(1973)
Dir - Eddie Saeta
Overall: MEH
A cornball bit of macabre schlock and unabashedly so, Doctor Death: Seeker of Souls should
be more ghoulishly fun than it is. The only feature film to be
directed by Eddie Saeta, it also has historical significance for
featuring Moe Howard's final screen appearance, though he is almost
unrecognizable in a small cameo early on. Elsewhere, the plotting is
less than satisfactory as the second half of the movie is nothing more
than John Considine's title character murdering one woman after other in
his frustrated attempts to have their souls enter the body of a
stubborn corpse. Long story there. As the dashing hero, Barry Coe is
dreadfully uncharasmatic, which just puts that much more pressure on
Considine to carry the whole thing through. Thankfully he does so and is legitimately enjoyable as an immortal practitioner of the
supernatural arts, with his wide-eyed smile and super villain confidence
making him a campy delight. The cinematography by Emil Oster and Kent
L. Wakeford utilizes the dated, tacky decor and some stylistic
flourishes to decent effect, but the monotonous second half and
hare-brained story are too problematic to forgive. That said, those who
appreciate tongue-in-cheek horror from the time period, (namely Count
Yorga or Dr. Phibes fans), will probably be more patient with the
movie's blunders to at least give it a solid C+ for effort.
(1974)
Dir - Larry Yust
Overall: GOOD
A unique and mostly successful dark comedy thriller centered around the elderly, Homebodies was one of only a small handful of theatrically released full-lengths from director Larry Yust. Bookended with the jaunty "Sassafras Sundays" song, the tone shifts wildly as a condemned building full of geriatrics stubbornly refuse to leave their abode of several decades instead of being relocated to cramped, impersonal senior dwellings so that a bigshot millionaire can put up high rise apartment complexes. Most of the proceedings are heartfelt and sad as we witness these people get tossed aside by everyone else that they come in contact with. This allows for our sympathies to lie with them when they unassumingly fight back, that is until the paranoia and trauma of the situation unavoidably pushes things too far. The story offers no answers to its real world predicament, one that has been endured in various urban areas that are powerless against the corporate machine. This presents a bleak outlook to be sure, but the cast of veteran character actors truly get to shine in subdued performances that makes them both chilling and warm. Some of the sporadic comedic beats are awkwardly clashing, but it is an engaging, melancholic film whose themes unfortunately remain timeless.
(1977)
Dir - John Cardos
Overall: MEH
If Night of the Living Dead was Jaws and also sucked, Kingdom of the Spiders would be adjacent to the results. A nature horror movie that takes nearly an hour to deliver any arachnid mayhem besides one or two off-screen livestock attacks, it is one of William Shatner's several post-Star Trek/pre-T.J. Hooker genre offerings of the B-level variety. Shatner keeps his wits about him as a charming rancher/veterinarian and there is refreshingly little to no Romero-esque squabbling amongst characters, i.e. no one is an obnoxious asshole. That said, maybe some small town drama would have helped move things along, at least until the tarantula army finally starts to cause a ruckus in the third act and third act only. Until then, it is just Shatner and his newfound love interest Tiffany Bolling having some pleasant banter between them while everyone else around only seems mildly concerned that cattle are dying and that they might be quarantined for a state fair on the horizon. Director John Cardos and cinematographer John Arthur Morrill agree on some clever POV shots that are super low to the ground, but any other visual flare begins and ends there. Besides an ominous be-it anticlimactic ending, a shot of a guy encased in webs, and an a woman hilariously shooting a revolver at one spider at a time, there is absolutely nothing memorable that transpires.
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