Cannon Fodder: The Roundtable :: Trailer Park :: Charles Bronson Forgets What's Legal and Does What's Right for The Go-Go Boys in J. Lee Thompson's 10 to Midnight (1983)

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"When anybody does something like this, 

his knife has gotta be his penis." 

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When Lt. Leo Kessler (Bronson) identifies and arrests a ruthless psychopath, responsible for the brutal switchblade slayings of several women, thanks to some legal red tape, this serial killer goes free. And when his next target strikes a little too close to home, the clock is soon ticking and time is running out for our hero, who must now take the law into his own hands...

Video courtesy of MOVIECLIPS Classic Trailers.  

"If you make an American film with a beginning, a middle and an end, with a budget of less than five million dollars," said the late movie mogul, Menahem Golan, "You must be an idiot to lose money." Born Menahem Globus, the Israeli native's first exposure to filmmaking was working as an assistant for Roger Corman while he made The Young Racers (1963). After learning all he could from the low-budget shlockmeister, Golan teamed up with his cousin, Yoram Globus, and formed Noah Productions in 1964 and never looked back. And when Dennis Friedland and Chris Dewey's financially strapped Cannon Films came on the market in 1979, and Golan and Globus, affectionately known as The Go-Go Boys, bought them out and took over, the 1980s, cinematically speaking, had no clue what was about to hit them. 

For, even though several films they had produced, dating back to their Noah days, had garnered them several Academy Award nominations for Best Foreign Film, and things like Cassavette's Love Streams (1984) and Konchalovsky's Runaway Train (1985) germinated under Cannon's banner, what really buttered the Go-Go Boys bread were their exploitative A-Budgeted B-Pictures, which helped fill the gaping void left when American International went tits up and Corman's own New World Pictures, which had thrived so brilliantly in the 1970s, dried up as the market for this kind of picture shifted from the disappearing grind-houses and drive-ins to the multiplexes and home video. Basically, for every Barfly (1987), there was an Alien from L.A. (1988), Gor (1987) and The Happy Hooker Goes to Hollywood (1980); and for every Hanoi Hilton or Street Smart (both 1987) there was a Detective School Drop Outs (1986), Firewalker (1986), Ninja Hunt (1986), Schizoid (1980), or Bloodsport (1988). 

Developing a formula that soon found them producing and distributing nearly 30 movies a year, Cannon Films had the knack for cashing in on current fads both in film and popular culture, resulting in a catch-all catalog of urban and oddball musicals (The Apple, Breakin' and Breakin' 2), sword and sorcery (The Barbarians, Lou Ferrigno's Hercules movies), raunchy comedies (Making the Grade, The Last American Virgin), soft-core sleaze (Bolero, The Wicked Lady), martial arts (Enter the Ninja, Revenge of the Ninja), serial slashers (New Year's Evil, X-Ray), sci-fi misfires (Masters of the Universe, Lifeforce) and franchising out with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986) and Death Wish II (1982), which brought Charles Bronson into their stable for three more sequels and a whole lot more. 

If Cannon Films had three crown jewels in their film empire, Bronson would be one of them, Chuck Norris the second (Delta Force, Invasion U.S.A., and the Missing in Action series), and Sylvester Stallone would be the third (Over the Top, Cobra). Maybe four jewels if you wanna count The Dudikoff (Avenging Force, Platoon Leader). And who wouldn't? 

Anyhoo, as I said, Bronson's first reprisal of vigilante Paul Kersey marked the beginning of his collaboration with Cannon Films. Seems Golan was so pleased with the box-office of Death Wish II and the draw of its star he immediately sent out feelers to producer Pancho Kohner and Bronson, offering to help finance or distribute whatever they wanted to do next. Kohner and Bronson had been working together since St. Ives (1976) and they had been trying to secure the rights to author R. Lance Hill's The Evil that Men Do for several years and pitched that to Golan. However, Hill asked for too much money and Golan withdrew the offer. But while one hand pulled away, another was extended. He still wanted to make a movie with Bronson, just not THAT one. 

