Trick ‘r Treat is an anthology film unashamedly in the mould of Creepshow and Tales From the Crypt, which themselves largely took their cues from the horror comics of the 50s and The Twilight Zone. It tells four separate but overlapping stories set in a small town celebrating Halloween. As with almost all anthology movies, these vary in tone and impact, but since the film a whole runs to a lean 79 minutes none are allowed to outstay their welcome. All comply to the tried and trust formula of a spooky setup followed by a gruesome twist ending. The slightest story, “The Principal”, features a brilliant turn from Dylan Baker, channeling the likes of Re-animator’s Jeffery Combs, propping up an otherwise fairly thin plot. “Surprise Party” and “The School Bus Massacre Revisited” are more substantial, the former boasting a terrifically full-on conclusion and the latter featuring some genuinely impressive atmospherics.

Like Creepshow, Trick ‘r Treat concludes with a one-hander featuring a veteran actor being tormented in his home; but instead of EG Marshall and thousands of insects, here we have Brian Cox and a pumpkin-headed demon called Sam. This segment is the undoubted highlight of the film. Sam is a brilliant creation; in a twisted take on A Christmas Carol, he pops up throughout the film as a warning to those who fail to respect the traditions of Halloween, but he reserves particular ire for Cox’s cantankerous Mr Kreeg, whom he pursues until he changes his ways. Cox gives a no-holds-barred performance, and the fight descends into some hugely enjoyable Evil Dead II-style slapstick/splatter.

As you might have guessed, Trick ‘r Treat isn’t hugely original, but Dougherty’s brilliantly witty, atmospheric direction holds everything together. In anchoring everything to a single town, he creates a real sense of location that is at once familiar but at times hauntingly alien; in “Surprise Party”, for example, the town’s festivities very quickly move from being jovial to threatening. The film is filmed with memorable and striking imagery: the aforementioned Sam, the decayed school bus half submerged in the lake, Kreeg’s front garden filled with carved pumpkins. The mood may predominantly be light-hearted, but Dougherty shows such craft it’s hard not to be dazzled.

The main point of divergence between Trick ‘r Treat and its predecessors is Dougherty’s decision (apparently taken during post-production) to cut between the stories rather than telling them in series. The downside to this is that the first 20 minutes or so are largely fairly leisurely-paced setup, to the extent that I was starting to wonder whether or not the film had been somewhat over-praised. Nevertheless, once all the stories are in motion, he delivers a genuine thrill ride that largely avoids the pacing problems that blight other anthologies.

Perhaps inevitably for a film that wears its influences so strongly on its sleeves, Trick ‘r Treat feels simultaneously very 80s and very 50s. But in an era where mainstream horror is becoming increasingly po-faced and misanthropic in its shocks, to see a modern, studio genre film that revels in a sense of well-crafted scary fun is hugely refreshing. It’s obviously a travesty that mainstream audiences were denied the opportunity to see this film on the big screen, but it points to bigger problems in Hollywood’s current handling of horror. This film easily stands alongside the likes of Creepshow and Carpenter’s Halloween as a definitive Halloween movie, one that you will want to watch – in company – every October. Yet the studios seem content to mark Halloween with the grungy nastiness of the Saw films rather than something far more inclusive, accessible and in keeping with the spirit of the season like this. (British readers who think this is overstating the case may like to reflect on just how widely Halloween is celebrated in the US). And Trick ‘r Treat impresses because despite the gore, murder and dismemberment, it retains the atmosphere of good, clean fun. So chalk this up as yet another horror blog telling you to buy this film, watch it, and tell your friends. As Sam is keen to stress, Halloween traditions must be respected…

When The Eye, the second film jointly directed by Hong Kong’s Pang Brothers, emerged in 2002, it was released into a very different climate to their 1999 debut, Bangkok Dangerous; US studios were hungry for Asian properties that would play well in the West, and to some degree the Pangs seem happy to meet this demand. Essentially, the main problem with The Eye is the nagging sense that it’s continually got one eye (ho ho) on the international market, and as a result the rather promising storyline feels unnecessarily reined in and hampered by the fairly conventional execution.

