25 Years of Scream 3: A Stab at Closure That Misses the Mark

02 Sunday Feb 2025

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When Scream 3 hit theatres in 2000, it was marketed as the thrilling conclusion to Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson’s iconic trilogy. As we stand on the cusp of Scream 7 in 2025, revisiting this third installment brings a mixed bag of nostalgia, meta-commentary, and unmet potential. While it aimed to serve as a definitive finale, Scream 3 fell short of the sharp edge that defined its predecessors.

The film takes a meta dive into Hollywood, framing its chaos on the set of Stab 3, a fictional film based on the Woodsboro murders. This metafictional lens provided fertile ground for biting satire on the film industry, echoing the brilliance Craven previously achieved in Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (1994). However, where that film thrived on its introspective horror, Scream 3 often struggled to balance its commentary with its slasher roots.

By its third outing, the Scream series had established itself as a masterclass in deconstructing horror tropes. Here, the Hollywood setting offered a new angle, with its characters skewering the industry’s shallow vanity and exploitative nature. Yet, despite these clever touches, the plot meanders, weighed down by a convoluted narrative and an underwhelming reveal when the Ghostface mask comes off. The big twist, involving long-lost familial ties, lacks the emotional resonance needed to connect with the audience.

What salvages Scream 3 from complete disappointment are its performances and humour. Neve Campbell’s Sidney Prescott remains the heart of the franchise, and her evolution as a character is one of its strongest elements. Courteney Cox and David Arquette, as Gale Weathers and Dewey Riley, bring a familiarity and charm that anchor the film, even when its script falters. The inclusion of Parker Posey as Jennifer Jolie, a satirical counterpart to Gale, adds a much-needed comedic edge, often stealing the spotlight.

The soundtrack, featuring Red Right Hand by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, and Marco Beltrami’s score, also deserves recognition for amplifying the film’s atmosphere, even if the tension doesn’t always match the music’s intensity.

Ultimately, Scream 3 is a film caught between two worlds: the biting commentary of a meta-horror classic and the obligations of a slasher sequel. It delivers moments of wit and some solid scares but stumbles in crafting a satisfying conclusion. As history has shown, it wouldn’t be the last chapter after all—Scream 4 and the more recent installments would eventually give the series a much-needed revival.

Looking back on Scream 3 25 years later, it remains an uneven entry, overshadowed by the brilliance of Scream and Scream 2. While its commentary on Hollywood is intriguing, it lacks the precision and impact of Craven’s earlier work. Still, for fans of the franchise, it’s a chapter worth revisiting, if only to appreciate how far Scream has come since.

  • Saul Muerte

Rosemary’s Baby (1968): The Birth of a Modern Horror Classic

02 Sunday Feb 2025

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Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby is not just a horror film; it’s a cultural milestone. Based on Ira Levin’s 1967 novel, this psychological horror masterpiece marked a significant turning point in Polanski’s career and redefined the genre with its chilling subtlety, riveting performances, and hauntingly resonant themes.

By the time Polanski directed Rosemary’s Baby, he was already an established filmmaker with successes like Knife in the Water and Repulsion. However, it was this adaptation of Ira Levin’s novel that solidified his reputation as a master storyteller capable of blending psychological depth with unnerving horror. Polanski’s ability to craft a narrative that feels at once intimate and epic is on full display, with every frame of Rosemary’s Baby pulsing with dread.

The film’s slow-burn tension, its deliberate pacing, and its ability to turn the mundane into the menacing were groundbreaking in 1968. Polanski took Levin’s chilling story and elevated it, crafting a tale of paranoia and betrayal that unfolds within the claustrophobic confines of a New York City apartment building.

At the heart of the film is Mia Farrow’s unforgettable performance as Rosemary Woodhouse. Farrow’s transformation from a hopeful, naïve young wife to a terrified, isolated woman is nothing short of mesmerising. Her fragile vulnerability and determination make Rosemary one of the most iconic characters in horror history.

John Cassavetes delivers a complex performance as Guy Woodhouse, Rosemary’s ambitious husband whose moral compromises set the story’s sinister events into motion. The chemistry between Farrow and Cassavetes heightens the emotional stakes, making the betrayal at the heart of the story all the more devastating.

Ruth Gordon’s turn as the eccentric yet menacing Minnie Castevet earned her a well-deserved Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress. Gordon’s portrayal is equal parts comedic and chilling, capturing the bizarre allure of the seemingly harmless neighbour whose sinister intentions are gradually revealed.