What followed next was a somewhat dubiously comical sleight-of-hand at the Cannes Film Festival, where Kohner pulled a potential title, 10 to Midnight, completely out of his ass, and then he and Golan, with just a mere notion of a film, started belching out buzzwords to impress potential buyers until the right combination of 'action', 'danger', "breasts', 'revenge' and 'Bronson' sealed the deal. Now all they needed was a script -- any script, and they found one lying around back in Los Angeles called Bloody Sunday, penned by William Roberts, and just scratched off the title and scrawled 10 to Midnight over the smudges. Roberts had penned The Magnificent 7 (1960) but had recently fallen flat on his face with The Legend of the Lone Ranger (1981). He'd also worked with Bronson before, writing the deliriously wonderful Sushi-Western, Red Sun (1971), which co-starred Toshiro Mifune. To direct, Golan brought in another frequent Bronson collaborator, J. Lee Thompson, who had helmed the equally delirious JAWS knock-off, The White Buffalo (1977), and would go on to fire off most of Bronson's Cannon output.

Aside from his close association with Bronson, Thompson was probably best known for The Guns of Navarone (1961), Cape Fear (1962), and for polishing off The Planet of the Apes franchise with Conquest of (1972) and Battle for the Planet of the Apes (1973). (Thompson had been slated to direct the original POTA but scheduling conflicts with Mackenna's Gold scuttled this.) Before making 10 to Midnight, Thompson had just finished filming the Stalk 'n' Slash staple Happy Birthday to Me (-- where legend has it his producers had to rein him in when their director went a little gore-happy during the signature kills). And while I was keenly aware of the Slasher Movie overtones in the similar Chuck Norris vehicle, Silent Rage (1982), where our hero basically takes on Michael Myers and battles him to a draw, it wasn't until this most recent viewing where I finally realized how much of a genre mash-up 10 to Midnight was. Even more so than Silent Rage, really.

Yeah. On the surface, 10 to Midnight is a Bronson revenge piece, but Thompson and cinematographer, Adam Greenberg (who had been with Go-Go Boys since the Lemon Popsicle days and would shoot The Terminator next for James Cameron), shot and cut the film like a horror movie to great effect. Mind you, this 'great effect' was unabashedly and extremely sleazy, as the film is highly misogynistic, jammed packed with equal-opportunity nudity, with helpless, cowering women (either sluts or pure innocents) begging for their lives before being carved up like flank steak by our knife-wielding psycho.

Speaking of which, though he appears to be just an off the rack, Poor Man's Jan Michael-Vincent, Gene Davis is actually quite good as our mentally disturbed serial killer, Warren Stacy. Inspired by real life monsters Ted Bundy and Richard Speck (the character even drives a VW Bug), the decision to have Stacy commit his atrocities in the buff was most probably done to add another layer of sleaze to the proceedings as the audience becomes intimately familiar with every square inch of Davis' posterior; but, if you think about it, in the days before DNA testing, the move is actually pretty savvy, forensically speaking, leaving no blood spatter or trace elements to link him to the crime -- unless, say, somebody planted some. Say, hypothetically, some veteran, world weary cop who believes the law no longer serves to protect the public but to provide loopholes for people like Stacy and their skeevy lawyers to exploit. And, say, he steals some of the victim's blood from the lab, breaks into Stacy's apartment, and smears it on some of his clothes. 

"You go in that courtroom and forget what's legal and do what's right," says Kessler, who kinda reminded me of Lucas Davenport, the lead character in author John Sanford's Rules of Prey and its sequels; Davenport is also veteran cop, who was willing to bend the rules and plant evidence on the obviously guilty party to get them off the streets before they kill anybody else. (To be fair, both in the movie and the novels, the omnipresent audience/reader is keenly aware of the undeniable guilt of the perpetrator. In real life, things are never quite that concretely simple.) Thankfully, Bronson hadn't quite gotten around to mailing in this kind of role yet. And he brings a touch of humanity and cynical levity to the role, especially when he gets to spout out Freudian twaddle on the perverted modus operandi of the killer or wave Stacy's Ronco Pocket Vagina under his nose, hoping to rile him into a slip up during an interrogation.  

