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KATHY'S EDITING BAY

RJS Column for July 2025

Deadline 7/21/2025

RJS 7-2025

MY WRITE OF PASSAGE

by Richard J Schellbach

When it comes to my writing career, I have most likely learned more from the words of Harlan Ellison than any other writer, living or dead. He was blunt, to the point and full of himself. In plain words, he was brilliant and he knew it. He made me realize that writers got paid for their work... and if someone mentioned that writing for their publication would be good for my career, so I should just be happy and write for free, they were leading me around by the balls. Harlan gave me those nuggets and I live by them to this day. He was a massive influence every day of the 41 years I’ve been a professional Writer. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve learned nothing from my other idols.

Each time I fight an editor to keep something in a piece I’ve written, even though my editor du jour wanted to lose it like a fetid pork sandwich on a hot summer’s day, I think of the way Paddy Chayefsky fought for every word he wrote, no matter the import of the project. Sometimes he won. Sometimes he lost. But he attacked each change with vigor and probably with the mantra “This is the hill I’m willing to die on.”

If I’m caught out in the wild – something I hardly ever do on purpose, unless I’m with my peeps at a convention – and I get a plot idea or a great title for a piece, and find myself jotting it down on a napkin, business card, drink coaster, or anything else I can crumble up and stash in my pocket for the proverbial rainy day, I think of Rod Serling. He was known to write on anything and everything to the point that it was rare to find any of his story ideas on something with actual lines on it. By the way, I’m not stating that I have ideas as often as he did. I don’t. No one does. He made Stephen King look like a slacker… and King is another one of my idols. Keep on reading.

Whenever I come off as a fancier writer than I actually am, I think of Richard Matheson. His work always seemed to have an air of classic literature to it, whether it was by design or not. Take two rather simple tales, Button, Button and I Am Legend. Both have a feel that they have been around forever.

Stephen King once described himself as the writing equivalent of fast food. Now, I have no idea if he was just saying that he was not some hoity-toity author. But I always regarded his use of dialog to be beyond reproach. The gift that King gave me was to make sure my characters always read like they used the right words for the area of the world they came from. His northerners always read like they were from Connecticut and north. His southerners sounded like they came from south of the Mason-Dixon line. And although it doesn’t seem to take much talent, it is extremely important that the reader not be taken out of the story with words that don’t ring true to the character he or she is writing about.

Think what you will about Woody Allen but no other writer makes me laugh like he does. His take on the absurd was what got me through writing the various projects involving ALF... especially the two sets of trading cards I did with Gary Gerani and Topps.

Roald Dahl comes to mind when I’m writing something that appears, on the surface, to be a “nice” story in the vein of a fairy tale that has a dark underbelly. Of the pieces he’s written, like the novel, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, I could always tell that he was flashing a sardonic smile as each word hit the paper. At least that’s how it felt to me.

When I was a brand new writer, finding my way in the literary world, I out and out stole from each of these brilliant scribes. Then, when I found my particular style, I was able to sit back and enjoy everything they wrote, while taking off in my own direction. I’ve been following my personal inner compass for over four decades and still I carry each of my writing idols with me and I so appreciate every lesson they gifted me.

Till next time, Adios! I’m a ghost.

New Rick Column 6-2025

On The Site

Another Door: Police Brutality In Crescent Cove

A Film Fury

by Rick Patterson

To my readers: This column was started shortly after our most recent execution... I mean election. So, please give me grace for my attempts at “timely” political humor.

Very rarely in my columns do I embark on political ideology. Rarely have I wanted to do so.

There are just some things you don’t say in our safe space here. Why taint it with cruel realities of the world that will never change. Then a few nights ago, my world turned upside down. I’ve thought about it. And I cannot stay quiet. I refuse. I need to discuss something I never realized before. It was right before my eyes, but it eluded me because of forces beyond my control. They kept distracting me with puppet shows and secrets below the surface of an elaborate plot to control us. I finally saw the abuse from a trusted power structure. Now… let’s talk about Killer Klowns From Outer Space. The election? Oh yeah, that happened too.

1989

A lot happened that year. The Berlin Wall fell. The Exxon Valdez caused the largest oil spill in history. A little animated show called The Simpsons debuted on Fox. I was volunteering to run camera for my high school’s football games in order to get close to a certain cheerleader named Lori. Oh, Lori. But nearly as important than all of them was when my Mom came home with…

“Killer Klowns From Outer Space?” I questioned.

