Satan's School for Girls

2010-01-18T11:25:00.005-08:00

THE NORLISS TAPES (1973)
Dir: Dan Curtis

One expects much better from seminal TV horror pioneer Dan Curtis than displayed in this rather throwaway witchcraft yarn. And yet many of the Curtis trademarks (put to such brilliant use in The Night Stalker and ensuing sequel and weekly series) are present: moody and rainy locales (here, Northern California and San Francisco), ominous narration, the slinky female with a dark past (Angie Dickinson) and above all the archetype of the lone investigator, beleaguered by his own personal demons prior to confronting supernatural horrors.

Celebrated author and debunker of occult claims and myths (Roy Thines, a familiar TV horror presence in the 70s to be sure) stumbles across a beautiful widow stalked by the reanimated corpse of her dead husband. All is recounted through flashbacks and the emotionally evocative device of recorded reel tapes left behind after Thines' mysterious disappearance.

And uh, not much else.

For true 70s TV horror completists only.

Like us.

2010-01-18T11:25:00.003-08:00

SOMETHING EVIL (1972)
Dir: Steven Spielberg

Just as the public discord and outrage surrounding the carnage of the Vietnam War ushered in a new wave of ultra-violent American horror films, the mass exodus from the nation's urban centers (known racially as "White Flight") was dramatically interpreted/analyzed in countless genre classics. From The Texas Chainsaw Massacre to The Hills Have Eyes to Deliverance to every other TV Movie of the Week, you can be sure bad things happen when city dwellers meet rural folk.

NYC couple (Sandy Dennis and Darrin McGavin) move themselves and two children from Manhattan to Bucks County, PA and the horrors ensuing (while interesting enough) hardly compare with the hellish commute the breadwinner must endure daily. Basically, this is a very, very mild horror telefilm, constructed around the visual flair of a young Spielberg not yet restrained enough to allow story to trump technique. Lots of flashy film school angles and framing nonetheless elevate Something Evil above the staple primetime fodder provided by the script.

The whole city/country conflict is continually explored whether through chic cocktail parties full of Madison Avenue executives on the newly acquired farm (juxtaposed with a party of locals that seems alot more fun and frankly urbane) or a tenant farmer insistent upon archaic rituals like the bloodletting of chickens. In a fabulous moment typical of the divine Ms. Dennis, Sandy calls husband Darren on the phone to complain of the local farmer's strewing of chicken blood across newly sown fields with the single remark: "Do please speak to him. He's draining a live chicken's blood across the fields again. I can't tell you how distasteful I find it."

2010-01-18T11:25:00.001-08:00

THE HOUSE THAT WOULD NOT DIE (1970)
Dir: John Llewellyn Moxey

Routine but cozy haunted house flick, suitable for younger children and nervous grandmothers sensitive to violence. With two potential love stories occurring at once ( a trim and fit Barbara Stanwyck and her co-ed niece move into an inherited New England ancestral home dating from the late 1600s) this TV movie also functions as a multi-generational Gothic tale.

The real interest (as always) lies in the details: violent spirit possession, a highly conflicted paramour to Stanwyck (he almost rapes her in the kitchen only to be forgiven with a cursory apology) and appreciated attention to detail in the excellent art direction and realistic set decoration.

What would this sort of genre pic be without obligatory wind machines amping up a full curtain raising (and shredding) conclusion? Check. Or a local expert in the occult and local witchcraft folklore and legends? Ditto. A rarity very hard to find other than through Internet forum links, but worth a batch of homemade buttered popcorn should someone generously share with you.

2010-01-18T11:24:00.002-08:00

DYING ROOM ONLY (1973) Dir: Philip Leacock

Far, far better than a made-for-TV thriller has the right to be, Dying Room Only owes most of its chilling impact to an original teleplay from horror maestro Richard Matheson (based on his own short story) and a gritty, nervous performance from an unexpectedly chic Cloris Leachman.

Stranded in a Southwestern desert cafe after the sudden disappearance of her hubby (Dabney Coleman) in a plot device prefiguring by 20 years the Euro horror mega-hit The Vanishing, Leachman confronts some seriously sinister locals while searching for her better half. (In a nice - and strongly acted - characterization against his usual "victim", Ned Beatty plays the heavy).

A sense of isolation, frustration and mounting unease give way to full-blown panic as Leachman learns the dark secrets of the roadside eatery and attached motel, and plot, tone and direction never degrade into predictable cliches or the "softening" conclusions so favored by certain TV movies. Then again this is the 70s, that golden age of filmed dark fables indicative of a nation's upheavals and crises.

2010-01-18T11:24:00.001-08:00

WHEN MICHAEL CALLS (1971) Dir: Philip Leacock

Despite a most impressive cast (Elizabeth Ashley, Michael Douglas and Ben Gazzara) and source material (based on John Farris' novel), this TV thriller disappoints. Perhaps because of high expectations from its authorial pedigree and assembled talent. A chilling plot revolving around midnight phone calls from a dead child falls flat on the small screen; whereas numerous other directors open up storylines to the very limits of TV production, Leacock piddles away precious screen time focusing on red herrings and stock devices setting up audiences for the ubiquitous Third Act non-supernatural explanation.

Nice to see a young Michael Douglas play against type and always wonderful to watch Ms. Ashley bring elegance and class to any production she graces, but Gazzaro sleepwalks through the proceedings, clearly dreaming of his next Cassavetes star turn.

To be fair the first 20 or so minutes are rather creepy and the otherwise faulting Leacock can take credit for slow zooms and early atmospherics finely tuned to the dually scary and sentimental notion of contact with a deceased, beloved child.

2009-10-12T13:32:00.000-07:00

A VACATION IN HELL (1979)
Dir: David Greene

An odd mix of crude sexual innuendos and underlying gender anxieties, this largely forgettable "thriller" never manages to conjure a plot as interesting as its relentless subtext of confusion and anger towards the 70s rapidly changing sexual mores. Three female age groups are represented by a gaggle of broadly drawn characters: a precocious tween tease played by Maureen McCormick (channeling the inner slut we all suspected resided in Marcia Brady), a couple of recent college grads out for an all-around frisky time and an aging mother (Babara Feldon, wondering how she ended on this island and film set) confused by the new roles acceptable to women.

