The Seduction

I know, I know... How can I call this blog Anchorwoman In Peril! and not include a review of the 1982 Morgan Fairchild masterpiece The Seduction? That’s like having a birthday cake without any candles on top... Sure, it’s sweet, it’s tasty and it fills you up, but where’s the sense of occasion? It’s just a vanilla sponge. And look, you’ve not even iced it properly! Can’t you get anything right?

I forgive you, anyway. This time. And, as a gesture of goodwill, here’s that long-overdue review of The Seduction, the queen of Anchorwoman In Peril movies and, um, bastard child of the slasher and erotica genres.

The first five minutes of The Seduction aren’t so much a blast from the past as they are a 15 megaton explosion of early-eighties kitsch. The music, the hair, the nails, even that typeface used for the opening credits... It’s like being raped by 1982. In the eyes. And the purpose behind all this malarkey? A few hazy Morgan Fairchild beaver-shots.

Now, don’t get me wrong; that may be your thing. And if it is, lucky you, because The Seduction isn’t just about telling a decent story, it’s about showing Morgan Fairchild in as many swimming pools, hot tubs and saunas as humanly possible. Seriously, she spends more time in the water in this film than the shark does in Jaws – and, by the end of it, even my skin was starting to go wrinkly.

Which isn’t to say that The Seduction doesn’t also tell a decent story. Fairchild stars as Jaime Douglas, the smokin’ hot anchorwoman of the Six O’Clock News on Channel Six. When she’s not busy reporting on a recent spate of local “Sweetheart Murders”, Jaime can most likely be found sharing a bath with her rather mismatched older boyfriend, Brandon (Michael Sarrazin). But it seems she’s also getting some attention of the unwanted kind – in the shape of a young fan called Derek (Andrew Stevens), who’s much more her own age but, sigh, also a psychotic stalker.

After Derek breaks into her home, frenziedly snapping photos of her whilst slapping her about with cries of “wet your lips!”, Jaime approaches Brandon’s cop buddy Captain Maxwell (Vince Edwards) for help. Surprisingly, however, Maxwell is adamant that, “as far as the law’s concerned, this guy really hasn’t committed a crime” (remind me not to move to Hollywood), and Jaime’s left with no option but to buy a gun, lock her doors, and hope that Michael Moore doesn’t decide to make a documentary about celebrity firearm-owners.

Cue one of the movie’s biggest cheat sequences wherein, following a ten-minute sequence of Jaime soaping her thighs in the tub (while creepy Derek spies on her from the closet) the telephone rings. But – oh, sweet mother of Dale Midkiff – there’s no one on the line! Now, by this point, we’ve become accustomed to Jaime receiving strange calls but, since her stalker is clearly hiding nearby, we’re left wondering who placed this mysterious call. Does she have two stalkers? Does Derek have an early mobile phone that he uses to play the old “the calls are coming from inside the house” trick? Or is it all perhaps just another excuse to show Jaime wrapping herself provocatively in a towel?

No matter, because we’re heading towards The Seduction’s Live-On-Air Wig-Out scene. As fans of Anchorwoman In Peril movies will know, the heroine’s On-Air Wig-Out is the staple component of the genre, and this one’s a corker: Derek manages to sneak into the studio one evening and add a little page of his own to the Six O'Clock Report’s autocue script, resulting in Jaime reading out the words “Jaime, I’m watching you” in the middle of a report, before breaking down and whimpering, “He’s gonna kill me... Please help me... Please!”

Sadly, other than authorizing some time off work, no one really does do anything to help her, and it’s up to Jaime to sort things out for herself in a climax that involves the aforementioned shotgun and Jaime’s own top-secret weapon – her smouldering sexuality (or is that two weapons?). It’s in this last real that The Seduction finally bubbles over from tolerable pot-boiler to Fairchild-femme-fatale fever-pitch, bringing together all its subplots to a neat conclusion that neither cops out nor runs out of steam.

