A Mysterious Killer Stalks Turn-of-the-Century San Francisco in "Dark Intruder"

I first read about Dark Intruder in Leonard Maltin’s TV Movies when I was around 12. Leonard described it as a “one-of-a-kind” supernatural thriller, which intrigued me to no end. Little did I know that it would take 33 years for me to finally catch up with Dark Intruder. After all that time, I was frankly prepared for a letdown. But, to my delight, I found this offbeat mystery to be quite entertaining, though not fully deserving of Leonard’s lavish praise.

Set in 1890, Dark Intruder opens with a woman being slain on the foggy streets of San Francisco. Her murder turns out to be one in a series of killings that have baffled the police. The case has also caught the eye of Brett Kingsford (Leslie Nielsen), a “chronic dabbler” who had aided the authorities in previous cases. Brett, a rich dapper gentleman with an eye for the ladies, has developed an interest in the occult. His family’s crest reads: “Omnia Exeunt in Mysterium”…or “Everything ends in mystery.”

As Brett delves into the case, he learns that the killings are ritualistic ones tied to a Sumerian god representing the essence of evil. To give away any more of the surprisingly complex (and, at times Lovecraftian) plot would be to spoil the fun.

Dark Intruder was originally made for television and intended as the pilot for a prospective TV series called Dark Cloak. However, it was released to theaters instead and a television series never materialized. One suspects that the tale was a little too gruesome for network television in the 1960s. It may also be that Nielsen, though he tries hard, was a little lightweight to to take on the role on a weekly basis.

The supporting cast, with the exception of Judi Meredith (irritating as the female lead), delivers sharp performances. Charles Bolender stands out as Nikola, Brett’s reliable dwarf assistant. Mark Richman (sometimes billed as Peter Mark Richman), who had a long successful career in television, co-starred with Nielsen again in 1991's The Naked Gun 2 ½: The Smell of Fear.

I suspect that Dark Intruder would have faded quickly a TV series. Its formula could have grown stale on a weekly basis, as it did for The Night Stalker in the 1970s. But, as a limited film series, it could have been most diverting as evidenced by this closing exchange:

BRETT: Ah, Nicola, if only the rest of the world knew what we know.

NICOLA: If they did, sir, nobody would get a decent night’s sleep.

Discovering “The Lost Continent”

Hammer Films’ The Lost Continent (1968), directed by Michael Carreras, has almost become a lost film. Even among fans of the famed British studio, this hidden gem is not a popular feature.

Captain Lansen (Eric Porter), along with his crew and a motley assortment of passengers are traveling aboard the Corita, bound for Caracas. The captain is set on sailing straight to the destination and avoiding any stops and/or possible inspections. Unknown to the passengers and most of the crew, the ship is transporting dangerous material that will explode if it has contact with water. When a freak accident causes the anchor to punch holes in the side of the ship (and in the very same room storing barrels of the aforementioned material), there is a mutiny from most of the crew, and everyone must abandon ship. Things only get worse, as the survivors drift to an apparently deserted land of strange creatures, killer seaweed, and Spanish soldiers who answer to El Supremo (Darryl Read), a leader who appears to be no more than a child -- and “hardly old enough to wipe his own bottom,” as according to the Chief (James Cossins).

One great aspect of The Lost Continent is that it seems to embrace the idea of “out of the frying pan and into the fire.” Once the people aboard the Corita learn that it might explode, they are quickly burdened by the crew’s mutiny. Safely on the lifeboat, the people then must cope with flesh-eating seawood, and eluding that merely takes them to a foreign land of new, unheard of dangers. The plot moves at a frantic pace, and it tends to feel as if the characters are running away from something. In fact, the film establishes that the passengers are traveling on the ship to escape: a doctor with legal troubles, an alcoholic, etc. When they are informed of a forthcoming storm, none of the passengers want the captain to turn the ship around.

For all of its quirks and peculiarities, The Lost Continent presents everything with the utmost sincerity. This is the type of plot that many directors would handle tongue-in-cheek, to show an awareness of the film’s campy qualities. But Carreras’ approach is refreshing, and it lifts the movie above camp. He offers a believable set of people forced into unbelievable circumstances.

The Lost Continent is full of Hammer alumni. Director Carreras, who also produced and wrote the screenplay (under the pseudonym Michael Nash), had worked on a number of Hammer films in the capacity of producer and director. He was also the son of Hammer co-founder James Carreras. Porter was the star of the terrific and vastly underrated Hammer production, Hands of the Ripper (1971), and the same year, Suzanna Leigh, playing one of the passengers in The Lost Continent, appeared in Lust for a Vampire. Even author Dennis Wheatley, whose novel, Uncharted Seas, provided the basis for the adaptation, had other books made into films by Hammer studios, such as The Devil Rides Out (1968) and To the Devil a Daughter (1976). (Another of the passengers, played by Nigel Stock, is reading Uncharted Seas while on the ship.)

By the film’s conclusion, one might wonder what exactly is the titular “lost continent.” A somewhat literal interpretation might see it as the land that the people “discover” and the strangers who have created their unique society. But another way of looking at it is that the lost continent was not the foggy collection of giant killer crabs, irate kelp, and a puerile ruler claiming to be a descendant of some Spanish guy (thereby allowing him to be an authoritarian figure). It was the ship, with people who needed to get away, people looking for hope and who refused to abandon ship. Having to take refuge on a small lifeboat and enter a vast ocean of the unknown, Capt. Lansen and the others were then in search of a new place. They are the ones who are lost, not the place where they may ultimately rest.