In a fantasy narrative of male wish fulfillment, a playboy (complete with shades and a handy bottle of bubbly) becomes stranded on a jungle island with the above-mentioned group and spends 90 minutes fending off their amorous/pathologically needy/psychotically immature advances, as well as those of a hostile group of native islanders. Both seem to represent the same danger level, and thus the viewer is plunged into a quagmire of both sexist and racist melodrama.

Deadly dull, A Vacation in Hell has little to recommend other than the camp spectacle of a drunken song and dance routine by a very randy Ms McCormick.

2009-10-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

THE STRANGE AND DEADLY OCCURRENCE (1974)
Dir: John Llewellyn Moxey

Mystery thrillers disguised as horror films are often great disappointments with their final act reveal of "natural explanations" for supernatural events cheapening the previous 70 minutes. This ABC Movie of the Week however has enough goofy charm to survive the less-than-terrifying climax and denouement (although it veers closer to Scooby Doo territory than even most similar films - much of the final plot element revolves around buried treasure!) and coolly coasts by on the earnest performances of Robert Stack and Vera Miles. Before its end, The Strange and Deadly Occurrence serves up quaint chills through a haunted ranch house, a moaning midnight specter, a shady prison doctor, a shadow-lurking killer and even a mild poltergeist.

As so often with 70s TV movies, much of the fascination and interest lies in the decade's ambivalence to the nuclear family and traditional gender roles. By 1974 TV audiences were wide open and listening to criticisms of the myth of the perfect 50s home, and this questioning of established institutions often took the filmic form of paranormal threats to the family unit. Robert Stack as the protective patriarch proves ineffectual at safeguarding his family, while his seemingly idyllic marriage to wife Vera Miles - and purchase of a "dream home" in the canyons north of LA - also take a beating when confronted with bumps in the SoCal night. Furthermore Daddy's Little Girl (played with bizarre, almost pantomime affectations by doe-eyed Margaret Willock) seems to be in need of psychiatric treatment when she goes borderline catatonic after being attacked by a moving coat stand.

Of course it all ends with a laugh and family group hug.

2009-03-01T10:58:00.000-08:00

DEAD OF NIGHT (1977)

Dir: Dan Curtis

Produced by Dan Curtis as a follow-up to the wildly successful (and eternal cult classic) Trilogy of Terror (1976). Although far less effective, and marred from the gate with an opening V.O. narration recalling the cheesey opening credits of the 1980s' Tales From the Darkside, a hokey and unnecessary reminder that viewers should be frightened by the proceedings; most contemporary participants would be either bored or laughing at the opening segment. "Second Chance" is a dull, insipid grab at the 70s trend of Depression-era nostalgia (The Sting being a blockbuster example; Curtis Harrington's Whatever Happened to Helen a genre example); a dull and insipid fantasy involving Ed Begley Jr. returning to a more innocent time via the restoration of an antique automobile.

A brief interlude is the Richard Matheson-scripted "No Such Thing As a Vampire", adopted from his sleight micro story. The Victorian period-set vignette however remains a vast improvement from the former tale and cleverly subverts traditional folkloric cliches in service of a modern manifestation of very human jealousy and revenge. The Hammer studio-esque sets enhance the tricky atmospherics, deliberately skewed to throw the viewer off from a trick ending. Sad to watch is veteran B-actor Elisha Cook hamming up the dodgy script.

Like Trilogy of Terror, the real thrills are left - showmanship style - to the final curtain, an unsettling finale entitled "Bobby". Kudos galore should be offered to the campfire classic The Monkey's Paw, but again scriptwriter Matheson delivers a shocking twist to this seemingly sentimental tale of a mother drawn to the occult in an effort to restore her beloved son. Final 15 seconds = genius unsettling horror still owned only by the transgressive and liberal 1970s.

2008-02-25T15:21:00.000-08:00

SSFG UPDATE !

Recently we've considered it right and fair to expand the scope of our fledgling little blog to include not just Made-For-TV-Movies, but 1970s horror television series as well. Hopefully this site can then better represent the full extent of the grooviest decade ever for televised chills. Periodically SSFG will post reviews of episodes from the era's classic - and not so classic - weekly horror-themed shows: Night Gallery, Ghost Story, Circle of Fear, The 6th Sense, Thriller (a British 70s series most often padded with commercials so each episode could constitute a requisite 90 minutes in length and thus qualify as ABC's Mystery Movie of the Week (1972-1974) and Hammer House of Horror in addition to several others. A notable omission is the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows, but many sites devoted to the cult classic can be found online.

2007-06-05T16:07:00.000-07:00

Gargoyles (1972)

Dir: Bill Norton

So beloved was this ABC TV Movie of the Week, and so fondly remembered and cherished by young people of the early 70s, that a remake (nearly unheard of for a TV movie) was filmed for the straight-to-DVD and budget cable markets. Praised and revered in fanzines and cult movies websites galore, Gargoyles barely holds up under critical scrutiny 30+ years later, with its charms confined to that blissful place of childhood innocence and idolized naivety.

The preposterous plot has an anthropologist (Cornell Wilde) and his Swinging 70s daughter stumble upon a race of long extinct demonic creatures prowling the lonely deserts of the American Southwest. Surely the close proximity to Los Angeles accounts for the dozens of "desert horrors" of that recession-addled decade? Or maybe the sinisterly arid and sparsely populated landscapes reflected a nation's ever-growing trend towards urban living and detachment from rural environments? Probably because the crew set up on a back lot 90 miles east of LA, Gargoyles nonetheless captures the spooky quiet and isolation of the Mojave, not to mention the eccentric overflow of the human race who dwells there ("desert rats", the likes of Scott Glenn as a leader of a biker gang and the marvelous Grayson Hall, stealing every scene she's given as the boozed up proprietress of a lonesome highway motel). Eventually the creatures go on a rampage of sorts, kidnapping the daughter (Jennifer Salt, more than adequate in a role burdened by inane dialogue and zero character development) and retreating to Carlsbad Caverns ( I think). Though pleasantly campy the creature makeup and costumes further weaken a failing film, as does a plot device giving head gargoyle Bernie Casey a nearly human understanding and motivation.

