Classic Horror: My CMBA Reel Conversation

What happens when two classic horror fans get together? Plenty to talk about! I had the pleasure of chatting with the lovely, incredibly knowledgeable Kristina of Speakeasy for the Classic Movie Blog Association's Reel Conversations series, and it was a treat! We had a great time comparing notes on the movies that first hooked us on classic horror, our favorite stars of the genre, and the unforgettable films and performances that have stayed with us over the years.

Excerpts from our conversation appeared in the CMBA newsletter and on the CMBA website, but here's the full conversation. 

 

Seleus: What was your gateway classic horror film (or was there more than one)?

Kristina: I grew up in a movie-fan home so film was always just a part of life. But neither of my parents were into horror; they also had no problem with me watching it. My earliest fond memories were Vincent Price’s House of Wax on TV, there were 3D cardboard glasses you could get at the corner store for it. In Canada we had a beloved classic movie TV host, Elwy Yost, and he showed the Universal monster movies, and The Thing from Another World, that I remember loving. But the big one, the very first time I asked if I could stay up to see a midnight movie, I must have been around 9(?) was Night of the Living Dead. Quite the choice! I loved it and being scared by it, loved the “modern” (now I’d say indie) feel and the black & white, everything had a big impact on me.

K: Did you have movies in your family and childhood as well? 

S: I love that your first horror memories are Vincent in House of Wax with those cardboard 3D glasses! And then Night of the Living Dead at nine?! LOL. You definitely didn’t ease into horror! Mine was similar. PBS showed Frankenstein when I was about six or seven, and I was hooked—even though it gave me nightmares. Around eight I also saw Nosferatu and The Phantom of the Opera, which started my love of silent films too. I got to see both again a few years ago at a drive-in with live musical accompaniment, which was such a treat. Then came Baby Jane and, just to traumatize me a little more, Poltergeist! Like you said, there was something about being scared and loving it at the same time. And since little me thought movies were in B&W and cartoons were in color, old movies just always felt like movies to me.

 

K: It’s said that horror is one of the best genres for commenting on the state of the world. What is one of your favorite examples of that? 

S: I’d definitely go with Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956). I love how you can read it from two completely different sides. It taps into all that Red Scare paranoia of the ’50s, but at the same time, it works as a warning about post-war conformity and losing your individuality just to fit in. The scariest part isn’t really the pod people—it’s watching everyone around you slowly become the same and knowing you could be next. I also love the 1978 remake. It takes that same idea and shifts it into a post-Watergate world filled with distrust and paranoia, making the whole thing feel even more unsettling. That’s the beauty of Body Snatchers to me—the pods aren’t just aliens. They can represent whatever society happens to be afraid of at the time. That’s something horror does so well. Sometimes the monster is really just us, or a reflection of what’s happening in the world around us.

 

K: You took the words right out of my brain on this one! That would be my #1 pick as well. Identity horror like this is so chilling and so evergreen in its existential dread, the fear of not being believed, of not knowing people you should know best, and the evil lurking in the supposedly safest of domestic and suburban settings. It applies so well to any kind of mob mentality and witch-hunting, no wonder it’s been remade so often.

 

S: What film would you show someone who says they “don’t like old (and/or horror) movies”? 

K: I was thinking of The Blob, The Birds, House on Haunted Hill, all good, but how about one of my gateways, House of Wax (1953). I think it’s good for this because it’s suspenseful and eerie but more theatrical and gothic melodrama, not gory. Also it has Vincent Price being very charming and relatable; you get why he wants revenge. The weird wax statues are not too scary; I’d say it’s on the “fright” level of something like The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945) if that helps anyone judge. Certainly safe enough for me as a little kid, it teased just enough horror, but was nothing overly terrifying or traumatizing! It only made me want to see more. 

 

S: Those are all great starter films! And The Blob—I actually got to see that on the big screen a couple of years ago, and it was SO much fun! I remember House of Wax being scary, but not too scary, just like you said. And honestly, I kind of sided with Vincent! Even when he was evil, he usually had his reasons! If someone doesn’t like horror, I think the less gory, more atmospheric stuff is the way to go—The Invisible Man (1933), The Uninvited (1944), or one of my favorite Vincent Price films, The Tingler (1959). What an absolute blast that movie is! You laugh more than you scream, but it’s still just creepy enough.

 

K: Who do you think really pushed the envelope and limits of what was possible in classic horror film? 

