Tag Archives: film review

VHS Review: DICK TRACY MEETS GRUESOME (1947; Trans-Atlantic Video, 1990)

VHS Review: Al “Grampa” Lewis Hosts INVISIBLE GHOST (1941; Amvest Video, 1988)

It’s time for a little rectifyin’. Longtime readers may recall my 2016 review of Pop Flix’s 2-disc, 8-movie Bela Lugosi DVD set. To this day, it’s still my favorite budget DVD release of Lugosi’s poverty row (and subsequently public domain) movies. Have there been more comprehensive collections released? Well, yeah. And yet, the concise all-killer, no-filler line-up of films and clean, attractive presentation of them in Pop Flix’s offering continues to overwhelmingly appeal to yours truly, over 6 years later. I even gifted a copy to my cousin last Christmas, such was and is my continuing fondness for the set.

While my love of the collection hasn’t changed, my list of personal favorites contained within it has – somewhat. The Devil Bat and The Corpse Vanishes continue to reside in the upper echelon of Lugosi flicks in my mind, whereas The Ape Man, which I raved about back in ’16, has fallen in stature precipitously. And Bowery at Midnight, which was the big surprise of the set for me, frankly, that has grown to become what just may be my all-time favorite Bela movie, poverty row or otherwise.

If you go back and read that article, you’ll note that I was somewhat lukewarm on 1941’s Invisible Ghost. In fact, my conclusion back then was: “…this, for me, is one of the weaker entries, though that’s really only relatively speaking; this is still a good one, but it’s a bit overshadowed by some of the other flicks here, in my eyes.”

Yeah, that opinion has changed quite a bit in the intervening years as well. I didn’t intentionally set out to change my earlier viewpoint, but regular watches in the time since has resulted in Invisible Ghost steadily growing to ultimately become what is very likely a top 3’er in my Bela favorites (The Devil Bat and Bowery at Midnight being the other two).

As such, rather than going back and modifying the original review, which is something I really, really didn’t feel like, a full-fledged update seemed to be in order. But by what vehicle? Should I bust out the Pop Flix DVD and (re-)review just that movie? Nah, too easy. Or maybe the movie as presented by The Ghoul back in 2000? (I briefly mentioned that episode and the thought of reviewing it in that 2016 article, after all.) Nah, too much work. Do I try to snag a cheap copy of the appropriate entry in GoldStar Video’s Tales of Horror VHS series, which I like to babble about? Actually, I tried, but there were 0 copies available online that I could see.

So you know what that means? Yes indeed, it’s Grampa Al Lewis time once again!

Hey, it’s October, Halloween month, and as I write this, it’s cold and overcast and rainy out, so the setting is right. Plus, I’m pretty sure these Amvest/Grampa VHS articles get more continuing views than anything else I write about, so might as well!

It’s true: Invisible Ghost was released as part of Amvest Video’s 1988 “Grampa Presents” VHS series. I’ve written about these plenty (here’s the latest – from last October); they are, bar none, my favorite budget video releases, of yesterday or today. So if I’m going to revisit Invisible Ghost and give it its proper props, this is the correct way to go about it. I mean, maybe not from a non-obsolete technology or picture quality standpoint, but…

Get them synapses fired up and you’ll realize this is the respective VHS cover right here. The artist’s rendition of one of the more-famous images from the film is perfectly respectable, and while I’m not a big fan of how the movie title itself was rendered (it looks hairy, like it would be better suited for a werewolf movie or sumpin’), the artwork is nice and colorful and it’s overseen by the “Grampa Presents” banner at the very top, which puts it above many, many other budget tapes from the era. Heck, it puts it above other tapes in the very same series!

Oddly, not every Grampa tape used the motif, but these tapes were supposed to have that banner, along with a “Grampa’s Ratings” feature on the back. I don’t really have anything much to say about the reverse of the sleeve, but Grampa did rank this one two bats and remarked “a deadly obsession” there, which doesn’t really tell anyone anything, but at least it’s present. (I have my doubts Al Lewis himself actually sat down to rate and write these – but I sure like to imagine he did.)

I’ve written about these Grampa tapes so many times by now that there’s little I can say about them that wouldn’t be massively repeating myself. Follow the link I gave you before and go from there if you want to know more. Or hit the search button; that works too, I guess.

Put shortly, movies in this series were hosted by Al Lewis, doing his Grandpa Munster shtick without being called Munster; here he’s simply “Grampa.” Accompanied by a green (blue?) screen, old horror movie clips, computer-animated special effects, neon squiggles, and an off-screen Igor that you may or may not hear, Lewis does his tried-and-true “I’m an old vampire” routine.

The intros and outros for these tapes were always the same, and despite the late-80s budget video trappings, they’re a lot of fun. The intro was more for setting up the premise and announcing the movie (which was supposed to be announced by the unseen Igor, though a good part of the time they didn’t even bother including it; such was the case here) while the outro focused mainly on the titles available in the series and how you could go about getting them. Same every time or not, these host segments add so much to these tapes; not only are they a unique touch in the world of budget home video from that time, but they recall the television horror hosts that were an endangered species even then. If you’re gonna watch a cheap VHS release of a public domain movie, there were (are) far, FAR worse ways to go about it.

So that’s the background to the main reason for this article: giving Invisible Ghost its deserved due. Things go better with Grampa, but our real focus today is the movie, so let’s get to that now.

Invisible Ghost was released in 1941, the first of ultimately 9 movies Bela Lugosi did for poverty row outfit Monogram Pictures. From my understanding, it’s often considered the best of the bunch, and while I’m not sure I completely agree with that, it’s definitely a good’un. As The Ghoul used to occasionally say, “it’s a dandy!”

Our plot: Lugosi plays one Charles Kessler, a man of considerable wealth and power (though unless I’ve just totally missed them over and over, specifics as to how/why are never given; dude’s mad rich, okay?). Some years prior to the start of the film, Kessler’s wife cheated on him with his best friend, they reconciled, but then apparently ran off with said friend anyway, something that left Kessler devastated. As the movie begins, Kessler is seen having dinner and talking with “his wife,” who of course isn’t actually there. Evidently this is something he does each year on their wedding anniversary, though he’s (seemingly) normal otherwise. In fact, he’s overwhelmingly caring and kind.

Unbeknownst to Kessler though, his wife is still around. The night she ran off, there was a car wreck, and while the best friend died, she survived, and she’s been squirreled away nearby by Kessler’s gardener. Wifey is in a perpetually dazed, amnesic state, so she’s being kept hidden until she’s “better.”

She gets out sometimes though, and when Kessler spots her standing outside of his window, he’s goes into a homicidal trance, in which he simply has to strangle someone with his robe. That’s right, prior to the start of the film, there’s been multiple unsolved murders amongst the staff of the Kessler home (an exact number is never given, but it’s noted as “a lot”). No one knows it’s Kessler – not even Kessler himself!

This may all sound farfetched, but suspension of belief is often required with these 1930s/1940s horror cheapies, so nothing too out of the ordinary there. But what drives Invisible Ghost and makes it so much fun is just how nutty it is. No one in this movie ever behaves in a logical manner, it never plays out how you think it should, even by wartime poverty row standards. And because of that, it’s an absolute blast to watch. Some of the notable aspects that’ll have you simultaneously scratching your head and getting a total kick out of the proceedings (CAUTION: some spoilers are coming!):

Okay, so multiple people have been murdered in the Kessler home over an unspecified number of years, most or all of them apparently being servile employees. And yet, suspicion never falls on Kessler or his daughter or, really, anyone else in the house that hasn’t been offed yet? Did the cops think some rando is just occasionally stopping by and doing this, and leaving it at that?
Kessler is rich and powerful, so it’s no stretch to imagine these murders are newsworthy; we’re talking front page kinda stuff here. In fact, late in the film it’s implied they have made the papers. So how exactly are they still finding employees? A high probability of being murdered isn’t exactly a perk, no matter how tough the job market in the area may or may not be. (Speaking of that late film moment, it’s during a conversation with the new cook, who mentions she doesn’t read the papers. So how’d she find out about the job? Does Kessler put up a “help wanted” sign in his window? And if it was by word of mouth, newspapers or no, wouldn’t the reputation of the house precede it?)
Why not move out of the house? This is explained away as “sentimental reasons,” cause, wife. Okay, fine, I’ll buy that, but why keep hiring staff if there’s the strong possibility they’ll be killed? Kessler (when he’s not in nutso mode) is seen to be kind and compassionate, so wouldn’t he, you know, want to keep people as safe as possible until the murderer is apprehended? Can’t he make his own dinner for awhile?
Are we really supposed to believe the gardener has hidden Kessler’s wife away for several years? And while I can kinda sorta understand his rationale for keeping her hidden (it’d crush Kessler), she’s obviously damaged mentally – is hiding her away until she “gets better” really the best course of medical action? And after a number of years without getting “better,” shouldn’t he try to find a doctor, at least on the sly? I mean, the gardener is clearly no Einstein, but this is still incredibly stupid. And by the way, he doesn’t want to bring Kessler’s wife to him cause it’d hurt Kessler? Dude, the guy is having a yearly dinner conversation with an empty chair!
Kessler has a daughter, Virginia, who has a quasi-fiancée, Ralph. Ralph evidently had some sort of relationship with Kessler’s new maid, Cecile. Cecile still carries a torch for Ralph, even though Ralph says it’s over. Ralph is overheard telling her she’s not going to stand in the way of his happiness, so when Cecile is murdered by Kessler, Ralph is convicted on that slimmest of circumstantial evidence – and executed!
In the very next scene, Ralph’s identical twin brother Paul shows up at the house! Say what?! He couldn’t get there in time for the trial/execution, but he wants to help solve the murders, so he’s quickly given a room! Paul never really does that much, making you wonder why they’d even bother with the whole twins thing in the first place. And speaking of, Paul never seems too upset his brother was executed for a murder he presumably didn’t commit. In fact, except for a moment when Kessler is afraid the new cook has been murdered, none of the main characters ever seem too concerned/upset when a new murder has been committed. Even the cop in charge of the investigation seems more annoyed with it than anything.
At one point the idiot gardener gets offed by Kessler – except that he doesn’t, except that he does. Y’see, Kessler strangles him during one of his trances, the body is found, and eventually taken to the coroner. When the gardener’s wife shows up to see the body (she seems upset, even though she’s not really a main character), she discovers that he’s still alive! He dies for good soon thereafter, but it’s such an odd, odd moment. First off, the wife screams in terror rather than being overjoyed he’s alive. But also, I mean, the guy’s heart was still beating, yet missed by the cops, coroner et al., for seemingly hours (Jack Klugman would have never stood for that – and as the story goes, he didn’t). And not just that, but is this really a believable outcome of strangulation? The guy was hurt bad enough to be unconscious for a relatively lengthy period of time, only to randomly regain consciousness momentarily before completely dying? I can see something like that happening as the result of a head injury or whatever, but having the air choked out of you?
Late in the film, when it’s suspected the butler is the culprit, Paul insists he be tested to see if he’s insane before being arrested. Ignoring that the test is hilariously simple, it’s a nice thought, especially since the evidence, while still circumstantial, is much stronger than what got Ralph executed.
Not really a strange moment, but Bela’s declaration of “apple pie? My, that will be a treat” at one point is pretty hilarious.
Kessler’s wife seems to have a strange psychic connection with Kessler. He seems to magically know whenever she’s standing outside the window, and at the climax when he’s in mid-strangle (this time with observers), she suddenly drops dead, which then immediately releases her mental hold on Kessler. This ‘connection’ is never explained. So we have to surmise that his love for her was so strong that he just ‘knew’, I guess?

