“Lizzie Borden took an ax …”: The Fall River Murders and the Woman who got Away with the Crime

In the hot, late morning hours of August 4^th, 1892, the sleepy community of Fall River, Massachusetts, fifty-five miles southwest of Boston, was rocked by the murders of one of its leading citizens and his wife. In a large house that still stands at what was 92 Second Street in Fall River (since renumbered to 240 Second St.), seventy-two year-old Andrew Borden and his sixty-five year-old wife Abby were found brutally murdered, literally hacked to death by someone using a heavy, sharp-bladed instrument. Abby died first, in an upstairs bedroom. Andrew was killed some sixty to ninety minutes later, while napping on a sofa in the sitting room. The discovery of Andrew’s body occurred first, and the brutality of his murder was sufficient to guarantee headlines in the local papers; the discovery of Abby Borden’s body lying butchered in the guest room upstairs took those headlines national. However, it was the news, a week later, that Andrew’s thirty-two year-old daughter Lizzie had been arrested for the killings made it the crime of the century.

Lizzie Andrew Borden

One hundred and twenty-two years later, those killings, and their aftermath, still resonate through popular culture. Movies, books, plays, even songs have memorialized the case; the home where Andrew and Abby died is now a quaint bed-and-breakfast; and experts still try to solve the case that children have long ago marked closed:

Lizzie Borden took an ax,

Gave her mother forty whacks.

When she saw what she had done,

She gave her father forty-one.

Though the details are slightly off, most people familiar with the case do feel that Lizzie did in fact murder her father and stepmother, despite being acquitted of the crime. To think otherwise would be to admit the incredible—that a stranger, after brutally killing an elderly woman, waited in an occupied home for more than an hour, went downstairs, murdered her dozing husband with equal ferocity, and escaped unseen, taking nothing with him save any evidence of his presence. Robbery clearly wasn't the motive; nothing was missing from the home, and Andrew was found with his silver watch and chain in place, gold ring on his finger, and $85.65, nearly three months wages for most men in 1892, in his pocketsⁱ. The extreme violence of the attack initially led police to speculate that it was the work of, in the parlance of the time, a “fiend,” or in today’s terms, a psychopath. The Fall River Police, acting upon that supposition, did what most 19^th Century law enforcement officers would've considered the wisest move: they looked for foreigners to arrest.

Eventually however, certain facts in the case led them to a more reasoned conclusion—that the killer was a member of the household. The longer the investigators looked at the outwardly happy little family, consisting of the Bordens; Andrew’s eldest daughter Emma and youngest daughter Lizzie; John Morse, the brother of Andrew’s first wife Sarah; and Bridget Sullivan (whom the entire household insisted upon calling Maggie), the lone servant in the house, the less happy things appeared to be.

Though Andrew was wealthy, serving on the board of directors of at least four banks, he was also parsimonious to a fault; his household lived in near poverty, forced to scrimp and save every penny possible. Repeatedly Emma and Lizzie had begged their father to sell the cramped, two-story house in the decidedly middle-class part of town and move “up the hill,” to the swankier side of Fall River, where they could live among those of their economic and social strata. The appeals were ignored, perhaps fatally so. As author David Kent explains, “That Andrew would not spend a portion of his considerable wealth for a sumptuous home on the Hill may well have been the linchpin of the murders; certainly the prosecution made it one of the core motives in its case against Lizzie.ⁱⁱ”

The morning of the murders, breakfast consisted of three-day-old mutton, mutton broth (both kept in the summer heat without the benefit of refrigeration), johnnycakes (pancakes made with corn meal), cookies, and overripe bananas, all washed down with coffeeⁱⁱⁱ. The family dined heartily on the unappetizing fare, then began their busy day.

Andrew left shortly after 9:00 to transact some business and stop by the post office. Lizzie returned to her bedroom, still suffering from a bout of nausea that had affected the entire household the previous day. Emma was away visiting friends in Fairhaven, and had been for two weeks. John Morse left earlier, with the understanding that he would return for lunch at noon. Bridget was tasked with washing the windows … all of them, inside and out, while Abby began cleaning upstairs. Sometime after 9:30, Lizzie came back downstairs, dressed for a shopping trip. As she was in the kitchen drinking coffee, her father returned from the post office. Lizzie informed him that Abby had received a note from a friend who was ill; she had left to visit them. Andrew retired to the sitting room to rest before lunch. The time was perhaps 10:55 in the morning. At that time, Abby was certainly lying dead in the guest room, body wedged between dresser and bed. Andrew, just drifting off on the sitting room sofa, had mere minutes left to live. And the whereabouts of his favorite daughter Lizzie during that period of time would become the crux of the most sensational trial of its day, a trial that carried all the notoriety of the O.J. Simpson trial a century later.

The trial lasted fifteen days, from June 5^th to June 20^th 1893. The verdict, “not guilty,” was the only one possible given the dearth of physical evidence available to the prosecution, a sympathetic press, and the golden oratory of the counsel for the defense, the Honorable George Dexter Robinson, former three-term governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. But was it the right one? Did the scale of justice function as intended, or did a guilty woman go free? And what led authorities to fix their suspicions on Lizzie in the first place?

Lizzie made the initial discovery of Andrew Borden’s body; Bridget was in her room resting. Bridget wasn’t present when the note requesting Abby come to the aid of a sick friend, nor when she supposedly left. Only Lizzie bore witness to that. Lizzie claimed that, following her father’s return, she spent fifteen minutes, or maybe twenty … or perhaps thirty, rummaging in the barn looking for bits of metal to use as fishing sinkers, and snacking on pears from the tree in the Borden’s yard. She claimed that, shortly after the city hall clock chimed 11:00, perhaps five or ten minutes past, she returned to the kitchen, then entered the sitting room to discover her father’s bloody corpse in repose on the sofa.

Within minutes, the alarm had been raised, and at precisely 11:15, the first call is received at the City Marshal’s office. That is one fixed point in the day’s timeline; the only other ones are when John Morse left the house at 8:30, and when Andrew began his walk home, at 10:45. For the other points on the timeline, there is only the word of Lizzie and Bridget. One fact is certain, and is the source of much of the suspicion which must rest on Lizzie—Abby Borden died at least an hour, and perhaps as much as an hour-and-a-half, before her husband. To believe that Lizzie, Bridget, or both were ignorant of the crime is to believe that a stranger entered the home, traveled upstairs, through the oddly laid out building (the home had no hallways; it was necessary to move through each room to reach the adjoining rooms), in order to hack a woman to death. He then spent the next ninety minutes concealed in the home until her husband returned, while avoiding the other two women moving in and out of the house … well, the premise strains credulity.

