Category Archives: retrospective

Friday the 13th: A New Beginning (1985) – A Franchise Detour That Misses More Than It Hits

22 Saturday Mar 2025

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By the time Friday the 13th: A New Beginning slashed its way into theaters in 1985, the franchise was already a well-oiled machine, churning out a sequel nearly every year. However, this fifth entry remains one of the most divisive, largely due to its decision to shift away from the traditional Jason Voorhees formula and experiment with a psychological approach. While that sounds intriguing on paper, the execution leaves much to be desired, resulting in a film that struggles to balance its slasher roots with a misguided attempt at reinvention.

The story picks up after the events of The Final Chapter (1984), with a now-older Tommy Jarvis (John Shepherd) struggling with the trauma of his past. Sent to a halfway house for troubled teens, Tommy finds himself in a new nightmare when a series of gruesome murders begins, mimicking Jason’s trademark brutality. The film tries to play with audience expectations, teasing whether Tommy himself has snapped under the weight of his past, but the final reveal—spoiler alert—of a Jason copycat killer feels more like a cheap gimmick than a clever twist.

Despite its narrative shortcomings, A New Beginning does have its moments. The kill sequences are still delightfully over-the-top, featuring everything from a brutal machete dismemberment to a flare to the mouth. The film also leans into the sleazy side of ’80s slashers, packing in gratuitous nudity, drug use, and bizarre comedic beats that make for an occasionally entertaining watch. Unfortunately, these moments are often undercut by a cast of thinly drawn, one-note characters who exist solely to be picked off, making it difficult to care about their inevitable fates.

While A New Beginning deserves some credit for attempting to steer the franchise in a fresh direction, it ultimately feels like a misfire. The absence of the real Jason leaves a void that the film can’t quite fill, and its attempt at psychological horror never fully lands. That said, it’s not without its trashy charm, and for fans of the series, it offers enough blood-soaked carnage to be worth revisiting—just don’t expect a Friday the 13th classic.

  • Saul Muerte

Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968) – A Star-Studded but Stumbling Occult

21 Friday Mar 2025

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By the late 1960s, British horror was riding the wave of gothic indulgence, and Curse of the Crimson Altar (also known as The Crimson Cult) fit right into that mold—on paper, at least. Featuring an enviable cast of horror icons, including Boris Karloff, Christopher Lee, and Barbara Steele, the film promises an eerie descent into black magic, secret rituals, and sinister family secrets. However, despite its intriguing setup and legendary names, Vernon Sewell’s film struggles to leave a lasting impression, failing to weave its disparate elements into something truly chilling.

The story follows Robert Manning (Mark Eden), who arrives at a countryside estate in search of his missing brother. Greeted warmly by his host Morley (Christopher Lee) and drawn in by his flirtatious niece Eve (Virginia Wetherell), Manning soon realises that something sinister lurks beneath the surface. At the heart of the mystery is Lavinia Morley (Barbara Steele), the legendary Black Witch of Greymarsh, whose influence still seems to haunt the house. Boris Karloff, in one of his final roles, plays Professor Marsh, adding a layer of authority to the film’s occult themes.

While the premise suggests a brooding supernatural thriller, Curse of the Crimson Altar never quite capitalises on its potential. The film’s pacing is uneven, bogged down by awkward tonal shifts and a reliance on hallucinatory dream sequences that, while visually interesting, fail to generate true suspense. The script meanders between traditional gothic horror and psychedelic surrealism, yet never fully commits to either. Some moments feel inspired—particularly the ritualistic scenes featuring Steele’s striking presence—but the film lacks a cohesive narrative drive.

That’s not to say there aren’t pleasures to be found. Karloff, despite his declining health, delivers a dignified performance, and Lee once again exudes effortless menace, even if his role is underwritten. The gothic atmosphere is well-crafted, and the concept of a lingering ancestral curse is one with rich potential. Unfortunately, the execution is middling, leaving Curse of the Crimson Altar feeling like a missed opportunity. As a late-era gothic horror, it’s worth a watch for genre completists, but it ultimately fails to cast a truly lasting spell.

  • Saul Muerte

Dominion: Prequel to The Exorcist (2005) – A Possessed Production Gone Wrong

17 Monday Mar 2025

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There’s something inherently cursed about Dominion: Prequel to The Exorcist, and not in the way it intends. As the first attempt at an origin story for Father Merrin’s battle with Pazuzu, Paul Schrader’s take on the material is a sluggish and misguided affair that never finds its footing. It exists in a strange limbo—not as outright ridiculous as Renny Harlin’s Exorcist: The Beginning (the studio-mandated reshoot that replaced it) but just as devoid of true terror. The film fumbles in nearly every aspect, weighed down by a plodding script and woefully outdated CGI that undermines any atmosphere it tries to build.

