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Blu-ray Grand Duke
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[Show spoiler]Halloween Horror Marathon '12
Halloween Horror Marathon '13
Halloween Horror Marathon '14
Halloween Horror Marathon '15
Halloween Horror Marathon '16
Halloween Horror Marathon '17
Halloween Horror Marathon '18
Halloween Horror Marathon '19
Halloween Horror Marathon '20
Halloween Horror Marathon '21
Halloween Horror Marathon '22
Halloween Horror Marathon '23
Halloween Horror Marathon '24
~~~
INT., MOVIE THEATER BALCONY, DAY[?]:
TWO MEN sit watching the screen, clad in identical outfits of dark blue suit jackets and tan slacks. Seated to the left is GENE SISKEL, film critic. Tall and lanky, with a dome bereft of hair (but framed by sides). To his right is ROGER EBERT, also of the same profession, considerably shorter, considerably rounder, bespectacled. On the screen, a scene from a cheapjack HORROR MOVIE plays out, a SCREAMING WOMAN, clad in torn, skimpy clothing, cowering in the corner of a room contained within a squalid cabin in the woods as a MASKED KILLER, holding a machete dripping with grue, advances towards her, as OMINOUS MUSIC crescendos on the soundtrack. Her scream is abruptly cut off as the machete descends in a whistling arc, burying itself, we assume, in her cranium. [the offending moment is, naturally, only left to the viewer's imagination, this being a widely syndicated program offering reviews of the week's new cinema offerings]
[We cut to alternating, medium close-ups of the two men as they introduce themselves to the audience at home]
ROGER: [not meaning it] Charming. Hello, I'm Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun Times.
GENE: And I'm Gene Siskel of the Chicago Tribune, and, as the clip we just watched illustrates, it's October 1st, and you all know what that means, another month of this kind of sensationalistic horror trash is about to unspool in multiplexes across the country.
ROGER: Gene and I have been adamant in our deep dislike for these kinds of 'films', yet a plumber isn't enthused about clearing a clogged toilet, and yet needs to earn a steady paycheck, so we're gonna hold our noses and dive into another round of these detestable, unimaginative slasher flicks.
GENE: I'm of the same mind as Roger. Why do studios keep polluting the minds of our young moviegoers with this stuff? There's no authentic suspense, no relatable or likeable characters, just a rash of mindless decapitations and disembowelment, all done with the state-of-the-art in makeup effects to make them as convincing as possible.
ROGER: [interjecting] But to what effect, Gene? Even the teenagers who flock to these movies have seen this all done before, over and over, with little variation. The same masked killers gutting the latest batch of photogenic but bland young people. Is this what passes for entertainment these days?
GENE: [makes an exasperated gesture with his hands] You've got me, Rog. I can't remember the last horror movie I saw that generated any authentic suspense or eerie mood, they just play the same tired shock music to goose the audience that, by now, should see it coming a mile away. Long gone are the days when we had an Alfred Hitchcock who could deliver suspense with a modicum of wit, style or sophistication.
ROGER: It's a distressing state of affairs, Gene, but, as I said before, it's a job, and somebody's got to do it, so here we go. [rolls up jacket sleeves, which immediately fall down to cover his forearms again] First off, we have...
Suddenly, the MOVIE THEATER SCREEN, which had been frozen in the split-instant before impact, flickers and goes dead.
ROGER: [not missing a beat] ...nothing!
[Gene chuckles]
ROGER: [breaking character] We seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties, so, you want anything from the concession stand, Gene?
GENE: [deadpan] If there's anything left after your last visit, Rog.
Roger laughs good-naturedly. These two have been ribbing each other for years.
ROGER: [Calling off-camera] Any ETA on getting the projection back on? I was hoping to get this segment in the can before we broke for lunch.
There is an OMINOUS SILENCE. Both critics make faces as they look off-camera.
GENE: The hell...?
Roger gets up.
ROGER: [muttering] I swear, if this is some kind of prank...
Roger walks off-screen right as Gene looks about in displeased confusion. A half-minute later, Roger returns and sits down again.
ROGER: [irritated] The door to the lobby's locked.
GENE: Oh, you are KIDDING me...
Gene gets up and tries the exit door to the lobby on his side, finding that it, too, is locked. He slams an open hand on the door.
GENE: [angry] HEY, what's the deal?! This wasn't funny on April 1st, and it's not funny now! Hello...?!
Gene goes back to his seat and settles down with an annoyed grunt. Suddenly, the blank screen starts to flicker. Both critics look upwards as the screen shows something inexplicable. A DOLL is sitting posed on a small, three-wheeled bicycle. The pasty-white doll's face has RED SPIRALS decorating both cheeks and the same crimson shade smeared across its lips. A shock of black hair matches the NATTY TUXEDO sporting a red bowtie. The background, what they can make out of it, looks like something out of the film clip they were just watching, an anonymously scuzzy, dankly lit room piled high with random rickrack and festooned with dangling cobwebs. Suddenly, the puppet's head turns to look directly at the camera. Despite being inured to such hackneyed visuals in the hundreds of horror films they've been forced to sit through over the years in their chosen profession, both critics suppress a momentary quiver of unease. Then, the puppet's crudely-serrated jaw starts to clack up and down and it begins to "speak".
PUPPET: Greetings, Mr. Ebert and Mr. Siskel. I'm afraid your usual filming session has been hijacked for the time being.
Roger and Gene exchange a bemused look.
PUPPET: [continues] My name is Jigsaw, and I can no longer sit by and allow your slander of the horror genre to continue unchallenged.
GENE: [addressing the screen] What *is* this? What have you done with our filming crew?