But why would Lizzie Borden want to kill her father and stepmother? Was it as simple as being tired of living so far below their means? A childish resentment of a stepmother taking her late mother’s place? Or, as has been suggested by those who’ve studied the case, a more sordid reason for the crime, one rooted in a forbidden relationship? As noted crime author Ed McBain posited in a 1984 novel entitled Lizzie, a possible motive could have been to cover up a lesbian relationship between Lizzie and Bridget, at a time when mere rumors of such an affair would have ruined the reputation and social standing of the Borden daughter. Others have suggested that the obvious rage visited upon the Bordens was revenge for some manner of abuse Lizzie suffered at their hands as a child, possibly even physical or sexual abuse.

Post-Mortem photograph of Andrew Borden

Some may wonder, in this day of CSIs, when fingerprints and DNA solve crimes every day, how there could be no evidence from such brutal murders. The murders occurred in a far different era, when forensic science was just a dream in the minds of a few criminologists. Some departments in larger cities had begun using the Bertillon system, a complex series of precise measurements of criminals, especially such characteristics as the shape of the ears, the width of the nose, and the distance from one pupil to the other. In 1892, the same year the Borden murders occurred, a detective in Argentina closed the first case using fingerprint evidence, a homicide in the town of Necochea, though the practice wouldn't be introduced in the United States until 1906.

Post-Mortem photograph of Abby Borden

As far as physical evidence in the Borden case, it’s conspicuous in its absence. No trace of the note which supposedly called Abby away to the bedside of a sick friend was ever found, nor were attempts to identify said friend successful. The prosecution made much of a supposed bloodstained skirt, the spot upon which, in the words of expert witness Prof. Wood, “… was the size of a very small pin head …^iv” that wasn't blood after all. There was testimony about a blue dress that Lizzie burned in the days following the murders. She stated that it had been spattered with paint. An old, rusty hatchet without a handle was found in a bin in the basement; experts testified that it couldn't have been the murder weapon. In short, there was nothing to prove that Lizzie committed the crime, and nothing to show that anyone else had either. The only proof of the murders was the dead, bloody bodies of Andrew and Abby Borden, and their severed heads, removed by authorities just prior to the funerals and preserved as evidence.

Did Lizzie kill her Father and Stepmother? I believe so. Logically, it’s hard to believe otherwise. It can’t be proven, nor is it possible at this point to assess a motive for the crime. One thing is certain, however … this case will continue to fascinate people for generations, just as it has for more than one-hundred and twenty years.

References:

Kent, David. Forty Whacks: New Evidence in the Life and Legend of Lizzie Borden. Yankee Books, Emmaus, PA. 1992.

Kent, David, with Roberta A. Flynn. The Lizzie Borden Sourcebook. Branden Publishing, Boston. 1992.

i Kent 20

ii Kent 9

iii Kent 13

iv Kent and Flynn 269

Movie Review: The Legend of Lizzie Borden by S. J. Martiene

On a steamy August day in 1893, Fall River, Massachusetts earned its spot in the annals of unsolved mysteries when two of its citizens, Andrew and Abbey Borden were brutally murdered. The story has always intrigued me (as do many stories of this type). The Borden’s youngest daughter, Lizzie Andrew Borden, was convicted, tried, and found NOT GUILTY of the crime. The real killer was never found.

On February 10^th, 1975, ABC aired THE LEGEND OF LIZZIE BORDEN as their Movie of the Week. I had just turned 14 and thereafter I could never forget Elizabeth Montgomery’s haunting performance, the wicked music score, and the fact that I would never, EVER want to eat mutton broth. The movie was in the exceptional, pure '70’s style and went on to win two Emmy Awards (Outstanding Achievements in Costume Design and Art Direction). Montgomery’s performance was nominated; however, she lost to Katharine Hepburn in LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. Despite Hepburn’s stalwart reputation, I still believe Montgomery should have won, particularly since it was such a stunning contrast to the role she was most famous for: Samantha Stevens, the bubbly good witch, in BEWITCHED (which ended its 8 year TV run in 1972).

The movie opens with the murder having already been committed. When Lizzie’s sister, Emma (played by SOAP’s Katherine Helmond), arrives home, she confronts Lizzie with a question, “Did you kill father?” A vacant-eyed Lizzie replies, “No, Emma, I did not.” Lizzie is quickly brought to trial, and the bulk of the movie is filled with the inquest, Lizzie’s imprisonment, and subsequent trial. One of the scenes that stayed with me since it first aired was the meal of rancid mutton and broth. Their housekeeper didn’t want to serve it, but Mr. Borden insisted. We get to see Mr. and Mrs. Borden eat away and grunt like pigs at the fly-ridden broth as Lizzie watches over in disgust. Watching the movie 37 years later does not lessen its foul-factor. YUCK!!

Right away, Lizzie is depicted as having some sociopathic tendencies, and loyal Emma remains at her side, even though she is a victim of Lizzie’s bullying. Emma brings Lizzie a beautiful hat (with ensemble) to wear at the trial and Lizzie goes off on her because she brought the wrong gloves. “Sometimes I actually believe you want to see me hang!” During an interview from a journalist (I DREAM OF JEANNIE’S Hayden Rourke) she portrays her father as a very generous and kind man, although they didn't even have the convenience of an inside bathroom.

The Borden home today, now a Bed-and-breakfast

Public sentiment is on Lizzie’s side, much to the chagrin of prosecuting attorney, Hosea Knowlton (Ed Flanders). “I guess it is to be expected. They haven’t had a good witch hunt in this area since Salem.” After much hub-bub, the trial gets started with testimony from Bridget Sullivan (the Borden housekeeper). She portrays the Borden home as a peaceful place to live and work, the flashbacks in Lizzie’s head beg to differ. Quarrels between Abbey, Andrew, and Lizzie were the norm. Accusations of theft, greed, miserliness, and physical threats abound as a matter of course. The trial continues into questions of the dress Lizzie was wearing and the amount of drugs that Lizzie was given. It has been said that all of the dialogue from the trial was taken from the actual court transcripts. I feel this lends to the movie’s authenticity. The contrast between the testimonies of witnesses and the “flashbacks” in Lizzie’s head are indeed some of the highlights. In the flashback during the questioning regarding the ax, Lizzie is at a general store, buys some poison, and shoplifts the ax. Another customer (played by TITANIC’s Gloria Stuart) brings it to the manager’s attention, but is told that “Old Man Borden always pays.” Evidently, Lizzie has a Five-Finger-Discount habit. The prosecution is frustrated when there is no sign of the victim’s blood or hair on the ax or on the dress Lizzie was wearing. As Lizzie thinks back, she remembers another time when Abbey Borden insisted the will be changed so she is not left penniless in the event of Andrew’s death. Lizzie is filled with rage.

