I have friends who can handle just about any kind of horror movie, except for the ones involving demonic possession and the occult. Oddly enough, that’s the subgenre I’ve always found the most comforting.

Some of these movies, like this year’s Immaculate and The First Omen, may exploit religion for easy scares. But they can also confront and affirm matters of faith with a sincerity that Hollywood rarely attempts. That’s why The Exorcist is not just one of the great horror films, but also one of the great religious films. It gives the devil his due, but it puts the fear of God in you, too.

There’s nothing remotely comforting, however, about the occult activity going on in Longlegs, a tense and frightening new movie in which evil is everywhere and God seems entirely absent. Part of what makes the film so effective is that it doesn’t really depend on secrets or surprises. The writer and director Osgood Perkins summons an atmosphere of dread so intense, it’s practically spoiler-proof.

We meet the nightmarish villain known as Longlegs in the very first scene. He’s a small-town oddball played with a big fright wig and creepy prosthetic makeup by an almost comically terrifying Nicolas Cage.

The authorities are stumped by Longlegs, a satanic serial killer who never once lays a finger on his victims. His crimes all appear to be clear-cut murder-suicides, in which a husband and father kills his family before taking his own life. But at each crime scene Longlegs leaves behind a letter, written in a code reminiscent of the Zodiac Killer, that makes clear there will be more murders to come.

To help crack the case, the FBI taps an upstart agent — that’s Lee Harker, played by Maika Monroe — who has psychic abilities. The clairvoyant detective is a cliché, but Perkins treats it with a conviction that makes it feel almost fresh.

Monroe came to fame fleeing supernatural terrors in the movie It Follows, and she was quietly mesmerizing a few years ago as a woman being stalked in the Hitchcockian thriller Watcher. Here, even when she’s playing the hunter instead of the hunted, she seems terrified — even haunted — by what she uncovers.

Of all the movies that inspired Longlegs, the clearest influence is The Silence of the Lambs, with its serial-killer cat-and-mouse games; Harker is basically the Clarice Starling to Longlegs’ Hannibal Lecter. Reinforcing the connection between the two movies, Longlegs is set in the ’90s, which explains the lack of cell phones.

That’s not the only way in which Perkins’ movie seems to have emerged from an earlier era. You’ve seen bits and pieces of this story countless times before: the crime-scene photos, the indecipherable puzzles, the killer’s sadistic taunts, the detectives’ dogged persistence. Longlegs reminded me of many other mysteries in which killers take an insidious hands-off approach, from Agatha Christie’s 1975 novel Curtain to Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s brilliant 1997 thriller, Cure.

But if elements of the story can feel derivative, Perkins’ filmmaking rarely is. Using eerily precise compositions and dimly lit interiors, he finds a brooding menace in seemingly ordinary places. Even when he unleashes a jump scare or a sinister home-video-style flashback, his control of tone never wavers.

Perkins gets sharp performances, too, from actors like Alicia Witt, as Harker’s fanatically religious mother, and Kiernan Shipka, as the one known survivor of Longlegs’ crimes. As for Cage, he’s as memorable as you’d expect. The actor may be no stranger to going wildly over-the-top, but I can’t recall him ever having played a figure of such pure, unmitigated evil.

And it’s that sense of evil, with no hope of escape or redemption in sight, that gives Longlegs its unsettling power. Even so, some of that power does dissipate in the closing stretch, when it’s finally revealed, so to speak, what the hell is going on. The solution makes a certain sense, but it’s also a little deflating. And it’s a reminder that, sometimes, an explanation has a way of ruining things — a joke, a mystery and even a good scare.

Bob Newhart played psychologist Robert Hartley in the 1970s sitcom The Bob Newhart Show.

Gerald Smith/NBCUniversal via Getty Images

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Gerald Smith/NBCUniversal via Getty Images

Bob Newhart played psychologist Robert Hartley in the 1970s sitcom The Bob Newhart Show.

Gerald Smith/NBCUniversal via Getty Images

Comic Bob Newhart, best known for an everyman persona that powered two classic TV sitcoms, died Thursday morning of natural causes. He was 94. Newhart was the funniest guy in the room while playing unassuming characters who, in others’ hands, would have been setting up somebody else’s jokes.

Much of his success, according to Newhart himself, came from one mannerism: his stammer. It showed up in his first hit TV sitcom, The Bob Newhart Show in 1972, where he played a psychologist flummoxed by a long line of eccentric patients. And it continued all the way up into his guest appearances on CBS’ hit sitcom The Big Bang Theory starting in 2013, where he played a former kids TV show host bewildered by the fan worship of genius scientist Sheldon Cooper.