If it seems like I’m picking the film apart just for the sake of being snarky, trust me, I’m not. Invisible Ghost is so much fun simply because it’s so loopy. Forget suspension of belief, just throw your ideas of logic right out the window from the start. No one behaves logically in this film, so just sit back, accept that from the word go, and hold on for the ride!

Some positive positives: they’re somewhat obscured in the dupey, worn print Amvest utilized, but the usage of shadows and evocative camera angles in Invisible Ghost is truly impressive. It’s all relative, but this movie is more atmospheric and artistic than it really has any right to be. (Kino’s terrific 2017 Blu-ray release shows all this much better, though it seems to be out of print now, which is a shame, because it’s amazing to realize the film could look as terrific as it does there.)

Also, the butler Evans is played by African-American Charles Muse, and far from a jokey Mantan Moreland-like character, Muse plays the role with dignity and intelligence. Considering the time period this was released, this is both amazing and refreshing. Muse is excellent.

(Speaking of acting, as always, Lugosi is terrific.)

I can’t recommend Invisible Ghost highly enough. At only a little over an hour, it naturally moves fast, and its complete lack of predictable behavior is an asset, not a detriment. It’s breezy, cheap, wartime poverty row horror, and it’s irresistible.

Of course, in this case, things finish up with Grampa, which is just the icing on the cake. Again, like a television horror host, it’s an appropriate (and fun!) way to wind up the presentation.

Like the intro, I can only say so much about the outro that I haven’t said before. A list of available titles are given, a way to order them is shown, Lewis makes corny jokes, the end.

Although, despite having seen this stuff so many times prior, something humorous that struck me this time around (and which I can’t really recall taking stock of before) is Lewis’ reactions to the appearance of the “Casket of Horrors” (supposedly a display found in video stores, it was meant to house this Amvest video series, though how many, IF any, made it out there is up for question). His reactions go from shocked and confused to accepting of the sudden appearance of the display, which I found kinda funny.

By the way, the blank space between the end of the movie and the start of the outro is considerable – so much so that I initially thought Amvest accidentally left the outro off entirely at first. Which isn’t unprecedented; one of my tapes from this series totally left it off, which in retrospect made Lewis’ hype for it in the intro unintentionally funny. But it leads to this question: were they putting these intros/outros on manually each time? The jump in video quality from the host segments (which weren’t exactly HD anyway) to that of the movie (which often looks like a copy of a copy) is usually pretty noticeable. And if you’ll recall my last Amvest post here, where the opening credits of the movie were cut off somewhat, it makes me echo a question I asked last time: how does this even happen?

No matter, cause the package was ultimately complete here, and all the better for it. But don’t let Al Lewis be the deciding factor; Invisible Ghost can and does stand on its own as a fun, often ridiculous piece of entertainment. As an entry in Bela’s poverty row output, it may not be high art, but it’s irresistible all the same. You can’t not love it! Give it a shot, and if you can do that with Al “Grampa” Lewis in the vicinity, all the better!

VHS Review: SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE SECRET WEAPON (1942; Vintage Video, 1985)

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Over the last two or three years, I’ve found myself really getting into the classic mystery (read: whodunit) films. Not that I had never watched them before or didn’t have any in my collection; I had and I did. But as you may or may not have surmised while looking at my dumb blog, my tastes have traditionally (but not exclusively) leaned towards classic horror & sci-fi. (Well, and b-westerns, too.) The sad fact of the matter is whodunit flicks had been woefully neglected for much of my movie-watchin’ life.

While I still love the stuff that has mostly been my bread & butter, as I’ve grown older I’ve also progressively grown to appreciate an absorbing mys’try flick. Charlie Chan, Mr. Wong, Bulldog Drummond, lay ’em on me mama. (Nearly a year ago, we took a look at an old Dick Tracy film, but I tend to think of those movies more as crime thrillers than full-fledged whodunits – though ultimately in the same wheelhouse.)

Anyway, Sherlock Holmes. The name is practically synonymous with “whodunit.” I haven’t read any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories, but I’ve certainly gotten into films based on the character. Well, classic films. Well, the Basil Rathbone series, at least. I have no idea which cinematic version of the character purists consider definitive, but I think it’s safe to say that in the general public consciousness, Rathbone’s rendition is the one that immediately comes to mind. We’re talkin’ iconic here.

And that brings us to or subject today.

Four of the films in the Rathbone series have long been delightfully public domain, and while my current probable-favorite in the series (The House of Fear) isn’t one of them, there’s still good stuff to be had. And even more fun is the smorgasbord of budget releases these now-PD entries have enjoyed over the years. And that brings us to our subject today. (Wait, I already said that.)

1942’s Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon is the earliest of the series to go public domain, though luckily in regards to this review, it’s one I hadn’t seen prior.

Wacky Fact: I picked up a terrific two-disc DVD set at the dollar store some months back that included all four PD Rathbone flicks, other vintage, presumably-PD Holmes movies, and a load of episodes from the 1950s TV series. I had the ‘movies’ disc loaded up for quite awhile, but as is my wont, aside from a quick looksee, I never got around to actually watching any of it before it got swapped out for something else. Not that I can’t load it back up again when the mood strikes me, of course, and if nothing else, the four Rathbone flicks were more than worth the price of admission alone.

Who dun-it this time? Why, Vintage Video, of course!

My unintended hesitation turned out to be fortuitous though, because when this particular home video release turned up for sale online and I duly slammed my meaty paws on the “BUY DIS” button, I got to go into it fresh. Once the tape arrived and I found the time/drive to sit down and watch it, I mean.

As you can see, we are once again taking a trip into the world of Vintage Video/Amvest VHS. A cursory glance through the contents of this site will quickly show how fond I am of this label. Certainly we’ve looked at their Grampa Al Lewis series multiple times, but our subject today is more in line with one of their ‘regular’ releases, which we’ve also seen before. (In other words, no, Al Lewis doesn’t host Holmes here, though that would have been pretty baller.)

I’m a real sucker for tapes from this manufacturer, even though they (mostly) dealt with the same public domain movies multiple budget outfits during the home video boom of the 1980s dealt with. Certainly this all stems from the aforementioned Grampa series, but there’s also the sometimes-unique cover art, sometimes-interesting prints used, and frankly, the relative-obscurity the releases as a whole share. (They tend to be scarce – maybe one or two copies for every, I don’t know, twenty comparable releases from Goodtimes – though they’re not particularly valuable. This copy here, the first I’d ever seen, was mega cheap – and still sealed, to boot.)

‘Course, you kinda need an affinity for VHS and budget home video and whatnot to appreciate all this (growing up with it all probably helps, too), because technically, this is pretty superfluous to have in the day and age. We’ve got DVD and Blu-ray and innernet streamin’ and all that, and when the movie in question has long been in the public domain, from a practicality standpoint, there’s really no reason to get so stoked over something like this.

Except that with the right mindset, there is: forget picture quality and bulkiness and ease of use – it’s all about taking a trip back in time here. Are there better ways to watch this movie? Well, yeah. But this here, it’s like holding a piece of a bygone era in home video in your hands – which of course is exactly what is indeed happening. Necessary? Naw. A trip back in time? Well, yeh. (Or so says I, and as we all know, my word is of tantamount importance.)