Rosemary’s Baby explores themes that were both timely and timeless. The 1960s were a time of cultural upheaval, and the film’s undercurrents of paranoia and societal control mirrored the anxieties of the era.

  • Women’s Liberation: The film can be seen as a commentary on women’s autonomy—or lack thereof. Rosemary’s body becomes a battleground, controlled and manipulated by those around her. The struggle for agency is as relevant today as it was in 1968.
  • Paranoia and Isolation: The film’s creeping sense of distrust reflects the fear of conspiracies, both personal and societal.
  • Catholicism and the Occult: Religious imagery and themes of good versus evil are woven throughout, presenting a chilling exploration of faith and its darker implications.

The film’s primary location, the ominous Bramford (in reality, the Dakota building on Manhattan’s Upper West Side), is as much a character as Rosemary and Guy. The building’s Gothic architecture, shadowy interiors, and foreboding atmosphere provide the perfect backdrop for the unfolding terror. New York’s bustling streets contrast with the eerie insularity of the Woodhouses’ world, amplifying the sense of Rosemary’s entrapment.

From its release, Rosemary’s Baby has remained a touchstone in popular culture. Krzysztof Komeda’s haunting score, particularly “Sleep Safe and Warm,” is a chilling lullaby that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. The film’s imagery, from Rosemary’s pixie haircut to the chilling final scene, has been referenced and parodied countless times, cementing its status as a cultural icon.

Polanski’s masterful direction, the stellar cast, and Levin’s gripping source material combined to create a horror film that transcends its genre. Its exploration of power, betrayal, and fear remains as relevant today.

Rosemary’s Baby is a masterpiece of psychological horror, a film that paved the way for a new kind of storytelling in the genre. With its pitch-perfect performances, evocative themes, and Polanski’s impeccable direction, it stands as one of the most influential and enduring films of all time. Its dark allure continues to captivate audiences, ensuring that we’ll be praying for Rosemary—and her baby—for generations to come.

  • Saul Muerte

The Rape of the Vampire (1968): Jean Rollin’s Daring Debut and the Birth of a Vampiric Legacy

01 Saturday Feb 2025

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Jean Rollin’s The Rape of the Vampire (Le Viol du Vampire) debuted in 1968 to a hailstorm of controversy, catcalls, and hostile reviews. Yet, in hindsight, this audacious and surreal film marked the birth of a unique cinematic voice—one whose recurring themes of vampirism, eroticism, and gothic imagery would define Rollin’s legacy as one of France’s most singular auteurs.

It’s important to note that The Rape of the Vampire wasn’t initially conceived as a full-length feature. Rollin originally shot Le Viol du Vampire as a short film intended to stand alone. However, when producers demanded a feature-length runtime, Rollin extended the narrative by adding a second part: The Vampire Woman (or Queen of the Vampires). The result is a film that feels both disjointed and dreamlike, with its stitched-together structure amplifying its surrealist tone.

The story’s fractured nature doesn’t so much hinder the film as enhance its otherworldly, almost hypnotic quality. It’s as if Rollin’s vampires inhabit a world where logic is secondary to atmosphere and emotion—a hallmark that would become a defining characteristic of his later work.

From his very first film, Rollin introduced themes that would permeate his career. Vampires, of course, are the focal point—here portrayed not as mindless predators but as tragic, misunderstood figures caught between life and death. The film’s gothic imagery, including crumbling castles and mist-shrouded cemeteries, reveals Rollin’s fascination with decayed beauty and timeless spaces.

Perhaps most notably, The Rape of the Vampire introduced Rollin’s pronounced taste for eroticism and taboo. The film is suffused with a sensuality that borders on the voyeuristic, reflecting not only the countercultural spirit of the late 1960s but also Rollin’s enduring interest in exploring the intersection of desire, death, and the supernatural. Themes of lesbianism, another Rollin hallmark, are also present, weaving a subversive layer of sexuality into the narrative.

Upon its release, The Rape of the Vampire was met with vitriolic criticism. French audiences and critics, expecting a traditional horror film, were unprepared for its avant-garde style, non-linear storytelling, and overt eroticism. Screenings were reportedly marked by boos, jeers, and even walkouts.