Streets of Fire: A Rock 'n' Roll Fable

Walter Hill’s self-proclaimed “rock n’roll fable” clanked at the boxoffice when originally released in 1984. But my wife and I enjoyed it immensely and, over the years, Streets of Fire has gained in stature. Some critics now praise its unique look, terrific music, and skillful blending of genres. The plot seems lifted from a 1950s biker film, but the sometimes corny dialogue recalls “B” Westerns of the same period. Hill avoids specifying a setting; it’s just “another place, another time.”

A high-octane concert performance by Ellen Aim (Diane Lane) and the Attackers kicks off the film. But before she even finishes her song, Ellen is “stolen” by the motorcycle gang, the Bombers. With the hapless police unable to take on the Bombers, diner owner Reva (Deborah Van Valkenburgh) looks elsewhere. She writes her brother Tom Cody (Michael Paré), Ellen’s former flame, and asks him to come home.

Tom, still embittered by his breakup with Ellen, initially refuses to rescue the kidnapped singer. He changes his mind when Ellen’s current boyfriend and manager (Rick Moranis) agrees to pay $10,000. As he explains to his sister: “They always hire bums like me for jobs like this.” With newfound crony McCoy (Amy Madigan) and Ellen’s manager in tow, Tom ventures into Bomber territory to free Ellen.

Hill’s fast-paced direction keeps the film moving at a speedy clip, especially during the rescue scene. I love the remarkably concise six-shot sequence in which Tom rescues Ellen, with each shot lasting no longer than a second or two: (1) Tom kicks open the door; (2) Ellen looks at him from the bed she’s tied to; (3) Tom snaps open his knife; (4) we see a close-up of Ellen’s hand tied to a bedpost; (5) Tom cuts the rope; and (6) Tom and Ellen run through the doorway.

Visually, Hill fills the screen with contrasts, dressing up drabness with eye-candy. With the exception of Ellen, the main characters are costumed in muted earth-tone colors and live in dreary, rundown buildings. But, during the frequent night scenes, the town sparkles playfully with bright neon signs of blue, yellow, orange, and pink.

Complementing the bright lights are glittering music performances by Fire, Inc. (with Lane lip-syncing), the Blasters, and others. Hill’s affection for the music is apparent—the film closes with two energetic stage performances which almost play like music videos. The terrific closing song, songwriter Jim Steinman’s grandiose “Tonight Is What It Means to Be Young,” sadly flopped when released to radio. However, the other closing song, “I Can Dream About You,” turned into a surprise Top 10 Billboard hit for its writer Dan Hartman.

The cast of Streets of Fire features many memorable faces. Lane and Willem Dafoe (as gang leader Raven) would each enjoy long acting careers. Rick Moranis established himself as a dependable supporting actor in comedies such as My Blue Heaven and Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. Bill Paxton, featured in a small role as a bartender, made the biggest leap. Over a decade later, he finally snagged leading roles in “A” films like Twister and A Simple Plan.

Unfortunately, such good fortune did not await Michael Paré. A good-looking, brooding performer, Paré did not fulfill the promise of Streets of Fire and the earlier Eddie and the Cruisers. He would make one more minor hit, The Philadelphia Experiment, then be relegated to low-budget action films that often went straight-to-video. One can almost imagine him saying: “They always hire actors like me for films like that.”

Sssssss…What a Great Snake Movie!!!

I saw Sssssss, a minor cult classic, when it was originally released in 1973. I remember my little brother calling the movie theatre just to make the girl working in the box office say the title (the ad line was: “Don’t say it…hiss it!”). He thought that was so funny. It was the first time I saw Dirk Benedict and I became an instant fan.

The film begins with some creepy “thing” making odd sounds in a wooden box. Dr. Stoner, an ophiologist, is selling the noisy contents in the box to another man. Stoner owns a snake farm where he extracts venom from a variety of poisonous snakes. He even “wrangles” with his King Cobra in front of an audience for money. The doc recruits a young man named David Blake (Benedict) to be his new assistant at the farm. It seems that Dr. Stoner’s former lab assistant just packed up and left him. David is instantly attracted to the doctor’s daughter, Kristina (Heather Menzes). Why David thinks that Kristina is cute is beyond me. She wears large round glasses and has a bad multi-layered hair style!! Considering she posed in Playboy magazine, one would think that she would look better. However, Dirk is really cute!

Soon, we discover that Dr. Stoner is very strange. He and Kristina have a pet python they both talk to like a human best friend. And we know something is amiss when the good old doc starts giving David injections of snake venom. When David asks why he is getting injections that make him sick and cause bizarre dreams, the doc tells him it will protect him from the poisons if he is bitten. It’s not long before David’s skin begins to peel, but the doc says it’s just a normal reaction. David believes him and keeps getting the injections.

Eventually, David and Kristina end up alone in the woods and go skinny dipping. Now you might think that these two will be completely naked. They do take their clothes off, but these silly leaves cover their exposed parts. Considering Menzies’s pose in Playboy, I have often suspected that the viewer might have seen more in this scene. Afterwards, David and Kristina go to a carnival where David gets beaten up by a local bully in front of Kristina. Meanwhile, Dr. Stoner, who is alone in the house, tells Harry the python that snakes are perfect creatures because they don’t make him sick and they don’t complain. He says the world would a better place with just reptiles. Stoner says that snakes can evolve and are God’s perfect creatures. If only man could evolve like the snakes, humanity could survive.