The stammer made Newhart sound like an everyman, even as he was slyly proving he was the most hilarious person onstage. In a 2014 PBS documentary, Newhart recalled a TV producer asking him to speak faster once during a scene. Newhart told him: “This stammer has gotten me a home in Beverly Hills, and I’m not about to change it.”

In 2005, the comic told NPR that the stammer served his style of comedy, which some have described as “minimalist.”

“I like to get laughter out of the least and I think one way you do it is by giving the audience some credit for some intelligence,” he said

George Robert Newhart was born in 1929 in Oak Park, Ill. Raised in the Chicago area, he got a degree in business management and served in the Army during the Korean War before landing a job as an accountant.

Bob Newhart won an Emmy for his performance on The Big Bang Theory. He’s shown above on set in August 2013.

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Bob Newhart won an Emmy for his performance on The Big Bang Theory. He’s shown above on set in August 2013.

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Bored with accounting, Newhart began making up comedy routines over the phone with a co-worker. Eventually, he quit accounting and got a DJ pal to help him get a record deal with Warner Brothers. But there was one problem, as he told NPR’s Talk of the Nation in 2006, Warner Brothers told him: “We’ll record it at your next nightclub,” Newhart recalled. “And I said, ‘Well, see, that’s going to be a problem because I’ve never played a nightclub.’ “

Newhart had two weeks to develop material for his first record, The Button Down Mind of Bob Newhart, released in 1960. It became the first comedy album to hit No. 1 on Billboard’s albums chart, launching his career.

“If you show fear, you’re dead meat,” Newhart told NPR in 2005. “So there was a lot of bravado in the first three or four, five years of my career. … I didn’t want people to catch on to me, you know, how I really didn’t know what I was doing.”

Another comedy album followed, along with appearances on TV shows and movies. But it wasn’t until 1972 that he landed the first of his two classic TV sitcoms, The Bob Newhart Show. He played Bob Hartley, a psychologist surrounded by eccentric, oddball patients.

As Newhart told WHYY’s Fresh Air in 1998, picking his character’s occupation was key. “We said well, you know, Bob is a listener; he’s like a reactor — he reacts to people. What occupation would lend itself to somebody who listens?”

The Bob Newhart Show ended in 1978 after six seasons, by Newhart’s choice. Four years later, he was in another sitcom — just called Newhart. This time, he was playing Vermont innkeeper and TV talk show host Dick Loudon.

That show ran eight seasons. Its famous final scene was suggested by Newhart’s real-life wife Virginia: It featured Newhart’s character waking up in his bed from The Bob Newhart Show, next to Suzanne Pleshette, who played his wife on the 1970s sitcom. There, he relayed to her his dream from the night before: “I was an innkeeper in this crazy little town in Vermont …”

Newhart had other TV series, but they didn’t last long.

He worked steadily as a standup comic and character actor, appearing on shows like ER and Desperate Housewives. In 2006, he released a memoir called I Shouldn’t Even Be Doing This. And that same year, he appeared on the Emmy awards in an inspired bit with Conan O’Brien: “Tonight I have placed beloved TV icon Bob Newhart in an airtight container,” O’Brien told the audience. “If the Emmys run one second over, Bob Newhart dies.”

It would be another seven years before Newhart won his first Emmy award, in 2013, for his guest appearance on The Big Bang Theory. The following year, NPR asked Newhart if there were any failures in his life or career that troubled him.

“No, I’ve lived in an incredible time,” he answered. “I’ve lived in the days of Johnny Carson, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin — incredibly rewarding times. … I could never look on my life as a failure — it’s far beyond anything I ever thought I would attain.”

Such humility was a fitting attitude for a performer who became a comedy legend by acting like the buttoned-down guy next door.

Last month, the California State Fair announced plans to allow cannabis to be sold and consumed on-site for the first time in its 170-year history. On Sunday, I hopped on a flight from L.A. to Sacramento, bypassed the stands of deep-fried foods and whooshing carnival rides and made a beeline for Expo 6 to watch the first symbolic smoke sesh firsthand.

Here’s how the first four hours and 20 minutes went down at the fair’s new weed lounge.

Noon

At the back of the California Cannabis Experience, a brightly colored sign beckoned in a font you might find on a vintage postcard: “This way to the Embarc Oasis, ‘High From California.’” Below it, a hastily printed paper sign taped to the double doors reads: “Sales and consumption start at 12:30 p.m.” Organizers explained that the original 11 a.m. opening had been delayed. The reason? Because of an unexpectedly cool morning, the flame retardant applied to the artificial turf in the consumption lounge tent hadn’t yet dried. (That’s right. Organizers were making sure the fake grass didn’t get burned alongside the real grass.)

