10/25/14 (Part One): Where’s Howie When You Need Him?

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31 Days of Halloween, brothers, Bryan Rasmussen, childhood fears, childhood trauma, cinema, creature feature, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark, Eric Stolze, father-son relationships, film reviews, films, Gattlin Griffith, Jonny Weston, Kelcie Stranahan, kids in peril, Little Monsters, monster movies, monsters under the bed, Movies, Musetta Vander, nightmares, Peter Holden, Sam Kindseth, Silent Night, Steven C. Miller, The Gate, Tyler Steelman, Under the Bed

If there’s one fear that’s pretty universal among kids, I’d be more than willing to wager that it’s the old “monster under the bed.” For generations of youngsters, bedtime consists of a series of arcane processes – not touching the floor, staying under the covers, keeping the light on – solely designed to prevent one from becoming a late-night snack. As children grow older and get their first experiences with the “real” world, however, the omnipresent threat of monsters under the bed diminishes, replaced by the all-too real knowledge that plenty of flesh-and-blood monsters are around to worry about without stressing over the imaginary ones. For a time, however, monsters under the bed are as real as it gets for kids (just watch the mortifying Little Monsters (1989) for evidence of that) and, undoubtedly, perfect fodder for a horror film.

This, of course, leads us to director Steven C. Miller’s Under the Bed (2012), the follow-up to his excellent remake of the Santa-themed slasher Silent Night (2012). Working from a script by Eric Stolze (who also wrote the upcoming werewolf flick Late Phases (2014)), Miller turns in a glossy, rather bombastic, effort that has a similar visual style to films like Insidious (2010) and The Conjuring (2013), yet ends up being a much more violent, graphic affair. If anything, Under the Bed’s rather formidable violence is one of the film’s big issues, as it sets up a decidedly schizophrenic tone: at times, the film feels like it’s pitched at young adults, yet features a scene where someone’s head is slowly ripped into several pieces. Suffice to say, Mr. Rogers would not approve.

Under the Bed kicks off as Neal (Jonny Weston) returns home for the first time in years, coming back to his younger brother, Paulie (Gattlin Griffith) and father, Terry (Peter Holden, looking for all the world like a surly Zach Galifianakis). It would appear that Neal has spent time in some sort of care facility, apparently due to the traumatic death of his mother in a house-fire. The relationship between Terry and Neal seems to strained, indicating that the father may hold his son more accountable for his mother’s death than he lets on. When Neal returns, however, he seems to be more on edge than ever: he’s afraid that the evil he fled years ago is still there…and he would be absolutely correct.

Turns out that Neal had a run-in with an actual monster years ago, a beast which now appears to be stalking his little brother. Terry won’t listen to this foolishness, however: he’s convinced that Neal had a nervous breakdown and is now back to “infect” his other son with the same foolishness. Only Neal and Paulie know the truth, however: something hungry, evil and vicious lives under the bed in Paulie’s room. As Neal and Paulie inch ever closer to confronting this source of ultimate evil, this monster that was also responsible for their mother’s death, they find a kindred spirit (of sorts) in neighbor Cara (Kelcie Stranahan), whose little brothers think Neal and Paulie are just about the creepiest things in the neighborhood. Aid also comes from an unlikely source when the boys’ new step-mom, Angela (Musetta Vander), comes to believe them and throws her support into the ring. Will all of this be enough to destroy childhood fears made flesh or will the brothers and their allies become just more midnight snacks for the creature?

For the most part, Under the Bed is a perfectly decent, middle-of-the-road “kids versus monsters” story, albeit one told with the utter seriousness of a biblical epic. Truth be told, the bombastic, over-the-top tone of the film, reinforced by everything from the overly shouty performances (Jonny Weston, in particular, can effortlessly play to the back rafters) to the brash, loud musical score, tends to wear one down after a while: for the life of me, I found myself wishing that everyone, monster included, which just chill out and have a quiet sit-down by the time the film was rushing towards its manic climax. There’s just too much of everything here: too much shouting, too many loud musical stingers, too much “acting” when something more subtle would suffice. Under the Bed isn’t a bad film, by any stretch, but it is an extremely tedious one, which might actually be a worse sin.