I like the cover art here; certainly it’s in the 1980s budget video release tradition, but that’s perfect for our purposes today. A good many of these VV/Amvest tapes, at least earlier ones (1985, as opposed to 1988 and beyond) simply used original poster art, usually (but not always) bordered with the VV banner you’re seeing here. There could be some modifications to the original artwork, but for the most part, it was still ultimately, you know, the original poster art. However, the tapes I find especially interesting in this particular arena are the ones that used original, or at least more original, motifs. Such is our case here: sure, they just used stock photos of Rathbone’s Holmes (along with Nigel Bruce’s Dr. Watson), but the watercolor (?) filtering (?) of them coupled with the unique title font (and slightly silly “Who dun-it this time?” tagline) intrigues your pal me. Also, dig the credits at the bottom of the cover, you can’t really read ’em here but they seem to be mimicking those of a ‘big time’ video release, which is something I can’t really recall one of these VV tapes identically doing. Was there some then-recent Sherlock Holmes movie this was piggybacking on?

(Speaking of dates, the one found on the back of the box here was indeed 1985, but in the interest of full disclosure, the label on the tape itself was a newer one akin to what Amvest was using around 1988 or so. Thus, this was undoubtedly a later re-release, but since I don’t have an exact date otherwise, I’m sticking with ’85 here, as you can see in the article title above. Aw, it’s not like it really matters anyway…)

I don’t have much interesting to say about the back of the box, so what say we look at the movie proper now…

The opening image, such as it is.

Upon firing the tape up, I was treated to this: the credits already in progress, right from the very start. No title card, credits already rolling. Thaaaaaanks. Ah, budget tape tradition! I’m not going to go out of my way to track down another copy to see if they’re all like this (‘course, if I come across another one in-person during my travels…), but this begs the question: how does this even happen? Was it the way their “master tape” (whatever that constituted) was, or were they making copies tape-by-tape and this was a goof they didn’t notice or just didn’t feel like correcting? It’s kinda funny, but also kinda irritating. Then again, this sort of thing wasn’t totally uncommon with budget video releases, and it’s not even the first time I’ve run into the opening/closing parts of whatever being MIA with VV/Amvest. It is what it is.

Our plot: Holmes has been enlisted to protect one Dr. Tobel, who has created a new fancy schmancy bombsight to fight them Nazis with. As a precaution, he separates the bombsight into four pieces and entrusts them to four different scientists. For good measure, he notates who has what, but as a coded message involving “dancing men.” (Said code being the only part of this movie that was based upon an original Doyle story, apparently.)

Of course, rather than following Holmes’ simple directions and staying put, Tobel just has to slip out of protective custody to visit his fiancée (wimmins, amiright?), which promptly and naturally gets him abducted by baddies. The specific baddies in question? Holmes’ arch-nemesis Professor Moriarty and his cohorts, that’s who! Turns out Moriarty is in league with the Nazis; selling them the bombsight would be very lucrative, as you may well imagine. This is undesirable to say the least, so now Holmes must rescue Tobel, recover the four pieces of the bombsight, and thwart Moriarty (and by extension, the Nazis), for the time being at least.

Holmes facing off against Moriarty (or rather, from left to right, Moriarty facing off against Holmes).

Wait, Nazis? Say what?! It’s true; this is a WWII-era Sherlock Holmes adventure! Y’see, 20th Century Fox produced the first two entries in the Rathbone Holmes series, and they were in the natural Victorian setting. But afterwards, Universal picked up the series, turned them into b-movies, and placed them in a then-modern wartime setting. (Supposedly with an explanatory “Sherlock Holmes is timeless” or something along those lines; I haven’t seen that first Universal effort. Secret Weapon here was the second.) It’s pretty unexpected, and really, to be frank, pretty awesome. I mean, it’s Sherlock Holmes, fightin’ Nazis! Unless you’re a purist’s purist, you can’t not love that! I haven’t seen every entry in the Rathbone Holmes series, but I sure hope there’s a scene where he decks Hitler at some point, not unlike that crowd pleasing moment in Zone Troopers. “Did I just engage Adolph in fisticuffs?” “You sure did, my good chap!”

Not gonna lie: this is some good stuff right here. You’ve got Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes, which automatically makes things worthwhile, but then you add a WWII setting and a breezy, b-movie sheen over top of all of it, no jivin’, it’s just irresistible. The movie is more spy-ish than I was first anticipating, with Holmes’ disguising himself and going undercover more than once. And while I’m not sure I’d consider it a full-fledged whodunit (probably the only real sleuthing sleuthing is deciphering the code), it’s got some noirish elements, terrific acting (Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Lionel Atwill as Moriarty? Plus Nigel Bruce’s ever-reliable Watson? Yes, please!), and even some gruesome elements (besides the obvious implications of the Nazis gaining the bombsight, at one point Moriarty attempts to slowly kill Holmes by draining his blood, drop by drop). I ain’t joshin’ you, this is a lot of fun. If you’re a sucker for wartime b-movie action like I am, Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon is a must.

So, what kind of print did Vintage Video/Amvest/whoever utilize for this release? Their tapes could feature prints ranging from “okay” to “dragged around the parking lot multiple times.” Secret Weapon falls more towards the latter end of that spectrum. While the duplication itself was decent enough I guess, the print they got was, well, it was pretty wasted. It’s probably darker than it was intended to be, and there are a lot of film scratches, dust, dirt, debris, splices, what have you. There are some moments of really heavy wear, and while things seem to calm down somewhat as the film progresses, this probably isn’t the, uh, best the movie has ever looked.

Furthermore, the run time: the back of the box sez 70 minutes, the official run time I’m seeing online is supposedly 68 minutes, but the actual running time here is really about 56 minutes. So unless the missing part of those opening credits ran 11+ minutes (something tells me they didn’t/don’t), it’s a safe assumption this is an edited print. Cut for TV at some point? Really egregious splices? Something else? No idea.

But you know, none of that really bothers me. Okay, sure, if I’m paying for a big deluxe Blu-ray or something, I’d want the movie to look like Rathbone et al. are performing live right in front of me, inexplicably in grayscale, at that very moment. But this tape as it is, it presents the movie in a way that recalls countless trips through the projector, multiple runs on late night television over the decades, an old timey cinematic feeling, something along those lines. It’s part of the fun (at least in retrospect; it probably wasn’t a blast back then) of collecting these old school budget tapes: you never quite know what you’re going to get. Unlike today, where it seems like the same prints just keep getting shared over and over, copies could really vary from manufacturer to manufacturer back then.

Still, the complete opening credits would have been nice. And speaking of the credits, the final cast credits card is there, but cuts off really quickly, as if whoever couldn’t wait to be done with the whole thing. Of course the meat of the movie (i.e., the important stuff) is all there – such as it is I mean – but yeah, this really exemplifies the mid/late-1980s budget home video release ideal. (Ideal?)

So there you have it: Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon, as presented by Vintage Video slash Amvest back in the 1980s. If you just want to see the movie (and seriously, it has my recommendation), that’s something that can be easily accomplished. Home video releases are numerous, but since it’s public domain, you can watch it free an’ legal online right now if you so desired! Would that be as much fun as taking an unnecessary trip back to the 1980s as I’ve done here? I’ll let you decide that aspect for yourself.

By the way, this wasn’t the only Rathbone Holmes VV put out: The Woman in Green and Terror by Night also saw releases on the label. (I couldn’t find Dressed to Kill, the last PD Rathbone Holmes as well as the last Rathbone Holmes period, via VV, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one of those out there, too.)

Oh hey, fun facts up in here: this post was first intended to be just as you’ve seen it now, but then I thought about three separate reviews over three days for the three VV releases, and then I thought about a single post spotlighting the triple bill, and then I considered four reviews over four consecutive days with Congress Video’s 1985 VHS release of Dressed to Kill filling out the fourth, and then as late as yesterday I considered a single post, double bill looking at just Secret Weapon and The Woman in Green, before simply going back to the original plan and giving Secret Weapon the sole spotlight. I enjoyed it so much, it deserves the space to itself.

Did I ultimately make the right decision? Well, we’re just going to have to live with the results, anyway.

VHS Review: DICK TRACY VS. CUEBALL (1946; Silver Screen Video, 19??)

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Wanna know the honest truth? I’ve been wanting to write about at least one of the 1940s b-movie flicks centered on comic strip hero Dick Tracy for awhile now. The obvious chaser has been Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome because, hey, Boris Karloff. Nevertheless, when this here copy of Dick Tracy vs. Cueball presented itself at a thrift recently (or actually not so recently; it was months and months ago), I jumped at the opportunity to finally check this one off the arbitrary bucket list.

‘Course, it still took awhile to, uh, happen. I started with a little preliminary work sometime back but then just scrapped the whole idea, only to revive it just earlier today. What can I say, I’m an enigma.

I know for a fact I’ve got other various copies of 40s Tracy movies on VHS boxed/buried away (Gruesome included), maybe/quite possibly even a copy identical to this one. But wanna know another honest truth? At a certain point, it just becomes easier for me to pick up a new old copy of whatever rather than go digging for something I ultimately may or may not even wind up posting about. What can I say, I’m an enigma. (And I’ve got too much stuff.)

Put out by Silver Screen Video in, erm, I don’t actually know when (as you may have surmised by the title of this article; there’s no copyright date anywhere on the tape, man!), this is, simply put, public domain movie/budget video tape goodness in a nutshell. As you can see, the original poster art used for the front cover here is terrific, and if you yearn for the days when VHS tapes recorded in EP/SLP often featured a request to adjust the tracking if/when necessary on the tape label, well, you’re covered here.

