Bates Motel

Psycho always makes me hungry. It’s that sandwich Norman makes Marion just after she checks in. It just looks so darn tasty. Sadly, there’s nothing nearly as appetizing in the 1987 TV-movie spin-off, Bates Motel – just a thoroughly disgusting-looking “meatloaf à la Bates” served up on a piece of broken plate by Lori Petty. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Bates Motel was filmed as a pilot episode for a TV series that never happened. Anthony Perkins, the original Norman Bates, had no involvement, and actually spoke out against the production, arguing that its plot completely contradicted the ongoing story of the Psycho sequels he was still making at the time (which it does – more on that in a minute). What he really should have taken issue with was the script’s treatment of Norman as a character (more on that later, too... show some patience!) but perhaps that only became apparent when the movie first aired on TV.

In lieu of Norman, we’re introduced to creepy young crazyperson Alex West – played by Harold and Maude’s Harold, Bud Cort – who looks like a mentally ill Paul McCartney. (And could I have fitted any more names into that sentence?) For the last 27 years, Alex has shared the same sanatorium as Norman Bates, after pushing his father into an industrial tumble dryer at the age of six (the man was abusive, though, so it’s okay). Inside the loony bin, Alex and Norman formed a close, father-and-son-like bond, but after the death of his mentor (see, I told you it contradicted the Psycho sequels) Alex finds himself released into the community (well... L.A.) to fend for himself. Luckily, Norman has bequeathed him some property – a certain drab little motel, overlooked by a towering house on the hill.

Here’s where the alarm bells first starting ringing concerning this film’s handling of Norman Bates and his legacy. At the reading of Norman’s will, we also learn that he’s bequeathed his turkey to the asylum cook, who’s been teaching him culinary skills (and by “turkey”, I refer to a large, apparently plastic cooked bird, which hits the table with a thud as the will’s executor hands it over). And then there’s Norman’s record collection, left to the friend who taught him to dance (the Twist and the Huckleback, we’re told)… I’m not sure if all this is supposed to suggest that Norman had been successfully rehabilitated, or was crazier than ever. Either way, it jars with almost everything we know about him.

From here on in, Bates Motel plays like a weird drama about renovating an old motel: Alex hires a handyman (Moses Gunn) to oversee the renovation, as well as local girl Willie (Lori Petty) – who’s been squatting in the house in a chicken costume (don’t ask) – to run the motel’s new diner. I began to wonder how this was intended to pan out as a TV series... Perhaps Ann Maurice would visit and offer some style tips, or Ruth Watson, the Hotel Inspector, would show up and criticise the sausages. Instead, the bulldozers occasionally uncover skeletons buried on the grounds, Alex has visions of a ghostly Mrs Bates, and none of this really goes anywhere.

Until around two-thirds of the way through. Then we get a taste of what the Bates Motel TV series would actually have been like – and it’s not too bad. We meet a guest (Kerrie Keane), she meets a guest star (Jason Bateman, or should that be Bates-man?), there’s a little storyline with a supernatural twist, and we’re all happy. Well, at least until Alex appears again to send us off with a straight-to-camera monologue that goes like this:

• “Nobody ever said life was easy, but then nothing really worth it ever is. You know, I think, with a little luck, we’re going to do okay here. I think Norman would’ve liked that. Oh, by the way, if you ever need a room, come on by. Can’t say for sure what you’ll find, but that is what makes the world go round... Hahahaa!”

Sorry, I added that “Hahahaa!” myself. I just think it needed it. Anyway, what exactly makes the world go round, Alex? Staying in motels? Finding things in motel rooms? I’ve no idea what you’re on about there but, then again, after a climax that involved not one, but two characters dressed up as the ghost of Mrs Bates, I’m prepared to accept anything. The original Psycho also ended with an address of sorts to the audience, but it has to be said that deranged psychopath Norman made a little more sense (or Anthony Perkins remembered his lines).