At the Knowlton home, the trial is discussed and Hosea is not happy that Lizzie gets to hide behind her femininity to gain sympathy. Knowlton’s wife also begins to feel empathy for Lizzie, and recites one of the great lines from the movie. It simply illustrates how life was for women in the mid-1800’s.

“You have no idea how unbearably heavy these skirts can be at times.” Even today, that line resonates.

Back to the trial, Emma takes the stand and Lizzie thinks back to her relationship with her father. We’ll just say it is creepy, to say the least. As the trial closes, Lizzie maintains her innocence and now it is time for the verdict. While we wait for the foreman, the “truth” is shown through Lizzie’s eyes. If you have never seen the movie, then I will not spoil it for you. Let’s just say for TV in the 1970’s, it was pretty bold and gruesome. The foreman proclaims her innocence and she goes to the Borden home where Emma is waiting. Once again, she asks (and for the last time), “Lizzie, did you kill father?” This time the viewer is left with no answer; only the chilling refrain of children singing the oft-heard Lizzie Borden rhyme. And yes, I had nightmares after I saw it.

There have been many movies, documentaries, books, and even songs written about Lizzie Borden. In 1961, The Chad Mitchell Trio released an album with the song, LIZZIE BORDEN, on it. You can listen to it here: Lizzie Borden . There were also radio shows of what happened in Fall River and one that re-imagines the story. The re-imagining, titled THE OLDER SISTER was featured on ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS.

Emma and Lizzie Borden died within 10 days of each other in 1927. Their story continues to fascinate me.

The Legend of Lizzie Borden - YouTube

The Older Sister - Alfred Hitchcock Presents - YouTube

Shows that go Bump in the Night: Unimonster’s Favorite (and not-so-favorite) Paranormal Television Series

During my prolonged absence from these pages, your friendly ol’ Unimonster relocated the Crypt, and this move afforded me the opportunity to once again join the world of subscription TV service.  In other words, for the first time in nearly ten years, Uni’s Crypt is hooked up to cable.  In addition to discovering the Robertson clan, of A&E’s Duck Dynasty, a program with which I immediately fell in love, Man v. Food (honestly, you have to admire a man who’ll attempt to wrestle 74 oz. of steak into submission), and having the question, “what the hell is a ‘Honey Boo-Boo’” answered, I found a wealth of programming choices of which I had been ignorant.  Shows that appealed to the history-lover in me, shows that appealed to my inner ‘foodie’, even two networks devoted to guns and hunting.  Of course, me being me, a large number of the programs that captured my attention have reality-based horror or paranormal overtones.

I’m not referring to fictional Horror series, such as FX’s American Horror Story or AMC’s The Walking Dead.  Both are superb examples of horror storytelling, especially The Walking Dead, which takes the skin-ripping, gut-munching zombie genre and elevates it to a level of which Romero, Fulci, and O’Bannon could only dream.  Those series deserve an in-depth look in these pages, and will, in time, receive it.  But this month we look at the shows that are factually-based, or at least claim to be.  Those series that examine the paranormal world around us with, if not an open mind, then at least one that is a little less dead-set against the idea of the supernatural.

Such programs are hardly new.  The mid-1970s were a time when America’s interest in paranormal activity, especially UFOs and cryptids, those mysterious beasts such as Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster, was at a fever pitch.  There was a spate of movies examining such unexplained phenomena as the Bermuda Triangle, and the possibility that ancient extraterrestrials had been responsible for wonders such as Stonehenge and the Pyramids.  Among the most notable (or perhaps notorious would be more fitting) of these was 1973’s The Legend of Boggy Creek.  Filmed in a pseudo-documentary style that is now referred to as a ‘docudrama’, the film purported to examine the legends of the Fouke monster, a bigfoot-like creature said to inhabit the woods and swamps of southwestern Arkansas.

In addition to spawning movies and documentaries, this interest in the paranormal gave birth to a series created by Alan Landsburg, a prolific television writer and producer.  Landsburg, who had previously produced the biographical documentary Kennedy, the First Thousand Days, which was screened for the 1964 Democratic National Convention, was inspired by the success of three made-for-TV documentaries on the paranormal that he had produced beginning in 1973 to turn the concept into a weekly syndicated series.  Debuting on 17 April, 1977, In Search Of… examined an incredibly diverse collection of topics during its five-year run, ranging from the possibility that Earth had been visited in ancient times by aliens (also the topic of the first made-for-TV documentary), to the disappearance of Amelia Earhart, to the prospect that North Vietnam was secretly keeping American MIAs prisoner nearly a decade after the end of US involvement in the Vietnam War.  Hosted by Leonard Nimoy, formerly of Star Trek fame, the series had a built-in appeal for those lovers of Sci-Fi that would form the series’ most devoted fan base.  The show’s original run ended on 1 March, 1982, after 144 episodes, though it was briefly revived in 2002, with The X-Files’ Mitch Pileggi as host.  This incarnation of the series lasted only eight episodes.

On 17 April, 1992, fifteen years to the day that In Search Of… premiered, the Fox Broadcasting Network launched Sightings, a similar program presented in an investigative news magazine format, a sort of Inside Edition on the world of the paranormal.  Hosted by journalist Tim White, the series wasn't as wide-ranging as its predecessor, though it was nearly as successful, lasting until September, 1997.  Following the end of the series’ regularly scheduled run, a number of Sightings specials were produced, as well as a fictionalized, made-for-TV movie, Sightings: Heartland Ghost.  Reruns were shown on the Sci-Fi Channel (now SyFy) until April, 2003.

As it was ending its run, the stage was being set for a new pattern of paranormal television, a style of programming that owed as much to Oprah Winfrey and Jerry Springer as it did to In Search Of… and Sightings.  The prototype of these shows, and one of the Unimonster’s personal favorites, was Haunted History, which began its run on The History Channel with the special, Haunted History: Charleston, in October of 1998.  Though it suffered from a relatively low number of episodes produced (only two specials and twenty-five regular episodes aired between 26 October, 1998 and 11 August, 2001) and erratic scheduling, the series featured high production values, interesting locales, and real efforts to capture, in-depth, both the legends and the facts behind the legends.  It also eschewed the sensationalism and tabloid-style approach of later programs.  The series enjoyed a brief revival in the fall of 2013, with eight new episodes being produced.  These bore little resemblance to the original version, and were generally inferior to it.