Silver Screen Video released the four entries of the 1940s RKO Dick Tracy series (all of which had become delightfully public domain by then) on VHS, and none are particularly rare where used tapes are concerned – no Junior Dick Tracy sleuthin’ required to hunt these babies down! Indeed, I wasn’t even all that surprised when I found this one – I *was* happy though. It saved me potential back-breakin’ manual labor, after all! While, as previously stated, Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome was more of a chaser for me (it’s actually sorta weird it didn’t turn up after my deciding I could get a post out of it; these tapes really are pretty common, even in this day and age), there wound up being something about Cueball that actually fired my interest up even more: it was once considered one of the worst movies ever made.

No, seriously; it was included in the 1978 book The Fifty Worst Films of All Time! Now that’s something I sure didn’t expect to hear! The RKO Dick Tracy films of the 1940s, obviously they’re not considered high art, but I was unaware of any of them actually being considered outright bad. And certainly not bad enough to merit any “worst movie of all time” nominations! I haven’t read that book, I assume they explain their reasoning behind the inclusion, but yeah, this was definitely unexpected to me. So naturally my curiosity was piqued; could there be some truth to that declaration? (Wacky Fact: while I almost certainly owned it already, I know I had never actually *watched* Dick Tracy vs. Cueball beforehand.)

Before we get to the actual movie stuff, here’s the back cover. The synopsis is brief, but fine. I’d have worded it a bit differently – it’s a little inaccurate even at only a single sentence long, but you get the gist of the picture. So mission accomplished anyway or something like that.

I get a kick out of the disclaimer underneath the synopsis, that little reminder that, hey, the flick is public domain so you can just go put a muzzle on that attorney, ace. You saw those reminders pretty frequently on cheapie cartoon compilations from that era, but needless to say, it wasn’t limited to only ancient animation anthologies. [Alliteration]

By the way, that picture used on the back is not from this movie. And while we’re at it, y’all can just ignore that 62 minute runtime notation, too; the actual film is about 10 minutes shorter. An old print prepared for TV, or edited for other reasons? I guess a scene of Tracy in an airplane could have been in those excised 10 minutes, but given how the movie plays out, that seems highly, highly unlikely. Since the movie is public domain, I suppose I could go find it somewhere online to check without having to worry about thugs coming to pummel me (not over this anyway), but that seems like an awful lot of work for an article only 12 people will ever actually read.

As you can see, and as I have already stated, there’s no copyright date listed anywhere on the tape or sleeve. Using my powers of useless knowledge however, I can guesstimate that this hails from the late-80s, or perhaps more likely, the early-90s. Why do the early-90s seem more likely? Because 1990 was the year of the big budget Warren Beatty Dick Tracy movie, that’s why! It might be a little hard to understand now, but believe me, the hype for that movie was through the (figurative HAW HAW HAW) roof; beforehand, Dick Tracy wasn’t exactly the beacon of cool-to-kids that Batman or them karate Turtles were in that era, but thanks to the hype machine, for a relatively brief time, it was all about that comic strip crime fighter. I know, because as I mentioned in this post, I got bit by the bug big time. To this day, for me the sight of that Dick Tracy movie logo evokes an image/feeling of 1990 that few other things can.

Anyway, as with any big time Hollywood blockbuster, hey, others want to capitalize on the hype too. And since the RKO Dick Tracy films were quite public domain by then, well, it only makes sense that manufacturers would take advantage of that lucky (for them) break. ‘Course, I don’t know that’s what happened in this case, but it’s a good hypothesis. And even if Silver Screen technically released these tapes before ’90, it’s a safe guess they saw a new surge of sales when Dick Tracy mania swept the nation.

Or maybe I’m wrong on all counts, whatever.

So anyway, 1946’s Dick Tracy vs. Cueball. This was the second of four films based on the Chester Gould character that RKO released in the mid/late-40s. There had been a number of serials prior (the first of which is also quite common in the public domain arena), but I find these 1940s RKO features more appealing personally. Probably because, barring a few exceptions, I’m awfully wishy-washy on serials; while I like the vintage cinematic era they evoke, I don’t typically like watching them. Go figure! But, I digress.

As you can see in my adorable little screen caps here, Cueball isn’t just in the title, he even gets a special introductory card (that segues into his live action counterpart appropriately – swanky!). Does that mean Cueball wasn’t a Chester Gould creation, but rather a villain cooked up by RKO? Truthfully, I have little experience with the original Tracy comic strips; I mean, I’ve got a rudimentary knowledge (boy, those space age installments sure sound goofy), but that’s about it.

Our plot: Cueball (can you guess why that’s his nickname?) is in league with some other nefarious types to steal some ‘spensive diamonds. (Is there any other kind?) Unfortunately, he’s forced to kill the dude he’s stealing them from, so pretty much right off the bat things are getting dicey. (Dicier?)

The murder is what sets Dick Tracy on the trail. But not only that, it also causes some apprehension on the part of the guy Cueball was supposed to sell the diamonds to. He’s a crook with apparent scruples, because he balks at murder being attached to his ill-gotten gems. So anyway, Cueball has to find someone to buy his diamonds, keep others from stealing them from him, all while going around strangling people with a leather hat band. (He’s not a very nice guy.) Of course, Dick Tracy is getting progressively closer during all of this.

Speaking of Tracy…

“Hey that’s not Warren Beatty!” Now, you know full well that’s Morgan Conway in the role of our hero. And if you didn’t, you could’ve just scrolled back up and looked at the front cover again. So is there a reason you’re giving me grief?

Like I said, I’m not terribly familiar with the original comic strips, but Conway seems to do fine here. He’s easygoing yet tough, smart and tenacious, all at the expense of constantly neglecting his girlfriend Tess Trueheart. He doesn’t use that wristwatch walkie talkie thing, which had apparently been introduced in the strips earlier in ’46 and thus its absence vaguely hurts me deep, but otherwise, yeah, I like Conway just fine in the role. I wonder if there’s ever been a fistfight between people arguing over who was the better Dick Tracy: Morgan Conway or Ralph Byrd? Dick Tracy wouldn’t approve of that.

“So do you think that ‘You’re So Vain’ song is really about Milton Armitage?” Knock it off.

The plot, it’s fine, it doesn’t do anything too trendsetting, but then, it (probably) wasn’t meant to. At only 62 52 minutes, it obviously moves briskly. I like Conway’s Tracy, Cueball is appropriately sinister, there’s some comic relief from Tracy’s goofy partner that doesn’t impact the movie negatively. There’s more comic relief from Vitamin Flintheart (you gotta love these character names) that’s a bit more annoying, but nevertheless, I liked most of this well enough.

What struck me more than the plot or the characters, however, is just how this movie looks; this is very much a film noir by way of comic-based b-movie, and that’s most definitely a good thing. The usage of shadows and lighting and evocative camera angles, along with that budget movie sheen, it’s all irresistible in a post-war matinee sorta way. I love it! So much of this flick is bathed in shadows, its noir-ish good looks really sorta disguise those comic strip roots. I could see someone with an unnatural hatred of all things Dick Tracy still being able to appreciate this one, based solely on the aesthetic qualities it exhibits. Despite some moments of levity, the world of Dick Tracy vs. Cueball is a dark, shadowy, sinister one. I mean, there’s even a bar, complete with matching neon sign, called “The Dripping Dagger.” (It probably wouldn’t have been considered a family restaurant.)

Things that could cause some consternation in this day and age: at one point, Cueball strangles the woman that tried to steal his diamonds with his trademark hat band…but not before smacking her in the head with it a couple times. It’s not particularly graphic, but still unsettling for obvious reasons. Also, a little kid playing cowboy uses some language that would be considered derogatory towards Native Americans nowadays. So, as with any movie from decades past, if you watch, watch while remembering it was a different time, a different era in which it was made.

As for the film print Silver Screen Video utilized, it’s…mostly alright. It’s always kinda dirty/dusty/scratchy, but mostly it leans towards the “watchable-but-mediocre” end of the spectrum, with occasional moments of heavy wear and tear. BUT BUT BUT, hear me out: none of that actually hurts the ultimate presentation! Lemme explain: the accumulated wear of this Dick Tracy vs. Cueball evokes countless trips through the projector, of Saturday matinees, of late night television broadcasts on local stations, and as such, there’s just a certain ‘feeling’ about all this that still manages to work in spite of itself. Besides, it’s a budget video release – do you really go into one of those expecting pristine film prints? Lower your standards, champ.

SO, all that said, should Dick Tracy vs. Cueball be making any all time worst movie lists? In my opinion, no. Not at all. In fact, without having read that book or the explanation behind the inclusion of the film, yeah, I just don’t get that choice. Okay, sure, technically it’s not a great film, most people aren’t going to mistake it for an a-movie, there’s some dialog that’s a little silly, etc. etc. etc. But, I didn’t really notice anything about it that would be considered more offensively bad than countless other offerings from the era. Am I missing something here? Was there something in those apparently-excised 10 minutes that could so drastically lower the stature of the film? I can at least understand some choices in that book, even if I don’t agree with them. (I totally love Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster and happily consider it the best ‘Zilla of the 1970s, but I can see why some would hate it, because the movie is just totally whacked out, man.) But even in that pre-internet, comparatively less-accessible (movie-wise) era, saying Dick Tracy vs. Cueball wasn’t just bad, but actually one of the worst films ever made, it just seems like such a random inclusion to me. Your mileage may vary, of course.

So yes, ultimately I liked this one plenty. It’s fast and noir-ish and such a fun example of a post-war programmer, as well as a fun example of budget VHS from the late-80s/early-90s. Maybe it played into the hype surrounding Beatty’s Dick Tracy, or maybe it was just easy product for Silver Screen Video to get out there regardless of what else was happening. At any rate, this totally seems like the kind of a tape I would have found for mega cheap at D&K in the late-90s, and THAT, my friends, is a nice feeling to have. (Even if it never actually happened. Not to my recollection, anyway; I do remember seeing some cheapo cartoon tapes there in the summer of 1997, so, yeah.)