In any case, Bates Motel won’t put any of the Psycho sequels released between 1983 and 1990 out of business, and falls particularly short of the rather brilliant Psycho II – one of the best and cleverest movie sequels of any kind in my book. By ignoring the events of the sequels, Bates Motel does manage to create a pleasing continuity of its own but, as is perhaps the nature of unpicked-up pilots, leaves a few plot threads dangling.

Speaking of dangling, the movie has its own memorable shower scene – a completely gratuitous shot of a naked Bud Cort, masked only by a flimsy shower curtain that’s either less opaque than the director imagined or the handiwork of a malicious set designer. Let’s just say there’s some uncalled-for “wiggling” – and it’s as disturbing as anything in the original Psycho.

Rating: 3/5

The Torturer

“What’s the giallo film up to these days?” I wondered, as I slipped The Torturer into the player this evening.

The only major director keeping the genre going seems to be its longtime lord and master, Dario Argento, whose Do You Like Hitchcock? and The Card Player are among the few examples of the last few years. The Torturer comes from another established giallo generator, Lamberto Bava, whose 80s efforts A Blade in the Dark and Delirium: Photos of Gioia I’d consider classics... Classics of camp craziness, but classics nonetheless. His last contribution to the cause was Body Puzzle – an unspectacular but solid effort – over 15 years ago. Would The Torturer represent a triumphant return to the genre? Does it even belong in the genre? And how many more times can I say the word “genre”? Let’s find out!

First, however, a warning: if you found Lucio Fulci’s The New York Ripper – with its systematic mutilation of female flesh – in any way misogynistic or distasteful (or in any way both) you should probably stay clear of this one. Whereas the Ripper merely ripped, the Torturer uses blowtorches, barbed wire whips, nails, claw hooks and all manner of sharp implements on the naked bodies of his female victims here – usually in graphic close-up. I bought this film on DVD in Amsterdam and, to be honest, can’t see it going through the BBFC without cuts if anyone tries to release it in the UK. But, while breast-mutilation is a big no-no with the British censors, it’s all in a day’s work for The Torturer.

Ginette (Elena Bouryka) is a young actress trying out for a role in the latest film by her favourite director, Alex Sherba. The audition turns out to be a bit creepy: Sherba remains hidden in the shadows while calling out commands through a voice-distorter – commands such as “Take off all your clothes” and “Show me how far you’ll go to be in a film”. To cap things off, Ginette finds an earring on the floor that looks suspiciously like one belonging to her missing friend – missing, that is, ever since she applied for an acting job over the internet and went off to audition...

Things get even weirder when Ginette visits the director’s home and is introduced to his unstable mother, who constantly complains of hearing strange voices and is wearing an earring that matches the one Ginette has found. Clearly it’s time for some snooping!

Meanwhile, a trio of other actresses has arrived at the manor to audition for Sherba’s film. As a storm blows in and Ginette prowls the grounds of the house in search of clues, these three women will be subjected to some truly horrifying screen tests...

It’s strange to imagine the real-life auditions that must have taken place for The Torturer, in which hopeful actresses were no doubt required to scream in pretend pain as pretend weapons jabbed at their all-too-real body parts. Much of the film itself follows the same pattern (with the addition of some pretend body parts, such as the rubbery-looking breasts wrenched asunder in the opening sequence). When we’re not watching torture sequences like these, we’re more likely than not watching Ginette creep around in the dark – which she spends a rather excessive portion of the film doing. I wouldn’t say I was bored, exactly, but I can’t promise that you won’t be.

All this poking around a mysterious villa, interspersed with gory murders, is in fact highly reminiscent of Bava’s previous A Blade in the Dark, while the auditions-gone-wrong scenario recalls the 1983 slasher movie, Curtains. But, where those films tended to err on the overplotted side, The Torturer certainly won’t torture you with twists. It’s a resoundingly simple story, in which Bava seems most concerned with staging Saw-like set pieces – albeit without Jigsaw’s complex motives – that throw as much hardware into the mix as possible.

As for my questions above... Is The Torturer a triumphant return to horror for its director? Well, not really. It’s nasty, occasionally stylish and, above all, watchable – but there’s very little suspense and nothing to really get your teeth into (although one of the characters gets her teeth knocked out at one point...).