Saddled to this old warhorse, new partner Paul McAnn (Stevens) is smeared with a liberal brush (-- his father is a sociology professor at Berkeley, for cripesake), who is only there to, one, be completely spineless to help justify Kessler's tactics, and two, provide a love interest for Kessler's daughter, Laurie (Eilbacher). One of the genuine pleasures of the movie is the battered and weathered but still standing relationship between the Kesslers. (The scene in the hospital cafeteria with the quiche/pie conundrum is a hoot.) Luckily for Laurie she wasn't our hero's love interest because their life expectancy in a Bronson movie is even shorter than a Federation away team. Daughter or lover, in the end, it really doesn't matter because the main reason she's even here is to give the killer something personal to focus on and amp up the tension for the climax. 

See, thanks to the efforts of Stacy's lawyer (a wonderful glorified cameo by Geoffrey Lewis), who bluffs and bullies McAnn into investigating his client's claim of a frame-up, the blood evidence is tossed, the charges against Stacy are dismissed, and Kessler resigns in disgrace. It is interesting that even though McAnn discovered the truth and confronts Kessler, we never know for sure if he would've perjured himself to protect his partner. Judging by the script, odds are he would have, but before he can or is forced to, Kessler falls on his own sword and fesses up to the DA and the judge. But in true B-Movie fashion, this turn of events backfires on our villain. Because now, freed from things like due process and jurisprudence, Kessler is now in full vigilante mode, turning the tables on Stacy as he, in effect, stalks him just as he had stalked his victims. 

Tragically, also in standard B-Movie fashion, stirring Stacy up like this also triggers another horrific murder spree with a staggering amount of human collateral damage when he goes after Laurie at the nurses dormitory, slashing all of her roommates to death in a salaciously brutal fashion. (One of them played by Kelly Preston, billed as Kelly Palzis, another by that gal form Michael Jackson's Thriller video. One should also note at this point that Golan and Kohner seemed to be more than happy to let Thompson fling around as much blood and grue as he wanted to. Which he did. A lot.) When Laurie manages to escape this bloodbath, Stacy runs after her; and this harrowing foot chase comes to an unintentionally hilarious conclusion when Kessler, somehow, manages destroy the laws of physics, bending both space and time to his will, to not only catch up with them, but to somehow get ahead of them! Thus, with Laurie safe and the killer caught red-handed, Kessler listens, horrified, as Stacy gleefully lays out his insanity defense that will eventually get him back into society where he'll start all over again. What happens next, when Kessler objects, should come as a surprise to no one. 

Bronson's quip as he *ahem* punctuates this objection, and the gob-smacking execution of it, helped pave the way for the tongue-in-cheek, .475 caliber urban renewal of Death Wish III - V. And lets face it, this entire movie is a flimsy, rambling and ramshackle concoction of stacked circumstances so Bronson can eliminate the villain with justifiable prejudice. Of course, the audience isn't repulsed by the execution of his prisoner, they're too busy cheering. And given the context of the slayings, it's hard to call this film fun but it kinda is, morbidly so, for all the wrong reasons. And on top of the Death Wish franchise, the Go-Go Boys would send Bronson and Thompson back to mine this same vein in Murphy's Law (1986), Messenger of Death (1988), and Kinjite: Forbidden Subjects (1989). 

I believe it was Keith Allison over at Teleport City who first wistfully pondered the notion that all of Cannon Films output was part of the same cinematic universe, meaning Paul Kersey and Leo Kessler occupied the same urban streets as Ozone, Turbo and Special K; where James Braddock might've served with Jeff Knight and Mike McNamara; or Matt Hunter shared a city with Joe Armstrong and John Eastland; and while space vampires were invading London, a super ninja was massacring a shit-load of cops on a golf course somewhere in America. This, is the greatest idea of ever. Alas, this notion was never explored cinematically. What I do know, however, is Mark Hartley is following up his wonderful behind-the-scenes documentaries, Not Quite Hollywood (2008) and Machete Maidens Unleashed (2010), which focused on Australian and Filipino exploitation movies respectively, with Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films (2014), which takes a look at the rise and fall of the Go-Go Boys and their film empire. 

