Mom’s manic depression to deal with, an illness that seemed to have been under control for some time before the actions of the film. Nana doesn’t help matters by using her babysitting as an opportunity to convert Joshua to Born Again Christianity, while Brad struggles to hold his big bucks executive investment job under the surprisingly humorless tutelage of Michael McKean. The only stable presence is Abby’s fantastically wonderful brother Ned, the kind of guy who buys you Broadway tickets, gives your kid free piano lessons, and sips a homemade martini while talking you down from psychosis. 

A side note: everybody should have an Uncle Ned in their life.

Ever so slowly, the Cairn family descends into dysfunction. It’s an oddly paced fall made even more unsettling by the cold sterility that seems to follow them in their expensive NY high-rise. Clearly, director George Ratliff (he of the fine documentary Hell House) found some inspiration in Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby, adding minor homages with a modern feel in images like Lily’s baby stroller (updated with a pink fleece canopy). It helps that Joshua remains restrained, both as a character and film. There are no supernatural explanations or even feats of unbelievable strength committed by the titular bad seed. He’s simply too smart, too misunderstood, and too far over the line to come back.

High Points

As a film, Joshua is as much about its New York setting as it is a twisted little boy. Ratliff does an excellent job utilizing actual landmarks, like Central Park’s Alice In Wonderland statue, and stepping inside common city institutions like elite private school parent conferences

The film’s final song, provided by the Dave Matthews Band, is as haunting in the last scene as it is when replayed immediately over the end credits

Rockwell does a fine job as not the brightest dad on the high tax bracket block, a man trying in vein to click with a son so completely different from his own relaxed persona

Low Points

Much like The Omen remake, Joshua’s biggest misfire comes in the all-too-obviously evil of its banged villain. There’s never any real mystery to Joshua’s intentions, in part because young actor Jacob Kogan (who is delightful in the behind-the-scenes extras) never gets the chance to play believably nice. A little more ambiguity would have added a good deal more suspense.

Lessons Learned

A bad lullaby can literally be sickening

There’s really no reason to save a home movie of your firstborn screaming his head off and his mother going, quite literally, crazy. Isn’t there a baseball game worth recording on this spare VHS?

Ancient Egyptians had a groovily hungry god named Apep who may have been related to the Sarlac Pit

Any character that refers to public bathrooms as “the little girl’s room” have and deserve very bad things coming their way

Child abuse can be instantly diagnosed with one crayon drawing

Rent/Bury/Buy

Joshua is simultaneously familiar and unique. On one hand, we’ve seen countless incarnations of cute little psychos dining off the kids’ menu, but Ratliff’s style and some nifty characterizations of the Cairns makes for an effective little film. The DVD is loaded with extras, including a commentary and interviews. If you enjoy these kind of creeping horrific dramas, then Joshua isn’t a bad investment if found at a decent price. I wasn’t completely overwhelmed by the film, but I was absolutely taken in by its slow unfolding and truly haunted by its final scene. Give it a try when you’re in the mood for something slow, then crank up the trash with an Orphan followup.