Is it a giallo? I’d say so, yes. There’s elaborate murderisation, strange clues found in spooky mansions, and a modicum of mystery. Plus, everything harks back to a traumatic childhood incident, complete with an annoying baby-voice theme tune. It’s like Deep Red, but nowhere near as deep.

And how many more times did I say the word “genre”? None! Psyche!

Rating: 3/5

AiP's top Halloween picks

“Five more days to Halloween, Halloween, Halloween... Five more days to Halloween–” ... OK, we interrupt that annoying quote to ask the question: if Martha Stewart can offer ten hours of Halloween programming this year, what can Anchorwoman In Peril! do for you? Well, I may not be able to explain how to fold a used paper crane into a delightful witch’s hat for your cat, but I sure can suggest ten hours of great Halloween viewing of my own. Or, rather, your own. After all, you’re the one who has to fork out for the DVDs.

There’s plenty of new horror films out to buy this week, most of which concentrate on the nastiest of nasty doings, ranging from the rather excellent Hostel: Part II to the so-so Captivity. But I’ve always been of the opinion that Halloween should be a time to forget the world’s real horrors (torture, murder, Eli Roth) and instead celebrate spooky, cosy ol’ horror – the kind you might find prowling around a creepy graveyard with a skeletal grin on its face and a toffee apple in its hand.

With that in mind, I’ve put together a Top 5 of funhouse horror flicks that tickle the ribs, rather than yank them out with a pair of shears. They’re by no means gentle chillers or, God forbid, comedy-horrors (there’s a Fulci film in there, for starters) but they all focus on frights rather than nastiness, and offer far more treats than tricks... Enjoy!

5. Phantasm

First up is a Halloween offering that really does prowl around creepy graveyards for much of its running time. Phantasm is a surreal, melancholy fantasy that mixes small-town gothica (empty homes, a monstrous, labyrinthine mortuary) with sci-fi techno-terror (half-glimpsed alternate dimensions, deadly flying spheres)... like Ray Bradbury and H.R. Giger arguing over cocktails. Underpinning the weirdness is a touching relationship between two orphaned brothers, whose investigation of strange goings-on at a local cemetery leads to a startling confrontation with the iconic, unforgettable “Tall Man” (Angus Scrimm). Watch it back-to-back with its three enjoyable sequels (all of which continue the same story) and you’ll have what’s truly the Lord of the Rings of the horror genre. And a sore ass.

4. Stephen King’s Riding the Bullet

Everyone knows that the best of the multitudinous Stephen King adaptations are the non-horror ones (Stand by Me, The Green Mile, Shawshank), while the rest have a tendency to, quite frankly, stink – despite the odd Misery, Shining or It. Here’s one that has its cake and eats it... It’s, y’know, spooky yet serious. It’s also quite tasty as cakes go, following the strange adventures of a young hitchhiker on his way to visit his dying mother in hospital. Along the way are more diversions, dead ends and campfire tales than you could count, all with a loose, Halloweeny feel and a few interesting things to say. Well worth a nibble.

3. He Knows You’re Alone

You’ve seen Halloween. You’ve seen it, like, a hundred times. So here’s a rip-off that’s reassuringly similar, yet well made enough to forge a quirky identity of its own. He Knows You’re Alone’s madman is on the hunt for brides-to-be rather than babysitters, and amongst the slasher clichés are such tricksy treats as an eerie scene set inside a ghost train, a young Tom Hanks espousing on the “nature of fear”, and a cinema-set opening that proved striking enough in its own right to be recreated in the opening of Scream 2. Not a classic, then, but eminently consumable, disposable, and recyclable.