Yeah, sadly, by the close of the decade, after a couple of high-profile flops and over-extending themselves with the purchase of Thorn-EMI Screen Entertainment, Cannon Films broke apart against the breakers of bankruptcy. At this time, personal beefs also found Golan severing ties with Globus, as well. And after several failed attempts to start a new solo production company in the 1990s (where he most notably failed to get a Spider-Man movie made but, even more sadly, managed to get Albert Pyun's Captain America made and released), and a brief but doomed reunion with his old partner, Menahem Golan was still at it, producing films up until 2007, and then kinda faded away until his death earlier this year. 

Long criticized for his emphasis on quantity over quality, I think Richard Kraft, a music supervisor for Golan and Globus, summed things up best when he compared Cannon's production pipeline to a bowel movement, and whether what fell into the toilet sunk or floated was irrelevant because the Go-Go Boys would just flush it and make another one. It's an absurdly appropriate metaphor. Yes, they made shit. And it was wonderful. Gloriously so. 

This post is just one part of Cannon Fodder: the Celluloid Zeroes latest Roundtable Tribute to mark the recent passing of Menahem Golan by celebrating The Go-Go Boys, Cannon Films, and all the Cineturds they left in sandbox that clogged the video aisles back in the 1980s. Please follow the linkage below as this tribute continues: 

Checkpoint: Telstar :: Delta Force.

Cinemasochist Apocalypse :: Exterminator 2.

The Terrible Claw Reviews :: Lifeforce.

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10 to Midnight (1983) Cannon Group :: City Films :: MGM / EP: Menahem Golan, Yoram Globus / P: Pancho Kohner, Lance Hool / D: J. Lee Thompson / W: William Roberts / C: Adam Greenberg / E: Peter Lee-Thompson / M: Robert O. Ragland / S: Charles Bronson, Lisa Eilbacher, Andrew Stevens, Gene Davis, Geoffrey Lewis, Wilford Brimley

Happy 100th Birthday to the Maestro of the Macabre!

Mario Bava

July 31, 1914 - July 31, 2014
(1914-1980)

To celebrate, whether you've already seen it or not, why don't you give this one a spin as soon as possible. (I, for one, think its his masterpiece.) You're in for a real treat. No trick. Honest. 

Video courtesy of Yours Truly.

Blood and Black Lace (1964) Emmepi Cinematografica :: Les Productions Georges de Beauregard :: Monachia Film :: Allied Artists / P: Alfredo Mirabile, Massimo Patrizi / D: Mario Bava / W: Marcello Fondato / C: Ubaldo Terzano / E: Mario Serandrei / M: Carlo Rustichelli / S: Cameron Mitchell, Eva Bartok, Thomas Reiner, Ariana Gorini, Mary Arden, Luciano Pigozzi

When You Buy a Bag, You Go Home In a Box :: A Beer-Gut Reaction to Mark Herrier's (and Alan Ormsby's) Popcorn (1991)

Haunted by a specific, surreal, and reoccurring nightmare filled with flames and smoke, a little girl named Sarah witnesses a long-haired man with a scraggly beard stab a woman to death on what appears to be some kind of sacrificial altar; and then this self-described 'Possessor', with clear homicidal intentions, chases after the fleeing witness to finish this ceremony until our protagonist, Maggie (Schoelen), wakes up shaken but not stirred. A film student at the local college, Maggie is consumed by these images, with every intention of translating them to film for her senior thesis. Meantime, her mother, Suzanne (Wallace), has also been haunted by a crank caller, who raves on and on about the "Nine circles of hell" reserved for people like her. And her day gets worse when she overhears Maggie translating her latest dream into a tape recorder, with each more lucid than the last, making certain ghastly details more clear. And she really freaks out when her daughter reveals the name of the girl seen in the dream; almost as if she knows who she's talking about -- he typed ominously... 