2007-06-05T14:11:00.000-07:00

THE POSSESSED (1977)

Dir: Jerry Thorpe

Obscure and relatively forgotten little TV movie, The Possessed is among the best of a handful of small screen horrors attempting to cash in on the success of 1973's blockbuster The Exorcist. It is in fact far better than several theatrical releases intent upon the same, including but not limited to: Abby (197), Beyond the Door (1975) and The Godsend (1979). The plot is simplicity itself - a girls' boarding school is beset by mysterious fires of a supernatural origin - but remarkably effective, unmarred even by the proliferation of stock characters (a priest who has lost his faith, the spinsterish headmistress still carrying a romantic torch, ubiquitous naughty schoolgirls, embodied here by the very prototype of the 70s, PJ Soles) and a hurried ending typical of TV climaxes scheduled between commercial breaks. Production values add considerable charm to this thriller, with superb locations, cinematography that is vibrant yet moody, and an overall structure of restrained, growing menace. The wintery shots of the bleak campus and creepy old dorms drip with atmosphere, even further enhanced by an eerie electronic musical score and literate script.

Inexplicably, the second act of The Possessed descends from a tone of restrained dread to a reliance on hokey effects and demonic bodily contortions (yup, the bedeviled headmistress ends up groaning terrifically and vomiting nails). Plenty more however to recommend here, from a strong cast (Joan Hackett, James Farrantino, Diana Scarwid, Harrison Ford and more) to the ambivalence of the final minutes, with a gaping mystery surrounding one of the characters striking an emotional chord with viewers. Try finding all that today in one of the triple-budgeted Lifetime network thrillers.

2006-07-08T12:45:00.000-07:00

SPECTRE (1977)
Dir: Clive Donner

Surely one of the most eccentric telefilms ever aired, Spectre is the disjointed brainchild of Star Trek creator Gene Rodenberry. Given free reign by network execs Mr. Roddenberry pens another bombastic tale centered around a quasi-moral theme, in the style so familiar to his disciples everywhere. The structure is more episodic and less developed narrative than to be expected, with set piece following set piece and an only minimal connection tying these loose ends together.

Setting the tone for the campy occult splendours to follow, Spectre's opening five minutes are perhaps its best. Robert Culp is a paranormal investigator attacked at his modernist bachelor pad by a seductive succubus (a hot witch basically). The assault and subsequent destruction of the evil creature is witnessed by Culp's longtime pal and lush of a doctor (Gig Young in one of his final roles), who decides to fly to England to help Culp ferret out black magic practicioners. It seems a high-strung spinster is convinced her older brother is possesed by a demon who's greatest weapon of evil is a louche lifestyle of excessive sexual indulgence. The hoodwinked brother comes off as only marginally creepier than Hugh Hefner (and this guy at least wears French cuffs and slim-cut blazers around the house), and his ancestral home of hedonism only slightly more lurid than Hef's grotto. Turns out there's fire where there's purple magickal smoke, and the alternately suave and bumbling pair are led through a maze (figurative and literal - leftover cave sets from Land of the Lost to be sure) of modern Satanism and ritual sacrifice.

Unfortunately the overlong finale is centered around special effects and make-up artistry so ridiculously bad it nearly cancels the previous hour of offbeat dialouge and plotting. Still, the harpischord soundtrack is charming, the arcane magic rituals and esoteric occult terminology quaintly fun, and especial kudos for an art department on speed when it comes to creating groovy 70s interior kitsch (in a Scottish Baronial pyschadelic manner - think the Beggars Banquet-era Rolling Stones). A horror film with little horror, few chills and no scares, but enough bits of quirky charm to justify viewing. Well, on a hangover day anyway.

2006-07-08T12:27:00.000-07:00

Now that Spring Semester is over at Satan's School for Girls, we can't imagine a better place to spend the summer holidays than at CampBlood. Webmaster Buzz has loaded his site with provocative articles, interviews, movie reviews and much more, all enriched by intelligent and witty prose. Check out his Horror for Homos section for a film guide both hysterically funny and comprehensive. Camp Blood is updated frequently, and each visit guaranteed to produce laughs and shivers. Of great interest to SSFG and its fans (uh, Hi Mom) will be the Movie of the Weak, dedicated to our beloved TV thrillers. And don't forget to browse Camp Blood's swag section; the ridiculously low-priced tote bags are totes a beach must for Summer '06.

2006-07-03T15:26:00.000-07:00

DON"T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK (1973)
Dir: John Newland

A real standout film in the field of television horror, despite its cult status Don't Be Afraid of the Dark has yet to be released on DVD. This is most unfortunate given the film's ability to perhaps alter a few opinions on the complete and utter worthlessness of Made-for-TV movies. Rarely has TV tried so hard to actually scare the viewer; production executives tend to prefer non-disturbing and mild horror imagery unlikely to frighten away (yes, intended pun) advertisers. Within this tradition of watered down imagery and theme, Don't Be Afraid dares to buck convention and systematically builds its tale upon dread and the common phobias of madness and emotional isolation. Never taking time out for a prosaic sideplot or corny chuckles, Nigel McKeand's script is a near masterpiece of economical horror screenwriting. Similarly director Newland handles the proceedings with a detached and dark iciness, filling the screen with long shots of the spooky house, an abudance of night photography and screen frames heavy with shadows and blackness. Even the main characters of the film are introduced through voiceovers, disembodied conversations heard over still shots of the empty house interiors; the effect of the House as an entity to itself, and the residents merely visitors in a foreign (and hostile) realm is quite chilling.

The plot is deceptively simple; recounted as a written synposis it hardly hints at the creepiness the actual movie manages to achieve. Kim Darby plays a somewhat lonely young housewife to hubby Jim Hutton's Type-A lawyer with an eye on his firm's partnership. From this crux of quintessential 70s politicized domestic drama, thus the characters are built. Darby's unfulfilled modern woman, aching to express herself creatively and intellectually, is a stereotype of the liberated era, but she imbues the role with such pathos and genuine discomfort the viewer instinctively sympathizes. Her one persoanl wish for her new home is to take over an unused dank studio as a home office for herself, a room of her own, but her husband and the patriarchal handyman (My Three Sons' Uncle Charlie) attempt to discourage her. Eventually she is given challenges such as entertaining her husband's business partners and coordinating décor with an interior designer, but her greatest test seems to be staying sane. Darby begins to hear voices and see tiny creatures invisible to all else. And worse, the creatures turn out to be far from cuddly.

