🎞️ Review: Percepto!, Popcorn, and Price: A Love Letter to The Tingler (1959)

How I wish I could go back to 1959 and see The Tingler with an audience experiencing it for the very first time. Although, knowing me, I'd probably sit in the back, not so much to watch the movie as to watch everyone else's reactions. Just imagine the screaming, the laughter, and all those poor unsuspecting people trying to figure out what on earth was buzzing beneath their seats!

And that, my friends, was William Castle's genius.

Vincent Price with producer-director William Castle on The Tingler (1959), their third collaboration with screenwriter Robb White. Released on July 19, 1959.

I've been meaning to write about The Tingler for ages. Goodness knows plenty has already been written about it, so I'm beyond me why it's taken me this long to give it some attention. Especially since I've gone on record saying that if I were stranded on a desert island and could take only one actor's filmography with me, I'd choose Vincent Price. So really, this review is long overdue.

I first saw The Tingler around 2006. By then, I'd already seen a handful of Vincent Price films, and horror had long been one of my favorite genres. But this one struck me a little differently. It was creepy, ridiculous, clever, and downright hilarious in places. It fed my cheesy horror-movie heart.

I've always had a soft spot for wonderfully cheesy horror pictures where the special effects are so obvious you can practically see how everything was put together. I'd already discovered the peculiar joys of Ed Wood's Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957), with flying saucers that look like they're dangling from fishing line. And did I care? Not one bit. In fact, I think that made me enjoy it even more.

There's something wonderfully entertaining about watching a movie that expects you to take its monster seriously when you can clearly see what looks like a piece of string dragging the poor thing across the floor. Which brings me to our little friend, The Tingler.

I remember the first time I saw that hideous, rubbery thing crawling across the screen. I couldn't help but laugh. I mean, what was that thing supposed to be, a centipede or a lobster? Probably a little of both. Mind you, if I ever found something like that crawling across my living room floor, I'd be out the door in a flash. But there was something wonderfully ridiculous about watching it inch along. I loved every minute of it.

Hey, folks! I'm the Tingler!

It's rather like the argument people make about musicals. You know the one. Someone complains that it's ridiculous for people to suddenly burst into song in the middle of a conversation. Well, of course it is! But that's part of the magic. You suspend your disbelief and go along for the ride. Sometimes the fun comes from believing what you're seeing, and sometimes from knowing perfectly well you're being taken for a ride.

William Castle understood that better than almost anyone.

Step Right Up! William Castle Wants to Scare You!

Before the story even begins, Castle himself appears on screen to introduce the picture and warn audiences about the strange physical sensations they might experience. I love this opening because the director personally addresses the audience, almost like a carnival barker inviting everyone into his latest attraction.

It reminds me a little of how, nowadays, you sometimes get an introduction from a star or the director before a movie starts. Well, Castle did that back in 1959, but he had something else in mind. He wasn't just introducing the film. He was getting everyone ready to join in on the fun, whether they knew it or not. And he certainly knew how to put on a show.

Long before he became known as Hollywood's master of gimmickry, Castle worked in theater and eventually moved into filmmaking, directing a variety of inexpensive pictures in the 1940s and 1950s. He worked in everything from mysteries and crime dramas to westerns, learning how to make the most of modest budgets. But his decision to independently produce and promote his own horror attractions really let his personality shine.

With Macabre (1958), he offered audiences a $1,000 insurance policy in case they died of fright. Then came House on Haunted Hill (1959), which featured a gimmick called Emergo, where a plastic skeleton floated over the audience during a crucial scene.

The success of House on Haunted Hill also landed Castle a pretty sweet deal with Columbia Pictures. The studio gave him his own production unit, complete with an office, a staff, and the freedom to choose his crew. His first picture under this arrangement was The Tingler, which reportedly cost around $400,000 to make.

Castle wasn't content to frighten audiences only on screen. His Percepto campaign promised moviegoers they'd actually feel the terror themselves.

Then came Percepto!, which involved rigging selected theater seats with small motors that would suddenly buzz at just the right moment. And despite what you may have heard, Percepto didn't actually give anyone an electric shock. It was just a vibration.

Of course, Castle wasn't about to leave it to chance. Columbia supplied theaters with a Percepto manual called What to Do and How to Do It, complete with instructions for installing the vibrating motors and operating them during the film. The projectionist had a special cue sheet, and the film even had little signals printed on it to help keep everything running smoothly.