Late for class, Maggie shrugs off her mom's oddly desperate request to look elsewhere for inspiration. Once on campus, she bumps into her soon to be ex-boyfriend, Mark (Rydell), who hasn't been getting enough attention lately due to her obsession with the dream, which also kinda establishes Maggie's Virginity Clause, the ultimate 'get out of jail free card' for this type of body count flick. (Yes, Virginia, there really is such a thing as a Virginity Clause.) Dumped and dejected, she moves on, and here, we meet her fellow student filmmakers; a small eclectic bunch that will provide plenty of fodder when the blood starts flying. Needing to raise money for their thesis projects, head film geek, Toby (Villard), convinces Professor Davis (Roberts) that an all-night horrorthon is the answer. But it's not an easy sell to the others because the proposed triple-feature occupies the bottom of the cinematic bell curve. Why would anybody pay top dollar to see these cine-turds when they can be rented for much less, someone rightly points out. Ah, but this is where Toby plays the ace up his sleeve, revealing they can't experience the gimmicks that accompanied these films, ala William Castle, at home. This clinches it, much to Toby's delight. 

Commandeering the old and abandoned Dreamland Theater, scheduled for demolition in a few short weeks, the group turns to Dr. Mynesyne (Walston), an eccentric collector, who loans them the antiquated equipment needed to pull the festival off. And with his help, they will be able to show The Mosquito in 'Projecto-Vision!' (-- basically 3-D with the added Emergo-esque bonus of a giant mosquito prop wired-up to fly over the audience), Attack of the Amazing Electrified Man in 'Shock-o-Scope!' (-- a Percepto knock-off with the theater seats wired-up to shock the audience at strategic points), and then finish things off with The Stench in authentic 'Aroma-Rama!' (-- a little different than John Waters' scratch 'n' sniff pads, where they actually pump in foul odors through the theater's air-conditioning vents). 

And after a big pep talk from the good doctor about the glory days of showmanship (-- that had me ready to help pitch in), and a(n oddly) Reggae fueled montage sequence, the theater is quickly whipped back into shape. But while cleaning up, the group unearths an old film can. And things take a decidedly sinister turn when they spool up the contents to take a look: As the film unfolds, we're treated to an extreme close-up of a bloodshot eyeball, followed by a familiar looking bearded gent, with penchant for picking his nose and spitting up blood, who chants his name, the Possessor, over and over again. And as we cut to a sacrificial chamber, and the Possessor draws a blade to do his dirty deeds, obviously, this all bears a strong, improbable resemblance to Maggie's dream. And Maggie is so overwhelmed and wigged out by these images she promptly seizes up before passing out...

First things first: If I had access to a time machine, I would not go into the future to see how the world turns out. And I would not go back and watch the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Nor would I go way back in time for a dinosaur safari. (Well, maybe. Sure, Who wouldn't?) No. I would set my personal Way Back Machine to 1959 so I could see and experience The Tingler in authentic Percepto. And on the way back, there's a pretty good chance I'd make a pit stop in 1979 to catch John Carpenter's Halloween at a Drive In somewhere. And that's what Popcorn is; a strange mash-up of a 1980s era slasher movie mixed with the cinematic gimmickry of the 1950s topped off with a Phantom of the Opera chaser. 

Popcorn also marked a reunion between filmmakers Bob Clark and Alan Ormsby. Back in the 1970s, these two collaborated on a string of very effective, no-budget horror flicks like Deathdream, Deranged, and the totally under-appreciated and overly-maligned Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things. Clark did the directing and producing, Ormsby providing the screenplays and make-up F/X, and occasionally appeared in front of the camera. (He was such a glorious turd in Children.) When the '80s rolled around, the two amicably went their separate ways; Clark going on to infamy with A Christmas Story and the Porky's franchise before crashing and burning with a series of insipid comedies ending with those Baby Geniuses films, while Ormsby scored a modicum of success penning the remake of The Cat People and pretty good coming of age tale with My Bodyguard.

