The Curse of the Werewolf (1961) – Review

With this entry, Hammer Films sinks its claws into the werewolf mythos with Gothic flair, delivering a moody, atmospheric take on lycanthropy, and with the great Oliver Reed as the title creature, this had all the earmarks of being a horror classic. What could possibly go wrong?

Set in 18th-century Spain, The Curse of the Werewolf begins with the tragic tale of a beggar (Richard Wordsworth) who is imprisoned and brutally mistreated after offending a cruel nobleman (Anthony Dawson). Years later, the beggar’s fate intertwines with that of a mute servant girl (Yvonne Romain) who is also subjected to cruelty within the nobleman’s household. The servant eventually escapes but is raped by the beggar before he dies in his cell. The result of this traumatic union is Leon, a child born on Christmas Day—a circumstance that, according to local superstition, curses him with a monstrous destiny.

 

Puberty is a bitch, especially when you’re cursed.

Adopted by a kind couple, Don Alfredo Corledo (Clifford Evans) and his servant Teresa (Hira Talfrey), Leon grows up in a loving home but begins to show signs of a horrifying affliction. As he reaches adulthood, his cursed bloodline reveals itself in violent, uncontrollable episodes that coincide with the full moon. Leon (Oliver Reed) struggles to suppress the beast within, yearning for normalcy and love. He finds hope in the form of Christina Fernando (Catherine Feller), the daughter of a wealthy landowner, whose affection seems to soothe his tortured soul. However, Leon’s attempts to lead a normal life are thwarted as his transformations into a werewolf grow more frequent and deadly. Despite his own anguish and the efforts of those who care for him, Leon’s curse consumes him, leaving a trail of tragedy in its wake.

 

Can beauty soothe this savage beast?

Tormented by his condition and desperate to prevent himself from harming others, Leon seeks help, but his transformation into a werewolf becomes inevitable. As his monstrous side takes hold, the townspeople grow increasingly terrified, leading to a climactic confrontation in which Leon’s tragic fate is sealed. This is a Gothic tale of fate, love, and monstrous duality, one that explores the human struggle against inherited darkness, set against Hammer Studios’ signature backdrop of richly atmospheric horror. Sadly, what it doesn’t have is much in the way of werewolf action and the final confrontation, in the bell tower of a church, seems abrupt and rather anti-climactic.

 

“Has anyone seen a hunchback?”

Stray Observations:

• Joe Dante named one of the characters in The Howling after director Terence Fisher, who helmed this werewolf outing.
• When the baby is taken to the church to be baptized, a storm rolls in and the baptismal font begins to boil. I started to wonder if the kid was supposed to be a werewolf or the anti-Christ.
• This may star Oliver Reed as the titular werewolf, but he doesn’t show up until the 47-minute mark of a film that only runs 93 minutes.
• That we don’t get to see Reed in full werewolf make-up until the film’s last ten minutes will most likely disappoint fans of werewolf movies.
• The interiors of the inn where Leon is staying is the same interior from Dracula’s castle in 1958’s Horror of Dracula. Sadly, we never got a sequel where Oliver Reed fought Dracula.

 

“I could totally take on Frankenstein’s Monster.”

This was Oliver Reed’s first credited screen role, and with his portrayal of Leon, we get a nice brooding intensity, giving a heart-wrenching depiction of a man tortured and now begging to be murdered for the things he’s done. He brings a mix of vulnerability and raw power that elevates the character beyond a typical monster archetype, and his transformation scenes—while not all that impressive — are emotionally charged and showcase his physicality, but it’s Reed’s intensity and charisma that elevates what might otherwise have been a clichéd role. Unfortunately, the rest of the cast is not so compelling, ranging from over-the-top performances to nothing more than walking stereotypes. Except for Catherine Feller as Christina, their romance is both poignant and romantic, adding nicely to the whole cursed aspect and is the last bit of glue that holds this film together.

 

The ultimate in complicated relationships.