An inspiration for Don't Be Afraid of the Dark would surely seem to be Charlotte Perkins Gilman's 19th century macabre novella The Yellow Wallpaper, with its unhinged heroine obsessing over patterns in the wallcoverings that seem to have a life of their own. Both stories eerily present restless women who first feel trapped in their surroundings, then fatally attached to these interiors grown monsterous. And the two tales share endings evilly ambiguous – Don't Be Afraid of the Dark however climaxes on a tone of such despair and horror, even contemprary audiences may feel moved. As a highlight of 70s TV horror – and TV movies in general – this remains a treat for anyone looking for a spooky night at home. For those who love this genre, it is a treasure.

2006-07-03T15:04:00.000-07:00

THE NIGHT STRANGLER (1973)
Dir: Dan Curtis

When movie sequels are spoken of, the tone invariably turns jeering, and smug dismissals are expected from all serious aficionados of the motion picture. And yet our genre of attention here, the horror fim, often gathers steam in spin-offs, unencumbered as it is by the more traditional focus on narrative consistency. The Friday the 13th series didn't introduce the iconic hockey masked figure of Jason Vorhees until Part II (1982). Nearly lovable wisecracking Freddy Kruger only began to really develop his sick one-liner schtick midway through the Nightmare on Elm Street marathon (by which time admittedly he'd devolved into a third-rate Catskills comedian). Similarly, other shlock classics explored more interesting terrain in their sequels, such as Night of the Living Dead (1968), Children of the Corn (1983).

Following the enormous success of The Night Stalker (1972), Dan Curtis and screenwriter Richard Matheson also benefited from returning to the drawing board to craft the excellent sequel, The Night Strangler. Their previous collaboration (they would work again on the seminal Trilogy of Terror ) garnered the highest ratings of any TV movie in over a decade, so expectations should have been low for this hasty afterthought, demanded in part by Nielsen-driven ABC.

Instead The Night Strangler gives us a Carl Kolchak with more motivation, a bumbling, awkward hero beginning to show signs of real life drama under the crumpled suit and battered straw bowler. Again the discredited news reporter is on the scent of a supernatural killer, this time not in seedy Vegas, but a Seattle made seedy despite its verdant exterior. Kolchak's beat is the world of exotic dancers, strip clubs, bums sheltered in abandoned buildings, and this sleazy urban underbelly is given surprising depth and attention here (despite television's preferred idealization of a squeaky clean America). Cameos abound ( The Munster's Al Lewis as a drunk homeless man suffering from hypochondria, Margaret Hamilton chewing scenery in the role of a cantankerous professor of the occult), and the script spends its first half developing mood and tone and nuances of Darren McGavin's Kolchak. The climax is therefore even more unexpected, switching locales as it does to a surreal underground cavern beneath the streets of America's most caffeinated city. Strongly recommended.

2006-03-01T15:02:00.000-08:00

TRILOGY OF TERROR (1975)
Dir: Dan Curtis

If a single made-for-television horror film has managed to achieve iconic status (a debatable concept and perhaps even an impossibility), Trilogy of Terror would be the illustrious example. Rock bands and performance art groups have drawn direct inspiration from the movie's final tale, the most obvious being The Voluptous Horror of Karen Black, and its leader Kembra Pfahler who has established a stage persona based on Trilogy's leading lady - right down to the creepy makeup (see bottom photo above). Zuni fetish dolls were manufactured by an adult action figure company and fetch staggering prices on Ebay. Messageboards and forums across the internet reveal thousands of entries from fans enthralled by the film's combination of outrageous theatrics, black humor and genuine chills. In a culture so captivated by kitsch and nostalgia, Trilogy of Terror may be remembered far longer than most of Karen Black's other stellar work (Nashville, Five Easy Pieces, The Day of the Locust). Which is not to imply that this bizarre omnibus movie - a true oddity in every sense of the word - does not belong in the company of Black's more respectable films; conversely, being the sole star of all three segments allows the actress a great range of performance styles (from subtle and repressed to campy excess).

Of the three segments that comprise Trilogy of Terror (unrelated through any device other than Black's presence), the final tale featuring a murderous African fetish doll is by far the most remembered, often to the near exclusion of the first two-thirds of the film. While neither attempts to match the freewheeling madness of the finale piece, both are far above average for the TV Movie of the Week genre. The "trilogy" opens with "Julie", in which Black protrays a spinster teacher who is drugged and blackmailed by a young student; Julie's revenge provides the sinister punchline to the tale. "Millicent and Therese" follows, and with today's spohisticated audiences plays a bit cliched, although Black inhabits both characters - sisters good and evil - with authority.

And "Amelia" rounds out the film by saving the best for last. Dominated by her Mother and inexplicably frustrated with life, the titular character purchases a most unusual gift for her fiance, a tribal doll that awakens to life with a savage bloodthirst. Too good to spoil, keep an eye out for the upcoming DVD release complete with Making-of-Featurette, interviews and more.

2006-02-24T11:46:00.000-08:00

HONORABLE MENTIONS for Satan's School for Girls ! !

We're happy to report that SSFG has been cited on two very respectable websites - Crypt Crawl and The Groovy Age of Horror. The former is a nearly-definitive umbrella site listing thousands of horror-related webpages, while the latter delivers on its promise, highlighting horror comics, paperbacks and much more from the 1970s. Groovy is chock-full of great artwork and thoughtful, intelligent reviews and essays, so check it out for hours of entertainment.

And of course, keep checking back here for more frequent updates and plenty of great reviews to come! Also, a big thank you for those who have sent emails regarding the site; requests for coverage of particular films will be honored at the earliest opportunity.

2005-12-31T16:43:00.000-08:00

SCREAM OF THE WOLF (1974) Dir: Dan Curtis
DEVIL DOG, HOUND OF HELL (1978) Dir: Curtis Harrington

Hard to resist killing two turkeys with one stone, therefore Satan's School for Girls' firstever double-review/entry. Honestly, devoting any amount of truly significant space to either of these bombs would be yet another case of internet misuse and pollution. A friend recently proclaimed that writing about bad films is always more enjoyable than the actual movie itself, and yet I'm hard pressed to entertain visitors with reflections on such uninspiring material.

With Dan Curtis' prolific contributions to TV horror, Scream of the Wolf feels like quick assembly- line schlock, and is far more derivative and tedious than any of his better work ( The Night Stalker, the Dark Shadows series and theatrical release spin-off films, the stellar Trilogy of Terror). Curtis directs this "thriller" with a curious mixture of meandering narrative and low-wattage plotting. Peter Graves tracks a potential werewolf through the canyons of Hollywood, and some of the night footage in the barren hills above LA is evocative. Similarly, fans of groovy interiors and costuming (think suede blazers; think polyester turtlenecks, think Op Art kravats) will enjoy the period details, but this superficial gloss cannot compensate for what is basically a lame remake of The Most Dangerous Game (1932). Those seeking detective thrillers with faux supernatural overtones would do best to dig up a few choice episodes of McCloud, Mannix or Columbo. Mysteriously enough, Scream is enjoying a brief revival on the Fox Movie Channel, so watch at your own late night risk.

