Ginger Snaps (2000)

It’s worth pointing out additional examples of timely femme-centric horror, even as Stephen King’s Carrie gets renewed for a second season on Amazon. (“If you thought the prom was bad, wait’ll you see Graduation Night!”)

A classic of sorts, Ginger Snaps is required viewing for its low-budget ferocity in depicting the growing (growling?) pains of female adolescence as a time of bloody cravings and terrible transformation.

The adorably morbid Fitzgerald sisters are not among the teen elite at their high school. Ginger (Katherine Isabelle) and her kid sister Brigitte (Emily Perkins) enjoy creating artfully gruesome tableaux of suicides, but the rest of the curriculum ain’t their bag, preferring to sneak smokes instead of butting heads with classmates in field hockey.

While ignoring their physical education requirements, the Fitzgeralds stumble over the remains of a mutilated dog (trigger warning), one of several that’s been turning up in the community.

Upon further examination of the shredded pet, Ginger gets mauled by an animal predator that is in turn run over by local weed dealer Sam (Kris Lemche).

Ginger survives the attack and begins to change, becoming more aggressive in her appetites—with boys and blood.

She hits puberty and it hits back!

“I get this ache… And I thought it was for sex, but it’s to tear everything to fucking pieces,” she confesses to Brigitte.

The absolute loyalty and devotion between the sisters gives Ginger Snaps all the juice it needs to charge John Fawcett and Karen Walton’s script into remarkably moving creature horror with a strongly beating heart.

The Fitzgeralds share a dungeon bedroom and a mutual fascination with death and suicide. But when Ginger goes feral, shy sister Brigitte has to figure out how to contain a savage beast hellbent on destruction—with the assistance of local weed dealer Sam.

“Out by sixteen or dead on the scene, but together forever,” Ginger chants.

“United against life as we know it,” Brigitte answers.

Ginger and Brigitte return in two sequels. Let’s plan to revisit.

The Cycle (2026)

How’s this for a setup?

In The Cycle, dedicated forensic anthropologist Meg Garland (Deborah Ann Woll, from True Blood) is notified that her missing father’s body turns up at a grisly murder scene, 34 years after he abandoned his wife and young daughter.

That’s pretty weird. Even weirder is the condition of Daddy’s corpse, which reveals a ton of physical trauma including electrocution, bullet wounds, and an elongated neck from hanging. But no maggots or evidence of decomposition.

Writer-director Jordan Downey disguises his supernatural agenda with a solid foundation of police procedure, as Meg and Officer Ian Marks (Jeffrey Donovan) follow the clues to a series of videotapes left by Meg’s father (David Myers Gregory).

The tapes try to explain both his absence from the family as well as the nature of his “condition” that defies any reasonable explanation, but bears a strong resemblance to lycanthropy.

Downey introduces some fresh material into werewolf lore, such as the necessity of a living host to house the soul of the beast. The transformation effects are agonizingly on point, and the story and character development are well served and satisfying.

Meg’s devotion to research and experimentation are clearly at odds with her family’s dark history, but she maintains her wits and checks her work throughout, even in the uncharted wilderness of the full moon.

Like The X-Files at its creepy best, The Cycle gives equal consideration to science and myth, and how they each contribute to the making of a very real monster.

Thumbs up, four stars, and recommended for fans of lupine lunacy.

Friday the 13th (1980)

In preparation for the upcoming Crystal Lake miniseries, with Linda Cardellini stepping into the role of Pamela Voorhees, the wife and I sat down to watch the very first Summer Camp slasher film.

The plot of Friday the 13th, the inexplicably optimistic reopening of cursed Camp Crystal Lake, will serve as the basis for the next several movies in a seemingly never-ending cycle that follows Jason Voorhees, the hockey masked killing machine, as he lays waste to unsuspecting segments of the population with an assortment of edged weapons.

But he’s not here yet. The original maniac at large in this series is Jason’s mad mother Pamela (Betsey Palmer), seeking revenge on camp counselors that allowed her potato-head son to drown while they were knocking boots.

We have Friday the 13th to thank for a good many of the tropes we enjoy in our daily consumption of horror entertainment, none more important than the body count.

There must be enough carnage to go around and the timing is crucial. Too much or too little and you run the risk of losing the viewer to disgust, or worse, indifference.

Makeup and effects man Tom Savini deserves a bouquet for his seminal blood-and-bladder work here. With nine murder victims and a scant $700,000 budget, Savini’s prime cuts are rendered gloriously realistic.

Annie’s (Robbi Morgan) cut throat, Marcie’s (Jeannine Taylor) ax in the face, and Jack’s (Kevin Bacon!) arrow piercing, all show up on Savini’s greatest hits reel, providing a nasty and final punctuation point unlike any that had come before, effects-wise.