All the film really needs is a body count. Lord knows, there are enough peripheral characters to support a spot of pruning – from Jaime’s gay assistant (Kevin Brophy) to her best friend (Colleen Camp) – but the lack of nastiness detracts from the sense that Derek is actually dangerous. As a result, The Seduction never quite makes that step up from TV-movie level (not that there’s anything wrong with that!) to full-on shocker – a move that would have nudged it into the realm of the previous year’s Lauren Bacall vehicle, The Fan, which also concerned the then-hot topic of celebrity stalkers but thankfully required less nudity from its aging star.

Despite this flaw, your Anchorwoman In Peril education is NOT COMPLETE if you haven’t yet experienced The Seduction and its retro-fitted fabulousness. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, and report directly to Morgan Fairchild’s hot tub.

Rating: 3/5

No dice

Amanda By Night has a great article up at Horror Yearbook called Slasher Movies That Aren’t Really Slasher Movies At All but Totally Feel Like Slashers Because of All the Slashing (although I think she may have come up with a snappier title). It’s all wonderfully helpful stuff for genre fans looking for new leads after running out of actual slashers to watch, and I highly recommend you read it, but it also got me thinking about some so-called slasher movies that really aren’t slashers full-stop. You know, the ones people often cite as slashers but which, when you watch them, just don’t cut it (no pun intended) for whatever reason. Here are a few of the main offenders...

When a Stranger Calls (1979) – Everyone remembers the classic, Scream-inspiring opening scene of this creepy thriller, just as everyone tends to forget that most of the rest of it is a grubby-looking urban character study. Wash your hands after watching, and perhaps try the 2006 remake, which basically stretches out the original’s first twenty minutes to feature-length.

Halloween III (1982) – Despite being made at the height of the slasher boom, Halloween III managed to be nothing whatsoever to do with parts 1 and 2 – and nothing to do with slashers. In fact, it leaned more towards Body Snatchers-type territory, mixing in deadly masks, ancient witchcraft and killer robots. It was also a pile of crap, so part 4 thankfully returned to the more reliable Michael Myers formula.

Urban Legends: Bloody Mary (2005) – Another third part of a slasher series that’s not actually a slasher at all. Cross Final Destination with Prom Night II and you get lots of elaborate deaths but too much supernatural stuff – not to mention a lack of a real killer – for this to qualify as a genuine slasher.

The Majorettes (1986) – A borderline case, The Majorettes certainly starts off as a slasher movie but, just when it should be getting good, does something rather drastic to its final girl and becomes a vigilante-revenge movie instead.

American Psycho (2000) – As far as most critics seem to be concerned, anything that features a chainsaw-wielding chase scene has to be a slasher. But Mary Harron’s take on Bret Easton Ellis’s shock-classic novel instead offers 80s satire, character comedy, and a distinct sense of restraint when it comes to the red stuff.

April Fool’s Day (1986) – If you don’t already know why this one isn’t technically a slasher, then I’m not going to spoil it for you. What it is, however, is a fantastic comedy-thriller and all-round enjoyable film – which certainly can’t be said of the dire recent remake.

Cry_Wolf (2005) – This tame, college-set offering doesn’t make the cut for similar reasons as the aforementioned April Fool’s Day, but at least it entertains, while also using a few slasher movie trappings effectively.

Death Proof (2007) – Just what was Quentin Tarantino whittering on about when he described his half of Grindhouse as a slasher movie? Yes, it’s cheap-looking, sleazy and features a car-load of ill-fated teens, but the stuff of slashers it ain’t.

The Baldwin connection

Oh PLEEZE! Just when you think you’ve got something cleared up, back it comes again, bringing with it that familiar irritation, that burning sensation...

Yes, I’m talking about the burning desire to uncover the truth behind yesterday’s irritating movie, Trilogy of Murder.