As with most Hammer productions, the film excels in creating a rich, Gothic atmosphere, with sets that are drenched in shadows and candlelight, and the use of Spanish architecture and costumes adds an exotic layer to the usual Hammer aesthetic. As for the werewolf itself, the makeup, designed by Roy Ashton, is iconic in its simplicity, emphasizing Leon’s anguish as much as his monstrous nature. The transformation sequences are restrained but effective, relying on clever editing and Reed’s physicality rather than flashy effects. And the attacks themselves mostly happen in shadow, or we just see some furry hands. The gore is also limited; Hammer Films were not known for their restraint when it comes to blood, but this werewolf film has surprisingly little blood.

 

That’s pretty mild for a werewolf attack.

Thematically, The Curse of the Werewolf attempts to explore the tragic consequences of violence and cruelty, as Leon’s curse stems from the circumstances of his illegitimate birth, born of a mute servant raped by a deranged beggar. This origin story is unconventional and ambitious, aiming to weave social commentary into the fabric of the horror genre. However, the film falters under the weight of its own ambition. The opening act, which spends an inordinate amount of time detailing the grim backstory of Leon’s parents, feels overly long and disconnected from the central narrative. By the time the focus shifts to Leon as an adult, much of the film’s momentum has been lost, leaving the middle section to laboriously rebuild tension. Also, it’s not a good idea to have the viewer asking questions like “Am I watching a werewolf film?”

 

Werewolf or not, Oliver Reed was one handsome dude.

In conclusion, The Curse of the Werewolf is an uneven but intriguing entry in Hammer’s filmography. Its evocative atmosphere, Reed’s compelling performance, and the studio’s trademark gothic style make it worth a watch for fans of classic horror. Yet, its sluggish pacing, disjointed narrative, and occasionally problematic themes prevent it from achieving the same heights as Hammer’s best works. And while it may lack the relentless terror of other werewolf films like 1941’s The Wolf Man – lacking much in the of werewolf action – its unique blend of Gothic melodrama and psychological depth ensures it leaves a lasting impression. It’s a must-watch for fans of classic horror and those who appreciate the artistry of Hammer Films.

Twisters (2024) – Review

 Let’s face it: when the original Twister blew into theatres in 1996, we got a very unique disaster movie. It gave us flying cows, exploding tractors, and Bill Paxton’s intense weather-channel eyes. Fast forward nearly 30 years, and 2024’s Twisters spun its way onto the screen with a bigger budget, smarter storms, and a level of drama that makes the original look like a light breeze. The big question: “Does it suck you in or leave you feeling windswept and empty?”

As with the original, this film follows a group of storm chasers – or “Tornado Tamers” as they call themselves – as the hunt down the titular twisters, but in this outing, the central character is Kate (Daisy Edgar-Jones), a reluctant storm chaser trying to move past the trauma of losing some of her teammates to a tornado in her home state of Oklahoma a few years ago. Is it me, or do all scientists in these types of films have a traumatic back story? Wracked with guilt, Kate had quit storm chasing and moved to New York City and now works for NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration), where the chances of encountering bad tornadoes are very slim. Enter Javi (Anthony Ramos), the one other surviving member of her original team, who is now working for mobile tornado radar company Storm Par. He offers Kate a position with his team to test a new tornado scanning system using phased-array radar, and maybe find some love from an old friend. Sadly, while the first movie had many people ending up in the “Suck Zone,” poor Javi finds himself trapped in the “Friend Zone.” Of course, we’ll learn that Javi’s motivations are not entirely altruistic.

“Tell me, are you in it for the money?”

Kate initially declines Javi’s offer, but when she sees a news report of a town being destroyed by a tornado, she decides to get back in the saddle and maybe save some lives. Now, we may question the odds of a “Once in a Generation” tornado season, but when you have movie gods on your side, this kind of stuff happens all the time.  So, with her passion turned back on, Kate is off and running back to Oklahoma to see if she can finally make a difference. Soon upon arrival, she has an encounter with popular YouTube storm chaser Tyler Owens (Glen Powell), known as the “Tornado Wrangler,” and despite these two having an insane amount of chemistry and an F5 worth of sexual tension, they somehow manage to avoid having sex during this film’s entire running time. Instead of doing the “Devil’s Tango,” they will buckle down and strap in and figure out how to make her old science project work and save the day.

Atmospheric and sexual tension are at an all-time high.

