Many people remember the Pigeons from Hell episode of Thriller as the scariest prime time show we ever saw, period; possibly the best episode of anything scary on TV. This kind of praise might create unrealistic expectations for people when you see it again…or a kind of anticipation/backlash for those seeing it for the first time. Like…let’s see this masterpiece I keep hearing about.
Watching it recently, I felt I was of two minds. Like I was staring at a horrifying childhood memory…but in the harsh light of day. Some of its flaws were clear…hard to miss.
On the other hand, I felt an intense reaction as the end-credits ground to a halt :
I don’t want this to end. And more than that; being fairly sure i had felt like this before, other times I’d seen it.
That is an emotional reaction–hard to explain. Such conflicting emotions. I had moments where I imagined someone slowly picking apart its story logically. I don’t enjoy being that person but often that side of me takes over. I zero in on plot inconsistencies…let my cynical side control me. Other times I switch to a more
visceral viewpoint–admitting the consistencies, yet feeling–this
experience was way more than the sum of its parts. I hope I can explain that last part.
First, Pigeons introduced America to a new mythology–to
a creature virtually none of us knew before. Even hardcore
horror fans had trouble remembering a movie…or a novel with
anything resembling it. We knew the basics, the legends for
example of vampires, werewolves, maybe zombies. But what was
in that old house didn’t fit any of these categories. And remember, we weren’t seeing this in a movie theater on a
weekend. This thing was visiting our house…maybe staying a
while.
Tim and John Branner are everyday guys on vacation far from home–they might be us. For the first time in their lives they are in the Deep South. A place not many of us in 1961 had been once, let alone a place we knew well.
When their car is trapped on a muddy back road, everything changes in a heartbeat. Just a stone’s throw away, they find a deserted mansion from pre-Civil War days.
Tim, an easygoing pragmatic guy sees it simply as one more adventure, a small bump in the road. (Tim (Brandon de Wilde) might remind you of Todd (Marty Milner) in the Route 66 series.) His brother John is the opposite–instantly on edge…from the moment he hears a sound like a feral cat, or a puma…or something more sinister.
Pigeons flock in front of the house–John continues towards the front door anyway. He cannot admit he could get scared off by pigeons.
Just as he gets close to them…that same eerie cat-like noise. Pigeons take off–are they attacking him or just spooked by the sounds? The first idea feels ridiculous…yet we wonder if we would react as he does, in near-terror.
John–immediately fearing the house’s spell
Again, that contrast as the brothers camp out inside the house. Tim sees a roaring fire, comfortable sleeping bags, more adventures tomorrow. John is locked into the sounds–and preoccupied with the memories of sounds. For a long while he stares at an old portrait hanging near the fireplace. A beautiful dark-haired woman. Yet something strange we can’t identify. The
camera stays fixed on it a little too long. Meanwhile, the pigeons crowd the windowsills–their noises keep John restless. He finds it impossible to calm himself.
The portrait
Sometime later, both of them asleep. John awakens to a wordless melody, someone singing. The voice coming from the second floor. He stands–sleepwalking or in a trance. He slowly walks up the staircase and turns left into the wide hallway.
Soon after, Tim awakes, follows him upstairs, into the hall, screams–
John faces him, blood oozing thickly down his face. Eyes open wide but without expression, without recognition. He holds a hatchet tightly.
“John!” Tim screams. No response. John comes nearer, swings the hatchet straight at his brother’s face. The hatchet misses Tim by inches; for a moment it stays embedded in the wall. Tim turns and runs–down the steps, out the front door. John follows him
slowly.
.
Tim–facing a brother turned murderous
So much, and we can make no sense of it. A hunter finds Tim
unconscious in the woods and calls the sheriff. His name is
Buckner. He asks Tim what he remembers; Tim, shaking with
terror, tells him everything but realizes how insane his story
sounds. Impossible yet he feels the truth of it in his gut–his brother set on killing him, “But he was dead!”
Tim realizes fast that Buckner will not, can not believe him. He no longer cares what anyone believes. Much more frightening is the hunter’s reaction. When the sheriff tells Tim he will take the man and search the place, the hunter suddenly takes off running–out of his own house, into the darkness.
Slowly we find ourselves sinking in quicksand; one set of folklore, then another, then another. Tim knows virtually nothing about the Deep South, or the plantation age, or the source of the black magic that killed his brother yet caused his dead body to stand up and swing the ax. Later he hears voodoo mentioned, maybe zombies. But he wonders if that can explain all he has seen. Most chilling are the sheriff’s reactions. He is not only someone who grew up here but seems afraid of nothing.
Buckner wants to see where John died—Tim goes back with him. They stand in the hallway, find the blood on the floor. But when they enter a bedroom, Buckner’s lantern dims then goes out—completely. Slowly, the sheriff backs down the stairs. As they reach the first floor the lantern is instantly bright again.
Already we know this man—someone you want on your side. This makes his words more chilling: “Whatever it is up there, I’m not gonna tackle it in the dark.”
Then a few minutes later, “Whatever it is, it’s probably laughing at us right now…” You picture this man’s life, often alone in the darkness, in the backwoods, counting on no one but himself. No one to take his back when he deals with backwoods people—some of them the kind of folks we would meet ten years later in Deliverance.
Now he is struggling to make his decisions. Those changes of
heart make us uneasy. The sheriff is no philosopher, not someone with much imagination. Unlikely to get tangled in thought—he sticks to the facts. But between the lines in what he says—a strong sensation; something is festering here.
People have been abused; their rage has created something monstrous. In those pieces of stories—more than a suggestion of cruelty. No one mentions the hundreds of years of slavery, but it is always there in the background. A curse on this land, still causing more pain. A bloody war these people lost, its painful aftermath.
The Blassenville family owned this house; people near the top of the economic heap. Buckner tells Tim they had a mean streak in them. They treated their servants brutally. All but two ran away. Three Blassenville sisters; the stories say they left the house after that; no one knows for sure. Stories people heard that those last two servants turned to magic—or voodoo, to get some kind of revenge.
You suspect they had plenty of reasons; that the cruelty they suffered bred more of the same. The sheriff knows the last servant, Jacob, he still lives close by. They enter his cabin; Buckner wakes him, says he needs answers.
Jacob mentions the other servant, Eula Lee, and magic spells she once wanted from him. Tells them too that Eula Lee was a half-sister to the Blassenvilles. He leaves it unexplained that she was their servant too. Then he stops himself— he can give away no more secrets. That if he does, the big serpent will send a little brother. A moment later, a snake in his pile of firewood kills him. What is “the big serpent”? We want to know… but we don’t want to think about it too much.
Earlier the sheriff told Tim what he planned to do—wait inside the house and see what happened. You sense he wished he had a better choice. But cannot think of one. Tim goes back again with him. Later, he hears the same wordless singing John did—drawing him upstairs. More magic you know nothing about—people led to death by sweet melodies.
Tim and Buckner…waiting
The rest of the plot makes it difficult to reveal more without giving things away. I remember watching a few movies like this; not knowing how to write about them, having to give up.
This time I will try; I feel this is worth it. To add only this: Remember this is 1961, a television series. It all had to be shot
fast. It sounds corny but I will say it anyway—when you watch this, try to get in touch with your inner child.
As much as you can, check your cynicism at the door. Leave yourself open to some American Deep South/Caribbean mythology. I think you will find it worth your time.