Cult-TV Movie Review: Spectre (1977)

Paranormal scholar (and egotist) William Sebastian (Robert Culp) summons his old friend, alcoholic physician Dr. “Ham” Hamilton (Gig Young) to help him in his pursuit of knowledge of the supernatural, and in particular, one diabolical case. 

Hamilton’s presence is necessary -- despite a recent falling out between the two men -- because of Sebastian’s unusual physical condition.  His heart has been injured in an occult fashion. A voodoo doll effigy of Sebastian was stabbed with a pin, and now it may be fatal for Sebastian to exert himself physically. 

Unfortunately, Sebastian has not been able to locate the actual doll, and prevent further injury.

After contending with a succubus in his study using The Apocryphal Book of Tobit, Sebastian informs Hamilton that he has had his housekeeper, Lilith (Majel Barrett) cast a spell to rid him of his alcoholic addiction.  Sebastian needs a stable Hamilton on his next investigation, in London.

There, Sebastian plans to help Anitra Cyon (Anne Bell) determine if her brother, Sir Geoffrey (James Villiers) has been influenced by a demonic figure. Not long ago, a Druid tomb was found beneath the family estate. This subterranean Stonehenge, called “The Fire Pit” is believed to possess occult powers.

Sebastian and Hamilton investigate further and discover that a demon of corruption and lust -- Asmodeus -- is indeed using the body of one of the Cyon siblings, but it is not Geoffrey who is possessed, but rather Mitri (John Hurt).

And worse, if Geoffrey fails to act as Asmodeus’s priest, the demon has a replacement in mind: Sebastian.

Spectre (1977) is the late Gene Roddenberry’s (1921-1991) final failed pilot or TV movie of the disco decade.

Previously, the Star Trek creator had attempted to make series from Genesis II (1973), Planet Earth (1974), and The Questor Tapes (1974), all to no avail. Today, I would love it if an enterprising producer resurrected any of these creative genre projects for our twenty-first century era. Each one possesses incredible promise.

Certainly, Spectre’s occult/supernatural approach qualifies it as a proto-X-Files, especially with the focus on partners of opposite temperaments. There is also a Sherlock Holmes and Watson aspect to the central relationship of Sebastian and Hamilton.  Culp and Young possess a nice chemistry with one another here.

Spectre also fits in, generally, with the TV movies of the 70’s, including The Night Stalker (1972), and The Norliss Tapes (1973) in terms of subject matter. The decade saw a continuing fascination with demonology and occult trappings.  But Spectre differentiates itself with the added bonus of Roddenberry’s trademark kinkiness. The TV-movie possesses an undercurrent of sexuality.

Specifically, the TV movie features a scene with a succubus – a “carnal,” minor demon -- who attempts to seduce men to her death.  This is one of the best scenes in the telefilm.

And then Spectre features the (infamous) S&M bondage scene in the second act. To describe the sequence more fully, Ham awakes in bed (in the middle of the night) with a surprise lover, and then is joined by a dominatrix and a young woman who appears to be a school girl. A panel on one wall in the bedroom slides away to reveal a secret shelf of whips and chains. In a very funny scene, Sebastian walks in on the befuddled Ham, as he contends with this sexual surprise.

Additionally, if you catch the European version of Spectre, you’ll also see a lot of female pulchritude and nudity in the closing demon worship sequence. Apparently nudity was added for benefit of strong overseas sales.

The kinky, funny aspects of the tale definitely mark this as a Roddenberry production, but Spectre carries other value as well. The whole subplot involving Sebastian as the victim of an occult attack, involving a voodoo doll, is fascinating, and differentiates this from other programs of the era. Although this was the era of standalone televisions, rather than serials, it is fascinating that Sebastian here boasts this built-in background with the occult that could inform many stories.  I wonder what other dark rituals he explored in his hunt for the truth, before reconnecting with Ham.

Indeed, Sebastian’s back story is fascinating. He is a behavioral scientist who worked with law-enforcement to catch Charles Manson, and mass murderer Richard Speck. He became convinced that logic and science couldn’t adequately explain the “unspeakable” evil of these individuals and begin to investigate the supernatural as a possible reason. In fact, he nearly fell under the thrall of Asmodeus, until his humanity re-asserted itself and he refused to become the thing he hated. Now, apparently, Asmodeus is offering him a second chance to act as his acolyte or priest on Earth.

Would Asmodeus have offered him another chance?  Grounded ever more deeply in demonology, would Sebastian have accepted the offer?