Stray Observations:

• The original film featured eight tornadoes, while this sequel has ten, which raises the question, “Does having two more tornadoes justify the pluralization of the sequel’s title?”
• In this movie, tornadoes keep popping up and catching crowds unaware, which is all kinds of bullshit, as Oklahoma TV stations have teams of trained spotters deployed, a helicopter for each station, and multiple forms of advanced radar to track storms. But a hero has to hero.
• In the original film, the rival storm chasers drove black vans because they were “In it for the money,” while Javi and his team are in white trucks, but they are also in it for the money. I’m confused.
• Despite the tornadoes tossing cows, barns, and entire houses, the team’s trucks always comes out suspiciously unscathed, with just a few scratches; they are basically the Chuck Norris of vehicles.
• Benthic Petroleum, the fictional oil company that owns the deep-sea oil rig in The Abyss, owns the oil refinery that explodes and creates a fire tornado in this flick.
• Tyler explains the formation of tornadoes as “It’s part science … and part religion.” Sorry, dude, it’s all science.
• Our heroes are constantly spouting advice to the locals as to where to go and what to do when a tornado is approaching, as if every person in Oklahoma wouldn’t already know this.

They are experts at pointing out the blatantly obvious.

One of the most challenging aspects of creating a sequel to an iconic film is balancing nostalgia with innovation. Twisters manages this by including subtle nods to the original film while introducing a fresh story. The inclusion of cameos from the original cast members, though brief, pays homage to the first movie and honours its legacy, particularly through heartfelt references to Bill Paxton’s character. These moments ground the film in its roots, offering fans a sense of continuity. However, this sequel deviates from the intimate storytelling of the original, favouring a broader narrative with higher stakes. While the original film focused on a small team of storm chasers and their personal connections, the sequel expands the scope, featuring a new generation of storm chasers tackling increasingly catastrophic storms. This shift in focus reflects the growing concerns about climate change and its role in producing more severe weather phenomena. While these themes add a layer of relevance, they sometimes feel underexplored amidst the action-packed sequences.

Is climate change responsible for Firenados?

As for the film’s lovely tornadoes? On that, it definitely delivers. The tornadoes in this movie are practically characters themselves, complete with personalities. One storm chases the crew like a petty ex. Another just shows up, levels a city, and peaces out like a diva who doesn’t need an encore. The special effects are dazzling, with debris that practically flies out of the screen and hailstones that look like they could take out a small car—or Glen Powell’s ego. These CGI tornadoes are a jaw-dropping spectacle, from a double-twister showdown to a climactic storm that practically feels alive. The sound design deserves its own standing ovation; you’ll swear you’re in the eye of the storm.

The awesome power of Mother Nature.

That the tornadoes were going to look cool was a given – visual effects have made great strides over the past three decades – but what about this film’s tornado chasers? Daisy Edgar-Jones anchors the film with a heartfelt performance, balancing vulnerability and grit. Her backstory as a meteorologist haunted by past failures provides a strong foundation, but her arc often takes a backseat to the relentless action. Glen Powell is equally charismatic, though his character feels like he stepped out of an action movie rather than a disaster film; his charm and humour bring moments of levity, but his character is confined to a familiar archetype of the roguish yet dependable partner.

“Han Solo ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

As for Twisters’ supporting cast, this ensemble features a diverse array of storm chasers, yet many of them are relegated to one-dimensional roles. The original Twister succeeded in making even minor characters memorable, but this sequel struggles to give them meaningful contributions to the story. This lack of character depth detracts from the film’s emotional impact, leaving us less invested in the stakes. They provide comic relief and occasional gravitas, with standout moments from a British reporter who looks like he wandered in from a sitcom, and some characters exist solely as tornado fodder, their fates telegraphed from their first lines of dialogue.

Note: The movie depicts a serene “eye” in the middle of the tornado where the characters can have a heartfelt conversation. Tornadoes don’t have calm centres like hurricanes; inside a tornado, it’s chaotic, with constant debris and violent winds.

While the film’s inaccuracies are glaring if you know a thing or two about storms, they don’t take away from the movie’s sheer fun factor. It’s less of a meteorological lesson and more of a tornado-themed thrill ride. Unfortunately, aside from the dodgy science, the screenplay gets bogged down in cliché-heavy dialogue and forced romantic subplots that feel unnecessary in the face of nature’s chaos. Moreover, while the action sequences are thrilling, they sometimes overshadow the story’s emotional core. Where the original Twister balanced scientific intrigue with personal stakes, Twisters often feels like it’s chasing spectacle for spectacle’s sake.