Stellan Skarsgård does his best to elevate the material, but even his presence as a younger Father Merrin isn’t enough to salvage a film that constantly fights against itself. Schrader leans into psychological horror over cheap thrills, which in theory should work—but the execution is flat and lifeless. Key moments that should be disturbing are instead unintentionally laughable, thanks in no small part to the distractingly bad effects work. The demonically contorted bodies and spectral visions come across as half-baked, robbing the film of any lasting impact.

One of the film’s biggest sins is how it fails to generate any real tension. Despite Schrader’s more introspective approach, the pacing is painfully sluggish, and the horror elements feel like an afterthought. There are glimmers of intriguing ideas—the exploration of faith and guilt, Merrin’s past trauma, and the horrors of war—but they’re buried under lifeless dialogue and stiff performances from much of the supporting cast. The possessed Cheche (Billy Crawford) should have been the film’s terrifying centerpiece, but instead, he’s saddled with effects so poor they make The Scorpion King look like cutting-edge CGI.

The Exorcist franchise has always struggled with its sequels, but Dominion proves that sometimes, an origin story just isn’t necessary. It lacks the primal terror of the original and even the bizarre charm of some later entries, leaving it as a dull and frustrating misfire. While it’s marginally better than Harlin’s chaotic take, that’s hardly a glowing endorsement. In the end, Dominion is a film that never should have been resurrected.

  • Saul Muerte

The Case of the Murder of Tariel Mklavadze (1925) – A Forgotten Soviet Horror Classic Turns 100

16 Sunday Mar 2025

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Silent cinema was no stranger to the macabre in the 1920s, with German Expressionism defining much of early horror. Yet, tucked away in Soviet film history lies The Case of the Murder of Tariel Mklavadze (1925), a largely overlooked but deeply atmospheric silent thriller from Georgia, directed by Ivane Perestiani. As the film reaches its centennial, it deserves recognition not only for its eerie storytelling but also for its place in Soviet and Georgian cinematic history.

At its core, The Case of the Murder of Tariel Mklavadze is a tale of obsession and cruelty, unfolding as a psychological horror rather than a supernatural one. The film follows Spiridon Mtsirishvili (Kote Mikaberidze), a schoolteacher, and his wife Despine (Nato Vachnadze), who find themselves ensnared in the twisted desires of a local nobleman, Tariel Mklavadze (Mikheil Kadagidze). The plot is one of creeping dread rather than outright terror, as Tariel and his cohorts engage in a campaign of intimidation and psychological torment, culminating in a series of harrowing encounters.

Unlike many early horror films that relied on elaborate set design and grotesque makeup, The Case of Tariel Mklavadze thrives on mood and tension. Perestiani crafts an unnerving atmosphere using stark lighting contrasts and a slow-burning narrative, heightening the sense of isolation and vulnerability faced by the young couple. While Soviet cinema of the time was largely concerned with revolutionary themes, this film instead explores the power dynamics of class and gender through its horror framework, making it a unique outlier in the era’s cinematic landscape.

One of the film’s greatest strengths lies in its performances, particularly that of Nato Vachnadze. Though she would go on to become one of Soviet Georgia’s most celebrated actresses, The Case of the Murder of Tariel Mklavadze showcases her early talent in a role that demands both fragility and resilience. As Despine, she is at the centre of the film’s tension, her fate seemingly sealed by the whims of men who see her as a prize rather than a person.

Despite its compelling execution, The Case of the Murder of Tariel Mklavadze remains a footnote in horror history, overshadowed by more famous silent-era works like Nosferatu (1922) and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). The film’s relative obscurity is partly due to the limited distribution of early Soviet cinema outside the USSR, and it lacks the kind of restoration and revival efforts that have preserved other classics. However, its themes of unchecked power and psychological terror resonate even today, making it a fascinating relic of early horror filmmaking.

One hundred years later, The Case of the Murder of Tariel Mklavadze stands as a testament to the silent era’s ability to unsettle and captivate. With its centenary upon us, it’s a perfect time for film historians and horror aficionados to revisit—or perhaps discover—this lost gem of Georgian cinema.

  • Saul Muerte

Final Destination (2000) – A Deadly Game of Fate That Still Holds Up

16 Sunday Mar 2025

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The turn of the millennium was a defining moment for horror, giving rise to new trends and innovative storytelling. Among them, Final Destination (2000) arrived with a fresh, terrifying concept—one that not only played with the supernatural but also turned everyday life into a potential death trap. Directed by James Wong and co-written with longtime X-Files collaborator Glen Morgan, the film turned the slasher genre on its head by removing the traditional masked killer and replacing it with something far more sinister: Death itself.

