Entries Tagged 'wig or no wig' ↓

Dracula A.D. 1972 was Hammer Studios' attempt to revitalize their Dracula franchise and to take the Count out of musty castles and into hotpants-flavored modern times. Did that idea ever stand a chance of being successful? Eh, why not.

The prologue, set in 1872, pits Dracula (Christopher Lee) against Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) atop a speeding carriage. There's a crash and ol' Drac ends up with a heart that's so like a wheel, Shirley Muldowney weeps in jealousy. No, this isn't the way this film's predecessor Scars of Dracula ended, but man, continuity's for squares!

Anyway, the spoke is like a stake to the heart and Dracula croaks, leaving behind naught but a pile of dust and a bit of bling bling. A young fellow with sinister-looking sideburns scoops up Drac's ring and some ashes while Van Helsing looks on and dies.

Finally we get out of the gloomy 19th-century and into the swingin' 1970s! The city is hustlin' and bustlin', and the soundtrack is relentlessly hornalicious. Some crazy kids are having a party that's totally Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, complete with revelers in desperate need of Alberto Vo5 hot oil treatments, girls go-go dancing on tables, couples humping underneath tables, and wealthy elders looking on in shock. Dracula A.D. 1972 is instantly dated...beyond its title, even.

The cops are called in to break things up, and one group of partiers decide they need a fete that's "way way out". One of them, Johnny Alucard (no really, "Alucard"), suggests that what they need to satisfy their party urges is to hold a black mass in a church that's due for demolition. Seems logical. Everyone's on board except Jess Van Helsing (Stephanie Beacham), who's warned by her grandfather (Peter Cushing, again) that the black arts are best left to...well, no one. If only he'd gone on to warn her about wearing horrendous wigs!


Jess quickly caves to peer pressure and the group heads off to the church where- guess what?- Van Helsing was buried in 1872! What a coinkidink. Johnny Alucard gets things underway with a "Dig the music, kids!"as he winds up the reel to reel and the weirdest, grooviest black mass ever begins.

There's writhing, making out, and Caroline Munro generally looking as sexariffic as always...but Johnny Alucard is taking this all very seriously. He's a descendant of that 19th-century fellow with the sinister-looking sideburns, see, and he's brought Dracula's ring and ashes to the affair, fully intending to invoke some demons as well as the Count himself.

A blood sacrifice is called for, and Caroline Munro volunteers; Alucard mixes his own blood with the vampire dust to create a gross sort of mac & cheese sauce of the damned. He pours it over Caroline Munro while everyone else splits, thinking Johnny has gone off the rails of all kinds of trains, crazy and otherwise.

Unfortunately for Johnny, the demons he called upon don't show...but You-Know-Who rises from the you-know-what and promptly sets about making up for 100 years of inactivity by putting the bite on Caroline Munro.

Count Dracula renews his centuries-long battle with the Van Helsings by launching a diabolical plan to turn Jess into a vampire- now wouldn't that be mud in ol' Professor VH's eye?

This penultimate film in Hammer's Dracula line is goofy, sure- from the dialogue to the clothing, the film was passe even before it was released. The music is perhaps the biggest offense- it may have been appropriate for the time period, but it's almost always incongruous with the on-screen action. Scenes that may have been creepy or may have packed a bit of a wallop are undermined by the incessant groovy action soundtrack, rendering the entire affair more than a little campy. Most of all, though, Dracula A.D. 1972 suffers from one massive, insurmountable setback: there's simply not enough Dracula! After his resurrection, the Count is all but relegated to a supporting role, only appearing for a few minutes of the run time. Peter Cushing is as reliable as ever, but even he is squandered as Van Helsing. Stephanie Beacham is suitably bosomed-out for a Hammer flick, but it's disappointing to see Caroline Munro offed so quickly. One highlight, however, is Christopher Neame- he's suitably over-the-top, clearly delighting in his role as the eeeevil Johnny Alucard.