If you’ll remember, the film isn’t listed on the Internet Movie Database, the reason being that it’s not a proper film at all, but rather a compilation of episodes from a Russian TV cop show that starred, among others, Karen Black, Erik Estrada and Gary Busey. One person it didn’t star, however, was Daniel Baldwin. And I should know because I sat through it, and I’m very sensitive to Baldwins. So what, then, is Danny-boy doing on the DVD cover of this Asian release?



Oh, Trilogy of Murder, still you continue to vex me, though you’re hardly worth the effort. So let’s turn our attentions instead to the upcoming would-be wonders of Shark in Venice, which definitely does star a Baldwin – Stephen, to be precise – and is set for release on DVD in the UK on 6 October:



Were my pants this wet when I sat down?

Trilogy of Murder

Don’t you just hate it when the new Karen Black movie you’ve bought turns out to be a compilation of clips from a Russian TV cop show? Or when the Russian TV cop show you’ve settled down to watch turns out to be a Karen Black movie? Or when the cop you’ve called turns out to be Karen Black in a rush? Or when—

Hang on, I’ve forgotten the point I was making, but it’s no wonder I’m confused. Trilogy of Murder, whose DVD cover promised a thrilling, three-part follow-up to Karen Black’s classic TV movie, Trilogy of Terror, turns out to be something else entirely... Something cobbled together from bits of an old TV show called Russkie v Gorode Angelov – or, to translate that into English, Russians in the City of Angels.

And Karen’s barely in it! More on that later, when I launch into a thrilling, three-part discussion of Trilogy of Murder but, for now, let’s marvel at the fact that the cast of Russians in the City of Angels also included, at various points during its twelve-episode run, Eric Roberts, Sean Young, Erik Estrada and Gary Busey. Why none of these managed to make it into Trilogy of Murder I can’t fathom, although the Roberts and Estrada episodes were merged into movie called Border Blues. The upshot of all this is that there’s still seven episodes yet to be shoehorned into cheapo compilation movies, at least one of which I’ll no doubt unsuspectingly purchase under the impression I’m onto an undiscovered sequel to the Sean Young classic, A Kiss Before Dying. *Sigh*

The evil mastermind behind this whole, er, crappy-movie-market-saturating masterplan is one Rodion Nahapetov, who not only created the original Russian TV show but also takes writing and directing credit for Trilogy of Murder, plays the film’s main character, and also contributed the heart-wrenching song that plays over the closing credits. Join in if you know the words: Loneliness is gone, tomorrow is our song, my heart is singing for all it knows...

My own heart sank when Trilogy of Murder opened with a dizzying montage of cheesy clips from Russians in the City of Angels (some of which, in retrospect, may possibly have featured Erik Estrada, I’m not sure). A voiceover introduces our hero, Andrei Somov, a former police officer and “expert in Russian crime” now working for the LAPD. He has two crime-busting buddies called Sommers (played by Lane Davies of Santa Barbara) and McMillan (Pat Battistini), and this Unlikely Trio® will be our friends for the next 98 minutes. This is where the vodka comes in handy.


But hold that thought and put down that bottle! It’s time for Trilogy of Murder: Part One – or, to give it its proper title, Case #741b3: The Ring. Bet you didn’t know that’s how they label their files down at the LAPD, did you? Fun and educational, that’s me. Anyhowzers, the only way I can really describe what it’s like to sit through “The Ring” is by asking you to imagine switching on an episode of CSI halfway through, then somehow managing to watch the remainder backwards and in Russian. Oh, and I forgot to mention that you also have a hangover. And the picture’s fuzzy.

“The Ring” appears to tell the story of a murdered schoolgirl and some missing jewellery, although it doesn’t help that it’s told in flashback – which, since we’re already within an anthology movie, technically counts as a flashback-within-a-flashback within a crappy film edited from random episodes of a TV show. I don’t know... I found it all a bit hard to follow, but I did enjoy the scene where a man wearing an apron emblazoned with a giant Russian doll offers the opinion: “I love my potatoes over-fried and well-salted”. You just don’t get much more Russian than that. The ending’s a bit of a disappointment, though: I’m sure real life is full of cases where the guilty parties escape justice, but to have them suddenly emigrate to Russia while the cops on the case all head down to the bar is a little inconclusive in my book.


