Late Night Trains
Last House on a train, scored by Ennio Morricone, which is a sentence that should not be true.
486 entries, from the 1931 Universal cycle to last year. Curated, not exhaustive: a short shelf of things worth knowing about beats a long one nobody can navigate.
486 films · page 3 of 14
Last House on a train, scored by Ennio Morricone, which is a sentence that should not be true.
Bava given complete freedom, and the film is a dream nobody can escape, including the producer.
Takashi Shimizu, between Grudge films, shot this in eight days about a cameraman who brings something home from the underworld.
A documentary film-maker investigates a demon called Kagutaba and does not come back.
A boy in 1950s suburbia suspects the leftovers his parents keep serving are people. Bob Balaban directed.
Nazisploitation at its most worthless. On the list for good reason and worth nobody's evening.
Richard Matheson adapting himself. Colder and nastier than The Haunting, and nearly as good.
Swerves three times and mostly earns them. Best watched knowing nothing at all.
The first fifteen minutes are notorious. The remaining seventy are a different and much duller film.
D'Amato remaking his own Anthropophagous as a Halloween knock-off. Grim and dull in equal measure.
Mexican nunsploitation with an actual argument, and everybody in it screams for eighty minutes.
An Austrian film about a killer released from prison, shot with a camera rig nobody had used before.
An Alien knock-off with exploding chests and a Goblin score doing heavy lifting throughout.
Nazisploitation, and the tag exists because the shelf gets documented, not because this is worth time.
A slasher shot entirely from behind the killer, at walking pace, with no score. A formal experiment that works.
A Taiwanese found-footage film built around a curse the film itself tries to pass to you.
An Indian-American teenager unleashes a demon from Hindu folklore while trying to assimilate.
A Carpathian village, a dead girl with a white ball, and Fellini borrowed the image wholesale.
Anita Ekberg as a morphine-addicted nun in a hospital. Nunsploitation with an actual performance in it.
A folksy farmer makes the best smoked meat in the county. The secret is people, planted in the garden up to their necks.
Irish, small, and it contains one of the best-constructed scares of the decade. The wooden man.
A chainsaw killer on a Boston campus, made by Spaniards, and it is gloriously incoherent.
The infection is carried by the English language, and the whole film happens in a radio booth.
An Aztec god nests atop the Chrysler Building and eats sunbathers, and Michael Moriarty is extraordinary.
Ninety minutes of ceilings and corners at 4am. Either the scariest thing you have seen or nothing at all.
A dull Manson knock-off with a fake murder stapled on the end and a marketing campaign of hired protesters.
Argentinian, and it front-loads three of the best scares of the decade in the first twenty minutes.
A haunted mirror and a Halloween score Ulli Lommel could not afford to license properly.
Almost no cannibalism. A slaughterhouse worker, a body count and Franco-era Spanish class rage.
Deodato's Last House riff with David Hess again. Mean, cheap and effective at exactly one thing.
A Mexican film in which a creature from a crashed meteorite provides pleasure and death in equal measure.
Bruno Mattei splicing stock documentary footage into a zombie film and hoping nobody notices.
A Seoul bank worker visits the island she grew up on. Everybody there has been failing one woman for years.
Jess Franco doing a slasher for German money. Contains the stone-saw scene and little else.
A camgirl finds an identical copy of herself has taken over her account and locked her out.
Bava's first-person portrait of a killer who murders brides to recover a childhood memory. Genuinely strange.