Blue Thunder: The Series (1984) – Review

In the grand tradition of taking hit movies and spinning them off into TV series, 1984’s Blue Thunder aimed to capture the excitement of the 1983 film of the same name. Unfortunately, much like many short-lived adaptations, while having the makings of a fun, action-packed police procedural—on paper, at least, it lacked the firepower to stay in the air for long.

The show follows the exploits of the Blue Thunder helicopter—a high-tech, heavily armed aerial police unit designed to take on urban crime and terrorism and is operated by a four-person LAPD Air Support Division team, but partially controlled by APEX, a fictional federal government agency. It is piloted by Frank Chaney (James Farentino), who takes over as the pilot, replacing Roy Scheider’s character from the movie, and providing comic relief and technical support as his sidekick, we have Clinton “JAFO” Wonderlove (Dana Carvey). The cast also included the team’s ground support, Lyman “Bubba” Kelsey (Bubba Smith) and Richard “Ski” Butowski (Dick Butkus), who mostly drove around in a van called “Rolling Thunder” and arrested whatever villains Blue Thunder was hovering over on a particular day or mission. 

 

“You have the right to remain bored.”

The pilot episode pretty much set the tone for the series, with Frank continually butting heads with his boss Captain Ed Braddock (Sandy McPeak), who is a “play things by the book” kind of guy while Chaney is a maverick who plays by his own rules – you could say the clichés run deep on this show – but when an old enemy from Frank’s past, an ex-police informant and drug smuggler named P.V.C. (Richard Lynch) who had killed Frank’s old partner, starts shooting down LAPD helicopters the playbook must be thrown out the window. Turns out that P.V.C. wants a one-on-one dogfight with his old friend, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Needless to say, Braddock refuses to let Frank face off against him, no matter how many cops get killed by this madman, and from that point on, things go as expected, such as Frank ignoring Braddock and P.V.C. getting all exploded.

 

Richard Lynch was the go-to guy for evil villains of the 1980s.

Stray Observation:

• Despite being armed with an intimidating arsenal, Blue Thunder rarely used its weapons. Instead of explosive dogfights, most episodes ended with criminals surrendering after a quick, dramatic hover-over. Maybe the real crime-fighting power was the helicopter’s ability to make bad guys give up out of boredom.
• Former NFL players Bubba Smith and Dick Butkus play former NFL players Lyman “Bubba” Kelsey and Richard “Ski” Butowski. Talk about typecasting.
• In the movie JAFO stood for “Just Another Fucking Observer,” but to make television censors happy, it was changed to “Just Another Frustrated Observer.”
• In the episode “A Clear and Present Danger,” a paramilitary group uses a WWII fighter to provide air support for their bank robberies, and sure, this is idiotic, but it does give Blue Thunder a reason to get involved.
• Got a hostage situation? Send Blue Thunder. A runaway car? Deploy Blue Thunder. Someone shoplifting a candy bar? You guessed it—Blue Thunder is on the case. The show had an amazing ability to justify using a heavily armed military-grade helicopter for the most mundane crimes.

 

Blue Thunder vs The Red Baron?

The most notable change from movie to television show was how it toned down the political intrigue and moral dilemmas, replacing them with formulaic crime-of-the-week plots that rarely lived up to the potential of a high-tech copter busting criminals. The action sequences—arguably the biggest draw—were serviceable but heavily reliant on recycled footage from both the film and previous episodes, making them feel repetitive. Where the original film was a paranoid thriller about government overreach and the misuse of technology, the TV series discarded those themes in favour of standard “bad guys do crime, helicopter stops them” plots and a simple premise of “Boy, aren’t armed helicopters cool?” The show’s tone also struggled to find a balance. At times, it wanted to be a gritty cop drama, but this could have worked with sharper writing; the scripts rarely soared beyond generic TV fare. Adding to the tonal confusion is the presence of Dana Carvey as Clinton “JAFO” Wonderlove, the comic relief sidekick. Carvey would go on to become a comedy legend, but here he’s completely out of place; his attempts at humour and celebrity impressions feel awkwardly shoehorned into a show that otherwise takes itself too seriously.

 

“Live from Blue Thunder, it’s Saturday Night!”

However, being a tonal misfire wasn’t the only problem this show had to deal with, as Blue Thunder quickly ran into turbulence in Prime Time, as it had to compete with another 1984 helicopter-themed show: Airwolf, which offered darker, more stylish storytelling and superior production values. Compared to Airwolf, Blue Thunder felt sanitized, lacking the edgier themes that made the original movie a cult favourite. The action is formulaic, with each episode feeling more like an A-Team knockoff than a continuation of a thought-provoking movie. The limitations of early ’80s television budgets also meant that the helicopter rarely did anything as jaw-dropping as its big-screen counterpart. Instead of thrilling dogfights or tactical espionage, we got scenes of Blue Thunder hovering ominously while the bad guys surrendered. 

