8/1/15 (Part One): Watching the Watcher

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Austin Wintory, automatic writing, best friends, cinema, Dark Summer, dramas, film reviews, films, flashbacks, Grace, Grace Phipps, hackers, horror, horror films, house arrest, Keir Gilchrist, Maestro Harrell, Mike Le, Movies, obsession, online stalking, Paul Solet, Peter Stormare, possession, seance, spells, stalkers, Stella Maeve, suicide, supernatural, teenagers, unrequited love, Zoran Popovic

David (Keir Gilchrist), a scrawny, unassuming 17-year-old, is under house arrest for the entire summer, a sentence eagerly enforced by ruthlessly eagle-eyed cop Stokes (Peter Stormare). His crime? Well, it seems that young David is much better at hacking online accounts than he is at talking to girls: as such, he’s been relentlessly stalking classmate Mona Wilson (Grace Phipps), harassment which has ended him up on the wrong side of the law.

Prohibited from using any computers or going online, drinking alcohol or hanging out with minors, David ends up in a prison that’s truly of his own making. Good thing his best buddies, Kevin (Maestro Harrell) and Abby (Stella Maeve), have as little regards for the rules as he does. Determined to keep their friend company, they bring over some booze, a little weed and, most importantly, a laptop.

Seems that the one thing Kevin couldn’t hack was Mona’s Cloud account, something that the unrepentant hacker still considers to be at the top of his “must-do” list. As David continues to try for complete access to Mona’s online life, he’s suddenly contacted by her via Skype: while David watches, in stunned silence, Mona kills herself, leaving him with the chilling statement that he will “feel what she feels.” As increasingly creepy things begin to happen around David, he can’t shake the feeling that the tables have turned: the watcher is now being watched…possibly from beyond the grave!

Paul Solet’s Dark Summer (2015) takes several disparate horror subgenres/themes (dead teens, social media, cyber-bullying, stalking, obsession, possession, haunted house films, ghosts, shut-ins, disbelieving authority figures) and manages to whip them into an effective, if fairly familiar, little chiller. While I won’t pretend to have my finger on the pulse of young horror fans, I could easily see the film striking a chord with them in the same way that something like It Follows (2014) or Unfriended (2014) might: think of Dark Summer as the iPod mash-up version of old “chestnuts” like Halloween (1978) or Black Christmas (1974).

As befits the filmmaker behind the visually-appealing undead baby drama Grace (2009), Dark Summer is endlessly stylish. Zoran Popovic, who also shot the aforementioned Grace, fills the screen with luxurious long takes and vibrant colors, making the most of a red and amber color palette that accentuates the deep shadows in the background of virtually every shot. There’s an inherent sense of claustrophobia to the film that’s only heightened by Popovic’s camerawork: it’s obvious that the pair make a good team.

The film is also full of solid acting, which becomes quite important given the extremely small cast and confined nature of the proceedings: for the most part, the entire film consists of Gilchrist, Harrell and Maeve hanging out, with Stormare and Phipps popping up to add spice to the dish, as needed. The scenes between the three friends have an easy sense of reality, similar to the aforementioned It Follows, and we get enough sense of Abby’s crush on David, organically, to avoid that plot point from seeming too contrived. For his part, Stormare is always a blast and adds both gravitas and a little smidgen of cynical cool to the proceedings.

For the most part, Dark Summer does everything it’s supposed to, hitting the required beats with efficiency, if something decidedly less than pure innovation. There are the requisite creep figures passing in front of the camera and behind the protagonists…the scene where the heroes uncover a creepy hidden room, full of occult weirdness (extra points for making the scene an homage to Hitchcock’s immortal Rear Window (1954) when it would have been much easier to just reference [REC] (2007))…the attempt to contact the offended spirit, via occult ceremony, that doesn’t turn out quite as expected…any and all of these beats can be found in any number of similar modern genre offerings, even though Solet does manage to incorporate all of them extremely smoothly.