VHS Review: TEXAS TERROR (1935; 1985 Vintage Video Release)

VHS Review: Frankenstein (1931; MCA Videocassette Inc., 1980)

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Happy Halloween!

Once again we come to the big day! This entire month (well, most of it), I’ve tried to keep things adequately “spooky,” and it has all been leading up to this showstopper. We’re gonna throw things waaay back with what is quite possibly the very first home video release of what is also quite possibly the greatest horror film ever made: 1931’s Frankenstein! If it’s not the first release, it’s at least certainly among the earliest, not counting home super 8mm copies and whatnot. (I’m talkin’ VHS and Betamax here, man.)

In the realm of horror movie royalty, Frankenstein resides way, way near the top; if it’s not #1, it’s at least a top ten’r, maybe five’r. And even if its ability to scare has almost-certainly diminished in this more-jaded movie-going age, it still easily and aptly holds up as a genuinely great, great film, one that supports more than a few iconic moments and has basically become the veritable symbol of Halloween (you know, today).

This was put out my MCA Home Video (then billed as MCA Videocassette Inc.) in 1980, and while Frankenstein was by no means a ‘new’ film even then, it’s wild to realize it hadn’t even hit 50 years old by that point. It’s now 86 years old, and this tape itself is closer to 40 than it isn’t. I’m not sure where I’m going with all this. It’s an old VHS of an old movie that wasn’t quite as old 37 years ago as it is today, okay? There, wrap your mind around that!

When this was released, home video was still very much in its infancy. These tapes weren’t exactly cheap, never mind the VCRs required to play them. As such, rentals were the main order of the day, but even so, don’t underestimate what a revolution in movie-viewin’-at-home this was. No longer did someone have to wait for their favorite flick to show up on TV, if or when it ever did; nope, all it took was a quick trip to the video store to net them a rental, or ownership if they felt like really prying open the wallet. (Full disclosure: I have no idea how much this tape originally retailed for.)

Although they’re a more-protected species nowadays, at the time these Universal classics were still widely seen on local stations, regional horror hosted programs, and so on and so forth. But to actually own an official copy of the film, to pull it off the shelf whenever you darn well felt like it? That’s something we totally take for granted nowadays, but for classic horror fans in the early years of home video, I’m just not sure it got much cooler than that!

‘Course, while there are some differences in the print here, which we’ll get to, it’s not like this movie was unique to one specific era of home video; nowadays, you can get the film itself or the entire series on DVD or Blu-ray. I find it hard to believe that anyone reading this post hasn’t seen Frankenstein, but if by some chance you haven’t, you really owe it to yourself to pick up a minty fresh new copy right quick.

Anyway, this tape. Anyone familiar with the later video releases of not only this movie but the other Universal classics will recall how elaborate and striking their covers often were, sometimes even utilizing original poster art. Gene Shalit could even show up, too. As such, the relative sparseness of this release is a little striking; it’s the kind of tape that really could have only come out in those first few years of home video.

Not that it’s bad, mind you. The mostly-purple & black color scheme is attractive and gives off the appropriate vibes one would associate with a movie of this nature. Ditto for the tinted close-up of Frank’s mug. I like the semi-Gothic (?) font used for the title, and I’m by no means a “font guy.” It’s just, like I said, the whole thing feels a little sparse compared to what was to come, though that’s no one’s fault; video covers would soon become increasingly eye-catching – the simpler, earlier days of the format soon gave way to big ol’ boxes and legitimately striking artwork, all in an effort to entice prospective buyers/renters (obviously). I guess what I’m saying is that this release could have only come out in those first few years of video. Wait, I already said that! Well, it still holds true.

If not the film as a whole, then at least the actual character of Frankenstein (or “Frankenstein’s Monster,” for all you technical types) has become, arguably, the most famous of Universal’s many many monster movie (alliteration) creations. It stands to reason this original flick (along with fellow-perennial-favorite Dracula) was among the first released on home video by MCA. Frankenstein‘s sequels had to wait a bit longer to come to VHS, however; for example, The Ghost of Frankenstein didn’t show up until 1993!

The back cover continues the color scheme, along with two shots from the movie and the expected description. Be happy there even was a description; some early video releases used the back cover primarily to hawk other titles from the company. The description here is pretty good, giving just enough exposition to draw the buyer-renter/whoever in and nailing the hype without ruining the movie. And look! Says right there: “The greatest horror film of all time!” Told ya!

Here’s what the back cover doesn’t tell you, though its not at fault by any means: Frankenstein is a movie that has been released numerous times on numerous formats – but not quite this version. I’m a little unclear whether certain scenes were excised before the original theatrical release or upon a subsequent re-release (I’ve heard both), but either way, Frankenstein was seen for years in a (slightly) truncated form. Perhaps the most famous example of this was Frank’s inadvertent drowning of little Maria; an edit to the print made the monster seem much more sinister than the original cut intended, and that’s all viewers knew for decades. The missing scene was rediscovered and rightfully added back to the film in the mid-1980s (video releases from the time notated this fact right on the front cover), and that ‘fixed’ Frankenstein is what we’ve had on home video for years. (There were a few other fixes, but unlike the King Kong I linked to a bit ago, the film wasn’t extensively chopped up.)

HOWEVER, since the footage hadn’t been rediscovered (or at least added back in) yet, of course the first few video releases were of the older, non-restored print, and needless to say, that’s what we have here. Now, naturally I’d never argue that Frankenstein should definitively be seen in this form, but it’s absolutely fascinating to see the version that was it for decades, and which is now, you know, not.

While on the subject of the print, Frankenstein has been restored and remastered over the years, and the result is that the version we have today looks pretty stunning; Universal has treated these films well! Even if you just watch one of them on Svengoolie, you’ll usually see something pretty crisp and clean – Universal does good work, and as far as Sven goes, they often provide upgraded prints as they come along, too.

But for a 1980 VHS release of Frankenstein, well, what could you really expect? The print is good, it’s certainly watchable, and probably better than what would have been airing on TV around that time. But, there’s an amount wear, dust, etc. to the print that just wouldn’t fly nowadays. Maybe it’s not that surprising; it is an early video release of a movie from 1931, after all. Don’t get me wrong; this Frankenstein doesn’t look ‘bad’ by any stretch of the imagination (I mean, you can’t even tell from the title screen screencap there), It’s just that, frankly, I’m so used to these Universal horror films looking so…so clean. But hey, you gotta start somewhere, huh? And yes, I know the remastering technology wasn’t then what it is now. (By the way, for a VHS tape that’s closing in on 40 years old, it looks and plays quite well on that particular front.)

So, do I really even need to describe Frankenstein? Even if someone hasn’t seen it (yeah, uh huh), they know the basic storyline. Even though this film was adapted from Mary Shelley’s 1818 book, this Universal adaptation, which deviates wildly from the source, has become the iteration burned into the synapses of the public. When people think “Frankenstein,” 99.9% of them think of Boris Karloff’s immortal portrayal here. And the plot? The story has become a horror staple; people know the background and the monster even if they haven’t seen this 1931 masterpiece.

The plot concerns one Henry Frankenstein, a scientist who believes he has discovered the secret to reanimating life. As such, he, along with his hunchbacked assistant, go about stealing dead bodies and piecing them together. You know, an arm here, a leg there. (As I said before, we live in a more-jaded age, but worded like that, it still sounds pretty grisly.) Things take a wrong turn when, as the final piece of the puzzle, the assistant steals an abnormal brain. (You’re thinking of the Young Frankenstein gag right now, aren’t you?) Henry, via lightning storm, succeeds in giving the mass of body parts life, bad brain and all. If there’s one image from this movie that can be considered the most iconic in a film full of iconic moments, it has to be Henry’s exclaiming “IT’S ALIVE!” when the creature begins to stir. Trouble, of course, soon follows.

And that brings us…Boris Karloff. His portrayal of the monster is an absolute marvel; a creature capable of death, destruction and vengeance, but at the same time, also humanity. The fact he does this with no real dialogue is amazing. Yes, the monster has a deranged mind, he kills, but there’s also a real gentleness about him; watch early on, soon after he’s first reanimated, and sunlight is let in through the roof – the creature futilely reaches up towards it, and it’s just an incredible moment. Indeed, one of the great tragedies of this older print is that some of that humanity is obscured – the scene where he accidentally drowns Maria is a chief example, and though only a very small moment in the overall film, it’s a very important one, which is why the later, restored versions of Frankenstein are such a triumph.

And how about that make-up! There have been numerous depictions of Frankenstein’s monster over the years, but only one that continually sticks in the mind of the people, and that’s Karloff’s portrayal here. Sunken cheeks, flat head, bolts in the neck, the whole shtick; c’mon, you already know how he goes!

Many people point to 1935’s Bride of Frankenstein as topping the original. I can understand that thought, but I still gravitate to this first film, though the monster’s newfound power of speech in Bride makes for some iconic screen moments. At any rate, the first three movies in the series (this, Bride, and 1939’s Son of Frankenstein) feature Karloff as the monster, and he’s fantastic in each one. Those are terrific movies in general, though I love this series as a whole (and have a particular soft spot for 1942’s The Ghost of Frankenstein).

Still, it all comes down to this original Frankenstein. This is the kind of movie horror films are built upon. No joke, it’s quite possibly the perfect Halloween movie, rivaled only by Night of the Living Dead. But whereas Dead is a gritty, nihilistic late-1960s social commentary, Frankenstein is, in my mind, the definitive horror film of Hollywood’s golden age. Both are great, but for pretty different reasons, even if they do both share the whole “reanimated corpse” theme.