The best parts of Spectre involve character background (Sebastian’s) and the character interaction between the two protagonists. There is a jaunty feel to the TV movie, which distinguishes it from many other occult films of the era.  If Star Trek had gone supernatural -- with its joie de vivre, colorful characters, and occasional tongue in cheek -- we might have gotten a masterpiece here, of supernatural series. 

Instead, we are left with a lot of “what ifs?”  And that’s the “specter” that hangs over this made-for-TV movie (and backdoor pilot) for forty years ago.

Cult-TV Movie Review: It Happened at Lakewood Manor (1977)

A construction accident at the historic Lakewood Manor -- located in a county described as “the Las Vegas of tomorrow” -- gives way to something even more terrifying: an attack of teeming, angry ants.

At the old hotel, its elderly owner, Ethel Adams (Myrna Loy) contemplates selling the property to an unscrupulous real estate millionaire Anthony Fleming (Gerald Gordon), who is visiting with his mistress, Gloria (Suzanne Somers).

Meanwhile, Ethel’s daughter, Valerie (Lynda Day George) is encouraging her mother to sell too, because her husband -- construction foreman Mike Carr (Robert Foxworth) -- has been offered a career opportunity in San Francisco.

The ants, who are defending a subterranean colony, soon attack relentlessly. At first, local authorities think there may be a virus, or poisonous snakes involved in the crisis, but soon the ants mount an all-out assault on the premises.

It Happened at Lakewood Manor - also known as Ants -- is a not-very good disaster/horror movie of 1977 vintage. 

Actually, the TV-movie is noteworthy from an historical perspective, because it combines two important trends of the day. The first is, indeed, the disaster film format, which was enjoying popularity thanks to cinematic efforts such as Airport: 1975, The Poseidon Adventure (1972), and The Towering Inferno (1974). 

The second trend of the era was “revenge of nature” horror movies, such as Frogs (1972), Night of the Lepus (1972) and Kingdom of the Spiders (1977).  

It Happened at Lakewood Manor was not alone, either, dramatizing ants as a major threat. Phase IV (1974) and Empire of the Ants (1977) also featured this insect menace prominently.

However, It Happened at Lakewood Manor is not a particularly strong representative for either trend. In fact, for much of its running time, the movie is dull and uninteresting.

In terms of the disaster film format, this TV-movie offers us some familiar character-types. We get the officious naysayer -- who prolongs the crisis -- here played by the great Steve Franken. He actually played a similar role in another disaster film of the same vintage: 1978’s Avalanche.

We also have the Elder Stateswoman -- Hollywood royalty of yesteryear -- in a major role. Here, Myrna Loy is the representative of a kinder, gentler Hollywood era. Think, Olivia de Havilland in The Swarm (1979), or Jeanette Nolan in the aforementioned Avalanche. Loy’s character survives the crisis, airlifted away from the ants, and then seems confident she can sell the property, following the ant attack.

And, of course, there’s the nasty, avaricious business man who gets his comeuppance during the crisis. Richard Chamberlain played that role in The Towering Inferno. Gerald Gordon gets the honor here.  Both characters plummet to their deaths. And deservedly so.

As the brief survey reveals, the main characters here are pretty much off-the-shelf in nature, given petty “soap opera” concerns to handle before the real threat -- the ants! -- makes them get their priorities straight. It’s all just time-wasting nonsense until the crisis occurs.

In terms of the revenge of nature trope, the ants here turn hostile because, according to the film, of man.  

Because of us.

The dialogue states that “We’re the ones who forced them to live in a toxic world!” It also notes that ants are usually considered peaceful, at least until man “started putting poison in the air.”

This is just silly, at least in the way it is stated.

The movie also falls down -- even compared to the ludicrous The Swarm, however -- in depicting its central threat. More often than not, the ants look like smeared stains on the actors’ skin.

There is also a dreadful special effects shot late in the action in which a blob of something gray -- apparently the ant colony? -- is matted onto the live action scenery. It is a dreadful shot.

The most ludicrous of imagery is reserved for the film’s finale, however. Lynda Day George and Robert Foxworth sit frozen on a hotel room floor, breathing out of tubes (made from rolled wall-paper), as ants swarm all over them.

A scientist has told them not to breathe, and not to move, so the ants won’t feel threatened by their presence. The imperiled survivors do as they are told, but the visual suggests a weird drug trip rather than a terrifying encounter with nature. Once the fumigation processn begins, and smoke is seen billowing in the room, this connection is even further enhanced.