Even worse is Curtis Harrington's dismal and silly Devil Dog. The titular creature is a benign looking German Shepherd (admitedly not a normally easy thing to convey, given the breed's fierce appearance) who rather than actually attack his victims prefers to hypnotize them into self-destruction (leaping from windows etc). When the monster does choose to get physical, it appears as a preposterously animated canine demon. Never thought I'd see the day when I longed for a CGI scene!

All the non-existent mayhem is due to a Southern California satanic cult that impregnates the dog's mother via a hokey occult ritual. The opening scene does feature a cameo by the lovely Martine Beswick (From Russia with Love, Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde, One Million Years, B.C.), who by the late 70s looks tired and embarassed by her choice of material.

2005-12-31T16:10:00.000-08:00

CROWHAVEN FARM (1970)
Dir: Walter Grauman

Crowhaven Farm has, inexplicably to us here at Satan's School for Girls, been remembered fondly in the hearts of several of our website visitors. Another Spelling-Goldberg quickie, this time around Hope Lange inherits a creepy old farm owned by her Puritan ancestors, and discovers their dark past through a supernatural intrusion into the present. Full of flashbacks (unwisely shot in broad daylight) and portentous omens, signaled by an overbearing soundtrack, the filmmaking here is relatively crude (even for television standards at the time). Once again we have a New England farmstead clearly set among the rolling hills of Southern California; witch hunts or not, does the East Coast simply have an intrinsic spook factor to the rest of the nation? All those blue states perhaps? A few of the performances are decent (Lange's in particular) but Paul Burke as the bossy hubby is woefully bad, and even worse, figures heavily into the story. Without giving any of the predictable plot twists away, eventually a few minor chills are effected by the return of some long dead (but still nasty) Puritan zealots.

Most interesting in an examination of Crowhaven Farm is its blatant anxieties over the burgeoning women's movement of the period. Lange is a modern female, willing to have a child to please her husband but also determined to work and develop a life outside the home (or off the farm, as the case may be). Her husband is bitterly jealous of this well-roundedness and attempts to control his wife through sudden rages and tantrums. Once a Lolitaesque ghostly child enters their world, he quickly switches from paternal figure to incestous pedophile in a matter of days. From the seductive evil of the pubescent phantom, to Lange's former incarnation as the symbol of anti-patriarchy, a witch, Crowhaven hammers its consevative subtext home gleefully. And these are actually the most fun aspects the movie offers, as well as the creepiest (Lange originally died as an accused witch via a brutal means called "pressing").

John Carradine is on hand portraying his ubiquitous character, the Mumbling Old Man Who Knows Too Much, and through practice, is convincing. A number of minorly recognizable television character actors play the morbidly funny neighbors; a scene straight from Rosemary's Baby and other similar films reminds us that fun old people who throw a good cocktail party must be harboring something dark up their well-tailored sleeves.

2005-12-05T16:47:00.000-08:00

DAUGHTER OF THE MIND (1969)
Dir: Walter Grauman

A spy thriller with noir sensibilities, Daughter of the Mind was marketed as a horror film due to its ostensible theme of communication from beyond the grave. Ray Milland is a professor haunted by visitations from his dead daughter, and seeks the aid of university colleague (and pre- Knot's Landing) Don Murray, a paranormal researcher. Quite soon the plot verges fully into espionage and counter-intelligence trickery, but despite lapses in pace and a talky script remains interesting for a few disturbing reasons. A hateful Cold War mentality permeates the second half of the story, with near McCarthian paranoia guiding the climax and denouement. As a peek into the time capsule, Daughter will surely fascinate those too young to remember the supposed threat of Commies lurking around every corner. Equally intriguing is a sort of misanthropic view of society in general: there are subtle intimations that Milland's relationship with his young daughter may have been a tad bit "creepy"; his invalid wife has a cold heart towards their deceased child; those paid to protect and heal are dubious in their intent at best; and our own government, here dramatized as heroes, will stoop to all lows to safeguard democracy (Homeland Security, anyone?)

In terms of TV entertainment, Daughter, upon its initial airing, no doubt seemed more ambitious than average fare, and is intelligent in its somber tone and technical proficiency. Early "visits" from the dead girl are eerie and moody. Veteran actors Milland and Gene Tierny provide some gloss, especially the latter, so far from her glory days and yet still commanding as a wheelchair-bound cynic.

2005-10-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

THE STRANGER WITHIN (1974)
Dir: Lee Philips

The few who remember The Stranger Within often dismiss it as yet another derivative TV movie conveniently riffing on box-office hits of the day. Cast off as an amalgamation
of Rosemary's Baby (1968) and The Exorcist (1973), this original film is more of a horror and sci-fi blend than either of those works, and though dated and inexpertly directed, still packs an emotional wallop in its unexpected final act. Legendary horror writer Richard Matheson provides the screenplay, adapted from his short story of the same title. The predominant underlying theme of a foreign element intruding upon the hemegonic atmosphere of the suburban family home is one Matheson has explored many times before. His classic story “ “ examines a young newlywed's bizarre repulsion toward his beautiful bride, inexplicable until he discovers that what he married may not be human after all.

Television seems inherently aware of its audience's location, and in its programming acknowledges viewers' relationship to their surroundings. One does after all consume sitcoms and made-for-television movies within the home only. In accordance, whether it be soap operas, situation comedies or the ubiquitous Lifetime movie, TV offers much more domestic drama than the cinema (or even the popular novel). Many of the more succesful TV horror movies center the fear firmly within the envirions of the archetypal living and/or bedroom – Home for the Holidays, The Babysitter, Trilogy of Terror, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark. The Stranger Within establishes its subject of familial unease and terror from the credit sequence, a series of long and medium shots of a comfortable upper-middle class house, subtly tweaked by lowkey lighting an an ominous score (so to be overused).