Time for Case #113c2: The Stalker, my favourite of the three tales. Why? Because it’s an Anchorwoman In Peril story – not a particularly great one, I admit, but I’m a pushover for anything involving glamorous TV news ladies pursued by psychotic stalkers.

That’s what’s happening to anchorwoman Nadejda Petrovskava, who works at LA’s smallest – and I suspect only – Russian TV station. Nadejda presents a segment called “Sunny Days”, which counterbalances all that depressing Russian news with some light-hearted human interest stuff. Or, at least, it would be light-hearted if poor Nadejda weren’t being terrorized by the aforementioned stalker, who’s making her life a misery by doing such horrible things as leaving bunches of flowers on her dressing table. The rest of the plot is pure AIP melodrama, but I loved the scene where the TV studio is unexpectedly plunged in darkness and a terrified Nadejda picks up her cell phone and calls the operator(!).

After “The Stalker” is apprehended (there’s no escape to the motherland for this sicko) it’s time for Trilogy of Murder: Part the Third, entitled Case #332 (int’l): The Surgery. You see, where the international cases are concerned, the LAPD are only up to case number 332, and don’t have to use any letters or anything. (Keep on learning there – you never know when you might need this stuff.)

We begin with a Shock Cut to Karen Black. Yes, THE Karen Black! She IS in it, after all. And when I say “Shock Cut”, I mean SHOCK CUT! It’s like something out of Gremlins 2:


Karen’s slap-bang in the middle of a song which, judging by the lyrics, was also written by Rodion Nahapetov, and goes: “Love is for meee and love is for youuuuuu... and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and YOU!”

Cue much confused but polite applause and, assuming this isn’t an extract from one of Karen Black’s drunken home videos, she’s playing Detective Sommers’ wife, who’s angry at being stood up at her own anniversary party and threatening to file for divorce. Somov manages to cheer her up by suggesting a holiday – to world-renowned capital of fun, Moscow – and so it’s time for a quick montage of our three detectives (plus Karen) laughing and giggling and walking past the Kremlin, having a wonderful time. Oh, almost forgot, there’s also a crime to solve, this time involving arson, insurance fraud, and a little girl who needs a life-saving operation.

So there you go... Trilogy of Murder. It’s not really a trilogy, it’s not related to Trilogy of Terror, and it’s not very good. Don’t watch it if you’re a fan of anthology movies because chopping up TV episodes and sticking them together does not an anthology movie make. And don’t watch it if you’re a fan of Karen Black, either, because she’s only in it for a minute and a half. In fact, I can’t really think of a reason why anyone would want to watch it. That’ll teach me for rummaging round in the bargain bin at Tesco. Pass the over-fried potatoes, please.

Rating: 2/5

Horror That Made Me #1

Well, it’s finally here: the final and most significant entry in my countdown of the films that’ve had the most influence on me as a lifelong fan of the horror genre. It’s the big cheese, the main event, the... er, high chaparral. It’s the movie that not only shaped the way I think about horror but how I think about film. It’s...

Jaws (1975)



Show me someone who’s afraid to go in the water and I’ll show you someone who’s scared of Jaws. Whether or not they’ve even seen the film. That’s how powerful it is. Jaws represents every unknown terror swimming in the depths of the human psyche. It’s there whenever you experience that sudden slip from fun to fear; it’s the unexpected touch of something you can’t see; that horrible feeling that you could be next; the unstoppable force of destruction waiting to pull you under forever.

It’s also the best bloody blockbuster ever to come out of Hollywood. Seriously, can you imagine something of Jaws’s quality on any level – be it acting, direction, editing or whatever – being the summer’s main event movie ever again? I think not! Will we ever see an American monster movie built around such compelling characters? Or allowed to build so carefully and deliberately? One that’s so adult? So primal? So terrifying?