Though it may be for good for a laugh here and there, Dracula A.D. 1972 is really one solely for the Hammer-Dracula completists. After all, we'll sit through just about anything, so long as Christopher Lee bares the fangs and Peter Cushing bears the cross!

1989 certainly has it high points in horror cinema- Henry, Portrait of a Serial Killer, Bad Taste, and Pet Sematary to name a few. However, the closing of the decade saw the genre lapse into a crap coma. Despite the endless hand holdings and the whisperings of "Are you in there? Can you hear me? What's a coma like? Does my new haircut make my face look too boxy?" by fans, horror would lay fairly lifeless until Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson kicked it awake a few years later with Scream.

I don't know whether or not Pet Sematary is actually any good, but I swear I've seen it a zillion times. Much like Jingle Jugs, my Zelda impersonation ("Rachel! You'll never walk again!") is the life of any party. Somehow, every time I see the film I remain thoroughly convinced that Zelda is played by Amanda Plummer, even though that's never, ever the case.

Anyway, 1989 was truly the year of underwater horror and lousy sequels.


Greg Evigan and Sean Cunningham, yeah? I keep meaning to watch this one, I swear.

Wow, that was truly fucking insightful.

Oh yeah, this also stars Nia Peeples. When I was young, I used to think it was funny to call her "Pia Nipples".



I can't believe I can find fault with a movie where someone gets his head punched off, but F13: VIII stinks. It's one of those films I keep thinking will get better with age, that maybe I misjudged it, that maybe I'll find some new appreciation for it the more I see it, but...no. Still, someone gets his head punched off.



I've only seen this once and I remember thinking, "Well, that certainly wasn't The Fly!", which is perhaps some of the most pointed film criticism ever thought. I know I'll see it again someday because it stars Daphne Zuniga and eventually I'll get pulled into her Jo Reynolds-flavored clutches.


I don't like thinking about Halloween 5 because thinking about Halloween 5 causes me to think about the "quirky" Tina and her zebra-striped pants and thinking about "quirky" Tina and her zebra-striped pants causes my heart to pound (in a bad way) and my blood to rage white-water-rafting-style. Therefore, I choose a life of willful ignorance where Halloween 5 doesn't exist. It's for the sake of my health!


I've had a VHS copy of this sitting on my shelf for a looooong time now, and I've never mustered the energy to watch it. I'm sure that says something or other about some kind of something.



I wish Lords of the Deep was some sort of water-related dance extravaganza going on in Las Vegas starring Tony Danza and Debbie Reynolds. Alas, it's just Roger Corman's attempt at cashing in on '89's underwater horror craze.



I don't think I've ever seen this; I gave up on Freddy after catching Part 4 in the theatre. Therefore, it could be amazing for all I know. My Spider Sense, however, indicates otherwise. Still, great poster.



Now, y'all know I loves me some Angela, big time. This love doesn't blind me to the fact that Sleepaway Camp III is really, truly awful. Except the first 15 minutes or so, where that trashy girl is yelling at her mom, all whiny-like: "Today's the day I'm going ta caaaaaamp. Ya heah me? I'm goin' ta that camp today!" and then she goes outside where a bewigged, stolen garbage truck-driving Angela runs her over. Those fifteen minutes are cinematic gold, my friends.



I've only seen the first two films in the Silent Night, Deadly Night saga- yes, even though I know one of the later sequels stars Mickey Rooney as some evil toymaker or some shit. Someday when I hate life in general, I'll marathon the series.

So...1989. Whatchoo tink?

...that the new issue of Rue Morgue hits the stands today. This is what it looks like:

See that thing at the bottom of the left-hand column? The thing about the 8 Films To Die For?

I wrote that!