The plot comes on like an extended episode of Tales of the Unexpected, telling the story of a young violinist who, blinded since childhood, is given an transplant to rescue her sight only to be plagued by terrifying visions courtesy of the mysterious donor. It’s not an unfamiliar setup, but it has the tantalising potential to deliver some truly perspective-bending, disturbing visual madness; sadly the Pangs opt to deliver their scares through a series of wholly conventional, Westernised jumps and crashing noises rather than delving too deeply into Mun’s relative isolation and inner world. It seems fairly clear from the outset to the audience what’s going on here, and so the mystery becomes more focused on Mun and Dr Wah’s investigations into the donor; but sadly this thread falls flat by offering very little in the way of intrigue. The duo’s investigations manage to hit the right track straight off the bat, and from then on it’s a very easy and unchallenging ride to the resolution. The lack of twists or tonal modulation is wholly surprising, and what should be set-piece visual moments – the donor’s world bleeding in and out of Mun’s – are handled without flair, like a poor man’s David Lynch.

That’s not to say that there’s nothing to enjoy here. The Eye is unoriginal, but it’s a slick enough piece of work, with a well-paced story and a sympathetic treatment of its characters by both the Pangs and the cast. Angelica Lee acquits herself fairly well as Mun, and even though Dr Wah comes across as being slightly too credulous for a member of the medical profession, Laurence Chou makes him likeable enough. The film also successfully pulls off an audacious twist an hour through which is beautifully trailed and genuinely had me kicking myself for not getting there sooner. However, much of the disappointment of the film stems from the climax. The Pangs attempt a Ringu-style double ending, which falls flat for two reasons; primarily, the supposed ‘first’ resolution is so low-key as to barely register, while the coda promises spectacle but actually ends up limp and uncinematic. Hideo Nakata’s film succeeded by following a nerve-shredding climax with a moment that managed to top it for nail-biting innovation, but in following a tedious resolve with a botched Hollywood-style blow-out, the Pangs ensure their film end on more of a whimper than a bang.

All of which is not to say I didn’t find The Eye enjoyable enough; it’s undemanding fare that passes 100 minutes pleasantly enough, and as I said earlier, it does have that twist at the sixty minute mark. Unfortunately, it could – and should – have been much more than that. The Pangs clearly have an eye for a story and an undeniable ability behind the lens; if they had let themselves off the leash a little and delved more into the nightmare world they describe this could have been a film to rank alongside the wave of Asian horrors that broke a couple of years earlier. Ultimately, The Eye isn’t nearly disturbing nor – frankly – gory enough to either serve the story it wants to tell nor to differentiate itself from the NC-17 rated mush that’s marked Hollywood’s recent output. Ironically, The Eye is an Asian horror that tries too hard to satisfy foreign notions of what Asian horror is. Given that the film has been re-made in both India and the US, the Pangs have played the market and won, but at the cost of the x-factor that had American execs looking East in the first place.

A first time viewer might be surprised, given the film’s reputation, that the titular exorcism only really takes place in the last 20 minutes. But the demonic possession of the 12 year-old Regan McNeil is not so much the film’s raison-d’etre as it is the catalyst for three different plot strands which span the supernatural and the personal: actress Chris McNeil’s relationship with her daughter following her breakup with the child’s father; Father Merrin’s apparent awakening of a demon on an archaeological dig in Iraq; and Father Karras’ crisis of faith, compounded by the death of his mother. When Regan is possessed – and it’s only halfway through the film that we become aware that she is – the film is not just a display of overt, graphic horror; the possession has consequences for these very real people. The infamous displays of violence and abusive language are secondary to the fact that – for the audience – the fate of the child matters.

All this is helped by the absolutely pitch-perfect performances of the lead actors. Ellen Burstyn runs the full gamut between tenderness and hysteria in the role of Chris, and she is never less than convincing. Likewise, Jason Miller’s is immensely likeable and sympathetic as the conflicted Father Karras, and forms a good contrast with Max von Sydow’s legendary turn as Father Merrin. Von Sydow captures – perhaps more so than any other film I can think of – the essence of a man whose faith is so strong that it in turn strengthens him into a powerhouse whose presence and gravitas hulk over the latter part of the film.