Barabara Eden plays a middle-aged painter who learns she has unexpectedly become pregnant. Her husband does not take the news well, understandable since he has had a vasectomy due to his wife's inability to safely bear children! Allegations of adultery and arguments over abortion drive the couple farther apart, but Eden insists on having the baby. From this point the drama moves into the realm of the supernatural, as Eden displays some unique cravings; namely gallons of boiling hot coffee, frigid cold temperatures and pounds of salt and raw octupus. She spends her days wandering the hills outside her home and the evenings exposing herself to frigid temperatures. Violent rages and physical changes indicate that this is no average child being carried in the battleground that Eden's body has become.

As mentioned earlier the action moves towards a startling climax that manages to be both satisfyingly bleak and fantastical. The film ends with a montage and voiceover by Eden, who by this point has given a performance perfectly in tune with the story's mounting dread and surprising resolution. A final shot of her husband's gowing comprehension of his wife's (and child's) fate is touching, as he stands before a final painting of Eden's, depicting an eerie alien landscape. By all means search out a copy of this better-than-average TV film, and remember (or learn) how television was still interested in telling unique stories in the 1970s.

2005-08-19T16:31:00.000-07:00

JOURNEY INTO MIDNIGHT (1968)
Dirs: Alan Gibson, Roy Ward Baker

A somewhat unusual TV horror film, shot in England and originally intended as a pilot for a weekly horror series, Journey Into Midnight consists of two tales linked by witty and arch introductions from Sebastian Cabot (better known as Family Affair's Mr. French). Cabot would later go on to host a short-lived NBC supernatural series entitled first Ghost Story, then in mid-season changed to Circle of Fear. The show may be long-forgotten but Journey has found new life through, improbably enough, screenings on the Fox Movie Channel.

The first section of the film features Chad Everett as a smug American attending a masquerade soiree at a mysterious country estate. Although the segment hints of a sort of sinister ambiguity with unsettling personal enigmas, much like the tone of Robert Aickman's brilliant short stories, the narrative quickly collapses and nosedives into a predictable yawn of an ending. The only chiefly memorable aspects are the lush production design and the moody use of the English countryscapes.

Journey is saved however in its excellent second hour directed by veteran Hammer Films and Amicus Productions horror director Roy Ward Baker (The Vampire Lovers, Scars of Dracula, Asylum, Vault of Horror, And Now the Screaming Starts among many others) and scripted by Robert Bloch (Psycho, The House that Dripped Blood, The Skull). Once again Julie Harris lends her prodigious talents in the service of small screen horror, portraying a lonely rich widow desperate to contact her beloved husband via seance. Her young personal assistant (the beautiful and chic Tracy Reed) recommends her boyfriend for the job of watchguard; Tom Adams plays a detective specializing in exposing occult frauds (the sort of niche employment found alas only in the cinema). Essentially a smooth variation on the double themes of the dastardly ladykiller and the chicanery of fake spiritualists and mediums, "The Indian Spirit Guide" benefits as a whle from the strength of its parts.

Adams and Reed make a charmingly evil duo, Harris is marvelous as always (playing her stock character at first broadly, then adding shades of complexity and poignant affectations to her performance) and the script is smart and very briskly paced. Baker's direction shows a professional restraint with little of the vulgarities and abuse of the zoom lens he often employed. Perhaps the greatest moments though are the final 15 minutes, when Catherine Lacey is introduced as the aged character Miss Sarah Prinn. Late in her career Lacey, having begun in the 1930s with Hitchcock and other noted British directors, turned often to horror film roles, perhaps the only ones available to her. As in films as diverse in quality as The Servant (1963), The Sorcerers (1967) and The Mummy's Shroud (1967), the regal actress takes command of every scene in which she appears. A regional English entertainer who confined herself to roles in her homeland, Lacey reminds us in this cameo performance of how engaging a screen personality can be, and makes us at least long for a wider and more accesible filmography than she left behind.

2005-08-12T19:26:00.000-07:00

NIGHT GALLERY (1969)
Dirs: Boris Sagal, Barry Shear, Steven Spielberg

The feature-length pilot for the successful NBC television series, this film establishes the show's weekly format of three tales introduced by host Rod Serling, with a representative painting serving as starting point. It's no surprise that the final segment, "Eyes", directed by a young Steven Spielberg, is the standout piece. Joan Crawford (busy reinventing herself as a horror legend after Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, Strait-Jacket, I Saw What You Did and Berserk) stars as, in Serling's typically florid words, "an impervious, predatory dowager", blind from birth and secluded from the world in her luxe Park Avenue penthouse. Tom Bosley (four years prior to his most lucrative acting of his career, Happy Days) is a two-bit bookie with massive debt who agrees to give up his eyes so that Crawford may experience 12 hours of sight after experimental transplant surgery. Indeed the wicked millionairess does get to glimpse the world for the first time, but only for a few fleeting seconds; upon removal of the bandages, New York City is plunged into a massive blackout lasting the entire night. Spielberg does an admirable job with an intensely overwrought script, and shows his naive inexperience only through an occasional reliance on artsy, film school effects (this being his first professional gig upon graduation from AFI). He uses the same interior monologue technique so effective in Duel three years later, though "Eyes" is more fanciful and decorative than that gem of realistic horror. Crawford brings a vicious grandness to her role, in a mature performance better than much of her long previous career.

The other two segments are less interesting by far. In the opening tale, straight from the pages of E.C. Comics it seems, Roddy McDowell is a vile, money-grubbing trifler, who murders his uncle in order to obtain his inheritance. Naturally, the old man wreaks havoc from beyond the grave, and with the help of his servant (Ossie Davis) destroys McDowell in a predictable ending (even the additional twist is trite and hackneyed).

Rounding out the film is a story of an ex-nazi refugee in Argentina, haunted by ghosts of the past and seeking an end to painful memories. Unfortunately he is saddled with a drunken prostitute-philosopher of a neighbor in his flophouse, and the scenes involving her ruminations on his past evils are laborious and embarassing. More than the other two stories, this tale is indicative of what the series Night Gallery would become: a venue for often interesting premises weakened by sloppy direction and talkative scripts.

