The Village of the Damned

In the ‘50s and ‘60s John Wyndham made a living writing books that were usually apocalyptic, but apocalyptic in surprising ways. No nuclear war for him. He wrote things like The Day of the Triffids, a very unusual alien invasion. I read all his books, and loved them. Triffids was made into a decent movie, but this one, based on his book The Midwich Cuckoos, was made into a horror masterpiece.
Here is an even more unusual invasion. One day in the little town of Midwich, every single person and animal ups and passes out. This lasts about four hours. Luckily, no one is hurt other than scrapes and bruises, and no fire starts, even though an iron burns right through a dress on the ironing board. The military becomes aware of it and sends in troops, including an airplane which they foolishly direct right over the town, killing the pilot. Then everyone awakes, and they remember nothing of the episode.
A few months later it becomes clear that a dozen women are pregnant, including several virgins. (Which is why MGM passed on the project. They thought it was too “disturbing.”) Seven months later twelve large children are born, all blondes, all with eyes that are somehow disturbing. (This is such a great detail. The cuckoo is a bird that lays its eggs in other birds’ nests, and the chick is big enough to throw out the other birds and is raised by the mama bird, who probably thinks “Where did this big galoot come from?”)
The kids grow rapidly. At the age of three they look like they are twelve or so, and are super-geniuses with a hive mind. What one knows, the others know. Even worse, they can read our minds, and force us to do stuff we probably wouldn’t want to do, such as drive a car into a brick wall, blow your own head off with a shotgun, or set fire to yourself. You do not want to fuck with these kids.
I won’t say more about the story, but only about the way they did it. In this era, the Brits were miles ahead of us in spooky stories. This one was made on a shoestring, with only one special effect, and it’s one that has haunted people for years. When the children are taking over your mind, their eyes glow. That’s it. They never smile, they are emotionless, and they are all blonde and dress alike. They are so goddam creepy they give you the shivers. This is how to scare someone, with simplicity and art, rather than gore.
Naturally there was eventually an American remake, and naturally it stunk up the theaters. John Carpenter can be good at some things, but subtlety is not one of them. You guessed it. In the original the man blows his head off with a shotgun like this: He looks stunned, he moves the barrel of the gun under his chin, cut to his finger on the trigger, cut to three people watching, sound of a shotgun blast, the people react. Not a drop of blood to be seen. Carpenter? Well, you just have to show the head being blown off, don’t you? Americans make ghoul movies for ghouls who enjoy that sort of stuff. It doesn’t scare me, it makes me frown in disgust. In the remake, someone passes out while barbecuing, and roasts himself. Carpenter, of course, invented that, and lingered on it.
Full disclosure: I didn’t see the remake, and I don’t intend to. Sometimes reading a description is enough. No one liked the remake, and just about everyone liked the original. Which is the way it is 95% of the time, right?