Like, how wet are we talking here?

I had originally planned to do a full review of 1964's Seance on a Wet Afternoon.  Alas, I've been getting a lot of headaches lately.  Maybe tension headaches, but I'm beginning to wonder if I have migraines.  Or if my neck is simply kaput.  Either way, I haven't been in a typing mood, but I wanted to say something about Seance because it's a really, really good movie.  It doesn't qualify as a true creepshow, but it does float over the same sylvan sod as the all-steamrolling horror genre.  Nowadays, it would be a "psychological thriller."  And it is, so I wouldn't have much room to complain.

Kim Stanley is gobsmackingly astounding as Myra, a "psychic" who plots the kidnapping of a little girl and angles to use her "gift" in the media to "find" the missing child.  "Quotation marks."  Richard Attenborough is utterly convincing as the husband who reluctantly plays along, but is Myra really the one in control?  If you're cool with talky expositions that stay the course, you'll bask in Seance's atmospheric glory.  I recommend.  Would moisten.  I'm off to watch a bunch of wrestling...hmm, perhaps a spin of Seance's Saltrubbed Eyes is in order.

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