Editorials
‘The Mortuary Collection’ and the Enduring Appeal of Horror Anthologies
The horror anthology is a lot older than most people realize. Even during the silent era, we had films like Richard Oswald‘s 1919 Unheimliche Geschichten, and even before then, it can be argued that writers and storytellers gathering to share dark tales with their peers was something of a precursor to the modern anthology. This compelling format may have been embraced by comics and television before it was firmly established as a popular subgenre in film, but nowadays I think it’s safe to say that these movies contain some of our most treasured scary stories.
That’s why I’d like to take a moment to explore what it is about these creepy collections that keep us coming back for more bite-sized scares.
Of course, not everyone loves these movies, as anthologies have been commonly criticized for being uneven experiences, which I think can be a valid complaint when dealing with loosely connected yarns stitched together into a larger framework. Making all these pieces fit together into a comprehensive picture is no easy task, and it’s even harder when so many of these movies appear to be just a cheap way of combining pre-existing short films into a haphazard feature-length production. I’m not knocking on any particular movie here, as there are several great anthologies which began as compilations of unrelated shorts, but I think most folks can agree that these flicks are usually better when planned from the get-go.
This is one of the reasons why I was pleasantly surprised by Ryan Spindell‘s The Mortuary Collection, a rare anthology that not only feels consistent, but also boasts wildly varied and entertaining stories. It may not be a perfect film, with some segments working better than others, but it reminded me of what makes anthologies so compelling in the first place, commenting on the moral and social implications of scary stories and the way we share them.
Sure, a huge part of the film’s success can be attributed to Clancy Brown and Caitlin Custer‘s highly entertaining back-and-forth as the mysterious Mortician and his potential protégé, but there’s a lot more to it than that. What really makes the film stand out is how it understands that anthologies are at their best when each segment builds to something greater, with the stories working together towards a common thematic goal while still offering bite-sized thrills.
Every corpse has a story, but together they make one hell of an entertaining movie!
In Spindell’s case, a definitive vision manages to keep things consistently entertaining as the movie’s stories become larger and more bizarre. The final act even incorporates the director’s previous short film, The Babysitter Murders, into the climax without missing a beat. While the short was produced way back in 2015, it blends naturally into a story that was tailor-made to accommodate it, making it feel like a natural part of the Collection.
Having a single director helm all of the segments may have helped with this consistency, but films like Holidays, Tales of Halloween and even Bloody-Disgusting’s own V/H/S franchise prove that a project can boast several uniquely creative visions and still work as a coherent film. What really matters is that these segmented frights are planned in advance, uniting different kinds of scary stories with a common goal.
Of course, there’s a lot more to a good anthology than just consistency, as movies can still be consistently bad. But even then, the episodic nature of these films can actually help flawed narratives by making them more easily digestible due to their bite-sized approach to storytelling. It’s easy to ignore a bad segment or two in favor of a generally fun experience, especially if there’s a satisfying wraparound uniting the tales.
It’s not exactly necessary, but I’d argue that the wraparound story is another important element that can make or break an anthology flick. If the connective tissue between these stories isn’t strong enough, the whole thing runs the risk of falling apart and feeling like an un-curated film festival lineup instead of a coherent experience. That’s why I think the best wraparounds work as a framing device to contextualize their collection (much like the titular Books of Blood setup in Clive Barker‘s infamous short stories and its adaptations) while also serving as one final tale for the road.
Still one of the best framing devices in fiction.
Again, this is something that The Mortuary Collection does beautifully, with its wraparound at the funerary home being just as entertaining as the stories told by Clancy Brown’s jaded mortician. Memorable recurring characters like John Carpenter’s maniacal Coroner in Body Bags or Brown’s Tall-Man-inspired Mr. Dark can also go a long way when trying to leave a lasting impression with these segments, as we all know that a scary story is only as good as the storyteller.
At the end of the day, there’s no guaranteed formula for success in any genre, and anthologies still follow the fundamental rules of filmmaking. However, looking back on classics like Trick ‘r Treat and Creepshow, certain patterns show up that suggest we enjoy these movies more when they feature wildly varied narratives tied together with consistent aesthetics and tones. This why I think The Mortuary Collection is one of the best anthologies we’ve seen in a while now, as the film is bursting with creativity but still feels like a singular entity.
Stephen King once likened short stories to a quick kiss in the dark from a stranger, as opposed to the complete romantic evening you might get from a novel. By that logic, horror anthologies are a flirtatious endeavor combining the allure of quick thrills with the familiar comforts of a larger story structure. While these tales can be enjoyed on their own, the recurring themes and imagery can make for a more gratifying experience when merged into something greater, and that may be one reason why we love these movies so much.
Nevertheless, I’d argue that there’s an even simpler explanation for our obsession with anthologies. At the end of the day, I believe we like the idea of a smorgasbord of several mini-horror movies offered up for the price of a single admission ticket. Even if you don’t enjoy everything, it’s likely that you’ll appreciate at least some of what was brought to the table, and that makes the whole thing worthwhile.
The penultimate season of Tales from the Crypt (1989–1996) aired its first three episodes on October 31, so it’s understandable that at least one of those three stories is set on Halloween.
Sandwiched between “Let the Punishment Fit the Crime” (Russell Mulcahy, Ron Finley) and “Whirlpool” (Mick Garris, A. L. Katz & Gilbert Adler) is the most severe episode of the bunch. Maybe the entire series? William Malone and Dick Beebe’s “Only Skin Deep” traded the show’s typical sense of fun for startling amounts of bleakness and kink.