If I have any real issues with Dark Summer, they come with the film’s ultimate resolution, a denouement that manages to completely absolve David of any wrongdoing, while turning Mona into the de facto villain. Suffice to say that some spoilers will follow, so discerning readers, please take note. It’s hard to deny that David, at least as portrayed by the extremely likable Gilchrist, is a very charismatic character: he’s soft-spoken, smart, sensitive, driven, inquisitive…pretty much the guy you want on your side, especially when supernatural shit starts to go down. Despite his inherent likability, however, we can’t forget that David is actually a stalker who may very well have been responsible for causing the object of his obsession to take her own life. No matter how you slice it, that’s a real shit cake, friends and neighbors, and certainly not something most of us would want a piece of.

Solet and writer Mike Le mitigate this unpleasantness by means of a late revelation that not only proves David is a “nice guy” but that Mona is mentally disturbed, dangerous and, quite possibly, a witch. Even before this twist, Kevin and Abby are firmly on David’s side (as does the film seem to be, as well), telling him that Mona was “weird” and a loner, implying that she kind of got what she deserved. While I’m not sure that Dark Summer necessarily qualifies as “victim-shaming,” there does seem to be a conscious effort to iron out any and all of David’s faults: by the final image, he’s not only the unmitigated hero but a tragic one, at that, which seems to increase the nature of Mona’s evil exponentially.

I can’t help but feel that removing any of David’s culpability also removes much of the film’s inherent power and any gut-punch that it might possess. A conflicted, tortured, far-from-perfect hero is a literary trope as old and reliable as the hills but there’s a reason for that: split the audience’s sympathies and it makes the drama stick in their craws that much more. By swinging David from “super creepy nice guy” to “total nice guy,” Solet automatically takes all of that potential conflict, drama and power off the table. Man Bites Dog (1992) is such a complete kick in the face because Ben is both a charismatic, effortlessly cool dude AND a terrifying, psychopathic serial killer: remove either one and the character just doesn’t have the same impact. The same, obviously, applies to David, even if he never gets so much as a foot on the bottom rung of the fetid ladder that Ben vaults up like a champion.

All in all, however, I enjoyed Dark Summer, even if I had issues with the ultimate presentation of Mona and David’s characters. The film always looked good, despite its obviously low-budget and minimal production, and there was a nice, measured pace that allowed chills to unspool as something more than amusement park jump scares: this is another film that handily earns its invitation to the New Wave of Atmospheric Horror (NWoAH) brunch, along with the rest of the usual suspects. The acting was always solid and Gilchrist, who was also prominently featured in It Follows, is rapidly turning into a modern genre star: he’s consistently good here. If the film is, ultimately, not quite the equal of its predecessor, well…that’s to be expected: it’s kind of hard to trump a dead, vampiric baby, after all. I have a feeling that Paul Solet will keep trying, however, which is really all that horror fans can ask for.

3/3/15 (Part Two): All The Time In the World

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Alejandro Hidalgo, Cezary Jaworski, childhood trauma, children in peril, cinema, directorial debut, dramas, Efraín Romero, family secrets, father-son relationships, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, flashback narrative, flashbacks, foreign films, ghosts, Gonzalo Cubero, Guillermo García, haunted house, haunted houses, Héctor Mercado, horror films, house arrest, husband-wife relationship, infidelity, José León, La Casa del Fin del Los Tiempos, Miguel Flores, mother-son relationships, Movies, mysteries, Rosmel Bustamante, Ruddy Rodríguez, set in Venezuela, Simona Chirinos, supernatural, suspense, The House At the End of Time, Timecrimes, Triangle, Venezuelan films, writer-director, Yoncarlos Medina, Yucemar Morales

Some films grab you from the first frame, locking on like a steel bear-trap and refusing to let go until the end credits roll. Some films, however, take a little longer to work under your skin. Alejandro Hidalgo’s debut feature, La Casa del Fin del Los Tiempos (The House At the End of Time) (2013), is one of those “growers”: while the film has rough patches, it gets gradually better as it progresses, culminating in a genuinely powerful finale that features a twist that’s organic, surprising and very satisfying. For a first-time writer-director, I really couldn’t ask for more.