2. Ghostwatch

I can’t really recommend the BBC’s 1992 Halloween-night offering, Ghostwatch, if you’re not (a) British and (b) old enough to remember when Sarah Greene presented everything on TV. But if you are British and old enough to remember when Sarah Greene presented everything on TV, then – by the silvery-white hair of Michael Parkinson – watch it! Now! (Or, rather, save it for Halloween, since that’s the point of this piece.) Sarah is presenting – along with Mike Smith, Craig Charles and Parky himself – a “live” broadcast from a supposedly haunted location... Not some gothic mansion, mind, but an ordinary housing estate plagued by apparently supernatural activity, involving possession, poltergeists and, when it gets to the nitty-gritty, some genuinely disturbing proceedings. That the subsequent viewer complaints about this TV movie were enough to convince the Beeb to cancel Halloween programming forever is a testament to its power. Lock the doors, switch off the lights, and prepare to be more chilled than a McDonald’s milkshake – and, by the end, a similar shade of pale.

1. City of the Living Dead

Like Phenomena, the first Dario Argento film I ever “got”, this equally deranged effort from fellow Italian Lucio Fulci will always have a particular place in my heart. And, if I were in this movie, my heart would probably come spewing out of my mouth in a torrent of gore, much like one of the victims of the zombies – no, make that ghost-zombies – in City of the Living Dead. Fog-shrouded towns, premature burials, marauding ghouls, maggoty bones, maggoty eye sockets, maggoty maggots... it’s all here (and it’s all maggoty) in this supernatural extravaganza, which plays like the Halloween novelty section of your local supermarket come to gruesome, frenzied life. Christopher George and Catriona MacColl are the mismatched adventurers battling to shut the Gates of Hell before all, er, Hell is let loose, as everything races to a nonsensical (but perfect) climax in a cobweb-cloaked netherworld populated by shambling corpses. If you survive unscathed – or at least mentally sound – cut yourself a big piece of pumpkin pie... Happy Halloween!

I’m the Girl He Wants to Kill

Confession time: Long, long before Anchorwoman In Peril! existed (i.e. sometime last month) I flirted, floozied and experimented with running a short-lived blog called Buon Giallo, all about Italian horror. What can I say? I was young... I didn’t know what I was doing... I didn’t inhale... I also didn’t keep the blog going for very long. I guess my heart just wasn’t in it. Anyway, one of the films I talked about was actually an episode of the 70s British TV series, Thriller. It’s a great episode deserving of greater recognition – and, now that the whole series of Thriller is available on DVD, perhaps it’ll be discovered by a new generation of horror fans. If so, they’ll find a gripping thriller featuring a classic final girl years before the slasher cycle kicked into full swing. In this hope, I hereby reprint my review of I’m the Girl He Wants to Kill. (How’s that for getting away with only one paragraph of new material for today’s entry? ... Score!)

In 1973, Dario Argento presented the TV series Door Into Darkness on Italian TV, comprising four, hour-long stories of murder and suspense modelled on the giallo films that had brought him to prominence. Over here in the UK, screenwriter Brian Clemens had envisaged a similar show called Thriller, of which I’m the Girl He Wants to Kill is a particularly giallo-like episode from the third series, originally broadcast in 1974. [See how I tied it all in to Italian horror for Buon Giallo? Clever, no?]

Token American Julie Sommars stars as Ann Rogers, a hardworking employee at Parker Industries, based in a London high-rise. What this company actually does is only vaguely defined, but it must take up a lot of time because Ann is always finding herself working late on things like “the Jamaican project”. Arriving home to her flat one evening, Ann passes a mysterious man in the hallway and, in a superbly spooky scene, discovers her neighbour’s dead body on the upstairs landing. She provides a description of the killer to the police – who believe him to be responsible for several other murders in the area – but time passes and the culprit remains at large.

One good thing comes out of Ann’s visit to the cop shop, however: she bags herself Detective Sergeant Tanner (Tony Selby), a prime slab of afro-haired 70s studliness, and useful boyfriend to have around if it looks like you might be stalked by any deranged psychos in the near-future. Of course, this is exactly what happens to Ann; after spotting the killer in a local jewellery shop one lunch hour, she’s chased back to her office and barely makes it back to safety. A quick phone call to Tanner assures her that her pursuer has been apprehended and, ever the diligent worker, Ann carries on with her day’s work until night falls and she’s the only one left in the building. Except, that is, for a familiar figure lurking in the lobby below, knife in hand and ready to strike...