To be fair, it is a pretty amazing spectacle.

In the end, Twisters’ director Lee Isaac Chung wasn’t trying to reinvent the disaster movie genre, but he didn’t need to. It’s a popcorn flick through and through, packed with edge-of-your-seat thrills, stunning visuals, and just enough heart to keep you invested. While the emotional beats and character development feel underbaked, the sheer scale of the tornado action more than makes up for it. And honestly, that’s what we all came to see.

Small Soldiers (1998) – Review

 

Joe Dante’s Small Soldiers occupies a unique spot in his filmography. Known for blending satire with entertainment, Dante takes some bold swings here—sometimes wobbly, but always ambitious. While it may not enjoy the same spotlight as his more iconic films, Small Soldiers remains a fascinating and underrated gem that showcases his signature style in unexpected ways.

Let’s start with the most important fact: Small Soldiers is one of Joe Dante’s most underappreciated gems. Coming off cult classics like Gremlins and The ‘Burbs, Dante once again dances on the tightrope between family-friendly mayhem and gleeful satire. But here’s where things got complicated. He was originally told to make a darker, edgier film aimed squarely at teens. You know — R-rated sensibility with PG-13 restraint. But then the marketing department kicked down the door like the Commando Elite and said, “Actually, we’ve got a lot of merchandising deals lined up, so… maybe make it more of a kiddie flick?”

“Violent, but kid-friendly? Sure, why not?”

And that’s the tension you feel throughout Small Soldiers. It’s not quite a kids’ movie, not quite an adult satire, but somehow the push-and-pull between those identities gives the film its unique, almost chaotic tone. This is a movie where toys blow up a gas station, disfigure Barbies into war brides, and tie up Kirsten Dunst’s character while blasting Led Zeppelin. And yet… It’s rated PG-13 and sold alongside a Burger King kids’ meal. The result? A Frankensteined tone — stitched together with commercial compromises and artistic rebellion — that perfectly reflects its story about rogue A.I. and over-militarized culture.

Skynet Toy Edition.

But what is Small Soldiers about? The story kicks off when a shady defence contractor acquires a toy company, and the suits decide the best way to revolutionize the action figure market is to slap experimental military microchips into plastic soldiers. Enter the Commando Elite, a squad of toy-sized warmongers led by the unhinged Chip Hazard (Tommy Lee Jones), who takes his mission to eliminate the enemy — in this case, a peaceful tribe of alien-looking misfits called the Gorgonites — very seriously. Programmed to adapt, improvise, and destroy, the Commandos promptly escape their boxes and begin treating the suburbs like a battlefield.

“If I win, I can’t be stopped!”

Caught in the chaos is Alan Abernathy (Gregory Smith), a teenage screw-up trying to help out at his dad’s failing toy store while also dodging his own disciplinary history. He persuades delivery driver Joe (Dick Miller) to give him a set of the new GloboTech toys so that his father’s “Family Friendly” toy store may turn a profit for once, thus he unwittingly unleashes toy combat upon the world. He takes action-figure Archer (Frank Langella), the noble and introspective leader of the Gorgonites, back to his house, and it is there that he discovers these aren’t just ordinary toys. The Gorgonites, who’d rather hide and learn than fight, include the one-eyed Insaniac (Michael McKean), the boulder-like Punch-It (Harry Shearer), the slow-witted but kind Slamfist (Christopher Guest), and the chameleon-like Scratch-It (also Christopher Guest) — quickly prove to be the real underdogs of the story.

Alan had to “Dumpster Dive” to get this lot.

Opposing them are the rest of the Commando Elite, each voiced by Hollywood veterans: Brick Bazooka (George Kennedy), Butch Meathook (Clint Walker), Link Static (Jim Brown), Kip Killigan (Ernest Borgnine), and Nick Nitro (Bruce Dern). These guys aren’t just toys — they’re war-movie clichés brought to disturbing life. Meanwhile, across the street, Christy Fimple (Kirsten Dunst) and her little brother (Jacob Smith) get roped into the madness when her fashion doll collection — the disturbingly perky Gwendy dolls (Sarah Michelle Gellar and Christina Ricci) — are hijacked and transformed by the Commando Elite into manic plastic go-go commandos.