Trisha Rogers, a fair worker stationed at the front door of the exhibition hall, told me that around 300 people had inquired about the consumption lounge’s opening since the exhibit’s 10 a.m. start. (According to a spokesperson, by the end of the first day, more than 1,000 fair goers visited the lounge.)

12:15 p.m.

Somehow, without anyone in the crowd appearing to notice, one sign came off the double doors and a new one went up. The lounge opening was being pushed back another half hour to 1 p.m. Some in the crowd of 30-plus decided to busy themselves by retracing their steps through the collection of educational, weed-related exhibits. Others bided their time by adding to the Department of Cannabis Control’s nearby display (a large sign that asked “How do you enjoy your weed?” and invited answers by way of sticky notes). A few grabbed CBD-infused slushies from the bar or familiarized themselves with the recently announced 2024 California State Fair Cannabis Award winners whose names and products filled another entire wall.

The dispensary run by Embarc, one of two on-site, offers a chance to purchase some of the 2024 award-winning weed honored at the fair.

1:15 p.m.

The doors finally swung open to the cheers of a 60-strong crowd. A sign nearby proclaimed what they already know: “You’re making history today. You’re at the first State Fair in the world where cannabis is being legally sold.”

The first stop in making that history was a visit to the on-site dispensaries (outside cannabis products are not allowed) just on the other side of those double doors. One is run by Embarc, which features some of the 2024 gold medal winners honored in the exhibition (they’re noted with gold stars on the menus), and another is run by the Equity Trade Network, which showcases legacy and social equity brands. (Bringing cash is a smart idea. There are also ATMs throughout the fair.)

The vibe in this indoor/outdoor space was energetic, almost electric as people pointed fingers at the wares inside the glass cases and budtenders scurried about bagging orders. THC-infused edibles and drinks purchased here can be consumed without going elsewhere, but no one seemed to be taking advantage of the few couches in the space.

Bobby Dennehy’s freshly rolled, about-to-be-smoked blunt is framed against a dispensary bag emblazoned with “High From California.”

Instead, once their purchases were complete, most people slowly made their way to an exit where they could do one of two things: either hang a right and ease back into the rest of the fair with its fried foods, zooming rides and agricultural displays — but where cannabis consumption is very much not allowed. Or they could enter a gate (clearly marked by cardboard cutouts of stoner movie characters Harold and Kumar), pass through an ID check and then take a short (about .11 miles) stroll along a path that leads under a towering set of bleachers, around the edge of a sports field, ending in a remote tented corner of the fairgrounds that can’t be seen by the general public.

1:20 p.m.

At opening, the mostly empty tent was giving awkward wedding reception vibes. The ground inside was covered completely with artificial turf, and there was a raised stage at one end and two groupings of wooden box-like structures at the other. (Are they seats? Tables? Did it matter?) The propaganda film-turned-cult classic “Reefer Madness” played on a screen at the back of the stage. A few high-top tables were hastily set up when it became apparent there weren’t many suitable places for folks to post up and roll a joint. (Attendees planning to consume on-site should be prepared to roll their own or buy a piece of paraphernalia or papers on-site. Fair rules prohibit bringing your own smoking gear.)

1:28 p.m.

Ray Ochoa, 28, of Sacramento, stepped into the tent, sparked a CGO Hash Hole (a type of concentrate-infused pre-rolled joint) and became the first person to legally get high at the California State Fair. When told he was the first to fire up, Ochoa let out an enthusiastic whoop. His friends Yogi “Rollz” Romello, 27, and LaMar Mixon, 31, also from Sacramento, followed suit, sparking their own joints and marking the moment.

“This is crazy,” Ochoa said about having a dedicated place to smoke weed at the fair. “It’s getting it to where we want it to be — equalized [and] not just treating it like a criminal thing. We want to be able to smoke with the homies wherever everybody else goes.” His post-partaking plan? “I’m going to go get a little lemonade,” he said. “Gotta mix the terps with the terps. Then I’m just going to go walk around and chill and spend time with the homies.”

The California Cannabis Experience, the gateway to the consumption lounge, includes a wall bearing the question “How do you enjoy your weed?” and invites attendees to answer via sticky note.

1:35 p.m.

On the other side of the tent, a trio of men in wide-brimmed sun hats leaned against a table and got down to business. Pete Telles, 55, of Roseville, Calif., came to the fair with his father, Noel Telles, 85, visiting from Buckeye, Ariz., and their friend from Sacramento, John Matijasic, 73. The latter leaned his cane against the table and focused intently on rolling a joint of Pure Beauty New Jack City (a 2024 indoor flower gold medal winner).