That night, the bully, Steve Randall (Reb Brown), comes to Dr. Stoner’s house and climbs into Kristina’s window. Harry the pet python attacks the intruder. Randall falls out of the window, but survives and kills Harry. Dr. Stoner wants revenge for Harry’s death, so he takes a Black Mamba snake to town and sneaks into the bully’s house. He puts the poisonous Mamba in the shower and Randall dies from its bite. The snake’s venom makes it look like the bully died from a heart attack.

Later, the sheriff comes to Stoner’s house and asks about his former assistant, Tim, who has disappeared. It seems his family has reported him as missing. Stoner tells the sheriff that Tim just left and never came back. Stoner confronts his daughter about having sex with David. She tells him it is none of his business. Her father says it is dangerous if she has sex because of David’s venom inoculations. You can’t help but wonder what is the doc up to?

Stoner sends his daughter to pick up a snake. While she is gone, David begins to transform into “something.” His skin changes in texture and color, his eyes get smaller, and his head becomes more rounded. While Kristina is waiting for the snake to arrive, the postman tells her about a “snake-man” he saw in the carnival in town. He says it looked so real that it gave him the creeps. Kristina tells him it is obviously a fake, but the postman convinces her to go and see it for herself. What will Kristina find at the carnival and what will be David’s fate?

Surprisingly, there are several religious references in Sssssss. When Dr. Stoner talks to Harry the Python, he says how snakes are God’s most perfect species and can even survive an apocalypse. The skinny dipping scene in the forest is reminiscent of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.

The make-up used on David’s character is good, as are the special effects for the snake-man. In the scenes where Dr. Stoner milks the snakes, the reptiles were real (except for one part where Martin grabs the King Cobra’s head and a puppet is used). A snake actually bit Strother Martin in the movie. The King Cobras were flown in from Thailand,and the Python was from Singapore. Benedict and Menzies had to handle the real snakes, too. The herpetological library used in the movie is a real one. The Spanish title for this movie was Ssssilbido de muerte which translated in English means “Hiss of Death.” Martin actually used a hypodermic needle and really punctured Benedict’s arm during the injection scenes.

Sssssss was directed by Bernard L. Kowalski, who did many pilots for television shows such as Richard Diamond, Private Detective (1957) and NYPD (1967). He was the executive producer for Baretta (1975) and worked on many Mission: Impossible episodes. He started out in movies by playing an extra in two Errol Flynn movies, Dodge City (1939) and Virginia City (1940).

Dirk Benedict is most famous for playing Starbuck in the original Battlestar Galactica (1978) television series and as Templeton “Face” Peck in The A-Team. Heather Menzies gained modest fame for playing Louisa von Trapp in The Sound of Music (1965). She was married to Robert Urich for 27 years until his death in 2002 from cancer. Urich was in the television series Vegas (1978) and Spenser: For Hire (1985).

Strother Martin is best remembered for his role as The Captain in Cool Hand Luke, where he uttered that film’s classic line: “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” He was also in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1967) and Slap Shot (1977) with Paul Newman. Strother Martin died in 1980.

Yes, Sssssss is a cheesy horror film, but it was scary to me the first time I saw it and has gained a minor cult following over the year. I hadn’t seen it since 1973 before I watched it again recently. It didn’t scare me as much this second time around. Still, Sssssss is an original and effective low-budget picture that’s worth watching—if you aren’t afraid of snakes.

The Outer Limits: Alien Bugs Wreak Havoc on Earthlings in "The Zanti Misfits"

Start a discussion of the top five episodes of The Outer Limits and it's likely that "The Zanti Misfits" will enter the conversation. Many casual fans of the 1960s cult science fiction TV series won't remember the title of this episode. But just mention it's the one with the bugs and folks will recognize it.

What's interesting is that "The Zanti Misfits" isn't particularly well-acted, most of the characters are poorly developed, and the mundane dialogue leaves much to be desired. And yet, all those weaknesses remain an afterthought in light of the episode's ambitious premise, visual power, and a twist with some surprising heft.

The imaginative premise has an army unit occupying a modern-day ghost town to ensure the safe arrival of an alien spacecraft carrying prisoners. No one is enthused about this mission--the Zantis threatened to declare war if their request to establish a penal colony on Earth was not granted.

Although the army has secured the area, a speeding car breaks through one of the barricades, killing a guard. The driver is a low-life named Ben (Bruce Dern), who is fleeing from a crime scene with a runaway wife (Olive Deering). When the unhappy couple spots a small spaceship landing, Ben unwisely goes to investigate. His meddling ultimatey results in a memorable, all-out battle between the bug-like Zantis and the soldiers.

The special effects budget for The Outer Limits sometimes hampered the full exploitation of the show's "bears" (producer Joseph Stefano's unique term for a terrifying creature). That's not the case with "The Zanti Misfits." The aliens are genuinely disturbing little things with insect bodies and human-like heads (perhaps inspired by the creature glimpsed at the end of 1958's The Fly). In some scenes, the Zantis are fully animated via stop-motion photography. In other scenes, they look far less real, as soldiers roll around with fake bugs covering their bodies. Yet, despite a few cheesy shots, the climatic fight scene is creatively staged (Zantis crawling down the windows!) and the overall effect is impressive.

Yet, for all its visual power, it's a twist at the end that lingers after the credits roll. The Outer Limits was known for producing stories with a social conscience, such as "The Inheritors" and "The Architects of Fear." It also tacked on some impressive plot twists on occasion, as evidenced by the haunting "Demon With a Glass Hand." With "The Zanti Misfits," writer Stefano combines both and makes a chilling statement about the nature of the human race.

