A film noir that would fit right into the fabric of twenty-first century television, Mystery Street, directed by John Sturges (The Magnificent Seven), is like an extended episode of CSI (or Criminal Minds), circa 1950 – a novel idea for the time. One of the first movies to be shot on location in Boston, in a way, it is a two pronged tale – demonstrating old-school investigative police work by State Police Lieutenant Peter Morales (Ricardo Montalban) and the avant-garde use of forensics by a Harvard doctor by the name of McAdoo (Bruce Bennett).

Let’s face it. . . so much of a film is its characters – the way they are written, their likeability (or lack thereof), and, just as vitally, who is cast in those roles. If we can’t root for the heroes, hiss at the villains, be wary of those in the grey milieu, or find ourselves somewhere in that flawed antihero, then we cannot truly be emotionally invested in the narrative – no matter how majestic the whizzes and bangs are. So, like a large portion of my generation, I fell under the spell of the richly woven personas found in the Harry Potter novels. . . and later, the films. Soon, literature meshed with the visual world, and when people referenced someone like Severus Snape or Sirius Black, it was nearly impossible not to think of the late great Alan Rickman and the stellar Gary Oldman, respectively – the entire franchise a masterclass in casting.

The Case of the Scorpion’s Tail – no, not a Hardy Boys’ adventure, rather, another unique giallo, directed by Sergio Martino (Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key), a 1971 mystery thriller that may have more would-be stalkers than any other film in the annals of history. From a story by Eduardo Manzanos (icon Ernesto Gastaldi came in to build the screenplay, with Mazanos and Sauro Scavolini also getting credit), the twist-filled narrative pulls from both Alfred Hitchcock and Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Les diaboliques, as well as unbelievable real life stories that lined the newspapers . . . Martino imbuing it all with a tense, mile-a-minute pacing.

A perfect example of ‘you can’t outrun your past, present or future’, 1949's Act of Violence, directed by Fred Zinnemann (High Noon; From Here to Eternity), starts with quite the hook: a man, limp noticeable, hurriedly, and with purpose, makes his way through a city in the clutches of the glum night, eventually entering a room that holds a deadly object – a gun. . . hopping onto a bus, it does not bode well. With a deliberate, unyielding presence, Joe Parkson (Robert Ryan – for another one of his great film noirs, see The Set-Up) is the thing of nightmares. . . a stalking figure in trench coat and fedora – the Michael Myers of the noir genre. Ryan, with his lined face, imposing size, and disturbed demeanor, is an ominous heavy – the enigmatic grunt opening a phone book and circling the name of one Frank R. Enley (Van Heflin).

Taking noir genre tropes and flipping them on their heads, Nicholas Ray’s They Live by Night (1948) challenges the city setting, the cynical detective, the sultry femme fatale, and at every turn, finds a clever way to surprise and intrigue. An intimate look at the lives of outsiders (a Nicholas Ray speciality – think In a Lonely Place; Rebel Without a Cause), three individuals have escaped the confines of prison. . . guys who would easily be picked out of a lineup: one-eyed Chickamaw (Howard Da Silva) – a sinister man, quick to anger when his missing socket is mentioned; monstrous T-Dub (Jay C. Flippen) – though he seems sensible, there is a violent streak hidden just below the face only a mother could love; and baby-faced Bowie (Farley Granger) – the meek getaway driver of the gang.

This second Missed the Bloody Cuts feature of 2018 (which follows the article posted on September 23rd) will also be the closing chapter of this year’s run of horror movies leading up to Halloween. And it has been nothing but a violently good run – spooky comedies from the Golden Age of Hollywood, cult classics, B horror flicks, British takes on the genre and everything in between. . . and this second set of reviews (which falls just below the 7.0 rating) resuscitates two lesser known 1970's motion pictures back from the grave. 1972's Season of the Witch (originally released as Hungry Wives and then re-released as Jack’s Wife) is the third film from zombie mastermind George A. Romero, a witch-tinged drama with horror themes. Following housewife Joan Mitchell (Jan White), the woman is haunted by her subconscious. . . living in a sedate marriage with a controlling husband who is oft on the road, Jack (Bill Thunhurst), the troubles of her bland life come out in her peculiar, disorienting dreams.