 

“Stop or we’ll shoot. You are going sixty in a fifty-five-mph zone.”

In the end, Blue Thunder was shot down after only 11 episodes, unable to compete with Airwolf’s sleeker appeal. While it may hold nostalgic charm for those who caught it during its brief run, it’s mostly remembered as an interesting but ill-fated attempt to bring big-screen thrills to the small screen. If you’re looking for ‘80s helicopter action, you’re better off checking out Airwolf—or just watching the Blue Thunder movie again.

Mad Monster Party? (1967) – Review

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Rankin/Bass, of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer fame, decided to host a monster convention with a touch of Scooby-Doo logic and a side order of slapstick, well—congratulations, you’ve found it! Instead of reindeer and elves, this one delivers a ghoulishly goofy gathering of classic movie monsters, all wrapped up in a campy, colourful stop-motion adventure. This is the fever dream you’ve been waiting for. It’s a Mad Monster Party?

The story begins with Baron Boris von Frankenstein (Boris Karloff), the world’s most renowned mad scientist, in his eerie, Gothic castle on a remote island. After years of monstrous experiments, he has achieved his greatest scientific breakthrough—a formula capable of destroying all matter! “I’ve done it. Created the means to destroy matter. They must all know. Know that I, Baron von Frankenstein, master of the secret of creation, have now mastered the secret of destruction.” Realizing that his time as the head of the monster world is coming to an end, he decides to throw a grand party for all the legendary creatures of the night. His main announcement? His retirement, the reveal of his chosen successor and the secret behind his final discovery.

 

“This is better than a 401 (K).”

However, rather than passing the torch to one of his monstrous colleagues, the Baron makes a shocking decision—His choice? Not Dracula, not the Werewolf, not the Mummy, instead, he will hand his legacy over to his mild-mannered and painfully awkward human nephew, Felix Flanken (Allen Swift), a meek pharmacy assistant whose mother left the world of monsters years ago. Meanwhile, Francesca (Gale Garnett), who has devoted years to assisting the Baron and expected to inherit his power, is furious at being overlooked. And how does the Baron plan to make such an important announcement? Simple, he decides to invite all those he is passing over for a “Mad Monster Party” to give them the “good” news in person. 

 

“I assume you are all wondering why I gathered you all here.”

Yeah, I don’t see anything wrong with this plan. Felix is the exact opposite of what anyone expected—he’s a nebbish, clumsy, and allergy-prone pharmacist, completely lacking in sinister ambition. He arrives at the castle completely oblivious to the horrors around him, sneezing at cobwebs and fumbling through introductions with the monsters. His nervous, awkward demeanour instantly makes him a target for the jealous creatures, especially Francesca, who feels betrayed by the Baron’s decision. She refuses to accept Felix as the heir and hatches her own plan to eliminate him, such as enlisting Dracula for help, also not a great idea. She uses feminine charms to manipulate him, hoping to lure him into a trap, but her plans keep backfiring spectacularly. Felix’s natural klutziness and dumb luck allow him to survive every attempt on his life completely by accident. That this particular set of monsters are completely inept also has something to do with his survival.

 

The Legion of Doom, they are not.

As the chaos unfolds, Francesca begins to develop unexpected feelings for Felix. At first, she is repulsed by his clumsiness and timid nature, but over time, she sees a certain innocence and kindness in him that is missing from the monstrous world she inhabits. When Felix saves Francesca from the murderous attempts of the other monsters – honour amount monsters is clearly not a thing – things get even more chaotic, but unbeknownst to the others, in a moment of spite, Francesa had sent out a last-minute invite to a creature known only as “It” (a giant gorilla and knock-off of King Kong) and when it arrives it proceeds to go on a rampage. Will the Baron be allowed to retire in peace? Does Felix have it in himself to become the leader of the Worldwide Organization of Monsters? And most importantly, can beauty kill the beast?”

 

This beast goes for redheads, not blondes.

Stray Observations:

• The screenplay was co-written by Harvey Kurtzman, one of the founders of Mad Magazine. That explains a lot about the film’s wacky humour.
• After a long association with Frankenstein, this would turn out to be Boris Karloff’s last monster role. However, he didn’t voice the Baron’s singing parts—Allen Swift did those.
• While many of the characters’ designs were based on classic Universal Monsters, they had to be legally distinct since Rankin/Bass didn’t have the rights. That’s why Dracula, the Wolfman, and the Creature all look slightly off-brand.
• The design of Dracula in this film closely resembles later animated versions of the character, including Groovie Goolies’ Drac and even Hotel Transylvania’s Count Dracula
• The random sea monster that shows up? That’s actually an homage to 1962’s King Kong vs. Godzilla, specifically the giant octopus scene.
• The ending of the film is eerily similar to Some Like It Hot. A character dressed as a woman? A “nobody’s perfect” style joke? Somebody at Rankin/Bass was definitely a Billy Wilder fan.