It's reason enough to watch "The Zanti Misfits"--even if you don't like creepy, crawling things with human-like faces!

Champagne for Caesar: Bubbling Over With Fun!

I don’t know what it is about bubbles but I like them. Glinda used a large bubble to transport herself in The Wizard of Oz. Doris Day sold Happy Soap in The Thrill of It All, which included a scene with a bubble-filled pool into which an unhappy James Garner drives his car. In Champagne for Caesar, bubbles are used on the set of the TV quiz show "Masquerade for Money” and fittingly call to mind the show’s sponsor, Milady Soap, which is advertised as “the soap that sanctifies.” But, bubbles are also reminiscent of champagne, so their use has a double meaning.

Champagne for Caesar is a fun, lesser-known film, in which neither champagne nor Caesar plays a critical role in the story. The latter is actually a parrot with some bad habits taught to him by college students. The former is one of the preferred habits of said bird.

The movie focuses on Beauregard Bottomley, a genius who has trouble finding work and shares a small bungalow with his sister Gwenn and the parrot. Beauregard is delightfully played by the versatile, silver-tongued Ronald Colman. The siblings observe a TV show aired on a small television in a store window around which a number of other people have gathered. The program is called “Masquerade for Money” where contestants dress up as a character about whom the host, Happy Hogan, then asks questions.

The following day, Beauregard is sent on a job interview to the Milady Soap Company. This company features a room with arms that hold various items, and reminded me a bit of La Belle et La Bete. Beauregard is introduced to the unforgettable company owner, Burnbridge Waters, who calls him a “dreamer,” doesn’t like his humor, and does not hire him.

Beauregard comes up with an idea. He knows that “Masquerade for Money” is sponsored by the Milady Soap Company and he figures the worth of the company to be approximately $40 million. He dresses as the Encyclopedia Brittanica and appears on the show. He welcomes any and all questions and answers them accurately and, often quite humorously, as well. Each time an answer is correct the amount won doubles. He then refuses to take the money and insists on coming back each week. Everyone loves him and the sales of Milady Soap soar. But then reality sets in: what if Beauregard never makes an error?

Milady Soap needs a secret weapon and they find one, in the beautiful and intellectual Flame O’Neill, who is presented to Beauregard as a gift from the Beauregard Bottomley Billings Montana Fan Club when he is sick with a cold. Flame arrives dressed as a saintly nurse and relieves neighbor Frosty (aren’t the names a hoot?) of her charge.

The story line is often predictable, but it is quite fun to see everything play out because of the talented, eclectic, and capable cast.

Vincent Price gives one of his best comedic performances as Burnbridge Waters, a character who occasionally leaves this plane of existence for a few moments at a time. When he is tempted to end his problems by pushing Beauregard into a vat making soap, Burnbridge’s devilish alter-ego appears on his shoulder to encourage him in the evil task.

Flame O’Neill is expertly performed by Celeste Holm, who offers a wicked little giggle when her ill charge is trying to sleep. She is the perfect temptation for Beauregard, but he does eventually cause her to have “Bottomley” trouble.

Gwenn Bottomley, the piano-teaching sister of Beauregard, is enchantingly portrayed by the gorgeous Barbara Britton, who may be best remembered for her twelve years as a Revlon Girl and for bringing Pamela North to TV in Mr. & Mrs. North.

Art Linkletter, who died this May at the age of 97, was quite good as the host of “Masquerade for Money” Happy Hogan.

The role of Frosty, the shapely neighbor who is ogled by all the men except Beauregard, was convincingly acted by Ellye Marshall, whose resume only includes five films.

Mel Blanc lent his remarkable voice to Caesar, the parrot.

Director Richard Whorf had a very successful career directing on TV including several episodes of Have Gun - Will Travel, Gunsmoke, My Three Sons, and The Beverly Hillbillies.

Champage for Caesar is available on DVD. Let the bubbles begin!

Just a Little Something to Make You “Squirm”

Having a penchant for the genre of horror, I have encountered numerous fans of horror films. But even the most cool-headed fan, who can apparently handle anything -- carnivorous blobs, masked killers, slimy aliens -- will visibly shiver when having to deal with a tiny something that creeps and crawls and makes people go, “Ew...”

In Fly Creek, Georgia, an electric storm renders the small rural town with no power. City boy Mick (Don Scardino) is on his way to visit his lady friend, Geri (Patricia Pearcy). When the two go to see the town’s antiques dealer, they cannot find him and instead uncover a skeleton in the backyard. An incredulous and stubborn sheriff leaves Mick and Geri with no other choice than to look into the apparent death themselves. Before long, they learn that the storm from the previous night not only knocked out the electricity, but also stirred up bloodworms, which have been burrowing their way above ground and attacking people. It seems that daylight is keeping the worms at bay, but soon the sun will be set, blanketing the town in darkness. With no power and the phone lines down, the townsfolk can only hope that the sound they hear is running water and not a batch of wiggling worms.

Jeff Lieberman’s Squirm (1976), at first glance, gives the impression of being an exploitative horror film. But it’s truly a subtle genre piece, displaying an undeniable talent from an innovative and intelligent writer/director. Lieberman opens the movie like a traditional, classic horror feature. Lightning flashes across a dark town, with heavy winds and rain. It’s the storm foreshadowing the impending evil. The next morning, with the sun shining, all seems fine, but as Geri’s mother says about last night’s storm, there is “something... evil about it.” In keeping with the conventions of the horror genre, Mick arrives on bus, but, when a blocked road forces the bus to turn around, he must make his way into town on foot through the gloomy, dense woods.