And here's a wonderful little piece of movie history: copies of that original manual have survived and been digitally preserved, giving us a rare glimpse into the behind-the-scenes workings of Castle's outrageous gimmick.

Getting ready to give audiences a buzz! William Castle examines a Percepto unit for The Tingler (1959), alongside Columbia's William Brennan (left) and Castle's technical chief, Milt Rice.

Behind the buzz! A look at the equipment being installed in a theater seat for William Castle's Percepto gimmick.

One little button, a whole lot of screams! The control panel operated William Castle's Percepto gimmick.

As if that weren't enough, Castle also planted actresses in the audience to faint at just the right moment, while ushers rushed in with stretchers to make the whole thing look serious. The manual even warned the actresses not to giggle or smile! When Castle, who liked to call himself a “living trailer,” was asked whether projectionists might resent all the extra work, he didn't think so. After all, he joked, one of the film's characters was a projectionist, so surely they'd appreciate the publicity.

Even fainting required rehearsal! William Castle shows an actress how to collapse at just the right moment during a screening.

Timing is everything! The projectionist receives instructions on exactly when to switch the speakers during a screening of The Tingler (1959), all part of William Castle's carefully orchestrated scares.

And speaking of Castle's influence, John Waters was one of his biggest admirers. According to Vincent Price's daughter, Victoria, Waters considered seeing The Tingler one of the defining experiences of his childhood. Apparently, he was so determined to get the full Percepto experience that he'd arrive at the theater early to figure out which seats had been rigged with vibrating motors. Years later, Waters would bring his own wonderfully twisted sense of showmanship to the movies, including those infamous Odorama scratch-and-sniff cards for Polyester (1981).

Consider yourself warned! Castle's publicity campaign even included a mock liability disclaimer cautioning members of the press about the dangers of seeing The Tingler (1959).

Even the dead needed a date! Castle's cheeky advertising for The Tingler (1959) encouraged audiences to bring someone along for the scares.

Selling the scares was half the fun for Castle. Columbia put together a 20-page merchandising kit for The Tingler, packed with wonderfully ridiculous ideas to lure audiences into theaters. There were promotions with names like “Panic Publicity” and “Shivery Stunts,” along with a made-up condition called tinglerphobia. Moviegoers could buy glow-in-the-dark amulets and gag insurance policies, while theaters joined in with spooky radio spots and even Tingler-themed street dances.

Even the Tingler had a musical career. In 1959, Columbia's Colpix label released a novelty 45 by a group appropriately called The Tinglers. Here's a fun little tidbit: the deep bass voice on the record was reportedly Thurl Ravenscroft, best known as the voice of Tony the Tiger in those Kellogg's Frosted Flakes commercials.

Have a listen! "The Tingler" (performed by The Tinglers)

And some theaters really got into the spirit of things. The Majestic Theatre in Abilene, Texas, came up with its own wonderfully ridiculous promotions, including a mysterious lobby peek box, a theater seat daring people to sit in it, and even a special “Tingler Sundae” at a local ice cream counter. They also parked an ambulance outside the theater and had a radio DJ give away tickets to callers who could scream the loudest.

Vincent Price keeps a watchful eye on a mysterious crate in this publicity shot for The Tingler (1959).

Despite all this advertising, Castle deliberately kept the creature itself a mystery, letting audiences imagine just how terrifying it might be. He even traveled from city to city to promote the film himself, and that effort paid off. The Tingler broke opening-day box office records in Detroit, Baltimore, and Boston.

An October 1959 letter to theater managers praises the early success of The Tingler and encourages them to make the most of Castle's elaborate Percepto campaign.

But Castle didn't limit the fun to indoor theaters. Even the drive-ins got a taste of his madness. Columbia actually made a special version of The Tingler for drive-in audiences, changing the famous blackout scene so Castle himself warned everyone that the creature was loose among the parked cars. You could even hear frightened voices screaming that it was in the back seat. And since vibrating seats weren't an option, moviegoers were encouraged to flash their headlights to help find the little pest.

No vibrating seats? No problem! This October 1959 newspaper ad promotes The Tingler at both the Ritz Theatre and Tri-City Drive-In in California. Castle's voice would come over the drive-in speakers warning that the Tingler was loose, followed by perfectly timed screams on the soundtrack.

And as you all know, I love drive-ins. I grew up going to them, so learning that The Tingler had its very own drive-in version was a special treat for me. Oh, how I would've loved to experience that.

