"Do I need a reason?"
Produced by John Carpenter and Debra Hill, the originators of the Halloween series, this stand-alone entry directed by Tommy Lee Wallace has garnered more negative reviews from genre fans than from critics, which is a surprising rarity. But despite consensual hatred, the film contains some of the most enduring images from the series, including an in-film TV ad prominently distributed (and ridiculed) on Youtube, as well as a risqué demonstration of child sacrifice. On top of that, the female protagonist is a big-breasted infant whose wide brown eyes, curly hair and black negligee will surely generate sexual fantasies amongst perverted loners such as myself.
The joke's on you, Mike
You probably all remember this third chapter in the series as "the one without Michael Myers". And although this is an entirely accurate description, it doesn't do the film justice. Season of the Witch is actually a fairly decent, refreshingly self-standing film that deserves a loving audience of cynical horror fans. While certainly not on par with John Carpenter's original film, its high camp value and addictive central jingle make it a welcome asperity in the unified facade of the series. This is one of those titles that demands rediscovery, especially among film savvy crowds who can appreciate a single title without it being part of a tedious, overlong series of mass-produced, similarly-designed products.
For one, I was glad to be rid of Michael Myers. After all, who needs a mute, hulking slasher when you've got killer Halloween masks that shoot laser via a piece of Stonehenge fastened in the back? Old Mike is not even an interesting character, merely an icon of repressed sexuality. The guy doesn't even know the meaning of fun whereas old Conal Cochran is the inventor thereof. You see, the main antagonist from Season of the Witch is a good-natured Irish prankster and toymaker whose idea of a successful practical joke involves the mass-marketing of rubber masks that turn children's heads into hollowed-out sacks full of roaches and venomous snakes. Yes, you read that correctly: hollowed-out sacks full of roaches and venomous snakes. If you have a hard time imagining this, then all the more reason to see the film!
Comes Halloween, children start losing their heads
Of course, there are many more reasons, including the two protagonists, boozing, mustached Dr. Challis and gorgeous, wide-eyed jailbait Ellie Grimbridge, as well as their ever-present sidekick, Mr. I. Camp. Both their shocking romance (Tom Atkins is actually old enough to be Stacey Nelkin's father) and memorable ineptitude as heros are a continuing source of laughter. In all honesty, I could make this review a simple enumeration of all the hilarious incongruities and memorable lines comprised in the paper-thin, linear narrative, but that would spoil the fun. Suffice it to say that Season of the Witch is one of the best surprises I ever had watching dated horror films, rivaling the enjoyment I had when I first watched Troll 2.
Synths, nursery rhymes and other ineptitudes
The opening credits of the film are a thing of beauty. They're simple, effective, they ominously foreshadow the tragic ending and they are punctuated by a keyboard score of rare, clunky beauty. The crude computer graphics and gruesome notes from the 1980s at work here should put you right in the mood to enjoy the ensuing cheese-fest. The retreading lines of luminous orange dots constituting this scene are hypnotic to look at, working jointly to form a mysterious figure that reveals itself right after the grim titles to be a computer-generated jack-o-lantern. How delightfully modern!
Behold the credits of the future
The opening shot shows a dark, empty road at the bottom of which a title reads "Saturday, October 23rd". A running man emerges from the shadows, pursued by a large American car. The man tries to find refuge in a trailer inside a construction site. After he fails to get inside, he must stand alone against a well-dressed assailant emerging from the car. In what can only be described as an arthritic fight scene, he manages to trap his foe inbetween two cars and resume running away from a second assailant. That's when things start turning out real good. The film cuts to a gas station on the very same night, without any breaks in the continuity. Nonetheless, a title appears, reading "One Hour Later". You can't make that stuff up. Writer/director Tommy Lee Wallace probably wrote "One Hour Later" in his screenplay and thought it would be a good idea to make a literal transcript of his words onscreen, even though it is completely irrelevant to know whether the running man reached the station an hour, two hours, three hours, twenty minutes or half an hour after his encounter with the well-dressed men. The important thing to know is he crumbles into the arms of the gas station attendant, but not before a crucial leitmotiv is introduced. The TV spot for Silver Shamrock brand Halloween masks, with it's addictive jingle inspired by famous nursery rhyme "London Bridge is falling down", high-pitched singing and floating children's heads is a classic in its own right. And if you haven't had your fill with the first utterance, don't worry. There are plenty more spots where this one came from...