However, over time, the film has been reevaluated as a daring and deeply personal work. What initially seemed like incoherence now reads as deliberate surrealism, and its transgressive content has been embraced as a bold rejection of mainstream cinematic conventions.

While The Rape of the Vampire may not represent Jean Rollin at the height of his powers, it laid the groundwork for his subsequent masterpieces, such as The Nude Vampire (1970) and The Shiver of the Vampires (1971). It also established Rollin’s signature aesthetic: a haunting blend of gothic horror, eroticism, and poetic melancholy that remains unmatched in the genre.

The Rape of the Vampire stands as a fascinating, if flawed, debut. It’s a film that heralded the arrival of a director unafraid to blur the line between horror and art, even if it meant alienating audiences along the way. For fans of Rollin or those willing to embrace the surreal, this first bite into his vampiric oeuvre is well worth revisiting.

  • Saul Muerte

Dark Match (2025): Wrestling Meets Cult Horror in a Middling Smackdown

30 Thursday Jan 2025

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When Dark Match hits Shudder later this month, viewers can expect a wild mix of professional wrestling theatrics and cult-horror chaos. While the premise promises over-the-top fun, the execution leaves much to be desired. This film delivers what’s advertised—a gritty, campy wrestling death match with horror flair—but not much beyond that.

At its core, Dark Match feels like a straightforward revenge-horror flick cloaked in wrestling gear. The narrative leans heavily into the “outsiders stumble into a backwoods nightmare” trope, with the wrestling company’s clash against a bizarre cult playing out as predictably as a scripted match. Though the concept teases originality, the story rarely rises above mediocrity.

What elevates Dark Match is its eclectic cast. Steven Ogg (The Walking Dead) leads the charge, bringing his trademark intensity and a simmering edge to the role of the company’s jaded leader. Sara Canning (Influencer) shines as the voice of reason, adding some much-needed emotional grounding. Wrestling legend Chris Jericho brings charisma and authenticity to the ring, while Ayisha Issa adds flair with her formidable screen presence.

The ensemble is undeniably talented, but the material they’re given limits their potential. Despite their best efforts, the characters feel underdeveloped, and the performances struggle to rise above the film’s lacklustre script.

Director Lowell Dean attempts to meld the visceral chaos of wrestling with the unnerving dread of a cult thriller. The result is a film that delivers a few entertaining sequences but fails to create lasting impact. The wrestling scenes are gritty and energetic, though they lack the spectacle needed to captivate non-wrestling fans.

The horror elements, meanwhile, are serviceable but never fully realised. The cult’s devious plans feel thinly sketched, and the tension rarely escalates beyond surface-level scares. The film’s low-budget charm shines through in its practical effects, but the overall execution feels too rough around the edges.

For fans of wrestling or low-budget horror, Dark Match might offer enough campy fun to warrant a watch. Its mash-up of two niche genres is undeniably intriguing, and the performances provide occasional sparks of brilliance. However, the film’s inability to fully commit to its premise or deliver a compelling story ultimately relegates it to the undercard.

Dark Match does exactly what it says on the tin—no more, no less. While it may not win any belts for originality, it’s a quick, bloody bout that some viewers will enjoy for its novelty alone.

  • Saul Muerte

Dark Match will be streaming on Shudder from Jan 31.

Phenomena (1985): A Quirky, Eerie Gem from Argento’s Thrilling Catalogue

30 Thursday Jan 2025

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Celebrating 40 Years of Insect-Infused Mystery and Murder

In 1985, Dario Argento gifted audiences another slice of his signature blend of horror, mystery, and striking visuals with Phenomena. While it may not soar to the heights of Suspiria or Deep Red, this supernatural murder mystery remains a fascinating entry in the Italian maestro’s filmography. On its 40th anniversary, Phenomena continues to captivate viewers with its audacious concept, atmospheric cinematography, and unforgettable performances.

A Tale of Creepy Crawlers and Murder

Phenomena centres on Jennifer Corvino (a young Jennifer Connelly), a teenager with the extraordinary ability to communicate with insects. Transferred to an elite boarding school in the Swiss Alps, Jennifer quickly finds herself drawn into the chilling mystery of a series of brutal murders. Partnering with entomologist Dr. John McGregor (the legendary Donald Pleasance), Jennifer’s unique talent becomes a vital tool in uncovering the killer’s identity.

