Just a Friend You Haven't Met

 

If you had asked me two days ago what my life was missing, I might have said something silly like "world peace."

Now that I've watched Never Talk to Strangers, it's clear that the answer was in front of me all along (or at least since 1995):

a slow motion montage of sex and trust falls

Quick Plot: Dr. Sarah Taylor is a criminal psychologist currently in the middle of evaluating an accused rapist murderer Max Cheski (the always welcome Harry Dean Stanton). Following the disappearance of her fiance one year earlier, Sarah's personal life mostly involves gently fighting off neighbor Dennis Miller, until one fateful evening when she meet-cutes Tony Ramirez in the wine aisle.

This is a man who knows his cabernet and looks and sounds like Antonio Banderas. How can she resist?

Sarah and Tony begin a steamy relationship that quickly fizzles out when she reacts weirdly to him shooting a moving clown target at a carnival. It only takes one reminder of Tony's luscious body hair to send her straight back to his industrial loft, because it's the 1990s and every sexy mysterious man lives in an industrial loft. 

While her personal life is on the ups, her work days are a bit scratchy. Sarah's estranged father shows up in his Willy Loman drag to restart their rocky relationship. Cheski makes a few veiled threats. Then she gets a few presents: a bouquet of dead flowers, her own published obituary, and her precious orange tabby Sabrina cut up in a gift box.

The police give the super helpful and comforting advice that they can't do anything about this, and that Sarah's best bet is hire a private detective (the more things change...). He reports some unpleasant details about her new beau, but this being a '90s erotic thriller, there's always a whole lot more to the story.

And whoa boy there is! I would never dream of spoiling this oddball slice of Snackwell's era junk food. Director Peter Hall had a long career in theater, and he doesn't quite seem to know how to make Jordan Rush and Lewis A. Green's messy script come together (would anyone?). But then there's Rebecca DeMornay's steely blue eyes running down Antonio Banderas's bare chest, while slow motion flashbacks, and the kind of twist ending that sings like a soap opera aria. 

High Points

The world has never fully appreciated just how sexy a screen presence Antonio Banderas has. Never Talk to Strangers gets it

Low Points

I think it simply has to be a tradition that anytime Dennis Miller plays an ex-boyfriend in a '90s thriller, he comes off as the kind of scummy toxic male who would whine about being in the friend zone and is easily the worst part of his respective film

Lessons Learned

We're all just animals with beepers

There's no such thing as a good domestic pinot noir

Electric heaters are always dangerous, even more so when INSTALLED OVER A BATHTUB 

Rent/Bury/Buy

Never Talk to Strangers is a terrible exploration of mental health, and a damn fun watching experience. You can find it streaming on Tubi in all its sexy saxophone-scored glory. 

Bobo Calling

 

About every 9 episodes or so of any Law & Order installment, something truly beautiful happens. The detectives are investigating some clue, maybe a leftover receipt or diary entry, when they find themselves entering the kind of storefront you can smell from behind your television screen. 

The shop proprietor is almost always a portly, fiftysomething man with a belly bursting out of his stained silky shirt's bottom and chest hair knotted through a gold chain or three. If we're lucky, he's eating a sandwich.

The kind of sandwich that makes a movie mortician drool.

Our ridiculously good-looking detectives are never charmed, not by his affable manner nor offer for a discount on some new gold watches. "Cut the crap," they say, only to prompt the kind of sentence that calls for a cheer and toast.

"I RUN A LEGITIMATE BUSINESS."

Sometimes the show does a remix, putting the same words in the perfectly lipsticked mouth of a well-dressed madam insisting her escort agency provides companionship without anything illicit. It hits just as hard. 

Anyway, can't say WHY I thought of that when watching Out of the Dark. Is it because we have TWO instances of this? And they come in the form of Paul Bartel as a seedy motel manager and Karen Black as a glorious manager at a phone sex hotline?

Quick Plot: It's a regular late night at Suite Nothings, where beautiful women humor their callers while filing their nails and reviewing their taxes. The job is fairly easy, though nobody enjoys it when frequent customer Bobo rings in to discuss mutilation while referring to himself in the third person.

Employee Jo Ann leaves the office for a late night dog walk and stumbles upon a playful man dressed in a clown mask. While most single ladies would quickly exit that kind of situation, this one plays along until he brutally murders her. 