A few attempts later, Matijasic had a functional joint that he proudly lit up and passed to his friends. “I’m smoking dope at the California State Fair,” he said with a sense of bemusement. “After this, I’m going to just sit down and watch people.”

Noel Telles, 85, left, and John Matijasic, 73, are among the first folks to legally light up a joint at the California State Fair. “It doesn’t get any better than this!” Telles told The Times.

(Adam Tschorn / Los Angeles Times)

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“This is the exact reason why I’m here today,” Pete Telles said. “To have the ability to purchase and consume and be with like-minded people — and to be with my father, who is a legend to me. We’ve been coming to the fair every year since the mid-’80s.” The younger Telles described being able to consume cannabis legally in public with his father as the best feeling in the world. “It’s like heaven,” he said.

A few puffs later, Noel Telles looked out from under the wide brim of his Ace Hardware sun hat and offered his own assessment. “This is wonderful,” he said. “It doesn’t get any better than this!”

1:53 p.m.

The tent felt less cavernous. Part of that had to do with the 31 people here, most of them smoking up in couples, troikas or quartets, but it also had to do with a handful of folding chairs that materialized out of nowhere. “Reefer Madness” continued to play, but the dialogue was all but drowned out by the social smoking scene. I ducked out of the consumption lounge briefly to stroll the fair. Even though I was very much not high, I managed to eat a sausage the length of my forearm.

3 p.m.

When I returned, Ochoa was gone (presumably on his quest for lemonade), but his buddies Romello and Mixon were holding court near an industrial-sized fan that was circulating their smoke like dry ice vapor across a film set. They were joined by a bunch of friends wearing matching T-shirts emblazoned with the name Frosted Flavors, a Sacramento-based social equity brand specializing in indoor cannabis grown under LED lights.

Heidy Santamaria tries to get a joint rolled in time to spark up in the tent by 4:20 p.m.

(Andri Tambunan / For The Times)

Dustin Mahoney Villafuerte lights up a joint on the first day of legal on-site consumption at the California State Fair.

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LaMar Mixon is one of the first three people to light up legally at this year’s state fair along with buddies Ray Ochoa and Yogi Romello (not pictured).

4:15 p.m.

Heidy Santamaria, 26, and Stefania Gagnon, 21, both from Sacramento, sat on folding chairs in the middle of the room. Santamaria was attempting to roll a joint from a jar of Sync SF Strawberry Runtz flower in time for a 4:20 p.m. celebratory smoke. It was a task made more challenging by her exquisite nail art. “This is cool,” Santamaria said about the ability to buy — and consume — cannabis on-site. “I was telling her inside at the little bar[-like] dispensary that it feels like we’re living in the future a little bit. Because when we were growing up, we never thought we’d be able to do something like this.”

A group of cannathusiasts takes to the stage inside the consumption lounge tent at 4:20 p.m. to the sounds of Rick James’ “Mary Jane” and celebrates being able to get high legally at the California State Fair for the first time.

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4:20 p.m.

The smoking tent’s population grew to 53, the highest (literally and figuratively) of the day so far. Rick James’ song “Mary Jane” started playing as a handful of celebrants, including the Frosted Flavors guys, took to the stage with joints in hand.

“Welcome to 4:20 for the first time legally at the fair!” someone yelled into the microphone. “Light ’em up!” Everyone in the tent obliged, inhaling deeply and then exhaling one very large — and now very legal — communal cloud of smoke into the air.

Know before you go

There’s no guarantee you’ll have the same level of lounge experience that I did, but if you’re planning to visit the cannabis exhibit at the California State Fair (Cal Expo, 1600 Exposition Blvd., Sacramento), here are a few things you should know:

• Bring a government-issued photo ID card. (You must be 21 to enter.)
• Don’t consume cannabis products outside of the designated lounge.
• If you leave the dispensary or lounge with any opened cannabis product packages, they’ll need to be sealed inside a tamper-proof bag by security personnel upon exiting.

The cannabis exhibit is open from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Monday through Thursday and from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. on Friday, Saturday and Sunday through July 28. Also, the hours for on-site cannabis sales are 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. daily (except for July 19), and the consumption area is open from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily for the duration of the state fair (except for July 19).

Single-day tickets for the fair are $18 for adults and $14 for seniors 62 and older.

Oh, and one more thing: Once you’ve had your history-making smoke, skip the fried foods and carnival rides and instead go right next door to Expo 4. You’ll get to enjoy the visual feast that is the Animation Academy. You can thank me later.