Which, ultimately, is a bit of a bummer, since there’s plenty to like here. The overall storyline, about the demonic presence under the bed, is a solid one, if hammered home with way too heavy a hand and the creature/gore effects are expertly executed. In particular, the scenes where Neal goes into the “under the bed world” to save Paulie are pretty fabulous: I really wish we got to spend more time in that apocalyptic world, with ash floating through the air like snow, but the most we get are a couple fast, rather confusingly edited bits that are the equivalent of a famous actor making a quick cameo. I was also dutifully impressed by the filmmakers’ ability to kill off kids and main characters at the drop of a hat: usually, both group tend to be fairly sacred cows in films like this but there’s the refreshing notion that no one is safe, which tends to up the stakes considerably.

If anything, Under the Bed reminds me of a combination of the disappointing, Guillermo del Toro produced Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (2010) and the minor ’80s classic, The Gate (1987), both of which focused on demonic beasties harassing spunky kids. The film borrows its slick visual sense and tone from the former, while it gets some of its violence and story structure from the latter. This also means, of course, that the film seems to have precious little identity of its own, a matter further complicated by the aforementioned extreme violence: often times, the film is completely appropriate to younger audiences, similar to The Gate. At times, however, the violence zooms straight into Grand Guignol territory (that head-ripping bit is a real corker and this comes from a guy who’s pretty much the definition of jaded.

Ultimately, Under the Bed isn’t a bad film but it’s much less than what it could have been, especially when one considers just how great Silent Night was: the “backward” progression seems a bit worrisome, especially for a director with a relatively small body of work. With a lot more restraint and a clearer goal, Under the Bed might have been a minor classic, just like The Gate. As it stands, however, the film should appeal to monster lovers and curious horror-philes but probably won’t have much of a bigger resonance past that. Which, again, is a shame, since it came so close to being a contender.

 

10/15/14: All in the Family

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31 Days of Halloween, adoption, Andres Muschietti, based on a short, childhood fears, children in peril, cinema, co-writers, Daniel Kash, David Fox, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark, fairy tales, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Guillermo del Toro, horror, horror movies, Isabelle Nelisse, Jane Moffat, Jessica Chastain, Mama, Megan Charpentier, mother-daughter relationships, Movies, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, sisters, The Woman in Black, writer-director

For the majority of its run-time, writer-director Andres Muschietti’s Mama (2013) is a moody, atmospheric and fairly slick little chiller that handily recalls such recent films as Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (2010) and The Woman in Black (2012). Relying more on suspense and fantastic visuals than creative bloodshed or mass chaos, there’s something decidedly old-fashioned, yet intensely endearing, about the film’s rather modest aims. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before, for the most part, but it’s an incredibly easy film to get along with.

At the climax, however, Muschietti tries something a little bold and stretches for a pretty emotional, almost melodramatic, finale. While this tactic could have resulted in something with all the consistency of sodden cardboard, it actually ends up working spectacularly well, imbuing the film with a warm, authentically emotional and subtly powerful finale. If the final moments can color our ultimate impression of a film (how many otherwise quality movies have been all but ruined by terrible endings?), then Mama’s finale helps boost the movie up into a slightly loftier collection of peers.

Muschietti’s feature-length debut is actually an expansion of his earlier short (also called Mama), which garnered quite a bit of attention, particularly from genre superhero Guillermo del Toro. Suitably impressed with Muschietti’s ability to combine atmospheric chills, creepy visuals and genuine emotional impact, del Toro jumped on as executive producer, leading to the full-length expansion that we’re currently discussing. There’s always an inherent danger to expanding a short into a feature: one merely has to look at the vast majority of SNL “features” to fully see how difficult it can be to stretch 5 minutes of material across 90 minutes of dead air. In this case, however, Muschietti has succeeded in expanding out his original idea without making the whole exercise seem unnecessary and academic.

Beginning with a haltingly handwritten “Once upon a time…” scrawled in white over a black screen, Mama has all of the nightmare unreality and sense of fantasy of the best fairy tales. We follow an obviously distraught man as he packs up his two young daughters (leaving their pet dog behind, which strikes a subtly ominous tone from the get-go) and races out for an isolated cabin in the woods. His behavior is erratic and frightening and there’s nothing about this that seems to spell a happy (or long) life for either young girl. Once at the cabin, however, the father is attacked and dragged off by some kind of unseen something, leaving his daughters on their own in the middle of nowhere.