S: I’d have to go with producer Val Lewton and what he did with Cat People (1942). I love how he figured out that what you don’t see can sometimes be way scarier than what you do. He was working with small budgets, so he really had to rely on shadows, sound, pacing, and just letting your imagination do the rest. The famous “bus trick” in Cat People is such a great example. The tension keeps building as she’s being followed in the dark; you’re waiting for something to jump out at her, and then that sudden hiss of the bus brakes scares the hell out of you!

I think that was pretty revolutionary—basically making the audience scare themselves. His films are just dripping in atmosphere and shadow, which I love. And that whole “less is more” approach ended up influencing generations of horror filmmakers. Sometimes what your imagination comes up with is a whole lot scarier than anything they could actually show you.

 

S: What about you? Who do you think really pushed the envelope when it came to classic horror? 

K: Again, you must be reading my mind or something, because for a minute I thought of Mario Bava; I’ve discussed on my podcast how he created and shaped so many genres: giallo, slasher, even J-horror. But truly my first choice would be Val Lewton, especially with Jacques Tourneur at RKO, echoing all of your reasons. The power of shadow and suggestion, tension, their lighting, sound design, early examples of jump scares, lighting… they had such an impact on horror and noir too.

 

S: Is there a horror performance you think doesn’t get enough love? 

K: Laird Cregar in anything really, but especially Hangover Square (1945). I just love his work here, playing the Jekyll-Hyde talented genius who loses control of himself and is both the villain and his own victim. He goes back and forth between being unstable and cold-blooded, then gentle and wracked with guilt. He was a large man so he has this imposing, menacing physical presence but he’s also elegant and sweet. He made that character scary and sympathetic in such a believable way, and then gets one of the all-time most memorable and heartbreaking screen deaths ever. I wrote about his first and last movies at my blog: https://hqofk.wordpress.com/2024/05/23/laird-cregar/

S: Oh, I’ve been meaning to get more into Laird Cregar’s filmography! I don’t know his work that well yet, but I’ve liked what I’ve seen and, of course, know about his terribly sad end. Hangover Square has been on my list, so now I’ll have to move it up. It sounds right up my alley. I love a good villain, but I think it takes even more skill to make you go back and forth between fearing someone and feeling sympathy for them. 

 

K: Of horror actors & filmmakers, you can have one person’s entire filmography on a desert island, who do you pick? 

S: Although William Wyler and Alfred Hitchcock are two of my favorite directors, and Joan Crawford is one of my all-time favorites, I think I’d still have to go with Vincent Price. And that one feels pretty easy—it ties right back into our mutual love for the man! I don’t remember the very first movie I saw him in. I grew up knowing that voice from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, but the more of his films I watched over the years, the more I came to appreciate just how versatile he really was. He had that suave, handsome, devil-may-care thing about him, but he was also always in on the joke. I love that he completely embraced horror and had fun with it instead of looking down on the genre the way some actors did. And the great thing about picking Vincent is I wouldn’t be stuck watching just horror. His career was all over the place—film noir, melodrama, costume pictures, comedy—and he worked with so many legendary people. His filmography is so vast and spans so many decades that I’d have plenty of movies to keep me entertained for a very long time. 

 

S: What about you? Who are you taking to the island?

K: I’m wondering if we are the same person at this point, because mine is Vincent Price, I don’t even have to think about it. During the height of COVID and lockdown I decided to (re)watch everything of his and I think I managed to see all but three. I’d never get tired of watching Theatre of Blood, Abominable Dr. Phibes, the Corman-Poe stuff, The Fly, his noirs like While the City Sleeps, his dramas… you get a lot of bang for the buck with his filmography! I guess we end up on the same island because there’s only one Vincent.

 

S: If you could go back and see one classic horror movie when it first opened, what would it be? 

K: I’d most like to be at the premiere of Nosferatu (1922). It was “Das Fest des Nosferatu,” a festival at the opulent Marble Hall of the Berlin Zoo, which if you’ve seen pictures, must’ve been super swanky. Guests were asked to dress in 19th-century Biedermeier-style costumes, there was a ball, live orchestra, ballet dancing, it was promoted with airships and streetcar ads; the promo cost more than the movie. So I’d want to be part of all that hoopla, but then I’d also go to a regular screening a week later to see an audience lose their minds and get freaked out, it just seems like something monumental to experience in person.  

 

S: Yes! That sounds like an absolute dream of an evening! I had no idea!  All that glamour, costumes, and music followed by Nosferatu creeping across the screen—they really knew how to do a premiere back then. You’d probably think I’d pick The Tingler for Castle’s crazy Percepto gimmick, but I think I’d actually choose Psycho (1960). Imagine seeing that shower scene in 1960 with no idea what was coming! People screamed, bolted for the exits, and even fainted. I’d want to experience that audience reaction almost as much as the movie itself!

