In praise of MMA: Mixed Monster Adversaries (Part One)

You can’t convince a kid that less is more. Try telling an eight-year-old that instead of getting into that awesome [fill in the blank] costume and driving to the neighborhood where they give out full-size candy bars, the family will be going over to grandma’s for Halloween, where she keeps a bowl of dusty, 20-year-old Werther’s candies for all her visitors. See how that goes over.

Monsters are like candy bars. One is nice, but there’s nothing like emptying out a full bag of candy at the end of a great night of trick or treating. Sure, you can parcel out your monster enjoyment one solitary vampire, werewolf or man-made abomination at a time. But throw them all together in a single film, and you’ve got a party like no other, the monster equivalent of Friday Night Smackdown.

I was a greedy little kid as far as my monsters were concerned. The local Saturday night horror show, Gravesend Manor, introduced me to the Universal monsters (and appropriately enough, it featured not one horror host, but a whole cast of macabre zanies). Frankenstein, Dracula, the Wolf Man and the Mummy were revelations to the 10-year-old me. But my little heart really got racing when I realized that there were films out there featuring not one, but two or even more of the beloved classic monsters.

Watching the monster combos on TV -- Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein -- inspired me to round up neighborhood friends and put on short plays in the garage featuring my favorite fiends. By the time I was in high school, I’d seen each monster rally multiple times.

Of course, much has been written, especially in the snobbier critic and fan circles, of the exploitative cheapness of the rallies, especially in comparison to the Golden Age films of the 20s and ‘30s that started everything. (I think we forget that the original classics were considered cheap and exploitative when they first debuted.) They aren’t great movies, but they are a lot of fun when you’re in that “more is more” frame of mind.

Let's be honest, Bela Lugosi as the monster in Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man (1943) is anything but frightening. So much footage of Lugosi ended up on the cutting room floor that the film is disjointed in places (all of the excised scenes were of Franken-Lugosi speaking in his inimitable Hungarian accent, which had the production execs nearly “convulsed with laughter” when they ran the dailies.) [ Tom Weaver, Michael Brunas and John Brunas, Universal Horrors: The Studio’s Classic Films, 1931-1946, Second Edition, McFarland, 2007, p. 327]

But Larry Talbot (Lon Chaney Jr.) has never been more angsty, and the old gypsy woman (Maria Ouspenskaya) from the original Wolf Man is there to provide gravitas. And you just know that Larry’s doctor, mild-mannered Dr. Mannering (Patric Knowles) -- full of good intentions at the beginning -- is going to be seduced into dabbling with things better left alone, like revving up Frankenstein’s monster and seeing what he can do.

Next, the monsters went house hunting. House of Frankenstein (1944) is also disjointed, playing much like a series of vignettes organized by the wraparound story of mad Dr. Niemann (Boris Karloff) and his loyal hunchback assistant Daniel (J. Carrol Naish). And John Carradine’s suave Dracula is ridiculously easy to defeat, hardly sticking around long enough to make an impression.

But Daniel’s unrequited love for the gypsy girl Ilanka (Elena Verdugo), and Ilanka’s dangerous love for Larry Talbot, is truly heart-rending. Plus, there’s something satisfying about Boris Karloff coming round full circle to play the umpteenth doctor to revive the monster that he immortalized.

Did you know? The success of Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man got Universal execs thinking that if two monsters in a film was good for the box office, three (or even more) would be that much better: “On June 7, 1943, The Hollywood Reporter announced that Universal was developing a new shocker entitled Chamber of Horrors with an all-star cast of goons including the Invisible Man, the Mad Ghoul, the Mummy and ‘other assorted monsters.’ George Waggner was named as the ringleader of this three-ring circus of horrors. The cast read like a Who’s Who of cinemacabre: Karloff, Chaney Jr., Lugosi, Lorre, Rains, Zucco, Hull and … James Barton (!).” [Weaver, Brunas & Brunas, p. 448]

Chamber of Horrors never saw the light of day (or the full moon for that matter), but the monster rally concept was soon realized by House of Frankenstein. See my post, “What Might Have Been: The Universal Monster Rally You Never Saw,” which lays out an imaginary Chamber of Horrors film with the original slate of monsters.