Vincent Price: The Perfect Gentleman of Horror

And really, who better to lead us through this cheesy adventure than Vincent Price?

Laura (1944), House of Wax (1953) and William Castle's House on Haunted Hill (1959).

By 1959, Price had enjoyed a long, varied career, starting on stage before moving into film in the late 1930s. And he certainly hadn't started out as a horror star. He'd appeared in historical dramas, mysteries, romances, and some wonderful film noirs, including Laura (1944), where he played the charming but rather slippery Shelby Carpenter.

But by the 1950s, Price was trading drawing rooms and romantic intrigue for something far more sinister. House of Wax (1953) helped establish him as one of horror's most recognizable faces, and with The Fly (1958) and William Castle's House on Haunted Hill (1959), he was well on his way to becoming horror royalty. I've always adored Price, and not just for that marvelous voice or those wonderfully sinister expressions. There's something about how he could deliver the most ridiculous dialogue with a perfectly straight face, then give you that little twinkle in his eye, as though he were in on the joke. He could be charming, menacing, and downright funny, sometimes all in the same scene. And that's what makes him such a joy to watch. He knew how to have fun with the material without ever making fun of it.

One of the things I've always loved about Vincent Price is that he didn't need grotesque makeup or some monstrous appearance to scare the daylights out of you. There was something mysteriously mischievous about him. He could be impeccably dressed, speak with perfect manners, and still leave you wondering whether he was about to offer you a glass of champagne or dispose of your body in the cellar. And that same little twinkle in his eye made him just as entertaining when delivering the most ridiculous dialogue. He knew perfectly well how outrageous it all was, but he played everything with such conviction that he never spoiled the fun by turning it into a joke. That's what makes him so perfect for a picture like The Tingler. He could make you laugh without even trying, while still leaving you just a little uneasy about what he might do next.

And speaking of Price, I have to mention his relationship with William Castle. The two had already worked together on House on Haunted Hill, and what a pair they made! Price was the sophisticated art lover and gourmet with impeccable manners, while Castle was the cigar-chomping showman who'd do just about anything to get an audience screaming. You couldn't imagine two more different personalities, but they complemented each other beautifully. Castle brought the outrageous ideas, and Price gave all that glorious nonsense a touch of class.

But what really made Price so effective was his understanding of the absurd. He knew audiences could laugh at something ridiculous and still be frightened by it, as long as the actors didn't turn the whole thing into a joke. There was always a little wink in his performances, just enough to let you know he was having fun, but never so much that it spoiled the illusion. By playing everything so straight, he kept the film from becoming one big joke, allowing audiences to laugh at the silliness without losing that wonderful sense that something genuinely frightening might happen next. And that's the beauty of his performance. He wasn't funny because he was trying to be funny. He was funny because he was so wonderfully serious about something so completely bonkers.

All right, Tingler, over here — don’t forget about me!

And now it’s time to step into Castle’s wonderfully mad little nightmare. Once his carnival-barker warning is out of the way, the film wastes no time. Up pop those three screaming faces, and throws us right into the fun.

Vincent Price plays Dr. Warren Chapin, a pathologist who performs autopsies on executed prisoners and has a rather unsettling interest in what fear can do to the human body.

Bob Gunderson

We're taken to a prison, where a terrified man is spending his final moments before being sent to the electric chair. After the execution, Chapin performs the autopsy and explains something strange he's noticed over the years. In people who were badly frightened before dying, he's found signs of tremendous pressure along the spinal column. He believes that fear creates a powerful tension inside the body, one that could become strong enough to actually break the spine if it isn't released. But what causes this force to build up, and why does it disappear? Chapin has been studying it for years, and even he doesn't have the answers yet.

That's when Ollie Higgins (Philip Coolidge), the dead man's brother-in-law, suggests it might be the same force that makes your spine tingle when you're scared. Chapin laughs, admitting he's never been able to name it, and decides to call it The Tingler.

What I particularly enjoy is that Chapin isn't your typical mad scientist, at least not entirely. He's genuinely kind and considerate at times, especially toward his young assistant, David Morris (Darryl Hickman, whom you might remember from Leave Her to Heaven (1945)) and his sister-in-law, Lucy Stevens (Pamela Lincoln).

The two make a sweet little couple, and it's nice seeing this more affectionate side of Chapin whenever they're around.