What sets Final Destination apart is its antagonist—or rather, the lack of one. Death is an omnipresent force, stalking those who were never meant to survive. Unlike slashers where the villain can be outrun or outwitted, Death is patient, meticulous, and utterly inevitable. The film introduces the concept of “Death’s Design,” a predestined pattern that, once disrupted, seeks to correct itself. The brilliance of this idea lies in its execution: every near-miss, every subtle hint, and every Rube Goldberg-like demise adds to the sense of unease, making audiences hyper-aware of their surroundings.

One of the most memorable elements of Final Destination is the brief yet powerful appearance of Tony Todd as Bludworth, a mortician who seems to know far more than he lets on. His eerie demeanour and cryptic warnings serve as a grim reminder that Death is not something to be played with. Todd’s performance elevates the film, adding a sense of mythos and foreboding that lingers long after his character exits the screen.

Much of Final Destination’s effectiveness comes from its strong cast, led by Devon Sawa as the reluctant psychic Alex Browning. Sawa brings a raw intensity to the role, capturing the paranoia and helplessness of someone who can see what’s coming but can’t fully prevent it. Ali Larter’s Clear Rivers provides a grounded, emotional counterbalance, while Kerr Smith’s jock-turned-survivor adds depth to what could have been a stock character. Seann William Scott, fresh off American Pie, plays against type as the vulnerable Billy, while Kristen Cloke’s panicked teacher gives the film one of its most unsettling sequences.

While some horror films rely on a knife-wielding maniac or grotesque monsters, Final Destination finds horror in the mundane. Death’s methods are elaborate, with each kill playing out like a meticulously planned accident. The infamous bus scene, which arrives with no warning, remains one of the best jump scares in modern horror. The bathtub electrocution, the train decapitation, and the airport bathroom sequence—all highlight the film’s ability to make even the most ordinary moments feel like impending doom. The unpredictability keeps audiences on edge, reinforcing the film’s central theme: no one is safe.

One of the film’s most intriguing recurring motifs is the number 180. Flight 180 is the ill-fated plane that Alex and his classmates were meant to die on, but the number continues to appear throughout the movie in subtle and eerie ways. From license plates to clock readouts, the presence of “180” serves as a constant reminder that Death has not forgotten. It’s a clever detail that rewards attentive viewers and adds to the film’s underlying sense of inevitability.

Final Destination kickstarted a franchise that would spawn four sequels, each expanding on the concept of Death’s Design with increasingly elaborate and over-the-top kill sequences. While the later films often leaned into spectacle, the original remains the most grounded, effectively blending psychological tension with supernatural horror. More importantly, it left a lasting impact on horror cinema—introducing a new kind of fear that made people second-guess every seemingly harmless situation in their daily lives.

The Prognosis:

With its gripping concept, strong performances, and masterful execution of suspenseful set pieces, Final Destination remains one of the standout horror films of the early 2000s. It took the slasher formula and reinvented it, proving that horror doesn’t need a masked villain when fate itself is the enemy. Even after 24 years, the film still resonates, reminding us that no matter how hard we try, you can’t cheat Death.

  • Saul Muerte

The Strange World of Coffin Joe (1968) – A Bizarre, Uncompromising Nightmare

15 Saturday Mar 2025

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José Mojica Marins, Brazil’s master of the macabre, brings his signature brand of nihilistic horror to The Strange World of Coffin Joe (O Estranho Mundo de Zé do Caixão), an anthology film that revels in the grotesque and the surreal. As a showcase of Marins’ bleak, transgressive vision, it’s both compelling and frustrating—packed with striking imagery and unrelenting cruelty, yet uneven in execution.

Framed by the presence of Coffin Joe himself (played by Marins), the film presents three eerie tales of obsession, madness, and moral decay. The first segment follows a dollmaker whose unsettling creations take on a sinister purpose. The second, the most infamous, features a deranged balloon seller whose necrophilic urges and foot fetish lead to nightmarish consequences. The final tale focuses on a sadistic professor performing horrific rituals, pushing the film into full-blown exploitation territory.

Marins’ raw, almost documentary-like approach to horror makes The Strange World of Coffin Joe feel uniquely unsettling. Shot in stark black and white, with unflinching depictions of violence and depravity, the film immerses the viewer in a world of unfiltered cruelty. Yet, as with many horror anthologies, the segments vary in quality. The middle story is the most effective in its sheer audacity, while the others, despite intriguing premises, suffer from pacing issues and a lack of narrative cohesion.