Also unintentionally funny is the sequence in which a helicopter in flight accidentally blows the deadly ants onto bystanders near the hotel. The onlookers all start shaking and patting themselves down until Bernie Casey shows up with a hose to blast off the ants.

Not all the ant sequences are terrible. Suzanne Somers’ death scene is somewhat effective, as we see the ants swarm over her feet and legs while she sleeps. The imagery is definitely creepy crawly, and succeeds in making the viewer feel uncomfortably itchy, if not genuinely menaced.

The movie also features multiple shots of ants circling a sink drain (in the hotel kitchen), and that’s probably a good as metaphor as any for the quality of It Happened at Lakewood Manor.  This is a thoroughly undistinguished, derivative TV movie of its era, without the energy or drive to muster real scares or thrills. It does succeed, however, as a time capsule of a time and place.

Finally, one character in the tele-film notes that everyone has a soft spot, “you just have to find it.” 

This TV movie is nothing but soft spots.

Cult-TV Movie Review: Home for the Holidays (1972)

At Christmas time, four sisters -- Christine (Sally Field), Jo (Jill Hawarth), Freddie (Jessica Walter) and Alex (Eleanor Parker) -- return home for the first time in nine years to visit their dying father, Benjamin Morgan (Walter Brennan).

All the Morgan daughters suffer psychological scars from their uneasy upbringing, and have responded in different ways to it Alex is closed off, cold and emotionally-distant. Freddie is self-destructive, alcoholic pill-popper, and promiscuous Jo has married and divorced three times.

Only young, quiet Christine seems stable at all.  Upon her return, Christine is visited by the young town doctor, Ted Lindsay (John Fink), who has a romantic interest in her.

But the Morgan girls have returned to their home for the first time in nearly a decade because their elderly father insists he is being murdered -- slow-poisoned -- by his second wife, Elizabeth (Julie Harris).

The sisters are suspicious because Elizabeth’s first husband was murdered via poisoning, and she was jailed, for a time, for the crime. She maintains her innocence, but is not believed.

Soon, however, a killer armed with a pitchfork and wearing a yellow slicker begins murdering the Morgan sisters, one-at-a-time…

Penned by Joseph Stefano, the 1972 TV-movie Home for the Holidays is a fascinating proto-slasher film that features many of the elements of the sub-genre that were popularized (and became over-familiar) in the 1980’s.

Consider, we have the motivating “crime in the past,” which may have precipitated all the violence in the present. In this case, that “crime in the past” might be the death of Morgan’s first wife (was Elizabeth responsible?), or even the death of Elizabeth’s first husband.  But some event in the (pathological) past has turned a character irrevocably towards madness and murder.  This concept, often featured in a “deadly preamble” or flashback, is a standard of the slasher format.

And then, of course, we have the victim pool, in this case a group of sisters; the Morgans. We also have suspects, individuals who could be the killer, and at least two “red herrings.” Red herrings are characters who, through misleading dramatic devices, lead the audience to conclude that they may actually be the killer. 

In this case, Home for the Holidays provides two such red herrings.  One is Elizabeth, who is believed to have murdered her first husband (though the evidence is inconclusive) and who, in the last act, actually dons a yellow slicker. Yet she is not the pitch-fork murderer.

The second red-herring is Doc Lindsay, who visits with the Morgans at inopportune times and seems overly interested in the family’s comings and goings. Of course, this is just because he’s on the make; in love with Christine. But his first scene, which he shares with Alex upon her return to town, suggests he’s a busy-body and gossip.

Then we have the killer, who is differentiated visually from the remainder of the cast a wardrobe that stands out; in this case the yellow-slicker. Also, the killer is armed with a distinctive weapon: the pitch-fork.

There’s even a mini “tour of the dead” here, as Christine, running through a rain-storm at night, stumbles upon the body of one of her dead sisters, Jo, in the mud.  In many slashers, the tour of the dead occurs in the final chase, as the killer’s victims are discovered by the last survivor of the crime spree.

Speaking of Christine, she absolutely qualifies as the film’s “final girl,” the one (always female) character with the insight and observational skills to stay alive, even while a psychotic killer is loose.

If Home for the Holidays pioneers some of the slasher sub-genre’s most well-known elements, it also knowingly reflects classic literature, and in particular, one work by William Shakespeare. There’s a clear King Lear quality to the telefilm, as patriarch Benjamin Morgan summons his daughters (four, rather than three…) to his death-bed, to prove their love for him. 