After spending a couple of decades in prison for the murders of her husband and son, the now-aged Dulce (Ruddy Rodriguez) is released under house-arrest, right back into the same home where the murders originally occurred (her son’s body was never found). Left alone with only her thoughts, memories and the “ghosts” of her past, Dulce settles into a lonely existence, her ever-vigilant guards and the local priest (Guillermo García) serving as her lone connection to the outside world. She’s a sad, broken-down person, surrounded by the ghostly remnants of her former life, never more than a few rooms removed from the place where her husband met his bloody end and her child vanished into thin air.

As Dulce roams around her former home, however, she notes a number of odd occurrences: strange sounds, doors that seem to open of their own volition and, most disturbing, the seeming specter of an elderly man (José León) wielding a butcher knife. The film parallels Dulce’s investigation, in the present, with flashbacks to their original events, decades in the past. In the past, we see a much younger Dulce, her husband, Juan Jose (Gonzalo Cubero) and her two sons, Leopoldo (Rosmel Bustamante) and Rodrigo (Héctor Mercado), as they go about their lives in the house. Before long, the two timelines collide, as Dulce uncovers the full truth of the terrible events that sent her to prison, as well as the full story regarding Leopoldo’s disappearance. What is the history behind the house and its strange, subterranean tunnels? Do ghosts walk its halls or something decidedly more earthbound? And, most importantly: did Dulce really kill her own child?

The House At the End of Time opens with a great deal of atmosphere, similar to the thick Gothic miasma that enfolds Del Toro’s more sedate films, and manages to maintain this for the majority of its runtime. Indeed, one of the film’s great strengths is its claustrophobic aura: Hidalgo and cinematographer Cezary Jaworski get a lot of mileage out of the numerous creepy shots of Dulce exploring her old home, slowly walking from one abandoned hallway to the next. A less self-assured film might pile on the jump scares but Hidalgo shows a remarkable degree of control there, as well: you won’t find a musical stinger or scary-faced spook hiding around every corner in this particular haunted house.

In many ways, the film is a variation on the “alternate timeline” trope, ending up in the same basic peer group as Timecrimes (2007), Triangle (2009) and Coherence (2014). That being said, Hidalgo throws some interesting twists into the idea: it’s nowhere near as complicated as Timecrimes or Coherence but it manages to evoke much of the same vibe. While the various plot machinations don’t always make perfect sense (there’s a reliance on chance and pure, dumb luck that’s uncomfortably close to a deus ex machina, for one thing), it all manages to come together, in the end, and the final resolution is not only a smart way to wrap it up but a genuinely emotional ending.

As mentioned, the film isn’t always smooth sailing. The pacing is slightly off for the first third of the film, giving the movie a lurching, uneven quality. There’s also a few inconsistencies in the performances: while Rodriguez and Cubero are always good (Rodriguez, in particular), the kids waver between decent and way too broad (think sitcom-quality acting). Similarly, Guillermo García is quite believable as the sympathetic priest who takes a personal interest in Dulce’s case, whereas the police officers who guard her feel one step removed from slapstick. None of these are particularly critical issues, mind you: the cops are basically background characters and both of the young performers have plenty of great scenes. The focus of the film is squarely on Rodriguez’s capable shoulders and she acquits herself just fine. For the most part, it’s just the little details that keep the film from really hitting its full potential.

I’ve also got to take a minute to call out the film’s rather dreadful old-age makeup: the constant flopping between past and present obviously necessitates this but there’s absolutely nothing believable about Rodriguez’s “present day” makeup. I’m willing to wager that this was due to budgetary constraints and, as above, is definitely not a critical issue: I’m reminded of how much I enjoy cheap Italian zombie films, despite the fact that the makeup often resembled lumpy oatmeal. It only seems to be an issue here since we spend so much time with “old” Dulce: it’s kind of like having your rubber-suited monster in every single shot…it gets a little hard to properly suspend that disbelief.