The same cannot be said for Harry Manfredini’s score, which borrows liberally from the screaming strings approach pioneered by Psycho composer Bernard Herrmann decades earlier, further codifying their presence in the genre.

The terms “Dead Camper Movies” and “hack-and-stack” originate from director Sean Cunningham’s first Friday the 13th offering that showed up a mere 46 years ago.

Eight years prior, Cunningham was the producer on Wes Craven’s Last House on the Left, which also gained notoriety for its shocking brutality, and perhaps planted the seed that viewers can absorb even greater levels of horror than previously thought.

What I learned about Friday the 13th is that its impact hasn’t lessened. The finale, when Alice (Adrienne King) is drifting in a row boat on a deformed Jason springs out of the water, caused my wife to not only scream in terror, but lash out and hit me pretty hard in the jaw.

Most effective jump-scare in horror cinema? It’s gotta be up there.

Pro tip: If you’re showing Friday the 13th to someone for the first time, wear a mouth guard. It still hits.

Lady In White (1988)

Are there any hidden treasure hunters out there?

If so, Lady In White is a contender. A wondrous small-town mystery that’s glowingly photographed, it looks and feels like a Disney YA feature, but with an undercurrent of real darkness that should be of interest to fans of Hitchcock and David Lynch alike.

Lukas Haas from Witness and Brick plays Frankie Scarlatti, an adorable tyke getting his Dracula costume in shape for Halloween 1962. The inquisitive boy lives in a Norman Rockwell-style New England community with his widower father Angelo (Alex Rocco), older brother Geno (Jason Presson), and comedy relief Italian grandparents.

We get a deep dive into Frankie’s psyche. He’s a burgeoning writer with a penchant for monsters, and also dealing with the recent death of his mother, as revealed by a macabre dream sequence.

A pair of asshole classmates lock Frankie in the school cloakroom for the night as a prank, leading to the lad witnessing the ghost of a young girl (Joelle Jacobi) being murdered ten years before!

Young Frankie now has a mystery to solve, especially after the ghost follows him home and he discovers that nine other unlucky local kids have been knocked off in recent history.

Lady In White effectively utilizes the eerie old Eddy Duchin song, “Did You Ever See a Dream Walking” as a recurring motif that provides a valuable clue to the killer’s identity.

Writer-director Frank LaLoggia received a measure of negative feedback for the overly campy and whimsical visual liberties he takes in Lady In White, but we must remember that the protagonist is a child, which is why some scenes are rendered with exaggerated magical details and others are captured through a darker lens of menacing shadows and fog.

Sheesh! Might as well send hate mail to Tim Burton and Terry Gilliam.

The film’s era references hope for the future, with President Kennedy in the White House, but it also foreshadows both the struggle for social justice, and a near-future assassination, when the school’s black janitor is circumstantially blamed for the murders, giving Frankie another compelling reason to track down the man responsible.

If he can just stay alive long enough.

Lady In White is definitely a unique specimen, an imaginative child’s vivid recollection, autumnal ghost story, murder mystery and domestic tragedy that moves with enough pace and purpose to secure everyone’s attention.

Manifest some gratitude for this humble seasonal offering.

Hokum (2026)

Looks like another winner from Irish horror auteur Damian McCarthy, as Hokum hits the same creep spots as his previous entries Caveat and Oddity, while flexing new creative muscles in a more ambitious project.

A less-than-lovable Adam Scott (Severance, Parks & Rec) portrays Ohm Bauman, a horror writer intent on scattering his parents’ ashes at a picturesque hotel somewhere in the wild Irish boondocks.

Bauman’s rudeness and sarcasm rubs the staff the wrong way, with the exception of Fiona (Florence Ordesh), a friendly bartender who informs the word famous author that the honeymoon suite is haunted by a witch.

After laughing off the tale as “hokum,” Bauman’s sensibilities take a dramatic turn after he’s over-served at the bar, reeling him, kicking and screaming, into a haunting murder mystery with multiple suspects—including a vengeful spirit that appears to be ensconced upstairs, restlessly ringing the bell for room service.

Like a mashup of A Christmas Carol and The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, there is a definite story arc here, with Bauman getting a taste of humility and forgiveness that ultimately may make him a better person and writer.

Writer-director Damian McCarthy literally keeps Bauman (and us) in the dark for most of Hokum, nervously exploring the halls and tunnels that permeate the inn like paranormal prairie dog runs.

Adam Scott is pitch-perfect as an unfeeling prick in desperate need of redemption, which can only be found in the darkest corners of his soul.

And if he finds it, will he know what to do?

I recommend you find out.

Extinction (2015)

The wife and I came upon Extinction quite by accident while lost in the dense forest of Roku.

She screamed three times, so you know it’s scary.