Teaming back up for Popcorn, Ormsby took this proposed script (co-written with Mitchell Smith) of murder and mayhem at a film festival to Clark, who sold the idea to several investors when he agreed to produce it with Ormsby set to direct. But things got off to a rocky start when a lack of budget found the production moved to Jamaica (-- explaining the Rasta soundtrack, which feels out of place, but is really, really good, and all the costumes at the film-festival to hide the ethnicity of the majority of the audience). But three weeks into filming, these backers lost all faith in Ormsby, forcing Clark to fire him off the picture, which irrevocably destroyed their friendship. To finish, Clark brought in Mark Herrier, one of his actors from Porky's, who mopped up what turned out to be, by most accounts, a fairly unhappy shoot. This upheaval continued when the lead actress was also fired and replaced by Schoelen. Things got so bad the dismissed Ormsby opted for a pseudonym for his writing credit (Tod Hackett). And when filming wrapped up, Clark asked for his name to be removed from the credits altogether. And yet, somehow, despite all this tempestuousness, Popcorn manages to preserver. The ultimate end result isn't all that great, mind you, but there's a definite guilty pleasure to be found here.

Seems this "Possessor" short was the magnum opus of one Lanyard Gates; head guru of a film cult back in the 1960s. (Based loosely on Coffin Joe himself, José Mojica Marins.) Turns out the viewing public didn't care much for this brand of avant-garde, and thus, rejected and ridiculed, an irate (and soon to be revealed as completely unhinged) Gates answered his critics with The Possessor, where, during its premiere, he dumped the last reel, sealed the theater, and staged the climax live, killing his wife and daughter, and then set the theater on fire, taking the trapped audience with him as they all perished in the ensuing inferno. Convinced there must be a connection between the film and her dreams, Maggie confronts her mom, asking if she ever heard of Gates. At the mere mention of his name, Suzanne freaks out again but fails to convince Maggie to withdraw from the festival when she refuses to say why. Later, the crank caller, now claiming to be Gates, coaxes Suzanne to the Dreamland, alone, where, after a few suspenseful turns, she is attacked and hauled off into the darkness. 

From there, the body count begins in earnest as the night of the Film Festival arrives. Maggie, stuck in the ticket booth, is a little annoyed when Mark shows up with another girl. But this distraction is quickly quashed when the next person in line asks if they'll be showing The Possessor. Convinced it's Gates, Maggie loses him in the crowd as the first film cues up. She finds Toby in the projection booth, who agrees to help look for Gates but only manages to get himself locked outside the theater. Meantime, as the festival progresses, the other film students are picked off, one by one, rather gruesomely and film specifically. (The professor is harpooned on the mosquito prop, another student is electrocuted, while another is asphyxiated.) One should also note the killer hauls each victim off to a secret lair, where he makes a mold and mask of the deceased, using these disguises to lure the others to their deaths. One of the victims, the teachers pet 'natch, manages to unmask the killer before expiring, revealing the horribly scarred visage of a burn victim. 

But is it really Lanyard Gates? Or is someone else using him to exact their own revenge. And after a brief hiatus to reunite with Mark, Maggie finally puts all the clues together, realizing she was Sarah Gates all along, and Suzanne is really her aunt, who shot Gates, and managed to escape the burning theater with her in tow. Those dreams weren't dreams at all, just repressed memories fighting to get out. But it may already be too late. Because whether the killer really is her father or not, this maniac is bound and determined to re-stage the end of The Possessor; only this time, it will end as it should have ended fifteen years ago, with Maggie dead and the filmmaker triumphant.

One of Popcorn's biggest problems is emblematic of the genre it apes; problems amped up to some pretty ridiculous levels. Yeah, your Suspension of Disbelief gland will definitely be overtaxed with this one as our killer is not only a master of disguise, who can match voices with uncanny accuracy, but is also a master puppeteer (-- he uses a copse as an ersatz marionette to escape detection), whose grand plan could've been completely derailed if any one of the festival attendees gets lost trying to find the john or stumbles into the lobby at the wrong moment, bringing this baroque nonsense to a premature end. (And how he managed Tina's deflating death still baffles me, too.) The margin for error is non-existent, but, eh, I can dig it. And there is a fairly decent mystery unfolding here, with enough clues to peg Maggie's true identity and who the killer really is. 

And credit to Herrier, too, for wringing some actual suspense out of this nonsense, especially when poor Bud (Danare) struggles to reach the controls while he watches the conclusion of The Amazing Electrified Man, realizing he’s dead by the end if he can’t pull the plug. And the climax is a real crackerjack as the killer meticulously and methodically recreates the end of The Possessor as he entices the theater audience on, who thinks it’s all part of the show, so they ignore Maggie’s pitiful cries for help.