Yes, I have some reviews in Rue Morgue. Another realized dream to cross off the list of...err, dreams to realize. And to think, I'm not yet 18! What's left to achieve in my life? I've now written for Rue Morgue, found $20 on the floor, been in Tori Spelling's house, seen the Grand Canyon, found underwear on the floor, worn a variety of wigs, picked an orange off a tree, and acquired Midwest Obsession on video. The only unrealized dream that remains, as you're well aware, is zipping around the universe all nude-like, shooting lasers out of my eyes. Frankly that seems like an almost unattainable goal at this point, but it's always good to have something to strive for.

Seriously, though, I'M SO FUCKING PSYCHED!

OMG, see what I did with that post title? It's thisclose to being clever!

Anywhatevers, Horror-Movies.ca is reporting that Silent Hill 2 has been scrapped. Or not. For now. Maybe. According to their "source":

...plans for Silent Hill 2 have been cancelled...the film is dead in the water...although the film will not be shooting soon it will still very likely happen.

So...err...not sure what that all means. Maybe simply filming has been postponed because they missed their shooting window? It seems like it's all up in the air. Radha Mitchell may or may not return, blah blah blah. I'd welcome another SH flick, if the script was a wee better than the first. By "wee", I mean "a big wee". I dug the movie and all- the visuals were narf (I think I just made that up...I mean it to be similar to "neat" or "rad" or "boss". Use it in a sentence today!)- but the script was weak with a capital Plug Your Ears. There was a great setup for a sequel in the ending , though, so my fingers are crossed.


In related news, man Horror-Movies.ca is a busy-looking website.

In other related news, how come I don't have any sources? I totally want to meet some shadowy figure in a parking lot who'll fill me in with kinda sorta news that's really just page filler. You know: "Platinum Dunes is talking about remaking Rob Zombie's Halloween. There's no writer...or director...or star...or even anything concrete yet, but still." Then I can yell "Whatta scoop!" and high tail it back to my keyboard to bring you all the latest exclusive news. Sigh.

Speaking of Rob Zombie's Halloween, have you seen the trailer for H2? Here it is. Go. Watch.

Back? Alright. Now, I know that despite the childhood romance we shared, my relationship with the original Halloween 2 hasn't exactly been on fire lately. The hospital setting could be mined for gold, though, and for a split second of the H2 trailer it seems as if Zombie might be tapping a vein (which sounds hot). Then...then...a bewigged Sheri Moon-Zombie shows up and...well, my mom taught me that if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all- so I'll let my pal JA at My New Plaid Pants say it for me:

...that is so fucking stupid looking I can barely believe it. I mean, my god. Just. My god.

Wait. My mom never taught me any such thing!

WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH THE WHITE WINGED DOVE WIGGED GHOST MOM? Yes, Rob Zombie, your wife is hot. Yes, it's understandable that you want to put her in your movies. But Michael's mom died in the first film...not to mention that Michael was already a homicidal kookadook in the first film, so having Mrs Myers become some sort of Mrs Voorhees in the sequel is a craptacular idea with a capital FUCKING CRAP. Also not to mention that her violent urgings go against the slim characterization she had in Halloween and in light of the mother-son relationship it makes no sense and arrrrgh white wigggggggghiusafsduva;vKscjd;C.

Umm. Well. I guess we'll just have to wait and see how it all turns out.

Once again, it's time for that ever-so-popular* feature, These Are Some Google Search Terms People Have Typed In And Subsequently Found Their Way To Final Girl.

Mind you, these aren't all from today, but that doesn't diminish their power! Feel free to hazard your guesses to the many, many questions in the comments.

sex goddess loses her wig

supernatural nudies

magic little nudies

- Clearly the two "nudies" searchers should meet and fall in love.

master of unlocking

- This one pleases me to no end.

horror movies good for the soul

- Why yes...yes, they are.

retro tits blog

- "retro tits" are almost as good as "worker boobs".

Naked Bea Arthur photos

- Really? REALLY?

what movie was it when a giant worm fucks a girl?

what it means if girl laughs at you at night club?

- Your fly is open?

if a girl uses a pen to masturbate what will happen?