And then there’s House of Dracula (1945). Universal was in no mood to mess with a winning formula, so the unholy trinity of Dracula, the Wolf Man and Frankenstein’s monster are back (I guess including the Mummy would have been too much of a good thing). To complete the deja vu feeling, there’s a reprise of the kindly, serious doctor who turns mad midway through (Onslow Stevens as Dr. Edelmann), and yes, there’s another hunchback, this time in the form of a female nurse/assistant (Jane Adams as Nina).

When I first saw House of Dracula, I was turned off by Edelmann’s prosaic, scientific explanations of the “curses” inflicted upon the Count and the Wolf Man: the former supposedly suffering from a parasite in his blood, the latter from pressure on the brain (!?). Supernatural monsters should be just that -- super - natural, beyond conventional scientific reasoning. When you explain away the mystery, it just becomes a sort of dull, pedantic science fiction.

So House of Dracula became my least favorite monster rally. But subsequent viewings have given me a new appreciation of the film. John Carradine’s Dracula is much more of a malignant presence in this one.

In a great, understated scene, the Count seduces Edelmann’s beautiful assistant Milizia (Martha O’Driscoll), who is playing a haunting, elegiac piece on the piano:

Miliza: "You like it?"
Count Dracula: "It breathes the spirit of the night. They played it the evening we met at the concert."
Miliza: "I'd forgotten... until I saw you again."
Count Dracula: "Perhaps I wanted you to remember."  [IMDb]

As an added bonus, Onslow Stevens gives it his all playing perhaps the maddest of all doctors in the Universal canon -- the result of an attempt to cure Dracula with a blood transfusion, but which instead infects Edelmann’s blood when the conniving Count reverses the transfusion machinery.

1948 saw the release of the greatest monster rally of them all, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. I know a lot of people don’t appreciate mixing comedy with horror, but I find that A&CMF threads the needle masterfully, not overdoing the duo’s routines that in other movies overstayed their welcome, while juxtaposing clever sight gags with effective chills.

If memory serves, I first saw A&CMF sometime after the original Draculas, Frankensteins and Wolf Man, but somehow, the 1948 film seemed entirely fresh, even though it repeated the monster combo from the two "House of" films. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Bela Lugosi was there, resplendent in cape and formal wear, reprising his signature role.

I remember being just as creeped out by Larry Talbot’s transformation into the Wolf Man in this outing, and alternately bemused and on the edge of the couch as Wilbur (Lou Costello) blundered his way around the screen, narrowly missing falling into the clutches of the various monsters.

One of the great laugh out loud moments is when Wilbur, exploring the dark dungeons underneath the castle, stops to rest for a moment in a large chair and ends up in the Frankenstein monster's lap -- only realizing his situation when he looks down at his own hand and sees two there.

The addition of Vincent Price’s voice as the Invisible Man at the very end of the movie was an inspired comic version of a “shock” ending.

Did you know? “The original working title of the film was The Brain of Frankenstein. Aside from Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster and the Wolf Man, the Mummy was also to be worked into the script, but was eventually eliminated. [Editor’s note: the Mummy could not catch a break!] The script evolved into the Wolf Man (in his sane moments) trying to prevent Dracula’s attempt to transfer Costello’s brain into the Frankenstein creation. … To keep the actors happy, the studio hired comic Bobby Barber (who also played a role in the film) to act as court jester, thus speeding up the shooting schedule. Practical jokes occurred all the time, including the comedians throwing pies at each other during dull stretches between scenes.” [Richard Bojarski, The Complete Films of Bela Lugosi, Citadel, 1980, p. 223]

In Part Two, the classic monsters go up against masked Mexican wrestlers, and meet a guy by the name of Waldemar Daninsky. Don't miss it!