At approximately the same time as the original run of Haunted History was winding down, a new program was getting underway on, of all networks, MTV.  Using the then-innovative concept of a competition, with the participants filming themselves with handheld cameras, night vision equipment, and static cameras placed strategically around the location to be investigated.  MTV’s Fear debuted in 2000, the first episode placing a group of young adults inside the recently closed West Virginia State Penitentiary at Moundsville.  The six ‘investigators’ were locked in the prison overnight, staying in a prepared ‘safe room’ base of operations, from which they would be dispatched, in one or two-person, color-coded teams, to explore areas of supposed paranormal activity.  After the location had been thoroughly examined, then any participants who hadn't quit the challenge would share in a cash prize.

Subsequent episodes would take place at the Ideal Cement factory (renamed the Duggan Brothers Cement factory for the show) in Castle Hayne, North Carolina, on board the World War II aircraft carrier USS Hornet, moored in Alameda, California, and at Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia.  Though the series was one of MTV’s most popular shows, the high costs of producing it doomed the program, with only sixteen episodes having aired over two seasons.  However, while the show was short-lived, it was one of the most influential of the early paranormal reality series, especially the look and style of the show.  While MTV drew some fire for the obvious stage management of the so-called investigations, no one was claiming that this was a serious examination of paranormal phenomena.  The fans of the show accepted it at face value, realizing that it was nothing more than Survivor … with ghosts.

In 2004, with the phenomenon of “Reality TV” at its peak, the granddaddy of the paranormal reality genre premiered on the SyFy network.  Ghost Hunters, which chronicled the activities of a pair of plumbers from Rhode Island who headed a paranormal investigating group in their off hours, first aired on 6 October, 2004, and soon became a huge success.  Featuring Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson, Roto-Rooter employees and the co-founders of The Atlantic Paranormal Society, or TAPS, the show followed the organization’s investigations into allegedly haunted locations.  Though the team’s efforts in the first season were limited to the northeastern US, by the second season the program’s success had led to investigations being conducted throughout the US, as well as the beat-up old TAPS van being retired for new rolling stock, and the team relocating from the trailer that had been their headquarters to rented offices.

While critics have found fault with the team’s investigative techniques, and fans have remarked that, despite the promotional hype each new episode brings they never seem to encounter anything of note, the series has continued to grow, despite Wilson leaving the show in the middle of the eighth season, and still enjoys good ratings.  What’s more, it has inspired a host of imitators across the cable landscape.

Following the success of Ghost Hunters, it seemed as though every cable network worth its licensing fees had to have a paranormal investigation program on its schedule.  At the higher end of the spectrum, at least in terms of seriousness and credibility, and of a completely different style was the Discovery Channel’s A Haunting.  Featuring a combination of interviews with the actual witnesses to the activity in question, as well as filmed reenactments, A Haunting never developed the massive amount of media attention that Ghost Hunters garnered, despite being the better of the two series, in the Unimonster’s humble opinion.  It did help popularize the reenactment type of paranormal series as opposed to the investigative style of programming.  Another excellent reenactment series is the SyFy channel’s Paranormal Witness.  Superficially similar to A Haunting, it manages to convey, even better than the latter series, the frightening aspects of the cases being examined.

Crowding the viewing landscape at the lower end of the paranormal spectrum we have haunted animals (Animal Planet’s The Haunted), haunted hillbillies (Ghostland, Tennessee, also on Animal Planet, and SyFy’s Deep South Paranormal), haunted collectibles (Deals from the Dark Side and Haunted Collector, both on SyFy), even a haunted gold mine (SyFy’s Ghost Mine).  While all are interesting, to varying degrees, all are lacking the key ingredient that makes a program of this type work, at least for me.  They just aren't scary.

Granted, it can be difficult for these programs to be overtly frightening, whether investigative- or reenactment-based.  Programs such as A Haunting lack the real-time element and familiar cast that can draw the viewer into the location, making them feel a part of what is happening on-screen.  Conversely, the investigative series try so hard to establish their credibility that it seems they seek to avoid anything genuinely frightening.  This is the greatest flaw in the otherwise interesting Ghost Hunters.  Each week, SyFy airs commercials hyping the upcoming episode, giving it the appearance of the most terrifying spectacle ever to air on television.  As the program airs, however, we are left with scenes of the TAPS team wandering through some darkened hallways, seeing vague shapes uncaptured by any camera, hearing faint noises that could be ghostly voices, or could be a crewmember’s stomach rumbling.  Just as something mildly interesting seems to be getting underway, that’s the cue for Hawes to call it a night, telling his team to pack it in.  Then the episode ends with the lead investigators sitting down with the ‘client’ to review what evidence they have collected, and proclaim that they can’t say, with any degree of certainty, whether the location is actually haunted.

Two series, however, manage to achieve that rare mix of credibility and excitement that quickly made them favorites of the Unimonster.  The Travel Channel’s The Dead Files features a retired NYPD homicide detective and young female medium who travel to a new location weekly, at the request of someone who is experiencing what can only be described as spectral attacks.  Conducting their investigations separately, never interacting until they meet with the homeowners to reveal their findings, Detective Steve DiSchiavi, NYPD (ret.) and psychic Amy Allen each bring their talents to bear on the case, DiSchiavi by interviewing the clients and researching the background of the location, and Allen by conducting a night-time ‘ghost walk’ through the property (without the residents being present), in which she not only sees dead people, but interacts with them.  Despite their differing styles of investigation, both bring a sincerity and compassion to their work, a concern that speaks to their experience with horror in their own lives.  What makes the show so enjoyable to me is the degree to which the separate investigations dovetail once the pair comes together for the reveal.  Unless one totally discounts the reality aspect of the show, then that level of synchronicity between the two is impressive.

By far my favorite show of this type, however, stars three thirty-something guys who roam the world picking fights with ghosts, poltergeists, and assorted other supernatural entities, locking themselves into the most famous haunted locations imaginable, without any crew other than themselves and an occasional guest investigator, and experiencing what comes across as genuinely terrifying situations.  Ghost Adventures, also on the Travel Channel, is the brainchild of 37-year-old Zak Bagans, a Las Vegas-based documentary filmmaker.  It stemmed from Bagans’ desire to capture proof of the paranormal on camera.  Previously skeptical about the existence of spirits, he reportedly changed his mind following an encounter he had with the specter of a suicide victim in his apartment in Michigan.  He and 34-year-old Nick Groff filmed a documentary in 2004 examining haunted sites in Virginia City and Goldfield, Nevada.  38-year-old Aaron Goodwin is the third member of the team, or, as they refer to themselves, the “GAC,” or Ghost Adventures Crew.  He and Groff met at UNLV as film students and he joined the crew after the initial documentary was produced.

