I raptus segreti di Helen

It has taken me 24 years to find the courage to see this film again. Like another reviewer here, I was too young when I first saw this movie back in 1971 at the tender age of 7 (what were my parents thinking?!), and it's disturbing visuals have haunted me all of my life. This is a gory, gruesome film, all things considered, with quick, effective shots of mangled bodies and cute furry creatures. And that ending! Seeing Debbie's face again in the finale after all these years conjured up my repressed childhood chills once again.

Overall, a very effective film with a "Tales from the Crypt-esque" ending and some superb acting.

It was interesting to see the comments preceding my entry. I saw this movie when it first came out when I was 11 years old and it was really frightening at the time. The gruesome murders that the sons committed combined with the gory flashbacks and the maniacal ending burned images in my mind that lasted for years later.

I couldn't appreciate or recognize any of the factors that may make it considered camp now. All I can say is that getting that last shot of Debbie Reynolds out of my head while trying to fall asleep took a long, long time.

From the writer of "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?" and "Hush .. Hush, Sweet Charlotte," this tail-end of the sixties horror cycle has some eerie and campy fun. Micheál Macliammóir does a Victor Buono-type bit, but too often the movie totters dangerously close to a bad musical ... there's a particularly awful children's recital about halfway through. Debbie taps, tangos and tricks up a lá Harlow, while Winters' religious fanatic has a lesbian edge to her. Agnes Moorehead checks in as an evangelist. Weaver has nothing to do - and even has to pay a gigolo to dance with Debbie.

The most bizarre of the cinematic sub-genres is the so called "The Great Ladies of the Grand Guignol": camp horror films which combined over-the-top melodrama with gothic thrills and always starred by seasoned and almost forgotten actress from hollywood golden age in unflattering roles of either long suffering victims or screeching evil harpies. This genre provided them with an unusual acting showcase that allowed strut their stuff on the screen once again and win new generations of fans at expense of their glamorous images from yesterday.

"What's the matter with Helen" is the last drop of this sub-genre with stunning performances of both Debbie Reynolds and Shelley Winters as the troubled mothers of two convicted criminals who run away from their past to the sunny California in the 1930s to open a talent school to milk out the eagerly mothers who want their daughters to be the next Shirley Temple. In California, Debbie gets happiness, clients, tango, tap dancing and a new love interest (Dennis Weaver meanwhile Shelley gets wacko with horrible flashbacks, menacing anonymous calls, menacing strangers, menacing Agnes Moorehead as a radio evangelist, cute little rabbits (!) and an unfortunate encounter with an electric fan (ouch!).

The sloppy script (penned by Henry Farrell, the man who started all this genre with "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" along with master director Robert Aldrich, Joan Crawford and Bette Davis) is full of plot holes, red herrings and wasted opportunities that could had made this movie great: the underlying themes of twisted motherhood (with Debbie and Shelley's characters as "failed mothers" and the overbearing mommies of the child stars) and obsessive female bonding (Debbie and Shelley relationship and the fact that the few male characters of this movie are either sinister or sleazy even Dennis Weaver dream boat Texan) are wasted. Instead we get Debbie Reynolds musicals interludes and dancing tots, although fun to watch take too much screen time of what is supposedly to be a psychological chiller. But still this movie is highly entertaining. The two stars and Curtis Harrington stylish direction easily overcomes its flaws. The movie recreation of the 1930's is colorful and elegant (look at Debbie's clothes!) made with a very tight budget. The increasing atmosphere of madness and hysteria is genuinely creepy with a shocking finale that will haunt you for days. And you wouldn't easily forget that silly "Goody, goody" song that runs through the movie either. And seeing an increasingly mad Shelley Winters screw every one of Debbie Reynolds' chances at happiness is a hoot to watch!

8 out of 10.

This is certainly NOT a movie to laugh at, rather than with, as one commentator indicates. This move has an understated black comic humor running through it that is simply delirious fun! And that "borders on a bad musical" that another commentator mentions? Well, I believe it's supposed to be bad. In fact, frightening so. One of the major points of the film is how we live our dreadful lives in sad imitation of equally dreadful Hollywood stars. And these kids are but the sad tools of monstrous parents, forcing them to play bad imitations of Shirley Temple, or worse, trashy child vamps! And the worst of them all is Debbie Reynolds, who - when given a bouquet of gardenias - can only remark, "Oh! Joan Crawford's favorite!

See this movie. Observations like the one quoted in the title to this post will surely make you wet your pants. And if that doesn't, then Agnes Morehead's milking her flock for donations in support of her CHURCH OF THE OPEN HAND should do it. Or how about the poem she recites that goes something like, "Give it up for to God. It's time you took action. You should make Jesus your main attraction!"

The audience at the screening I went to the other night was actually on their feet cheering after the film.