The Insomniac’s Guide to Night Terrors: Don’t Go to Sleep

Now Playing: Don't Go to Sleep (TV movie; 1982)

Pros: Great cast makes for a very believable family in crisis; Script cleverly keeps the source of the evil ambiguous; Stylish direction
Cons: The parents’ reaction to a family tragedy stretches credulity

When I found out that Gill over at Realweegiemidget Reviews was hosting a blogathon dedicated to the legendary TV impresario Aaron Spelling, I saw an opportunity to indulge my love of '70s and '80s TV movies, especially those of the horror and sci-fi varieties (of course!).

Even if you’ve never heard the name Aaron Spelling, if you’re of a certain age, you're very likely to have seen his work. Starting out as a writer in the mid-'50s, Spelling quickly moved into producing, and in the succeeding decades became almost an industry unto himself, producing hundreds of shows and TV movies. Starsky and Hutch? That’s a Spelling property. Charlie’s Angels? Check. The Love Boat? He was the real captain of the ship. The primetime soap Dynasty? Dynasty was his middle name.

Okay, so maybe you don’t know Aaron. How about Tori? Somehow Aaron found the time to have two children, one of whom, Tori, has something of her own legendary status in the Spellingverse. Tori started out doing small roles in some of her dad’s shows, eventually enjoying a lengthy recurring spot on Beverly Hills 90210. In addition to acting, she has also followed in her dad’s footsteps as a producer (and in the process grabbed a little of that mystical Kim Kardashian/Paris Hilton ability to be famous for being famous).

But I digress. This post is about one of the more effective TV horror movies of its era, from a man who started out as a pioneer and became a master of the genre. Most fans consider the debut of ABC’s Movie of the Week in 1969 to be the beginning of the great golden age of TV movies. The quick, cheap and original movies became a big hit with audiences and elevated ABC’s stature among the major networks.

Spelling eagerly exploited the new format and in 1970 alone produced such sci-fi and horror hits as The Love War (with Lloyd Bridges and Angie Dickinson), How Awful About Allan (with Anthony Perkins), The House that Would Not Die (Barbara Stanwyck) and Crowhaven Farm (Hope Lange and John Carradine).

Fast forward 12 years, and Aaron Spelling was sitting majestically atop the TV world as head of Aaron Spelling Productions. While the ABC Movie of the Week series was long gone and the TV movie golden age was waning, there were still 90 minute time slots to fill and Spelling was happy to oblige.

Once upon a time, this man was the King of Half of Everything in TV land.

For fans of supernatural horror (guilty as charged!), it was a great era because such films (as well as psychological horror) tended to be easy on expense accounts, and TV producers made a ton of them. They didn’t require big special effects budgets or complicated location shoots -- quite often, all you needed was a creepy looking house and a smattering of mid-level name actors and you were good to go.

As a result, we lucky fans kept getting gift after horrifying gift from the TV movie mill: A Taste of Evil (1971), Home for the Holidays (1972), Satan’s School for Girls (1972) and Cruise into Terror (1978) were just a few from Spelling’s shop in the '70s.

Don’t Go to Sleep (1982) didn’t stray far from the successful TV horror formula: as per usual, a family is menaced in their new home. However, several ultra-creepy scenes and a great cast led by Valerie Harper, Dennis Weaver and the always delightfully eccentric Ruth Gordon elevate this one several notches above the usual made-for-TV fare.

Phillip (Weaver) and Laura (Harper) are moving their all-American family (a boy and a girl) to a new home. Some past struggles are hinted at in the early going, but Phillip has a new job in the aerospace industry, and it seems the family is returning to normalcy.

There are some mild tensions -- Phillip is not thrilled that Laura’s sharp-tongued mother Bernice  (Gordon) will be living with them -- but seemingly nothing that the family can’t deal with. Little do they know that the mother-in-law living arrangements will be the least of their worries.