Would the film have been better if Ormsby had seen it through to the end? There's a definite argument to be made. For where the film really excels is during the lovingly staged homages to old school schlock provided by our trio of creature features. Those were all Ormsby, who completed them before being canned. The Mosquito is a standard giant monster on the loose frolic, where the bug starts with livestock and works it's way up the food chain. There’s a lady scientist, who falls in love with the Armed Forces representative before the monster is blown to kingdom come. Ormsby really hits it outta the park with The Amazing Electrified Man, where a death row inmate (played beautifully by Bruce Glover) volunteers for some unscrupulous scientific experiments. There is much sci-babble as the mad-geniuses inject him with a serum that will allow him to survive the chair. Something goes horribly wrong like it always does and the convict is turned into a human battery, who can kill with a touch of his electrified fingers. Sadly, we only get a brief glimpse of The Stench. It appears to be a Japanese film, badly dubbed into English. Alas, the film is cut short when the killer cranks up The Possessor to recreate our final, fateful, scene.

And speaking honestly, these transition pieces actually prove more entertaining than the mystery unraveling out in the lobby. Not exactly a resounding endorsement, but Popcorn hasn’t grown stale for me yet.

Popcorn (1991) Century Films :: Movie Partners :: Trans-Atlantic Pictures / EP: Howard Baldwin, Karl Hendrickson, Howard Hurst / P: Ashok Amritraj, Gary Goch, Torben Johnke, Sophie Hurst, Bob Clark / AP: Shaun Costello / D: Mark Herrier, Alan Ormsby / W: Mitchell Smith, Alan Ormsby / C: Ronnie Taylor / E: Stan Cole / M: Paul Zaza / S: Jill Schoelen, Tom Villard, Dee Wallace, Derek Rydall, Malcolm Danare, Ivette Soler, Kelly Jo Minter, Ray Walston, Tony Roberts

A Blogathon Alert, a Bucket of Shameless Plugs, and a Request for a Moment of Silence for Appliances No Longer With Us.

This just in, Boils and Ghouls: Micro-Brewed Reviews will be participating in the Classic Film and TV Cafe's Hammer Horror Blogathon, running October 21st thru the 25th. And what will I be driving a stake through? Well, I'll be digging up the corpse of an old review, dissecting out the defective parts, adding in some new bits, and then stitch it all back together for a totally re-animated review of Freddie Francis' Nightmare (1964). 

I'm participating. Are you? 

Meantime, in the shameless plugs department, my good friend Tim Lehnerer is launching a 26 day Hubrisween marathon over at Checkpoint: Telstar, where he'll be posting a film review every day until Halloween, showcasing an alphabetically hewed list of horror and science fiction movies. We've got Alligator and Blacula so far and rumor has it we'll end with Zombie. I, for one, can't wait to see what comes in-between. Click on over and give them a read, too, won't you? Thank you. 

And while you're venturing out, click on over to the Morgue, where our sister site will be spending the entire month of October getting itself Stalked 'n' Slashed to death with a retrospective on Slasher Movies, starting with the films that influenced them until the genre hit the breakers of public backlash and fizzled out. And, as always, we'll close out a Spooktacular October with some ads for a few of those magnificent Midnight Spookshow attractions. 

And, hey, lookatthat. We're also spotlighting Cinema Slashers over at the Poster Archive, too!  

Also of note, can I get a moment of silence for my old TV, which, after fifteen years of service finally gave up the ghost. This, of course, necessitated the purchase of a new idiot box, which I did, gaining about 14-inches worth of screen coverage in the process. And to celebrate, before this honeymoon comes to a crashing halt when the first billing statement shows up, I've embarked on something I like to call Operation: Top Ten, where I work my way through my favorite films on this much bigger screen. About halfway through the list and I've come to the conclusion that if I had a slightly more comfortable chair in the basement, there's a pretty good chance I'd never leave the house again. 

So long, old friend. Enjoy the TV farm where you will run and frolic and play nothing but old episodes of Mystery Science Theater, F-Troop, Barney Miller and Misfits of Science. (At least that's what my mom told me.)