However, the conventional horror story stops there. One standard of the horror genre is the “damsel in distress.” But the ladies of Squirm, while occasionally in distress, are anything but helpless. Geri’s sister, Alma (Fran Higgins) is introduced putting on her makeup. To contrast a stereotypical cinematic woman, Alma, while gingerly applying blush, mocks Geri for “yakking” about Mick. Moreover, she paints her toenails while smoking a joint and excitedly follows Mick through an open window wearing platform shoes. In a similar vein, Geri goes fishing on the lake with Mick and Roger (R.A. Dow). Mick cannot bait a hook, and even Roger, whose father runs a bait shop, refuses to touch the “disgusting” worms, leaving the petite Geri to expertly handle the task. Mick, although proficient and reliable, is hardly a typical “tough guy” protagonist. A city resident, he’s completely out of his element and looks silly as he barely exits the bus (carrying three pieces of luggage, a tennis racket, and a fishing rod, and bumping everyone along the way) and asks the driver if he knows where he can find a men’s room (while standing next to the woods, nature’s restroom). To further this, Mick wears glasses, which, especially back in the ‘70s, was a sure sign that he was a geek (or, if you will, a bookworm... see what I did there?).

There are plenty of grotesque shots of writhing worms and even closeups of bloodworms (with their parapodia -- fleshy, leg-like outgrowth -- and their teeth), but Lieberman still manages a great deal of subtly in Squirm. When Mick orders an egg cream (basically a chocolate soda) at a diner, he spills the drink when spotting a worm inside the glass. In a later scene, Geri pours a couple of glasses of milk for the two, and, due to the earlier sequence, it’s almost like the “glowing” glass of milk in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1941 film, Suspicion (i.e., with no explicit knowledge of a worm inside, the audience will fear either person drinking from the glass). The preceding scenes of worm attacks include numerous visual references: a twitching downed power line, kids enjoying licorice, someone eying a box of necklaces, the sheriff and his date eating spaghetti. Similarly, there’s a clear shot of a preoccupied Roger scratching the side of his neck, and later Mick vigorously scratches his leg (before being told that he has poison ivy). It’s all a very deliberate strategy from the director, a constant reminder of the worms underground, the same worms that will, quite literally, get under the skin. One of the most clever visual cues is the name of the baiting business, printed on the side of a truck: Willie’s Bait. Willie gives people the worms, and the worms give most people the “willies.”

Lieberman engineers the entire film around a simple concept: people’s basic fear of “creepy-crawlies.” The first shot of a worm is the one from Mick’s egg cream at the diner. That alone, a single worm contorting in the chocolate liquid, is enough to make most viewers cringe. From there, Lieberman lets the audience’s imagination do most of the work for him: the aformentioned scratching, Mick falling into a muddy ditch, candles at nightfall providing very little light, the sound of worms in motion, etc. The viewers don’t always have to see what the worms are doing or even the worms themselves. All they have to know is that the worms are out there, and if just one makes most people uncomfortable, an ostensibly limitless number of worms is nothing short of terrifying.

Squirm handles the low budget wonderfully, and the largely amateur cast is outstanding, particularly Scardino and Pearcy in the leads. Though this film is a focus for the Forgotten Favorites, Jeff Lieberman seems to be a forgotten director. Following Squirm, he helmed Blue Sunshine (1978), concerning people turning homicidal from a new type of LSD, and Just Before Dawn (1981), an above-average slasher involving campers evading twin murderers in the forest. In 1988, he directed the horror-comedy, Remote Control, but would not direct another feature film for nearly 20 years. That film, however, was a smashing comeback. Satan’s Little Helper (2004), about an impressionable young boy during Halloween playfully helping “Satan” (a masked man who, unbeknownst to the boy, is actually an escaped arsonist/serial killer), was also written by Lieberman, as were his earlier works (co-scripting Just Before Dawn). Actor Scardino went on to become a prolific TV producer and director. Makeup artist Rick Baker is one of the most well known artists in his field. He had the distinction of winning an Academy Award for Best Makeup the very first year that the category was awarded, for An American Werewolf in London at the 1982 ceremony. He has won the same award multiple times, including Harry and the Hendersons (1988) and Men in Black (1997).

Squirm is a profound, multifaceted film, but if a wall of gooey bloodworms makes you apprehensive or leaves you feeling nauseous, I would strongly recommend that you avoid this film. But it should be noted that Jeff Lieberman has made a movie which deserves respect. Sure, it’s a film about aggressive, flesh-eating worms, but it’s a savvy work of art from a filmmaker who successfully eludes the schlocky route. He reels you in, baits you, and leaves you feeling itchy for days. In short, he makes you squirm.

The Five Man Army: A Spaghetti Western Variation of "Mission: Impossible" Courtesy of Dario Argento

The CBS Late Movie was a viewing staple during my high school years; I watched it every Friday night during the school year and every week night during summer vacation. Its diverse menu of films ranged from Hammer horrors (always shown on Friday) to action programmers (like Darby’s Rangers) to obscure Westerns.

Among the latter was The Five Man Army (1969), a low-budget Spaghetti Western made by American journeyman director Don Taylor. Its biggest stars were veteran TV performers Peter Graves (on vacation from Mission: Impossible) and James Daly (Chad Everett’s boss on the TV series Medical Center). In short, there was no reason to harbor any expectations for The Five Man Army…and yet, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I’ve seen it twice since—including an uncut, letterboxed version on TCM—and it holds up remarkably well.

