John Carpenter: The Complete Filmography

Short reviews of every film directed by John Carpenter, from Dark Star to The Ward

The following reviews were originally posted on my Instagram page @filmfolkuk

Dark Star (1974)

John Carpenter's feature debut as writer-director is a blast: a wry, sci-fi comedy that portrays space travel as a mind-numbing blue-collar job. Beginning life as a 45-minute graduation short by Carpenter and co-writer Dan O'Bannon in 1970, the film was padded out to feature length in 1974 with additional footage; the best being a middle section that sees crew member Pinback (O'Bannon) plagued by his pet alien; O'Bannon would later expand on this segment with his screenplay for Alien in 1979. Initially, the budget was $6,000, expanding to a modest $60,000 during additional filming, and the film's wonkily impressive FX are an early indicator of Carpenter's skill at utilising a meagre budget. With Carpenter scoring and producing in addition to writing and directing, and O'Bannon taking on editing and special effects duties (including a great light speed sequence), this film is a definite collaborative venture, and there's a real camaraderie present that seems to inform the whole thing. Unlike other low-budget sci-fi fodder that get their laughs unintentionally (stand up 1978's impressively bad Starcrash), Dark Star's chilled out humour hits the mark every time. The script is clever, particularly during a scene where crew member Doolittle (Brian Narelle) uses pure logic to dissuade a bomb from exploding inside the ship, and the ending is surprisingly moving in a spaced-out "we're all one with the cosmos" kind of way.

Fun things to spot for Carpenter fans: members of the film crew who would become regular collaborators, including Nick Castle (who also played The Shape in Halloween (1978)), as a beachball-like alien, cinematographer Douglas Knapp, and art director Tommy Lee Wallace, who would repeat his role on Assault on Precinct 13 in 1976, before playing a ghost in The Fog (1980), and directing Halloween III: Season of the Witch (1982).

Assault on Precinct 13 (1976)

John Carpenter's second feature is a simple story (a police station in the process of moving premises is besieged by a street gang) told in a lean 91-minute running time, but what elevates it above other similar looking exploitation actioners of the 1970s is Carpenter's screenplay and direction. The first half is a masterclass in how to script a film. Every scene acts as a building block, steadily heightening the tension as each character is introduced in turn. It also has one of the most shocking early scenes in mainstream cinema, but its inclusion doesn't feel exploitative; it serves to add a layer of true terror, letting the audience know that anything could happen during the remainder of the film. Everything about this film is edgy, from Carpenter's stripped back score to the gang members' wordless and dead-eyed mission to murder everyone in the building.

Filmed in his favoured Panavision 2.35:1 aspect ratio, Carpenter and cinematographer Douglas Knapp's framing of the Los Angeles ghetto where the action takes place gives the impression of an unforgiving and desolate terrain, akin to a western. The dialogue is also the kind you'd expect to hear in a western, the best lines spoken mostly by the film's anti-hero Napoleon Wilson (an excellent Darwin Joston). What else is great about this film? Well, the first assault on the police station has some of the tightest editing you're likely to see, courtesy of Carpenter under the pseudonym John T. Chance (the name of John Wayne's character in Howard Hawks' Rio Bravo (1959)). It has some of the scariest moments outside of a horror film; the gang's relentless advance towards the station is reminiscent of the zombies in George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968), a film Carpenter cites as a major influence alongside Hawks' classic.

The brief comic moments are perfectly placed to relieve the tension (two arch criminals playing pat-a-cake to determine who makes a break for it is funny whichever way you look at it), and it has a black actor (Austin Stoker) in a lead role and a strong female character in Leigh (Laurie Zimmer), a casting decision Carpenter would repeat throughout his career. The last reason to watch Assault on Precinct 13 is Tony Burton as Wells, whose "save ass" line still cracks me up. He also cracks me up every time he punches Big Mean in Stir Crazy (1980) before trying to appease him with a joint of sensimilla, but that's for another post.

So, if you've not seen it, do so immediately, and if you have, watch it again. For my money, this is Carpenter's best film after The Thing (1982), and far superior to the pointless and forgettable 2005 remake.

Someone’s Watching Me! (1978)

Filmed prior to John Carpenter's breakthrough hit Halloween but released one month later, Someone's Watching Me! is a T.V. movie originally aired by NBC in November 1978. Written and directed by Carpenter, it's a Hitchcockian thriller starring Lauren Hutton as Leigh Michaels, a live television director who becomes the target of a stalker when she moves into an apartment block. Well above the quality you'd usually expect from a made-for-T.V. film, thanks largely to Carpenter's direction, but also due to Hutton's performance. The script calls for a few soliloquies while Leigh, a single woman, nestles into her new home; it's these early scenes that make you warm to her and highlight the self-confidence that slowly gets stripped away as her tormentor becomes steadily more threatening. This is how good a screenwriter Carpenter is; he takes his time before getting to the action without the film feeling like a slog.

