Editorials
‘American Gothic’ – Revisiting the Underseen Sam Raimi-Produced ’90s Horror Series
While the film side of horror experienced a rough patch in the 1990s, prior to the renaissance, things looked hopeful on the television front. If nothing else, horror was simply more present on TV.
Of course, this was after the genre had been sentenced to syndication, as well as cursed with lousy timeslots, in the ’80s. In the following decade, though, big broadcast networks were definitely looking to build up their horror catalogues. Hence, the creation of something like American Gothic. CBS introduced this critically acclaimed series during the fall of 1995, then cancelled it after one season. The whole thing wasn’t even aired in full (or in order, for that matter). Nevertheless, this short-lived show made enough of a positive impression that it’s now deemed a bit of a cult classic.
Not every critic was a fan of American Gothic upon its premiere. In vintage reviews, The Los Angeles Times said the pilot “plods and meanders,” and Variety called it “ridiculous.” On the opposite end of the review spectrum, The New York Times singled out the show as “one of the few truly original new series” of the season, and added it was “atmospheric, gripping, chilling.” Essentially, what some felt was wrong with the first episode was what drew others back each week. The deliberate pacing, the moodiness, and the sustained tension make this visit to Trinity, South Carolina, so worthwhile.
The creative minds behind American Gothic may come as a shock, albeit a mild one. The most unexpected is creator Shaun Cassidy, who is best remembered as a teen sensation in the ‘70s. The actor and singer eventually grew up and took a seat behind the camera, with American Gothic being his first big producing credit.
Joining him was Sam Raimi, someone who needs no introduction in certain circles. The director of dynamic horror films, such as The Evil Dead (1981) and Drag Me to Hell (2009), would seem like an odd choice for a show as unhurried and simmering as this one, but the filmmaker has proven he’s full of surprises. Still and all, there are touches here and there that pay homage to Raimi’s style—ghastly scares, Dutch angles, and his signature zoom-in shots. The inspiration appears to go both ways, too, because Raimi revisited the Southern Gothic in his supernatural film, The Gift (2000).
Gary Cole, Nick Searcy, Brenda Bakke and Pat Hingle in American Gothic.
It’s safe to say The X-Files (1993) was why horror became more common to see on television in the ‘90s. That series, a grower in ratings as opposed to a hit right off the bat, made speculative storytelling appealing to not only audiences but also creators. So, American Gothic indeed had The X-Files to thank for its existence, seeing as how the network suits were generally more open to horror pitches; however, this show was nothing like Mulder and Scully’s quest to find answers about aliens, monsters, and whatnot. Sure, the fictional hamlet of Trinity tends to act like an assignment for those two iconic investigators, but apart from that observation, American Gothic was fairly unique for its time.
On the surface, David Lynch’s Twin Peaks (1990) and American Gothic do share some similarities. Each of these community-based serials focuses on the growingly bizarre events that subvert normalcy. Although in the case of American Gothic, the strands of eeriness and horror are never vague, Gary Cole’s malevolent and orchestrating character, Sheriff Lucas Buck, is to blame for just about everything weird in Trinity. There is no lack of surrealism in this series, either—those exact elements are often made so explicit, they might as well be real. From ghosts to angels, the otherworldliness is neither subtle nor left up to the imagination.
Trinity’s current troubles were set in motion years ago, some of which are covered in W. T. Quick’s tie-in novel. But in the show’s twenty-two episodes, we mainly witness the present day. Namely, the current and ongoing machinations of one Mr. Buck, who is maybe the most evil-hiding-in-plain-sight character to grace ‘90s TV. In the premiere, a local boy named Caleb Temple (Lucas Black) loses what was left of his already diminished family, all before learning the town sheriff is his biological father. From there, we have several adults protecting the semi-orphaned Caleb and themselves from Buck’s reign of terror.
Paige Turco in American Gothic.
These small-town saviors include Jake Weber as a relocated doctor, Matt Crower, and Paige Turco as Caleb’s older cousin, Gail Emory. Their constant efforts to limit Buck’s insidious influence on Caleb can be seen as futile, given how the battles don’t do a thing to stop the coming war; however, that narrative throughline of good versus evil is carefully crafted, not to mention entertaining.
Admittedly, the pacing in American Gothic isn’t going to be for everyone, especially if they’re first coming to the show in an age where “filler” is disregarded, and anything over six episodes is considered too long. For anyone else wanting to settle down for a while and get to know their heroes and villains, they are in for a treat. The characters here have room to stretch their arms and legs, even as the ground beneath them is being gradually dismantled by Buck’s sinister roots.
Early on, American Gothic gets itself into a formula of where Dr. Crower and Gail, along with Caleb’s murdered sister turned guardian angel (Sarah Paulson), are doing their best to keep Caleb safe from Buck. This includes the brief custody battle that puts the child in good hands—Tina Lifford’s Loris Holt runs the town’s boarding house—and undoing any bad lessons he’s picked up from his new father. That initial tug-of-war for Caleb’s vulnerable soul does lead to predictable, and rather moralizing, outcomes, but those moments are compensated with well-drawn characters and milieu.
One obvious highlight of American Gothic is Gary Cole as the show’s Devil analog. Wickedly charming, commanding, and sadistically funny when he wants to be, it is no wonder Cole ranks Lucas Buck as one of his favorite roles. Plenty of episodes feature that underhanded sheriff screwing over people left and right, just so he can get his way and create chaos, but Cole makes Lucas so alluring. It’s an unerring performance for a deeply problematic character. In general, this series thrived when it came to likable villains; Brenda Bakke is impeccable as Selena, a sultry schoolteacher by day and Lucas’ partner-in-crime by night.
Lucas Black and Sarah Paulson in American Gothic.
It would be remiss not praise Lucas Black as Caleb. This young lead turned in such a sincere and compelling performance while amongst his more seasoned peers. Black held his own against the likes of Gary Cole, someone who made a habit of dominating scenes. There are also emotional beats in the story that are hard to imagine without Black. So, Shaun Cassidy was right to stand up for Caleb when the bigwigs favored Dr. Crower as the ostensible hero: “The kid’s the hero. The kid is the star of the show.”
On top of Caleb’s ominous parentage and Gail’s traumatic childhood, is the doctor with a woeful past—Jake Weber’s character is a recovering alcoholic whose family died before his move to Trinity. Yet, the network didn’t buy Crower as someone who could ultimately defeat Buck in the end. This explains his removal halfway into the season and the hiring of John Mese as the more straightforward Dr. Billy Peale. Cassidy, like so many of the fans, preferred Crower to this new character; the creator asserted that “a man striving to be good is more heroic […] than a guy who’s just written as [a] good guy.” Regretfully, the swap did nothing to improve the ratings or stop the series’ cancellation.
In no way is this popcorn horror. At its heart is a heavy and tragic story that is not always easy to digest. And like its characters, American Gothic struggled. The then-hot topic of violence in the media affected the show’s tone, and as already indicated, the network’s meddling did more harm than good. CBS airing episodes out of order, or not at all, surely led to the audience’s frustration, too.
With all that said, this is still a series that people remember more fondly than not. The opinion that it was ahead of its time, and it would thrive nowadays, is reasonable. Yet, for that progressive twisting of traditional American images and life, the 1990s were really the perfect setting. If only we had gotten the chance to see good finally overcome evil in Trinity.
American Gothic is currently available on DVD and Digital.
Lucas Black, Gary Cole, Paige Turco and Jake Weber in American Gothic.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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