Frankenstein, to me, is the horror film of that era in Hollywood; evocative sets, a fantastic storyline, unforgettable acting, a budget. Everything about it is just right. It draws you in from the first scene and never lets you go. How can anyone not love it?

So, to have the movie here in what is probably the first edition released on VHS, it’s not just a cool collectible, nor is it just a cool relic of home video’s past. I mean, it is all that, but it’s also a piece of horror movie history; the first time consumers could own the movie for home use, authorized and officially. As I said before, I’m not sure it got much cooler than that!

And with that, our big Halloween update comes to a close. Have a happy and safe holiday, everybody! And hey, why not throw 1931’s Frankenstein on at some point, whatever version you may have?

VHS Review: The Little Shop of Horrors (1960; Video Treasures’ 1990 Colorized Version Release)

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We’re coming to the home stretch gang; Halloween is next week! By now it should be obvious that when it comes to seasonally-appropriate movies, I prefer the old stuff: The classics of the 1930s, the poverty row works of the 1940s, and the cornball drive-in fare of the 1950s and 1960s. Some of the flicks I dig are generally perceived as less-than-great, while others are widely considered legitimate classics. Today, we’re looking at something from the latter end of that spectrum.

1960’s Roger Corman opus The Little Shop of Horrors is somewhat of an anomaly. Based on the plot and production values (it was filmed for figurative peanuts in only two days!), by all means this should have been little more than a cheap and cheesy horror quickie; fun and entertaining perhaps, but not something particularly good. That’s not how it turned out though. Everything lined up perfectly for Shop, the result being a genuine classic. It’s fast-paced, well-written, and thanks to some terrific dark humor, pretty funny. It may very well be Corman’s best movie. I certainly consider it to be.

As it turned out, a fate that befell other ‘big’ horror films also happened to befall Shop: It lapsed into the public domain, and that, coupled with its status as a “cult classic” ensured that the movie would be readily available at pretty much any given moment. No joke; you’d almost have to be trying to avoid The Little Shop of Horrors in order to not see it!

Enter the mid/late-1980s, the booming home video market, and the then-new (and then-controversial) process of colorizing black & white films. It stands to reason that some of the more legendary grayscale movies would be prime candidates for colorization, and that’s where our subject today comes in: The Little Shop of Horrors was given the color treatment in 1987 and released by the much-missed Vestron Video.

The tape we’re looking at now, however, is not that Vestron release, but rather a 1990 re-release by the industrious Video Treasures. Video Treasures put out a lot of tapes around that time, and there’s some legendary titles amongst its ranks. I’m not sure how they came to own the rights to the colorized version of Shop, but as far as I’m aware it’s the exact same print as Vestron’s. And so here we are.

First off, look at that cover art! Just look at it! Yes, for those unaware (all three of you), Jack Nicholson is indeed in The Little Shop of Horrors, though it apparently wasn’t his very first appearance in a motion picture. Still, it’s certainly one of his earliest, and the acclaim garnered by the film as a whole means that everyone involved was/is for the better, Jack included.

Though, the cover art points to a popular trend among releases of Shop: They like to play up the Nicholson angle, even though he’s not in it for very long. I mean, it’s understandable; he’s a name draw, an uber-recognizable face, so of course you gotta take advantage of him. But in reality, Jack isn’t even close to the star of the film (he was still a few years away from Batman, man).

The cover art used here is some of the more-famous artwork to be found gracing the front sleeve of a Shop release; it was used on no less than four separate VHS releases of the movie. Maybe even more, I don’t know. Three of those were for this colorized version: The 1987 Vestron release, this 1990 Video Treasures version, and one by Avid Home Video in 1992. The fourth one was United American Video’s 1987 VHS of the original black & white print, and that’s the one I had back in the day (still do, actually). Found in Best Buy’s fabled $2.99 VHS section, I was immediately drawn to that cover art, and actually picked up two copies: One to watch, and one to keep minty sealed fresh. That well-drawn picture of Jack, dressed to the nines and happily pointing at a presumably-killer plant, was and is immediately eye-catching, and as far as I’m concerned, some of the coolest cover art of the late-1980s/early-1990s VHS era.

The synopsis on the back cover is word-for-word the same as what appeared on the Vestron release. Actually, it was the same on the 1992 Avid VHS release, too. It seems that whoever gained the copyrights kept the particulars and only changed up the formatting and appropriate criteria (i.e., manufacturer etc.) somewhat.

That’s okay though, because the description does a pretty good job of selling the movie. Why fix what ain’t broken? I do take a few issues with it, however: 1) Calling it a “trash masterpiece” doesn’t work for me. It’s a cheap comedy-horror film, yes, but I’ve never thought of it as “trashy.” 2) Audrey wasn’t the daughter of the flower shop owner, was she? 3) That final line kinda gives away the conclusion of the film, though not definitively, and I suppose it could be taken either literally or figuratively. Still, I would have left that part out.

(Also: Hey, Video Treasures was situated in Ohio! Cool winnins!)

Needless to say, the fact that this is the (then) newly colorized version of the film is touted more that once, and why wouldn’t it be? You could get a regular ol’ black & white version anywhere! And speaking of the colorization…

Wikipedia says the movie has been colorized twice: This one, and a 2006 version by Legend Films. That Legend version was well-received, but this one less so. First off, Legend does good work, so that part doesn’t surprise me. As for the reception of this initial colorized version, I get that was released relatively early in the colorizin’ game, but even so, I actually didn’t mind it. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer that movies filmed in black & white stay in black & white, but as a relic of a time when the coloring process was still quite controversial, I can’t help getting a small nostalgic kick out of the proceedings.

And I’ve certainly seen worse colorized films. A trained eye will certainly be able to tell this wasn’t originally filmed in color, but to me, it’s less jarring and “in your face” than it could have been. Actually, some of the colors looked a little muted to me, though that may have been a combination of the tape’s age, the LP recording speed, my cheap beater VCR, and/or my eyes playing mind games with me. I don’t have any real complaints concerning the colorization process, but then again, it’s not like I don’t have the original version readily available to me at any and all times; maybe it would have been a different story if this was the only print accessible, which of course was one of the fears regarding colorization as a whole in the first place, but it’s not so it isn’t. (IMDb says this colorization was authorized by Roger Corman himself, but it also mentions there were several continuity errors in the coloring process, so I’m guessing that was probably more a reason for the poor reception than anything.)

I will say that the movie’s intro was a cause for concern, however. Look at that title screen above; see those “colored boxes,” for lack of a better descriptive term? As the opening scrolls to the right, those boxes just sort of remain stationary (for the most part), and it’s not a great effect. It reminds me of those old school color “screens” people used to place on their black & white TVs. Methinks they would have been better off giving the opening credits a single, solid color, but things settle down once the movie proper starts.

So, The Little Shop of Horrors. Is there anyone here that hasn’t seen this movie? Raise your hands as if I could possibly see you please. No? No one? Thas what I thought. The critical acclaim and public domain status have both ensured that this is one of the most widely-seen classic horror films going. It doesn’t top Night of the Living Dead in availability, but then, what movie does? Shop can still be mentioned in the same “ain’t no copyright on dis flick” breath though, and that’s pretty impressive nevertheless.

The plot, for all six of you who haven’t seen this, concerns one Seymour Krelboyne, a lowly worker at a skid row florist. Seymour is a screw up, and at the threat of being fired, Seymour saves his job by presenting an odd plant he has grown as an attraction for the shop, named “Audrey Jr.” (after fellow florist Audrey, who Seymour is in love with). The plant is unusual; it’s a hybrid with some venus flytrap genes in it. Unfortunately, Audrey Jr. doesn’t like to eat; attempts at ‘normal’ plant nourishment don’t do anything for it. It’s only after it accidentally gets a taste of Seymour’s blood that the truth is revealed: This thing craves humans! After pricking his fingers dry, Seymour knows that more is needed to keep the thing alive. Soon after, Seymour accidentally, and fortuitously (ha!), causes the death of a stranger. In order to cover his tracks, he scrapes up the body and feeds it to Audrey Jr. (above), and from there on, well, you can see where this is going. Seymour must satisfy the plant’s cravings with more and more human morsels.

There’s a healthy dose of humor in The Little Shop of Horrors. Jewish humor, to be specific. Jewish names and lingo are thrown about liberally. Further laughs are found in Seymour’s constant unwitting acts of murder; he never means to kill, it just sort of happens, though of course the curiosity of the cops is aroused nevertheless. Indeed, the film plays out somewhat like a morbid spoof of Dragnet, with Joe Friday and Frank Smith parodies found in Sgt. Joe Fink and Officer Frank Stoolie, who are on the case of the missing persons. (On a side note, the Dragnet-ish feel is something I really appreciate about the film, being a big fan of the actual TV series, and totally adds to the charm of the movie. It’s not unique to Shop, though; the 1956 Lon Chaney Jr. “epic” Indestructible Man used the same device, and even though for years I gave that movie short-shrift, a recent viewing found me reappraising it, not just due to the general entertainment factor but also thanks to the Dragnet-esque framing used.)

So what about Jack Nicholson’s role in the flick? As I said, he’s not in the movie very long, but his sequence is very funny. Jack plays masochistic dental patient Wilbur Force, who Seymour works on while posing as a dentist (after killing the real dentist – in self-defense, mind you). Jack doesn’t become a meal for Audrey Jr., but he gets one of the funniest moments in the whole film. As a masochist, he actually enjoys the visit to the office, with the final gag being him happily walking out and displaying his new trainwreck of a smile. Funny stuff! Jack would later get bigger roles (duh!), and even starred in Corman’s The Terror alongside Boris Karloff some three years later, but when it comes to his uber-early work, well, it’s tough to top his small bit here.