The narrative combines Argento’s hallmark elements—gruesome murders, dreamlike visuals, and labyrinthine storytelling—with an offbeat twist: the inclusion of insects as both allies and plot devices. It’s a bizarre but oddly compelling concept that lends Phenomena its unique identity within Argento’s oeuvre.

Connelly and Pleasance Shine Amid the Macabre

At the heart of the film is Jennifer Connelly, whose natural charisma and vulnerability anchor the story. Despite being relatively new to the screen, her performance carries a maturity and magnetism that make Jennifer Corvino an engaging protagonist.

Donald Pleasance, no stranger to horror audiences, brings gravitas and warmth to his role as Dr. McGregor. His character’s endearing partnership with a chimpanzee (a truly Argento-esque touch) adds a surprising layer of charm amid the grisly murders. Together, Connelly and Pleasance elevate the material, keeping the audience invested even when the plot veers into outlandish territory.

Argento’s Visual and Sonic Flair

True to form, Argento infuses Phenomena with his inimitable visual style. The Swiss landscapes are simultaneously idyllic and foreboding, while the boarding school exudes an oppressive, otherworldly quality. The film’s murder scenes are as graphic as they are meticulously crafted, blending beauty and brutality in a way that only Argento can achieve.

Adding to the film’s atmosphere is its eclectic soundtrack, which combines Goblin’s pulsating score with unexpected heavy metal tracks from Iron Maiden and Motörhead. The result is an auditory rollercoaster that amplifies the film’s eerie, high-energy vibe.

A Mixed Bag, but Unforgettable

While Phenomena showcases many of Argento’s strengths, it’s not without its flaws. The pacing can feel uneven, and the plot occasionally descends into absurdity. However, these quirks are part of the film’s charm, making it a uniquely bizarre experience that has aged into a cult favourite over the decades.

A Legacy of Weirdness and Wonder

Forty years on, Phenomena stands as a testament to Dario Argento’s audacity as a filmmaker. It may not achieve the perfection of his greatest works, but its bold premise, striking visuals, and memorable performances ensure its place in the pantheon of cult horror classics. Whether you’re drawn to its insectoid oddities, its murder-mystery thrills, or its unapologetic weirdness, Phenomena remains a fascinating watch that showcases Argento’s ability to push the boundaries of genre filmmaking.

For those revisiting Phenomena or experiencing its peculiarities for the first time, the film remains a darkly magical journey into the mind of a horror visionary.

  • Saul Muerte

A Haunted Turkish Bathhouse (1975): 50 Years of Ghostly Revenge and Social Commentary

28 Tuesday Jan 2025

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Fifty years ago, Kazuhiko Yamaguchi’s A Haunted Turkish Bathhouse (怪猫トルコ風呂) slithered onto screens with a mix of sleazy exploitation, supernatural revenge, and biting cultural critique. While the film’s overt nudity and unrelenting male gaze may alienate some viewers, its deeper purpose—to expose the toxic undercurrents of masochistic power and control—remains as compelling today as it was in 1975.

Set in a brothel-cum-bathhouse, the story revolves around a sinister gangster plotting against his own wife, enlisting the help of the bathhouse owner’s equally conniving spouse. What begins as a tale of betrayal and abuse soon spirals into a gory, ghostly revenge flick, with spirits from beyond the grave exacting brutal retribution on those who perpetuated their suffering.

Yamaguchi’s direction is steeped in the lurid stylings of 1970s Japanese exploitation cinema, a genre that pushed boundaries and courted controversy. The vibrant, almost garish cinematography imbues the bathhouse with an unsettling beauty, contrasting starkly with the grim realities unfolding within its walls. The film revels in excess, yet it wields this excess as a tool to critique the structures of oppression that it so graphically depicts.

Beneath its surface titillation lies a sharp critique of masochistic tendencies that dominate not only the narrative but the broader cultural landscape. The film’s exaggerated depictions of control and subjugation serve to expose their inherent ugliness, flipping the exploitation genre on its head. The supernatural revenge elements, while delightfully gruesome, also function as a cathartic reclamation of power, giving voice—albeit spectral—to the voiceless.

The performances are as over-the-top as the film itself, with a theatricality that matches the heightened emotions and stakes of the narrative. The cast embraces the absurdity, leaning into the melodrama without losing sight of the story’s darker undertones.

While A Haunted Turkish Bathhouse may not be for everyone, it’s impossible to deny its audacious energy and layered subtext. It’s a film that forces viewers to confront the darker sides of humanity while delivering the gory thrills and ghostly chills that define its genre.