Despite its flaws, The Strange World of Coffin Joe remains a fascinating entry in Marins’ filmography. It lacks the narrative strength of At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul (1964) but compensates with sheer audacity, cementing Marins’ status as a filmmaker unafraid to push the boundaries of horror. It’s not an easy watch, nor is it entirely successful, but for those drawn to the more extreme corners of 1960s horror, it’s a film worth experiencing—if only to witness the strange, twisted world of Coffin Joe at its most unhinged.

  • Saul Muerte

Living Skeleton (1968) – A Haunting, If Uneven, Nautical Nightmare

14 Friday Mar 2025

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Hiroshi Matsuno’s Living Skeleton (Kyūketsu Dokuro-sen) is a curious relic of 1960s Japanese horror—an eerie ghost story wrapped in revenge thriller trappings, with a striking visual palette that occasionally outshines its uneven narrative.

The film opens with a brutal act of piracy: a group of thieves slaughter the crew of a cargo ship, including a newlywed doctor, before subjecting his wife to a horrific fate. Three years later, her twin sister is drawn into a cycle of vengeance, as the killers begin to meet ghastly ends. What follows is a surreal and often hypnotic tale of supernatural retribution, blending gothic horror with psychological unease.

Matsuno’s direction leans heavily on shadow-drenched cinematography, making excellent use of stark black-and-white visuals that give the film a dreamlike, almost otherworldly quality. The maritime setting—complete with mist-covered waters and ghostly apparitions—enhances the atmosphere, at times recalling the expressionistic horror of Onibaba (1964) or Kwaidan (1964).

Where Living Skeleton falters is in its pacing and coherence. While the film’s themes of trauma, guilt, and spectral justice are intriguing, the execution wavers between compelling and sluggish. Some sequences are drenched in atmospheric dread, while others drag under the weight of exposition. The supernatural elements, though often effective, sometimes feel more ornamental than fully realised.

Despite its flaws, Living Skeleton remains an interesting artifact of 1960s Japanese horror—one that offers ghostly thrills and a visual style that lingers. While not on the level of Japan’s finest horror exports, it’s an atmospheric, occasionally haunting voyage into vengeance from beyond the grave.

  • Saul Muerte

Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation (1995) – A Chainsaw Out of Gas

11 Tuesday Mar 2025

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In horror history, few franchises have endured such wild tonal shifts as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Kim Henkel’s The Next Generation (1995) might be the most baffling entry of them all. Written and directed by Henkel—who co-wrote Tobe Hooper’s original 1974 masterpiece—this supposed return to the series’ unhinged roots instead devolves into an exhausting, shrill spectacle, where madness replaces tension and anarchy is mistaken for horror.

The film’s only real legacy today is the early casting of Matthew McConaughey and Renée Zellweger, two future Academy Award winners whose performances stand out, but for wildly different reasons. McConaughey, as the leg-braced psychopath Vilmer Slaughter, is the one genuine source of energy in the film. He throws himself into the role with a manic intensity, chewing through scenery (and remote controls) like a man possessed. Zellweger, on the other hand, delivers a grounded, earnest performance that feels completely at odds with the film’s overblown absurdity. Watching her endure the relentless torment of Vilmer’s twisted family feels more punishing than thrilling—any sense of fun gets smothered beneath the weight of its chaos.

Henkel clearly aims to recapture the raw hysteria of the original, pushing the grotesque family dynamic to its extremes. However, without any sense of pacing or release, the film quickly becomes an overwhelming, screeching endurance test. There’s no reprieve from the relentless shouting, violence, and nonsensical plotting. Even Leatherface—one of horror’s most iconic figures—is reduced to a parody of himself, shrieking in drag and stripped of any real menace.

By the time the infamous “Illuminati subplot” emerges, with cryptic government figures suggesting Leatherface’s crimes are part of some grander conspiracy, it’s clear the film has fully derailed. What’s meant to be a meta-commentary on horror instead feels like a desperate attempt to inject meaning into an already incoherent mess.

The Prognosis:

For all its flaws, The Next Generation is at least memorable in its sheer lunacy. But as a horror film, it fails to provide genuine suspense or even dark humour—just a grating, exhausting descent into noise. McConaughey’s unhinged performance keeps it from being entirely unwatchable, but much like Vilmer’s malfunctioning mechanical leg, the film jerks and sputters without ever finding its footing.