The Little Shop of Horrors is a movie that really holds up. Unlike a lot of horror/sci-fi films that have lapsed into the public domain, Shop is genuinely good. Sure, it was cheap and quickly filmed, but in my opinion that just adds to the charm. The horror elements are legit, but the film is largely a goof, and it all comes together perfectly as a whole because of it. Clearly it did something right; besides the unending fandom attributed to it, the flick also served as the basis for a popular musical, which in turn became the 1986 theatrical adaption/remake.

Like any colorized movie, I’m not sure I could ever recommend the altered version over an original black & white print, but as a supplement to the real deal, I’m fine with it. Colorization has obviously advanced in the years since, but there’s something about taking a trip back in time and watching a work from the earlier years of the process that’s a lot of fun. It’s not always perfect, but as a late-1980s/early-1990s throwback, it’s worth a watch. It makes for good, fairly-harmless Halloween viewing, if nothing else.

(By the way, like so many black & white copies, this particular version of Little Shop lacks the end credits, familiar to me from my very first viewing of the movie off of good ol’ 29/35 way back in like 1997. That print featured them, but few, if any, others I’ve seen since have.

And speaking of 29/35, last night channel 29 said goodbye. The station will live on, without any line-up changes, as Cleveland’s channel 16, though unfortunately Spectrum doesn’t currently carry that feed. This means yours truly is going to need a real antenna to pick it up. Even though the channel isn’t really gone, to me this truly feels like the end of “The Cat.” No other station, local or otherwise, was quite as important to me while growing up than The Cat, and as such, it feels like another piece of my childhood is lost forever. Such is the way with life, however. The memories will live on, and I suppose that’s the best any of us can hope for.)

Movie Review: Wild Horse Phantom (1944)

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“Hey, what’s goin’ on here?! A western movie review – in October?!“

Yes, it’s true: Right in the heart of Halloween month, we’re looking at a 1940s poverty row western. But wait! Don’t go closing the tab just yet! This fits, trust me!

Back in the 1940s, Producers Releasing Corporation, or PRC for short, made movies with, erm, not a lot of money. They were, you know, a cheapie outfit – just one of the many poverty row studios that littered the cinematic landscape in that era. At the time, westerns of the budget variety were churned out nigh-continuously by these poverty row players; no joke, westerns were perhaps the preeminent “poverty row product.” So, it stands to reason there wound up being more than a few horse operas sporting the PRC branding. (See what I did there? “Branding!” Because it’s a…oh never mind.)

On that front, PRC had a long line of “Billy the Kid” B-Westerns, the first few with Bob Steele but the vast majority starring Buster Crabbe as the titular character. (Unlike the real-life outlaw, this Billy the Kid was a bit more of a heroic figure; this was matinee material, after all.) Crabbe was no small potatoes at the time, having portrayed Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers, and even Tarzan. Dude even made it to the Olympics – twice. Of course a studio would be all for him headlining an action-packed film series such as this! (Al “Fuzzy” St. John also starred in these as the comic sidekick, and truth be told, I had forgotten what a spaz his character could be.)

And that brings us to today’s subject, Wild Horse Phantom. Title cards to the left, yo. Released in 1944 (according to Wikipedia and its IMDb page, on October 28 – right before Halloween!), this entry falls, roughly, in the middle of the series – by which point “Billy the Kid” had become “Billy Carson.”

Now look, I really, really love B-Westerns; they’re some of my favorite movies to watch. BUT, I’ll never claim they could vary a whole lot. I mean, these were old west stories filmed on the cheap; how many plot lines could there be? Watch enough of these, and you start to see the same basic story lines repeated over and over, though when the action was good and the stars engaging, it didn’t really matter – bills that seemed to fit Crabbe pretty well, actually.

All that said, when you’ve got a long-running series such as this one, well, sometimes things had to be shaken up a bit, and that’s just what PRC did with Wild Horse Phantom – this is not your typical B-Western! The usage of “phantom” in the title isn’t really an indicator of horror-themes in a western (lotsa them used it), but make no mistake, our movie today has unmistakable horror movie undertones – and overtones! This one really breaks out of the mold, and it’s a lot of fun because of it. Read on!

The movie starts out normally enough: A fellow named Daggett, along with his gang, break out of prison. These guys were busted for robbing a bank, and, it turns out, the breakout has been orchestrated by Billy so he can trail them and recover the stolen money. (Along for the ride is another prisoner, an acquaintance of Billy and Fuzzy, who is unwittingly dragged with the gang; Daggett shoots him dead soon after. While it provides a moment for Fuzzy to grieve early on, it seems to be forgotten in fairly short order.)

At this point, I’d like to mention that this is a “modern day western,” meaning it was (ostensibly) set in the time it was produced. Sure, there’s still six-shootin’ and horses and whatnot, but there’s also then-modern automobiles present. When I was growing up and discovering B-Westerns on WAOH/WAX, I was always put off by these. To me, a western should be set in the old west; in the 1800s, maybe early-1900s tops. While I still prefer my westerns to adhere to my arbitrary standards, I will say I’ve softened on these “modern day” efforts – somehow the 1940s matinee charm is made all the more visible when then-modern accoutrements are present. Does that make any sense? No? Well, whatever.

Anyway, after that non-eyebrow-raising start, the setting get dark – literally. Billy and Fuzzy track Daggett’s gang to an old mine, where Daggett hid the stolen money before their incarceration. As seen here, our heroes skulk about in the dark (right), and eventually wind up spying on the gang as they futilely try to find the dinero. (Daggett can’t remember where exactly he hid it.) It’s at this point where things take a turn for the spooky; y’see, for all intents and purposes the mine here is the equivalent of a haunted house.

No joke – there’s mysterious, cackling laughs, provided by a “phantom” (our titular character, duh!) with a knife. This phantom seems to be on the side of good, even helping Billy and Fuzzy when they’re captured by the gang in surprisingly short order. Still, can you ever really trust a guy that runs around a dank mine and cackling? It’s gotta be a little unnerving, even if you are Buster Crabbe.

Eventually Billy makes it outside (while Fuzzy waits in the mine; more on that momentarily) and does a little investigating. The town in which the mine is located has been essentially wiped out by the aforementioned bank robbery, as the nefarious banker in charge is threatening to foreclose on everyone. You can probably see where things are going here. This moves the plot along, of course, but really, the best scenes are all in the mine. They really do manage to attain an aura of, I guess, an old dark house thriller – an intriguing and nice change of pace for a budget western!

Wild Horse Phantom probably can’t be deemed a ‘famous’ movie; B-Western fans might know of it, but it’s not like you’ll hear it spoken of in the same sentence as, say, Stagecoach. Still, there is one scene that almost has to come up when Wild Horse Phantom is mentioned, not only because it takes the horror elements of the film from a mostly-background presence to front and center, but also because it’s just so, well, PRC.

Because the scenes in the mine are, by necessity, dark, and the object in question was (almost) constantly in motion, capturing satisfactory screenshots was all but impossible here. I tried over and over, too. What you’re seeing to the left is The Devil Bat. Yes, that Devil Bat. As in The Devil Bat, the 1940 PRC horror flick starring Bela Lugosi. To showcase the hidden dangers of the mine, PRC reused the prop!

The scene: Fuzzy is wandering around the mine when he stumbles upon something lurking in the shadows, eyes glowing menacingly. That’s the top image on the left, and believe it or not, it manages to come across genuinely creepy!

The bat of course attacks Fuzzy, though the shots of him scuffling with it are incomprehensible in screencap-form, so the bottom image is the bat showing off its impressive wingspan. How does Fuzzy repel the creature? By biting it. (Don’t ask.)

The unfortunate fact of the matter is that the bat doesn’t get much screen time. His scuffle with Fuzzy is it (though there’s a semi-related incident at the conclusion of the film that’s too dumb to not love). And why exactly is it there? Are we left to surmise that they just get that big in the mine by natural means? Or do we assume it’s one of Bela’s escaped experiments? Questions like this keep me up at night. No matter though, because the fact PRC reused the creature is just too awesome, and really sets Wild Horse Phantom apart from other B-Westerns.

As a whole, it’s a fun movie, and at under an hour (normal for these B-Westerns), it’s fast-paced by necessity. Granted, the breeziness of the film doesn’t leave a whole lot of time for further fleshing out of the story. For example, there’s what seems to be a love interest here, except the whole plot point just kinda peters out and goes nowhere after the initial germ of the idea. Plus, there’s that whole giant bat thing, too.

Still, B-Westerns weren’t high art, and they weren’t meant to be. This was matinee entertainment for the kids, not a serious horse opera. There’s perhaps no better evidence of that than Wild Horse Phantom, a movie that mixes the western, horror, and comedy genres far more adeptly than it should be able to. I really liked it! It’s harmless 1940 poverty row cinema, with plenty of action and, for our purposes today, horror to make it fit during the Halloween season. It’s not the kind of movie that would come to mind first for sure, but it’s a nice, unexpected option if you’re looking for some offbeat entertainment for your Halloween party.

Wild Horse Phantom gets your Northeast Ohio Video Hunter’s full-approval, and as we all know, my full-approval is of tantamount importance. Check it out!