His way of doing so (and ensuring an inheritance) is to have them commit murder for him, which is certainly a twist not featured in King Lear, but perfectly in keeping with the oeuvre of the man who wrote the screen adaptation of Robert Bloch’s Psycho (1960).

Although it is a simplification to note that King Lear concerns two major themes: the failure of political authority, and the nature of true love, those themes are also present in this TV-movie, at least after a fashion. 

Mr. Morgan, the authoritarian father-figure and patriarch of the family, has fallen into physical and mental weakness. He is no longer fit to lead the family, and yet he holds onto power by manipulating his daughters.  Quite noticeably, there is a dearth of male characters in the film. Lindsay only shows up long enough for suspicion to be cast upon him, and a male sheriff shows up briefly in the aftermath of the violent coup de grace, so Benjamin Morgan is the only major male character featured in Home for the Holidays. That he is weak, confused, and no longer able to discern truth or justice, is an important point.

Similarly, what is true love? Does one commit murder for true love?  The film revolves around those questions, and Morgan’s family members, including both Christine (our surrogate, perhaps, for Cordelia) and Elizabeth, grapple with them.

Above, I noted that Home for the Holidays is “fascinating,” and I used that adjective because almost none of the film’s outstanding mysteries are solved by the time the movie ends.

Of course, the killer is unmasked and taken away in a police car, but we don’t know if Mr. Morgan was really being poisoned, since he wouldn’t allow a doctor to examine him. 

Similarly, we don’t know who killed Elizabeth’s first husband, or why he was killed.

We don’t even know that Elizabeth is innocent of that crime, only that she is innocent of the pitch-fork murders featured at the Morgan Estate.

The whole movie is a mystery, but the film, to its credit, doesn’t reveal any more than it needs to, which leaves open the doorway to multiple interpretations. For instance, one might conclude that Elizabeth did kill her first husband, and is killing her second as well. However, she is not the pitch-fork murderer.  If this is so, then a killer is still on the loose when the movie ends. Julie Harris delivers a strong performance as Elizabeth Morgan, keeping her cards close-to-the-vest so viewers might rightly ask questions about her behavior and actions. There is one scene, for instance, where she describes how she will do anything to avoid returning to jail, and there is a brief flash of murderous ferocity in Harris’s eyes. Very quickly, that look subsides into mild acquiescence.

Like She Waits, the TV-movie I reviewed her two weeks ago, Home for the Holidays is slow-paced, and at times deadly dull. With all the murders and ambiguity to keep the thing pacey, the made-for-TV-movie should be thrilling, but John Llewelyn Moxey’s direction doesn’t do the movie any favors.

So, Home for the Holidays is a well-cast and well-performed, pseudo-Shakespearean, proto-slasher TV-movie, with a glacial pace.

Only in the seventies, right?

Cult-TV Movie Review: The Questor Tapes (1974)

"I have seen much to criticize in mankind, but I believe there's even more to admire..."

-Questor (Robert Foxworth) in The Questor Tapes, by Gene Roddenberry and Gene Coon.

May I introduce you to Lt. Data's father?

This Hugo Award-nominated TV pilot, which first aired on American television on January 23, 1974, represents another Gene Roddenberry attempt to craft a successful science fiction TV series after Star Trek (and following the failure of pilots including Genesis II and Planet Earth).

In The Questor Tapes, however, Roddenberry abandoned the "future world scenario" of Star Trek and both PAX TV movies and instead focused on the idea of an artificial man -- an android -- who, with great benevolence, would guide the human race through his troubled "infancy" in the twentieth century.

Thirteen episodes of the series were actually written, and NBC green lit The Questor Tapes, even officially granting it a time-slot: Friday nights at 10:00 pm. However, before the series could air, various behind-the-scenes factions fought a fatal tug-of-war, attempting to skew the fledgling series in a new direction, making it more like The Fugitive (1964-1968) or The Six-Million Dollar Man (1973-1978).

Roddenberry stuck to his guns...and walked away. His series was never produced. However, the pilot was novelized by D.C. Fontana in a book based on the script by Gene Coon and Gene Roddenberry. And even today, many fans fondly remember The Questor Tapes.

The Questor Tapes opens at "Project Questor," inside a highly-advanced surgical operating theatre on a college campus, where Dr. Jerry Robinson (Mike Farrell) and a team of scientists (including Majel Barrett Roddenberry) attempt to bring an android -- Questor -- to full consciousness.