 

“You’re not a Republican, are you?”

The film employs Rankin/Bass’s signature “Animagic” stop-motion technique, giving the characters a distinctive, doll-like appearance. While the animation is charming, it’s not as smooth or polished as modern stop-motion efforts like The Nightmare Before Christmas or Coraline. This limited animation style makes some movements feel stiff, and lip-syncing can be off at times, but for 1967, it’s an impressive technical feat. But where the animation may falter, it more than makes up for it with the creature designs. Legendary cartoonist Jack Davis made each character into a playful caricature of their classic horror movie counterpart, with exaggerated features and expressive faces. The sets are beautifully crafted, with a gothic yet whimsical aesthetic that gives the movie its unique atmosphere. The island setting, in particular, allows for some creative backdrops, from Frankenstein’s eerie laboratory to a moonlit graveyard.

 

James Whale would have loved this place.

As for its wonderful voice cast? The film’s biggest asset is Boris Karloff as Baron Frankenstein; his voice performance is dignified, yet playful, making the character feel like a blend of the classic mad scientist and a doting old uncle. It’s a fitting role for Karloff, who had long been associated with the Frankenstein mythos, and it adds an air of legitimacy to the film. Then there’s Phyllis Diller as the “Bride of Frankenstein” character, who is inexplicably married to The Monster (not Baron Frankenstein), and it’s safe to say that her loud, grating comedic style you will either find hilarious or unbearable, depending on your taste. Gale Garnet, who voices the Baron’s red-haired assistant, is arguably the most visually striking character in the film. She’s drawn as a curvy, vampy femme fatale in the vein of Jessica Rabbit (years before Who Framed Roger Rabbit). Her voice performance is sultry and engaging, and she has one of the film’s standout musical numbers.

 

“I’m not evil, I’m just built that way.”

Lastly, we have Allen Swift, who provides voices for pretty much everyone else, including Dracula, the Invisible Man, and Felix. His voice work is energetic and distinct, though some characters (Dracula, the Mummy, the Werewolf, and more) sound like generic comedy impressions rather than true homages to the original films. Unfortunately, the film’s weakest link is also voiced by Swift. Felix Flanken, the film’s protagonist, is meant to be an endearing underdog, but he mostly comes across as bland and ineffectual. His awkward mannerisms and whiny voice make it hard to root for him, especially when placed alongside so many larger-than-life characters. Even if these versions of the classic monsters are not always on point.

 

“Wolfie, why do you never change back into a human?”

This being a Rankin/Bass Production, of course, there are musical numbers! The soundtrack is chock full of jazzy, lounge-style tunes and oddball musical numbers, a signature of Rankin/Bass productions, and some of the songs, like the opening theme “Mad Monster Party?”, set the mood perfectly, while others (like the love song “You’re Different”) feel a little out of place. On the other hand, Francesca’s sultry cabaret-style song “One Step Ahead” is a standout, adding a touch of 1960s sophistication. Not all the songs are winners, but they add to the movie’s oddball charm.

 

“Why didn’t we invite the Phantom of the Opera?”

The humour in Mad Monster Party? is a mixed bag, while there are plenty of clever visual gags and monster-related puns, much of the comedy is reliant on slapstick and corny one-liners. The film also indulges in a lot of pop culture references, which may have been funny at the time but feel dated today. The story itself is simple but stretched too thin as its 94-minute running time feels longer than it should be, with certain scenes dragging on or repeating the same joke multiple times. The pacing slows down significantly in the middle, making it a bit of a slog before picking up again for the finale.

 

The monsters won’t be the only ones groaning by the end credits.

In conclusion, Mad Monster Party? is a fascinating relic from a time when horror and animation rarely intersected, yet its influence would echo for decades. Its blend of spooky charm, tongue-in-cheek humour, and lovingly crafted stop-motion paved the way for later gothic comedies like The Nightmare Before Christmas and Hotel Transylvania, both of which owe a debt to its monster-mash aesthetic. It’s visually inventive, boasts a great voice performance from Boris Karloff, and radiates a charmingly weird atmosphere. However, it’s also unevenly paced, overly long, and saddled with a weak protagonist. If you love classic Universal Monsters, stop-motion animation, or old-school Halloween specials, it’s worth a watch—especially as a curiosity piece. But casual viewers may find its slow pace and dated humour a bit of a chore.

Baffled! (1971) – Review

This early 70s offering finds the legendary Leonard Nimoy taking a sharp detour from the logical world of Mr. Spock into the misty realm of ESP, supernatural visions, and swinging ’70s mysticism. I give you the startling, strange movie Baffled!