- There's a Vagina Monologues joke in there somewhere...

girl with masturbating shoe

- A masturbating shoe? I'd pay real money to see that!

will you marry me with string?

- Sir, I wouldn't marry you with twine.

what does it mean when burning sunshine while been horny?

genie francis plastic surgery

- This has become my most frequent search hit, surpassing even "Shannon Tweed nude".

what if a car has a wig on that stink like a terd would I still love her.

- Car...has wig...that stinks? You know, putting a bunch of words in a row doesn't necessarily constitute a sentence.

I once knew a chick named annie may oooh

- Good for you! Celebrate this moment of your life with some International Coffee.

It amazes me that people sometimes click through to Final Girl when the search results come up. I'm also amazed by what people are searching for.

You said it, Charles Nelson Reilly!

Previous editions of These Are Some Google Search Terms People Have Typed In And Subsequently Found Their Way To Final Girl can be found HERE and HERE.




*it amuses me

Good news, friends- I'm not crazy! Not completely crazy, anyway. Allow me to explain...

Night Train to Terror (1985) is an anthology film, and we all know how much I love an anthology film. Night Train to Terror is also part of my mega-cool cheapo 50-pack, Drive-In Classics. Therefore, I did not expect Night Train to Terror to be good, but I did expect it to at least make sense. Just a little. A wee little bit. Just one wee little bit. And yet...in all my 63 years on this earth have I ever, ever, EVER, EVARRR seen a film that makes less sense than Night Train to Terror. It makes none. NONE. NOOONNNNNE. While watching it, I thought that (forgive me if you find this offensive) it must have been made by retarded people. As the disjointedness went far beyond that found in your average inept filmmaking, that seemed to be the only logical explanation for what I was seeing.


See, I thought perhaps I'd eaten too much pepper-style Tofurky today or something and that's why the movie was incomprehensible to me; mayhaps the Tofurky gave me brain bloat or something and I wasn't firing on all cylinders. Then I looked up Night Train to Terror on imdb when I set about reviewing the damn thing and I learned a startling fact: the footage for the three segments of Night Train was culled from three feature-length films, one of which was unfinished to begin with. I'd imagine compressing a 90 minute movie into a 20 minute story would be a difficult task for even the most skilled filmmaker; character development and plot intricacies would be the first on the chopping block. But when you've got a crap film to begin with...

Omigod, I love pepper-style Tofurky. It's SO GOOD.

The short of it is, Night Train to Terror is absolutely one of the worst movies I've ever seen in my life. Of course, this doesn't mean I won't recommend it, because I will; my recommendation, however, also comes with several staunch warnings. Don't watch it alone (not because it's scary, obvs, but because it's one of those flicks best suffered with friends). It would best be accompanied with a fine beer, wine, malted, or whatever it is that puts you in the mood; perhaps you can theme out and imbibe some Night Train bum wine as you watch- rot your brain and your gut simultaneously! Lastly, holy crap- this movie goes on way too long and really wears out its welcome. It's so atrocious, however, that you may find a little suffering is time well spent.

So Mr. God and Mr. Satan (seriously) are on a train (no, this isn't a bad joke set up...or is it?) discussing the fates of various people over a glowing white table. The window behind them becomes a magic screen where they can watch the antics of said people as they try to figure out who gets which souls. It all makes perfect sense so far.

The only other passengers on the train, it seems, are...are...sigh...an '80s band/dance troupe who seem to be trapped in a perpetual song loop and neverending music video. Night Train to Terror has the most unexpected opening 2 minutes of any movie I've ever seen; the film just launches into the worst video that ever aired on MTV circa '85 with no explanation whatsoever. In fact, the closest thing we get to an explanation regarding their existence comes 80 minutes later, when one of the dancers says "Wow, it's too bad our bus broke down!" Where were they going? Who the fuck are they? No matter! All I know for sure is, their song will get stuck in your head. Aggressively. I boxed my ears for 37 minutes after the movie ended, and I still couldn't get it out.