This is a more difficult task than it sounds, however, because Questor's actual creator, Dr. Vaslovik (Lew Ayres) is missing and "presumed dead." The mystery man disappeared three years ago, without a trace. Questor, Vaslovik's child, is not well-understood by either the high-IQ Robinson or the other international scientists (James Shigeta, Fred Sadoff). Project Leader Darrow (John Vernon), fears that Questor is a "billion dollar pile of junk."
Questor rejects all programming tapes except the one created specifically by Vaslovik. Vaslovik's programming includes a background in "logic, law" and forensic medicine, among other things. Questor also boasts knowledge of "international laws and procedures."

Even after successful programming, Questor does not appear to operate normally. This vexes Robinson, who considers himself a "puzzle solver" and "gifted mechanic." A disappointed Darrow immediately seizes on the idea of selling Questor's valuable parts (like his stomach -- an amazing "nuclear furnace") to international bidders.

While unguarded and unsupervised, Questor (Robert Foxworth) activates himself, modifies himself to appear human (replete with skin imperfections), and leaves the facility. His overriding purpose is to locate his "creator," Vaslovik. Unfortunately, Vaslovik's programming tape was corrupted and now Questor does not possess human emotions, a fact he laments. "Is it possible, I was meant to feel?" He wonders.

Without programming to help him understand emotions and experience a sense of morality, Questor abducts Jerry Robinson and demands that the human being become his "guide" in such matters. Robinson isn't sure at first about befriending a "an ambulatory computer device," but soon realizes he has a responsibility to help the Questor "child" discover his creator, and find an "explanation" for himself.

Alas, Questor has limited time to complete his mission. If he does not locate the missing Vaslovik in three days, he will self-destruct...literally becoming a nuclear bomb.

After a jaunt to London in which Questor and Jerry meet Lady Helena (Dayna Winter), Vaslovik's courtesan, they proceed by jet to remote Turkey...to the very mountains where Noah's Ark is believed to have crashed. There, in a deep mountain cavern, Questor finally meets his creator, Vaslovik, and learns of both his origin and purpose.

Vaslovik and Questor are both androids of extra-terrestrial design. These androids (who build their own replacements before they expire...) have been protecting and guiding the human race in secret for 200 millennia. Questor is the last android of the line, because after his span (a duration of 200 years...), mankind will have outgrown a turbulent childhood and will no longer require safeguarding.

Unfortunately, Vaslovik can not provide Questor what the android desires most: human emotions. Although he would "trade anything to feel; to be human," Questor will have to continue to rely on his friend, Robinson, for an understanding of the human equation...

Had there been a Questor series, it would have picked up there: with Jerry and Questor "guiding" but not interfering with man as he broached international crises and problems that could threaten the human race.

In the pilot, we are introduced to what would have been an important set: Vaslovik's Information Center, a control room hidden in Lady Helena's wine cellar. From that location, Questor can monitor important locations worldwide (including the U.S. Congress), as well as private locations...like, uh, bedrooms...

The Questor Tapes is an almost perfect representation of the Gene Roddenberry aesthetic. There is (gentle...) criticism of 20th century industrial/technological mankind here, his "squalor...ugliness...greed...struggles." 

Yet this damning view is balanced and tempered by an essential optimism about intrinsic human nature. Our "greatest accomplishment," declares Questor is "our ability to love one another."

Questor is a character much like Mr. Spock or Lt. Data -- an outsider who is nonetheless fascinated by mankind. The perspective as "outsider" permits Questor, Data or Spock to be both critical and positive about the human race, without any of it seeming personal, political or petty. Like Spock, Questor is dedicated to logic, and uses that word (logic) frequently. "Logic indicates the simplest plan is often the best," etc. And also like Spock, Questor is peaceful. He is not programmed to kill, yet he can incapacitate enemies with the equivalent of a "nerve pinch."

But if Questor is a child of Spock, he is also the father of Data. There can be little doubt of that. Questor desires to be human, just like Data, and wants to understand humor. "Humor is a quality which seems to elude me," he tells Jerry at one point. 

Also, like Data, Questor is a sexual being, and this facet of his personality also conforms to an essential quality of all Roddenberry productions: kinkiness.
To get information out of Lady Helena Trimble, Questor -- an android -- makes love to her. Beforehand, he tells her that he is...um..."fully functional." Next Generation fans will recognize that particular turn of phrase from Data's seduction of Tasha Yar in the first season episode "The Naked Now."