“I’d castrate Ken if he had any balls to begin with.”

Her dad, Phil Fimple (Phil Hartman), plays the oblivious suburbanite glued to his surround sound system, while her mom, Marion (Wendy Schaal), gets her own brush with the miniature war zone. Alan’s own parents, Stuart (Kevin Dunn) and Irene (Ann Magnuson), are also dragged into the mayhem, especially when their kitchen appliances and garden tools get weaponized. And let’s not forget the corporate stooges who started it all — Irwin Wayfair (David Cross), a neurotic, well-meaning engineer, and Larry Benson (Jay Mohr), a sleazy opportunist who had greenlit the use of Defence Department hardware in toys to meet a release deadline. To wrap things up, after a brutal battle and an EMP burst fries the Commando Elite, company CEO Gill Mars (Denis Leary) swoops in, a man who combines Steve Jobs’ salesmanship with a warlord’s ethics, and pays everyone off to forget the whole thing.

“Who can afford ethics in today’s market?”

Stray Observation:

• Irwin tells Larry that he was given the computer password “Gizmo”, a reference to Joe Dante’s 1984 classic Gremlins. Also, Alan’s computer is called “Piranha,” a reference to Dante’s Jaws rip-off Piranha. 
• Chip Hazard addresses his troops and appears in front of the large American flag, a nod to the opening of Patton (1970).
• Four of the Commando Elite had been in 1967’s The Dirty Dozen: Ernest Borgnine, Jim Brown, Clint Walker and George Kennedy.
• The old horror movie that the Gorgonites come across on the television, after accidentally switching channels from wrestling, is The Crawling Eye (1958).
• The music being played during the scene where they turn the “Gwendy” dolls into soldiers is the theme music from The Bride of Frankenstein (1935).
• Stan Winston’s team helped Hasbro create the tie-in toy line, and in a strange twist of fate, sales for the SMALL SOLDIERS toys outperformed the movie.

 

Who wouldn’t want these guys?

At its core, Small Soldiers is a scathing critique of the militarization of youth, the blind glorification of violence, and the dangerous intersection between entertainment and tech. This isn’t just about toys — it’s about corporations pushing warlike ideologies onto children under the guise of fun. Let’s not forget: the Commando Elite are literally brought to life by “X1000” military microchips repurposed for consumer toys. Denis Leary, in Full Sleaze Mode, even brags, “We can make missiles that can hunt down one unlucky bastard 7,000 miles away and stick a nuclear warhead right up his ass. I don’t think we’re gonna have a problem with this.” Sound familiar in the era of real-world A.I. experiments? With today’s rapidly developing neural networks and generative models, Small Soldiers feels less like a 1998 popcorn flick and more like a prophetic warning wrapped in a Nerf gun

Note: Swap “military chip” for “machine learning model,” and suddenly the idea of toys learning on the fly, improvising tactics, and acting according to mission parameters sounds a lot like your latest Boston Dynamics demo — only with worse customer support.

The effects in Small Soldiers are a glorious hybrid of Stan Winston’s animatronics and then-cutting-edge CGI, with about one-third of the visuals done with puppetry and the rest digitally by the guys at ILM. The result holds up remarkably well today. There’s a tangible weight to the characters, whether they’re jumping off countertops or hijacking a JVC boom box for psychological warfare. The fact that you feel the plastic-on-wood impact when toys throw hands makes the action oddly visceral. It’s like watching a toy version of Die Hard, directed by someone who knows both satire and squib placements.

We even get a little Road Warrior action.

Can we talk about those Frankensteined Barbie dolls — sorry, “Gwendy” dolls? Holy uncanny valley, Batman. In one of the film’s darkest and most gleefully deranged sequences, the Commando Elite bring the dolls to life using household tools, wires, and sheer toy rage. The result is pink-haired, sadistic plastic nightmares that look like something out of Bride of Chucky’s Pinterest board. That’s the moment the movie stops pretending it’s just “for kids.” That’s the Dante touch — the horror just beneath the plastic smile.

As a kid, Joe Dante must have been like Sid from Toy Story.