At the heart of the film, though, is Linda Blair as Regan. Since the film, Blair has been tainted somewhat by dubious career moves and personal controversy, and it’s widely felt that she was robbed of an Oscar for her role here by Friedkin’s initial unwillingness to disclose that the voice of the demon was provided by Mercedes McCambridge rather than Blair herself. She is, though, astonishing in the part, showing a precocious range that is way beyond her years. Her chemistry with Burstyn in the film’s early scenes is immensely touching, meaning that her coldness in the earlier throes of her possession are actually more disturbing than the creature that she becomes. To see the ‘ideal daughter’ of the film’s opening masturbating with a crucifix and using obscene language is nothing less than horrifying.

Ultimately, The Exorcist succumbed to the fate of all great genre movies – franchising, foreign rip-offs, second-rate homages and special editions. At the centre of it, though, is this relatively simple, heartfelt and utterly devastating film, which over thirty years on has lost none of its ability to draw you into its world and shock you. Peerless, and highly recommended.

Thankfully I think my interpretation is more likely to be borne out, especially if Richard Donner has anything to do with it. His excellent portrayal of Satan’s final attempt to assert his dominion is as classy and entertaining now as it was 30 years ago. If we do have to go I can think of no finer way than having Patrick Troughton bellowing Revelation from the top of his voice as he staggers around in a morphine-induced stupor telling children to drink the blood of Christ.

I imagine it’s difficult for filmmakers to judge devil films correctly. The inherent wow-factor of their subject matter is such that it’s easy to slip into unintentional parody. This is especially the case when the old good-against-evil routine is played out in contemporary times. Donner gets The Omen just right though. There have to be moments which show the power of Satan on Earth and there are, and plenty of them. Troughton’s ultimate fate is but one fine example of this. However, by framing his tale in the context of a single and very likable family he manages to keep the viewer’s expectations on a tight leash and never lets the hocus-pocus come to dominate the plot. At times-especially towards the end-the film has the feel of a conventional psychological thriller with the inherent evil of it’s the main protagonist subsumed by Robert Thorn’s quest for the truth.

On balance I think this works very well as it both increases the tension of the underlying premise and also renders it that tad more plausible. It also means that the stylishly composed death sequences have lost none of their power even though special effects have moved on 30 years. Look out for Holly the Nanny’s abrupt departure and you’ll see what I mean. What makes Damien’s powers even more creepy is that at first he doesn’t even know that he possesses them. Since we never truly find out whether he is the actual incarnation of the Devil or merely possessed by him; Donner muddies the waters and our ethics by creating a situation where it is possible to pity both the boy and his victims.

The overall downplaying of Damien’s powers also assists in this and there is a nice emphasis on how the Thorns struggle to come to terms with ‘their’ child’s increasing detachment even before his eerie provenance is know. It is especially difficult to watch Ambassador Thorn’s heartache at being the only one who knows that there is no real biological bond between him and his son. Gregory Peck plays the part beautifully in a role that deservedly acted as his comeback performance. When he finally snaps at the end you really can’t help but pity his dilemma and his plight at knowing what he has caused. Damien’s final realisation of his power and destiny provide one last embittered taunt to the viewer in one of the finest smirks in film history. For those who haven’t seen The Omen II or III (such as me) there is a terrifying prospect that the Seals are about to be opened… A rather fantastical plot is a natural consequence of a film about Satan but if you can overlook that The Omen remains one of the best films of its kind and a highlight of 1970s output.

What will strike you first when watching Masque (especially if you’re familiar with the rest of the Corman-Poe series) is lavishness in which the evil world of Prince Prospero is presented. Though the scale of the setting never really advances beyond Prospero’s castle walls there is a real sense of perspective which adds to the discomfort of the ‘Red Death’ lapping at the doors. It’s a rare thing to see Corman working with a healthy budget and he puts it to excellent use. The sumptuousness of the castle stands in stark contrast to the hell that is going on outside its walls, and it’s easy to see why young Francesca’s previously resolute faith is tested by these new surroundings. The dance of death is a gorgeous sight to behold, with the orgy of colours adding to the terror of Prospero’s realisation that he was backing the wrong horse all along. When contrasted with the closing five minutes or so, when the ‘Masque’ is joined by his ‘brothers’, it all adds up to a visual treat which serves the plot wonderfully. Corman is sometimes marginalised as a slightly-less-than-serious director which is why it’s a joy to see him turn out a film which, even if you isolate the cinematography and forget about the plot, is a master class in film-making.