 

K: Is there an area of film, or a specific movie, that people would be surprised to hear you really enjoy? 

S: People might be surprised by how much I love those gritty, sometimes wonderfully cheesy revenge and exploitation movies from the ’70s and ’80s. Give me Death Wish or Coffy, and I’m completely entertained. I also have a real soft spot for those wild U.S.–Filipino co-productions and grindhouse exploitation films from the era—the cheaper, stranger, and more over-the-top they get, the more fun I tend to have. And since I was a teenager in the ’80s, I also love my ’80s movie cheese. Xanadu (1980), Girls Just Want to Have Fun (1985), and Heavenly Bodies, (1984) are total comfort movies for me. For Heavenly Bodies, I even wrote and recorded my own TCM-style intro as Alicia Malone just for fun. 

 

 S: Had a little fun doing my own TCM-style voice-over introduction to Heavenly Bodies (1984)!

 

 

S: How about you?

K: You should post that! I really love 70s crime pics too. I bet you also enjoy Euro-crime movies. I think people who know my taste for extreme, weird, and terrifying cinema, and dark techno/EDM music might be surprised at how much I also love classic musicals (and just generally how into opera, classical, big band, and standards I am). My mom raised me on Doris Day (her fave), Judy Garland, Alice Faye, Deanna Durbin, Kathryn Grayson, Irene Dunne, Mario Lanza, Jeanette MacDonald, I’ve seen pretty much all their movies! 

 

 

S: You know, this Reel Conversations has been eerily scary with how much we have in common. Are we secretly the same person, or have the Body Snatchers gotten to us? I love those films too, and your taste is right up my alley! I just love cinema in all its forms! And yes, I love Doris Day and all those wonderful musicals too, from the mid-’40s through the mid-’50s.

K: after hearing we had so many of the exact same answers:

 

🎞️ Review: Strangers on a Train (1951)

 

It feels quite appropriate that today is National Merry-Go-Round Day! 🎠

After all, one of the most unforgettable climaxes in classic film history takes place on a runaway merry-go-round, turning a childhood amusement into pure Hitchcock suspense.

It also seems like the perfect day to share my very first CMBA Blogathon entry. I couldn’t think of a better film to kick things off than Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train (1951). When I started thinking about what I wanted to write, I realized I didn’t want this to be another traditional review. Instead, I wanted to share why this film has stayed with me, why I continue returning to it, and how Alfred Hitchcock became one of those directors whose films I simply couldn’t get enough of.

Hitchcock has long been one of my two favorite directors—the other being William Wyler—and Strangers on a Train is one of those films I happily revisit every few years.

Oddly enough, my introduction to Hitchcock wasn’t exactly love at first sight.

The first Hitchcock film I ever saw was The Birds. It was shown in my seventh-grade English class—and don’t ask me why we were watching The Birds in English class! 

Years later, everything changed when I came across one of those vintage Alfred Hitchcock VHS collections, starting with his British films and silent movies. I was already familiar with the iconic titles—Psycho, Vertigo, North by Northwest, and The Birds—but these earlier works were entirely new to me.

I remember finishing one tape and immediately reaching for the next.

“Okay...just one more Hitchcock.”

I wanted to understand what earned Hitchcock the title “The Master of Suspense.”

I’ve always loved suspense, thrillers, mysteries, and horror, and Hitchcock blends a little bit of everything into his films. They're elegant without feeling stuffy, suspenseful without relying on cheap scares, and often surprisingly funny. More than anything, he respected his audience.  He never felt the need to explain every tiny detail. He trusted viewers to piece things together on their own, gradually building tension until you were completely hooked.

There’s also something about those opening Hitchcock credits. You just knew you were in for something special. Before a word was spoken, he already had your attention.

One Hitchcock film I always find myself returning to is Strangers on a Train.

Based on Patricia Highsmith’s 1950 debut novel, the film follows professional tennis player Guy Haines, played by Farley Granger, whose chance meeting aboard a train with the wealthy and eccentric Bruno Anthony, played by Robert Walker, changes his life forever. Raymond Chandler worked on an early screenplay draft before Hitchcock and his other collaborators reshaped the story for the screen. Combining Highsmith’s psychological suspense with Hitchcock’s visual style, the film stands out as one of his most memorable thrillers.