I haven’t seen any other episodes of Thriller but, if I’m the Girl He Wants to Kill is anything to go by, it looks like I’ve missed a treat. Lean, taut and terrifically suspenseful, the episode is tele-terror at its best. Its premise is played out at just the right length to ensure we get to know and care about the characters, all the while taking care to plant ominous pointers to the trouble Ann will encounter later on – from electrically-locking doors, to windows sealed “for your comfort”.

The remainder of the story constitutes a harrowing battle of wits between killer and super-secretary – who, while resourceful, is never played as unrealistically as she might be in this post-Buffy the Vampire Slayer age of martial arts-trained female empowerment. Lifts and telephone switchboards become instruments of tortuous tension as Ann’s familiar workplace becomes a deadly trap. There’s even a moment reminiscent of The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, in which characters find themselves trapped between two sets of glass doors. Ann learns to turn the tools of her trade against her attacker... while he learns that it pays not to be overweight if you’re a psychopath intent on chasing your victim up to the twelfth floor and back.

Now available on DVD as part of the complete Thriller series box set, I’m the Girl He Wants to Kill also includes an extended opening sequence shot for American TV, featuring – naturally – a gratuitous shower scene, as well as lots of shots of feet padding around portentously (I’m guessing the original cast weren’t available for reshoots). I’d encourage you to seek out the film in whatever version you can... It’s absolutely thriller-ering.

Rating: 4/5

Cheerleader Massacre

Well, that’ll teach me. You play with fire often enough and eventually you get burned... Or, in this case, you get slowly roasted to death, as flaming hot pokers thrust themselves in and out of your eye sockets, and burning embers become lodged underneath your fingernails in most uncomfortable fashion. Yessiree, I’ve made one too many trips to the Grindhouse with this one.

Cheerleader Massacre is possibly-officially the fourth film in the Slumber Party Massacre series. How can this be? you fret. It features no slumber party... not even the merest hint of a topless pillow-fight. Well, if you remember, Part 2 was only linked to the original by the tenuous suggestion that its main character was the sister of Part 1’s heroine. And Part 3 wasn’t linked at all, although it did at least centre around a slumber party. Cheerleader Massacre boasts a cameo appearance from Part 1’s Brinke Stevens, ostensibly playing the same character, “Linda”. Flashbacks cobbled together from old clips reveal that “Linda” – assumed perforated to pieces in The Slumber Party Massacre – actually survived her ordeal and has been living with the scars ever since. However, since liberties have been taken with the name of the killer – changed from the original Russ Thorn (scary!) to Jeremiah McPherson (terrifying!) – it’s perhaps up to you how seriously you want to take this new information. Personally, I’d suggest not taking anything in Cheerleader Massacre seriously. In fact, I’d suggest not watching it.

After the obligatory lovemaking-kids-killed-in-the-woods opening, we’re introduced to the Bridgemont High cheerleading squad, happily practising their latest routine in jeans and blouses (what, you expect a film like this to pay for a luxury like costumes?). In comes their coach, Miss Hendricks, to tell them that they have fifteen minutes to shower and get on the bus. Naturally, we follow them into the showers, where the camera lingers lustfully over their soapy buttocks (another bit of continuity with the original there). The whole scene does drag on a bit, though… I mean, these girls only have fifteen minutes to get ready. Give them a break!

Eventually, it’s enough with the nudity and time for some killin’ – and here’s where I really began to worry. The following scene is such nonsense that it’s clear once and for all that Cheerleader Massacre is far more concerned with t&a than s&s (that’s stalk and slash). One cheerleader, Dina, is separated from the pack and finds herself all alone in the spooky locker room. A POV shot from behind some lockers suggests she’s being stalked by an observer close by. Suddenly, the lights go off – apparently a clue to Dina that she’s about to be killed because she instantly dives behind a bank of lockers. Peering out, she sees a scary-looking shadow on the wall at the other end of the enormous room. Then, a shower jet bursts on behind her. (Obviously, the killer has some kind of remote control.) Dina slips into a storeroom area, where a hand clamps around her mouth from behind and she’s dragged away. Cut to the shower slowly switching itself off... Either there are about three different killers, all hiding in different parts of the locker room (with one controlling the showers) or this scene makes absolutely no sense. I suspect the latter.