Though critics deride the show’s confrontational, aggressive style of investigation, Bagans defends it, claiming repeatedly that it’s done only to provoke those spirits with a demonstrated propensity to attack the living.  It does seems to get results, with the team’s documented success in gathering photographic, audio, even video evidence of paranormal activity.  It also makes for damn good television, as the trio explores such historic sites as the Winchester Mansion; the Villisca, Iowa home in which two adults and six children were brutally murdered in June of 1912; and Bobby Mackey’s Music World, a night club in Wilder, Kentucky that might be the most malevolent location the series has investigated in what is now nine seasons on the air.  After touring the site with the owner / caretakers, reviewing the history of the site, and giving us a glimpse of the local attractions (remember, it is the Travel Channel), our intrepid investigators are locked inside the location for the night, with only their own cameras to record the night’s events.

Though occasionally the investigations fail to deliver much in the way of spectral activity, some are truly frightening.  The ninth season premiere, which aired on 15 February, 2014, featured an investigation of the David Oman mansion, in Hollywood, California.  The house, located in Benedict Canyon, at 10050 Cielo Drive, is built on the location of one of the most infamous crimes of the 20^th Century … the Manson family murders of Sharon Tate, Jay Sebring, and three others in the early morning hours of 9 August, 1969.  The original house was torn down in the 1990s, and the current home was subsequently built by producer David Oman.  Soon after the home was built strange events began to occur, and Oman soon came to realize that he had inherited some, tenants, from the former home.  The Ghost Adventures Crew had one of their most terrifying investigations to date in that house, and while I’ll do nothing to reveal any spoilers, I will say this much:  While I would love to join in with the GAC on one of their adventures, and would enjoy touring many of the locations they have visited, you couldn't pay me to visit the Oman house … even in the daylight.

I’ve only touched upon a few of the paranormal television series that currently populate the cable landscape, and more are sure to come.  The occult and the paranormal have always drawn an audience, and that isn't likely to change now.  Also not likely to change is the cable networks willingness to profit from it.

What is our Continuing Fascination with 112 Ocean Avenue?

The facts in the case are well-known and deceptively simple:  On November 13th, 1974, a young man named Ronald “Butch” DeFeo, Jr. murdered his father, mother, two sisters, and two brothers in their sleep.  Whether or not he acted alone, whether or not there were demonic voices urging him to act, whether or not he was sane at the time, all are matters of conjecture and dispute.  What can’t be disputed is that these events led to something that has had a grip on the imagination of horror fans for over thirty years.  While the DeFeo name, or even the address of the home in which the family perished (112 Ocean Avenue) might not shed any light, the name of the small town in which they lived and died will instantly bring it into sharp focus:  Amityville, New York.

The transformation of the 1925 three-story Dutch Colonial house, from family home / crime scene, to one of the most recognizable “characters” in Horror, began in December, 1975, when George and Kathy Lutz, with their children, moved into the DeFeo home.  Within a month they had abandoned it, and two years later had written a book with Jay Anson purporting to recount their experiences in the home.

Though the book was later dismissed as an admitted hoax, it spawned a movie franchise that, to date, has given us more sequels than either Freddy Krueger or Michael Myers, and almost as many as Jason Voorhees.  THE AMITYVILLE HORROR, released in 1979 starring James Brolin and Margot Kidder as the Lutz’s, was enormously successful, ultimately earning over $86 Million at the box-office.

Three years later, AMITYVILLE II: THE POSSESSION took a closer look at the DeFeo murders, though fictionalized to the point of being unrecognizable.  This was followed by a third theatrical release in 1983, and a string of forgettable, Straight-to-Video sequels that gave us everything from a demonic dollhouse to a possessed clock.  Finally, in 2005, the original was remade by Andrew Douglas, from an adaptation of the Anson novel by Scott Kosar.

Why are we still fascinated by this house and the fictional events associated with it, thirty-seven years after the far more shocking and horrifying murders that first brought it to national attention?  Why is the original still considered one of the most important Horror Films of the 1970’s?  And why, after nine separate film iterations of the basic Amityville story has the truly fascinating, truly frightening story of the DeFeo family received such short shrift?  I have no idea.

The 1979 original, directed by Stuart Rosenberg from a script by Sandor Stern, is an interesting look at the events that were later demonstrated to be a hoax, but as a Horror Film, it was weak and ineffective, totally failing to capture the psychological impact of Jay Anson’s book.  And as for the sequels, they deserve scant mention.  While “Two” wasn’t terrible, neither was it a good movie.  And the remainder of the series was execrable.  Possessed clocks, mirrors, and dollhouses were foisted on the movie-going (actually “-renting”…) public, all bearing no relation whatsoever to the original film, and even less to the truth behind Anson’s novel.

The true story of the DeFeo murders is a intriguing, disturbing look inside the All-American family, a family that, at it’s core, was in all probability deeply dysfunctional.  The events of the 13th of November, 1974 weren’t the beginning of the DeFeo family’s troubles; they couldn’t have been.  Rather, it was the end product of… something.  Just what is still a matter of debate, but it’s difficult to believe that any young man, even one addicted to drugs, would viciously slaughter his entire family without some prior history of abuse, without some motivation other than simply being “pissed off …”

Though several books, most recently Ric Osuna’s “The Night the DeFeos Died”, have put forth various theories about the murders, including Anson’s recounting of the “possession” defense used at Butch DeFeo’s trial, none are totally satisfactory, and all have holes that provide fuel to the growing controversy over the deaths.  In my opinion, this would be much more fertile ground for a movie than yet another AMITYVILLE sequel.  What would be next, AMITYVILLE 9:  SATAN’S MICROWAVE??

What happened on that night, thirty-seven years ago?  What could drive Butch DeFeo to murder six people; not strangers, but his intimate family?  How could one individual shoot six people, in four separate bedrooms, with a high-powered rifle without any evidence that they were aware that they were being murdered?  I don’t know.  But I would very much like to.

I’d like to know just what occurred to push the home of an “All-American” family from obscurity into the national spotlight.  I’d like to know what made Butch decide that he had had enough of whatever dysfunction must have permeated that house.  I want to know why Ronald, Louise, Dawn, Allison, John, and Marc had to die.  Keep the haunted clocks and mirrors; the truth is far more frightening.