Parts of its appeal for me is the old “rounding up the gang” theme. As in The Adventures of Robin Hood and The Magnificent Seven, we meet our protagonists one by one as a young thief informs them that “The Dutchman” (Graves) has a job requiring their services. Frankly, anything seems better than their current occupations: The Colonel (Daly) is a low-rent gambler; the Samurai (Tetsuro Tamba) throws knives in a traveling roadshow; and the massive Mesito (Bud Spencer) performs menial chores like feeding chickens.

The Dutchman’s “job” is a daunting one: These five men will rob a Mexican train carrying $500,000 in gold—which is guarded by a troop of soldiers, a machine gun, and a cannon. Except for an unlikely capture and escape sequence, The Five Man Army is basically a heist film masquerading as a Western. It’s this unlikely mixture of genres that makes the film so surprisingly diverting.

The caper, which comprises about a third of the running time, smartly blends tension and humor. A little boy almost gets The Dutchman captured before the heist even begins. An unexpected accident results in one of the five falling off the top of a speeding rail car. The arrival of unexpected visitors threatens to throw off the split-second timing required to pull off the elaborate heist.

The always likable Graves, though probably not the best choice for the main role, is believable as the never-flustered leader. The other four performers acquit themselves nicely, especially Bud Spencer in a role similar to his Bambino in the Trinity films. The memorable music score by the famed Ennio Morricone ranks among his three best (topped by Once Upon a Time in the West and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly). The screenplay, co-written by future horror maestro Dario Argento, wisely keeps dialogue to a minimum.

The Five Man Army will never be mistaken for a genre classic. But it’s smartly-made escapist fare and, like the Western mystery Five Card Stud, deserves kudos for stretching the six-shooter formula. Stripped of its Western trappings, the intricate heist sequence could have been lifted from an episode of Mission: Impossible…which I suppose justifies why Peter Graves was cast as the unlikely action hero.

The Brides of Dracula May Be Hammer's Best

Hammer Films, the British studio that revived the gothic horror movie in the late 1950s, launched its signature series with 1958's Dracula (US: Horror of Dracula). The studio's colorful reworking of Bram Stoker's vampire novel made genre stars of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. Lee chose not to appear as Count Dracula in the immediate sequel and Hammer dared not to replace him after his popular portrayal. The studio's solution was to make a Dracula film without Dracula, with most of the focus shifting to Cushing's energetic and intellectual vampire hunter Dr. Van Helsing.

Due to Lee's absence, The Brides of Dracula never achieved the popular and critical success it deserved. It is not only Hammer's best Dracula entry, but it may also be the studio's best film. Regular Hammer scripter Jimmy Sangster and his co-writers seemed to have compensated for the loss of Lee by making Brides more of an ensemble film with Cushing providing the star wattage. The result is a horror film with surprising depth and a vampire villain who has some juicy dialogue to go along with the neck-biting.

The film opens with Marianne (Yvonne Monlaur), a young French woman traveling to a girls academy to accept a teaching position. When a coach driver abandons Marianne in a small Transylvanian village, she accepts an invitation by the elderly Baroness Meinster (Martita Hunt) to spend the night in a nearby castle. She soon meets young, handsome Baron Meinster (David Peel). His mother keeps him in shackles and you can guess why—but Marianne doesn’t. Pretty soon, there’s an outbreak of vampirism at the boarding school and it’s Van Helsing to the rescue. His climatic encounter with Meinster in a dilapidated windmill sets the stage for one of the most ingenious endings of all vampire films.

As in the earlier Dracula, Cushing's Van Helsing may be an intellectual, but he is also a man of action. He is not afraid to physically confront vampires--given the proper weapons--even though he knows they possess superior strength. In Brides, Van Helsing's zeal gets the better of him and he winds with teeth marks on his neck. The result is a marvelous scene in which he demonstrates what to do when bitten by a vampire.

Though Cushing's performance centers the film, Peel exudes evil as Meinster. His vampire may not be as physically imposing as Lee's Dracula, but he comes across as almost more threatening because he is devious and intelligent. Let's face it: the idea of spreading vampirism by means of a girls' boarding school is pretty crafty (i.e., when each girl goes home, she infects others). Meinster is also incredibily cruel--heck, he bites his own mother (marvelously played as a reluctant vampire by Hunt).

Director Terence Fisher propels the proceedings at such a lively pace that one barely notices the screenplay's obvious flaws. For example, if Meinster can transform into bat, as he does at one point, then how can shackles hold him? Also, the relationship between Marianne and Meinster is poorly developed. They meet at the castle and then they become engaged when Meinster visits Marianne for the first time at the school.

Sadly, The Brides of Dracula marked Peel's only appearance as Meinster. Christopher Lee returned as the bloodthirsty Count in Hammer's 1964 series entry Dracula, Prince of Darkness. Cushing would not return as Van Helsing until Hammer made an unwise decision to update the vampire saga to modern times with Dracula A.D. 1972. Hammer eventually made eight Dracula films, but the only subsequent entry to compare favorably with Brides was 1968’s Dracula Has Risen from the Grave.

"Police Squad!"... Making Our Streets Safer (and Also Very Funny)

In 1988, comedy writers Jim Abrahams, Jerry Zucker and David Zucker scored a hit with The Naked Gun. But, as the film’s subtitle, From the Files of Police Squad!, suggests, the movie is actually a big screen version of a short-lived comedy show. Police Squad!, first broadcast in 1982, was placed on hiatus after just four episodes. The last two episodes were shown a few months later, and the series was canceled.

