There’s a certain charm in a movie that asks you to take a giant man-eating spider in a Donna Mills wig very, very seriously. Curse of the Black Widow is that kind of charm. It’s the kind of late-’70s television event where the network kept assuring itself in smoky boardrooms that if you pack enough star names into the credits—Tony Franciosa, Patty Duke, Vic Morrow, June Allyson—viewers won’t notice that the monster looks like a Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon dipped in tar.
What you get instead is a humid, polyester-scented slice of ABC horror cheese, directed by Dan Curtis, a man who could spin gothic dreck into ratings gold. This time the plot revolves around a Los Angeles crawling with suspicious deaths—handsome men drained of fluids, puncture wounds in their chests, the coroner muttering something about spider venom. We’ve seen this plot before, only last time it involved Jack the Ripper. Here, it’s Black Widow Barbie on the loose.
Arachnophobia with a Soap Opera Makeover
The story begins with private detective Mark Higbie (Tony Franciosa), a man with enough sideburn acreage to grow a small farm, who stumbles into a murder case when a mysterious woman lures his buddy outside and turns him into an hors d’oeuvre. Pretty soon he’s entangled in a web (sorry, but the pun writes itself) of suspects, including twin sisters Leigh and Laura Lockwood. One is Donna Mills in feathered hair perfection, the other is Patty Duke looking like she just bit into a lemon and realized it was her career.
The film’s great twist—spoiler alert for anyone still clutching their vintage TV Guide—is that Laura, the meeker twin, has a second personality named Valerie, who seduces men, turns into a six-foot spider, and drains them like Capri Suns. Multiple personality disorder, giant arachnid transformations, sibling rivalry—this is Dark Shadows by way of National Geographic.
The Dan Curtis Signature
Dan Curtis films are like cocktails in a dive bar—you’re not sure what’s in them, but they’ll get you there. The production values are pure television: suspiciously empty Los Angeles streets, matte paintings that look like they were stolen from Land of the Lost, and spider attack scenes so dark you could be watching a raccoon in a garbage can. Curtis keeps it moving with his usual straight-faced commitment, which makes the absurdity even better.
Vic Morrow is here as the cop who knows more than he lets on, radiating that “I can’t believe my agent booked me for this” energy. June Allyson pops in as a former nanny who seems to be one coffee cup away from a full breakdown. And then there’s Sid Caesar, who looks like he wandered in from another show entirely and just decided to stay.
The Monster in the Room (and in the Barn)
Let’s be honest: the spider is the star. When the transformation sequences finally happen, it’s a glorious moment of ‘70s TV effects wizardry—cross-fades, rubber limbs, and just enough lighting to hide the seams. The spider itself is a massive, hairy puppet that moves with all the menace of a tired theme park animatronic. And yet, when it’s set on fire in the climax (because that’s the only way to kill a cursed giant spider, naturally), there’s a weird satisfaction in watching it thrash in glorious slow death.
The Dialogue—Chewy as Taffy
Half the fun of Curse of the Black Widow is the dialogue, delivered with the kind of conviction usually reserved for courtroom confessions. When Patty Duke’s alter-ego Valerie hisses insults about stolen boyfriends and family shame, you can almost see the cue cards reflected in her eyes. Franciosa delivers hard-boiled lines like he’s auditioning for a late-night commercial about used car sales. And the exposition scenes—where Native American legends are explained in hushed tones—land somewhere between anthropology and Mad Libs.
The Real Hook
Here’s the thing: it’s fun. It’s deliriously, unapologetically ridiculous. It’s a movie that has no business being taken seriously, but because everyone plays it straight, it achieves this kitschy magic. The plot is pure Gothic pulp, the acting veers between soap opera and camp theater, and the whole enterprise feels like a fever dream you’d have after falling asleep during Columbo.
And Donna Mills—good heavens. She could be reading an instruction manual on toaster ovens and still make it sound like a seduction. Even covered in fake webbing, she radiates that prime-time gloss. Patty Duke throws herself into the dual role with the gusto of someone who knows there’s no sequel.
The Stinger in the Tail
Just when you think it’s all wrapped up (sorry, another spider pun), the final scene drops the classic horror TV twist. A little girl frolicking on the beach reveals the cursed red hourglass birthmark. Cue dramatic music, freeze frame, and every viewer in 1977 yelling, “Oh, come on!” at their Zenith console.
It’s cheap. It’s manipulative. It’s exactly the kind of ending this kind of movie needs.
Final Verdict
Curse of the Black Widow is the sort of vintage TV horror that pairs well with shag carpeting, a bowl of popcorn, and the knowledge that you don’t have to take any of it seriously. It’s all here: B-list stars, creaky effects, melodrama thick enough to spread on toast. If you like your horror with a dash of polyester camp and the subtlety of a rubber spider to the face, this is your kind of night in.
In other words, it’s a love trap worth falling into—just don’t ask me to take it seriously when Donna Mills starts talking about arachnid curses while standing under a suspiciously wobbly studio light.