PUPPET/JIGSAW: Have no fears on that account. All have been stashed away without injury, and will be released when our business has been concluded. After all, they are innocent puppets in this little game, and do not deserve to be punished for merely doing a job.
ROGER: [addressing the screen] This is all very amusing, but I assure you, whoever you are, that this prank has gone quite far enough. If you'll be so kind as to unlock the doors...
JIGSAW: [interrupting] I'm afraid that is out of the question. You two have been charged of the crime of denigrating an unfairly maligned film genre, offering little evidence why it is so beneath your exalted standards.
GENE: Oh, I think we've reviewed enough of this swill to have earned a right to call it out for what it is.
ROGER: Precisely! I'm not saying that *all* horror films are bad, but the push towards more extreme levels of sadism and gore -- without well-crafted suspense -- is doing a number of the psyches of impressionable children and teenagers. They deserve to experience vicarious thrills, no doubt, but films like what we're reviewing today are achieving said thrills with little sense of style or humor.
JIGSAW: You condemn such films sight-unseen.
GENE: [smug] Well, you don't have to place your hand on a red-hot stove burner to understand it will burn you.
JIGSAW: Who assigned you two, and those of your ilk, the arbiters of cinematic decorum and taste? What's wrong with gore, nudity and bad taste?
ROGER: [defensive] Hey, I gave four stars to Dawn Of The Dead!
JIGSAW: A stopped clock is right twice a day, Mr. Ebert.
GENE: So what's your angle, uhhhh, "Jigsaw"? Why have you trapped us here?
JIGSAW: Since you two are such seasoned critics, and know all of the cliches of the horror genre inside and out, we're going to play a little game for the next 24 hours. Soon, I will unspool a series of carefully curated horror films. Pay close attention to them all! All will contain clues that will allow you to proceed to the next rounds.
ROGER: And if we don't want to play along, Mr. Jigsaw?
Suddenly a pair of IRON MANACLES snap into place around Roger and Gene's ankles, trapping them in their seats. Gene CRIES OUT as a flap of skin gets painfully caught between the remorseless steel pincers. A small red spot begins to spread across his lower leg.
ROGER: [alarmed] Gene!
Roger attempts to reach out for his injured colleague, but the manacles prevent him from rising from his seat. He emits a DEFIANT SNARL as he reaches down and attempts to prise the manacles open.
JIGSAW: Those manacles are made out of high-tensile steel. Nothing short of a blowtorch could open them, and I'm sure your ankles would not appreciate the heat it would require to melt them open.
GENE: [tears of pain leaking from the corners of his eyes] DAMN YOU!!! What do you WANT from us?!
JIGSAW: If the two of you desire your freedom, you will require this. [the puppet, being operated by someone offscreen, holds up an arm. Held in one hand is an enticingly shiny SILVER KEY]
JIGSAW: [continues] All you need to do to be given this key is to watch the films that are shortly to begin. *Study* thern, not only for or the "subtext" and "metaphor" you critics seems to think is more important than pure storytelling drive, but also to answer the trivia questions that will follow each presentation. For every answer you collectively get right, this key will get closer and closer. For every answer you get wrong, well...
The manacles suddenly, painfully CONSTRICT, causing both Roger and Gene to shout in pain. They stay painfully pinched, for several seconds, before returning to their original size. Both critics heave sighs of relief.
JIGSAW: You're about to get a crash course in some of the best -- and worst -- horror films ever made. The snooty heights of "Elevated Horror", the dregs of low-budget splatter cinema, and everything in-between. I hope you hit the restroom before the door shut, because the movies will not stop for any reason...
Roger contemplates his half-empty soda and popcorn containers sourly.
JIGSAW: [continues] ...because it's time for...The 2025 Horror Movie Marathon.
~~~~~~~
This year's marathon is dedicated to Tony Todd, Olivia Hussey, Lalo Schifrin, Mark Snow, Alf Clausen, Michael Madsen, Terence Stamp, Lorna Raver, Joe Don Baker (Mitchell...!!!), Michelle Trachtenberg, Val Kilmer, Scott Spiegel, David Lynch, George Wendt, Gene Hackman, Priscilla Pointer, Ed Gale and Harris Yulin.
Farewell and adieu to summer...
- Jaws (1975): 
What can possibly be said about Steven Spielberg's breakout 1975 blockbuster after fifty years? It remains one of the greatest cinematic thrills rides of all time, with the then-27-year-old wunderkind firing on all creative cylinders in bringing Peter Benchley's bestseller -- about the small New England island community of Amity's key summer tourist season being brought to a screaming halt by the ravening predations of a 25-foot Great White Shark and how the town's aquaphobic police chief (Roy Scheider), a bright, eager ichthyologist (Richard Dreyfuss) and a blunt, crusty sea cap'n (Robert Shaw) band together to repel the menace and put the town's businesses back on a paying basis -- to terrifying life. This is one of those miraculous films where everything clicks, from the leading troika's prickly and immediate chemistry to Spielberg's innate sense of camera placement, movement and knowing exactly when to key the shocks and laughs like a seasoned symphonic conductor to John Williams' brilliant, Oscar-winning musical score (buttressing his [in]famous thumping low-end ostinato signaling the shark's hovering presence -- one of the most ingeniously simple pieces of screw-tightening fear music ever conceived -- with ebullient sea shanteys illustrating the sheer joy of the chase), it's a movie that remains as fresh and frightening as it did unspooling in cinemas for the first time half-a-century(!) ago, and seeing it large and in charge in its current theatrical run is a treat. Worth raising a glass to ("Okay, we'll drink our legs...!") to celebrate five decades of ruining beach holidays as this summer enters its last few weeks.
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