The detectives are on the case, though not before Bobo kills again. Some signs point to Kevin, Suite Nothings' Kristi's photographer boyfriend. There's also Stringer, the weird little accountant who helps the ladies get maximum state and federal returns. Since he's played by Bud Cort, you certainly can't rule him out.

Out of the Dark is an odd little film. There's a sort of New York Ripper-ness about its attitude towards violence against women in that it wants us to find its killer pathetic, but the actual reveal is so clunky and nonsensical that it left me more confused than triumphant. It also suffers from underserving its charismatic cast. Karen Black has one scene of character building establishing her as a fascinating working mother going through a messy divorce, and...well...that never comes up again. There's an interesting dynamic between the female detective who sees things far more clearly than her older, embittered, and very male partner, but guess who gets to save the day?

Ultimately, there's a whole lot that is deeply unsatisfying about how Out of the Dark ends. At the same time, you get Divine!

It's a mixed bag. I enjoyed this movie more than its quality probably should allow. Make of that what you will!

High Points

I wouldn't call Out of the Dark a feminist masterpiece, but director Michael Schroeder does a refreshing job of showcasing his sex workers as smart, fun, and simply cool women. It's not the kind of thing I expect from a 1980s slasher

Low Points

I know cultural sensitivity is an evolving thing, but in any world, was it necessary to play mariachi music during the one scene of dialogue with a Mexican woman?

Lessons Learned

Nobody gives great accounting quite like a weirdo

Animated creatures weren't in demand for phone sex in the late '80s

When in doubt, stick with the utility stocks

Rent/Bury/Buy

Out of the Dark doesn't really come together in the end, but it's a genuinely fun ride along the way. The film treats its female characters well (well, when not killing them) and has enough familiar faces to satisfy fans of camp. Fun fact: I watched the first half of this on Shudder, then turned on that network the next day to find out it was no longer available. Thankfully, if there was ever a movie that screamed, "this is probably on Tubi," it's Out of the Dark. So find it there!

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. 

Spa Day of the Dead

Some people get goosebumps at the classic Universal logo that rolls out before the opening credits. Others cheer at Marvel's new collage. Me? I hear the calming oceans of Marvista and say, "oh yes, this will be something special."

Quick Plot: An unnamed woman steps into the sauna at Serenity Gardens, fancy spa, expecting to sweat out her troubles. Instead, she sweats out...her LIFE.

One year later, we're led back to Serenity Gardens via Stella, a business consultant brought in by owner Ivy to help take things to the next level. The staff bristles at the interference of an MBA. Crystal healing specialist Jett worries her lack of clients will get her fired. Trainer Boxer is a creepy stalker-in-the-making. Yoga heartthrob Kilman follows his own rules, while his casual girlfriend Zoe is the office manager one wheatgrass shot away from pure insanity. 

Unbalanced employees can certainly create an unhealthy work environment, but it ultimately comes down to management. Ivy is an incredibly toxic boss. She pits her team members against one another and punishes meeting misbehavior with forced planks. THIS WOMAN IS THE DEVIL. 

Despite her business sense and education, Stella proves herself to be quite an idiot. Red flag after red flag waves in front of her face and yet she hangs on to her consulting gig, even after obsessive customers are stalking her house, drunken employees threatening her safety, and she becomes the prime suspect in a spa-set murder.

Killer Co-Worker is a tubi original, and that my friends, is a beautiful thing. Lifetime has long held a special place my heart as a reliable source of satisfying melodramatic cheese. tubi seems to have stolen its template, made a copy despite the machine being low on ink, then filled in the outline with whatever spilled wine product was near. 

This is a zany, zany little thriller. Everyone is operating at an 11 save for our 'normal' lead, who instead operates as if 11 was her IQ score. Somehow it all balances out. Director V.T. Nayani gets all her actors on the same page of stupid and by golly, it works. 