Police Squad! follows -- as he introduces himself in the pilot -- Sergeant Frank Drebin (Leslie Nielsen), Detective Lieutenant, Police Squad, a special detail of the police department. (Drebin’s rank varies from episode to episode, as he sometimes calls himself Detective Drebin or Lt. Drebin.) Each week, Drebin would tackle a new case, sometimes going undercover, with the help of his boss/partner, Capt. Ed Hocken (Alan North) and Officer Norberg (a surprisingly funny Peter Lupus, who played Willy on the popular show, Mission: Impossible). Drebin is also assisted by Ted Olson (Ed Williams), the department’s lab scientist; Johnny (William Duell), the shoeshiner who provides information for cash; and an officer known simply as Al (“Tiny Ron” Taylor).

One of the many reasons this show works so well is its dedication to formula. Formula, if managed properly, can be an effective tool, especially in comedy. The first film written by Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker, The Kentucky Fried Movie, which was named after their theater group, Kentucky Fried Theater, and directed by John Landis, was essentially a series of sketches. It includes an assortment of parodies of commercials and news shows, with the “main attraction” being the film, A Fistful of Yen, a humorous take on Bruce Lee and Enter the Dragon (1973). The troupe’s style of comedy is not slapstickish, but rather broad absurdist humor full of non-sequiturs (irrelevant and illogical dialogue or action), visual gags, and wordplay (a running gag in Police Squad! is Detective Drebin offering people a smoke, asking, “Cigarette?” with a typical response of, “Yes, I know,” as if he were simply confirming that he has a cigarette).

Taking that brand of humor and inserting it into a formulaic police show, complete with a straight-faced protagonist, truly makes the comedy all the more rewarding. There is a distinct difference between watching a visual gag and seeing the same gag in the background while trying to following dialogue pertaining to the main plot. One recurring joke in Police Squad! is Drebin and Hocken in the elevator discussing their ongoing investigation. Each time a person, apparently out of place (a woman in formal wear, another in a swimsuit and swimcap), steps into the elevator. But then the next floor conforms to the person (a large swimming pool for the swimmer, and a stage and awaiting audience for the other woman), who makes an exit, while splashing water or tossed roses make their way through the open doors of the elevator. The two men, of course, fail to acknowledge anything beyond their conversation.

Each episode begins with the title and announcement of the show and actors (a direct parody of the Lee Marvin police drama, M Squad), one of the actors being “Rex Hamilton” as Abraham Lincoln, who never makes an appearance. Each week, there would be a special guest star, who would be killed during the opening credits, and the title shown would differ from what the announcer calls it (e.g., the pilot’s title is displayed as “A Substantial Gift,” while the announcer says, “Tonight’s episode: ‘The Broken Promise’”). Drebin would usually knock over a trash can or mailbox when parking his car, Olson in the lab would be conducting an inappropriate experiment with a young child, Billy or Katie (such as what hanging object will fall faster, a bowling ball or a next-door neighbor), and Johnny would give incredibly detailed information that no one could possibly know (and also be seen for advice by the likes of Tommy Lasorda and Dr. Joyce Brothers). Al, as portrayed by the seven-foot tall Taylor, could only be seen from his chest down, either adorned in a silly shirt (typically related to the case) or criticized for something on his face or head (which obviously cannot be seen until it’s pointed out, like the “headgear” that isn’t “regulation,” as Al removes a sombrero).

While the series is strong throughout (with only the sixth episode, “Testimony of Evil”/“Dead Men Don’t Laugh,” directed by Joe Dante, faltering with an extended and dull lounge act from an undercover Drebin), none of the episodes match the pilot, written and directed by Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker. The comedy is delivered full tilt, and although the running time is only 25 minutes sans commercial breaks, the episode needs to be watched multiple times for a true appreciation. (I saw the series several times before realizing that, on the glass door, POLICE is correspondingly a mirror image inside the office, but SQUAD is not. And my wife pointed out that, in “Rendezvous at Big Gulch”/“Terror in the Neighborhood,” although the series is set somewhere in the U.S., the Eiffel Tower can be seen through a window.) The pilot includes one of my favorite lines of anything that Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker have done, spoken by Drebin to a victim’s widow: “We would’ve come earlier, but your husband wasn’t dead then.” Some have suggested that the series was ahead of its time, and this appears to be the case. In 1982, people were evidently not prepared for a television show that required viewers to pay scrupulous attention. But, particularly with the success of the Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker film, Airplane!, two years before, the resulting cult status of Police Squad! could likely have been forecast.

Following Top Secret! in 1984, Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker wrote (with David Zucker directing) The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad! The film was very successful and spawned two sequels, The Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear (1991) and The Naked Gun 33⅓: The Final Insult (1994). In the films, George Kennedy plays Capt. Hocken and O.J. Simpson plays a similarly-named Nordberg. Williams and Taylor reprise their TV roles, but Duell is unfortunately nowhere to be seen. The first film and the first sequel are both hilarious cinematic excursions, but the third movie, directed by Peter Segal, falls flat in many scenes. A fourth film has been rumored for the last couple of years but, as of 2010, very few details have come into fruition. Priscilla Presley is quite charming as Frank Drebin’s love interest in all three films, and Robert Goulet, who played one of the doomed “guest stars” in Police Squad!, is the villain and Drebin’s rival for Presley’s affection in The Naked Gun 2½.