My obsession with Spielberg’s seafaring masterpiece goes back almost further than I can remember – to nights spent huddled on the sofa watching the surfacing of a mechanical shark with the kind of awe most four-year-olds reserved for Disney cartoons. I’ve seen the film on TV, video, DVD, at the cinema, and will carry on watching it until I’m in my seventies and viewing it in cyber-surround holographic 3D (fuckin’ A!). Then, when it’s over, I’ll watch the sequels because I love them too... even Jaws: The Revenge. (In fact, I like that sequel best, so screw you!)

Some other childhood memories of Jaws:

– Being too scared to go to sleep in case my bed turned into a boat, floated away and was sunk by Jaws, subsequently leading to my watery, much chewed-upon death.

– Pestering my mum to find a copy of the video (yes, we lived in a video shop when I was aged between 4 and 6 – how lucky was I?). When it turned out we didn’t stock it, I was given Orca: Killer Whale to keep me quiet, and another love affair was born.

– Buying the 25th anniversary edition video back when “special edition” just meant new video box art. Then, when the opening credits started, the words “old friend” just popped into my head.

– My friends and I always trying to spot “the worm” when the shark explodes at the end of Jaws III:



– Buying a blank video tape especially for the purposes of recording Jaws 2 when it came on TV as Saturday night’s big movie. Except the tape was faulty and I couldn’t watch it again the next day. Gutted.

– Reading Peter Benchley’s novel for the first time and being shocked – shocked! – by the phrase “vagina yawning open” (and no, I can’t remember the context).


Anyway, that’s the end of “Horror That Made Me”, although I look forward to plenty more memorable and influential horror movies coming along in future to shape my ever-evolving understanding of the genre. Or is that too much to hope?

The list in full:

1. Jaws
2. Halloween
3. Bug/The Giant Spider Invasion
4. In the Mouth of Madness
5. The Devil Rides Out
6. Fright Night
7. The Spiral Staircase
8. Phenomena
9. The Private Eyes
10. Hammer House of Mystery and Suspense: Child’s Play

Murder-Set-Pieces

I’ve steered clear of Nick Palumbo’s Murder-Set-Pieces for most of this year (which isn’t actually difficult due to the fact that the film is banned in Britain). One reason for my lack of enthusiasm was the amount of explicit sexual violence I’d heard it contained, as well as graphically depicted child-murder and, worst of all, bad acting. But I finally decided to give it a try recently. I figured that horror sometimes takes you to places you don’t want to go. In fact, that’s kind of the whole point.

Inescapably then, M-S-P (pronounced “musp”) does contain some pretty horrific stuff along the abovementioned lines, ranging from mid-sex throat-slashing to the onscreen knifing of a little girl in a public toilet. There’s also an anti-Semitic quote from Jack the Ripper to kick things off, and a dream sequence consisting of amateur film of the World Trade Center attacks. At one point, the bottom of the glass I was drinking from actually fell out, presumably in shock, unexpectedly drenching me in margherita mix. (Yes, this really did happen. I’ll show you the sofa stains if you don’t believe me, whilst vociferously denying they’re anything else.)

Although M-S-P is nasty, however, I’m surprised to report that I didn’t think it went too far. Perhaps I’m jaded, or perhaps it has just enough plot to keep everything within the boundaries of a decent horror/thriller – because that’s how I came away thinking about it. Murder-Set-Pieces isn’t exactly restrained, and neither is it what you’d call high art, but it does have something to say and – I can’t believe I’m writing this – it made me think.

M-S-P is a low-budget look at the life of a Las Vegas serial killer – a seriously sick and prolific serial killer. So prolific, in fact, it’s a good job that the film largely ignores the law angle because the police investigation alone would take up a whole series of CSI. As well as his various exploits, we follow his relationship with a young hairdresser and her even younger sister (we’re talking eleven years old here, and if you thought the terrorization of preteens in the Friday the 13th franchise was tasteless, you really ain’t seen nuthin’ yet).