When all is said and done, however, The House At the End of Time is a more than worthy accomplishment. Low-key, creepy and intelligent, the film has all the earmarks of a genuine sleeper and bodes good things for Hidalgo’s future. To use one final comparison: imagine the film as an old, reliable vehicle. It may take a few tries to get the motor started but, once it’s chugging away, you have no doubt that it’ll get you to the destination. As I’ve said before: you could ask for a whole lot worse.

12/31/14 (Part Two): Parents Just Don’t Understand

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Best of 2014, Bruce Hopkins, Cameron Rhodes, cinema, favorite films, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, foreign films, Gerard Johnstone, Glen-Paul Waru, haunted houses, horror-comedies, house arrest, Housebound, Kylie Bucknell, Morgana O'Reilly, mother-daughter relationships, Movies, New Zealand films, Rima Te Wiata, Ross Harper, Ryan Lampp, set in New Zealand, Simon Riera, The Frighteners, The Jaquie Brown Diaries, writer-director

In a year crowded with excellent horror and genre films that managed to fly below the mainstream radar, there was still one film that stood out, head and shoulders, as my favorite horror film of the year: Gerard Johnstone’s astounding debut, Housebound (2014). This wasn’t the scariest film of the year, although it had plenty of frights and atmosphere to spare. It certainly wasn’t the most horrific film of the year, although it doesn’t skimp on the grim stuff, either. For my money, Housebound was, quite simply, the best synthesis of all of the horror elements that I look for and love, the single best representation of what I truly enjoy when I sit down to watch a film. I may watch and enjoy many different kinds of movies but few filmmakers have managed to reach straight into my brain in the way that Johnstone does: in many ways, this is the epitome of what I look for in a horror-comedy.

Beginning with a dynamic two-person assault on an ATM machine that quickly collapses into a comedy of errors, we’re introduced to our protagonist, the fabulous Kylie Bucknell (Morgana O’Reilly). Tough as nails, smart, sarcastic, cynical and an all-around badass, Kylie is probably one of the coolest characters I’ve run across in a film in quite some time. As far as I’m concerned, she compares favorably with Kurt Russell’s immortal Snake Plissken in the badassitude department. Caught and sentenced for her attempted theft, Kylie receives the single worst punishment she could hope for: eight months of house arrest under the “watchful” eye of her screwy mother, Miriam (Rima Te Wiata), and step-dad, Graeme (Ross Harper).

Kylie and Miriam get along like oil and water for any number of reasons, not least of which is that Miriam is a superstitious believer in any and every paranormal thing possible, whereas Kylie has a tremendous amount of trouble believing in anything at all, let alone some mumbo-jumbo that she can’t see. Determined to make her mother’s life a living hell, Kylie proceeds to act like the world’s oldest teenager, sulking about, eating her parents out of house and home and, in general, acting like a spoiled, self-entitled little brat.

All of this changes, however, when Kylie happens to overhear her mom call into a radio show and discuss their “haunted” house. Initially passing the whole thing off as more of her mom’s loony fantasies, Kylie is forced to change her tune when she has an unexplained occurrence of her own. Determined to find a rational explanation, Kylie begins to research the house’s history, hoping to disprove her poor mother’s beliefs along the way. While this is going on, Kylie must also navigate around her dopey counselor, Dennis (Cameron Rhodes), as well as Amos (Glen-Paul Waru), the friendly tech who works for the company that monitors Kylie’s ankle bracelet and happens to be a firm believer in the paranormal. Kylie continues to experience things that she just can’t explain and she’s forced into the one partnership that she would never, in a million years, expect to make: her own mother.

Before we go any further, let me state, for the record, that I absolutely loved this film. I’m a person who tends to have intense reactions to movies, both good and bad, although it will often take a particular kind of film to draw the most intense reactions out of me: Housebound was that film. Something about the film drew me in from the very first frame and I stayed on its wave-length all the way through the final credits. Housebound is the kind of movie that I look forward to owning, in physical form, the kind of film that will “elevate” my humble collection, for what that’s worth. In the simplest way possible, it’s great…really, really great. Let’s see if I can’t explain why.