High Points

As an actor, it takes a fair amount of bravery to just GO FOR IT (particularly when the material doesn't necessarily support IT), and I have to call out Kendra Williams for taking Zoe to glorious heights of insanity

Low Points

Obviously, Killer Co-Worker isn't working on Titanic (or possibly even Titanic 666) levels of budget, but to establish its main setting as a thriving business with a huge waiting list, it probably would have been more effective to show more than one client

Lessons Learned

Laughter inhibits the power of crystals

MBAs speak fancy language, using terms like 'value adds'

Never trust a woman in a blazer

Rent/Bury/Buy

Like I say anytime I review a Lifetime thriller, you know just by the words "Lifetime thriller" if it's going to work for you. Killer Co-Worker reads exactly the same way, and I had a blast. Keep 'em coming, tubi!

Bigger Than Bat Boy

 

Welcome to the Annual February Shortening! In honor of the shortest month on a blog written by a short woman, all posts are devoted to stories about vertically challenged villains. If you, reader of any height, have your own mini-horror to share, do so in the comments and I'll include you in a final post roundup as the calendar changes!

With over 15 years of writing this blog and many more living as a human being with particular tastes, it gets harder and harder to find killer doll movies that I haven't seen. We've reached a point where there has to be a little elasticity to the very DEFINITION of "killer doll", hence today's tale of terror featuring a villainous paperweight. 

Quick Plot: A stuffy history professor is lecturing his bored (and excessively rude) class about the Aztecs. Annoyed at their dismissal of his slides, he summons some kind of magic from an image of a wooden idol of the demon Destacatyl to give his student a nosebleed. Nobody seems to care other than Francis, a wealthy man who's never introduced but clearly knows the power of this figurine, so much so that after the professor is impaled by supernatural happenings in his own classroom, Francis heads to Mexico to find the real piece.

It's there, but under protection. An old man guards it but assigns the actual safety of Destacatyl to a young, incorruptible boy. Both are, unfortunately, extremely susceptible to bullets, though Francis doesn't quite get what he was hoping for.

Suddenly, we're whiplashed back to the States where a trio of high school students led by I-WANT-TO-BELIEVE Julie are having a casual seance. Teen Tommy now has Destacatyl, a never-explained souvenir from his parents' recent vacation. Some ouija board drama scares the kids away, but evil lingers: a security guard pays the price with his head.

Cut AGAIN to YET ANOTHER set of characters: Sandy, a lead reporter for a Weekly World News-ish tabloid and her rather obnoxiously aimless pal Jerry. Sandy gets the byline for the story reporting the security guard's death, which leads Julie to beg her for a followup, which Jerry grabs with far too much enthusiasm.

Got all that? The Power, as you might have guessed, doesn't quite seem to know how to tell its own story. Eventually, Jerry falls victim to Destacatyl's whims, shoving women down garbage disposals and mutating into a rubbery monster. It's up to Sandy and Julie to defeat Destacatyl and break his hold.

Written and directed by the team of Stephen Carpenter and Jeffrey Obrow (who went on to make the better known The Kindred), The Power feels like it's missing about five scenes...while also feeling a good half hour too long. There are plot points and characters that simply don't connect. You can forgive a lot of horror movies (particular ones with zanier concepts) a lot of that, but when we're five minutes in and already confused about how an ancient idol has switched hands five times only to land in a suburban high school, it's a bit distracting. 

All that being said, I still had fun with The Power, mostly due to its own cheap early '80s charm. While it doesn't give us many surprises, it also feels refreshingly original (maybe because of its own narrative messiness). I don't quite know what to make of it, which is something I rarely get to say. 

High Points

I found myself enjoying the score throughout The Power, only to discover why once I followed some IMDB trails: composer Christopher Young has had an incredibly prolific career, particularly in the horror genre. Credits include Sinister, Copycat, Flowers In the Attic, Wonder Boys, Tales From the Hood, and the original theme for Hellraiser (which means the poor man has his name on several sequels)

Low Points

I'm comfortable enough with my level of intelligence to know that when a low budget '80s horror movie is this confusing, it's not my fault

Lessons Learned

When you have unlimited supernatural power, you can be anything you want (including a small town librarian)

The best descriptive word for "a lot" is "legions"

Thinking a cursed idol is a Mexican salt shaker is a common reaction among the ignorant

Rent/Bury/Buy

Now streaming on Tubi, The Power is worth any horror completist's time. It doesn't do anything particularly new (or well), but it just feels a little different in its storytelling. Give it a go when you're craving some confusing plotting and practical effects.