 

What starts as a casual chat takes a dark turn when Bruno suggests what he thinks is the perfect murder.  He will eliminate the person Guy wants out of his life, Guy's unfaithful and manipulative estranged wife, played by Kasey Rogers. Guy can return the favor by murdering Bruno’s father. Since neither man has any connection to the other’s victim, Bruno believes there will be no motive and no suspicion.

Guy laughs it off.

Bruno doesn't.

Just like that, Hitchcock has us exactly where he wants us.

It all sounds so absurd at first...until Bruno calmly says, "Criss-cross." Such a simple word, yet Hitchcock turns it into something quietly chilling. You know this isn't going to be an ordinary train ride.

Hitchcock once famously said, "There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it." That perfectly describes what's happening here. Before anything truly shocking occurs, the seed of uneasiness has already been planted in both Guy and the audience. He trusted his audience to feel that growing tension without spelling everything out, and before long, you're completely caught up in it.

Even before we meet either character, Hitchcock is already telling the story visually. The opening scene shows two pairs of shoes approaching the train from opposite directions. Their paths intersect before their faces are visible. It's a simple idea, subtly suggesting that these lives are about to intersect.

 

Farley Granger was already familiar with Hitchcock’s style, having starred in Rope in 1948. His natural sincerity and nervous energy make him the perfect Guy Haines. Nearly the entire film is spent watching him try to escape a nightmare he never asked for. The harder he tries to distance himself from Bruno, the more Bruno inserts himself into Guy’s life.

 

 

Then there's Robert Walker. I absolutely love Walker in this role.

He caught me off guard.  If you've seen him in films like The Clock, it's hard to believe you're watching the same actor here. He isn't loud or over-the-top. He wins you over with a smile...and somehow that's even scarier. And one of Hitchcock's greatest villains. Walker's performance feels completely effortless. He never overplays Bruno or turns him into a cartoon villain. Instead, he gives us someone who is equal parts charming and deeply disturbing.

Sadly, Robert Walker left us far too soon, passing away at just thirty-two years old, the same year Strangers on a Train was released. Every time I watch the film, I'm amazed by his performance. 

 

 

Guy’s hopeful future, meanwhile, is represented by Anne Morton, played by Ruth Roman. Roman had already made a name for herself in film noir and dramatic roles, bringing warmth, elegance, and intelligence to Anne.

 

 

While Hitchcock later expressed some dissatisfaction with the way the character was written, Roman gives Anne a quiet strength. 

 

 

The director’s daughter, Patricia Hitchcock, plays Anne’s younger sister, Barbara, and her appearance is way more than just a quick family cameo.  

 

 

Barbara looks strikingly like Miriam—especially with those distinctive eyeglasses. This resemblance sets up one of the movie's most suspenseful moments at a high-society party. As Bruno plays a "game" demonstrating how to strangle an older woman, he locks eyes with Barbara, and her glasses trigger his PTSD.

 

 

The theme of an innocent man caught in unusual circumstances is a recurring motif in Hitchcock's work, and Guy Haines embodies this perfectly. He is constantly striving to prove his innocence while Bruno gradually tightens the noose around him, refusing to let their chance encounter be just that—a chance meeting.

The more I watch Strangers on a Train, the more I realize it isn't just about murder. It's about Bruno refusing to let Guy go.  From Bruno's perspective, they are forever linked, while Guy spends the entire film trying to escape from someone he should never have met in the first place.

 

 

Bruno keeps appearing unexpectedly, almost like a shadow Guy can’t shake. Every time Guy thinks he’s finally free, there’s Bruno again with that confident smile, acting as though they’re the best of friends. The more Guy pulls away, the more determined Bruno becomes.

 

 

That's another thing Hitchcock understood so well. Some of the most frightening people aren't loud or physically intimidating. They're the ones who quietly work their way into your life and refuse to leave. He explored that idea in Shadow of a Doubt (1943) with Joseph Cotten's unforgettable Uncle Charlie. Both men hide behind charm, making them all the more dangerous.

One of my favorite sequences has always been the carnival.

By this point, it's clear that Bruno Anthony isn't simply eccentric. He's manipulative, calculating, and remarkably good at putting people at ease. Robert Walker’s charisma makes Bruno even more disturbing because he doesn’t seem like a typical villain. 

 

As Bruno trails Miriam through the fairgrounds, Hitchcock carefully builds the tension before presenting one of the most memorable murder scenes in film history. Instead of showing the murder outright, he reflects it through Miriam’s fallen eyeglasses. 