For one thing, Housebound looks absolutely amazing: Simon Riera’s cinematography is gorgeous, showcasing the marvelously creepy old house to stunning effect. It’s truly difficult to believe that Riera works, primarily, in TV and shorts: everything about Housebound screams “veteran cinematographer,” from the shot composition to the framing and the intuitive ways he works with depth-of-field. My hat’s off to Riera for coming up with one of the best looking films of the whole year: bravo, sir…bravo!

You can’t have a great film without a great script, however, and Johnstone certainly doesn’t disappoint there. Truth be told, Housebound is kind of brilliant: not only is the film laugh-out-loud funny, it’s also quite chilling and moving, in equal doses, which is certainly no mean feat. The film’s mythology isn’t particularly original (in fact, much of the film recalls fellow New Zealander Peter Jackson’s The Frighteners (1996), at least in tone, if not specifics) but it’s nicely realized and doesn’t seem moldy or overly obvious. There’s also some surprising weight to the mother-daughter relationship, which gives the whole film an underlying gravitas that’s belied by the constantly arch tone: it’s a delicate balancing act but Housebound manages to come across as sweet without seeming cloying and obvious: again, that’s a damn handy hat trick to pull off.

How are the actual horror aspects, though? As far as I’m concerned, top-notch. The true key to effective horror, as far as I’m concerned, will always be atmosphere and mood, two areas in which Housebound easily excels. Although it’s the furthest thing from graphic, Johnstone’s isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and there were at least a couple organic jump scares that actually made me jump. Kudos to a great production design team who manage to give everything the appropriate creepy touch: it’s a suitably classy affair but the horror still shines through, loud and clear.

When it all comes down to it, however, there are two very potent reasons why Housebound is such a great damn movie: Morgana O’Reilly and Rima Te Wiata. Quite frankly, the two are perfect: there isn’t one single note, one movement, one affectation or one line delivery that I would change with either performer, were I in such a position to do so. O’Reilly’s performance as Kylie ranks up with my favorite cinematic badasses ever: I can’t help but return to the Snake Plissken comparison because it just feels so apt. When Kylie really gets going, she’s damn near unstoppable: I would love to see a franchise precipitated around her shrugging her way through various evil situations, sort of like an ever more cynical and irritable version of Bruce Campbell’s Ash.

Te Wiata, for her part, is nothing short of a marvel: she makes Miriam such a twitchy, neurotic, nearly unbearable ball of nerves that it seems impossible to ever empathize with the character. That Miriam is never anything less than 100% likable, then, is nothing short of a miracle: I’ve seen lots of great performances, over the year, but to not mention Te Wiata would be the most criminal form of neglect. Even better, the duo mesh perfectly as mother and daughter: they’re such an inspired team that I’m really hoping for a continuation of the partnership, even if they switch up the details. I honestly feel that O’Reilly and Te Wiata are one of the most inspired comic teams of this decade and can only hope that Housebound serves merely as the opening act of a great partnership.

I could go on and on, really, but anything more that I say runs the risk of spoiling any of Housebound’s myriad surprises. There’s a genuine sense of invention and wide-eyed enthusiasm that’s quite infectious: I find it rather impossible to believe that anyone wouldn’t be completely sucked into the film by the five-minute mark. In a year where lots of first-time filmmakers surprised me with some pretty stunning debuts, Gerard Johnstone’s was one of the most shocking and utterly delightful. Suffice to say that Housebound managed to rocket straight into my list of favorite films after a single viewing: this is one of those films, like Pulp Fiction (1994) or The Good, The Bad and the Ugly (1966), that I look forward to having a very long, happy relationship with. Here’s to hoping that Housebound is just the tip of the iceberg and that Johnstone proves to be one of our very brightest, best new talents.