  • Saul Muerte

Revenge of the Creature (1955) – A Middling Sequel to a Classic Monster Tale

10 Monday Mar 2025

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Universal Pictures’ Revenge of the Creature (1955) sought to capitalise on the success of Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954) by bringing the Gill Man back for another round of aquatic terror. Directed by Jack Arnold, this second installment in the Creature trilogy expands the story by relocating the monstrous being from the Amazon to a Florida marine park. However, while it offers moments of intrigue and spectacle, it ultimately lacks the same impact as its predecessor.

One of the film’s primary draws is, of course, the return of the Gill Man, played once again with an impressive physicality by Ricou Browning (underwater) and Tom Hennesy (on land). The creature’s design remains striking, maintaining its eerie, prehistoric allure. However, rather than being an enigmatic force lurking in the Amazon, the Gill Man finds himself trapped and studied in captivity, a premise that introduces compelling, albeit underdeveloped, themes.

At its core, Revenge of the Creature grapples with themes of imprisonment and the struggle between nature and human control. The attempt to domesticate the Gill Man, reducing him to a mere specimen for observation, evokes a sense of tragedy. While the film teases a deeper exploration of humanity’s tendency to subjugate the natural world, it ultimately favours action and spectacle over introspection.

Despite its setting shifting away from the Amazon, Revenge of the Creature still plays with the idea of nature’s untamed power. The sequences featuring the Gill Man in captivity contrast his primal instincts with the artificiality of human-made enclosures. However, where the first film used its lush, atmospheric environment to heighten tension and mystery, this sequel often feels more sterile in comparison.

While Revenge of the Creature delivers moments of suspense and underwater thrills, it lacks the haunting originality that made Creature from the Black Lagoon an enduring classic. The pacing feels more formulaic, and the horror elements are less effective, making it a serviceable but ultimately forgettable continuation of the story.

The Prognosis:

As a follow-up to one of Universal’s most beloved monster films, Revenge of the Creature is a passable but uninspired sequel. The return of the Gill Man and its exploration of captivity add some intrigue, but the film struggles to break free from the shadow of its predecessor. For fans of classic creature features, it’s worth a watch, but it doesn’t leave a lasting impression.

  • Saul Muerte

Genocide (1968) – A Swarm of Ideas That Never Quite Land

09 Sunday Mar 2025

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The late 1960s saw Japanese genre cinema flourish with kaiju epics, psychedelic sci-fi, and political allegories wrapped in B-movie spectacle. Kazui Nihonmatsu’s Genocide (War of the Insects) falls somewhere in between—a paranoid, apocalyptic thriller that mixes Cold War anxieties, biological horror, and hallucinatory madness. While its ideas are ambitious, the execution is often as chaotic as the swarming killer bugs at its centre.

The premise is instantly gripping: a U.S. military plane carrying a hydrogen bomb is taken down by an unnatural insect swarm, leaving the surviving personnel scrambling to understand the origin of this bizarre attack. What initially appears to be a man-versus-nature horror quickly spirals into an entanglement of war crimes, espionage, and human depravity.

Rather than focusing purely on the terrifying concept of killer insects, Genocide introduces a convoluted web of subplots. We have an unhinged American pilot experiencing nightmarish visions, an entomologist caught in a moral crisis, and a femme fatale with ulterior motives. Throw in anti-war messages, nuclear paranoia, and a touch of psychedelic weirdness, and you get a film that is as thematically dense as it is narratively tangled.

Unlike its contemporaries, Genocide offers little in the way of heroics or redemption. The film presents humanity as doomed—corrupt, self-destructive, and ultimately unworthy of survival. This nihilistic outlook might have been compelling if handled with a deft touch, but instead, it becomes exhausting. The lack of a clear protagonist or sympathetic characters makes it difficult to invest in the unfolding disaster.

There’s an intriguing notion at the film’s core: that the insect swarm is not merely a freak occurrence but a force of nature’s reckoning. The idea of tiny, insignificant creatures bringing about global catastrophe is an effective counterpoint to the grand scale of nuclear warfare. However, the film struggles to balance this environmental horror with its more outlandish elements, including mind control and Cold War conspiracies.

Visually, Genocide has its moments. The bug attacks, though limited by the era’s special effects, are often unsettling. Close-ups of writhing insects and eerie sound design give these sequences a skin-crawling quality. But elsewhere, the film suffers from pacing issues, awkward editing, and a general lack of cohesion.

The Prognosis:

Genocide is a film that bites off more than it can chew, weaving an apocalyptic narrative that is too messy to be truly effective. Its nihilistic tone and paranoia-fueled themes make for an interesting historical artifact, but as a horror film, it’s too convoluted and bleak to be satisfying. While there are glimpses of a fascinating eco-horror buried within, it ultimately drowns in its own chaotic swarm of ideas.

  • Saul Muerte