Half a century later, A Haunted Turkish Bathhouse continues to haunt audiences with its unique blend of exploitation and commentary. It’s a messy, macabre, and mesmerising journey into the depths of revenge, power, and the supernatural—a reminder that even in death, some wrongs demand to be righted.

  • Saul Muerte

Les Diaboliques (1955) – 75 Years of Perfectly Orchestrated Intrigue and Terror

28 Tuesday Jan 2025

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It’s been 75 years since Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Les Diaboliques first graced the silver screen, and its chilling impact has yet to wane. Widely regarded as one of the greatest psychological thrillers ever made, this French masterpiece weaves an intricate tale of murder, revenge, and betrayal that continues to captivate audiences decades later.

At its core, Les Diaboliques tells the story of two women, Christina Delassalle (Véra Clouzot) and Nicole Horner (Simone Signoret), who conspire to murder Christina’s abusive husband, Michel (Paul Meurisse). What unfolds is a meticulously crafted narrative of suspense, where nothing is as it seems. Every twist is perfectly timed, every revelation carefully seeded, and the result is a finale so shocking that it has been etched into cinematic history.

Clouzot’s direction is nothing short of masterful. With an acute eye for detail and a relentless ability to build tension, he turns the mundane into the menacing. The waterlogged bathtub, the murky swimming pool, and the claustrophobic corridors of the boarding school all become characters in their own right, infused with an almost unbearable sense of dread.

The performances are equally outstanding. Simone Signoret brings a sharp, calculated edge to Nicole, her steely resolve a perfect counterpoint to Véra Clouzot’s fragile, haunted Christina. Together, they form a complex dynamic that anchors the film’s emotional and psychological core. Paul Meurisse’s portrayal of the detestable Michel is chilling in its casual cruelty, making his eventual fate all the more satisfying.

What truly sets Les Diaboliques apart is its seamless blend of genres. It’s a thriller, yes, but it’s also a mystery, a horror film, and a character study. Clouzot balances these elements with remarkable precision, creating a film that is as thought-provoking as it is terrifying.

Even 75 years later, Les Diaboliques feels as fresh and riveting as it did in 1955. Its influence can be seen in countless films that followed, from Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (a film Hitchcock reportedly wanted to outdo Clouzot with) to modern psychological thrillers. Yet, few have matched its brilliance.

The film’s enduring legacy is a testament to its perfection. From its spine-tingling suspense to its unforgettable climax, Les Diaboliques remains a masterpiece of intrigue and terror, as thrilling today as it was 75 years ago.

  • Saul Muerte

Hide and Seek (2005) – 20th Anniversary Retrospective

28 Tuesday Jan 2025

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“Come out, come out, whatever you are.”

Upon its release in 2005, Hide and Seek, directed by John Polson, seemed like another middling psychological thriller, leaning heavily on well-worn horror tropes. I initially rated it two stars, dismissing it as a predictable entry in the genre. Revisiting it two decades later, however, I find myself reevaluating its merits. While it doesn’t escape its formulaic framework, Hide and Seek is bolstered by the commanding performances of its two leads: Robert De Niro and a young Dakota Fanning.

The story follows David Callaway (De Niro), a psychologist grappling with the aftermath of his wife’s suicide, as he tries to provide a sense of normalcy for his traumatised nine-year-old daughter, Emily (Fanning). The introduction of Emily’s imaginary friend ‘Charlie’ starts innocuously enough but quickly takes a dark turn, leading to a series of disturbing events that unsettle their rural sanctuary.

One of the film’s greatest strengths is its central performances. De Niro portrays David with a weary fragility, capturing a father unraveling under the weight of grief and fear. Meanwhile, Fanning, in one of her early standout roles, delivers a haunting and layered performance that veers between innocence and unsettling maturity. Her portrayal of Emily feels authentic, keeping the audience guessing about the true nature of ‘Charlie.’

That said, Hide and Seek is not without its flaws. Its reliance on tired horror conventions, including jump scares and an overused twist-ending formula, holds it back from being truly memorable. The third act, in particular, struggles under the weight of its own ambition, as the film strains to deliver a shocking conclusion that ultimately feels too contrived.