In another scene from The Questor Tapes, Jerry and =Questor visit a European casino and Questor learns that the House is cheating, utilizing fake dice. The android is able to beat the cheaters by adjusting the balance of the dice. In the second season episode of The Next Generation titled "The Royale," Data does precisely the same thing.

The Questor Tapes has aged poorly in a few, minor ways...all mostly visual. For instance, a close-up glimpse of Questor's high-tech interior reveals a rotary telephone cord. And the very idea that "tapes" would carry an android's programming? Well, that is passe, of course too. Even Vaslovik's Information Center is obviously pre-world-wide-web.

Yet none of that matters in the slightest. 

What matters here, and what grants The Questor Tapes a real "heart" is the relationship at the forefront of the production: the friendship between a human (Jerry) and a machine (Questor). There's funny banter and quiet affection there, and the relationship will remind you (in a positive, not derivative...) way of the long-lived Kirk/Spock friendship. It's different in that Jerry has no authority over Questor: he's a teacher in the subject of humanity, not a commanding officer. Despite the difference, there's definitely charm here.

I also appreciate the real and deep sense of compassion that Roddenberry and Coon bring to all their characters in The Questor Tapes. Lady Helena (Wynter), who is scandalously introduced as an aristocratic courtesan, is actually a woman of tremendous depth, intelligence and loyalty. And even the TV movie's villain, Darrow, is treated with compassion. When Darrow realizes that the military is going to discover Questor and dis-assemble him, Vernon sacrifices himself. He takes a tracer, flies Questor's jet...and dies when the air force blows it up.

Roddenberry watchers will also recognize other recurring themes here. The idea of an alien race peacefully guiding humanity out of his adolescence is straight out of Star Trek's "Assignment Earth" (story by Roddenberry; teleplay by Art Wallace.)

And the idea of a robot/android searching for his "creator" has been the core idea of original Star Trek episodes ("The Changeling" by John Meredyth Lucas) movies (Star Trek: The Motion Picture) and Next Generation installments ("Datalore," "Brothers," etc.)

What I enjoyed most about the "search for creator" subplot in Questor was this notion that it is a metaphor for man's search for his creator...for our God (a plot point that forecasts Prometheus [2012]). At one point in the pilot, Questor must grapple with the notion that his creator (Vaslovik) is insane. This possibility is suggested by Jerry. Interestingly, Questor turns the concept around on Robinson and asks him: what if our creator (God...) is insane too? Robinson doesn't have an answer for that.

Roddenberry might have gotten away with that subtle swipe at religion in 1974, but I wonder if Questor could get it by censors today. In fact, it is rumored that one of the reasons that The Questor Tapes never materialized as a series is that NBC executives were uncomfortable with the concept - stated here - that aliens, not a Christian God, were overseeing mankind's development. The network was apparently afraid that Questor would be deemed the "Anti-Christ" by some viewers.

In recent years, there has been some movement (after Roddenberry's death in 1991) to revive The Questor Tapes concept as a series. I'd still love to see it happen. Today, more than ever, I think mankind could use Questor's help.

Cult-TV Movie Review: She Waits (1972)

A very private man, Mark Wilson (David McCallum) returns to his childhood home with his new wife, Laura (Patty Duke).  Upon his return, however, his sick old mother, Sarah (Dorothy McGuire) insists that he and his new bride leave the premises at once.

Mark’s mother believes that the spirit of Mark’s first, dead wife, Elaine, still dwells in the house, and wants to torment Laura and Mark.  The house-keeper, Miss Medina (Beulah Bondi), however, believes that Sarah is sick, and getting worse.

Mark dismisses all these concerns, even as he introduces Laura to his old friend, David Brody (James Callahan), who also knew Elaine. 

Soon, however, Laura begins to grow uncomfortable in the house. She hears strange noises, and voices, for instance.

Eventually, Mrs. Wilson realizes that she has miscalculated Elaine’s dark plan.  The roving, vengeful spirit now plans to possess Laura, and murder Mark, whom she blames for her own death.

“Maybe when you move closer to death, death moves closer to you.”

She Waits…and she isn’t the only one. 

Watching this TV movie (which originally aired on CBS, on January 28, 1972), the audience waits -- and waits interminably -- for anything exciting or intriguing to occur.

But the wait is largely in vain.

A story of spirit possession, She Waits (1972) is one of the most long-winded and dull of the early 1970’s made-for-TV horror films. Basically, the movie sets down in the Wilson family house, and rarely leaves that setting.  Although it is possible that a feeling of claustrophobia was what director Delbert Mann and writer Art Wallace were seeking here, the result is nonetheless disappointing. At 74 minutes, She Waits feel practically endless.