Summer of the Shark

June 20th, 1975 was a red-letter day in my eleven-year old life:  It was the first time that I stood in a long line to see a movie on its opening day.  It also effectively ended my love of swimming in the ocean near my hometown of Jacksonville, Florida.  That movie was JAWS, and no film, before or since, has had such a dramatic, traumatic effect on me.

Based on the novel by Peter Benchley, JAWS was brought to life by Steven Spielberg, a young director fresh from making Made-for-TV movies, including the very well received DUEL.  Still nearly a decade away from becoming a household name, following the blockbuster success of CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND, E.T. and RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, and even further away from the critical acclaim that he would find in films such as SCHINDLER’S LIST and SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, Spielberg was a 28-year old, untried director chosen to helm the latest project for Universal Studios.

JAWS did not have a smooth production.  There was friction between Richard Dreyfuss and Robert Shaw, two of the three main stars of the film; repeated breakdowns in the mechanical shark that forced a rethinking of just how the film was going to be shot; the original shooting schedule mushroomed, from 50-60 days, to well over 150 days; there were numerous problems with the script; even the weather on Martha’s Vineyard threatened the production.  That the film was completed at all is amazing.  That it became one of the best movies ever made is a miracle.

However, all that was unknown to me the summer of my eleventh year.  I was a normal kid, more bookish than most of my friends, more into comic books and model planes than baseball and the outdoors.  If I had a passion at that age, it was Star Trek, with Monster movies a close second.  The first I indulged courtesy of re-runs every afternoon; the second was fed during the summer by the “Kiddie Shows” the local theater would run every Wednesday.

We would clip coupons out of the paper on Mondays and Tuesdays, and on Wednesday, mothers desperate for just a few hours peace and quiet would drop hordes of screaming children off at the theater, coupons clutched tightly in grubby hands.  Teen-agers, scarcely five or six years older than us, would herd us into line to buy our tickets.  For the miniscule price of 25¢, plus the coupon, we would be treated to cartoons, contests, a free box of popcorn and small drink, and, of course, the main feature.  Though occasionally these were Disney films, (bad enough…) or even worse, Pippi Longstocking movies, (almost universally reviled among my peers, with good reason…) the usual fare for these Wednesday idylls were Monster movies.  Universal Horrors; Giant Bugs; Japanese Kaijû, all were offered up for our education and edification.  It was at one of these fondly remembered festivals of childish hedonism that I first became aware of the motion picture that would become the most effective Horror film I’ve ever seen.

The posters on display outside the entrance, labeled “Coming Attractions”, always garnered much attention from us as we waited in line.  Most, usually featuring couples in various romantic situations, were the easy targets of ridicule and derision.  Some were simply ignored; like the movies they promoted they weren’t even worth the scorn of 10, 11, and 12-year olds.  But a few were noticed, commented upon, and mentally filed away for future reference.  Most of these we knew we would never get to see… films such as THE EXORCIST, SUGAR HILL, and the Holy Grail, the movie we knew we would never get a glimpse of, THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, all were introduced to us in that gleaming chrome and glass display case.

The poster for JAWS caught our imaginations instantly:  The massive head of the shark, rising from the depths towards the tiny figure (“Gosh, is she naked??!!”) of the female swimmer, screamed Monster Movie.  Best of all, it was rated PG, which meant we stood a realistic shot at getting our parents to let us see it.  I doubt all of us succeeded in that quest; I know that I did.

By 1975, I was hardly a novice MonsterKid.  I was on a first name basis with the Universal Monsters, had a thorough familiarity with most of the Godzilla and Gamera films, was the proud owner of a growing collection of monster magazines and models; I had even, (thanks to an older sister with a spacious trunk…) gone to an all-night Drive-In movie Gore-a-thon, featuring films such as BLOOD FEAST, CHILDREN SHOULDN’T PLAY WITH DEAD THINGS, and NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD.  I thought that I was past being scared by a movie.  Boy was I wrong.

From the first attack to open the film, to the stalking and killing of the young Kittner boy, to the climactic battle on board the doomed Orca, the movie was more than I could’ve imagined.  The sheer level of intensity and horror of what went unseen was far more effective than any amount of blood and gore could ever be.  Though the film was filled with images that were shocking, even genuinely frightening, there was comparatively little of the “blood and guts” usually associated with the horror films of this period.  While most of my friends (those who managed to see the movie…) felt that Quint’s death was the high point of the film, there was one image that stayed fixed in my mind… that of a severed leg drifting silently toward the sandy bottom following the attack on the boaters in the tidal pool.  That image, more than any other, gave me nightmares for weeks afterward.

First, in my defense, let me remind readers that I was born and raised in a state surrounded on three sides by ocean, so it’s not as though there wasn’t the remotest possibility of encountering a shark.  I doubt that my reaction to the film would have been as pronounced had I lived in Idaho.  But I grew up less than 20 miles from the Atlantic Ocean.  I swam in the ocean as often as we could get down to the beach.  We knew there were sharks in those waters; a record Hammerhead shark had been caught off a pier within sight of where we would swim.  Anglers would routinely catch sharks while fishing offshore.

But never before had I connected sharks with the monsters that inhabited my imagination; monsters that even an 11-year old realizes are just that:  Creatures of the imagination.

But sharks were different, because sharks were real.  Sharks existed.  Sharks behaved not all too differently in fact than the shark in the movie.  Sharks hunted.  Sharks fed.

Sharks… killed.

And sharks were in the water in which we swam.

And so I stopped swimming in the ocean.  I quit as completely, as suddenly, as throwing a switch.  No matter what was said, no matter how much anyone pled, cajoled, or threatened, I didn’t go into the ocean again, that summer or any since.  Nothing could tempt me into the water; not even the shallowest parts could be considered safe.  In my imagination, there was a monstrous shark hiding just under the surface, waiting for a plump, juicy kid to be stupid enough to jump in.  That overpowering image still resides somewhere, deep in my subconscious.  Though my fears have subsided with time, age, and hopefully, a modicum of wisdom, it’s still there, hidden away in case I should ever again give thought to a swim in the ocean.

Emotional scarring like that… you tell me that there is a more effective Horror Film than JAWS.

I’ll match you, nightmare for nightmare.

Too Much Horror?

Recently, my 15-going-on-25 year-old niece was visiting the Crypt, and asked to borrow my “… scariest movie.” My reply to her was that she wasn’t going to see my scariest movie, and she finally settled on WHITE NOISE, an inoffensive little ghost story from 2005. She asked me, though, what film I would name as my scariest movie, and I must admit the question gave me some pause. With over 2,200 genre films in my collection, and that number growing all the time, picking out the scariest is a challenge.