“Only Skin Deep” is, apart from the Crypt Keeper’s intro and outro, noticeably unfunny. There are no considerable attempts at making the viewer laugh. Come to think of it, if those bookends had been replaced, and there was more of a sci-fi element in the story, HBO could have easily squeezed this tale into that successor anthology, Perversions of Science (1997). In Crypt, though, “Only Skin Deep” is much too grim for an audience that had become accustomed to campiness and levity.
What makes “Only Skin Deep” feel dark, among other things, is its protagonist. Showing up to a Halloween party where he’s not welcome, and where his former girlfriend (Diane DiLasco) is attending, Carl Schlag (Peter Onorati) first comes across as your standard bitter ex. You soon realize it’s much worse than that, once Carl threatens Linda (“You know, silly me, thinking I gave you what you deserved. If I’d have done that, I’d have killed you”). Now, I haven’t forgotten that Tales from the Crypt was teeming with vile men who did women harm. Yet Carl’s brand of misogynistic menace hits differently—it borders on being too realistic for this kind of series.
Mike Vosburg’s EC-style comic cover for “Only Skin Deep”, as seen in the Tales from the Crypt episode.
Despite donning a party mask for much of the episode, Carl can’t ever mask his true nature. The invitation did say “come as you are”, after all. That inability to change and be better, however, is why Carl ends up in such a karmic predicament. His outburst of anger at the party attracts the attention of one loner partygoer named Molly (Sherrie Rose, who was also in Season Four’s “On a Deadman’s Chest”). Her bone-white, featureless “mask” and body-bag costume don’t initially register as too strange, especially on a night like this. But at a party chock-full of colorful, cartoonish, and lighthearted ensembles, it does look out of place.
Darkness attracts darkness as Carl ditches the party and accompanies the mysterious Molly to her place. Which, by the way, should have been an immediate red flag. But perhaps she’s so hot, he doesn’t seem to mind the serial killer aesthetic. Resembling a warehouse that has been converted into living spaces, but never then decorated to remove the cold, industrial look, Molly’s home (or lair) is as gloomy as this whole episode feels. It’s like the set of a grungy music video, albeit a tad cleaner. The environments in a typical Crypt episode tend to be small, overfilled, and broken-in. Warm, regardless of any weird goings-on. All that empty space in Molly’s hovel, on the other hand, elicits a creepy feeling that Carl was unwise to ignore.
Tales from the Crypt featured more sex than it didn’t, but hands down, “Only Skin Deep” boasts the steamiest scene in the show’s history. Pushing it over the line, in addition to Onorati showing bare buns and the camera never turning down one of his pelvic thrusts, is the twisted dirty talk. Carl stays in the moment, whereas Molly unleashes charged lines like “the hurt, the anger, give it to me” and “take it out on my flesh like you want to”. It’s all quite kinky, as well as tied into the story’s theme of pain.
How else “Only Skin Deep” differs from other episodes is its twists. Or rather, its lack thereof. Nothing comes as a great surprise here, particularly because the deuteragonist’s ulterior motives are so obvious. By no means is Molly a wolf in sheep’s clothing; her face is a fright mask, she practically reeks of death, and she lives in what can best be described as a serial killer’s hideout. That last-act revelation of Molly’s mask really being her face is also nothing shocking. Cleverness is certainly not this episode’s strength.
A page from “…Only Skin Deep!”, as seen in EC Comics’ Tales from the Crypt.
While “Only Skin Deep” isn’t the most universally loved episode of Tales from the Crypt, it’s an interesting preview of William Malone’s future as a director. Most notably, he went on to helm House on Haunted Hill (1999) and FeardotCom (2002), the former of which was co-written by Dick Beebe, this episode’s writer. Dark Castle Entertainment, that genre house founded by Crypt producers Joel Silver, Robert Zemeckis, and Gilbert Adler, was instrumental in bringing out Malone’s gruesome, over-the-top vision in House on Haunted Hill. However, FeardotCom and Malone’s Masters of Horror episode, “Fair-Haired Child”, are the most stylistically compatible with “Only Skin Deep”.
As one might guess, this episode is nothing like its source material. The “…Only Skin Deep!” found in the pages of EC Comics is set during Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and save for its last couple of pages, is pretty sweet in nature. There, a man named Herbert is enamored with a woman he met five years prior to the present-day story. Every year, he has come down to Mardi Gras to see Suzanne, who’s always dressed as a hag-faced witch. Well, this time, Herbert plans on popping the question and marrying someone who is, for the most part, a total stranger. Suzanne accepts his proposal, but with one condition: they stay in costume until they’re officially hitched. You can probably see where this is going…
Once they are married, Suzanne remains incognito, even when she and Herbert have consummated their vows. A semi-predictive nightmare then rattles Herbert; he dreamt that Suzanne’s real face was as wizened as her mask. Finally, in his haste to find out the truth, Herbert winds up killing his new wife. Faceless and well on her way to bleeding out, the dying Suzanne manages to say she never wore a mask.
For more traditional EC-style ghastliness, your best bet is reading the comic. It’s wickedly sad. For something less conventional, as far as Tales from the Crypt goes, the role-reversing adaptation is worth watching. It’s not the best this show had to offer, although Malone’s visual style, plus the sexual abandon, does set the episode apart. If nothing else, “Only Skin Deep” leaves an impression that, even years later, shows no signs of fading.
Season Six of Tales from the Crypt can be streamed on Shudder, starting on June 5.
Tales from Tales from the Crypt celebrates the show’s Shudder premiere by singling out one episode from each season. So don’t even think about changing that dial, boys and ghouls. More spot-“frights” are to come.
Carl discovers Molly’s collection of human ‘masks’ in the Tales from the Crypt episode, “Only Skin Deep”.
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