Horror Anthologies

Dead of Night

Nightmare Cinema

Hello, my beloved boos and beelzebubs! As we creep deeper into October, and as the warm Texas temperatures insist on persisting, I have to work extra hard to maintain my spooky season spirit. I already spend a good amount of the year watching horror movies, but during this hallowed and horror-filled time, I try to double my intake of deep, dark cinema. One subgenre of horror that has mastered the art of succinct, stacked storytelling is the horror anthology: media that includes multiple, shorter, fright-filled vignettes in one, singular film. The only horror anthologies I’ve explored on this blog thus far are George Romero’s Creepshow and Rusty Cundieff’s classic Tales from the Hood, which is far superior to the British classic anthology that it’s parodying, Tales from the Crypt. Horror anthologies can be a chaotic collection of shorts, as with Southbound from 2015, or the extremely mixed, ambitious bag that is The ABCs of Death, where 26 directors respectively created horror films based off of each letter of the alphabet. I’m a big fan of Three… Extremes, which features vignettes from Fruit Chan, Takashi Miike, and Park Chan-wook. I rarely hear people speak of John Carpenter and Tobe Hooper’s made-for-tv-horror-anthology Body Bags, which I liked better than the bizarre half-assed-anthology by Dario Argento and George Romero called Two Evil Eyes. More recently, there was a hidden gem of a horror anthology called The Mortuary Collection that I very much enjoyed, and the VHS series keeps churning out really creative horror films, even seven films deep. I am always impressed by those horror shorts that can create an atmosphere of terror, in such a short amount of time, and when a collection of those shorts can all horrify together harmoniously? Well, that’s perfection to this spooky snob. So let’s dive into a pair of horror anthologies, each with several, severely scary stories to share. Tonight’s first film is proof that older horror films can be just as chilling as anything made today, from 1945 this is Dead of Night. Years before our television screens were graced with Rod Serling’s eerie charm on The Twilight Zone, this British film brought horror-hungry audiences five scary stories, directed by Alberto Cavalcanti, Charles Crichton, Basil Dearden, and Robert Hamer, respectively. The film begins with an architect named Walter arriving at an old, country cottage in Kent, where he’s been hired to do some work. The owner of the home, Mr. Foley, has a handful of random guests already visiting him, and upon this arrival, the architect is struck with a distant, fuzzy memory of all of these guests—all of whom he doesn’t know and yet he’s certain he’s seen before. As Walter tries to recall why or how he knows these strangers, he remarks, “Trying to remember a dream is like being out in a thunderstorm, when lightning hits and for one brief moment you can see everything clearly.” Each guest is very intrigued by this possibility, but the biggest skeptic among them, a psychologist named Dr. van Straaten, immediately shuts down this idea. He believes that there is a logical explanation for every unexplained, bizarre occurrence, but Walter insists that each one of these people has appeared in his dreams, and that something terrible is going to happen as the night continues. Dr. van Straaten shakes his head, but another guest, a race car driver named Hugh, begins to tell a tale that supports Walter’s theory that one can actually have premonitions. Hugh kicks off this evening of storytelling, where each guest shares an odd, inexplicable event that has occurred in their life, eager to hear how the cynical doctor could possibly explain each one. In Hugh’s case, a near-death crash causes him to experience a premonition of another near-death accident, which he successfully avoids. A young girl named Sally shares how she once unknowingly met a ghost during a game of hide-and-seek at a Christmas party, a beautiful woman named Joan shares a harrowing tale about a cursed mirror she once purchased, their host Mr. Foley shares a morbidly hilarious story about two golfers who’s competitive love for the same woman caused tragedy, and eventually, even Dr. van Straaten has a mysterious story to tell—one that involves a terrifying dummy with a mind of its own. Each of these stories, while unique in tone and approach, are all thoroughly spooky and impossible to explain away with logic. And as each tale is unraveled, our protagonist becomes more and more un-eased—with each story triggering more memories and further certainty that doom is on its way. This is the earliest English-language film, that I’ve seen at least, that successfully plays on the unspoken fears and paranoias of the population at large, in this short, easy-to-consume manner. It’s unfortunate that American cinemas cut out two out of the five vignettes for the sake of saving time, because each one of these stories are worthy of being watched. There are jokes, jolts, and a