She had returned from the grocery store, but took a quick detour by Knight Ryder Video on the way home. It was our second favorite place to rent from, lagging only behind The Video House. Knight Ryder (this is gonna trigger VHS collectors) would cut the video box and place it in a sleeved VHS case that you brought home with your rental. And though the title was cheesy and the cover didn’t reveal anything terribly menacing, a quick flip to the back cover was the vision of nightmares. For what was being sold as a comedy pictured a wide array of face painted terror only rivaled by Pennywise. Curry, not Skarsgard. We all know the Tommy Lee Wallace version is better. But, I digress. I knew the Chiodo Brothers from Critters, which inspired a certain level of confidence. Mom wrangled some homemade burgers with steak fries and an hour later we sat down to watch what has become one of my favorite films of all time. What wasn’t there to love about this flick? It became a staple throughout my teenage years, into manhood. I was pleased to see a fan base grow over time for the little tale of alien Klowns set on invading our planet. And then one day, years down the line, far removed from the passing of Mom, I threw it on for another showing. I couldn’t even venture to guess the number of times I have seen this film. Enough for my 14 year old to be obsessed with it now, too.

The MGM DVD became a Blu-ray, then special OMG edition from Arrow Video. And this day I figured it would be good white noise while brainstorming a script I was working on. I’m not Stephen King by any means, but I do share his ideology that you need sound in the room when writing. Putting on my favorite murderous Klowns wasn’t the best choice. Between the new transfer and sound, I was sucked in once more. And on this viewing, I was struck by something. Not just how great the performances were. How gorgeous Suzanne Snyder was. Or how it has one of the best whimsical scores this side of Elfman in a Burton epic. I knew these things. But these cops. Damn. These cops are sort of, well as the kids throw around today, problematic. Let’s take the most obvious one, Sergeant Curtis Mooney. A Korean War vet, Mooney acts as a secondary antagonist in the film. From frame one he’s acting out against the largely youthful, college student population of Crescent Cove. He uses underage drinking as ammunition for his hostility, dragging in two of the most docile punk rockers ever committed to film. They only wanted to drink some wine on a beautiful night. The suggestion that they’re part of the town sends Mooney into a tirade. Claiming that they are killing the town and crossing a line by physically attacking them. The much younger Officer Dave Hanson, who earlier intercedes in an attempt to defuse the situation, steps in to save the Punks. Mooney throws a two for one, passive aggressive verbal attack at all three of them. And it’s far too easy to read the veteran’s homophobia. You have to ask if Mooney would have reacted the same way if he had found members of the college gridiron team drinking. Portrayed with brilliance by character actor John Vernon, we as the audience never get a clear indication on why he’s such an insufferable prick. Did he never have the option of continued education after the war? Was he an incompetent soldier who could never work his way up the ranks? I may be reading too much into a character that ultimately becomes a puppet. Wait a second! Maybe that’s a level of irony we aren’t aware of. Is it any stretch of the imagination that Mooney could have been a controlling, abusive husband. That would indicate his demise at the hands of Jumbo as just desserts. Then we have our hero, Officer Dave Hanson. We immediately dig him as he sets out to defend not only the punks, but the entire youth culture of the town. Dave is good looking and closer in age to the local student body than his Sergeant. But that said, Dave is as problematic as Mooney in many respects. Mooney’s hate is a mystery to us. But Dave’s angst is worn on his sleeve. And its name is Debbie. His Ex. Now, we get it. Suzanne Snyder at her cutest. Who wouldn’t curb slam Mike over her? But it’s not just one guy pissed at the newest sampler of his previous goods. It’s a cop! And Dave abuses his authority over Mike and Debbie. He forces Mike to sit in the back of his cruiser. Threatens Debbie with the hoosegow if she doesn’t agree to Mike and him searching for proof of the clowns without her... then arrests Mike when it isn’t found. Sadly, it happens in society far too much. Abuse of power. It changes people. I knew a guy who would never get into a bar fight, until he did. But he did so after becoming a cop. And instead of going mano a mano, fisticuffs, he presented his badge and let this would-be ass kicker know not to fuck with the boys in blue. He pulled a Mooney. Don’t get me wrong. We need authorities. But overseeing the law. Not us. And as far as Mooney, Dave and my previous friend? I sum it up like Detective Cameron in Night Of The Creeps, “Okay, that’s fine. Candy ass. But fine.”