It’s worth noting that just before release, a lot of the action was toned down. Explosions were trimmed, jokes softened, and what was meant to be a scathing teen-oriented satire was neutered in post-production to make it palatable for the same kids who collected Burger King tie-in toys. It’s a miracle the movie’s edge wasn’t completely dulled. And yet, the genius of Small Soldiers is that you can still feel the original cut underneath. You can see Dante poking holes in the marketing sheen. You can hear the political teeth just beneath the humour. And you can absolutely enjoy the hell out of it as a smart, fast-paced, wonderfully weird action movie about warlike toys trashing a sleepy suburb.

“War does not determine who is right – only who is left.”

In conclusion, Small Soldiers is Gremlins with microchips, RoboCop for the PlayStation generation, and a cautionary tale for a world racing headlong into sentient technology. It’s funny, dark, loaded with clever cameos, and still boasts some of the best hybrid effects of its era. While it never got the credit it deserved (thanks, marketing department), it remains a Joe Dante classic for those who love their satire dipped in plastic and dressed in camo. “Chip Hazard out.”

Night of the Demon (1957) – Review

If you want a long and healthy life, it’s best not to announce that you are going to publicly expose a Satanic Cult. That’s just common sense. Needless to say, this is exactly what Dana Andrews attempts to do in Jacques Tourneur’s classic British Horror film Night of the Demon, and things go about as expected.

Released in 1957 in the United States as Curse of the Demon, this film is a masterclass in psychological horror, blending suspense, atmospheric storytelling, and a dash of supernatural terror. Based on M.R. James’ story “Casting the Runes”, this 1957 gem takes a decidedly intellectual approach to its tale of witchcraft and curses while still delivering moments of spine-tingling dread. In Night of the Demon, skepticism collides with the supernatural in a chilling tale of curses, cults, and demonic terror. The story begins with Professor Henry Harrington (Maurice Denham), who had been investigating the activities of Julian Karswell (Niall MacGinnis), a charismatic and sinister occultist. Harrington, desperate to escape a curse he believes Karswell placed on him, pleads with the cult leader for mercy. Karswell coldly denies his request, and shortly afterwards, Harrington dies in a violent and inexplicable accident when a demonic entity pursues him in the woods. His death raises questions about the occult’s true power and the extent of Karswell’s influence.

 

Does this look like self-induced hysteria?

Enter Dr. John Holden (Dana Andrews), a rational American psychologist visiting England to attend a conference where he plans to expose Karswell as a fraud. Holden confronts Karswell, who chillingly informs him that he has been cursed to die within three days. Karswell secretly passes Holden a parchment marked with runes, a key component of the curse. Though initially dismissing the warning as nonsense, Holden begins to experience eerie and unexplainable phenomena, including a creeping sense of dread and the parchment’s strange ability to return after being discarded.

 

“Beware, skepticism can kill you.”

As more strange and terrifying events begin to unfold, shaking Holden’s confidence in his scientific worldview, he remains adamant in his disbelief of the supernatural, even when Harrington’s niece, Joanna Harrington (Peggy Cummins), warns him of Karswell’s dangerous powers. The two of them investigate Karswell’s cult and uncover evidence of his ability to summon dark forces, and as the deadline for the curse approaches, Holden realizes the only way to survive is to pass the cursed parchment back to Karswell without his knowledge. With the deadline approaching and the weirdness going up a level or two, Holden becomes increasingly anxious, and the line between his skepticism and belief begins to blur.

 

To be fair, the demon is also a little blurry.

Stray Observations:

• Joanna Harrington’s license plate includes the number “666, ” the traditional “number of the Beast.” Some people obviously don’t believe in subtlety.
• Although based on the story “Casting of the Runes” by M.R. James, the film doesn’t bear much resemblance to its source material – playing Hot Potato with a cursed calling card is about the only real connection the plot of the film has to the book.
• This film has a jump scare involving a black cat, because what’s a good horror flick without that classic trope?
• For some reason, the stones at Stonehenge are depicted with runes carved into them. Alas, they do not have any runes on them.

 

Could this be demonic graffiti?