In an early scene, more of the family’s recent tragic past is revealed when the boy, Kevin (Oliver Robins), spots his grandmother setting up multiple pictures of the oldest daughter, Jennifer (Kristin Cumming) on her dresser. He snottily reminds Bernice that there aren’t supposed to be any pictures of Jennifer -- who apparently has recently died -- in the house.

When grandma says she doesn't have any favorites, don't believe her.

Under the surface brightness, the all-American family has some skeletons that threaten their bliss. It seems that Phillip and Laura can only deal with their grief by banishing any reminders of their deceased daughter, but that strategy is going to come back to haunt them.

At first, the youngest daughter Mary (Robin Ignico) is happy to have her own room in the new place, but quickly regrets it the first night when the wind whips up, tree branches tap on the window, and the dolls surrounding her bed seem to be moving surreptitiously in the shadows as a disembodied, rasping voice calls her name.

Soon, Mary is screaming, and when Phillip and Laura get to her room, they’re horrified to see Mary trapped in her canopy bed as it’s going up in flames. Dad quickly pulls Mary to safety and beats out the fire. A frayed lamp cord appears to be the culprit, but this isn’t the sort of house warming the family was expecting.

Mary hopes the pajamas she got last Christmas are fire retardant. 

We learn that even before the move, Mary was experiencing nightmares. The disembodied voice is now visiting her every night, and her screams for it to go away are fraying everyone’s nerves, but particularly Phillip’s (more on him later).

It doesn’t help that her bratty brother has decided Mary is gaslighting the family, and he concocts a plan to record spooky sounds on his tape recorder to further torment her. Bad move.

The nightly manifestations of the spectral voice soon give way to visits by Mary’s dead sister Jennifer (yikes!). Mary’s conversations with her sister are shot in soft focus, suggesting that she’s dreaming. There is a chilling disconnect between Jennifer’s angelic appearance in frilly dresses, and the words coming out of her mouth:

Jennifer: “They [the rest of the family] don’t want me to be here. They don’t miss me like you do. They don’t care.”
Mary: “But they loved you.”
Jennifer: “Not real love. Not like you do. They always loved you the most. I always hated that.”

Spooky Jennifer’s resentments take a grave turn (pun intended) when she starts encouraging Mary to “take care of” the other family members who want to keep them apart. And from that point in the film, taking care of business, Don’t-Go-to-Sleep-style, will involve such household items as a pet iguana, a frisbee, a plug-in radio, and (**GULP!**) a pizza cutter.

Mary discusses girl things with her big dead sister,
like wreaking horrible vengeance from beyond the grave.

They say that 80% of all serious accidents occur in the home, and much of Don’t Go to Sleep plays like an extended public service program from Hell on how dangerous even the most mundane household items can be. We think we know what’s going on with the “accidents,” but the film keeps the perpetrator(s) off-camera. Meanwhile, the escalating chaos allows Harper and Weaver to emote their hearts out.

At this point, both leads were well-established TV stars, not to mention TV movie veterans. In 1971 Weaver appeared as the beleaguered driver in the mother of all TV movie cult hits, Steven Spielberg’s Duel. At the same time, he was highly visible in the title role of McCloud, the duck-out-of-water New Mexico policeman temporarily assigned to NYC (part of the NBC Mystery Movie rotation with McMillan and Wife and Colombo).

Valerie Harper had arguably more visibility on ‘70s TV, first as Mary Richard’s friend Rhoda in The Mary Tyler Moore Show, then as the star of her own spin-off show, Rhoda, in the mid-late ‘70s. There were a few TV movie roles in that decade, but after Rhoda’s run they became a bigger part of her career. Another memorable TV horror outing came in 1988 with The People Across the Lake, co-starring Gerald McRaney.

The pair make the most out of a script that at the outset establishes a seemingly normal, happy family with a bright future, but that keeps pulling at the threads of a dark secret that eventually causes everyone and everything to fall apart.

Valerie Harper and Dennis Weaver put on a master acting class in Don't Go to Sleep (no kidding).