2005-08-11T17:07:00.000-07:00

A COLD NIGHT'S DEATH (1973)
Dir: Jerrold Freedman

A high point in made-for-television cinema, this Spelling-Goldberg production is unusually smart, classy and decidely offbeat. Nearly everyone involved raised the personal bar for a film sadly neglected and forgotten. Prolofic composer Gil Melee abandoned his usual muzak schmaltz (think Fantasy Island) for a truly eerie electronic score that greatly enhances the unsettling atmosphere of the film. Robert Culp and Eli Wallach deliver performances of greater control than previously seen. Rolland M. Brooks' sets are astonishingly claustrophobic and grim, and even the cinematography by Leonard South exceeds the typical television constraints (menacing handheld and unusually dark photography, graceful long tracking shots, sophisticated camera setups). But top honors go to director Freedman and screenplay writer Christopher Knopf for their creation of a psychological thriller dripping with mood and macabre ambiance.

Two scientists journey to a remote research station in Antarctica to replace a colleague gone mad. Upon their arrival they find their predecessor frozen to death in front of an open window, but are ordered to continue his primate experiments involving the effects of high altitude and isolation. Within days they too begin to question their sanity as they battle an unseen force bent on destroying any human life in this frozen wasteland.

A Cold Night's Death is loaded with creepy set pieces, from a late night stroll through the dilapidated research center to the sometimes upsetting experiments conducted on the chimps to the discovery of the tapes left by the "first victim". More frightening than a few well-placed shocks though is the continually building suspense, kept low-key through such a somber tone. It's so difficult to imagine Mikey slurping his Life cereal during a commercial break, one wonders who the sponsors were during the original airing of the film.

Hard to find but essential viewing for anyone interested in the genre.

2005-08-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

At home, working hard in Brooklyn to provide you with plenty of new updates in the weeks ahead.

2005-08-07T12:34:00.000-07:00

HAUNTS OF THE VERY RICH (1972)
Dir: Paul Wendkos

Horror in the 1970s became famously bleak, with Evil often triumphing over Good, and even television was willing to forgoe the obligatory happy ending in service of the new national trend towards nihilism. Haunts of the Very Rich is a rarity beyond even those parameters though - a made-for-TV exisitential horror movie. Basically, No Exit in polyester and blue eyeshadow.

A group of strangers arrive at a posh resort called Portals of Eden; fabulous upon initial appearance, the hotel soon turns ominous. Paradise is lost on the first night, when a savage tropical storm rips through the island, rendering the isolated vacation spot without electricity, phone service, accesible roads and limited food and water. A snake enters a guestroom, the temperature rises to unbearable degrees and the guests begin bickering amongst themselves. One by one each member of the party reveals a back story, always ending with a terrible accisen tor brush with death. Starting to get the picture? The ultimate premise of the tale is perhaps trite to contemorary viewers, but must have delivered a real jolt at the time of showing (For the record, two Amicus productions of the same year and the following one, Tales from the Crypt and Vault of Horror, respectively, utilized a similar surprise ending).

Besides a carefully building sense of dread and bewilderment, the strongest element of Haunts is its ensemble cast of 70s tv pros. Donna Mills is a shag-haired newlywed having second thoughts about her new husband; Ed Asner is an even grouchier version of Lou Grant; Cloris Leachman is fragile single woman facing spinsterhood; Lloyd Bridges is a swinging adulterer (giving the weakest performance of the lot); Robert Reed is years from Mike Brady as a priest losing his faith, etc. The petty infighting and growing realization of their tragic fate is handled superbly by the group in general.

Above all else, Haunts of the Very Rich is immenently watchable, highly engaging and a superb example of 70s style and vibe. More than many other films discussed here, this bleak horror-drama could hold its own as a time capsule depiction of the decade's aesthetic, language and changing ideology. Although nearly impossible to find, this is one film worth the search. Campy characters and a few stock characterizations aside, the final moments deliver a cleverly constructed finale with true resonance.

2005-08-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

YOU'LL LIKE MY MOTHER (1972)
Dir: Lamont Johnson

Fans of the sub-sub genre known as Winter Horror will relish this tale set in a creepy old mansion in the desolate northern reaches of Minnesota. Indeed the snowbound landscapes lend a suitable air to a story of a young widow visiting her mother-in-law and receiving a most chilly reception. Patty Duke is the young mother-to-be, calling on her dead husband's family for the first time just prior to giving birth. Rather than being welcomed into the fold, she is subjected to verbal and physical abuse by the imposing mother, and shocked by a highly dysfunctional household of a sweet but mentally challenged sister and a psychotic rapist (creepily played by Richard Thomas just a couple of years before he disappeared forever as an actor into the role of JohnBoy Walton).

Based on Naomi A. Hintze's novel of the same name, the clearest inspiration for the story seems to be the enormously similar Die! Die! My Darling (1965 Dir: Freddie Francis), in which Stephanie Powers plays the beleagured heroine to monsterous mom-in-law Tallulah Bankhead (who really stretched herself in the role of teetotaler, Bible-thumping zealot). Lamont johnson's film updates the scenario to have a timely relevance that still resounds with topical cultural references: Duke dresses in quasi-hippie garb throughout; her husband has been killed in the Vietnam War; bus drivers spout peacenik slogans; Thomas is an obvious draft dodger (in addition to being a sex criminal); psychoactive drugs are imployed to keep Duke a docile prisoner and even the evil Mother represents an archetypal Oppressive Authority Figure.

An impressive level of suspense and dread is maintained throughout You'll Like My Mother, with a downbeat mood typical of the decade. It would be hard to imagine a contemporary MTVM so persistently grim and imposing. Patty Duke is excellent in the lead, and far more subdued than her generally histrionic self, while Sian Barbara Allen is a standout as the disturbed sister-in-law. Rosemary Murphy's performance anchors the film however, as she imbues her villanous character with both cruelty and a sad weariness. Two scenes in which she comforts her sex offender son, hidden in a basement room, are touchingly perverse, her icy demeanour giving way to a mother consumed with guilt and maternal love.

2005-08-05T13:40:00.000-07:00

DEATH AT LOVE HOUSE (1976)
Dir: E. W. Swackhamer

Robert Wagner and Kate Jackson portray a husband and wife team researching and writing a book based on legendary screen goddess Lorna Love. In order to soak up atmosphere and lend an authentic ambiance to their work, the pair shack up in Love's former Hollywood Hills estate, untouched since her untimely death years ago and redolent of former evil in residence. In the interest of narrative exigency, they quickly discover a pursed lip housekeeper, various objects left over from occult ceremonies, a ghostly figure in white flitting about the fountain area and a stuffed black cat. A murder and an attempt on Jackson's life follows, along with a string of bad weather, and soon the film is moving towards its overblown finale.