See you in Pittsburgh!

Five Nights at Freddy’s (2023)

By Cale Patterson AKA Married2Horror

Horror games intrigue me. Not enough to play them myself, but enough that I would watch my youngest child as she tackled a gaggle of gateway horror games, like, Little Nightmares, Bendy and the Ink Machine, the Roblox wave of survival horror, Dead by Daylight, and of course, Five Nights at Freddy’s. Being the carbon copy of her father that she is, Niobi had some reservations once the official FNAF movie trailer dropped. She was 12.

The Plot:

Mike is a young man with a haunted past, and he’s trying desperately to provide for his youngest sibling and ward, Abby. When a lucky break comes along, he takes a job as a solo security guard during the graveyard shift for an abandoned Chuck E. Cheese style establishment called Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. Can he survive the increasing unknown danger lurking about or will he relive his nightmare, with Abby as its newest victim? I’m going to preface this by stating that knowledge of the game is not a requirement to understand the movie. Five Nights at Freddy's was an enjoyable watch, especially in the theaters.

The animatronic SFX are 100% practical, which sells the situations we find characters facing. Josh Hutcherson’s performance as Mike is outstanding and provides the necessary emotional elements to make this PG-13 horror movie work. Although portions from the game were changed or omitted, I feel the adaptations were warranted and ultimately, the film is better for it.

Elsewhere, upon leaving the theater, Niobi went on a rampage. This game is a core memory for her, how dare they! Thankfully, after lots of time has passed and several dozen rewatches, she changed camp from “I hate it! Why God, did you let them do this?!?” to “It’s ok.” I understand where it comes from though, especially since books, games, and other things we love are adapted into movies without (usually) any care to the original material (and I don’t think that’s the case here). As a “non-horror,” I feel confident that FNAF will sate your horror curiosa!

Beal's 6-2025 Column - Good To Go

THE WOLFMAN WAS A REAL DOG!

Q: Where have I been?

A: Instead of getting all wrapped up in the minutia involved in my whereabouts over the past few months, howzabout we concentrate on the here and now and you just stop judging the hell out of me. If I wanted that shit, I’d still be married to Monica (or as I liked to call her, Demonica.) I’m here to talk about the state of horror, not to answer prying questions.

To those of you not in the know, Universal Studios began their classic monsterdom not with The Wolf Man but with The Werewolf Of London. The movie did well, for the time, but not quite the gangbusters entry they were hoping for. No, Wolf Man fever didn’t hit until 1940, when some talented writers, directors and actors got together and produced The Wolf Man. It was the kind of movie that launched careers and it was followed up with pseudo sequels that advanced the character of Larry Talbot, like Frankenstein Meets The Wolf Man, House Of Frankenstein, House Of Dracula and, finally Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein. Sure, poor Larry was reduced to a lesser member of the Monster Crew, but few can argue that each of those movies would have suffered with his absence. In fact, those transformation scenes were what MonsterKids of the time lived for.

The next really big werewolf year was 1981 with both An American Werewolf In London and The Howling. Those were some gangbusters times for fans of the loupe.

Now the good folks at Universal spent many sleepless hours trying to relaunch their little Wolfie character and in 2010, they finally got around to The Wolfman, with some pretty big names attached. And much like a Rock n Roll supergroup, they basically sucked the collective… um… let’s just say it didn’t go well.

I actually saw it in the theater and wow did I hate the fuck out of it. What a muddled piece of crap. But what really surprised me to my very core, was the fact that when I checked in with the members of The Universal Monster Army and The Classic Horror Film Board, they, for the most part, really liked it. Now, I have since looked back on the movie, and the repeat viewing only strengthened my hatred for it. They wasted some damned good actors and music and lighting. But what they really wasted, which was almost criminal to me, was the incredible talent of Rick Baker! Rick had heard about the movie. He was winding down a long, amazing career and the studio claimed they wanted him and he certainly wanted this project. I mean, if I were him, I would have done just about anything to work on that particular movie. If there’s one thing Rick has, it’s a horror hard-on for the Universal monster classics. He wanted to do The Wolfman with all practical effects and Universal was said to be on the same page. And if they had stuck to their word, I could have lived with any other flaws – even the shitty digital effects involving the deer and the bear. Once I saw the lack of quality there, I should have known that poor Rick didn’t stand a chance. What they ended up doing to that man’s stellar work should have landed them on Rikers Island. (Actually, here’s a better idea. Just bypass the island altogether and dump every single one of them in the East River.)