One of the first clues that the family is not okay is the parents’ head-scratching insistence that no pictures or reminders of the elder daughter be displayed in the new home. This seems extremely implausible, even for the most grief-stricken of families. But a later flashback reveals that alcohol and a childish prank factored into the fatal accident, and everyone, including grandma, who kept the liquor flowing that night, is feeling at least a little guilty.

As Phillip, Weaver walks an acting tightrope, portraying a weak, frightened man without making him cartoonishly so. Early dialog hints that Phillip had a breakdown over the tragedy, lost his job, and only recently had gotten back on his feet. But his self-confidence has taken a blow, and Mary’s night terrors are not helping.

He’s so uncertain about his new job that he initially rejects Laura’s suggestion that they get Mary counseling, fearing that somehow word will get back to his bosses. As things begin to careen out of control again, Phillip drowns his sorrows in martinis -- the very thing that contributed to the original tragedy.

The 3 rules of TV horror real estate: location, location, location.

Laura desperately tries to hold things together, but she’s no superheroine. In one particularly wrenching scene, Laura tearfully begs her husband to be stronger because she can’t do it all herself. Phillip blubbers in self-pity and denial. The scene is riveting and authentic, and Harper and Weaver are at the absolute top of their form.

But let’s not forget the kids. Any movie featuring children is only as good as the child actors, and they’re very good indeed. The movie is really Robin Ignacio’s, as Mary is at the heart of (or perhaps, the conduit for) the evil that has gripped the family. She is a perfectly ordinary little girl, cute, but not saccharine sweet, and very believable as she struggles with the darkest of forces.

Towards the end, as emotional trauma and survivor’s guilt set in, Mary becomes guarded and morose, but at the same time she’s like a psychological chess master in parrying her doctor’s attempts at getting her to open up. Dr. Cole, played to subtle perfection by Robert Webber, soon realizes that something very disturbing is lurking behind the sullen little girl facade.

"Note: Does not play well with others and does not like my antique toy collection."

Props too to Kristin Cumming, who is as prim and cute as an American Girl doll, and whose warm, big sister smile masks the casually evil words coming out of her mouth during her nightly visits with Mary. Is she an avenging ghost, a demon, or a figment of Mary’s guilt-laden imagination? Well…

All this acting talent might have been wasted if not for the top-notch writing and directing by Ned Wynn and Richard Lang, respectively. Actor/writer Wynn drops hints, mostly through dialog, of the various skeletons in the family’s closet as he simultaneously ratchets up the suspense, first with disembodied voices, then spectral visits, and finally with a house in which death appears around every corner.

Director Richard Lang, who had already built a substantial resume directing TV shows and movies by the time Don’t Go to Sleep rolled around, seemingly respects the material too much to just go through the motions. Besides being an actor’s director, as evidenced by the bravura performances all around, his mix of unexpected close-ups, jump cuts and varying camera angles keeps the viewer almost as on edge as the characters in the film.

While made-for-TV horror continued to survive through the ‘80s, franchises like Halloween, Friday the 13th, and Nightmare on Elm Street that offered cheap and far bloodier thrills lured a new generation of horror fans back to theaters. More subtle chills tailored for TV -- especially of the supernatural variety -- fell by the wayside.

Fortunately, we have platforms like YouTube and Tubi to help us rediscover films like Don’t Go to Sleep that were made by craftsmen and women who used TV’s limitations to their advantage, creating genuine shudders instead of gross-out shocks. Who knew that a pizza cutter could be so terrifying? Or that Valerie Harper, no one’s idea of a scream queen, could belt one out with the best of them?

Wait for it... wait for it... now, SCREAM!!!

Where to find it: Acceptable (but not great) streaming copies can be found here and here.

(For reviews of other vintage Aaron Spelling-produced TV movies, see my posts on The Love War, 1970, How Awful About Allan, 1970, and A Cold Night’s Death, 1973.)