In a frozen future, Jack (Jeffrey Donovan, Burn Notice, Fargo) and Patrick (Matthew Fox, Lost, Bone Tomahawk) are survivors of an infectious plague that reduced humanity to savage, bloodthirsty zombiedom.

Fortunately, the nuclear winter (?) that ensued, allowed Jack, Patrick, and Jack’s daughter Lu (Quinn McColgan) to build a secure compound in the tiny town of Harmony.

These are not basic cardboard characters. Jack is relentlessly protective of Lu, who’s mother died from an infected bite. He rarely acknowledges Patrick, only referring to him as “Neighbor.”

They work independently: Jack trains Lu in the art of survival, and Patrick forages on his snowmobile for supplies, broadcasts distress signals and loud rock music from his home radio station, and then drinks himself unconscious.

There is overwhelming evidence of bad blood between Patrick and Jack, and Lu can’t fathom her father’s animosity toward their reclusive provider, the only other person in existence, as far we know.

Despite Jack’s optimism that the monsters that munched mom all froze to death, a new threat arises in the form of agile, blind, albino zombies that have their own set of rules and behavior.

And they’re coming this way!

Spanish director/co-writer Miguel Angel Vivas makes the most of the Hungarian countryside location, contrasting the blinding snowy nights hiding horrid creatures that blend into the landscape, with vistas of glorious mornings worthy of inspirational postcards.

I took this as a promising omen. Perhaps all is not lost, though with a title like Extinction, one can be forgiven for expecting the worst.

The film also works as a well-intentioned metaphor for the necessity of estranged parents to put aside their issues and come together for the sake of the kid.

Or she might get eaten.

Extinction is a genuine post-apocalyptic jewel, conceived by a confident craftsman and executed by a superb cast.

Trigger warning: Dog doesn’t make it.

The Last Voyage of the Demeter (2023)

Dracula’s all-inclusive cruise to London doesn’t actually include the crew, but he paid for extra eats, so he’s entitled to certain liberties at mealtime.

Based on the Captain’s Log portion of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, director André Ovredal (The Autopsy of Jane Doe, Troll Hunter, Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark) pipes us aboard for The Last Voyage of the Demeter, as the good ship and its sturdy sailors transport mysterious crates of soil from the Black Sea to England, circa 1897.

Our protagonist Clemens (Corey Hawkins) is a Cambridge-educated black doctor who lands a high-paying job among the small crew of The Demeter, led by Captain Eliot (Liam Cunningham) and his able first, Wojchek (David Dastmalchian)

Clemens, an able hand with a keen mind, discovers a stowaway in the person of Anna (Aisling Franciosi), an anemic young girl boxed away in one of the crates of dirt and attempts to revive her using transfusions of his own blood.

Anna did not buy a ticket nor did she sneak onboard of her own accord. She was part of the cargo to feed a VIP guest in the hold. Needless to say the guest is not amused by her removal, and so begins a terror campaign against a rapidly shrinking squad of swabbies.

The crusty crew has no idea what they’re up against, and it’s only Clemens, the social outcast, that refuses to give in to fear and superstition, reasoning that if the thirsty creature can bleed, it can also die.

The Last Voyage of the Demeter does what it’s supposed to do—bring the darkness and ramp up the tension of being trapped at sea with an impossible predator breathing down your neck.

It’s not comforting, just ask Chief Brody. Can also be used in outer space!

The inability of the seamen to find the vampire during daylight hours is a troubling detail as is the accelerated transformation of Anna from feedbag to formidable fighter.

Even so, the winged vampire effects and indeed the creepy, creaky look and feel of this voyage of the damned are first-class all the way. Ovredal has us booked as reluctant passengers witnessing a terrible, unnatural nautical calamity.

Remember the old saying, “Worse things happen at sea?” It’s true.

Trigger Warning! Ship’s dog Huckleberry doesn’t make it.

The Devil’s Mouth (2026)

No need for a deep dive into The Devil’s Mouth, there’s not much to see.

Five easily forgotten college friends take a break from soaking up Thailand’s breathtaking scenery to follow a guide into a series of partially submerged caves currently inhabited by a very hungry shark.

I smell a bad Yelp review.

Blonde beauty Sara (Kathryn Newton) is miffed at her friend Max (Lana Condor) for being an irresponsible party princess. Max wanders off at one point, forgetting to tell anyone that Sara is swimming and not on the boat.

So poor Sara watches her pals sail off into the sunset while she’s mugged by a gang of rogue jellyfish! The kids recover and retrieve her, but she’s rightfully pissed at Max, even though the latter is paying for the trip.

This is director Jeff Wadlow’s only attempt at character development, so please take note.

Somehow this passel of feuding tourists end up underground, snorkeling their lungs out in search of an exit soon after their guide detects the unmistakable signs of a maneater in the house: a pool of fresh blood and a scuba mask that’s got two huge tooth holes in the face.

