Lady In White

There aren't very many horror movies that frighten me any more, but Lady in White is one of them.  Functioning simultaneously like a feature-length Halloween episode of The Wonder Years (which  coincidentally also debuted the same year) and a ghost-story antidote to the waning slasher movie genre,  Frank LaLoggia's 1988 film scared the living hell out of yours truly with its singular combination of  hometown horrors and operatic tragedy.  

That the film remains a largely unheralded masterpiece some 17 years after its theatrical run ranks as one of the great genre-movie disappointments; but with the release of a brand-new remastered DVD featuring deleted scenes and a host of bonus materials, perhaps Lady in White will finally enjoy the acclaim that it has long deserved.  

Lukas Haas, who was to the '80s what Haley Joel Osment was to the '90s, plays Frankie Scarlatti, a horror enthusiast who sees the ghostly murder of a little when his classmates lock him in a coat closet on Halloween night. After surviving an attack by the killer who returns to the scene to retrieve evidence that links him to a string of deaths, Frankie dedicates his waking hours to solving the mystery and laying the girl's spirit to rest.  

Spurred on by a series of ever more disturbing confrontations with the little girl, he is drawn to the house of the Lady in White, who holds disturbing secrets about the killer's identity; but unless he can decipher the meaning of these encounters, the increasingly volatile townspeople - who pinned the murders on a colored janitor - may 'solve' the case themselves, thus convicting an innocent man of a heinous crime and destroying 
the town's innocence forever.  

Despite the film's front-loaded nostalgia for small-town life (the extended opening sequence follows Frankie and his brother as they make mischief on Main Street, and you can practically smell the apple pie), the film's evocation of scares works with almost unerring precision. Despite an occasional flourish of late-'80s synth scoring, director LaLoggia expertly employs his camera not in the service of straight horror (that is, for pure shock value), but for lasting suspense; that is, shots of ghostly tomfoolery quickly devolve into terrifying 
denouements which catapult the viewer directly into the mental and emotional turmoil that the characters feel when confronted with the same situations.  

The supporting cast members, anchored ironically by the gravitas of Haas' featherweight convictions, all perform admirably: Alex Rocco, onetime Fredo face-slapper-turned-fretting father, lends depth and sincerity to the widower's paternal concerns; Len Cariou offers sage wisdom just the right kind of creepy edge as a family friend; and Katherine Helmond, late of Who's the Boss (not to mention Brazil), never looked scarier than here, frazzled and frayed as a decrepit old woman hanging onto the last shreds of her sanity. 

There are more than a few moments in the film that remain with me as sharply now as they did seventeen years ago - the reflection of the Lady in White in Haas' eyes, the sluggish inevitability of the little girl's ghost floating towards certain death, and the anamorphic close-up of Katherine Helmond's craggy, helpful face turned to fear as she endures attack from behind, to name but three - but what lasts far longer than the film's indelible imagery is its intelligence, sensitivity, and humanity.  

Few other horror movies would dare delve into small-town politics as a sideline, and underscore, to the fear and paranoia that exists between the paranormal world and our own; where most adversaries wield axes and face off in fierce contests of strength and will, these characters struggle to confront the imploding sanctity of small-town life, and their desperation to protect it ultimately heralds its demise.  

But all of those multiple meanings and subtle layers only appear on subsequent viewings, after the scares have sunk in and your fear has begun to founder. So until then, I suggest that you rent, borrow or buy this movie, schedule a night to watch it, and then buy a powerful nightlight; because without something to alert you that there's nothing in the room save your cat cuddled next to you, Lady in White promises to scare you now just as much as it did me when I first watched it so many years ago.