Amazingly, Carpenter directed this during the same time he was developing Halloween, using certain stylistic touches such as P.O.V. shots and the roaming camera movement he'd put to greater effect later on. Support comes from future Mrs. Carpenter Adrienne Barbeau as Leigh's new buddy, and Carpenter regular Charles Cyphers (Assault on Precinct 13, Halloween, Elvis, The Fog) as a cop.

Fun thing to look out for: Carpenter giving a nod to his literary hero H.P. Lovecraft by naming the apartment block Arkham Tower after Lovecraft's fictional city in Massachusetts.

Highly recommended for Carpenter fans who want to see how he evolved as a filmmaker, and recommended for all those who simply enjoy a good thriller.

Halloween (1978)

Described by John Carpenter as the kind of crass entertainment he would have enjoyed as a kid, Halloween's sole purpose is to terrify its audience in the way a ghost train would. Though it wasn't the first slasher film (Psycho (1960), Bay of Blood (1971), and Black Christmas (1974) all got there first), it popularised the sub-genre more than any other, spawning its own franchise along with lesser imitators like the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street movies.

Like the gang members in Assault on Precinct 13, there's a vague supernatural air to psycho-killer Michael Myers' seeming indestructability. His disappearance at the end of the film is intended to leave you feeling like he might pop up from behind your sofa, not a cynical attempt at leaving the film open for a sequel the way others started to in the 1980s. Yet when it did happen, the sequel, Halloween II (dir. Rick Rosenthal, 1981), came with Carpenter's full blessing. With co-writer and producer Debra Hill, he continued the story at the exact point where the first film ended. Watched back-to-back, you can see how audience's tastes for more gore and inventive killings dictated how the second instalment played out. It's a fairly good film, but doesn't come close to matching the suspense of the original.

Simply put, Halloween reinvented horror cinema for better or worse. Its simple premise and casting of teenagers is still being copied today, but where most rely on gory one-upmanship, Carpenter went for atmosphere first and shocks second. The score, as if it needs repeating, is second only to Bernard Herrmann's work on Psycho in the horror stakes.

Elvis (1979)

Elvis is a made for T.V. movie which Carpenter shot back-to-back with Someone's Watching Me! and Halloween, and remains his only attempt at diverting from the science fiction and horror films he became known for.

Whether you're an admirer of Elvis or not, this is still worth watching for Carpenter fans, chiefly because it marks his first collaboration with Kurt Russell. Running at just under three hours but trimmed down for a theatrical release in Europe, it recounts Presley's life from his dirt-poor beginnings in Tupelo, Mississippi to the now legendary Vegas shows he performed in 1969.

Like all rock biopics it treads the usual rise-fall-resurrection path, and for someone like myself who usually avoids these kinds of films and is indifferent to Presley's contribution to music, it can get a bit repetitive. That said, Carpenter and writer Anthony Lawrence do well to highlight just how unique Presley was, particularly during his first audition for Sam Phillips when he states how he "doesn't sound like anybody else." In an age of interchangeable manufactured pop stars, it's an aspect of Presley's appeal I can get on board with.

The best thing about this film is Kurt Russell. I've always thought him to be a much undervalued actor, and here he's phenomenal. From the first scene to the last, he completely embodies Elvis, emulating his moves onstage, his off stage mannerisms and speaking voice to perfection. Country star Ronny McDowell also does a fine job of providing Elvis's singing voice.

Another plus: Carpenter and writer Anthony Lawrence choosing to end the film in 1969 rather than taking the story up to the point of Elvis's death in 1977, which in 1979 would have still been too raw for fans. The last shot made of up dissolves of Elvis through the years is a fitting, immortalising end for a bona fide legend.

The Fog (1980)

Panned by critics but loved by cinemagoers who flocked to go see it, The Fog was Carpenter's second box office hit after the record breaking success of Halloween in 1978.

The story by Carpenter and regular collaborator Debra Hill could have been taken straight from a collection of ghost stories by M.R. James; in a different life, it might even have made for a fine novella (I'd be interested to read Dennis Etchison's novelisation; apparently, it clarifies some details that are a bit muddy in the film). I'd also argue for its opening credit sequence as an equal to Once Upon a Time in the West for its use of sound and how it's utilised to build a deeply atmospheric beginning, helped no end by Dean Cundey's stunning widescreen cinematography.