Basically, She Waits features no real action, no real explanation for the survival of Elaine’s spirit in the house, and no real horror, either. Despite a fine, competent cast that includes McCallum and Duke, the characters here are exceptionally dull-witted, failing to put two-and-two together for a long time. McCallum’s Mark keeps talking to Elaine, his first wife, as if she is still Laura, his second wife, even after she has told him differently.  And this happens despite the fact Laura -- to all external signs -- is a completely changed person.  If he doesn’t hear her words, Mark doesn’t seem to notice the extreme changes in Laura’s demeanor and tone.

Even the resolution of the story is disappointing as well. Basically, the evil spirit, Elaine, is “talked” out of existence, so that Laura may re-possess her own body.

Excessively talky and slow, She Waits plays like a much less-interesting version of “The Bride Possessed,” the pilot episode of One Step Beyond (1959), but at least that tale featured more action and characterization. Here, Laura begins to realize that she is being manipulated and taunted by a dead woman, but the possession takes forever, and there are red herrings, like an apparently-haunted music box.

Weirdly, the story doesn’t make much sense, either. For example, even the dead woman doesn’t seem to understand her own back-story (or death, for that matter).  

As the film eventually reveals, Mark didn’t kill his first wife -- as even his mother suspects -- but rather she died at the hands of David Brody, who was having an affair with his best friend’s wife.  The spirit of Elaine doesn’t recognize this secret until the final act, and so she has waited years -- existing beyond the grave -- to wreak revenge on a man who didn’t even deserve it.

She Waits boasts some interest for two reasons, primarily. 

The first is that the movie seems like a modern-day, supernatural variation on Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre (1847).  Here, as is the case in the novel, a naïve young woman comes into the established home of a mysterious man.  And the dark force in that family home is actually his first wife. 

The primary difference between tales involves not just period details, but the nature of the first wife.  Here, Elaine is a spirit, not a living (mad) woman.

Secondly, She Waits seems to feature a sub-textual comment on the state of marriage in the 1970’s. This was the decade, lest we forget, when divorce became a much more normalized phenomenon in the American family.  This meant that, psychically-speaking, second husbands and second wives had to deal more frequently with the metaphorical “ghosts” of spouses past. 

She Waits is certainly a literal-reading of this concept, with Laura feeling competitive towards Mark’s first wife, Elaine, and Mark proving tight-lipped and evasive about his earlier marriage. The movie’s resolution point is the line of dialogue “Don’t the past come between us,” but that’s almost precisely what happens. Laura becomes possessed (and obsessed too…) with Mark’s previous romantic relationship. In the absence of direct communication from Mark, Laura is overpowered by the memory/spirit of Elaine, which still haunts the Wilson house.

“There’s more than one kind of possession,” Dr. Carpenter (Lew Ayres) reports, and what he refers to here is the way that jealousy can consume someone, especially a second wife or husband. It’s just a shame that She Waits never finds a clever way to dramatize or resolve this story-line.

There are so many great supernatural TV-movies of the early 1970’s (see, for example, 1972’s Something Evil, directed by a young Steven Spielberg), but She Waits feels like a relic from the age of radio. Every piece of information is spoken, reiterated, and chewed over, and there are no compelling visuals exist side-by-side the talky script.

Although She Waits got a VHS release in the 1980’s courtesy of Prism Entertainment, it is one of the rare TV-films of its era that is not really worth seeking out.

Cult-TV Movie Review: Satan's Triangle (1975)

“Within the last thirty years just off the east coast of the United States, more than a thousand men, women and children have vanished from the face of the Earth. No one knows how or why. This is one explanation.”

-Title Card, Satan’s Triangle (1975).

A coast guard rescue copter out of Miami flies to the dead center of the Devil’s Triangle in response to a distress call from a yacht, the Requite. Aboard the copter are pilots Lt. J. Haig (Doug McClure) and Pagnolini (Michael Conrad).

They soon find the yacht adrift in the Triangle, with the corpse of a Catholic priest, Father Martin (Alejandro Rey) swinging from the main mast. When the helicopter begins to develop engine problems, Haig decides to board the ship, and Pagnolini returns to port for repairs..

Upon exploring the dark vessel, Haig discovers more oddities. In one room, a corpse seems to be levitating in mid-air, his face frozen in terror.

