Child’s Play 2 (1990)

Director: John Lafia

Cast: Alex Vincent, Jenny Agutter, Gerrit Graham, Brad Dourif

Have I Seen it Before: Not terribly dissimilar from the first film in the series, I’m relatively sure I caught at least large swaths of the film on cable over the years, but the poster was far more memorable than anything else.

Did I Like It: Is there any other horror series which more aptly eschews the normal boundaries of criticism. The first film is silly at its core, but somehow manages to harness a fundamental tension that keeps it afloat. Later films in the series are fueled by that silliness.

And so this middle portion of the series feels strange. By all rational expectations, this film should be a pale echo of something that had no right to work any level in the first place.

And yet, for a particular kind of horror fan, this film works just as well, if not even better than the first. The series begins to not feel the slight shame it had for itself in the early goings. Even if the final metamorphosis is incomplete, there is some pleasure in watching it begin.

Additionally, from a technical standpoint, this are far better. There’s far less of the need to dwell on the rules of Dambala and soul transfer—this series is still far, far away from making those elements at all watchable—and that allows a bit more time to focus on Chucky (Dourif) as a puppet, and that part of the creation has certainly improved in the two years since the last film. This one could get away from putting its central baddie in full view on the poster and not have the movie be laughed out of multiplexes across the country.

Ultimately, that elemental wielding of the series’ most basic elements is going to be the wrong direction to take things, but here things feel just insubstantial enough to avoid having anything about which one might complain. Small praise, to be sure, but given the state of horror in the late 80s and early 90s, that should all probably be read as fawning praise.

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

Director: John Landis

Cast: David Naughton, Jenny Agutter, Griffin Dunne, John Woodvine

Have I Seen it Before: Never.

Did I Like It: I hesitate to start a review focusing on elements ancillary to the film in question, but on the other hand, the impulse has never stopped me, so: 

John Landis is an asshole.

He raised (or, I suppose, failed to raise, and only really succeeded in over-validating) an unrepentant sexual assaulter. He killed three people*. And if you happen to have seen the recent episode of The Movies That Made Us, focusing on Coming to America (1988), he absolutely has a ridiculously inflated view of himself** for someone who hasn’t made a demonstrably watchable film in over thirty years.

So, where does that leave this film? Celebrated as a great of the genre, I am going to—with the above context certainly making an argument that my criticism may be coming from a certain perspective—push back on that narrative.

This film is one exquisite werewolf transition, surrounded by an hour and a half of a movie that barely registers. The travel story is pedestrian. The relationship between David (Naughton) and Alex (Agutter) is preposterous from the moment they first see each other straight through to its tragic end. It isn’t funny. It isn’t scary. If Landis doesn’t know what it is, I’m not particularly inclined to help him find out.

And that werewolf transition? Entirely the work of Rick Baker, who deserves all the plaudits. Forget John Landis. For that matter, feel free to only enjoy clips of the film. Your life will be better for it.

*I probably ought to mention that he was found innocent of any criminal responsibility for the Twilight Zone (1983), but any reading of the details of that incident paint a fairly clear picture that he created the atmosphere where safety took a back seat to getting the shot done.

**He refused to identify who he was during his interview, after which the makers of the series helpfully introduced a supercut of other directors over the course of the series helpfully introducing themselves, many of them far better filmmakers, happily introducing themselves in deference to the form.