10/16/14 (Part One): A Haunting We Will Go

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1960s cinema, 31 Days of Halloween, based on a book, black and white film, cinema, Claire Bloom, film reviews, films, ghosts, haunted house, haunted houses, Hill House, horror movies, Jan de Bont, Julie Harris, Lois Maxwell, Movies, opening narrator, paranormal investigators, poltergeists, repressed sexuality, Richard Johnson, Robert Wise, Rosalie Crutchley, Russ Tamblyn, Shirley Jackson, The Day The Earth Stood Still, The Haunting, The Haunting of Hill House, The Sound of Music, Valentine Dyall, voice-over narration, West Side Story

Long held as one of the greatest haunted house stories ever, Shirley Jackson’s classic novel, The Haunting of Hill House, is a masterpiece of mood, a subtle examination of the very nature of fear that relies more on unsettling impressions than outright scares. It’s a treatise, in a way, on the manner in which all humans are, to a greater or lesser extent, “haunted” by their own pasts, powerless to resist the myriad phantoms and specters of the mind. It’s a book in which the suffocating atmosphere of fear is strong. even if very little appears to actually happen before our eyes…as the best writers and filmmakers have always known, what takes place in our minds is infinitely more terrifying than anything physical we can be shown. When given the option, our imaginations will always find new and unique ways to put the screws to us.

Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963) stands as the first and, arguably, best adaptation of Jackson’s book, standing head and shoulders above the far sillier CGI extravaganza that was Jan de Bont’s 1999 version. As befits the source material, Wise’s film is a subtle, low-key affair that relies heavily on sound design and an outstandingly creepy location to make its point: despite featuring a number of highly effective setpieces, The Haunting is anything but a typical thrill ride. Despite possessing a surplus of atmosphere, however, Wise’s version of the material is almost sunk by an unnecessary, constant and rather irritating voice-over narration, courtesy of lead and focal point Julie Harris: her take on Eleanor is often more of a chore than a blessing, leaving the rest of the cast and atmosphere to do all the heavy lifting. Due to this issue, Wise’s version of The Haunting ends up being sporadically entertaining, a film that I can honestly say I respect more than actually like.

Hewing close to the source material, Wise’s film begins with a short discussion of the origins of Hill House, which features the frankly awesome proclamation that “whatever walked at Hill House walked alone.” We’re then introduced to our industrious cast: the kindly, inquisitive Dr. Markway (Richard Johnson), who heads up the paranormal investigation into Hill House; Eleanor (Julie Harris), the ridiculously high-strung member of Markway’s group who once experienced poltergeist activity; Theodora (Claire Bloom), the relentlessly nasty ESP expert who bullies Eleanor as if her life depended on it and Luke (Russ Tamblyn), nephew to the house’s elderly owner and along as a representative, of sorts.

Once the crew of ghost-hunters get to Hill House, things begin to proceed in ways that should be immediately familiar to anyone who’s ever read or seen anything relating to haunted houses: things seem to move out of the corner of one’s eye, strange noises abound and the house is full of inexplicable cold spots. These subtle moments end up being the film’s greatest asset: Wise is able to wring maximum impact out of scenes that feature nothing so much as an incessant banging, similar to how Paranormal Activity (2007) gets so much mileage out of opening doors and slamming cupboards. As the group continues to investigate the phenomena, it becomes abundantly clear that much of the spectral activity seems to center around Eleanor: her agitated state of mind and extreme neurosis appears to be giving the house and its “inhabitants” a nice little jolt of pure paranormal power. When Dr. Markway’s disapproving wife, Grace (Lois Maxwell) shows up at the house, uninvited, she inadvertently sets off a chain of events that will ultimately prove the old adage “There are some places people just shouldn’t poke around in.”