The last we see of Dina is her feet beneath a toilet stall door as blood drips onto her shoes. I say “drips” but it’s actually more like “squirts”... Seriously, I don’t know what’s going on behind that door but the blood is squirting downwards in a very directional flow, as if from a hosepipe. If you’ve seen that other another t&a slasher travesty Sorority House Massacre II (in which you could often see the shadow of the squeezy-bottle used whenever splashing blood was required) this should be enough to clue you in that the director here is again Jim Wynorski. Having watched his enjoyable-enough 976-EVIL II recently, I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt, but never again, Mr Wynorski... never again!

There’s a few more deaths, one involving a rope bridge, which produced the only moment of suspense I experienced while watching the film: as the killer cuts through one of the ropes holding the bridge in place, I wondered if we’d actually get to see it collapse... Of course, we don’t. That would have involved a budget. Instead, the actress shakes the bridge as much as possible until a blurry camera pan simulates her fall.

It all ends up with the cheerleaders trapped in a snowbound cabin while the killer prowls the woods outside. It’s here that the film’s key scene is played out: a three-way naked hot-tub session in which the girls pour bottles of Hershey’s chocolate syrup over themselves (again with the squeezy-bottles!). This might have sounded like a sexy scene on paper but, in reality, it’s so gross I almost couldn’t watch. Quite frankly, nothing that turns your bathwater brown is good clean fun in my book.

I did enjoy a few snippets of the script, however:

Cop: I knew today was gonna suck when we got those stale donuts.

Generic cheerleader 1: This is so bad... No gas, no food...
Generic cheerleader 2: And they still haven’t caught that killer yet!

Cop 1: This is gonna be a long day.
Cop 2: Yeah, except for one thing... It isn’t day anymore.

Cheerleader (searching cabin): I couldn’t find a phone – but there’s plenty of games to play!

Other than those, I can’t find a single basis on which to recommend Cheerleader Massacre. It’s as bad as cheap exploitation gets, and a far cry from the witty and well made Slumber Party Massacre trilogy with which it’s feebly linked. I think I'll be staying away from the Grindhouse for a while!

Rating: 1/5

The Hollywood Beach Murders

Imagine you’d saved up all your money to make a movie... then discovered that one of your trusted friends had gone and blown it all on leisure suits and cheap accessories. But you still felt you had an important story to tell, so you got all those leisure suits and cheap accessories together and made the movie anyway, making sure you got your money’s worth from your purchases by forcing the entire cast to wear them. I can only surmise that’s what happened in the case of Eric Straton’s 1992 serial killer flick, The Hollywood Beach Murders. Quite frankly, the alternatives don’t bear thinking about.

I presume that, before Straton’s buddy bought all those leisure suits and cheap accessories, Eric had envisaged The Hollywood Beach Murders as a glossy thriller set amongst a trendy California beach community. There’d be murders and thrills and glamour and, oh, maybe even Tara Reid or someone. Of course, not having any budget left meant that Straton had to change his plans somewhat. Those beach people can be awfully funny about lending out their houses, so Straton had to look for a new location. The “Hollywood Beach” of the title, he decided, would stop referring to a beach per se, and become instead the name of a... let’s see now... train. Yes, that works. And those interiors would be cheaper to film.

There were most likely other compromises too. All those cheap accessories wouldn’t really suit the hip young cast Straton had originally had in mind, so he had a look round and found some actors who would look good in them. But they wouldn’t work for free, so he cast his friends and family instead.