In The Fog, things don't quite make sense at first, and though this might be a fault in the writing, it also adds to the fear of the unknown and the characters' confusion as to how to deal with their town falling prey to maleficent supernatural forces. Carpenter draws together a cast of memorable characters and enjoys watching them unravel as things get weirder, including Adrienne Barbeau's late night disc jockey, Charles Cyphers' horny weatherman, Janet Leigh's reporter, and Tom Atkins and Jamie Lee Curtis as the two lovers who become unwitting investigators.

As creepy as they come, the ghosts of the leper mariners led by Blake (played by The Thing's FX supremo Rob Bottin) are rarely fully revealed, and the scene where they board a trawler and murder everyone on board is one of Carpenter's scariest. Even so, he restrains himself from going all-out gory as, at its heart, this is an old-fashioned ghost story very well executed (the pre-credits campfire story sets the tone expertly).

For me, the major let-down with The Fog is the ending; it seems rushed somehow, and the discovery of a gold cross in the wall (a key moment in the story), is done away with in a few minutes of screen time. Other than that, I'm sold on this one every time. Carpenter's score is great, the short running time is perfect, and the performances are solid.

Fun things to watch out for: characters sharing the same names as Carpenter's friends and collaborators, such as Nick Castle (The Shape/Michael Myers in Halloween), Dan O'Bannon (co-creator of Dark Star), and Tommy Wallace (Carpenter's regular sound and set designer). Past masters of the horror genre are also paid homage to, including H.P. Lovecraft (a mention of Arkham Reef), Vincent Price (the Dr. Phibes character), and Arthur Machen (the storyteller Mr. Machen).

Escape from New York (1981)

Escape from New York stars Kurt Russell as Snake Plissken, a soldier turned mercenary who is ordered to rescue the president (Donald Pleasance) from a maximum security prison after Air Force One crash lands behind its walls. The prison happens to be Manhattan Island, a walled in cesspool and home to the country's most hardened criminals, and if Plissken doesn't succeed in his mission within 24 hours, an explosive charge injected into his arteries will finish him off.

So, a plot straight out of a comic book, set in a not too distant future, with a performance by Russell which he claimed was a mix of Bruce Lee, The Exterminator, Darth Vader and Clint Eastwood. For male audiences, this was the perfect blend, and since the film's critical and commercial success upon release, Escape from New York has continued to grow in popularity.

An adept at making the most from a small budget, Carpenter shot the film in East St. Louis, which had been ravaged by a fire in 1977, with additional scenes shot on Liberty Island and L.A. sound stages. The result is a film that looks like an A-list B-movie, an action film with brains that predates Paul Verhoven's sardonic sci-fi classics of the 80s and 90s. Carpenter's script, co-written by Nick Castle, was originally conceived in 1974 as a reaction to the Watergate scandal and the rising crime rate in New York City, pitting Plissken against the kind of scumbags you'd expect to see from Assault on Precinct 13, while he struggles to keep one step ahead of the untrustworthy authorities, much like Nada in They Live (1988).

A fine movie that keeps its tongue firmly in cheek, with the kind of supporting cast Tarantino would have grouped together if he was making films back in 1981: Lee Van Cleef, Ernest Borgnine, Isaac Hayes, Harry Dean Stanton, and Adrienne Barbeau.

The Thing (1982)

This, for me, is not only Carpenter's masterwork, but the greatest sci-fi-horror ever made. It beats Alien (1979) hands down, yet sadly, it was the film that kick-started a backlash against Carpenter and almost finished his career.

Looking back at some of the reviews, you can see why it failed when it was released in the summer of 1982. The general consensus was that it was designed to shock, with one-dimensional characters and an overriding nihilism pervading the entire film. Respected critics like Vincent Canby and Roger Ebert blasted the film (Canby especially), but I expect the opinions that hurt Carpenter and his team the most were those found in the scathing reviews from Cinefantastique and Starlog. Carpenter was even called a "pornographer of violence."

1982 was a big year for SF-horror movies: Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Poltergeist, Tron, and Blade Runner, the latter released the same day as The Thing, all jostled for box office receipts. But the biggest hit was E.T.: The Extraterrestrial, released two weeks prior to The Thing. Clearly, E.T. is a great film, and it's hard even now to find anything that can match its message of positivity. Understandably, cinemagoers lapped it up. After the negative vibes of American cinema throughout the 1970s, what they didn't want was another bleak film with a seriously downbeat and ambiguous ending.