Jacques Tourneur, renowned for his work on atmospheric horror films like Cat People and I Walked with a Zombie, brings a subtle yet chilling touch to Night of the Demon. The film thrives on mood and tension, with Tourneur relying on shadowy cinematography, eerie soundscapes, and meticulous pacing to create a sense of dread. The nighttime sequences in particular, often shrouded in fog and illuminated by flickering light, evoke an almost otherworldly menace. Tourneur’s masterful use of suggestion heightens the suspense, drawing viewers into the protagonist’s growing paranoia. The ominous runic parchment that seals the curse becomes a potent symbol of the inescapable power of belief. Similarly, the sequences involving the demon’s approach—marked by rustling leaves, glowing eyes, and guttural growls—demonstrate the film’s ability to terrify without relying on overt gore or jump scares.

 

Scary, iconic or both?

The film’s centrepiece is its titular demon, a controversial addition insisted upon by the producers against Tourneur’s wishes. While the monster’s reveal undermines some of the film’s subtlety, its design is undeniably creepy and iconic in its own right. However, the question of whether the demon is real or a figment of psychological manipulation is handled with enough ambiguity to keep us guessing. This leads to one of the most intriguing aspects of Curse of the Demon is its exploration of belief versus skepticism. The film teases the audience with just enough evidence to make the supernatural plausible while keeping Holden—and by extension, the viewer—teetering on the edge of disbelief. We even get a pitstop at a séance to check off another horror trope.

 

“Can we contact Captain Howdy?”

The film’s success is bolstered by strong performances, particularly from Niall MacGinnis as Julian Karswell. MacGinnis imbues the character with a disarming charm and understated menace, making him one of the most compelling antagonists in horror history. His portrayal blurs the line between charismatic showman and ruthless occultist, leaving audiences both fascinated and unnerved. If there’s a flaw, it’s Dana Andrews’ somewhat stiff performance as Holden. While he embodies the rationalist archetype effectively, his lack of emotional range occasionally feels at odds with the intensity of the story. Nonetheless, Peggy Cummins, as Joanna Harrington, provides emotional depth and acts as a bridge between the rational and the supernatural, grounding the film’s more fantastical elements in human vulnerability.

 

Personally, I’d believe anything Peggy Cummins told me.

In conclusion, Curse of the Demon is a timeless tale of fear, rationality, and the unknown. With its meticulous pacing and a palpable atmosphere of dread, it remains a cornerstone of 1950s horror. Its emphasis on atmosphere and psychological terror paved the way for subsequent horror classics, from Rosemary’s Baby to The Exorcist. Whether you’re drawn to its themes of skepticism or just enjoy a good supernatural scare, this film is a must-see for fans of classic horror. Also, take my advice: “Never attempt to investigate a Satanic cult.”

Not of This Earth (1957) – Review

Roger Corman, the king of “How much movie can I squeeze out of pocket change?” delivers again with Not of This Earth, a sci-fi flick that’s equal parts bizarre, hilarious, and surprisingly captivating. This 1957 gem feels like it was concocted after someone handed Corman $5 and dared him to make a movie about alien vampires. Spoiler alert: he nailed it.

The film kicks off when a mysterious man in a sharp suit and sunglasses, day or night, he never takes them off, walks into a doctor’s office and demands a blood transfusion. But this isn’t just a case of low iron. Turns out, this pale, unblinking fellow is Mr. Johnson (Paul Birch), an alien envoy from the planet Davanna. His species is suffering from a catastrophic blood disease, and Earth’s plasma is looking mighty compatible. With the fate of his race on the line, Mr. Johnson is on a mission to harvest humanity’s hemoglobin, and nothing will stand in his way. Johnson rents a mansion and hires a nurse, Nadine (Beverly Garland), to assist with his transfusions. He also uses his alien powers, like death-ray vision and mind control, to keep people in line. Naturally, his overly formal demeanour and vampiric tendencies make everyone suspicious, but this is 1950s sci-fi, so people take a while to connect the dots.

 

“Could you see about getting me blood supplied in bulk?”