Out too went Tara, replaced by a big fat man called David Regal. David would play a detective investigating murders onboard the train – just like in that movie Murder on the Orient Express, except with more leisure suits. And cheap accessories. Unfortunately, Straton only managed to film forty minutes’ worth of train footage, so he thought of a clever subplot to fill the rest of the time: the detective would have a partner holidaying in Miami. Not only would this provide some comic relief – in the shape of the partner’s disastrous attempts at picking up women – but it would also allow Straton to incorporate approximately fifteen minutes of sailing footage he also happened to have filmed earlier. And the partner could wear Straton’s favourite novelty boob hat!

The Hollywood Beach Murders, despite its budget, cast and occasionally baffling longueurs, managed to hold my attention. I’d even go so far as to say it has an oddball charm – if, that is, you find oddballs charming. It may have helped that I watched the film whilst ill in bed, lacking the strength even to reach for the remote control to turn it off, but I have to admit it provided a comfortable distraction as I lay in a puddle of my own chicken soup (I had a spillage and, as I said, no strength). The mystery plot holds up – albeit without ever threatening the likes of Murder on the Orient Express – and I made it to the end credits with a smile on my face. Although that may have been because of the final freeze-frame.

Rating: 2/5

Eyewitness

It’s easy to write about a bad film. The wisecracks, the insults… they just seem to flow. The same goes for the so-bad-they’re-good films – perhaps the easiest of all to waffle about. Slightly more difficult is describing the genuinely good films. There’s a niggling desire to somehow do the film justice, but the passion is at least there and the praise comes easily enough. Even the mediocre flicks offer a little of something either way to dig into. But how do you write about the movies filled with good stuff but which, for some barely definable reason, just don’t quite work? That’s a hard one. And that’s Eyewitness.

I took an interest in this 1981 thriller after learning that: (a) it’s an Anchorwoman In Peril movie; (b) Sigourney Weaver’s in it; (c) Sigourney Weaver plays the Anchorwoman In Peril in it; and (d) watching it would mean I could stop making this list. As it turned out, however: (a) it’s not really much of an Anchorwoman In Peril movie; (b) it’s not really a thriller; (c) it’s actually rather a strange film; and (d) I’ve got some sort of list-making problem today.

Eyewitness is filled with elements competing for your attention but, if you manage to isolate any one of these, you’ll find it is itself made up of at least two conflicting parts. Our main character, for instance, is janitor Darryl Deever (William Hurt). He seems likeable enough but he’s also incredibly cocky. We watch as he discovers the aftermath of a murder in his building, but we’re never quite sure whether we can trust his version of events. He’s infatuated with TV news personality Tony Sokolow (Sigourney Weaver) and, upon meeting her at the crime scene, leads her on by suggesting he knows more about the case than he actually does. As well as presenting the news, Tony is a concert pianist. And she’s also dating an older man (Christopher Plummer) who’s also involved in sneaking Jews out of Russia.

You might not be surprised to learn that all this is the result of scriptwriter Steve Tesich combining two scripts that were going nowhere into one story. The result is one script that, for a long time, feels like it’s going nowhere. It soon becomes clear that Tesich is far more interested in creating characters – and tweezing them like struggling flies into a web of tangled relationships – than giving them anything straightforward to do. Hence, clouding the picture are Darryl’s friend Aldo (James Woods) who may or may not be the killer and is forcing Darryl into a relationship with his sister; Darryl’s parents; Tony’s parents; Aldo’s parents; two cops (one of whom is a young Morgan Freeman) shadowing the characters’ actions; and a mysterious, dark-haired woman... I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if Darryl’s dishwasher had been struck by lightning, developed a personality, and demanded a subplot of its own.

Frustratingly, amongst the melee are three standout action sequences that really demonstrate where director Peter Yates’ strengths lie. These scenes – a motorbike chase, a dog attack, and the film’s horse-trampling climax – are absolute dynamite, the plums in the pudding and the visceral jolts of suspense that the film really needs.

Despite tying up its central mystery, Eyewitness ultimately remains bafflingly opaque. Even its title is ambiguous, since Hurt isn’t really an eyewitness to the crime at all. It’s understandable that the studio pushed for an alternative to the script’s horrible original title, The Janitor Can’t Dance. But you can’t help thinking it actually would’ve suited the film more.

