Love Punch & Other Collected Columns. Rob Hiaasen

used 78 camera set-ups and 52 cuts for the 3-minute shower scene. The murdering “mother” was a stand-in for Tony Perkins.

      “Halloween”: The 1978 original, of course. From script to direction to cinematography to score, the scariest “slasher” movie in the genre.

      “Freaks” (1932): Still the best last 10 minutes in any horror film ever. Editor’s note: Director Tod Browning bet everything on this twisted pup—and lost his career. Baltimore’s own, the torso-less Johnny Ecks, played one of the “freaks.”

      “The Shining” (1980): Rather than focus on dumb crap like jump scares, bad antagonists more memorable for their look than their motivations and poor lighting effects, Stanley Kubrick actually make you feel uncomfortable through a series of unknowns that aren’t just “what’s around the corner?”

      “The Nightmare Before Christmas” (1993): For when you’re inebriated post-Halloween party. Trust me. Editor’s note: We do.

      “Eraserhead” (1977): Unsettling, ominous and unnerving, this is less a horror film than it is an experiment in assailing human psyche through explicit, unexplainable and yet still humanizing imagery with little context. For a 1977 indie film by David Lynch (“Twin Peaks”, “Blue Velvet”), the depiction of a mutant newborn and the (seemingly) dreamlike state Jack Nance’s protagonist character navigates the world did more to upset me than any Chucky doll.

      “Night of the Living Dead” (1968): Editor’s note: George Romero’s cult classic (shot for $114,000) set the walking dead bar for all zombie cinema to come.

      “You’re Next” (2011): This horror-slasher flick is equally scary and surprising as it turns traditional movie tropes inside out. You might think you know what’s going on, but you have no idea until the very end! Great movie for people who love tense action sequences, jump scares, dark humor and copious gore.

      “Hocus Pocus” (1993): Whether or not you grew up watching this on the Disney Channel, it’s a classic. Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker and Kathy Najimy are a wonderfully witchy force to be reckoned with as the Sanderson Sisters. Midler’s wickedly sassy rendition of “I Put A Spell On You,” and Parker’s haunting “Come Little Children” have become part of the soundtrack to so many millennials’ Halloweens. It’s a perfect film for all ages. Editor’s note: Well said, but who are these millennials you speak of?

      “House on Haunted Hill” (1959): Editor’s note: When I was in middle school in 1971, this was an after-school movie in our darkened cafeteria. Vincent Price plays a Vincent Pricey-millionaire who invites five people to his haunted house and offers $10,000 to anyone who can stay the night. I vividly remember a jangling skeleton emerging from a vat of acid. I vividly remember because I dream about it still.

      Guest reviewers: Chase Cook, Selene San Felice, Dan Griffin, Phil Davis, Wendi Winters and Rob Hiaasen.

      American horror story

      October 30, 2013

      I’ve become that house.

      You know the house.

      The house on Halloween that doesn’t want to play along anymore. The house on your street owned by the older parents who don’t find Halloween nearly as amusing because their shuttered, dark hearts won’t allow for such amusement anymore.

      The house that turns off the lights on Halloween.

      Oh, such a cruel twist.

      There was a time that I, the Dark-Hearted One, raided Michaels for the latest in artsy skulls, crafty witches and jumpy skeletons. I played scary organ music from a hidden Boombox, propped up a life-sized coffin on my front stoop, and dressed as Dracula if you can imagine Dracula as the tallest, meekest suburbanite whose voice was a cross between Pee-wee Herman and Darth Vader.

      I gave out good candy—bars and bars of it. None of this two-items-per-kid nonsense. I let all those sticky fingers dive in and pillage. Sure, I ran out of candy in 20 minutes and had to run back out to the Rite Aid. Sure, I quickly invoked a one-item-per-kid rule resulting in scattered tears. I was still Mr. Halloween.

      “And what are you supposed to be?” I’d kindly ask all those young, adorable trick-or-treaters. Their answers were often precious and surprising.

      But the question began to haunt me as the years bled on.

      “And what are you supposed to be?” I’d kindly ask street-clothed, 17-year-old miscreants who looked like the guys I advised my daughters never to come within 50 feet of.

      They did mean things to my pumpkins.

      No more candy for them!

      Or anyone!

      For now I lurk in partial darkness, a prisoner in my home, clutching my stash of Milky Ways, mine I tell you, all mine. I close the shutters in the front so the little and big ones can’t see me hiding behind my HBO, my candy wrappers mounding on my belly, and my glass of red wine for re-enforcement.

      Younger parents have replaced me, and so be it. These parents, to my horror, who have their own ideas about Halloween.

      This year Halloween falls on a Thursday. No problem, right? It’s more of a treat to have Halloween on a school night. What’s the big deal about going out on Saturday night? One of the universal laws of the universe has been and should be Halloween is celebrated Oct. 31. But now there’s an effort to postpone trick-or-treating to Saturday.

      On my street, I was asked to support Saturday trick-or-treating. I could not. I did not. I believe my side lost.

      So come Saturday, tricksters might hear the sounds of spooky music or see broom-flying witches impaled face-first into trees or meet a neighborhood Dracula with an equally lame impersonation.

      It just won’t be at my house—unless I can find something awesome at Michaels. I hear Miley Cyrus costumes are hot this Halloween.

      Me twerking. That ought to really scare the kiddies.

      The Twelve Days of Christmas (Reconsidered)

      December 20, 2015

      On the first day of Christmas

      My true love sent to me:

      A Partridge in a Pear Tree.

      * * *

      On the second day of Christmas

      My true love sent to me:

      2 Turtle Doves

      And a sweet but flimsy explanation why I need a partridge or a pear tree.

      * * *

      On the third day of Christmas

      My true love sent to me:

      3 French Hens

      2 Turtle Doves—which I have no idea where to keep much less what to feed.

      And no need for a partridge or a pear tree (grapefruit tree, sure).

      * * *

      On the fourth day of Christmas

      My true love sent to me:

      4 Calling Birds

      3 French hens—is this like a solidarity thing with the French?

      2 Turtle Doves—which in no way look like or are as cool as turtles.

      And no need for having