Not that there is any need to isolate the plot. There are periods when the film tends to drift, especially the bits involving Juliana’s rites of passage. For some reason they just don’t gel with the rest of the picture, perhaps because they’re a little too overworked and thus seem burdensome and out of step with the sprightliness of the rest of the film. Undoubtedly the strength of Vincent Price’s performance completely dominates the film. He’s magnificent as Prospero, playing it completely straight and obviously loving every minute of what is one of the finest offerings of his career. It’s great to see him take on the role of such a vile character and snarl his way through scenes of every-increasing dastardliness. Though he is integral to the success of the film, and in truth you’d probably describe it as a one-horse show, Jane Asher is a perfect counter-part as the innocent and pure Francesca. The early Price-Asher scenes are especially effective, where her faith at first seems to unsettle the Satanist Price before the force of his personality inevitably triumphs, however fleetingly.

Masque of the Red Death is faithful to the spirit of Poe and is a wonderful addition to the Corman-Price working relationship, a period when both men were arguably at their best. It’s easy to overlook some of the more turgid scenes when you know that Price will be reappearing again presently to scowl at and kill more of his courtiers. The fact that the ‘Masque’ only appears on screen for about ten minutes gives us sufficient time and space to get the measure of Prospero-and, speaking personally, to thoroughly enjoy his company-before the final and inevitable judgement is delivered. Top-class all of the way.

Those looking for Dead-style carnage in the film will be sorely disappointed, as Season of the Witch is ultimately a very slow and talky film. Like Night of the Living Dead, its limited budget and resources is partially concealed by a script that doesn’t call for outlandish sets and effects, but the tense paranoia of Night has given way to a more stately pace that often feel like the film isn’t really going anywhere. This is especially true of an early scene in which Joan and her future lover Greg debate the powers of the mind; it feels in some way significant, but is really too opaque in its intentions to feel that it’s advancing our understanding of the story, and also seems to go on forever. Apparently Romero shot over four hours of material before cutting it down to ninety minutes; weirdly, the film feels both overlong and incomplete – it’s a tough one to sit all the way through, but although it’s pretty obvious what the film’s about it’s hard to say what it actually means. More practically, some important plot points get lost along the way, including crucial information about Joan’s miscarried baby, which does contribute greatly to our understanding of her character.

That said, one shouldn’t approach Romero films expecting anything overtly didactic or opinion-based. He’s admitted himself that he’s more impressionistic in his writing, preferring to hold a mirror up to social issues that interest him rather than pursuing an agenda. Obviously, this approach works incredibly well in the Dead films where he’s comparing different strata of society, but it comes rather unstuck in Season. It’s clear that Joan’s move into the occult is a metaphor for feminist liberation, but Romero sends mixed messages about the implications this has. Most troubling of all is the sequence in which she (unwittingly) kills her husband, who dies unrepentant for the patriarchal quasi-slavery he has held her in. Is Romero really suggesting that female emancipation will lead to tragedy? It’s unlikely, given the measured ambivalence he shows elsewhere towards the issue.

As long as one is prepared to resist looking too hard for a clear-cut message, such flaws are eminently forgivable for a director who was ultimately still honing his trademark style. Although the camerawork frequently lacks finesse, the editing is unmistakably Romero, as is the effective use of music. The opening dream sequence, in which Joan’s oppression is played out in literal terms, is startling and the death of her husband is brilliantly shot and cut, despite my reservations. As might be expected, the acting is very variable, but Jan White and Ray Laine are very good as Joan and Greg, getting good mileage out of their scenes together and frequently showing real chemistry. Season of the Witch is not the easiest film to watch, a feeling that’s not helped by the really murky print on Anchor Bay’s DVD release, and neither is it the best introduction to Romero’s work. However, I’d recommend it to any Romero fans more interested in his themes than splatter. In some ways, it’s a partial dry-run for Martin, another Romero character-study and arguably his best feature. Season is rough and ready, but provides food for thought for the patient viewer.