lot more unsettling moments than one might expect from a film from 1945, and Dead of Night managed to tap into terrors that were both outlandish and existential. The entire cast of Dead of Night is subtle in showcasing their anxieties, and make each terrifying tale more unnerving than the last. These stories come from shorts and books written by E.F. Benson, Angus McPhail, H.G. Wells, and John Baines, but one story—“Christmas Party”—was actually based off of the real murder of a young boy named Francis Saville Kent. Even with the technical and visual limitations of 1945, each story in Dead of Night is brought to life impeccably, and each member of this cast really makes you believe in their terror. You’ll quickly notice where other films and television shows took inspiration from this film, and though it starts out somewhat tame, it will impress you just how successfully scary this movie is for really being the first of its kind. It shows what subtlety and tension can do for a film, and I honestly wish all horror anthologies were as diversely dark and steadily-scary as Dead of Night. A film that was perhaps less successful and iconic, but still pretty decent with its presentation of perilous horror stories, was an anthology from 2018 called Nightmare Cinema. Nightmare Cinema gets into the dark-sided drama immediately, as we witness an unlucky patron walk up to a deserted theater, where she sees her name on the marquee. Puzzled and petrified, the young woman wanders into this empty theater, something compelling her to take a seat and gaze at the giant screen. On that screen we watch the first vignette play out, where our first victim has seemingly been cast in a frenetic teen slasher movie. She’s in the woods, running for her life after all of her friends have already been eliminated, but very soon we’re clued into the fact that this story is not what it seems. There is a danger in the woods, even greater than a masked killer with an unknown motive, but our first scream queen becomes aware of this far too late. Before we even know what became of this first theater attendee, we’re shown the next victim(s)—a young couple that is all over each other, and desperate for a place to hookup, completely unaware of the marquee that summoned them. Once again, they’re drawn in and find seats, where their make out sesh is interrupted by another freaky film, now starring them. This next vignette, directed by horror icon Joe Dante, features this young couple falling in love, but the woman is plagued by an unfortunate insecurity—a small but noticeable scar on the right side of her face. Her suspiciously-attractive fiancé doesn’t want her to fret, though, because his mother wants to hook her up with her brilliant plastic surgeon. What goes on at this oppressively-white and creepily-chic clinic must be seen to be believed, and just as the vignette closes out, the young woman who just witnessed it is suddenly alone, and acquainted to the man who runs this mysterious theater. Mickey Rourke introduces himself, saying, somewhat clunkily, “I’m the projectionist, sweetie pie. The curator of a million nightmares, trapped in the silver screen.” We’re onto the next segment from here, a demonic story set at a church that was actually my least favorite of the bunch. And from here we’re shown two more vignettes, each respectively instilling a flavor of fear that hadn’t yet been explored. These vignettes feature some notable actors like Richard Chamberlain, Maurice Benard, Mariela Garriga, Elisabeth Reaser, Adam Godley, Annabeth Gish, and Chris Warren—who plays Zeke aka Mr. “I bake!” in High School Musical. My greatest grievance with Nightmare Cinema, other than the third segment that really did nothing for me, is the fact that horror-icon and loverboy Patrick Wilson is credited in the fourth segment, but we only hear his voice. Each of these vignettes were directed by seasoned horror directors like Alejandro Brugués, Ryūhei Kitamura, David Slade, and Mick Garris—but none of them put him in front of the camera?? To see Patrick Wilson’s face and body and go, “yeah let’s just use his voice” feels like a bigger waste of time than Francis Ford Coppola’s Megaflopolis. What I appreciated about Nightmare Cinema was its variety of horror stories, and its decently-effective use of twists. I’ll admit that I was slightly less impressed by Nightmare Cinema after viewing the downright revolutionary Dead of Night, but I still enjoyed its contribution to the convoluted sub-category of horror anthologies. Sometimes it takes a village to really frighten the unfazed masses, and both of tonight’s films really showcased the power of collaboration and teamwork in terror-building. As picky as I am when it comes to horror, I’ll always happily sample the scary selections that an anthology has to offer. Because why should I settle for just one spooky story? Well that’s enough anthological antics for one night, but thank you for reading along, dear reader and fellow horror aficionado. Until next week, creep it real 😎