However, thanks to video and the opportunity it gave to rewatch The Thing, the nuances in character, the build up of suspense, the subtle clues all began to reveal themselves. And they still keep coming. But if you were a reviewer assigned to watch The Thing once at the cinema after kicking your heels after E.T.'s rainbow flight back home, you might be a bit grossed out and depressed at the thought that not everything is what it appears to be.

Another film that suffered the same fate because it was released at the wrong time was Brian De Palma's Blow Out (1981). Since, both that and The Thing have been recognised as landmark films. Why? Because of repeat viewings, and because they are their respective directors best works. It's also worth noting that Blade Runner met with negative reviews and poor box office too, and that too improves with every viewing. Tron, Poltergeist, and Star Trek II, on the other hand, are shit, no matter how much your rose tinted glasses try to convince you otherwise.

For a plethora of fascinating content on The Thing, check out this page from Cinephilia & Beyond

Christine (1983)

Described by Carpenter as a directing job after The Thing's critical mauling, Christine still has enough moments to make it a worthy addition in Carpenter's filmography. Stephen King's book is a bloated mess, written during a point in his career when he could have written a 500 page shopping list high on coke and still had it published. The film, however, is one of the better adaptations of his work; a lean horror movie with a stand out performance by Keith Gordon as Arnie Cunningham, the boy who becomes obsessed and possessed by Christine, a demonic 1958 Plymouth Fury.

Both book and film touch on America's obsession with the automobile, and there's a definite auto-erotic vibe happening when Arnie tells Christine to "show me" before she begins rebuilding herself. One other thing I noticed this time around is how Arnie's jacket matches Christine's body work, down to its bright red colour and upturned collars resembling fins. At times the film also feels like an updated horror version of Rebel Without a Cause (maybe because of the red jacket again?), especially during the scenes set in the Cunningham family's household. Add to this a '50s pop soundtrack, and it becomes a pretty unique horror film.

The first hour is well paced, with the scenes in high school bringing to mind another King adaptation, 1976's Carrie, and the profane dialogue and constant threat of violence from Arnie's bullies make for a pretty edgy ride. Being a high school film, it could have been played for laughs, but that would have ruined it, and somehow the seriousness makes it more fun to watch. The second half ups the horror but isn't nearly as good as what came before it, but it's still a solid, entertaining picture perfect for a Saturday night. And it kicked off another run of Carpenter classics throughout the 1980s that saw him tackle romance and comedy alongside more quality sci-fi-horror.

Starman (1984)

Starman was released in 1984 and instantly praised by critics whose own sense of self-importance saw it as Carpenter's attempt at making amends for The Thing. Seen as a departure for Carpenter, Starman is anything but. It has the disdain for authority found in Escape from New York, Christine and They Live, and the genuine wonder for imaginative cinema that makes his films such a pleasure to watch.

A great script by Bruce A. Evans, who scored big again in 1986 with Stand by Me, takes the Voyager 2's golden record (a recording of greetings, images and music to welcome extraterrestrials to Earth) as its jumping off point. Starman Jeff Bridges answers the call and assumes the form of a recently deceased earth man mourned by widow Jenny Hayden (Karen Allen). With the authorities in pursuit, the two find themselves on a literal and spiritual journey as they head off to find the landing point that will take Starman home.

Carpenter is a master of the widescreen image, but he usually restricts his shots to domestic settings or relatively small outdoor spaces such as the neighbourhood in Halloween. Here though, he makes the most of the Nevada and Arizona landscapes, passing freight trains, and aerial shots of advancing helicopters.

This is an excellent film. Its comedic touches are grounded in the 'fish out of water' moments that always raise a smile, and it's sentimental without being cloying. The (re)developing relationship between Jenny and Starman is beautifully played by Bridges and Allen, and though Bridges was deservedly nominated for an Oscar, in my opinion Allen matches him note for note, exuding a sadness that makes the ending so incredibly moving. Great support from Charles Martin Smith too.

Fun fact: The impressive birth/transformation sequence was created by FX supremos Dick Smith, Stan Winston and Rick Baker.

Big Trouble in Little China (1985)

Essentially a prolonged action sequence crammed with out there ideas and quotable one-liners, what Big Trouble in Little China lacks in plot is made up for in really-not-giving-a-shit energy.

The plot, for what it's worth, sees trucker Jack Burton (Kurt Russell) play side-kick to his friend Wang Chi (Dennis Dun) when Wang's fiance is kidnapped by Lo Pan (James Hong), a centuries old sorcerer who needs to marry a girl with green eyes in order to break the curse that will return him to a material existence. Complete bollocks as far as story goes, but who cares? Not me, or everyone else I know who's seen this film at least once on T.V. or video.