The cast of near-unknowns play the whole thing faultlessly, with many of the school scenes, particularly those involved John Travolta’s Billy, having a loose, natural feel which contrast heavily with the almost operatic confrontations between Carrie and her mother. Spacek delivers a knockout performance as Carrie, her southern accent and rather lopsided features marking her out as a total outsider from her confident, more sexually aware peers. But in the run-up to the prom the transformation she undergoes is palpable; compared to her pasty awkwardness in the early shower scenes, she takes on a rather fragile beauty – still very much the outsider, but now with a charming delicacy that the other girls lack. In all fairness, anyone’s going to look good sitting next to William Katt’s Tommy Ross, sporting the most outrageous poodle perm in cinema history and clad in a tuxedo that even Jon Pertwee’s Dr Who would have balked at. Still, it’s interesting to note that whilst everyone else’s appearance roots them very firmly in the mid-70s, Carrie’s prom dress and styling have dated the least – whether this timelessness was intentional or not is a moot point, but it makes the film seem less like a product of its age.

Having had some indication of the plot before I watched it, the film confounded my expectations as to its tone. Having watched Carrie grow in confidence, I expected her revenge to be her vindication, a determined stand against the bullies on behalf of all the little people people crushed by the high school system. In the event, Carrie’s tormentors get their just deserts, but her allies suffer as well, and what’s more she undoes all the positive change she has brought about for herself. At the beginning of prom night, she’s an independent young woman; a few hours later she is driven back into the arms of her insane mother. The DVD box bills this movie as “the ultimate revenge fantasy”, but I’d describe it more as a revenge tragedy; everyone’s punished, the deserving and the undeserving. There can be no satisfaction in the outcome, and no-one is left to learn from it.

At a lean 90 minutes, Carrie is a taut little film, and the excellent screenplay sensibly keeps things linear. It’s a shame, then, that de Palma doesn’t always let the script and the cast speak for themselves. His direction occasionally feel heavy-handed, such as the unnecessarily foreboding thunder and lightning when Carrie announces her decision to go to the prom to her mother. And unforgivably, he uses some appalling and inexplicable split-screen trickery over Carrie’s revenge, which robs the scene of potential scale and horror and instead makes it look like a cheap MTV video. These slip-ups are few in number, but do give the impression that the director was perhaps trying a little too hard.

Like all the best horror films, Carrie is powerful because it essentially tells a very human story, and uses its arsenal of shock, scares and blood to elevate everyday problems to an almost epic scale. Yes, the ending is a very up-front bloodbath, but far more powerful is its sickening emotional impact. At the prom, Tommy does genuinely fall in love with Carrie and in a strange way we do too, making her subsequent unravelling quite harrowing to watch. Ultimately, the supernatural plays second fiddle to the human, which really is as it should be.

There’s no doubting that Vincent Price steals the show as the evil Matthew Hopkins (the film being based on the real life Hopkins who terrorised mid-17th century East Anglia). Reeves gives him an excellent platform to expunge the campness that crept into his Roger Corman films and he rises admirably to the challenge. As the Witchfinder he is chillingly effective, mustering a bedevilling earnestness when carrying out his public duties but retaining the nastiness and opportunism that comes through when he’s alone and exploiting his victims. Robert Russell is also fantastic as his thuggish assistant Stearne, and the pair perfectly complement each another as they go about their dastardly deeds. Their ruthlessness and interdependence is nicely illustrated in the ambush scene when Hopkins turns tale and leaves Stearne to his fate, only for them to reform their partnership and carry in their uniquely merry way.

The plot of the film is also intelligent, and I like the way that Reeves draws on the anarchy and paranoia of civil war England to frame his story. The denunciation scenes perfectly capture mob mentality and that such events are historically accurate mean they are all the more terrifying (My favourite lines being: Price – What evidence do you offer that she’s a witch? Peasant – She was seen talking to her particulars sir, a stoat and a black cat). This is just an elaborate front for Hopkins and Stearne though, and their exploitation of the collective fear amongst the communities they prey upon brought to mind the ‘Red scares’ of the 1940s and ‘50s. Reeves seems to get a little lost in this though, and the Civil War scenes sometimes feel as though they have been slotted in periodically to remind the viewer of the setting rather than acting as a subtle backdrop, and when this happens they lose their effectiveness. The absence of Price from many of these scenes also begins to tell after a while as the supporting cast do not really hold things together when he’s off screen. That’s not a criticism of the actors – generally speaking they are very good – rather a slight disappointment that they quickly adopt quite hackneyed personas off which Price is expected to play (Ian Ogilvy’s hero being the obvious example).