Case #1: Harry Billings

Harry (John Phillip Law, who's way too cool to be in this caca) is a mild-mannered salesman by day but at night he dives headlong into "cars, women, and booze". On his wedding night, he inexplicably drives off a bridge, killing his new bride. Harry, however, wakes up strapped to a gurney in a padded cell.

The doctors...umm...hypnotize him so he'll hit the town, dosing young women with eeeevil Alka-Seltzer and dragging them back to the hospital where...umm...they get naked and a sweaty, behaired Richard Moll of television's Night Court molests them in a "tune in Tokyo" fashion.


That was the best I could figure out, anyway, until a narrator chimed in 20 minutes later and let me know that the hospital was in the "kidnap young women, kill young women, and sell their body parts to medical colleges" business. Then I saw Richard Moll of television's Night Court's head collection and it all made perfect sense went on for five more minutes.

Harry decides he no longer wants to be a hypnotized accomplice, so he fights his way out of the hospital...I think. Actually, the segment just ends with no real resolution or explanation. Perhaps if I saw the feature from which it's taken, Marilyn Alive and Behind Bars (1992), I'd find out what happens. Then again, that film was never completed! Then again again, I'd kind of rather kill myself than sit through any more of it so that scenario seems unlikely regardless. I will say this sequence almost made the pain and confusion worth it:










Also, there are quite a few bare boobs on display, so if looking at any old pair is your bag, then "The Case of Harry Billings" might be the segment you've been waiting for all your life.

Back to the choo choo for a dance video interlude! Wow, it's the same song we heard earlier!

Case #2: Gretta Connors

I'm just going to explain this the best that I can.

Young Gretta Connors is a musician who supports her piano playing by selling popcorn at the local carnival. George comes along and sweeps Gretta off her feet by stuffing money down her shirt. They move in together; Gretta says she wants to be a movie star, so George gets her working in the porno business. Glen, a pre-med frat boy, sees one of her films and falls in love. He decides he must have her and seeks Gretta out at one of her recitals. Gretta performs at an old upright piano wearing a blazer and underwear while country music plays.

Gretta and Glen fall in love, proving once and for all that stalking is not creepy whatsoever. George is not happy about this. In an effort to get rid of Glen, he invites the young pair to a meeting of The Death Club, where a disparate group of people stage elaborate Russian Roulette sessions. By "elaborate", I mean...they use a talking electrocution computer, a wrecking ball, and a giant claymation mutant bee in their bids to...I don't know, live on the edge or something.

THRILL! to the claymation bee hovering over the fake hand with the swollen thumb!

WONDER! why George doesn't think of an easier way to split up the couple!

Again, the segment just ends. Glen manages to escape the wrecking ball bullet, the bee bullet, and the talking electrocution computer bullet, but there's absolutely no resolution. Hmm. Maybe if I spend 85 minutes watching The Death Wish Club (1983) I'll find out what happens!

Choo choo music break! This time, the singer breakdances to the same song yet again. Yes, he does The Worm. Duh.


Case #3: Claire Hansen

One plot thread of this segment almost makes sense: an elderly Holocaust survivor sees a young man on television and is convinced that the man is one of his Nazi tormentors. He consults a police detective (Cameron Mitchell, who appears in at least 85% of the films found in these cheapo 50-packs) who insists that it can't be the same man- the dude on TV looks like a 20-year-old, not a 70-year-old. Further investigation leaves the Jewish fella dead and the detective on the trail of the young man, who is actually some sort of demon.

That's all do-able, right? Right. Enter Claire Hansen, exit the modicum of logic we've garnered thus far.

