Halloween Diary 2018 ***

10/21
I typically don't wait so long to watch Elvira: Mistress of the Dark (1988) when October arrives. It is one of my favorite "starter" Halloween season entertainments. Some of the humor would certainly be frowned upon today, but you can say that for practically most comedies in the 80s. You have a radio station owner trying to grab for Elvira's breasts. For fuck's sake, when she's supposed to get her last rites before the township plans to burn her at the stake for witchcraft, the priest reaches with lust-filled eyes for them! The film is an engine running full throttle with sexual innuendo (subtlety this film doesn't just brush aside but pushes out of the way with great aggression) and boob jokes. And how Elvira dresses gets plenty of attention. Cassandra Peterson, to her credit, is a sport because the film continually sexualizes her time and again, with her fully invested in milking her amazing Gothic sex appeal with complete dedication. I do think the humor of the film, where kids climb up her dead aunt's home to take snapshots of Elvira naked, will offend more today than ever before. Whereas folks might have giggled a bit at it all during its time, the mindset of today will probably find this all repulsive. Nonetheless, Elvira ends in Vegas during a musical number using pasties to certainly emphasize her most recognized assets. Peterson understands that she's an incredibly sexy woman and this Elvira persona has been an enduring success and iconic character many of us who grew up with her never forget, particularly during this time of year. And the woman remains astonishingly stunning to this day, maintaining the character she cultivated decades ago. I've written about this one aplenty, but I did find myself going, "Oh, no...you didn't!!" with some of the lines like the "How's your head?" and the aphrodisiac magic concoction that turns a township, often ripping on Elvira for how she dresses and her choice of lifestyle, into horny folks as clothes come off and this all-out orgy appears on the verge of breaking out. 3.5 / 5
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What always cracked me up about Silver Bullet (1985) was with all his bluster and whipping the townsfolk into a frenzy, once Andy Fairton (Smitrovich) gets his wish and a hunting party is in force, having complained that Sheriff Haller (O'Quinn) wasn't doing his job, the moment he faces danger with the werewolf, he can't get away fast enough. And that was it, too. No more bar blather about the police's incompetency or criticism at how a murderer has yet to be caught. He shuts the fuck up completely. And Herb (Broadstreet, who gets top acting honors, just with how he says, "They tore him to pieces! They tore my boy APARRRT!!!"), whose son was Marty's friend, looking for private justice, having came from his boy's funeral seemingly dedicated to getting revenge, just never factors into anything towards catching or killing the werewolf. King's screenplay leaves plenty of loose ends. And lack of follow-ups. The sheriff is killed, disappears, and no one goes to the Reverend with their suspicions and Haller tells no one of his visit to the church. With all its flaws, I'm always a sucker for this film. It doesn't hold up well, but nonetheless here I am watching it again in October. And Busey, Haim, and Follows have been visitors on my screen for thirty years so that won't probably change much in the future, either. 3 / 5