We are first introduced to suave American race car driver Tom Kovack (Leonard Nimoy) whose life takes a dramatic turn when he experiences a terrifying and vivid psychic vision in the middle of a race – these inopportune visions send him off the track and into after a near-fatal crash – but instead of dying all this does is send him on a new career path. Enter Michelle Brent (Susan Hampshire), an elegant British occult expert who has been researching psychic phenomena, and after hearing about Tom’s incident, she tries to convince him that what he saw was a real psychic message, not just a hallucination. At first skeptical and resistant, Tom dismisses her talk of ESP and second sight, wanting no part in what he calls “mumbo jumbo.” However, the visions persist—vivid, disturbing, and impossible to ignore, such as a second vision involving a dark manor house and him falling backwards off a balcony and into the sea.

 

“You can’t die in a vision, right?”

Their journey leads them to Wyndham, an elegant yet eerie country estate in Devon, England, which has recently been turned into a holiday retreat. Tom and Michele arrive under the guise of tourists seeking accommodations, and it becomes apparent that something is not right. Tom begins to recognize objects and people from his visions, such as well-known actress Andrea Glenn (Vera Miles) and her young daughter Jennifer (Jewel Blanch), who have come to England on the behest of Andrea’s ex-husband but who remains surprisingly absent after their arrival. Other guests include wheelchair bound Louise Sanford (Valerie Taylor), who claims to be Andrea’s husband’s cousin; an Italian architect named Verelli (Christopher Benjamin); and a young couple, George and Peggy Tracewell (Ray Brooks and Angharad Rees). There is also the prerequisite mysterious housekeeper, Mrs. Farraday (Rachel Roberts), who seems kind and helpful at first, but it soon becomes apparent that she has a sinister agenda.

 

“Mrs. Danvers has nothing on me.”

Things quickly take a turn for the worse for poor Andrea, incapacitated by poison and bedridden, but to make matters worse, Jennifer begins to exhibit strange behaviour, appearing to age rapidly and displaying a rebellious attitude, not to mention acting decidedly creepy. Despite Kovack’s ability to sense an undercurrent of danger, he is almost murdered, Michelle just nearly escapes an abduction – I certainly hate when your psychic visions aren’t clear enough to help – but as these visions continue and become more disturbing, he and Michelle begin to piece together a chilling truth: a malevolent force is at work at Wyndham. Cue Kovack brooding over strange visions, uttering cryptic warnings, and looking perpetually confused—but still cool, because, well, he’s Leonard Nimoy. 

 

“Fascinating.”

As is required in a mystery, the other guests at Wyndham all act suspicious, as if they had all stepped out of the game Clue, but as the mystery deepens and Tom’s relationship with Michelle grows, the two rely on each other to navigate both the supernatural forces and the tangled human motives surrounding them, discovering that someone in Andrea’s past had been a dabbler in witchcraft and the occult. As the movie races to its conclusion, Tom and Michelle dash through secret passageways, escape being trapped in an elevator shaft, and eventually uncover the evil mastermind and save both Andrea and Jennifer. It turns out a certain someone was a practising occultist, using ancient rites to try and harness Jennifer’s psychic sensitivity for their nefarious purposes. There is a struggle, and let’s just say, things do not go well for the occultist.

 

He does make a big splash.

Stray Observations:

• One of the most far-fetched elements of this movie is that a professional race car driver would admit to the public that he crashed because he had a strange vision.
• The groovy, funky ‘70s TV music makes you think you’re watching Columbo: Psychic Edition. It’s trying so hard to be cool and spooky at the same time.
• Nimoy’s turtlenecks are doing so much work in this film. Meanwhile, Susan Hampshire wears an endless array of capes and scarves like she walked straight out of a Carnaby Street séance.
• Jennifer secretly meets with a man who claims to be her father, but he insists that she tell no one about him. Did they not have “stranger danger” teachings in the 70s?
• Tom finally accepts his powers and teams up with Michelle for more psychic sleuthing. The vibe is full-on “monster-of-the-week” potential—but alas, this was the beginning and the end.

 

“Next week, on Baffled! Oh, sorry, we’re cancelled.”

Directed by Philip Leacock and written by Theodore Apstein, the film plays like The X-Files by way of Dark Shadows but with less polish and a lot more bell-bottoms. It’s all mood and menace, with fog, candles, and the occasional evil child. The plot wobbles between intrigue and absurdity, occasionally tiptoeing into unintentional comedy—especially when Nimoy delivers deadly serious lines about psychic vibrations with the same gravitas he gave to warp drive mechanics. There’s also the fact that the movie screams early-’70s TV pilot—and that’s because it was one. It was meant to launch a series about a psychic duo solving mysteries, but alas, the show never took off. That said, Baffled! is still an entertaining curiosity. Think Scooby-Doo if Daphne had a PhD and Shaggy had telepathy (and drove a Jaguar E-Type).