One last word on the violence, which brought the film some infamy on its original release. Obviously modern viewers will have seen worse in terms of gore, but some of the ‘witch test’ scenes are disturbing and well rendered. The closing scene is especially good, especially as it seems to leap out from nowhere. All in all a worthy tribute to Reeves and undoubtedly one of Price’s finest performances.

The essential problem I had with this Stephen King adaptation is that it suffers from the same debilitating flaw as most other attempts to bring his books to screen – astonishingly bad pacing. Those who have seen ‘IT’ will know what I’m talking about here. This is further compounded for European audiences (i.e. me) in that the movie version that’s most widely available is an abridged version of the lengthy TV series that Hooper filmed to be screened in two parts. Though there aren’t any major jarring distortions you never really feel settled when watching the condensed three hour versions. The build-up of tension in the first two-thirds of the film is excellent, with James Mason especially effective as the enigmatic Richard Straker, who is a delight to watch and acts as real ballast to the plot. David Soul gives a more restrained performance as the hero, Ben Myers, but I think he slots in very well to his part in the story and the banter between him and Mason adds a welcome extra dimension to King’s formulaic New England horror story. Again he’s let down by the poor editing, with his character only partially developed and naturally failing to acquire the likeability that is essential in a lead role of this type.

Because of the poor cutting the story is never really allowed to breathe. For example, it is clear that the evil Marsten House is fundamental to Ben’s return to Salem’s Lot but it’s story is pushed aside astonishingly quickly, so that by the end it is nothing but a standard spooky backdrop for the showdown with the vampire. Some might think that the creature in question is a hackneyed Nosferatu rip-off but I think the over-the top effects work well in this context, especially when contrasted with the more subtle (but equally effective and more unsettling) appearance of his recently recruited minions. I’d certainly recommend Salem’s Lot but be warned that it uses its ample time badly and you’ll be frustrated at knowing that a fundamentally excellent little story is laying in tatters on the cutting editor’s floor. At the very least it’ll remind you of that excellent Simpson’s episode.

Polanski aims to give us a high-brow passage into the realm of evil by making our companions intellectuals and wealthy occult enthusiasts. This might help give his premise a little more feasibility but it strips it entirely of its tension and suspense. Cold, objective discussions about the coming reign of darkness, conducted in beautifully endowed libraries, strip that prospect of its inherent terror and relegate it to the level of a bad history lecture. It would be excusable if Polanski had crafted a tighter script but instead we’re expected to make do with a series of set-piece rambles from a group of characters that have no real depth and whose earnest looks and pleas to Depp to proceed with caution understandably fall on deaf ears. Each owner of ‘The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows’ seems to know exactly what the book contains (as will any semi-perceptive viewer within the first twenty minutes) and the nature of its powers, which makes the quasi-intellectual framing of Depp’s quest at best annoying and at worse ineffectually snobbish (and off putting in either case)

The number of pointless strands to the movie does nothing to help focus minds on the central story. The revelation that the secret society which grew up to protect the book has descended into nothing more than a dogging gang for the rich and famous is a nice touch but jars massively when Polanski then tries to refocus minds on how terribly serious the plot is. The hunt around Europe for the other copies of the book is also unnecessarily elaborate and you get the feeling that its there just to please the American audience who like to look at pretty buildings and think devil worship is more likely to occur in ancient buildings and (excuse the ‘Rumsfeld-ism’) ‘Old Europe’. The end – and the final showdown with Lucifer himself – is devastatingly disappointing; it’s not just he doesn’t appear (sorry to spoil the plot but I’m doing you a favour) that rankles; it’s the fact that you actually won’t care by this stage.

There are one or two salvageable aspects of The Nine Gates. Johnny Depp is as excellent as ever as our unscrupulous book-tracking hero. Indeed, he seems to feed off the confused direction of the plot and you’re unsure which way he’s going to jump right until the very end. His dispassion frequently crosses over into indifference at what’s going on around him, and in this he provides a more effective figure of empathy for the audience than Polanski intended him to be as they will be feeling pretty similar. He is probably the only saving grace in this disappointing and rather pointless film, and if you’re after a truly intelligent look at Lucifer stick with Faust.