Because of the way they treated Rick Baker, digitizing every single practical makeup effect that he created, I’m pretty sure we will never see his name in movie credits again. I don’t blame him at all. It would have downright broken my sorry ass.

That sordid ordeal leads us to one of the reasons why the newest Wolf Man failed. After what those idiots did in 2010, I wouldn’t trust Universal Pictures again if the Almighty Herself directed this past installment.

How about this, Universal bosses, instead of meddling in the movie industry why not go back to what you do best… absolutely nothing!

Later.

RJS Column for June

Good To Go

Why?

Because!

by Richard J. Schellbach

Why the hell would anybody voluntarily do this to themselves?

As I asked myself that burning question I was automatically drawn to a singular answer. Because, if I’m being completely honest here, the answer wasn’t so crystal clear the first time I ever asked it of myself. No, I was way too busy wondering how it was that I came to find my 13-year-old butt seated in the Strand Theater, in Hamden, CT watching a black and white horror movie entitled Night Of The Living Dead? Because that movie rattled the fuck out of me in a way I will never forget or, for that matter, get over.

I was just minutes into the movie when I realized that I was in some deep excrement. There were no white hats in this movie. No black hats either. The cavalry was never going to show up… Well, they would eventually show up but not to do anything constructive. I mean considering they eventually… you know. No, their hearts were kinda, sorta in the right places but an angry mob is, and always will be, reduced to its simplest form... an angry mob. And as I left the Strand for the long walk home, I pondered the whole What?, Why?, and Who? aspects of what I had just lay witness to.

Now you’d think that after seeing Night Of The Living Dead, I would have come to learn my lesson and never allow it to happen again. But, there I was again, sometime later, watching The Texas Chain Saw Massacre at the Milford Drive-In, and back to the Strand for Halloween, the CineMart for The Evil Dead, covering The Blair Witch Project, at the Ft Lauderdale Film Festival, for the Ft Lauderdale Sun Sentinel... or The Autopsy Of Jane Doe at my humble abode, in my home theater.

The proverbial list goes on and on.

Mind you, it hasn’t taken me this long to come up with the answer. I had it pretty much figured out by the time I had walked home after Night Of The Living Dead, all those decades ago.

The simple answer was and still is, because I really liked it! In fact, I loved it. There is just something magical about being scared shitless in a safely controlled environment, whether it's a small movie house in a hometown, a onetime giant cinema that sported the largest screen on the East Coast, one of the coolest Drive-Ins ever, a large Film Fest that really mattered or now, more often than not, in my living room. Whether you understand it or not, getting my double stuff endorphins all a flutter, makes my trousers a bit tighter… figuratively, if not quite literally. In plain words, I dig the hell out of that feeling. I don’t get that particular feeling to that particular degree at a lesser horror movie, but any good spook show brings it out from a bit to a bunch. And those dam-busting moments are the ones I have come to live for.

Keep in mind, even though those knock-me-over-with-a-feather moments are few and far between, the reason for them can be as different as night and day. They can spring forth from suspense, like in Alien; or thick atmosphere, like Pumpkinhead is awash in. Slow unfurling horror, like Insidious or the "creep up on you" scares in Sinister. Shocks that make you chuckle the way Tucker and Dale vs. Evil does or the vintage kind that has the classic feel of 1934’s The Black Cat.

Just like horror’s goofier stepbrother, comedy, has different subgenres and many different ways of bringing on a chortle, horror has myriad ways to repel you. I just happen to be one of those lucky bastards who loves all of them. All I ask is that whatever kind it is manages to scare me out of whatever wits I still possess after reaching the grand old age of sixty-nine. Horror and I have been friends for ages. We’ve also been business partners for as long as I can remember. It’s been my way of earning a living, and a pretty damned good one at that. I cannot imagine there will be a time when I stop loving the feeling of being scared in a controlled situation. To sit in a room, surrounded by the darkness, and feel fictional beings clawing at my skin with evil intent is nothing short of magical. So, bring it on. The scarier the better. Hey, future filmmakers, show me what you’ve got. Because although I haven’t seen it all quite yet, I’ve seen enough to know that after a fairly full lifetime, I have seen a damn sight more than most.