 

“It looks like we’ve got ourselves a mystery to solve.”

While it was made as a television pilot, the production values are fairly solid for the time, and Leonard Nimoy brings a charismatic, rugged charm to his role—a stark contrast from his usual typecasting as Spock. Nimoy was clearly enjoying himself here as he leaned into the skeptical-tough-guy-with-a-heart role. It’s weird seeing him so loose after his buttoned-up Vulcan days, but it works in a 70s TV movie kind of way. The chemistry between Nimoy and Hampshire helps carry the film, even when the plot edges into campy or melodramatic territory. The eerie manor and gothic-lite atmosphere also give off cozy supernatural vibes, and the whole thing comes across like a paranormal Columbo episode dipped in weirdness. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

 

Note: The use of terrible rear projection plagues this movie.

As for Kovack’s psychic visions, they are… not exactly chilling. More like, “Mildly unsettling dream sequences brought to you by Vaseline-smeared lenses.” And despite the hokey moments (and there are plenty), there’s an undeniable charm here. Nimoy, always a compelling screen presence, brings enough gravitas to ground the goofy premise. Hampshire adds a touch of class, and the chemistry between the two suggests the potential for a fun “occult detective” series that, sadly, never got off the ground. Of course, the biggest issue one will have with this offering is that it’s very much a “pilot that didn’t get picked up,” so it leaves you hanging.

 

It does have some decidedly creepy moments.

In conclusion, while Baffled! did not lead to a full TV series, as originally intended, it has gained a small cult following over the years thanks to Nimoy’s unique performance and its curious blend of psychic detective work and supernatural mystery. Today, it’s often viewed as a fascinating relic of 1970s genre experimentation—a little bit Columbo, a little bit The Omen, with a dash of Scooby-Doo charm.

Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell (1978) – Review

There’s something undeniably charming about the made-for-TV horror movies of the 1970s. Maybe it’s the sincerity. Maybe it’s the slightly off studio lighting. Or maybe it’s the sheer audacity of a film that asks you to fear a floppy-eared family pet with glowing eyes. Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell is one of those gloriously ridiculous late-night specials.

The protagonist of this horror classic is Mike Barry (Richard Crenna), a classic suburban dad: he works hard, wears sweaters, and doesn’t ask too many questions until it’s way too late. His wife, Betty (Yvette Mimieux), is a sweet, doting housewife and art therapist who makes casseroles and doesn’t notice when her children become soulless monsters. The kids, Bonnie (Kim Richards) and Charlie (Ike Eisenmann), are bright-eyed and all-American—until they start acting like tiny members of a Satanic youth league.

 

“Why did we even have children?”

After the family dog dies in a tragic “accident” (which suspiciously happens off-screen), the Barrys do what any grieving family would do: they adopt a new puppy from a smiling, apple-peddling Satanist (R.G. Armstrong) at a roadside fruit stand. That’s not hyperbole—the man is literally part of a dark cult that bred the German Shepherd in a backyard Hell ritual, hoping to spread Satan’s influence one puppy at a time. They name the dog Lucky, because irony.

 

I wonder if Satan also offered Eve a puppy?

From the start, Lucky isn’t so much man’s best friend as he is Hell’s middle manager. The family maid (Tina Menard), who is the first to get the heebie-jeebies, ends up flambéed in a suspicious fire. Mike nearly becomes lawnmower mulch while Lucky looks on with the dead eyes of a hellbeast. The dog’s escalating antics include mind control, arson, telepathy, more murder and turning the kids into conniving little sociopaths. Charlie even frames a fellow student just to win a school election, which is probably the most realistic part of this entire movie.

 

“I’ll Make School Great Again!”

Mike, a little slow on the satanic uptake, is just your average suburban dad with a healthy mistrust of anything the dog does, but slow to act on it. He notices the kids getting creepy, the wife entering “Satanic Stepford” mode, and the dog somehow glowing in the moonlight, but it takes forever for him to figure out what’s going on, despite mounting evidence like his formerly sweet kids turning into little Damien understudies and the family dog staring into his soul like it knows when he’ll die—finally connects the dots after stumbling upon a homemade Satanic altar in the attic. Candles, an unfinished pentagram and a nice demonic painting, the whole Hobby Lobby occult starter pack.

 

“Is this the kind of thing they are teaching at school these days?”

This is usually the part in the movie where the main character calls a priest, or at least googles “demonic dog behaviour.” Not Mike. Mike’s plan? Load up the ol’ handgun and go full Dirty Harry on the family pet. Spoiler: it doesn’t work. The dog shrugs off the bullets like it has a Star Trek force field made of brimstone. Undeterred, Mike consults with a woman (Gertrude Flynn) at a local occult book store, who informs him that his dog may be a Barghest, a monstrous, goblin dog with huge teeth and claws that appears only at night.