I get the same level of joy out of watching Jack Burton bumble his way from one scene to the next as I do watching Bruce Campbell as Ash fail spectacularly at being a hero in Evil Dead II (1987) and Army of Darkness (1992). Like Ash, Burton thinks he's the leading man, but he's a supporting player who's in way over his head, constantly being referred to as an outsider while he wonders aloud what the hell is going on. He's so self-assured, he talks about himself in the third person and delivers killer lines like "Son of a bitch must pay" while Wang does all the hard work. You can't help but love someone who's so oblivious to how much of a chump he is, yet still manages to be cool.

The special effects still look great, the fight choreography has that over the top craziness that reminds me of Monkee, and the editing is unbelievably tight. In short, it's the most fun you can have in 100 minutes with your clothes on.

Sadly though, it barely scraped back half its budget at the box office, and studio interference led Carpenter to return to independent filmmaking for the remainder of the '80s. His next two films would see out the decade in style, completing a run of astonishingly versatile classics.

Prince of Darkness (1987)

The middle film in what Carpenter calls his 'Apocalypse Trilogy' — bookended by The Thing in 1982 and In the Mouth of Madness in 1994 — Prince of Darkness is the weak link of the three, but is still far more interesting than most horror films of the 1980s.

The concept and plot are first rate, involving a priest (Donald Pleasance), a quantum physics professor (Victor Wong) and a bunch of students (assorted ’80s faces including Dennis Dun) trying to make sense of a 2000-year-old manuscript with differential equations in Latin and a 7-million-year-old canister containing a green liquid that is the essence of pure evil. There are also a horde of homeless folk including Alice Cooper, who will not let them leave the church that acts as the base for their research. Meanwhile, a subconscious transmission warns of a future that spells doom, culminating in a very neat twist ending. Bonkers.

This was Carpenter's return to independent filmmaking after the constant studio meddling on Big Trouble in Little China, and in the commentary he says how much fun he had filming it. It shows; this is probably his purest horror film since The Fog, with a higher level of gore than usual, ideas and theories on the nature of evil bouncing around all over the place, and a distinct Lovecraftian element thrown into the mix. The score here is one of his best, a pulsating synth and drum beat that never lets up, and it drives the action along to its conclusion, which, considering the promise of an apocalyptic showdown is a mite disappointing.

What I do like about this film is how it pays homage to British SF and horror writers: Carpenter wrote the script under the pseudonym Martin Quatermass as a nod to Nigel Kneale's incredible The Quatermass Experiment; a minor character named Frank Wyndham is named after John Wyndham, author of The Midwich Cuckoos, which Carpenter would later remake as Village of the Damned in 1995.

So, weak link in a loose trilogy it may be, but it's still a lot of fun, and another 100 minutes well spent while I continue to enjoy my Johnathon, as I've just this second decided to name it.

They Live (1988)

After Prince of Darkness, They Live was the second Carpenter film to be produced by Alive Films and written under a pseudonym (this time as Frank Armitage, a noble gesture on Carpenter's part to disassociate himself somewhat from the story as the script was adapted from two sources: Ray Nelson's 1963 short story 'Eight O'clock in the Morning' and its 1986 comic book variation). As with Prince of Darkness, Carpenter had the full creative control available under an independent production company, evident in the six-minute fist fight between Nada (Roddy Piper) and Frank (Keith David), a bravura piece of acting and directing that a big name studio would certainly have demanded editing.

It's touches like these that place They Live firmly in Carpenter's top five films. It's also his most explicit message movie; Escape from New York and Starman also cast a critical eye over society, but not on this scale. The enduring appeal of this film is that it's becoming ever more relevant, with the widening gap between the 'haves' and 'have nots' showing no signs of narrowing, the public becoming more divisive over governmental decision making, and all the while media exposure continuing to reach saturation point.

Placing emphasis on the word human and alien, Carpenter highlights the comradeship between the humans and the cold detachment between the aliens, giving an impression of humanity fighting against the odds. Then, because he's a master genre filmmaker, he prevents his film from getting too bogged down in symbolism, and lets fly with pump action one-liners and violence. There's a definite edge to the violence here too that dwells on the after effects of an innocent human being shot down by police, while the camera clearly relishes seeing the alien elite getting blown away.

What I love most about this film is how it carries on a tradition of social commentary in science fiction cinema, harking back to 1950s classics like The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) and Invasion of the Bodysnatchers (1956), whilst bringing it up to date for an ’80s action makeover. Top tier Carpenter.

