Making Contact With Joey

 

In my 43 years on this planet, there are a few images that have stuck in my brain in the worst of ways. 

One of them was Joey.

I was probably all of 7 when I caught a glance of this cover art on the shelf at my local sanctuary that was Long Island's largest independent video store. It was my mission to rent everything possible in the horror section, but for probably a good year or two, I circled that box like Pee-Wee side-eying the snake tank.

See, like any reasonable human being, I despise ventriloquist dummies.

I don't have strong memories of actually WATCHING Joey, but the image of that dummy on a dusty VHS cover has never left my brain. 16 years into February's Shortening, I'm simply running out of killer doll movies and hence, once again, I find myself circling that snake tank, knowing the time has come.

Quick Plot: Young Joey is mourning the death of his beloved father. As he longingly speaks to him through a photograph, Joey's pure '80s toy-filled room begins to come alive. Battery-operated cars start driving, balls are rolling, and records spinning. There is no safety to be found under the covers, even if they are part of a Return of the Jedi sheet set.

When Joey's toy phone begins ringing from the closet, things stop being so scary. It's Dad! 

You might not want to tell that to your bullies.

Back at school, other students mock Joey for, you know, talking to his dead dad on the phone. But Joey is undeterred. His toys lead him down a cobweb covered basement inhabited by something I speak of in hushed tones.

(whispers) Fletcher.

LOOK AT THIS THING.

It grunts, and a pile of soft stuffed animals do his bidding. They SMOTHER Joey's favorite, a blinky robot named Scooter who might otherwise protect the poor kid. All he has to do is turn his head, blink those marble eyes, and drop his crank jaw to let out a deep "BLAHHHHHHHHH" noise and lightning strikes. 

I hate dummies.

It's no better when the thing starts talking. He tells Joey his life's story, sitting on the knee of a master of the dark arts named Jonathon Fletcher who found a way to bridge realities. According to the dummy, it's Fletcher who's on the other side of that toy phone, not Joey's dear dead dad. The late magician has been trying to cross back over using both the dummy and Joey's innocence. When the dummy nearly kills Joey's mom, the kid does the only reasonable thing in this situation: tosses it in a hole and buries him. 

Things don't end there, especially since Joey also has to deal with some toy-killing bullies. Thankfully, we're working in a post-Carrie world where a dead dad and evil ventriloquist dummy ALSO include telekinetic powers for our titular hero. 

Before you know it, Making Contact goes full-out Poltergeist by way of E.T., with actual Darth Vader masks and lightsabers thrown in for good effect. How this movie would have ever managed to escape lawsuits is quite the mystery. I haven't even mentioned the Donald Duck that flies through Joey's hallway. 

Directed by Roland Emmerich--yes, that Roland Emmerich--Making Contact is joyfully pandering to an audience looking for blockbuster '80s breadcrumbs. It's also a pretty big, albeit short mess. From a narrative point of view, nothing really adds up. It's never really clear what Fletcher or his dummy is after, or which is actually the villain. You can't think too hard about a movie that was clearly assembled mathematically.

High Points

Yes, the bullies are straight out of Spielberg, but it's kind of nice to have them acknowledge the fact that the boy they've tormented proved himself to be far braver than they ever would be when facing a murderous 1920s era magical dummy

Low Points

You know, the whole "this movie is patched together from references to far better material" thing

Lessons Learned

German children dubbed by Americans singing My Country Tis of Thee will still be out of tune

Fear comes in many forms, including 3' tall hamburgers

Every '80s lonely boy needs a blond sidekick

Rent/Bury/Buy

Making Contact is not what anyone would call a good movie. It was so clearly crafted to pull whatever bits of blockbusters it could and somehow hit a 90 minute mark without getting sued. That being said, anyone with a closeness to these kinds of movies will probably be highly amused by just how hard it was able to go. And if, like me, you find ventriloquist dummies to be pure nightmare fuel, you won't sleep easy. Find it on Tubi before Disney does. 

Nope, I Can't Escape February Without A Dummy Attack

The 1940s are easily my biggest blind spot when it comes to cinema, particularly of the genre persuasion. Save for a few Val Lewton gems, I've seen virtually nothing from those years, so any chance to expand upon that is welcome. But I'll be honest about something:

I didn't know Dead of Night had a ventriloquist's dummy.

And I am not happy about that one bit.

Quick Plot: An architect drives out to a country home for a weekend design job only to immediately realize the bevy of socialites gathered there have been appearing regularly in his nightmares, despite the fact that he hasn't met a single one. Through cigarette smoke and '40s style chatter, the sextet begins to share their own personal stories of the supernatural.