 

“It says here, contact the Scooby gang, if needed.”

This leads him to his logical next step: fly to Ecuador. Because nothing says “problem-solving” like international travel and vague mysticism. There, he finds a reclusive mystic who apparently just waits around for middle-aged dads with demon dog problems. This wise old man lays out the ancient lore: you can’t kill the devil dog—duh—but you can trap it in Hell for a thousand years. All you have to do is hold a holy symbol (any brand, really) up to the beast’s eye long enough for the flames of eternal damnation to recognize it, ignite, and suck Cujo the Antichrist back into the abyss. Of course, this ritual involves being within biting distance of a hellhound while it tries to kill you, all while maintaining direct eye contact like you’re in a really high-stakes staring contest. But hey, Mike’s committed now. Literally. He bought an international plane ticket.

 

“A tattoo against evil, that’s your whole goddamn plan?”

Armed with his homemade holy sign and a lot of righteous dad energy, Mike lures Lucky into a final showdown at his work plant, where Lucky transforms into a hellhound with glowing eyes and a bad attitude. Mike pulls out his cross-shaped MacGuffin, holds it up to Lucky’s face, and just like that, demon dog becomes demon toast. The family is freed from their puppy-induced possession. In the end, the Barrys prepare for a vacation as if nothing happened. Then Charlie casually mentions that there were ten puppies in the original litter. Only one went up in flames. That means nine more Satan dogs are still out there somewhere, possibly plotting a coup in suburbia or running for student council.

 

“Son, that’s someone else’s problem.”

And it’s all played completely straight, which is part of the joy. There’s no wink to the camera, no tongue-in-cheek dialogue. This is a movie that wants you to genuinely fear a possessed German Shepherd who can apparently start fires with his mind. In a way, that sincerity becomes its biggest strength. It’s trying, darn it. Everyone is trying. And that’s what makes it endearing.

Stray Observations:

• The film was inspired by the seventh episode of Kolchak: The Night Stalker, “The Devil’s Platform.” This movie could have definitely benefited from some Darren McGavin.
• The leader of the cult is played by Martine Beswick, who starred in two Bond films, From Russia with Love and Thunderball, and to say this is a step down would be a vast understatement.
• Kim Richards and Ike Eisenmann had previously played siblings in the Disney classic, Escape to Witch Mountain. Luckily, in that film, they only had creepy Ray Milland and Donald Pleasence to contend with.
• Kim Richards was not new when it came to demonic dealings. She and her sister, Kyle Richards, were menaced by the demonic menace in The Car.
• If your maid claims your dog is evil and is then found mysteriously burned to death in her own room, that very night, maybe take her claim a little more seriously.
• When your dog tries to mentally force your hand into the spinning blades of a lawnmower, and you do nothing, what follows is really on you.

 

Credit to Crenna, he sells the hell out of this scene.

The director, Curtis Harrington, was no stranger to horror—particularly the restrained variety of psychological or supernatural horror. Harrington had a solid career helming atmospheric genre films like 1961’s Night Tide and 1966’s Queen of Blood, both of which did far more with similarly modest means. But here, he seems boxed in by the constraints of both television censorship and an anemic script. To his credit, he treats the material with absolute seriousness. There’s no camp in his direction, even though the premise (a demonic German Sheppard) practically begs for it. He attempts to evoke menace through slow zooms, wind effects, and low-angle shots of the dog that are clearly meant to imply a supernatural presence. To be fair, with his budget, implying the supernatural was the better way to go, as the few times we see the Devil Dog in all its “Glory,” the results were less than impressive.

 

Are we supposed to find this scary?

The film leans heavily—and I mean leaning-on-a-broken-crutch heavily—on a single special effect: glowing eyes slapped over the dog like someone discovered the “demonic stare” filter in a 1970s editing bay and just went to town. These optical overlays are reused so often that you start to feel bad for the film reel. If the dog isn’t glowing, nothing’s happening. If the dog is glowing, still—nothing’s happening. There’s a hilarious commitment to doing absolutely nothing else visually to suggest supernatural horror. The dog just sits there. Maybe he turns his head slightly. Cue the glowing eyes. Cue the exact same ominous wind sound. Again. And again. It’s less “possessed hellhound” and more “dog has allergies and is glaring at you.”

 

All in all, it’s less Hound of Hell and more Dog of Mild Inconvenience.

Now let’s talk about Richard Crenna. A TV staple and reliable “dad under duress,” Crenna commits to this like he’s in The Exorcist. His descent into paranoia, his desperate search for answers, and his eventual spiritual showdown with the dog are all delivered with the gravitas of Shakespeare. There’s something hilarious and kind of awesome about watching a middle-aged suburban dad throw hands with a hellhound, like he’s channelling Charlton Heston. The finale might be low on budget, but it’s high on energy. It’s the kind of climax where you know the filmmakers threw everything they had at the screen—and then added another close-up of the big glowing dog for good measure.