Till next time, Adios! I’m a ghost.

NEW MELISSA Good To Go

Echoes of Wisdom: A Triumphant Evolution for The Legend of Zelda Series

As a long-time fan of The Legend of Zelda series, each new installment brings with it the thrill of revisiting Hyrule and embarking on yet another grand adventure. When Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom was announced, it instantly jumped to the top of my “must-play” list and for good reason. The twist this time? Players assume the role of Princess Zelda, stepping out of her traditional damsel-in-distress role and into the forefront as the protagonist. Although I was a little bummed about the absence of her Sheik alter ego, the game quickly dispelled my doubts. Echoes of Wisdom is not just a worthy addition to the series but a refreshing evolution that exceeded my expectations.

The story kicks off in classic Zelda fashion: Ganon reemerges, abducts Princess Zelda, and sets the stage for Link to swoop in and save the day. But the narrative takes a sharp turn early on. After Zelda is rescued, it is Link who finds himself captured and pulled into a mysterious dimensional rift. Left without her usual savior, Zelda must rise to the occasion and take charge of the mission to rescue Link and restore balance to Hyrule.

This setup flips the series' traditional script on its head. By placing Zelda in the spotlight, Echoes of Wisdom gives fans an opportunity to experience the kingdom through her perspective. It’s a clever narrative device that breathes new life into the series while maintaining the familiar themes of courage, wisdom, and power.

At the heart of Echoes of Wisdom is Zelda’s ability to create “echoes” — magical imitations of objects and enemies she encounters in Hyrule. Assisted by her floating companion, Tri, this mechanic forms the backbone of gameplay and sets Zelda’s adventure apart from Link’s traditional sword-and-shield exploits.

Here’s a breakdown of the echo system:

● Monster Echoes: Defeating an enemy allows Zelda to create an echo of that monster, which can then fight alongside her in future encounters. Each monster has unique abilities, with the Lynel echo being the strongest and most versatile ally.

● Object Echoes: Zelda can create echoes of inanimate objects like boxes, furniture, or trampolines, which are often key to solving puzzles or reaching hidden areas.

● Bed Echoes: Surprisingly versatile, bed echoes can restore Zelda’s health when she jumps into them. They can also be stacked to form makeshift stairs or bridges, making them indispensable in platforming challenges.

The echo system encourages experimentation, and the game rewards creativity. Learning what each echo can do often leads to surprising solutions for puzzles or unique combat strategies. This mechanic is an innovative addition that feels distinctly tailored to Zelda’s role, balancing combat, exploration, and puzzle-solving in a way that keeps the gameplay engaging and varied.

Hyrule in Echoes of Wisdom is as expansive and enchanting as ever. The game retains the open-world design introduced in Breath of the Wild, allowing players to freely explore lush forests, towering mountains, and forgotten ruins. However, there’s a distinct shift in tone with Zelda at the helm. The narrative places a greater emphasis on uncovering the lore of Hyrule, and many of the game’s side quests delve into her connection to the kingdom and its people.

The new areas introduced in the rift dimension are visually stunning and mechanically inventive. These zones feel like a surreal blend of traditional Hyrule and otherworldly dreamscapes, filled with gravity-defying puzzles and distorted architecture. The developers clearly poured their hearts into creating an experience that feels both familiar and fresh.

Zelda’s promotion to the protagonist brings with it a deeper exploration of her character. No longer confined to cutscenes, players get to see her grow from a hesitant royal into a confident hero. Her interactions with other characters, from loyal allies to reluctant foes, reveal new facets of her personality, making her more relatable and inspiring than ever before.

The game’s puzzles and dungeons strike a satisfying balance between challenge and accessibility. While veterans of the series might breeze through some of the simpler puzzles, the later dungeons and optional challenges are sure to test even the most seasoned players.

For completists, there’s plenty to do beyond the main quest. Collectibles include fragments of stars and stamps, as well as powerful heart fragments that upgrade Zelda’s abilities. There are also quest items that you receive upon completing a quest.