The only survivor on the yacht is lovely Eva (Kim Novak), a prostitute who tells Haig her strange story. She reports that the yacht encountered Father Martin, adrift and alone.  Once the priest came aboard, however, the crew abandoned ship, leaving only the captain (Ed Lauter) and the passengers. 

Then, one at a time, the passengers -- including the man that Eva was with -- began to die horribly, and some in apparently supernatural fashion.

Haig is a non-believer, however, and refuses to believe that the Devil is at work in these waters, even though Eva warns that “there is no way off this damn boat.”

Haig is able to convince her that there is no supernatural intervention by providing logical explanations for all the deaths, even the one involving a levitation (the man is speared on a sword fish…).

Eva acquiesces, and the couple make love.

Soon, Pagnolini returns to rescue the survivors. But aboard the helicopter, J. Haig experiences his first face-to-face encounter with the Devil…

Satan’s Triangle (1975) is another one of those weird and wonderful made-for-TV movies of the 1970’s that is scarier than it has any right to be. 

Satan’s Triangle is scary beyond the meager resources that went into its making. It is scary despite the network restrictions on violence limiting filmmakers working in those years.  It remains scary, even though audiences realize the TV-movie is also, oddly, hokey.

When I study the made-for-TV film today, I assess that it works so well, in part, because of the film techniques it utilizes. 

Satan’s Triangle is in no way, shape or form a found-footage film, but nonetheless there is an almost documentary feeling to the film’s early scenes. The camera is perched in control rooms, in cockpits, and it captures all the action without much by way of dialogue or overly theatrical acting. In these early sections, artificiality is reduced.

Satan's Triangle, at first, feels more like a movie documenting the Coast Guard and a rescue mission than it does a movie about the devil. When Haig takes a rescue basket (via winch) to the deck of the stranded yacht, the camera captures it all in one long take, and water even splashes on the lens several times.  The characters don’t comment much, or talk unnecessarily, and so we are left to assess the images alone for their verisimilitude.

These moments hold up to scrutiny.

On the soundtrack, meanwhile is a weird, ubiquitous howling sound. Is it just the wind? Or is it…Satan?

The pseudo-documentary feel by director Sutton Roley changes once Haig is inside the ship; in the belly of the beast, as it were. The movie suddenly takes on a more overt (and theatrical) “haunted house” feel with dim-lighting, strange noises and odd occurrences. The appearance of the levitating body, for example, is quite shocking. 

There’s one amazing shot here in which the (levitating) face of the deceased man -- face frozen in a rictus of terror -- is perched in the foreground, and Haig and Eva are in the background. It’s a super-imposition of terror, and evil, over normality.

The movie also attempts to craft a legitimate theme, arguing rationality vs. irrationality. The script ultimately comes to explain every “supernatural” event as a factor of the natural world. The blow-back from firing a flare gun is what knocked Father Martin from the mast, and killed him.  The “levitating” man is just speared on a fish, suspended by the sword. Even the crew disappearances are explained (via speculative flashbacks.)

In short, Satan’s Triangle goes to great pains to establish that the world is not an irrational, supernatural one.  It may even convince you.

Until the bottom falls out.  

Until the movie collapses -- or perhaps ascends -- into a final scene of bizarre, utter madness. Haig finds that he has returned to the helicopter not with Eva but with the Devil.  Eva's body has been discovered on the ship with the rescuers. Instead, the pilot has brought the devil to the helicopter, in the form of Father Martin.

The Devil then attacks, and events descend deeper into chaos.  This denouement features a real dream-like, or more appropriately, nightmare-like quality.  Again, this third act functions as a very strong contrast to the almost-documentary feel of the movie’s start, and is thus doubly effective.

There are no real special effects to speak of in the finale, except an exceptionally nice stunt fall, as Haig is driven by Satan from the copter to the ocean far below. Instead of effects, the movie relies on Conrad’s ability to convey terror, and Rey’s expressive capacity to depict bug-eyed evil.

It all works perfectly.

I have peers, particularly a brother-in-law, who saw this film on ABC on January 14, 1975, and swear, to this day, that Satan’s Triangle is the most terrifying movie they’ve ever seen. Having not seen it as an impressionable child, I don’t know that I would make exactly the same claim.

Instead, I’ll just say that Satan’s Triangle, a low-budget, 74 minute made-for-TV movie, is eerily effective, and surprisingly well-made.  The film techniques save the day or at least this is "one explanation," for the movie's cult-status.