 

“The power of Christ compels you!”

As for the rest of the cast. Yvette Mimieux, who has maybe four actual expressions in the film, is asked to do a lot of staring off into the distance while under the influence of a Satanic dog. Playing “Possessed Housewife” like she’s taken a full Xanax and is waiting for direction. Kim Richards and Ike Eisenmann are perfectly adequate as children slowly succumbing to devil-dog hypnosis. Their transformation from fresh-faced suburban innocents to junior Satanists is handled with the steady professionalism of kids who grew up doing this sort of thing on sound stages between Disney telefilms. Neither of them is given much emotional range to work with — this is less The Exorcist and more After-School Special Goes to Hell — but they do what they can. Considering the dog was probably getting more notes from the director, they both hold their own.

 

The Manson Family meets the Brady Bunch.

The real villain here is the script, which somehow manages to stretch about 15 minutes of plot into a 90-minute movie. The pacing is glacial. There are long scenes of absolutely nothing happening. Characters repeat themselves, stare out windows, or get stared at by the dog. Rinse and repeat. But what can you expect from a film that dares to ask: “What if Satan wanted to destroy the world… one suburban family at a time… and his weapon was a German Sheppard?” It’s slow, cheap, and way too serious for its own good—but it’s also weirdly fascinating in that TV horror meets Hallmark drama with Satanic side salad kind of way.

 

“Couldn’t we have rented a better place for our Satanic rituals?”

In conclusion, Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell is a strange, sincere, and thoroughly entertaining slice of 70s TV horror. It’s never scary—not really—but it’s always watchable. From its dead-serious tone to its loopy supernatural plot, it’s the kind of movie you laugh at, then weirdly admire for having the guts to take itself so seriously.

Doctor Mordrid (1992) – Review

In 1992, Doctor Mordrid emerged from the depths of B-movie magic, a film that feels like a low-budget Doctor Strange movie — because, well, it almost was. This was to be an adaptation of that Marvel Comics character, that is, until the pre-production phase took so long that by the time filming started, they lost the rights to the name. But instead of scrapping the film altogether, they decided, “Let’s just change it enough so as not to get sued.”

In the realm of cult cinema, few films embody the spirit of low-budget ambition quite like Doctor Mordrid. Directed by Charles and Albert Band, this direct-to-video fantasy film is a fascinating example of Full Moon Entertainment’s ability to craft entertaining, if derivative, genre films on a shoestring budget. Originally conceived as an adaptation of Marvel’s Doctor Strange, Doctor Mordrid was repurposed into an original property when Full Moon lost the rights to the character. The result is a film that clearly echoes its Marvel origins but manages to carve out its own niche within the pantheon of B-movie magic.

 

“I see lawyers in our near future.”

The plot involves centuries-old inter-dimensional sorcerer Doctor Anton Mordrid (Jeffrey Coombs) living incognito as a New York scholar, who is tasked with guarding the world from evil forces that threaten the mortal plane. Mordrid spends most of the movie pacing around his apartment, brooding over magical glyphs, and occasionally glaring at people really hard. When his old nemesis, Kabal (Brian Thompson), escapes from his prison dimension and threatens to conquer the world with dark magic, Mordrid must step out of the shadows to stop him. Assisting him is Samantha Hunt (Yvette Nipar), a skeptical but curious researcher who gets swept into his mystical war. 

 

I wonder if he can get cable on that thing.

Upon realizing that Kabal is loose, Mordrid finally stops brooding in his lair and gets to work. This involves the classic superhero move of getting arrested—yes, he’s picked up for owning an artifact that links him to one of Kabal’s murders. He is taken to the police precinct by obtuse Detective Tony Gaudio (Jay Acovone). Thankfully, Samantha helps him escape, because she just knows there’s something special about this strange, robe-wearing landlord of hers. Once she learns that Mordrid is, in fact, an inter-dimensional wizard protecting Earth, she goes from skeptical scientist to ride-or-die sidekick in record time. Together, they attempt to stop Kabal before he can unleash his master plan.

 

“Now, shall you deal with me, oh Doctor, and all the powers of HELL!”

What follows is Doctor Mordrid’s pièce de resistance: a battle of stop-motion dinosaur skeletons, because if you’re going to have a low-budget wizard duel, why not involve prehistoric fossils? Mordrid uses his magic to bring a Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton to life, and it goes head-to-head with a mammoth skeleton controlled by Kabal. The fight is as ridiculous as it sounds, with the stop-motion effects looking like they wandered in from a 1950s Ray Harryhausen film. But let’s be honest—this is exactly the kind of absurd spectacle that makes B-movies so much fun. In the end, Mordrid out-magics Kabal, sending him back to his inter-dimensional prison. Samantha, now fully invested in this wizard life, sticks around, and Mordrid goes back to his mystical surveillance job, waiting for the next threat.