That's right folks: it's an anthology!

Here's what we've got:

-Story 1 is the traditional "room for one more" tale as an injured racecar driver constantly sees a hearse driver with an ominous message
-Next up is a good old fashioned child ghost yarn set in a spooky but crowded house at a festive Christmas party
-Story 3 follows a wealthy woman's poor decision in buying her beloved a haunted wall mirror that once witnessed a violent crime. This story is the best thing in the world for two reasons:

1. It gives us such wonderfully aristocratic dialogue as "What do you want to do tonight? Dress up? Spend a lot of money?"

and


2. The lead wears a different headpiece in EVERY SINGLE SCENE. I know, I know. You're thinking "but it's one segment in an anthology, how many scenes can there be?" Well, as many scenes as there were fabulous headpieces in the costume shop's trunk.

-In the fourth tale, a pair of cheekily competitive golfers makes a friendly wager that involves the loser surrendering his lady love and drowning himself in a nearby lake, only to return to happily haunt the victorious (and cheating) newlywed. It's a strange blend of light-hearted comedy and, you know, the tale of suicide and ghostings.

-Finally, we get to The Worst Thing In the World: Michael Redgrave as a ventriloquist with a misbehaving dummy named Hugo.

I don't want to talk about it, even if this IS February's Attack of the Shorties.

In my 31 years on this planet, there a few lessons I've picked up. Perhaps the most life-saving ones are thus:

There are only two things in this world to fear: ventriloquist's dummies and caterpillars.

The sight of both instantly shrivel me into the fetal position, leaking a steady stream of urine and tears in what can only qualify as an exceedingly slippery floor environment.

You'd think Dead of Night being made in 1945 would help diminish that fear a tad. Hugo may speak like a helium-high scoundrel, but, well, he's just a typical black and white wooden doll whose movements can only be manipulated so much! you say, as if you have ANY understanding of the ancient evil arts.

Ventriloquist's dummies are never, without pretty much any exception ever, not evil. Even Pee-Wee Hermann knew this! 

Back on the impossible track that is resisting the urge to lock myself in a closet and instead discuss the movie: it's good. Perhaps because my 1940s film experience is so bare, even the fast-paced dialogue and highly mannered speaking feels fresh and different. None of the stories go on too long, and if they threaten to, such a crime is easily excused because LOOK AT THOSE FABULOUS HATS!

But the movie also features a dummy. A high-pitched voice dummy that does terrible things.

It's hard to forgive something like that.

High Points
HATS!

Low Points

DUMMIES!

Lessons learned
It’s jolly unpleasant when you find yourself smack up against the supernatural

Because a chap becomes a ghost surely doesn’t mean he’s no longer a gentleman

If you're wealthy, 'curious' and 'tragic' essentially mean the same thing

Rent/Bury/Buy
Long out of print, Dead of Night is well worth watching both for its pedigree as an early anthology and because it's simply a good movie. Even though it has a dummy. A dummy that is probably plotting in his little soprano voice an elaborate routine to torture me, singing and making vaudvillian puns throughout the process.

I am not happy about this.

A Special Kind of Nanny

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

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

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

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

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

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

High Points

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

Low Points

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

Lessons Learned

When working in a library, avoid the urge to hum

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

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

Rent/Bury/Buy

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

I Said SHHHHHHHHHHHH! It's a DUMMY, for crying out loud!

You know what stinks? Leaving a DVD on its menu too long to the point where you get insanely tired of those six bars or so of theme music played on loop, only to then WATCH the movie and immediately hear said looping music over the opening credits.

And that’s you’re “I hate it when I do that” shared misery of the day. It has nothing to do with February’s Attack of the Vertically Challenged Villains!, but it did happen to me when I decided to watch Dead Silence. I felt I needed to share that information.

Now. Dummies.

Quick Plot: A happy young couple are enjoying a night of soon-to-be-takeout when a mysterious delivery arrives. It’s a box perfectly sized to fit on their coffee table (eerily so) and filled with an odd little dummy in a borrowed tuxedo from Billy the bicycle riding Jigsaw doll. 

I don’t always consider myself the most common sense-smart human out there, but even I know that an unmarked ventriloquist dummy dropped on my welcome mat is a sign that I’m going to die a horrible, horrible, and really truly horrible death. I’d probably just jump out my window at that point to minimize the terror, but that’s me.