Jumping ahead five years, we learn that the girls’ uncle, Lucas (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau), has been looking for them ever since, despite the nagging notion that five years is an awful long time for a couple of young kids to be missing. As luck would have it, Lucas’ friend, Burnsie (David Fox), manages to stumble into the hidden cabin in the woods and finds the young girls alive and well, if filthy and seemingly feral. With the aid of his punk-rocker girlfriend, Annabel (Jessica Chastain) and the kindly Dr. Dreyfuss (Daniel Kash), Lucas attempts to reintegrate the girls back into the civilized world.

The girls, however, are acting a bit odd, to say the very least. For one thing, they won’t stop talking about the mysterious “Mama” that (supposedly) cared for them in the cabin for the past five years. Burnsie and Lucas find no sign of anyone, however, leading them to believe that the girls have retreated into their imaginations in order to deal with the trauma of their father’s actions. Even more unnerving, however, are the quiet little conversations that Victoria (Megan Charpentier) and Lilly (Isabelle Nelisse) appear to have with no one in particular. As these behaviors continue, Lucas and Annabel begin to feel the influence of a powerful, potentially malevolent force.

When Lucas is inexplicably shoved down the stairs by an unseen force, Annabel is forced to care for the kids on her own, while her boyfriend lies unconscious in the hospital. Despite her steadfast refusal to devote herself to kids or “settling down,” Annabel comes to care for Victoria and Lilly, vowing to protect them at all costs. Something else feels protective towards the children, however, something primal, evil and relentless. It would seem that someone else was looking after the girls, after all…and Mama has no intention of letting her “babies” go without one helluva fight.

Similar to Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark and The Woman in Black, Mama puts atmosphere before action and setpieces, which tends to give the whole affair a more muted, subtle feel. This isn’t to say that the film doesn’t feature more “modern” scare moments (ie: the “screeching jump-scare sound of death”) but it is to say that these moments are easily the film’s weakest. When allowed to spool out slow and creepy, however, Mama proves to be a real winner. There one scene, in particular, which showcases the film’s aesthetic to great effect: as Annabel and Victoria play in one room, Lilly plays with an unseen Mama in the other. The shot is devised as a “natural” split screen, with the door frame dividing the screen in half. It’s a cleverly staged moment, to be sure, but it’s also a fantastically effective one: I’m willing to wager that more than one viewer will experience a bit of the ol’ goose-flesh during that particular moment.

As mentioned earlier, the film is aided considerably by a nicely realized, very emotional finale. Without giving anything way, suffice to say that Muschietti manages to temper the character of Mama with enough melancholy to put her evil into a different perspective, allowing for a climax that’s equal parts sad, lovely and very satisfying. There’s nothing especially upbeat about Mama but it also refuses to traffic in easy “sorrow-porn,” either.

Craftwise, the film has a consistently polished look that works quite nicely, especially during the aforementioned finale. The special effects scenes, while obviously CGI, are fairly well-integrated into the film, allowing everything to feel a bit more organic than in the similar Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (which often felt perilously close to slipping into CGI-silliness). The acting is good, although I must admit to being less than impressed with Chastain’s performance: her character vacillates between whiny and ridiculously self-assured and there were plenty of moments where I found myself unable to fully invest in her character. By contrast, Charpentier and Nelisse are rather amazing as the young girls: child actors can be notoriously hit-and-miss but there’s nothing about either one of their performances that took me out of the film, especially once things start to ramp up in the final third.

While there’s nothing especially gritty about Mama, it stands as an exceptionally well-made, effective and moving bit of fairy-tale influenced horror. From the outstanding opening credit sequence (creepy kids’ drawings that tell the film’s story in shorthand) to the knockout finale, Mama is a consistent pleasure. It may not be the most original film in the world (astute viewers should probably be able to get the general drift by at least the midpoint of the film, if not sooner) but it’s also the furthest thing from anonymous dreck as one can get. If you’re a fan of slicker, more commercial fare (the movie is rated PG-13 which, for the most part, means absolutely nothing nowadays), you could definitely do a whole lot worse than pulling yourself up to Mama’s table.