Twins of Evil (1971) d. Hough, John (UK)

The third, and many would argue, the best of Hammer’s Karnstein trilogy, following The Vampire Lovers and Lust for a Vampire. Well-directed by Hough and scripted by Tudor Gates, the plot opposes a puritanical witch hunter (Peter Cushing, in one of his darkest roles) and the Satan-worshiping vampire Count Karnstein (Damien Thomas), battling over the fate of two gorgeous twins recently come to reside under Cushing’s roof (Playboy centerfolds Madeline and Mary Collinson).

When one of the nubiles takes a liking to Thomas’ darker side, the challenge is for hunky good guy David Warbeck to determine which of them is the goody-good girl and which is just looking for a quick bite. Vampire films often turn on the motif of the sexually active woman versus the virginal love object, and here we have both presented to viewers wearing identical faces – an intriguing and thought-provoking concept...

Unless, of course, you’re too occupied watching Cushing burn up every little suspicious chickie he can find or ogling the array of female flesh on display.

Either way, Twins comes up a double winner.

Deathdream (aka Dead of Night) (1972) d. Clark, Bob (Canada)

A skillful reworking of W. W. Jacobs' “The Monkey’s Paw” that manages to combine chills and social commentary with a surprisingly light touch. Richard Backus plays a Vietnam grunt slain in battle in the opening scenes, but who then shows up on the doorstep of his parents' (Lynn Carlin, John Marley) seemingly idyllic middle-class home. Initially overjoyed by his return, they soon begin to realize that their bouncing baby boy ain’t what he used to be, especially when he starts killing the family dog, offing the local doctor and decomposing before their eyes.

Producer/director Clark’s languorous pacing during the picture’s middle section, especially when the audience is miles ahead of the onscreen characters, does tend to bog things down a bit. But the opening scenes are undeniably chilling – perfectly capturing the alienation, denial and discomfort of returning shell-shocked veterans and their families – and the superbly paced slam-bang climax is by turns horrifying, thrilling and shockingly tragic.

Alan Ormsby, who also scripted, provided the gooey makeup effects, aided by a young Tom Savini. Clark’s success with Deathdream would pave the way for his cult holiday favorite Black Christmas.

Freaks (1932) d. Browning, Tod (USA)

Browning followed up his success with 1931's Dracula with this unique film focused on the microcosm of “oddity” circus performers under the traveling big top, based on Tod Robbins' short story "Spurs." The simple plot revolves around the beautiful, venomous trapeze artist Olga Baclanova toying with the affections of midget Harry Earles for his money while she dallies behind his back with resident strong man Henry Victor; but of equal interest is a peek into the backstage life of these extraordinary human permutations.

While one is certainly astonished and shocked by these unusual versions of mankind, Browning’s ability to allow their humanity show is the real magic performed here. (A throwaway scene in which the armless, legless Prince Randian lights a cigarette is a jaw-dropping gem.) Indeed, with the exception of a friendly clown Wallace Ford and his sweetheart Leila Hyams, the “normal” characters are far more revolting and abhorrent, with our sympathies clearly going to the “monsters.”

When the freaks realize Baclanova is poisoning Earles, they plot their revenge and the haunting, nightmarish shots of them crawling through the mud are unforgettable, as is the villainess’ final horrific fate. All this turned out to be a bit much for the viewers of 1932, and the film was pulled from release for many years.

Much was made of Browning’s decision to use real-life circus freaks (an artistic choice that ostensibly ended his thriving career), but in watching the film it is not distaste of exploitation that one feels, but wonder at the resilience and uniqueness of the human race, and how true horrors are often wrapped in pleasing packages.

Browning with his cast

Hatchet (2006) d. Green, Adam (USA)

Anyone who has encountered ever Green on the convention circuit or in his myriad interviews in various genre magazines, podcasts, etc. knows that he is a whirlwind of infectious enthusiasm and passion. Promising to bring back “old school American horror” with his tale set in the swamps of Louisiana, the young writer/director throws in the basic ingredients (couple genre star cameos, ample amount of bare breasts, double-digit body count, gore aplenty and a hideous homicidal maniac), stirs vigorously and hopes for the best.

As an unabashed tribute to the slasher heyday of the '80s, Hatchet succeeds rather well, its game cast (led by Joel David Moore, Tamara Feldman, Deon Richmond, Mercedes McNab and Kane Hodder) well guided through the misty bayou setting by Green’s assured hand, and well gutted by some impressive splatter f/x.

But while the script’s stabs at humor fall flat more often than not, more troubling is the fact that rather than tweaking expectations, Green seems content to embrace the well-worn clichés as his own, right down to the unstoppable killer who inexplicably comes back time and time again.

The result is a movie that fails to distinguish itself beyond being a solid, lovingly created homage – one that pleases but never truly satisfies. Despite giving fans exactly what they think they want, it still feels a bit like a missed opportunity.

Innocents, The (1961) d. Clayton, Jack (UK)

Deborah Kerr is the prim governess assigned to a country estate to care for two children in this spellbinding screen version of Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw. Upon her arrival, in addition to having her hands full with her duties, she slowly begins to suspect that the spirits of the former valet and governess have begun to influence – or even possess – her youthful charges (Pamela Franklin and Martin Stephens). Can she exorcise their ghosts, or are they her own?

With an eye for hypnotic, symbolic imagery, producer/director Jack Clayton and cinematographer Freddie Francis conjure a haunting onscreen atmosphere, one where the sunlit scenes are frequently more chilling than those set at night. Truman Capote and William Archibald’s screenplay also introduces layers of sexual frustration, repression and hysteria, which, while eliminating some of the original story’s ambiguity, supply an intriguing psychological angle that modern viewers will appreciate.

Franklin, in her screen debut, is terrific as Flora, while Stephens manages to top his captivating turn from the previous year’s Village of the Damned. But it is Kerr who is the film’s anchor and rudder, and through her brilliant performance, we walk the tightrope between strength and fear, conviction and doubt.

One of the finest ghost stories ever committed to celluloid – not to be missed.