The cave decor is sufficiently rendered as to produce a measure of anxiety that is desperately needed in The Devil’s Mouth.

The shark, clearly some sort of prodigy, thrives in a mixture of salt and fresh water and instantly adapts to hunting prey in a cave, ramming the limestone to knock trembling swimmers into his watering holes.

It can also leap and jump like a porpoise, pivot its head, and swim backwards.

Not to give away too much plot, but after watching a ravenous predator make a picnic out of a half-dozen humans in less than 24 hours, and continue to hammer away at the geology trying to get Max and Sara into its belly, one can only conclude that the shark has a severe eating disorder.

In any case, the size and scale of the shark fluctuates along with viewer interest. In The Devil’s Mouth, entertainment is chiefly derived from watching hapless nitwits get chewed upon, but there’s nothing noteworthy happening (apart from magic shark antics) to keep us afloat or awake.

We’ve been on this vacation. Bring a couple good books.

Horror Castle (1963)

Get used to the sight of Mary Hunter (Rossana Podesta) wandering the grounds of a gloomy castle in a blue nightgown, accompanied by a heavy handed James Bond-style jazz score that erupts whether the scene calls for embellishment or not.

Welcome to Horror Castle, aka The Virgin of Nuremberg, directed by versatile veteran Antonio Margheriti (Castle of Blood, The Long Hair of Death, Cannibal Apocalypse).

Mary, the new bride of Max Hunter (Georges Riviere), moves into his family’s ancestral estate in Germany, an imposing edifice loaded with bad juju, thanks to the legacy of Max’s maniac ancestor, The Punisher, who tortured local girls he suspected of sinful behavior.

In straight Rebecca fashion, Max has business elsewhere for much of the movie, leaving Mary in the care of Erich (Christopher Lee) a scarred and taciturn family retainer, and Martha (Laura Nucci) the morose, stoned-faced housekeeper.

If you’re one of those folks that can’t get enough gothic atmosphere and macabre accoutrements, Horror Castle is littered with skulls, secret passages, and vintage torture devices that are still kept in fine working order.

It’s a bit of a stretch, but Marheriti tries to make a case for the monster of the house, a sadistic freak skulking about in executioner garb (Mirko Valentin) being a sympathetic character, since he was himself disfigured by fiendish Nazi surgeons to resemble a skull.

However, eliciting pity for a guy that stuffs a woman into an Iron Maiden, and torments another with a hungry rat loosed on her face is a mighty tall order.

Maybe next time.

I wish Horror Castle rated a definitive restoration, because the version I saw had been heavily edited and dubbed in English to the point of absurdity. Even so, it’s a tingly tour in a creepy ass location, with the enchanting Rossana Podesta guiding us by candlelight.

Trust me, there are worse ways to spend a dark and stormy night.

If you can handle the rough edges of budget constraints and decaying filmstock, Horror Castle sustains an eerie charm, with all its roads leading straight to the torture chamber.

Watch your step!

The Barge People (2018)

London filmmaker Charlie Steeds is earning a reputation as a British Roger Corman, grinding out low budget shockers with machine-like efficiency, as we saw in Freeze, his community theater version of a doomed polar expedition.

In The Barge People, Steeds crams scraps and trimmings from Wrong Turn, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Humanoids From the Deep, and The Hills Have Eyes into a Turducken tale of hungry amphibian mutants living in the nasty waters of England’s canal boat system.

Kat (Kate Davies-Speak) and her sweetheart Mark (Mark McKirdy) rent a canal boat for a bucolic weekend with her sister Sophie (Natalie Martens) and toffy-nosed boyfriend Ben (Matt Swales).

It doesn’t take long for snobby Ben to rub everyone the wrong way, including a feral couple living on their own barge that gets sideswiped thanks to Ben’s nonexistent navigation skills.

Before we can settle into a rousing chorus of Dumb City Kids vs Rural Ruffians, a pack of scaly predators board the tiny ship and start gnawing away on everybody in sight.

This forces Kat to strike up an uneasy alliance with Jade (Makenna Guyler), one of the boat invaders, to rescue Mark from captivity, that’s undermined by their mutual distrust of each other’s social class.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” Jade sneers. “You’re on your own.”

When confronted with a boatload of hostile monsters, Ben somewhat whimsically offers to buy them off with a deposit of $5,000 pounds into their bank account.

Ben didn’t get the assignment.

Once again, Steeds manages to offset his lack of funds with a commitment to create something reasonably fresh, and the timeless wonder of the English countryside helps considerably.

The Barge People features vegetarian gore, with not much meat to go with all the sauce, but serves as another reminder that no one should ever go anywhere for a relaxing weekend, other than back to bed.

Stay at home and read a book. You’ll live longer.