Check out Comfort Films Podcast on They Live for more insight. To read ‘Eight O’Clock in the Morning’ by Ray Nelson, click here

Memoirs of an Invisible Man (1992)

After a four year break (the longest in Carpenter's career up until that point), he returned with a vehicle for Chevy Chase, who was trying to move away from comedy into more serious roles. Directing from an old script by the legendary William Goldman with additions later written by Carpenter and two other writers, this feels like a complete misfire. Like Christine, it was a job, but unlike that film it lacks the flare and the trademark score that could have given it the Carpenter stamp.

Part of the problem is that Chevy Chase can't play serious convincingly enough for it to hit the right tone, so it's kind of funny in parts, kind of tragic, and kind of a mess. Also, his natural screen presence and bankability called for him to be literally visible to the audience when everyone in the film can't see him, so scenes play out without ever allowing you to get fully on board with what's supposed to be happening. Due to Chase's vanity, Carpenter reputedly said he was a nightmare to work with, and a key factor with Carpenter's films is that the actors he directs clearly enjoy working alongside him, hence why he's built up a stock of dependable talent over the years.

Plus points are the visual effects by Industrial Light and Magic, and a solid supporting role by Sam Neill, who would go on to give one of his best performances in Carpenter's In the Mouth of Madness two years later.

So, a strangely tired looking film that lacks energy, though there is a very funny stand out scene with a semi-conscious drunk being puppeteered by an invisible Chase. Other than that, consider skipping it. It's not awful, just kind of boring.

Body Bags (1993)

A TV movie collecting together three horror shorts, the first two, 'The Gas Station' and 'Hair', directed by Carpenter, with the last, 'Eye', directed by Tobe Hooper. These were the only three stories filmed for a proposed TV series produced by the Showtime Network before they scrapped the idea. Carpenter himself served as executive producer as well as linking the stories with gag-filled segments as The Coroner, a Crypt Keeper-like ghoul. Throughout, he looks like he's having a ball.

A cheesy good-bad effort that's worth watching with a beer or two and a pizza while you play spot the famous faces. The cast includes horror legends Sam Raimi, Wes Craven and Roger Corman, along with David Naughton, Debbie Harry, David Warner, Mark Hamill, Twiggy, Sheena Easton and, my personal favourite, the criminally undervalued Stacy Keach.

Of the three films, 'Eye' is the best; a grisly cross between The Hands of Orlac (1924) and The Eyes of Laura Mars (1978), the latter written by Carpenter, no less. 'Hair' goes for laughs and succeeds, but has a pretty shoddy twist ending (the effects are crap too, but they do add to the enjoyment), and 'The Gas Station' is a run of the mill slasher flick.

After Memoirs of an Invisible Man in 1992, this wasn't the best start to the '90s for Carpenter, particularly as these films followed on the heels of his impressive '80s pictures. But thankfully his next film, In the Mouth of Madness, would be a Lovecraftian return to form.

In the Mouth of Madness (1994)

Carpenter reunited with Sam Neill after the two had worked together on Memoirs of an Invisible Man two years earlier, Neill being the only reason to watch Chevy Chase's vanity project. Here, Neill takes the lead, playing John Trent, a smarmy insurance fraud investigator whose work leads to him tracking down Sutter Cane, a billion-selling horror writer who has gone missing.

Holding the unique position of being the greatest adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft's fiction without adapting his work directly, In the Mouth of Madness is manna for horror fans. There are so many references to Lovecraft, it takes a few viewings to pick up on them all and, like Carpenter's best films, it improves every time I watch it.

First off, the title is a nod to two of Lovecraft's greatest stories: 'In the Mountains of Madness' and 'The Shadow Over Innsmouth.' Second, Sutter Cane's books have the power to drive their readers mad, as does the mythical Necronomicon. And for those who don't read Sutter's books, there's always the movie, as Trent points out to psychiatrist David Warner.

With its mentions of Stephen King's huge popularity and its opening credit sequence set over shots of a printing press churning out untold copies of Cane's latest book, Michael De Luca's intelligent script comments succinctly on the horror phenomenon, and how über fans can believe in what they're reading to such an extent that fiction can become a kind of pseudo reality. Cue the next stage of the story as it successfully tips over into meta horror, offering even more Easter eggs for horror fans and a remarkable ending that was copied outright for the excellent Berberian Sound Studio in 2012.

Interestingly, Wes Craven's New Nightmare, released just four months prior to Carpenter's film tackled similar themes, and back to back they'd make for a great double feature.

Fantastic in every sense of the weird, this is one of Carpenter's best, helped no end by the stunning visuals and cinematography by his regular lensman Gary B. Kibbe.