Silly, bland and tame even by television standards, Death at Love House has few recommending qualities. Among a paltry handfull are the cameos of veteran actors, contemporaries of the fictional Love character: John Carradine in a rain-soaked duster bearing tidings of doom; Dorothy Lamour as a bitter ex-rival of Love's, now hawking coffee on television commercials (uncomfortably prescient almost); and Joan Blondell's quirky portrait of the “ultimate fan”. Sylvia Syndey steals the show as the ominous housekeeper, and Jackson brings her usual dignity and quiet classiness to the hokiest of scenarios. A couple of minor twists in the final moments of the story are effective, but barely enough to justify the preceding 70 minutes.

Love House has neither the ability or intention to aspire to a classic Hollywood Gothic such as Sunset Boulevard or Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, yet it samples freely from both without absorbing any of those films' wry details. The 70s vogue for the 1920s and 30s (Paper Moon, The Great Gatsby, The Sting, Chinatown) inspired the script, but no effort was made to evoke the time periods; the “films” of Lorna Love, screened in the Spanish Colonial-style mansion of the dead star by an obsessive Wagner are amateurish and empty. A few sepia-tinted “reincarnation” scenes involving Love and Wagner could be outtakes from The Love Boat left too long in the developer.

2005-08-05T13:22:00.000-07:00

HOW AWFUL ABOUT ALLAN (1970)
Dir: Curtis Harrington

Curtis Harrington is a director with often large ideas that never quite cohese on the small screen. Of his theatrical releases, the debut Night Tide (1960) and Games (1967) contain impressive moments of dreamy unease and menace, while others range from mediocre (What's the Matter with Helen? 1972) to inspired (Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? 1972). The fascination with question marks in the titles remains unexplained. Harrington's television output is consistent however – plodding, dull and predictable. The high point of How Awful About Allan is its sensational title – lurid and creepily colloquial at the same time.
An Aaron Spelling Production (no surprise for a 70s TV Movie of the Week), blessed with a truly thespian cast, the weak plot and stagey direction keep the production grounded. From potentially atmospheric settings to Alan's midnight wanderings, pursued by voices of potential madness and shadowy figures of the mind, Harrington's lackluster direction and general unenthusiam for the material keep the film from ever even getting off the ground. 90% of the action occurs inside three rooms of the house and the cast is essentially three characters in total. Neighborhood drama club production anyone? Adapting for the stage would be a snap.

Returning from an 8-month stint in a mental hospital, after the death of his father and disfigurement of his sister in a household fire, Alan (Anthony Perkins) is suffering from hysterical blindness and a generally dyspeptic attitude towards everything around him. His sister (Julie Harris) is accomodating but frazzled, fearing for his sanity and doubtful that any real progress was made by the doctors. To make ends meet, the now financially strapped siblings take in a mysterious boarder with odd hours and an even scarier voice (imagine Paul Williams with laringytis). Naturally Allan begins to doubt his own sanity, especially once the boarder, or some stealthy night owl, takes to wandering the house whispering his name and pushing him down stairs.

The two standouts in the tiny cast are Harris (always good in her TV work, from guest spots on Roald Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected to her recurring role as Val Ewings' meddling hillbilly mama on Knot's Landing) and Joan Hackett as Olivia, the kindly next door neighbor and Allan's former lover. Perkins is watchable, but his character is so overwhelmingly annoying it is quite impossible to feel any concern for him or his predicament. Within the first half hour I kept hoping the phantom boarder would be successful in his attempts to throw him down the staircase or lead him out a window. Perkins really shows once again that he is the ultimate one trick pony, chanelling Norman Bates over and over in his large repertoire of disturbed protagonists. (Even worse, Harrington ends the film with a hack director's rip-off of Psycho's chilling final shot; Perkins grins menacingly at the camera, suggesting future horrors to come. Unfortunately the only horror the audience can imagine at this point is that the film might continue after the commercial break.)

Nonetheless the generic conventions of the horror film are, in their repetition and familiarity, reliable pleasures, and How Awful About Allan at least manages to give us a spooky house at night, thunderstorms and howling winds. Additionally, Harris and Hackett are great enough to rise above the material, particularly Harris, as she stares in the mirror ever so briefly at her damaged face, fingering the rubber skinpiece covering her burns, and smoldering with resentment.

2005-08-05T09:52:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Satan's School for Girls! I created this blog to share with others my love of the Made-for-TV horror film, specifically those from the L'age d' Or of Horror, the 1970s. Chances are quite strong you may be the first visitor, and if you should check back for my very regular updates, even stronger that you belong to an ultra-small niche of film fans with . . .um . . .acquired tastes.

The television film after all has long been held in disregard, a distant step-cousin to theatrical releases and dismissed as trite fodder for the masses or a haven for aging stars and B-list celebrities. Additionally the made-for TV-movie ("MTVM") faces consistent obstacles - lower budgets, short shooting and post-production schedules, and a need to pander to restrictive censors and corporate advertisers. These restrictions often result in lackluster cinematography, a minimal number of camera set-ups and a dearth of atmospheric locations. Although a few films (again, primarily from the 70s, when popular filmmaking in general reached its artistic and experimental zenith) transcended the limitations, many others drew their charm from said obstacles.

Armed with nostalgia for one's youth (dependant on age, natch), made-for-TV horror movies offer a comfort food meal of cinematic terror and a yen for the innocence of programming past. While the films here are judged on their obvious merits or flaws, the experience of crouching in a darkened den or rec room past bedtime clearly fuels the persistent affection some of us feel for this forgotten genre. Good or bad, silly or scary, inspired or derivative, at Satan's School for Girls we are remembering these cultural relics with a museum-worthy reverence.

Though some of the essays/entries on this site may masquerade as reviews, they are not meant to be recommendations or condemnations. As previously mentioned much of the appeal of a specific MTVM is nostalgic, and inextricably linked to an initial viewing and surrounding personal details. If one happily remembers watching Death at Love House, and dragging G.I. Joe into the bed afterwards for comfort, my negative appraisal of the film's weak plot and poorly excuted period sequences will be irrelevant. Any critical discussion here is primarly meant simply to lend credibility and dignity to works fading into obscurity. It is common now, in hindsight, to repute the ouevre of a director like Brian de Palma, but though currently unfashionable his films are still actively discussed as historically relevant to cinema. I'm merely opening the gate wider to include Spelling-Goldberg productions.