Hickman and Lincoln were engaged in real life, and Lincoln had already landed her part when Castle called Hickman and asked if he'd like to be in the picture, too. Hickman wasn't particularly interested, but Castle convinced him it would be good publicity for the couple. He also had to wear lifts in his scenes with Price, who stood a good six inches taller than him. The couple married later that year.

But Chapin has another side, too, and Price gives us plenty of those wonderfully suspicious little looks. You know the ones. That raised eyebrow, the faint smile, the way he can sound perfectly polite while making you wonder what he's really thinking. And once his wife enters the picture, things get a whole lot more interesting.

Marriage, Murder, and a Little Sax

Oh, the Chapins.

British actress Patricia Cutts, who also appeared in North by Northwest (1959) and television shows like Alfred Hitchcock Presents, plays Isabel, Warren's wealthy, unfaithful wife. She's saucy, shimmery, and always ready to instigate a little trouble. And these two absolutely cannot stand each other.

I couldn't help laughing whenever the film shifted to their scenes together, especially when the sultry saxophone music kicks in. It was such a funny contrast to everything else going on in the movie.

Isabel loves reminding Warren that she controls the money, while he makes it perfectly clear how little affection he has left for her. I loved their exchanges, especially how casually they insult each other.

He delivers his insults with that perfectly polite, almost sinister calm, and she gives it right back to him. Between the jazzy saxophone and all that marital venom, it's like a little film noir has wandered into our film.

Of course, beneath all that nastiness is a marriage that's become downright poisonous. And Warren takes things a step further when he decides to use his own wife as a guinea pig.He stages a shooting with a gun loaded with blanks, frightening Isabel so badly that she collapses. And what does our dear doctor do while she's unconscious? Takes X-rays of her spine, of course.

The next day, Warren proudly shows the developed X-rays to David, and wouldn't you know it? There's something strange along Isabel's spine. Something that looks suspiciously like a little creature. Ahh, so there it is! The Tingler!

The Doctor Is Tripping!

With Isabel's X-rays giving him something to work with, Chapin is more determined than ever to prove his theory. Why not try a little something on himself? So, what does our dear doctor decide to do? Inject himself with LSD, of course! I mean, why not scare yourself half to death if it means proving a theory?

And mind you, this is 1959, long before LSD became associated with the psychedelic craze of the 1960s. The scene is considered one of the earliest portrayals of an LSD trip in a Hollywood film, which makes it all the more fascinating.

Chapin starts off taking the whole experiment very seriously, calmly recording his observations. But once that LSD kicks in, oh boy, you know what hits the fan!

The walls are closing in!

I got such a kick out of watching Price go from his usual cool, sophisticated self to being absolutely scared out of his mind. Talk about a bad trip! But Chapin still wants to get his hands on an actual Tingler, and that brings us back to something that happened earlier in the film.

Shortly after the autopsy, Chapin meets Ollie Higgins and his wife, Martha, a deaf woman who cannot speak (more on her later). The sight of blood from a broken saucer frightens Martha so badly that she collapses. Chapin finds this particularly interesting because it wasn't an ordinary fainting spell. Unable to scream, she couldn't release her fear, something he'd never encountered before. Chapin and David believe that fear strengthens the Tingler, while screaming weakens it. But to actually remove one and study it, they'd need someone to die of fright without letting out a single scream. And who on earth would volunteer for that?

A Silent Theater, a Silent Woman

One of my favorite things about the film, is the little movie theater operated by Oliver Higgins (Philip Coolidge) and his wife, Martha (Judith Evelyn).

Oliver first crosses paths with Chapin following an execution, and Coolidge plays him with that perfect deadpan manner of his. Classic TV fans will certainly recognize him. He was one of those familiar character actors who seemed to pop up everywhere, from Alfred Hitchcock Presents to The Twilight Zone. Eventually, we're introduced to the Higginses' theater, which happens to be a silent movie theater.

After watching this film several times over the years, I finally picked up on something that I'm sure plenty of other viewers have noticed, too. Martha is deaf and cannot speak, yet she spends her days in a theater devoted to silent pictures, where actors communicate through facial expressions, gestures, and movement rather than spoken dialogue. And isn't that wonderfully fitting? Here's a woman who cannot scream, surrounded by movies that don't speak, in a film where screaming is the very thing that can save your life.