 

It’s genius filmmaking. Even after committing such a terrible act, Bruno calmly assists a blind man in crossing the street as if nothing has occurred. It’s a chilling reminder of how emotionally detached he truly is.

Another sequence I never get tired of is the tennis match.

The entire crowd is focused on the ball, their heads moving back and forth in perfect sync. Except for Bruno. He just stares at Guy.

 

Hitchcock builds suspense during a tennis match without a single word being spoken. One still head creates more tension than an entire chase scene.

As the story races toward its climax, something as ordinary as Guy's engraved cigarette lighter becomes the center of Bruno's plan. Bruno intends to plant it at the scene of Miriam's murder, making it appear that Guy was responsible. 

 

In classic Hitchcock fashion, the lighter serves as the film's MacGuffin—the seemingly ordinary object that drives the plot while the real story remains the psychological battle between Guy and Bruno. 

I received a similar-looking lighter as a gift that I will someday have engraved like this one from the film.  

 

Hitchcock had a remarkable ability to take an everyday object and suddenly make it feel incredibly important. Every second Bruno spends trying to retrieve that lighter builds the tension just a little more.

Then comes the finale. What a finale! The chaotic merry-go-round is one of my favorite climaxes in any Hitchcock film.

 

Something usually associated with childhood fun turns terrifying. Horses whirl past. The carousel spins faster and faster. Guy and Bruno struggle as the ride threatens to fly apart, while frightened families scramble to safety. Meanwhile, an elderly carnival worker crawls underneath the speeding carousel, risking his life to stop it.

 

 

It’s thrilling and anxiety-inducing.

Much of the sequence was created through practical effects, miniatures, full-scale sets, careful editing, and Hitchcock’s creative imagination. No computer-generated imagery to rely on. 

There are so many little touches throughout Strangers on a Train that remind me why Hitchcock earned the title “Master of Suspense.” Whether it’s the opening shots of two pairs of shoes crossing paths, the murder reflected in a pair of eyeglasses, Bruno’s motionless stare during the tennis match, the importance placed on an engraved lighter, or that unforgettable merry-go-round finale, every scene feels carefully designed to pull us deeper into the story.

Hitchcock trusted his audience throughout it all. He never over-explained. He allowed viewers to observe, think, and piece things together themselves. That’s something I admire every time I revisit one of his films.

Looking back, it’s amusing to realize that a pile of old VHS tapes brought me to this point. What began as mere curiosity quickly turned into deep admiration.

If someone asked me why I keep coming back to Strangers on a Train, I think it's because it contains everything I love about Hitchcock: an unforgettable premise, wonderful performances, clever visual storytelling, humor mixed with suspense, and several truly memorable set pieces. Above all, it has a story that still keeps me no matter how many times I watch it. 

It's suspenseful without being over-the-top, stylish without drawing attention to itself, and anchored by two great performances from Farley Granger and Robert Walker. Their chemistry makes the film work. Guy's growing desperation plays perfectly against Bruno's unsettling charm, creating one of Hitchcock's most memorable pairings.

It's no surprise that Strangers on a Train is still considered one of Hitchcock's finest achievements more than seventy years after its release. I find myself recommending it often, especially to people who are just beginning to explore Hitchcock beyond Psycho or The Birds. If you've only seen his most famous titles, don't overlook this one.

I could easily talk about the differences between Patricia Highsmith's novel and Hitchcock's adaptation, or the film's often-discussed queer subtext. But those are conversations for another day. For now, I simply wanted to celebrate one of my favorite Hitchcock films and share why it continues to pull me back in every time I watch it.

Like that runaway merry-go-round, it's exhilarating, impossible to look away from, and somehow never loses its thrill.

This article is my contribution to the CMBA's Fourth Annual Master of Suspense Blogathon, celebrating the work of Alfred Hitchcock, hosted by Maddy at Classic Film & TV Corner.

 

EXTRA! EXTRA! A New Chapter in My Classic Cinema Journey!

 

Rosalind Russell  His Girl Friday (1940)

I've got some exciting news!

I'm honored to have been elected to the Board of Governors for the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA)—the premier organization for classic film bloggers.

I've loved being a CMBA member, so it's a real privilege to now help serve a community I've admired for so long. I'm looking forward to working alongside such talented bloggers to celebrate classic cinema, strengthen our community, and help create new ways for members to connect, share ideas, and discover each other's work.

Here's to the next reel in this classic movie adventure! 

To learn a little more about me and my love of classic cinema, be sure to check out my CMBA member profile!

Happy Classic Film Watching, 

🎞️✨
Seleus