(By the way, where’d I get this movie? This copy comes from Mill Creek’s 20 movie DVD set dedicated to the Billy the Kid series; however, as I haven’t been able to fully devour the entire collection yet, I’m labeling this as a “movie review” instead of my usual “DVD review,” as notating it the latter implies, to me anyway, a review of the whole set – something I can’t satisfactorily do yet. I take solace in the fact that anyone reading probably doesn’t care about trivial matters like this.)

VHS Review: Bowery at Midnight (1942; Goldstar Video Corporation’s “Tales of Horror” Series, 1992)

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Welcome to October! Fall! Halloween month!! I essentially took September off so I could get one ostensibly-spooky post up per week. Or at least that was the plan; who knows if it’ll actually work out that way. If nothing else, I’ve got the start and end of the month covered, okay? Stop pressuring me.

To kick things off, I’ve got the return of Goldstar Video’s Tales of Horror series, a 1991/1992 line of budget tapes that, thanks to their extreme early-90s vibes and cool packaging, I have become fond of. We saw their version of 1947’s Scared to Death back in August, but today we have one that just may be my favorite of their line-up: 1942’s Bowery at Midnight.

It’s not because of the packaging, or a particularly unique print of the movie, either; the cover art for all of these was pretty similar, and as for the print, well, I don’t really know, because the tape is sealed and I refuse to open it and ruin the minty freshness. Nope, this is a biggie for me because I just really, really love this movie. It stars Bela Lugosi, so it’s automatically worth checking out anyway, but then it goes one better by having a genuinely engrossing plot. It’s a Monogram production, so the story ain’t exactly high art, but boy did it turn out to be a good flick anyway.

No joke, when it comes to Lugosi, I’m definitely a fan. Sure, Dracula, that’s an easy call. But, because Bela spent so much time on the poverty row circuit after Drac typecast him somethin’ awful, it’s a lot of those cheapie movies from the 1940s that I come to first when I think Lugosi. The Devil Bat? Great flick! The Corpse Vanishes? That too. And amongst those personal vaunted ranks: Uh, Bowery at Midnight, obviously. And don’t think that just because these were quick paychecks for him that his performances suffered; Bela always gave a role his all.

Because it’s long been in the public domain, Bowery at Midnight has had more than a few budget VHS, and now DVD, releases. It’s not one of his more ubiquitous films to be found in this arena though, and that’s a shame, because as far as I’m concerned it’s one of his best cheapies.

The cover art here follows the same template as all of Goldstar’s Tales of Horror entries. That is, white background, accented by a series title that’s dripping blood, a grainy filmstrip screenshot of the movie down the middle, and a volume number at the bottom-right (which is housed in a pool of the blood). This was the set template for the line, with only the specifics changing (movie title, volume number) changing from release to release.

This particular entry was volume 12, of which there were at least, at least 24 volumes. Anyone know exactly how many were released? The screenshot used actually isn’t a single still taken from the movie, but rather a composite; Bela plays a dual-role in the flick, as a college professor by day, nefarious soup kitchen operator by night, and both personas were aptly placed into the scene. Good move on Goldstar’s part!

The only thing I really find suspect here is the misspelling of Bela as “Bella” on the packaging. Hey, it was a budget video, typos happen, but it’s not like his name isn’t at the start of the movie, and besides, they got the spelling right on the Scared to Death cover. (In Goldstar’s defense, I’ve seen this misspelling from other manufacturers, as well.) Oh, and it’s Bowery at Midnight, no The, but that’s small potatoes, yo.

(Also, dig the remnants of a Kash n’ Karry sticker on the front! This tape hailed from a Florida seller, and there’s the proof!)

The synopsis on the back isn’t bad. Bowery at Midnight is, for the most part, more of a crime thriller, though Goldstar did well to point out the legit, albeit somewhat inexplicable, horror twist. Though, referring to Bela as the “night manager” of the mission is, uh, no. He owns and runs the joint; he’s not some underpaid clerk at an all-night convenience store somewhere! “Let me get you your lottery tickets, my friend…” Also, his offing of (most) of the people he enlists isn’t so much because he’s threatened by them as it is a precautionary measure.

I’m not trying to rag on Goldstar’s summary, though; compared to many budget labels and the synopsis on the back sleeve (if there even was a synopsis), this is practically a cornucopia of information!

Plus: 1992 – a 25 year old tape! The sad fact of the matter is that’s a bit newer than much of the stuff I bring home, VHS-wise. I don’t know when any of these were released (the line apparently started in 1991, and I would guess the tapes continuously floated around for a few years afterward), but I’m assuming they were more readily available during the fall months, in which case I was 6 years old for Halloween ’92. Can’t remember what I went as that year, but there’s a good chance it included a mask I couldn’t stand wearing for longer than 12 seconds.

I didn’t have any of these tapes as a child. I was more into cartoons and video games at the time; my love of vintage horror and sci-fi would flourish about 5 years later.

Fun Fact: Freehold, New Jersey was the childhood home of Bruce Springsteen. Also, the Grampa tapes were manufactured in Rahway, NJ. So, was Jersey like the unofficial capital of low-cost VHS or something?

(Yes, I totally used that exact paragraph in my Scared to Death review. You can’t improve on perfection, so I’ve straight-up copied and pasted it here. Stop pressuring me.)

As I said, I can’t bring myself to crack the seal on this. It’s just too cool having it new; I could set up a little rack in my house and continuously pretend I’m at a grocery store circa-1992, if I wanted to be as arbitrary as humanly possible. If my Scared to Death is any indication, this is probably recorded in EP, and the label probably implores you adjust the tracking as needed. And boy was it needed with Scared to Death. (Though in all fairness, I ran that through an old beater VCR, so the fault may very well have been more on my part.)

Bowery at Midnight. Why do I like this movie so much? Besides an undying affinity for poverty row horror of the 1930s and 1940s, and my Lugosi fandom, it’s just a genuinely good movie. I gave it a cursory glance for the first time only a few years ago, admittedly without much enthusiasm, and yet, quickly found myself positively engrossed in it.

It’s also a solid example of 1942 wartime matinee entertainment. It just feels like something that could have come out in the early-1940s, though I’d be hard-pressed to fully explain that feeling. Maybe it’s the fast pace (there’s only a little over an hour to work with here) and dark-yet-also-kinda-wacky plot. Furthermore, I love the NYC setting of the film (though I have no idea if it was actually filmed there or not). I guess what I’m haphazardly getting at is this is a real time-capsule of poverty row cinema, though I guess poverty row cinema is a time-capsule in and of itself, huh? I totally lost where I was going with this paragraph.

With Monogram at the helm and “Bowery” in the title, it’s impossible to not think of the East Side Kids, which truth be told, was initially what I took this for. Bela did two of those, but in my opinion, this is so, so much better – though aside from the studio and setting and star, there isn’t much comparable between the two (or three). Like I said, Bowery is primarily a crime thriller, but with a random horror twist.

Brief plot rundown: By day, Bela is a mild-mannered college professor. By night, he’s a criminal mastermind using his Bowery-based soup kitchen as a front. He likes to enlist patrons of the kitchen for his robberies, and then off them before they can get too comfortable in their positions. He also has a wacky-jack scientist living in the basement of the soup kitchen, who requires corpses for his experiments, so it’s a win-win for him, even if Bela don’t give him no respect. Add to it a kind volunteer at the mission, her nosey boyfriend (who happens to be one of Bela’s college students), a just-promoted cop, some comic-relief bums, and an ending that’s too head-scratching to not love, and you’ve got a really fun hour or so of entertainment.

The film briefly hints at Bela actually having a legit split-personality, though it never really goes anywhere with the idea. The “daytime professor” plot element as a whole is kinda undercooked too, though with only 60+ minutes to play with, the movie made the wise choice of mainly focusing on the mission.

I really do love this flick, and to have it in this early-1990s, budget VHS form, it just seems so perfect. These Tales of Horror tapes have a very Halloween-ish look and feel to them; they seem like the kind of thing consumers would be stumbling upon not only at video stores but also supermarkets and the like come the fall months.

Needless to say, these Tales of Horror tapes are all way, way out of print, and as mentioned, somewhat obscure in this day and age, though none of them command very much. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. That’s not to say you can’t get your Bowery at Midnight on, though; it’s public domain, so there’s no shortage of options out there, though the best I’ve seen is the terrific Roan DVD.

And so, with that, the post comes to a close and Halloween month has been kicked off here at my stupid dumb blog. Stay tuned, more ostensibly-spooky stuff to come! Hopefully.

Blockbuster-Branded (and Subsequently Autographed) Godzilla 2000 VHS

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THE NORTHEAST OHIO VIDEO HUNTER

An adventure in analog video, electronics, television history, Northeast Ohio, and whatever else I feel like babbling about…

Tag Archives: film review

VHS Review: DICK TRACY MEETS GRUESOME (1947; Trans-Atlantic Video, 1990)

VHS Review: Al “Grampa” Lewis Hosts INVISIBLE GHOST (1941; Amvest Video, 1988)

VHS Review: SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE SECRET WEAPON (1942; Vintage Video, 1985)

VHS Review: DICK TRACY VS. CUEBALL (1946; Silver Screen Video, 19??)

VHS Review: TEXAS TERROR (1935; 1985 Vintage Video Release)

VHS Review: Frankenstein (1931; MCA Videocassette Inc., 1980)

VHS Review: The Little Shop of Horrors (1960; Video Treasures’ 1990 Colorized Version Release)

Movie Review: Wild Horse Phantom (1944)

VHS Review: Bowery at Midnight (1942; Goldstar Video Corporation’s “Tales of Horror” Series, 1992)

Blockbuster-Branded (and Subsequently Autographed) Godzilla 2000 VHS