Village of the Damned (1995)

A film Carpenter made as a contractual obligation to Universal, his remake of Village of the Damned has been cited as his worst film by critics and fans alike. It's not quite the celluloid turd the reviews led me to believe, but it is definitely lazy.

During the rare moments when the script deviates from the superior 1960 original (not including deaths, that's a given with horror remakes), there's a hint that this could have been better, but the ideas are never fully realised; David, the merciless leader in the original, is shown here as someone or something willing to adopt the humans' feelings of empathy, while a climactic bloodbath that sees the children turning the police and army against each other is a welcome bit of action. Other than that, it's just a fairly straightforward rehash with a T.V. movie sheen and cheesy FX.

Initially, Carpenter lobbied Universal for a remake of The Creature from the Black Lagoon, but the studio squashed the idea in favour of a second adaptation of John Wyndham's The Midwich Cuckoos. It would have been far more interesting to see what he would have done with another remake of a '50s sci-fi classic thirteen years after The Thing rather than a project he apparently had little interest in.

Plus points: Christopher Reeve reminding me that he could act, and a stellar performance from nine-year-old Lindsey Haun as Mara, the leader of the children, who conveys a cold indifference and alien intelligence wonderfully.

So, watch if you're after a bit of semi-crap sci-fi, or better still, either choose the original version or read Wyndham's novel, both of which are excellent and have that "there's nothing that can't be solved over a nice cup of tea" British vibe to them.

Escape from L.A. (1996)

Carpenter's sequel to Escape from New York is a super-camp, over the top poke at superficiality and religion that is hyper aware of its makers own outdated place in ’90s cinema. A passion project for Kurt Russell, who co-produced and wrote the film with Carpenter and Debra Hill, his Snake Plissken here is something of an embarrassment compared to muscle pumped action stars like Schwarzenegger and Stallone, who claimed the action hero throne during his fifteen year absence. While other characters in the film comment on his retro look and height, Snake once again plays pawn to the government, this time rescuing the president's daughter, Utopia, from L.A., a cesspool of corruption that has been literally cut off from the rest of America. However, the president's real aim is to retrieve a satellite system with the capabilities to render technology useless which has fallen into the hands of Utopia's lover, the revolutionary Cuervo Jones.

Along the way, Snake meets a cast of characters who serve as examples of the religious right's low tolerance for the Muslims, trans, and alternative lifestyle drop-outs that colour its country. The more superficial, socially accepted ways of life, such as the addiction to plastic surgery and Disneyfied theme park rides are given a sound kicking by Carpenter, an unsung commentator on the corroding effects of authority on society.

A film that goes beyond not taking itself seriously, Escape from L.A. parodies itself and the action genre it helped create, seemingly attempting to one up itself through a string of bizarre set pieces; the best (or worst, depending on how you choose to look at it) being a surfing sequence whose cheesiness has to be seen to be believed.

Not a great film then, and barely even a good one, but not a total loss either, it nevertheless went some way to cementing the opinion that Carpenter's standing as a director was waning dramatically in the eyes of critics and audiences. It's still way better than dozens of other ’90s actioners though, which isn't really that much of a compliment considering the efforts if Segal, Van Damme and the other turkeys whose films aren't fit to polish Snake's eye patch.

Vampires (1998)

Carpenter finally got the chance to direct a Western in the guise of this hugely underrated blood-sucker flick. Starring the always intense and watchable James Woods as Jack Crow, a vampire slayer working for the Vatican, Vampires has a similar feel to the Carpenter influenced From Dusk til Dawn, released in 1996. It also reminded me of how a horror film might have looked if the late great Sam Peckinpah had ever directed one; Crow's band of slayers are reminiscent of Pike's gang in The Wild Bunch (1969), and the New Mexico setting brought to mind Benny's journey into Mexico's heart of darkness in Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974), even down to Crow filling a gunny sack with decapitated heads.

Receiving generally negative reviews on its release, most of the criticism was levelled at the overtly misogynistic tone and the fact that everybody in the film is unlikeable, with nobody left to root for. But first, you have to look at why everybody is unlikeable: if you were hired by a corrupt organisation who exploited the death of your parents to do their dirty work for them, you might be lacking the sunny disposition that would adhere people towards you. Also, if you needed a group who don't think twice about shooting, stabbing or decapitating the undead, your first choice would be a bunch of unlikeable cut-throat psychopaths who turn to booze to ease the horrors they've taken part in.

And the accusations of misogynism: Crow treats women like shit because he's struggling to stay in the closet. If you doubt my little theory, count how many times he mentions erections, then tell me I'm wrong after he shouts, "Come on, Padre! My nuts are on fire!"