Before making her mark in Hollywood, Judith Evelyn had quite the theatrical background. In fact, she appeared opposite Vincent Price in the original Broadway production of Angel Street (1941), the psychological thriller that helped give us the term gaslighting.

Classic Hitchcock fans will also recognize her as Miss Lonelyhearts from Rear Window (1954), one of my personal favorites. And here she is again in The Tingler, playing another woman whose emotions have to come across without dialogue. She conveys so much terror without uttering a single sound. Sometimes a frightened expression or a desperate movement can say more than a dozen screams.

But poor Martha has no idea what's waiting for her. What follows is one of the creepiest and most unexpected sequences in the entire film.

The Color of Terror

As if the woman wasn't nervous enough already, she's about to have one hell of a night!

First, there's a hideous monster face, a menacing axe, and even a death certificate announcing her own demise! But my favorite part comes when she enters the bathroom, turns on the faucets, and out comes BLOOD! And if that wasn't enough, there's a bathtub filled with the stuff, complete with a bloody hand rising from beneath the surface.

What makes this scene so much fun is that The Tingler is filmed in black and white, yet suddenly we're treated to all this bright red blood.

Castle pulled off the trick by filming the sequence in color while painting the bathroom set in shades of gray and making up Judith Evelyn to match. Everything looks black and white except for the blood. Poor Martha isn't enjoying herself one bit. She's absolutely terrified, and unlike the rest of us, she can't let out a good scream to relieve that fear. And eventually, the poor woman's heart simply can't take any more.

Ollie brings Martha to Chapin after she collapses. Judging by the terrified expression on her face, something must have frightened her terribly. Chapin examines her and confirms she's dead.

But wait a minute, her body starts to rise up. Chapin asks, “May I find out why?”

And sure enough, as he investigates, he discovers something attached to her spine. Something he's only seen as a mysterious shape on Isabel's X-rays. Except this time, it's much bigger. And it's alive! The Tingler!

It looks like a giant centipede mated with a rubber lobster and produced something that has absolutely no business crawling around inside the human body. All those creepy little legs, that segmented body, and the way it wriggles about! It's grotesque, gloriously cheesy, and exactly the sort of B-movie creature I can't help but love.

In an interview with Tom Weaver for Return of the B Science Fiction and Horror Heroes, screenwriter Robb White recalled how Jack Dusick, who had worked on House on Haunted Hill, showed him a horrible-looking rubber worm he'd made, about a foot long. The thing apparently made quite an impression on White, who couldn't get it out of his head. He eventually suggested to Castle that they make a movie exploring where fear comes from, using that creepy rubber creation as their monster. White admitted he had a ball writing The Tingler, but didn't like the film. I have more affection for it than he did. And as far as I'm concerned, Jack Dusick's creepy little creation deserves its place among the great, gloriously ridiculous monsters of vintage horror.

When the Monster Steals the Show

Now that Chapin has finally gotten his hands on a real Tingler, the fun really begins. Only there's one little problem. This creepy crawdaddy is a lot stronger than it looks, and once it wraps itself around someone, getting it off is no easy task.

Let's celebrate finding The Tingler!

Meanwhile, Isabel has a few nasty ideas of her own. Suddenly, she's being suspiciously nice to Warren. She drugs her husband and lets the Tingler loose!

So there Warren is, helpless, while that rubbery lobstrosity starts crawling across the floor toward him. And I swear, I could see what looked like the wire pulling the thing along. I remember thinking, What the hell? and just bursting out laughing.

By now, Chapin has come to a rather unsettling conclusion, The Tingler exists in all of us, feeding on fear and growing stronger until a good scream weakens it. It's far too dangerous to keep around and the only way to get rid of it is to return it to Martha's body. Except when Chapin calls the funeral home, he discovers Martha's body was never delivered. Uh-huh...Apparently, Ollie has been keeping his dead wife upstairs in their apartment all along. Hmm...

But that nasty screamipede is strong enough to bust right out of its metal case!

And where does it eventually end up? At the movies, of course!

The Tingler Is Loose in This Theater!

This is it. The moment William Castle had been building toward from the very beginning. The Tingler escapes into the Higginses' movie theater, where an unsuspecting audience is watching the 1921 silent drama Tol'able David, starring Richard Barthelmess.

I love that Castle chose to have the creature invade an actual movie theater within the film. Suddenly, the boundary between the fictional audience and the real audience watching The Tingler begins to disappear.