Nadine, however, starts piecing things together, especially after her boss starts “disposing” of nosy deliverymen and unlucky passersby. With the help of Johnson’s bodyguard/manservant Jeremy Perrin (Johnathan Haze), who, while a cheap crook, draws the line at intergalactic murder. With bodies piling up and her old boss, town physician Dr. Rochelle (William Roerick), under Johnson’s hypnotic control, things start to get a little tense. Eventually, it comes down to a lot of running around and the timely intervention of Nadine’s hunky boyfriend/motorcycle cop Harry Sherbourne (Morgan Jones), but can they stop him before he calls for reinforcements and turns Earth into a cosmic blood bank?

 

I wonder if he has to call collect on that thing.

Stray Observations:

• Mr. Johnson’s sunglasses aren’t just a fashion statement; they’re clearly his planet’s way of saying, “We’ve never seen Earthlings, but they must LOVE weird aviators.”
• The alien’s briefcase is supposed to hold advanced technology, but it looks like it’s hiding someone’s lunch. Maybe he’s storing alien PB&Js in there?
• Mr. Johnson pays for his blood transfusions in cash—proof that even intergalactic vampires know Earth healthcare won’t take alien insurance.
• At one point, Mr. Johnson sits down to read a newspaper. Why? Is he catching up on Earth politics? Looking for the sports scores? Browsing the classifieds for “extra blood donors”?
• Beverly Garland had alien problems a year earlier in Roger Corman’s It Conquered the World. She just can’t catch a break when it comes to close encounters of the third kind.
• Dick Miller, everyone’s favourite Corman stock player, has a memorable turn as a vacuum cleaner salesman.

 

“This device can even suck the spilled blood from shag carpeting.”

With Not of This Earth, Roger Corman, the undisputed king of “do more with less,” gives us all the alien invasion tropes on a dime-store budget. Want flying saucers? Sorry, not in the budget. How about alien technology? Prepare for sunglasses with extra flair and a mysterious metallic briefcase that screams, “We’ll explain later.” Clocking in at a brisk 67 minutes, it packs its modest runtime with alien invaders, mysterious deaths, and tons of melodramatic tension, proving that you don’t need much money to leave an impression—just a good pair of sunglasses and a lot of fog machines. Corman’s knack for stretching a dollar is evident. The film boasts eerie, otherworldly vibes thanks to the clever use of minimalist sets, stark lighting, and a haunting theremin-laden score.

 

As for the aliens, they are less than haunting.

Paul Birch, as the alien invader, delivers a performance that’s somehow both wooden and menacing. He’s like a dapper Dracula from outer space, shuffling around with a steely gaze and an obsession with bodily fluids. You never know whether he’s going to sip your blood or ask you for a loan. Then we have Beverly Garland, who shines as Nadine, the nurse who somehow doesn’t question why her boss keeps dodging sunlight and asking for “unusual” medical treatments. Garland brings depth and intelligence to a role that could have easily been relegated to “screaming damsel.” Her character’s skepticism and bravery make her a standout among other sci-fi heroines of the era. And you can’t help but admire actors who can pull off lines like “If I do not receive blood within four chronoctons of time, I will have no need of emotion.”

 

“He’s got Bette Davis eyes.”

As for the special effects? Forget CGI, the special effects here are pure 1950s B-movie fare: glowing eyes, ominous sound effects, and a menacing flying umbrella that’s supposed to be an alien weapon. It’s laughable by today’s standards, but there’s a charm in the handmade, “we’ll-make-it-work” aesthetic. Corman’s use of shadowy cinematography and minimalist sets compensates for the lack of budget, creating a moody atmosphere that gives the film an eerie quality despite its silliness. It’s simultaneously ridiculous and a little terrifying—a perfect encapsulation of Corman’s ability to balance schlock with genuine creepiness.

 

“When umbrellas attack!”

In conclusion, if Ed Wood had been given half-decent lighting and a script that made sense, he might’ve come up with something like this. Not of This Earth is unapologetically absurd, but it’s also brimming with Corman’s trademark energy and “let’s put on a show” creativity. It’s campy, quirky, and full of old-school sci-fi charm. Plus, how can you not love a movie where sunglasses are the ultimate alien disguise? This is the kind of movie you throw on when you want to laugh at something trying so hard to be serious that it loops back around to comedy gold. It’s a glorious mess, a time capsule of 1950s sci-fi nonsense, and an absolute riot and strangely satisfying—a classic Corman concoction that proves you don’t need millions of dollars to make a fun, memorable movie.