A far better picture than the reviews suggest, the carnage is driven on by Carpenter's filthy score, and undercut with a solid gold (though somewhat homophobic - see?) speech by Crow in which he does away with the Anne Rice portrayal of vampires as decadent European dandies.

A strong argument against his own claims that he was feelings burnt out by this stage, this is a great Carpenter horror film. The massacre in the motel, made up of a series of dissolves, is one of his finest accomplishments.

Ghosts of Mars (2001)

A film so comic book there should have been speech bubbles materialising whenever an actor spoke their dialogue, Ghosts of Mars was Carpenter's penultimate film as director before he semi-retired for nine years.

When I first saw this at the cinema, it took me all my strength not to walk out half-way through. And now, I'm going to throw it out there and say it's actually an okay action flick. Who'd a thunk it?

There are elements of two of Carpenter's greatest films here: the blossoming relationship between cop Melanie Ballard and convict "Desolation" Williams has the same genuine flare as Napoleon Wilson and Leigh in Assault on Precinct 13, and the titular ghost harks back to the alien/host flavour of The Thing. The fight choreography is, for the most part, pretty impressive, and Carpenter's frenetic guitar-heavy score is insane. Meanwhile, laughs are to be had at Jason Statham utilising the Bruce Willis school of acting that consists of two expressions. On the other hand, Natasha Henstridge as Ballard and Ice Cube as Williams are both great.

Bad points: Pam Grier being relegated to a bit part that ties in with an uncomfortable preoccupation with lesbian bashing, and it has a seriously strained third act, and no amount of action can disguise the fact that the script is clearly struggling to help the film limp past its 98 minute running time. And to cap it off, Cube breaks down the fourth wall in the last second.

So, good(ish) shit (just about).

Cigarette Burns/Pro-Life (2005/2006)

During Carpenter's nine year break from directing features, he made two short films for Mick Garris's TV series Masters of Horror. The first, Cigarette Burns (the title refers to the circular spots that appear on the top right hand corner of a film to indicate a reel change), is by far the better of the two, and Carpenter's darkest work by a country mile. It also works as a companion piece to In the Mouth of Madness (1994) as well as being a loose, unauthorised adaptation of Flicker, Theodore Roszak's bloated but disturbing 1991 novel, which has a similar plot.

Here, Udo Kier plays a curator of obscure and extreme films who hires an exhibitor to track down a lost film that has the power to drive people who see it to become violent and depraved. Anyone who's watched any of the 26 episodes of Masters of Horror will already be aware of how it pushed the boundaries of horror for T.V., and Carpenter doesn't shy away from showing some very strong violence, a shift in his directing style that he repeated for Pro-Life.

A story that comments on the profiteering of abortion clinics, the right to choose, and the duality found in pro-life groups, it's another rough ride, almost matching Cigarette Burns for its brutality. Despite the gore, both films feature smart scripts by Rebecca Swan and neat direction by Carpenter, who would once again fold away his director's chair after these until his comeback film in 2010.

The Ward (2010)

The film that saw Carpenter come out of retirement couldn't have been less worthy of his talent. The Ward starts out well, but the typically formulaic and derivative script by the Rasmussen brothers doesn't offer anything that can't be found in countless other horror films, and scenes become very repetitive very quickly.

The main problem is that it resembles too many other, far superior films. There are the tracking shots along corridors that have a vague echo of The Shining (1980), and due to its 1960s mental institute setting, it also bears traces of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1976), especially in the Nurse Ratched-like Nurse Lundt. These might sound like lazy comparisons but then this is a lazy film, right down to a twist ending that bare-facedly rips off Shutter Island (2010).

Now seen as Carpenter's swan song, it's best forgotten (it's pretty forgettable anyway), and despite its many flaws, his film prior to this, Ghosts of Mars, would have been a far more suitable closer to his career; it at least had the feel of a John Carpenter film, with a clear disregard for the inevitable mauling by critics, a killer energetic score, and its tongue firmly in cheek.

It's not that The Ward is particularly bad, it's just another horror film you might have rented from your local video shop, watched, forgotten, and buried along with other generic shockers. Well acted for sure, especially Amber Heard and Mamie Gummer, and it does have the professionalism of a veteran director, but professionalism can sometimes result in going through the paces, whereas Carpenter's appeal for me has always been that he's trying to push the other way. This side of the man in his later work was going full guns in the two short films he made for Masters of Horror. Check them out and watch this only if you're a completist.

A disappointing ending to John Carpenter’s career (so far), but it's been a hell of a ride getting there.