But as I thought about it, I realized that few, if any, of these movies actually have the power to “scare” me in the traditional sense. As the old saw goes, familiarity breeds… well, if not contempt, then at least a feeling of comfort. The monsters and I, even latter day creations such as Michael, Freddy, and Jason, are old friends; old friends that inspire no fear in the Unimonster.
There are films with the power to both frighten and disgust me, though—movies that are lumped in under the term “Horror”, but in truth bear a much closer relation to the exploitation films of the 1950’s, designed to appeal to the most lurid, prurient interests in the viewer. I’ve watched three such movies in recent weeks, and in each case was left wondering why anyone would watch such films for entertainment.

NEVER TAKE CANDY FROM STRANGERS—(1960): Though ostensibly a cautionary tale about child molestation, this unusual Hammer production becomes an indictment against those who would take such crimes lightly. It is a well-written, thoughtful film; however its subject matter keeps it from being an enjoyable one.

The movie is set in a small lumber town in Newfoundland, Canada. The patriarch of the leading family, the Olderberry’s, (played convincingly by Felix Aylmer…) has the disturbing habit of inviting the young girls in the area into his home, then asking them to strip naked and dance in exchange for candy. Due to his social standing, and the power his son holds, the community is reluctant to take action, despite the insistence of the parents of one of the girls so abused. When the authorities are forced to act, and the old man is placed on trial, his defense attorney shreds the young child’s testimony, and her emotional state, mercilessly. In order to spare the child further humiliation, the prosecutor withdraws the charges against the old man. The girl’s father resigns his position as principal of the local High School, and the family prepares to leave town.

As the girl goes to say good-bye to her best friend, they encounter the old man. They flee into the woods, as he pursues them. The end result shocks and rebukes the small community, as well as those viewers who might place themselves in the shoes of the conflicted villagers.
As I stated earlier, NEVER TAKE CANDY… is not a pleasant film to watch, especially the courtroom scene. The defense attorney seems to be the perfect embodiment of every negative stereotype imaginable regarding his profession, as the young girl withers under his incessant browbeating. The lawyer appears to relish his attacks upon the child’s innocence, accusing her of welcoming, even enticing, the old man’s attentions. I couldn’t help putting myself in the place of the girl’s father, as I felt a strong urge to beat the old man’s attorney about the head and neck with the witness chair.

NEVER TAKE CANDY… is an engaging movie, it is an involving movie, but it is also a hard movie. The fact that it isn’t graphic in it’s depiction of the horrors experienced by the girls is scant comfort; the viewer’s mind fills in the voids, and takes us into the shadows with them. Usually when a film accomplishes this, I rush to sing its praises… but not when the subject matter is so completely repellent.


LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT—(1972): Wes Craven’s debut film, this story of the rape and murder of a young girl and the revenge her parents extract from her attackers is a surprisingly complex and well constructed film, based loosely on Ingmar Bergman’s far superior THE VIRGIN SPRING. Though Bergman’s film is far more literate, and has a more positive ending, the parallels are undeniable.

Two young country girls, Mari and Phyllis, head into town for a night of fun, during which they have a chance encounter with a member of the notorious Stillo gang. He lures them back to the gang’s hideout on the pretense of selling them some drugs, where they quickly become the captives of the gang’s leader, Krug Stillo. (David Hess, in a memorable performance…) The criminals soon head out into the woods, taking the girls with them. Their car breaks down, and they decide it’s a good spot to finish off their hostages and dump the bodies. After the girls are tortured, raped and murdered, the killers seek shelter at the home of the Collingwoods, the only house in the area. What the Stillo gang doesn’t know, to their detriment, is that it’s the home of one of the young girls they just viciously slaughtered. When the parents of the murdered girl discover what has happened, and who was responsible, they go on a rampage of violence, one that makes the murder of the two girls pale in comparison.

Craven, who today is one of the most influential filmmakers in Horror, working with Sean Cunningham, who eight years later would create the most successful Horror franchise ever with the first FRIDAY THE 13TH, had a stated goal of wanting to produce a film that would jar audiences, shaking them from a metaphorical stupor they felt had been produced by sterile, bland Horror Films. That they accomplished this goal there is no doubt. They also created a damn good movie, one that is arguably the CITIZEN KANE of Grindhouse Cinema.
But that “… damn good movie …” is also a violent, brutal, in-your-face tale of rape, torture, murder, and vengeance. The assault upon Mari and Phyllis is presented in graphically realistic detail, and consumes much of the first half of the film. The second half, dealing with the parent’s discovery of their daughter’s murder and the revenge they wreak upon the gang is no less harrowing to watch, and includes possibly the most gut-wrenching scene ever filmed—at least for male viewers.

The film’s famous tagline is, “To avoid fainting, keep repeating, ‘It’s only a movie… only a movie… only a movie.’” If only it were that simple. The truth is that Craven is a gifted filmmaker, and he set out to create a film that would engender a specific emotional response from his audience. The wonder of it isn’t that he succeeded; it’s that the film remains as effective as when first released, nearly forty years ago.


I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE ~aka~ DAY OF THE WOMAN—(1978): Every bit as violent and misogynistic as LAST HOUSE… but lacking that film’s solid writing, direction, and performances, Meir Zarchi’s ‘masterpiece’ is a stomach-turning, audience-abusing, 90-minute exposé of the worst parts of Grindhouse and Exploitation Cinema. Where LAST HOUSE… could at least boast of quality behind the camera, I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE is the purest form of Shlock Filmmaking, lacking any subtlety, or any plot other than what was absolutely necessary to drive the action.

The film stars Camille Keaton, (the granddaughter of silent film star Buster Keaton) as a writer from Manhattan who takes a country home for the summer to work on her novel. Four local toughs become interested in the beautiful young woman and take her captive, raping her repeatedly. She somehow manages to gain the upper hand, and murders the men in an orgy of righteous vengeance—in an imaginative variety of ways.

This film is nothing but that hoary old Exploitation Film staple, the “Roughie”, redressed for the ‘70’s; the age of feminism. But that redress is only superficial; the film is little different at it’s core than Dave Friedman’s 1965 film THE DEFILERS, or the early efforts of Mike and Roberta Findlay. One step above (or below, depending on one’s point of view…) hardcore Porn, Roughies were the logical result of the explosion of “Nudie Cuties” in the late ‘50’s—early ‘60’s. As hard as it may be to believe, audiences could get bored with nudity, and Friedman, who had been in the production/distribution end of Exploitation Films since the ‘40’s, recognized this fact early on, and decided to give the audience something new, something with an edge… and the Roughie was born.