Now I’m not going to claim that it’s a particularly cerebral affair (it does show some brains – mainly in the scene where a woman’s head is chainsawed in half) but it’s provocative in a reasonably intelligent way. The “sex industry treats women as meat” argument may be nothing new, but the way it’s addressed here is pretty powerful. In any case, never before has it seemed such a small step from leering over naked flesh in a sleazy strip joint to carving said flesh in a maggoty basement. Similarly challenging is M-S-P’s matter-of-fact representation of dead kiddies; somehow it’s fine to see children painted up as corpses for Halloween (as they’re shown in M-S-P at one point) but to have them made up as corpses for a horror film – that’s still a bit taboo. Albeit not one that’s observed here.

Beyond the shock value, the sadism, the blatant attempts to disgust, does Murder-Set-Pieces work as a horror film? I think it does, and nowhere more so than during its deliberately self-conscious climax – a set piece to rival any traditional slasher movie finale, involving a final girl who really is a girl, buckets of blood, and some construction tools being used in ways you won’t see in a home makeover show. If you’ll cast your mind back to that other over-the-top Vegas “exposé”, Showgirls, you might see a comparison between that outrageous film’s relationship to the more responsible melodramas that inspired it and what M-S-P represents to the currently fashionable torture-porn genre: namely, a very bloody nail hammered haphazardly – but effectively – into a coffin.

Rating: 4/5

Unconvincing shark attack of the day

Hurrah! It’s my favourite scene from the 2003 TV movie Red Water, involving a sweaty-backed but still perky tour guide, a rickety rope bridge, and some rather dated CGI...



“OK folks, here we are at what the locals call Deadly Bridge.”


“I’ll show you how to cross it without being eaten.”


“Oops! Ow, that hurts!”


“And stretch!”


“Blubbblubblubb!”


The girl on the right thinks it’s waaaay cool!

Trilogy of WTF?

Damn you, DVD bargain bin! You appeal to my basest instincts on the way out of the supermarket, forcing me to paw through every last wretched title until my frozen peas have defrosted and my Ben & Jerry’s melted! Yes, I know you’re reading this, evil sales bin... A pox upon thee!

If I had a penny for every time I’ve been hijacked thusly by my local supermarket’s £1 DVD bargain bin, well... I’d have at least 98 pence. Unfortunately, that’s not quite enough to buy any of the bargain DVDs in it (two more visits to go!) but, then, nobody ever said life was fair. If it were, I’d find more actual bargains in that bin, rather than 20,000 copies of a badly animated version of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

Yesterday, however, I found something worth a whole trolley-full of sloppy ice cream. I found a mystery... A mystery called Trilogy of Murder! Here it is on my cappuccino shag pile:

Remember Trilogy of Terror, the 1975 TV movie starring Karen Black as three different heroines of three different stories, culminating in an unforgettable battle with a deadly Zuni fetish doll? Of course you do! Well, Trilogy of Murder features ole Karen in three more tales, this time centred on murder, rather than terror... I mean, I don’t know which is worse – murder or terror – but a trilogy of either is bound to be pretty shocking.

Even more shocking is the fact that I can’t find Trilogy of Murder on the IMDb. What is this, people? 1996?! That just doesn’t happen anymore. Anyway, thanks to some sterling Nancy Drew detective work on the part of Amanda By Night, AiP can point you in the direction of a full trailer for this apparently extremely obscure Russian-American co-production. Go Amanda!

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like Karen Black appears in all three segments à la Trilogy of Terror, but this disappointment is counterbalanced by the fact that story #2 is a genuine Anchorwoman In Peril mini-movie! Just read this:

“When an alluring television news anchor is pursued by a relentless, resourceful stalker, she has no alternative but to turn to Somov, Sommer and McMillan to restore her life to normal...”

Um... Somov, Sommer and Whatsit...? Yeah, I’m just tuning out all the stuff I don’t understand to concentrate on the key phrases “alluring television news anchor” and “relentless, resourceful stalker”.

Thank you, DVD bargain bin!