Claire Hansen is a successful surgeon; she's pulled out of surgery one day when the body of a "white Caucasian" arrives in the morgue. Yes, apparently she's a surgeon and a coroner. The "white Caucasian" is the Jewish fella, natch, and this draws Claire into the mystery of the Nazi demon dude. The mystery also pulls in her husband, a Nobel Prize-winning author (a bewigged Richard Moll of television's Night Court yet again). I can't really tell you HOW or WHY they're pulled in, beyond the fact that Richard Moll of television's Night Court is an atheist and Claire is a devout Catholic who has been given "special powers" to battle Satan and his emissaries. That's the best I can do for you- this segment is, perhaps, the most ridiculous (which is REALLY saying something)- so I'll just let the screencaps take over. The segment goes on to feature lightning bolts, explosions, a surprising amount of gore, and ample claymation- and I don't just mean claymation monsters. I mean claymation of the people in the film!
















I love the seam in the sky of the beach scene.

Back on the choo choo, our '80s-flavored friends are still playing the same fucking song, still trapped in the same fog-laden music video.

The train then...turns into a model train, although I don't think it's actually supposed to BE a model train. Regardless, it explodes.

God decides to bless the musicians...THE SONG STARTS OVER AGAIN...and the train choo choos off INTO OUTER SPACE.

THIS MOVIE MAKES NO SENSE.

I know what you're thinking: "I must see Night Train to Terror, no matter the cost!" If I came across this review and saw the space train, the claymation, and OH GOD THAT BEE, I'd be thinking the same thing. I'm not going to tell you NOT to see it- on some level, this wretched fuck up of a film is enjoyable. I will say, however, that 90 minutes of wretched fuck up is a very long time, so your tolerance will be tested big time. Going into Night Train knowing it's a confusing, disjointed mess certainly gives you an advantage I did not have, however.

Godspeed, my friends...or is that Mr. Godspeed?

Holy crapping crap, did I pick a good one with Strait-Jacket, folks! William Castle + Joan Crawford + axe murders + wigs = I AM IN HEAVEN without my face, for my face has been rocked way, way off.

The story is oh so simple in its simplicity: Lucy Harbin (Joan effing Crawford) came home early from an out of town trip to find her younger husband (Lee Majors!) post-flagrante and sound asleep in bed with his chosen floozy. Lucy doesn't scream and yell, oh no; rather, she grabs the nearest axe and makes with the axing, giving the lovers a number of whacks that seems to exceed the Lizzie Borden-recommended forty.

Her young daughter Carol witnesses the slaughter; earlier she witnessed her dad and the floozy floozing out- I guess you could say that Carol had an exceptionally great night.

Lucy is shipped off to the nuthouse ("Extra! Extra! Love slayer insane!") and now it's twenty years on. After moving in with her aunt and uncle, Carol (Diane Baker) has grown up to become a sculptress, a superfox, and the fiancee of the small town's wealthiest, handsomest bachelor, dairy farm heir Michael (John Anthony Hayes). Lucy returns, much plainer and, we hope, much more sane. At Carol's urging, Lucy gets a wig, some jangly bracelets, and a new dress in a bid to pretend that, you know, the last twenty years never happened. Will it work? I mean, wigs can do anything, can't they?

Lucy and Carol work on mending their relationship and getting to know each other, but before long Lucy seems to be slipping back into Cuckoo Town. She hears voices (or does she?) and wakes up to find her victim's heads in her bed (or does she?); she can't keep her eyes off of pointy objects or her daughter's fiance.

Before you know it, Lucy has flipped her new wig and people start losing their heads (like, totally literally), including my man George Kennedy who makes a sweaty appearance as a farm hand.


There's so much awesomeness in this movie, I don't know how they managed to pack it all in to a mere 93 minutes. There are countless touches that make this film a true delight- Joan Crawford trapped in a stripey weirdo bathroom, Joan Crawford knitting like...well, knitting like a madwoman, Joan Crawford lurking, Joan Crawford chopping, Joan Crawford lighting a match by striking it on a spinning jazz record, and OH GOD the film's climax...the list goes on and on.