And the choice of Tol'able David is interesting in itself. Here we have an actual silent film playing on the screen, with its actors expressing danger, struggle, and fear through physical performances. Meanwhile, the audience watching that picture is about to experience a terror of its own.

Whether Castle selected this particular silent film for its dramatic qualities, its availability, or simply because it suited the scene, I can't help appreciating how beautifully it fits into the larger idea of fear and expression.

Wheee, I'm free!

As the silent film plays, it's dramatic music almost sounds like something out of Jaws, perfectly accompanying the Tingler as it makes its way through the theater.

The little beast makes its way between the seats and eventually crawls right up some poor woman's leg. She screams, sending it off on another adventure through the theater. Now the Tingler has found its way into the projection booth. It sure does get around! But the film stops again, and suddenly we see that nasty creature slithering across the screen itself.

And that's when Vincent Price's unmistakable voice comes booming through the darkness, warning everyone that the Tingler is loose in the theater and there's only one way to save themselves.

Read carefully; your life may depend on it! Castle's wonderfully cheesy “Tingler Insurance Policy” reminded moviegoers that screaming wasn't just encouraged. It was practically required!

And scream they do! The audience's shrieks finally render the Tingler powerless, allowing Chapin to retrieve the nasty thing. And back to Martha it goes... inside a film can, mind you.

And this is where Castle's genius for showmanship really shines. We're no longer simply watching a horror movie. We're part of it. I absolutely love how he takes Chapin's theory about fear and turns it right back on the audience. If screaming is the only way to stop the Tingler, well, everybody in that theater had better start screaming! The screen goes dark, the fourth wall practically disappears, and suddenly that ridiculous rubber creature isn't just Vincent Price's problem anymore.

It's outrageous, wonderfully mischievous, and pure William Castle. He knew audiences didn't necessarily have to believe his monsters were real to enjoy being frightened by them. They just had to be willing to play along.

The critics, of course, weren't quite so easily impressed. Reviews were decidedly mixed. Howard Thompson of The New York Times was particularly unimpressed, while Variety recognized Castle as an imaginative showman, even if the whole thing was loaded with hokum. And the Monthly Film Bulletin essentially admitted that the film's sheer audacity was part of its charm.

The cast between takes

Over the years, The Tingler has earned a much warmer reception, becoming a beloved cult classic and one of Castle's most celebrated pictures. Not bad for a movie starring a rubber lobster-centipede that practically needs somebody off-camera to drag it around!

And I think Vincent Price deserves a great deal of credit for that lasting appeal. He treats the most ridiculous dialogue with such wonderful seriousness, delivering every bizarre scientific explanation as though he's making a groundbreaking discovery. That's part of his magic. He could make you believe in just about anything, even when the evidence was wiggling around on a string.

One Last Scream

There's something else about The Tingler that I've always found fascinating, and it's the way Castle plays with silence and screaming.

And thinking back to poor Martha and that silent movie theater, I love how Castle turns the whole idea upside down during the climax. After spending so much of the film showing us the dangers of being unable to scream, he suddenly demands that the audience make as much noise as possible.

Silence becomes dangerous. Screaming becomes survival.

There's also a nasty little irony in how Chapin spends the film trying to understand fear scientifically, while Ollie Higgins discovers just how easily it can be used against another human being. One wants to study it, the other exploits it, and another ends up paying the price.

A Little October Tradition

The Tingler has become one of those films I return to every October. Even if I happen to catch it playing on television, I'll stop and watch. It's Vincent Price at his deliciously sarcastic best, William Castle having the time of his life, and a wonderfully bizarre lobsterpede that somehow manages to be both disgusting and endearing.

In fact, I have such a soft spot for that ugly little thing that I got a surprise of my own a couple of years ago when I received my very own Tingler figure for my birthday

For me, that's what makes these motion pictures so special. They remind me of everything I love about going to the movies, especially the kind of horror that doesn't take itself too seriously and isn't afraid to have a little fun with its audience.

And while I may never get to experience Castle's original Percepto gimmick in a packed 1959 movie theater, I can certainly imagine the glorious spectacle. Although I still maintain that the best seat in the house would have been somewhere in the back, watching everybody else jump out of theirs.

So, if you haven't experienced The Tingler, do yourself a favor this October. Turn off the lights, settle in, and enjoy one of the most delightfully ridiculous horror attractions ever put on film.

Just don't be too surprised if you feel something crawling up your spine.

And whatever you do...