The place where it came from is actually the same place running man Harry Grimbridge is escaping during the opening sequence. That is Santa Mira, a small town founded by Irish settlers, home to the world-renowned Silver Shamrock mask factory and throwback to the fictional Californian town where the action of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) took place. After Harry is rushed to the local hospital to remedy what appears to be a mental breakdown ("They're going to kill us! All of us!", he repeats while holding on to a rubber Halloween mask), he is murdered in his bed while under the care of nonchalant Dr. Dan Challis. His assailant then calmly walks outside, sits in his car and sets his body on fire, leaving the police with no evidence as to his identity. With no official solving the mystery of Harry's death, it's up to his daughter Ellie and Dr. Challis to investigate. Following a thin paper trail, they end up in Santa Mira, where toymaker Conal Cochran reigns supreme thanks to an army of well-dressed, mute henchmen. Thanks to favorable circumstances, the unlikely duo will soon discover that the old man with the wavy airline is indeed trying to kill everyone thanks to a plan so far-fetched, you couldn't have imagined it in your wildest dreams.
Shortcuts toward cult status
Season of the Witch features a scene in which Ellie is walking through the parking lot of a local inn when a woman in a still car honks for no apparent reason. Seeing how Ellie is understandably shocked, she rushes out of her vehicle and offers an incongruous apology. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you", claims the woman before introducing herself. Obviously, she does so only in order to make her own death narratively relevant. There is no reason for her to honk accept the half-assed introduction of her character, which constitutes a typical shortcut in Wallace's lazy screenplay. You see, it is almost only through accidental encounters and coincidences that the plot moves forward, such as in this instance. Two more instrumental characters are also introduced through dubiously circumstantial events: the desperate wino who accosts Dr. Challis for a sip of booze and mask-selling kingpin Buddy Kupfer who nearly crushes the good doctor with a slackly fastened bike atop his hulking camper. Both these one-dimensional individuals are pawns in a sadistic game played by Conal Cochran with the help of director Wallace. And so are Ellie and Challis, whose progression is also made circumstantially without any input of their own.
Despite their good intentions, these two are the worst detectives you will ever see. They're so terrible at what they do, that it's actually touching. When arriving in Santa Mira, Ellie suggests they head down to the mask factory right away, upon which Challis, who is horrified by the idea, declares that he "needs a drink instead" despite the six-pack he ingurgitated in the 20-minutes drive from Sierra Madre. After that, they have casual sex... twice, upon which Challis asks Ellie how old she is (which I found hilarious). When they finally arrive at the factory on the following day, the pair argues a few moments with an elderly clerk and then decides to turn heels and leave. Upon reaching the treshold of the windowed door from whence they came, they are faced with winnebago warrior Buddy Kupfer, whom we discover is the top seller of Silver Shamrock masks in the US and has thus merited a free tour of the factory, which he offers to share with his newfound "friends". This nullifies the need for trespassing and thus, the two snow-white heros can enter the factory while retaining their law-abidingness. The narrative is constructed likewise in order to minimize the involvement of the two protagonists, limiting their output to simply "being there" when things happen, and indirectly causing the death of all possible allies in the process. Their involvement is so minimal that's it's funny. Seeing Ellie mildly annoyed by the factory clerk's lack of cooperation and her abandoning the fight as readily as if it concerned a 2$ refund is actually hilarious. Her father has been sadistically murdered, for Christ's sake! You'd think that she would be fairly pissed off by this, more feisty and definitely unconcerned by frivolous things such as sex with an old mustached man. But clearly, characterization is not the film's strong suit. Nor is plausibility... But considering the nature of the narrative, these almost are assets. They allow the straight-faced series to make a welcome shift toward camp.
"Where do you wanna sleep, Dr. Challis?"
"That's a dumb question, Miss Grimbridge."
Dumb question indeed
Many if the fans critiquing the film have pointed out to the gaping plot holes as the film's main weakness. Personally, I would be inclined to disregard these plot holes since the big picture and the various plot twists are much more interesting in themselves than as part of a logical whole. Besides, there was a huge plot hole in the previous two entries, which didn't seem to bother the fans. I mean, why is Michael Myers impervious to bullets? This is not explained, except through vague hints as to how "the shape" is the incarnation of evil. Founded on a what appears to be a blatantly psychoanalytical interpretation of madness, John Carpenter's original film breaches toward the supernatural thriller at the very end in order to chill its audience. Setting up a boy who murders his sister out of what we can assume is a form of jealousy, making him repeat the incident endlessly through the slaughter of horny teenagers after sex, it would appear that Michael is just your average serial killer. Yet, he manages to survive an onslaught of pistol bullets and a two-story fall, disappearing from the scene without leaving so much as a drop of blood. At the end of part 1, this is just meant to leave you guessing, going home from the theater along with the fear of an undying boogeyman. In part 2, it has become an accepted fact about Michael.