As you've probably gathered, a great deal of the fun in Strait-Jacket comes courtesy of Joan Crawford. Yeah sure, on the one hand this film is pure William Castle-flavored schlockiness; however, Crawford treats this like it's a much better film and somehow you almost- almost- forget that she's a woman of sixty playing a woman in her forties- and her twenties. Her performance is amped up to eleven but somehow manages to remain largely just shy of pure camp. She's all over the map in the best way possible: she's frail, she's tough, she's brash, she's shy, she's sane, she's psycho. It's obvious she opted to portray Lucy Harbin as if she were Mildred Pierce, Crystal Allen, or any other of the venerable characters Crawford brought to life throughout her rocky career. As such, you find yourself both rooting for and afraid of Lucy- both reactions completely unexpected in a B-trash flick like Strait-Jacket.

Anyone who knows anything about Crawford's personal life will find plenty of parallels to think about with this film, from the Pepsi product placement to that ending (which I just can't give away- it's a treat that needs to be witnessed, not read about), Strait-Jacket is quite the metaphor for the aging starlet's career path.

It cashes in on Psycho (after all, this was also penned by Robert Bloch), it cashes in on Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (and every other middle-aged woman as kookadook flick from the '60s); it's lurid and cheesy and it's not so good and it's fucking great...and lord love a movie that ends with this:


Big props and many thanks to the Film Club Coolies, y'all!
_________________

Full Moon Reviews
namtab
Acheter et entretenir sa tronconneuse
Gorillanaut
Criticlasm
StinkyLulu / StinkyBits
Fade In
K.P. Loves Boom Boom
Margarita SaltOverthinking It
Careful With That Blog, Eugene
My New Plaid Pants
The Girl Is Out There
Bloody Good Horror
Askewed Views
Film Experience
Club Silencio

VHS "Week" continues with one of the most memorable episodes of The Twilight Zone: "Living Doll"! Can I get a "Righteous!" up in here??

Telly Savalas (Kojak, y'all- holla!) is Erich Streator, a real crank of a guy who practically flips out when his wife and stepdaughter return home from a shopping trip wherein they have been so bold as to have made purchases. Amongst these purchases is Talky Tina- a large doll that can move a little and talk, "My name is Talky Tina and I love you" being her favorite phrase...

...until she starts talking to Erich, who's a big bully.


It doesn't take Tina long to get from "I don't think I like you" to "I think I could even hate you" with Erich, and at first he thinks it's his wife having one over on him. When Tina starts winking at him (seriously creepy) and won't say mean things in front of anyone else, he decides to get rid of her and tosses her in the garbage.

The phone rings and it's Tina: "My name is Talky Tina," she says to Erich, "and I'm going to kill you."

This episode is so awesome!

Throwing Tina away won't work- she manages to get out of the garbage can- so Erich takes to drastic measures: he puts her head in a vice, but she won't squish! He takes a blowtorch to her face, but it won't stay lit! He tries to cut her head off with a power saw, but it cannot pierce her eeeevil doll "flesh"! Erich is naturally freaking the fuck out, but Tina just giggles: "I can take it if you can!"


This episode is SO AWESOME!

Is Tina really capable of murder? Is she actually threatening Erich, or is he simply going all nutcake? This is The Twilight Zone, folks, so what do you think?

June Foray provides the voice for Talky Tina, and she also provided the voice for Chatty Cathy- that's so deliciously twisted. How many parents grew wary of those dolls after this episode aired?

June Foray also provided the voice for Witch Hazel, which is kind of beside the point...although I bring up Witch Hazel whenever I can because she's one of my favorite Looney Tunes characters. So there.

I found a copy of this on VHS (along with 3 other Twilight Zone episodes), but you can watch all the righteousness yourself courtesy of The Internet:

Living Doll: Part 1
Living Doll: Part 2
Living Doll: Part 3

In related news, the best part of The Twilight Zone's title sequence is when the bewigged artist's mannequin goes flying by.