My reaction to the Roughies in general and I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE in particular, is that these films are distasteful in the extreme. While in general the Exploitations could claim that they were just harmless, good-natured fun, focusing on and playing up the vices that all of us are heir to, some movies pushed well beyond the boundaries of bad taste. Movies such as the Findlays’ …FLESH trilogy, or Gualtiero Jacopetti’s MONDO CANE, or Zarchi’s I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE, do nothing to entertain the viewer or to provoke thought about the subject matter… they simply leave the viewer with a vague sense of uncleanliness.


Those are three films that leapt to mind when my niece posed that question to me; there are others, but those will suffice as examples of the type of movies she’ll never see, at least not from me. Horror Films, to my mind, build legitimate scares with suspense, with atmosphere, and with a sense of unreality. The original HALLOWEEN is a prime example.

In John Carpenter’s 1978 original, Michael Myers was an enigma, a soulless, evil slayer. There was nothing human remaining in him; you’re made to wonder if there ever had been. Carpenter expertly creates a wholesome, welcoming, familiar point of reference for the viewer, and then drops this evil creature into the midst of it. The result is the best of the Slasher genre, and one of the best Horror Films of the last 35 years.

Rob Zombie’s 2007 version, however, strips away the enigma that is Michael, instead walking us through, step-by-step, the creation of a serial killer. There’s no mystery, no intrigue—never do we see Michael as anything other than what he is… a twisted, depraved human being, victimized for most of his childhood, until he one day decided to be the abuser, rather than the abused. The result is undoubtedly horrifying—but it isn’t Horror. At least, it is not my definition of Horror. And that can be said for most of the so-called “Horror Films” produced today… films such as SAW, HOSTEL, THE STRANGERS… horrifying, yes. Horror—no.

DVD Review: THE BLACK DAHLIA

Title: THE BLACK DAHLIA

Year of Release—Film: 2006

Year of Release—DVD: 2006

DVD Label: Universal Studios Home Entertainment

THE MOVIE

On the morning of January 15th, 1947, a young mother taking her child out for a stroll saw what she at first took to be a discarded mannequin lying just off the sidewalk, in a vacant lot on Norton Ave. in Los Angeles. It was unfortunately no mannequin, but the horribly mutilated body of Elizabeth Short, a 23-year old wannabe actress from Medford, Massachusetts. Beth Short was the quintessential nobody, one of thousands of young women drawn to Southern California by dreams of becoming the next Rita Hayworth, the next Betty Grable. Almost all disappeared into obscurity, but Beth achieved in death what she so desired in life: Fame and immortality. She would from that day on be remembered as the Black Dahlia, one of the most famous unsolved murders in history.

Those expecting a serious, in-depth examination of the case will be disappointed with this fictionalized adaptation of the James Ellroy best-selling novel. The murder itself is treated almost as background, becoming a catalyst in the bizarre relationship between two LAPD detectives and the woman they both love. But they shouldn’t let the lack of historical accuracy deter them from delving into this convoluted tale reminiscent of another Ellroy film, L.A. CONFIDENTIAL.

Josh Hartnett and Aaron Eckhart are tremendously well-cast as the two detectives who become inextricably tied to the Dahlia, and Scarlett Johansson does an acceptable job as Kay, the female corner of their triangular relationship. You’re never quite sure just who loves whom, or who wants whom, and the oddness of the friendship draws you into the story, making you want answers to those questions. Brian De Palma, no stranger to the genre, brings his distinctive style to the production. As with most of his films, it’s hit-and-miss, but generally works very well here.

One aspect of the film that doesn’t work is Hilary Swank as Madeline Linscott, a mysterious ‘femme fatale’ that draws Hartnett’s character deeper into the intrigue he’s trying to avoid. In my opinion, Swank is one of the least attractive, least capable actresses in Hollywood, and this performance does nothing to change that opinion. Overall, however, the cast is one of the strengths of this film, as it should be in such a character-driven work.

The script, by Josh Friedman, differs significantly from Ellroy’s novel; something to be expected considering the 20-year gestation period it had. But the changes are necessary, condensing the novel into a coherent two-hour story, even if it does tend to drag in sections. Ellroy’s novel is really a hybridization of two unsolved murders: Beth Short’s, and the author’s own mother, who was found raped and murdered in 1958, when Ellroy was 10. This led to his life-long fascination with crime, especially crime in Los Angeles, and he incorporated many facets of his own life into the characters of the book. Most of those aspects survive into the film, and the combination of good cast, director, and story produce a satisfying, if not great, movie.



THE DISC

Universal almost always puts out a good product, and this DVD is no exception. The audio and video quality is superior, and as always the subtitles are greatly appreciated by this Unimonster. The overall design and quality of this disc is Universal’s usual standard, and that’s good enough.



THE SPECIAL FEATURES

While there’s not an abundance of extras on the disc, the three special featurettes are worth a look, especially the first. REALITY AND FICTION: THE STORY OF THE BLACK DAHLIA takes a look at the reality of the murder, contrasting it with the movie’s stylized vision of the crime. It also gives the viewer a contextual perspective of Los Angeles in the mid-1940s, and a Police Force that was widely considered to be one of the nation’s most corrupt and violent.

CASE FILES, the second featurette, is a fairly standard behind-the-scenes, making-of documentary. Interesting enough, but hardly engrossing.

The final special featurette, THE DE PALMA TOUCH, is a look at De Palma, and his vision of the film. Nice for those who are fans of the director, but not very engaging for those who aren’t. I place myself in the second group.



IN CONCLUSION

As you might have gathered, this reviewer has more than a passing interest in the Black Dahlia case. And I, like most of those who consider themselves serious students of the murder, have long waited for a high-quality, historically and criminologically accurate, thoroughly serious examination of the case to be produced on film, and as I said before, this isn’t that movie.

But that doesn’t mean that it’s a bad film, and despite some rather obvious flaws, it’s a film that works more than it doesn’t. The movie plays a lot longer than it’s 2 hour and 2 minute runtime, and in my opinion a solid 25 minutes could be cut from it with no great loss. But the last 20 minutes more than makes up for the set-up, the end result is enjoyable.

I found my copy in a bargain bin for $5, and, truth to tell, that’s a fair price. I doubt I would’ve paid anywhere near list for it, and even a ten dollar price tag would’ve made me think twice. But I’ll go a fiver on just about anything, and, given the subject, I was reasonably certain it was going to be a safe bet. As for my recommendation… it’s a solid rental, but don’t buy it unless you really get a bargain.