Anyway, hubby Jamie (who is not me) heads out to pick up the lo mein and returns to his lovely wife’s mangled jaw and dead, oh so dead body. Homicide detective Donnie Walberg sneers through his mustache to name Jamie the prime suspect, but in the most laid-back way imaginable. You know, he doesn’t really think to collect any evidence from the crime scene, like the mysterious package that arrived minutes before the victim’s brutal slaughter. 

Moving on, Jamie packs up the dummy (just ‘cause) and heads back to his hometown of Raven Falls, a dying hamlet now filled with empty stores, ominous grayness, and his wheelchair bound, tuxedo clad dad and new retired supermodel trophy wife (Amber Valletta).

Since the only other people in a 50 mile radius seem to be a funeral director and his loopy wife, we get their side of the spookiness:

Years ago, a sassy spinster named Mary Shaw took the town by a storm with her ventriloquism act. When a bratty redheaded rich boy heckled her, he paid with his life and later, so did Mary. Ever since then, relatives of the ill-mannered theatergoer have been slaughtered via tongue removal and urban legend.

Cue the thunder crash.

Dead Silence was director James Wan’s followup to the juggernaut success of Saw, also co-written by Leigh Wannell. While the film certainly shares a few bits of Saw’s style, it ultimately goes more for a ‘60s ghost and ghoulies vibe than the grisly complications so inherent in the Jigsaw saga. If anything, Dead Silence feels like the kind of movie that should be shown at middle school sleepover parties. Soaked in urban legends, creepy clown dolls and an adorably insane twist, it’s not overly memorable but oddly, quite enjoyable. 

Yeah that’s right. I liked Dead Silence, and not ONLY because it utilized one of my biggest fears, the ventriloquist dummy. Though lead Ryan Kwanted is about as bland as Wonder Bread, the film feels like a genuine effort on Wan’s part to create a grand mythology in this small and spooked town. Yes, there are those tried and trite ‘something in the mirror, oh but I turned around and it’s not there!’ moments so overused in modern cinema, but there’s also a richly haunted look that seems to hover over every frame. The ending is gloriously over the top and while sure, it’s also ridiculous, it ultimately made me smile. And giggle. And then cough, because I’m a little under the weather.

I will probably not honor Dead Silence on next year’s best-of list, but for 90 minutes of modern horror, a gal could do much worse. 

High Points

Donnie Walberg makes a dummy talk. Need I say more?

Low Points

While I adored the absolutely ridiculous twist ending, I do wish director James Wan found a better way to let it unfold than his trademark Saw-esque montage to increasingly speedy angry music

Lessons Learned

Never give your wife a rose. It’s a sure sign you’ll be accused of her murder

If you’re having trouble sleeping after a traumatic event, perhaps setting an evil-looking doll facing your bed is not the best idea, particularly when said evil-looking doll was delivered to you mere moments before said traumatic event

Never heckle a ventriloquist. Duh.

Rent/Bury/Buy

I wasn’t expecting much with Dead Silence. A killer ventriloquist’s dummy movie that nobody ever thought to recommend my way? Though it’s by no means a perfect horror film, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this little throwback. Mary Shaw makes for a unique villain, and any film that utilizes the classic clown doll licker gets a pass in my book. The DVD includes a few alternate scenes and featurettes and while I don’t see myself ever loving this film, it’s fun enough to merit a rewatch if ever found in the bargain bin.

2011's Honorary Golden Lifts Go To....

I have no idea what director/writer/producer Mark Jones looks like. Google image searching him (it’s a verb and I’m dealing with it) yields everything from this:

to this:

and all the way to this:

More importantly, I have absolutely no clue how tall this man may be, but based on his filmography, I have to assume he’s either under five feet or, more likely, the sole full heighter in a family of dwarfs (yes, i.e., Matthew McConaughy in Tiptoes). Because of this man, we have the following:

The Lucky Charms hating, pogo stick wielding, 4-leaf clover allergic Leprechaun

The puntastic baby eater that is Rumplestiltskin

Dummy, the wooden and weird youngest child of one messed up family of orphans in Triloquist

also, Two For the Brig, an episode of the animated series ALF

Clearly, this is a man who understands the power of Vertically Challenged Villains!, and hence, 2011’s Doll’s House Shortie of the Year Golden Lifts go to his mysterious feet. May the Leprechaun clean them with that signature smile. 

Sunnydale Minis

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

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

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

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

Fear Itself, Gachnar the Demon

Giles: Xander, don't taunt the demon.

Xander: Why, can he hurt me?

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

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

The Puppet Show, Sid the Demon Hunter

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

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

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

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

Superstar + Season 6, Jonathan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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