Still, with the passage of time, the film’s strengths shine brighter. Its eerie atmosphere, punctuated by a chilling score and unsettling visuals, creates an effective mood that lingers. While the story may not break new ground, the commitment of its leads elevates it above the mediocrity I initially ascribed to it.

On this 20th anniversary, Hide and Seek deserves a second look—not as a groundbreaking psychological thriller, but as a solidly entertaining one. It’s a film that may fall victim to genre clichés, but thanks to De Niro and Fanning, it still manages to leave an impression.

  • Saul Muerte

Companion (2025): A Sharp Blend of Humour, Tragedy, and Tech Gone Wrong

27 Monday Jan 2025

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Drew Hancock’s Companion delivers a compelling exploration of power, greed, and the consequences of unchecked technological advancements. Set against the backdrop of a mysterious lakeside estate, the story begins with the death of a tech billionaire whose legacy of innovation casts a dark shadow over the weekend gathering of Iris (Sophie Thatcher) and her friends. What unfolds is a biting mix of humour and tragedy, wrapped in a thriller that feels both timely and timeless.

Hancock masterfully balances tones, infusing moments of sharp wit and levity into a narrative underpinned by unsettling themes of patriarchy and dominance. While the premise of advanced tech gone wrong is far from novel, the execution feels fresh, thanks to a sharp script and keen direction that probes the darker side of human ambition and control. The tension rises organically, with moments of absurdity that give way to genuine horror and introspection, reminding viewers of the perils of idolising innovation without question.

The ensemble cast shines, each member bringing depth to characters that could have easily been archetypes. However, it’s Sophie Thatcher who steals the show. Building on her growing list of impressive performances, Thatcher brings vulnerability and resolve to Iris, anchoring the story with a character we can’t help but root for. Jack Quaid, Rupert Friend, and Harvey Guillén also stand out, each adding unique texture to the film’s examination of power dynamics and greed.

The setting—isolated yet luxurious—becomes a character in itself, mirroring the contradictions of a world driven by progress yet haunted by its moral compromises. Hancock’s direction captures this duality beautifully, complemented by a sleek visual style and a score that oscillates between unsettling and darkly comedic.

Companion doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it offers a thought-provoking and entertaining ride. It’s a story that reminds us of the dangers of letting technology dictate our humanity, but it does so with a wink and a smirk, never losing its sense of humour amidst the tragedy. Hancock proves himself a director to watch, and with Companion, Sophie Thatcher only further solidifies her status as one of the most promising talents of her generation.

If you’re looking for a clever, tech-infused thriller with a satirical edge, Companion is a solid choice—one that leaves plenty to ponder well after the screen fades to black.

  • Saul Muerte

Companion will be released in Australian cinemas from Thu 31st Jan.

The Green Slime (1968) – Tentacled Terror in Technicolor

25 Saturday Jan 2025

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Kinji Fukasaku’s The Green Slime is a sci-fi horror that’s as cheesy as it is colourful, blending astronauts, space monsters, and a heaping dose of camp into a package that can only be described as quintessentially 1960s. It’s a film that wavers between absurd fun and baffling incompetence, but its striking visuals and sheer audacity make it hard to forget.

The premise is simple but effective: astronauts destroy a giant asteroid heading toward Earth, only to inadvertently bring back a green goo that spawns one-eyed, tentacled creatures on their space station. From there, chaos ensues as the monsters wreak havoc, feeding off electricity and zapping the hapless crew. It’s a familiar setup, but one elevated (or derailed, depending on your perspective) by the film’s over-the-top execution.

While the special effects are undeniably dated, they possess a certain charm. The titular Green Slime monsters, with their glowing eyes and wriggling tentacles, are endearingly goofy, and the vibrant technicolor palette gives the film a distinct visual identity. Fukasaku’s direction, though uneven, injects the proceedings with enough energy to keep things moving, even when the script falters.

Like The Astro-Zombies, The Green Slime suffers from clunky dialogue and a paper-thin plot, but its campy appeal is impossible to ignore. The film leans into its B-movie roots, embracing the ridiculousness of its premise with gusto. It’s the kind of film that thrives on late-night viewings and good-natured riffing, offering just enough spectacle to entertain.

While The Green Slime is far from a classic, it’s a fun, kitschy ride for those who appreciate the charms of mid-century sci-fi. Its influence on the genre may be negligible, but as a piece of schlocky entertainment, it delivers exactly what it promises: gooey, tentacled mayhem in space.

  • Saul Muerte