Reportedly, the role of Frank Drebin on Police Squad! was specifically written for Leslie Nielsen, who’d also starred in Airplane! But it was Nielsen’s cinematic rekindling of Drebin in The Naked Gun that solidified the actor’s reputation as a comic actor. His deadpan delivery against the backdrop of absurd and ludicrous situations and settings was so beloved by audiences that Nielsen has essentially been typecast. Time and again, he is asked to play similar characters, in movies such as 1990’s Repossessed (a spoof of 1974’s The Exorcist), Spy Hard (1996), and 2001: A Space Travesty (2000). Even Mel Brooks directed one with Dracula: Dead and Loving It in 1995. In my opinion, the only one of these films worth watching is Wrongfully Accused (1998), which was written and directed by Pat Proft, who worked on Police Squad! and co-wrote all three Naked Gun movies.

After The Naked Gun, the three men who were once collectively known as the Kentucky Fried Theater seemed to part ways. Just two years later, Jerry Zucker directed the extraordinarily successful Ghost starring Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, and an Oscar®-winning Whoopi Goldberg. His brother, David Zucker, stayed mostly in comedies, producing High School High (1996), co-writing and directing South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone in BASEketball (1998), their first film after their hit TV show, and directing the spoofs, Scary Movie 3 (2003) and Scary Movie 4 (2006). Likewise, Abrahams co-wrote (with Proft) and directed the excellent Hot Shots! (1991) and Hot Shots! Part Deux (1993), as well as helming Jane Austen’s Mafia! in 1996. He and Proft also co-wrote Scary Movie 4.

So many films of today (particularly ones starring Nielsen) attempt the type of comedy mastered by Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker, but very few (if any) have succeeded. The comedy is both frivolous and ingenious. It’s goofy fun but can only be savored with an audience on full alert, trying to see and hear every quip, every gag, every moment that makes the quick-eyed viewer laugh aloud. The three writers/directors were comedic Picassos, creating a surreal landscape that easily captures the eyes and, if stared at long enough, captures the heart as well. Police Squad! may have only lasted six episodes, but its lifespan and influence are immeasurable.

The House on Telegraph Hill: A Glass of Orange Juice Before Bed

Two women, Victoria (Valentina Cortese) and Karin, become friends in a concentration camp during World War II. Karin, who is frail, talks about her son, whom she sent to America at the outbreak of the war to live with a wealthy aunt. Karin's dream is to be reunited with her son. But, despite Victoria's efforts to keep her friend alive, Karin dies on a cold winter night. Victoria--who has lost her entire family during the war--makes a sudden, fateful decision: She takes Karin's papers and assumes the dead woman's identity.

When Poland is liberated, Karin (the former Victoria) writes a letter to “her” Aunt Sophie in the States. A few weeks later, she receives a telegram from a lawyer informing her that Aunt Sophie is dead. Five years pass before Karin can travel on her own to America. When she arrives in New York City, she demands custody of “her” nine-year-old son Christopher. She anticipates a legal battle, so she is surprised when the boy’s guardian, Alan Spender (Richard Basehart), decides to be reasonable.

A whirlwind courtship ensues, with Karin and Alan getting married within two weeks of their first meeting. All seems to be going well until the newlyweds arrive in San Francisco to live with Christopher in the family mansion on Telegraph Hill. Karin and young Christopher hit it off immediately, but Karin quickly senses that she is not welcomed by Margaret, the boy’s attractive governess. Furthermore, Alan has begun to act strangely towards her…and then there’s the old playhouse in the backyard where that explosion took place.

The House on Telegraph House shares more than a passing resemblance to Hitchcock’s Suspicion, except with a twist. Karin may or may not be married to a murderer, but there is no doubt that she is deceiving those around her. At the core of her deception, she is lying to a young boy and allowing him to believe she is his presumed-dead mother. To be sure, Karin exudes guilt—there are several shots of her staring remorsefully at Aunt Sophie’s portrait. Still, she never tries to remove herself from the situation by telling the truth about her identity. Her apparent reason for doing this is because she has grown to love Christopher…and yet, she is only prolonging the hurt that she may cause him in later life.

The complexity of Karin’s motives makes it a tricky leading role and Valentina Cortese pulls it off fairly well. She excels in scenes such as the one where Karin meets Christopher for the first time—her subtle fear a result of wondering if the boy will somehow sense she is not his mother. Still, Cortese lacks warmth overall, making it difficult for the audience to totally pull for her in a way they might have for a more engaging actress, such as Ingrid Bergman.

Daryl F. Zanuck “discovered” Valentina Cortese in Italy in the early 1950s (she was already appearing in films) and brought her to America in hopes of making her a star. She never connected with American audiences, though, and returned to Europe in 1955. She enjoyed a long acting career there, working with acclaimed directors such as Fellini, Antonioni, and Truffaut. Cortese earned an Oscar nomination in 1973 for Best Supporting Actress for Truffaut’s Day for Night; she lost in that category to Ingrid Bergman in Murder on the Orient Express.

Cortese married her House on Telegraph Hill co-star Richard Basehart in 1951 (they divorced nine years later). Basehart wasn’t the first choice for the role of Alan Spender; Dana Andrews, Richard Conte, and James Mason were among those actors also considered for the part. Basehart was always a solid performer and he’s quite convincing as a murky character that may have ulterior motives. Without giving away any plot spoilers, I will say this: I will never accept an offer of a glass of orange juice before bed.

The ever-versatile Robert Wise directed The House on Telegraph Hill the same year he did The Day the Earth Stood Still. The former film isn’t a beloved classic like the latter one, but The House on Telegraph Hill hold ups nicely today and remains engrossing from start to finish. The title house, by the way, doesn’t really exist—but you can visit the top of Telegraph Hill in San Francisco.