Rating: 3/5

Exclusive

Tireless, that’s me, dear Anchorwoman In Peril! reader (and I wish you’d stop calling yourself that). I’ll search out any cheap obscure DVD in order to provide you with an incisive commentary on the merits – or not – of the film in question. So, when I remembered a film from my childhood that featured Suzanne Somers as a TV reporter stalked by a killer, I just knew it was my duty to seek it out... at any cost!

As it happened, that cost was £1.09 on Amazon (plus postage, mind) and the film was Exclusive, a 1992 TV movie riding on the coattails of Somers’ then-popularity in the sitcom Step by Step.

As Anchorwomen In Peril go, Marcy Howard (Somers) really is in peril. Barely a moment goes by when she’s not being crept up on by some sort of mysterious, shadowy figure. First it’s when she’s lying in bed, sleeping fitfully as a black-gloved intruder slips into the house, creeps up the stairs in the dark, hovers ominously above her, and... [camera pans up to face] False alarm – it’s just her husband, Reed (Michael Nouri)... Phew! He’s arrived home late, but there’s just enough time for a bit of nookie before Marcy heads off to work at the TV station.

Some time later, Marcy is working alone at the office when a black-clad stranger sneaks up behind her desk. She’s too busy typing to notice as he opens up a mysterious briefcase and… [camera pans up to face] False alarm – it’s just her co-worker Allen (Ed Begley Jr.)... Phew! Talk about suspense! Marcy’s not even being stalked by that killer yet, but her friends are doing a good enough job at skulking around and keeping her in a constant state of peril anyway!


So what about the actual stalker? Well, one night, Marcy’s at her desk when she receives an anonymous phone call telling her to go to the Blue Mood bar if she really wants a story. This is a stroke of luck, as the new station manager has been on her back recently, demanding higher ratings and reminding her that she used to be LA’s top investigative reporter. Of course, she also used to be an alcoholic and, in giving up the hard drinkin’, she also seems to have lost touch with the hard news.

When Marcy arrives at the Blue Mood bar, however, she won’t have to worry about forking out for an overpriced mineral water. Everyone’s been killed in a gruesome shotgun massacre – and she’s first on the scene with a camera crew. Marcy’s back in the big league and making the headlines herself... but at what cost? How long is it before the killer comes after her? And will she ever be able to get any work done without someone sneaking up on her?

Exclusive harks back to the days when, if you had a hot TV actress, a camera and Ed Begley Jr., then goddammit you had a movie. For much of the running time, it’s just that: Somers and Begley goof around in the studio; Somers and Begley argue about ratings; Somers and Begley follow a hot lead... And, occasionally, Michael Nouri pops up like a screensaver to protect your TV from the combined strength of all that blonde.

For an Anchorwoman In Peril movie, however, Exclusive is lacking in the requisite hysteria. Despite being a recently-divorced former alcoholic fighting off a murderous stalker (as well as the urge to down the odd bottle of vodka) Somers is pretty together and, as a result, it’s all a bit bland. Sure, there’s the usual investigating-strange-noises and receiving-strange-phonecall exploits, but we might as well be watching Somers in Three’s Company for all the suspense on offer. On the other hand, I was amused by Marcy’s “research”, which seems to consist entirely of clipping articles out of the daily papers... So much for being on the front line!

We do get a magnificent Live On Air wig-out in the second half, when Marcy is forced to report on her own attack at the hands of a man in a gimp mask, and turns into a comatose wreck in the middle of the nightly news...


And then there’s the moment when she’s driving along and takes her eyes off the road for a second to reach for her vodka bottle...


Unfortunately, such highlights are spread as thinly as the thrills, and Exclusive plods along to one of those climaxes where the gun goes off, the police break in, and you’re supposed to wonder which of the “bodies” will move first: Marcy or the killer. I didn’t hate it but, in the ten years since the initial Anchorwoman In Peril cycle, everyone seems to have forgotten how to make the formula fun.

Rating: 2/5