Nobody complained about the implausibility of Michael's survival. Likewise, nobody should demand an explanation as to how chips made from the rock of stonehenge could generate lasers. It's magic! Any other explanation would only feel contrived. As to why one would want to create such chips, let me refer you to the unlikely antagonist of the film, M. Conal Cochran. When questioned by Dr. Challis, who's then a captive in the factory, he replies: "Do I need a reason?", at which point I couldn't repress a burst of laughter. "Yes, you do! You fucking do!" is what Challis should've replied. Instead, he lets the old man go on a half-explanatory revelation that borders on lyricism. Despite his poetical attempts at describing "ancient Celtic traditions", the soft-mannered, baby-faced madman never quite manages to convince us about the true motivation for his actions. He merely comes out as a fun-loving joker who incidentally wants all the children in America dead. Seeing this character, and all the ludicrous contraptions with which he has surrounded himself, is when you realize that plausible, elaborate causality is only necessary in serious dramatic film. Here, we can do without, and this is exactly what happens. Here the power of images and ideas takes on a new form, freed from the constraints of good sense, which binds many superior films. This is fantasy, people, not political drama. As soon as you understand this simple fact, then you can enjoy the more far-fetched ideas contained in this film, such as mechanical men, killer masks, monolith stealing and the likes. All of these increase the camp value by a notch and allows us to tolerate the omnipresent narrative shortcuts and uninvolving investigation carried out by the protagonists.
While uninvolving, the horrific events depicted in the film are nonetheless memorable. Although they're scarce, the kills are surprisingly gory and inventive. I'm talking punctured eyes, heads twisted off, laser shots to the mouth... You shan't be disappointed on that front. Yet, the most enduring images are located near the end, when one child is killed in a sadistic demonstration of witchcraft and several millions more are believed to have suffered the same fate. The highlight of the film involves Cochran experimenting with his patented death masks on the unwilling Buddy Kupfer Jr. Seeing the kid die is shocking, especially in light of the fact that children are usually safe from harm in horror films. Well, this is one example where the tide is turned around. As Conal would say, it's all a joke on the children. That said, when Dr. Challis tries to have the flickering TV pumpkin from the opening credits (which triggers the masks) off the air in extremis and we are left to wonder if he has succeeded or not, we cannot help but give in to pessimism. At any rate, the joke's on him because by the time nine o'clock sounds in California, it has already come and gone in the four other time zones spread over the US, meaning that millions of families are already dead, having succumbed to Cochran's devious death ray or the venomous snakes thus materialized. Still, Challis desperately holding on to the phone, trying to save millions of children, this here is one classic ending. It's proof that almost no horror film is larger in scope than Season of the Witch, which involves a whopping number of potential victims whose fate is left unresolved. The film revels in excess and it is quite befitting, especially in a world where small-minded slashers are a dime a dozen.
Joke's on you, Challis: more than half the children
in America are already dead
A film that has to be seen (to be believed)
Contrary to the first two entries, who managed to keep a straight-face despite some ludicrous material, this third Halloween is refreshingly campy. The situations, the characters and the dialogues are hysterical, making for a shit-load of classic moments. The narrative shortcuts and plot holes may point to a weaker construction, but considering the material at hand, they were inevitable. Besides, I'd take originality over plausibility any day of the week, which is what the film offers. As far as mad slasher films are concerned, the market is overflowing. Hence, by 1982, Michael Myers was undistinguishable from many other masked killers. On the other hand, there weren't many Conal Cochran, nor are there today. Despite weak characterization (which is also the plight of slashers), this rather unique antagonist takes the cake when it comes to evilness. His master plan to kill millions of children instantly is one to jot down in the annals of horror, not merely in a passing sentence from a sadistic review. All in all, Tommy Lee Wallace is a dreamer. By daring to be different, and at the risk of alienating the huge fan base secured by the first two films, he has left an indelible imprint on the world which I personally pledge never to forget.
2,5/5 A cheaply-made camp film with a distinctive flavor and many memorable images.