 

“Quick, someone call Ben Stiller!”

Stray Observations:

• In the opening credits, it states “Based on an original idea by Charles Band,” which is a bold statement considering the film started out as a Doctor Strange adaptation.
• Anton Mordrid uses a flashy magical doohickey to escape pesky questions from the neighbours, a device one could say inspired the neuralyzer from MIB.
• One of the stop-motion werewolves from The Howling appears in the climax as one of Kabal’s minions.
• Mordrid has a Raven named Edgar Allen, and Jeffrey Coombs would later play Edgar Allen Poe in the Masters of Horror episode “The Black Cat.”
• The film takes place in New York City, but the sign on the museum where Mordrid battles Kabal clearly reads “Los Angeles County Historical and Art Museum.” Is this a case of more inter-dimensional mischief?
• This “knockoff” Doctor Strange was not the first attempt at creating a “Sorcerer Supreme,” as CBS released a made-for-television Doctor Strange back in 1978.

 

Who is the real Sorcerer Supreme?

Without a doubt, Jeffrey Combs, best known for his role as Herbert West in Re-Animator or his many appearances on Star Trek, is the film’s biggest asset as he plays Mordrid with a mix of deadpan seriousness and wry detachment, giving the character a gravitas the script doesn’t always earn. He delivers a performance that elevates Doctor Mordrid beyond its limited production values. His portrayal of this “Sorcerer Supreme” is restrained yet commanding, lending the character an air of authority and mystique. Unlike the more eccentric roles Combs often plays, Mordrid is a stoic, noble figure, which allows Combs to showcase his versatility as an actor. While the script does not give him much depth to explore, his presence alone makes the character engaging. He’s got a great mystical lair, complete with floating orbs and a glowing amulet, and he rocks a flowing blue robe like he was born to command the astral plane. 

 

“Do you come here often?”

Every good sorcerer needs a great villain, and Brian Thompson’s Kabal is… well, he’s a villain. With his chiselled jaw, menacing stare, and a voice that sounds like he gargles with gravel, Thompson was clearly having a blast playing the bad guy. And what is Kabal’s plan? Open some sort of inter-dimensional portal, unleash destruction upon the world, and wear lots of black leather while doing it. He’s basically the goth cousin of every ‘80s action movie villain, and it’s glorious. He provides a serviceable foil to Mordrid, with his imposing stature and gravelly voice, he looks the part of a formidable villain. However, his performance is more theatrical than menacing, and the character lacks the depth needed to be truly memorable. Despite this, the dynamic between Combs and Thompson provides enough tension to drive the film forward.

 

Evil sorcerer or cyborg from the future?

As for the film’s special effects, all the good intentions in the world can’t help if the money isn’t there, and in the case of Doctor Mordrid, you can feel the budget constraints everywhere. As with most Full Moon Entertainment productions, this film operated on a very limited budget, which is both its greatest fault and a source of its charm. The highlight is the aforementioned stop-motion dinosaur skeleton battle, animated by David Allen, whose work recalls the classic effects of Ray Harryhausen. This sequence stands out as an impressive feat given the film’s modest resources. Unfortunately, the rest of the magic is your standard B-movie fare: glowing eyes, hand gestures, and occasional energy blasts that look like they were drawn on the film with a crayon. The mystical elements, which should be awe-inspiring, often come across as flat and uninspired.

 

“Help me, I’m trapped in a 90s screensaver!”

The key limiting factor of Doctor Mordrid is Albert Band’s direction, as it is functional at best. The pacing drags interminably at times as the film clocks in at just over 70 minutes, yet somehow still feels slow. The plot is formulaic, and the dialogue is packed with heavy-handed exposition. There’s no real tension—every scene unfolds exactly as expected, with minimal surprises. The film’s world-building is also disappointingly thin. Mordrid has supposedly been watching over humanity for centuries, but we get little sense of his history or the stakes of his battle. Everything about the conflict feels small, which is a problem when the story is supposed to be about the Fate of the World.

 

“Says here, we’re not getting a sequel.”

Ultimately, Doctor Mordrid is more a missed opportunity than anything else. Had Full Moon been able to make this Doctor Strange adaptation, as they originally planned, it still would have been goofy and cheap. Still, what we did get is a mildly amusing curiosity for B-movie fans and Jeffrey Combs completists. What I’m saying is, don’t expect anything too epic—it’s more Sorcerer’s Apprentice than Sorcerer Supreme. For fans of Full Moon Entertainment, it represents one of the studio’s more ambitious efforts, and for Jeffrey Combs fans, it offers another memorable performance from a true genre icon.