Legend of Zelda: Echoes of Wisdom is a bold and triumphant entry in the franchise, proving that Princess Zelda is more than capable of carrying an adventure on her own. The game takes the series’ beloved formula and innovates in meaningful ways, delivering a narrative and gameplay experience that feels both nostalgic and groundbreaking.

Whether you’re a longtime fan or a newcomer to the series, Echoes of Wisdom is a must-play. It’s a celebration of everything that makes The Legend of Zelda great, while also charting a new path forward. For me, it’s a shining reminder of why this series continues to hold a special place in the hearts of gamers worldwide.

Rating: 9.5/10

NEW RJS COLUMN - ALREADY ON SITE

'Twas The Night Of The Living Dead

by Richard J. Schellbach

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

'Twas the night before Christmas as I lay in bed,
Not a creature was stirring…except for the dead.

Some old boards were nailed over windows, with care,
In hopes that no flesh-eaters could get through there.

My wife in her nightshirt and me in my britches
Had just settled in, with our thirty-aught sixes.

The children were terrified under their beds;
They just kept repeating, "Dad, aim for their heads."

'Cause out on the lawn we had been hearing moaning,
The screams of the innocent and occasional groaning.

So away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore off an old board and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to zombies below.

Then what through my Remington scope should appear
But a rotted old sleigh and eight undead reindeer.

With a red-suited driver whom I, instantly,

Determined was Santa… or, he used to be.

As the reindeer flew towards me I raised up my gun
And squeezing the trigger, I shot at each one--

Shot Dasher! Whacked Dancer! Hit Prancer and Vixen!
Popped Comet! Plugged Cupid! Capped Donder and Blitzen!

From my 'lectrified fence to my ten-foot-high wall,
I blew away, blew away, blew away all!

But more dead folks appeared as the others lay slain.
They gathered together and forward they came!

Then up to the front porch to start the attack,
With dead zombie Santa at the head of the pack.

And mere minutes later, that bastard Kris Kringle
Climbed up on the lattice and clawed each roof shingle.

As I quickly reloaded and went whipping around,
Down the chimney dead Santa Claus came with a bound.

He was dressed all in red, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all bloody from victims he'd eat.

The bag that had carried toys and candy canes,
Instead was all filled up with human remains.

His eyes - like white marbles! His throat was just hissing!
His cheeks were all hollow; his nose, it was missing!

The beard on his chin was all matted with blood,
And his left ear fell off - hit the floor with a thud.

He had pink flesh hanging from between his teeth.
And the flies all encircled his head like a wreath.

He was fetid and bloated, a rancid old lout.
And I screamed when I saw him, and almost passed out.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Gave me to know I'd soon join the undead.

He clawed at my stomach, then went straight to his work.
He grabbed my intestines, then gave them a jerk.

And after he fed, he threw open the door
And let in some zombies - 'bout 60 or more.

As they fed on my entrails and drained me of life,
I saw them devour my kids and my wife.

And the last thing I heard were these words Santa said:
"Merry Christmas to all… in the land of the dead!"

Kathy - Good To Go

THE KEEP (1983) 96 Min. Rated R

Michael Mann’s The Keep has a troubled background. Cut down from well over two hours to ninety-six minutes by the studio, guaranteed that Mann had nothing good to say about the movie when it was finally released and, although it boasts some Grade A acting talent, (including Scott Glenn, Ian McKellen, Jurgen Prochnow and Gabriel Byrne) they weren’t the kinds of actors Johnny Carson would regularly seek out as guests for the Tonight Show. Therefore, the movie got no initial release buzz.

The Keep got a home video VHS release after its theatrical run. But, let’s face it, everything was on videotape in the first half of the eighties. After that, there was nothing when Laserdiscs, DVDs and Blu-Rays were king… at least not in the good ol’ U.S. of A. There has been home video and streaming releases in the new century. Alas, it was too late by then for a new generation to find much appreciation for it.

But there are many reasons to watch this one. Like just about everything else Michael Mann has directed, The Keep looks nothing like its contemporaries. The effects are top notch, as are the acting performances, and the music drives the film along like the best of Tangerine Dream’s scores. Now, thankfully, you can find it on disc on Amazon and even streaming in a few places.

Seek this one out, if you missed it, all these years. It’s well worth the watch.