For the most part, The Haunting is an extremely well-made, subtle and effective film. Wise, a Hollywood veteran of such iconic films as The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951), The Sound of Music (1965) and West Side Story (1961), is an assured hand behind the scenes, keeping the tension high and the atmosphere thick. The house, itself, is a fantastically creepy affair: the actual haunted house is one of the most crucial aspects of any haunted house story and Wise’s depiction of Hill House is a real showstopper. The film also features several nicely realized setpieces, including the iconic scene where Eleanor thinks that Theo is holding her hand when, in fact, the other woman is actually all the way across the room: who, then, was holding Eleanor’s hand? It’s a truly great, scary moment, the kind of intelligent fright that we just don’t get enough of in modern horror films.

With so many things in its favor, then, why do I find myself so lukewarm regarding The Haunting? I’ve always had an affinity for subtle, “old-fashioned” horror films and haunted house stories are some of my all-time favorites (Shirley Jackson’s original novel was a staple in my childhood reading list). Due to these factors, The Haunted should be one massive home-run from start to finish. The main issue with the film, unfortunately, becomes Eleanor’s highly unnecessary voice-over narration. Harris’ portrayal of Eleanor is already a bit problematic, since she approaches it in the same way that Nicholson approached his version of Jack Torrance: she already seems unhinged when the film begins, leaving precious little breathing space before she’s full-on bat-shit nuts. On top of this, Wise pours on some thoroughly unnecessary voice-overs that find Eleanor waxing mundane about any number of subjects: there are times when her voice-overs approach the likes of “I think I’ll walk over here and see what’s going on before I walk over there and see what’s going on,” which becomes especially torturous when repeated ad nauseam.

I can’t recall how many times I was wrapped-up in the film only to have one of Eleanor’s stupid voice-overs haul me kicking and screaming back into reality. When a film’s entire impact is derived from its atmosphere, any attempt to wreck that mood is not only questionable but completely mind-boggling. To make matters even worse, the character of Eleanor becomes almost the entire focus of Wise’s film: getting stuck with an unlikable character is one thing…getting stuck with an unlikable protagonist for the entirety of a film is a whole other ball of wax, entirely.

Ultimately, I wanted to like The Haunting much more than I actually did. The atmosphere and mood are nicely realized, the location is great and the reliance on subtle chills versus overt shocks is always appreciated. Despite these pluses, however, I found myself constantly irritated by Harris’ performance (although, to be fair, I also found Claire Bloom’s Theo to be a thoroughly ridiculous character, such an unrepentant bully as to be one “Ha ha” away from a Nelson Muntz) and the unnecessary use of voice-over narration to spoon-feed information in the most obvious of ways. While I can state, unequivocally,  that Wise’s version is miles above de Bont’s, I can’t help but hope to one day see a version that gives Jackson’s source material the respect it deserves. As it stands, however, The Haunting is a decent, if flawed effort, full of rich atmosphere but nearly scuttled by a tedious lead performance that makes the film a bit of a chore to get through.

7/26/14: Putting Your Mind(s) To It

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Amy Madigan, auteur theory, based on a book, Candyman, cinema, dopplegangers, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, George Romero, George Stark, horror, horror films, Julie Harris, Kent Broadhurst, Michael Rooker, Movies, psycho killers, psychopomps, Robert Joy, Rutanya Alda, sparrows, Stephen King, Thad Beaumont, The Dark Half, Timothy Hutton, Tom Mardirosian, twins, writer-director

Although he’ll probably always be known as the father of the modern zombie film, I’ve often felt that George Romero’s non-zombie films are highly underrated. Sure, there’s been the occasional clunker: Knightriders (1981) is a real oddity that never overcomes its inane premise, despite an enthusiastic performance by Ed Harris, while Bruiser (2000) is just as faceless as its protagonist. Despite these misses, however, Romero has a pretty good track record: Season of the Witch (1972) is a nicely understated character study with an interesting feminist angle; The Crazies (1973) is a tensely plotted little B-movie; Martin (1976) is a really fascinating, unique take on traditional vampire films; Creepshow (1982) is a minor classic; and Monkey Shines (1988) is a flawed but thoroughly entertaining piece of pulp cinema.

Along with these films, Romero has also helmed what I feel to be one of the best adaptations of a Stephen King novel, The Dark Half (1993). King’s novel about pseudonyms run amok was one of my favorites as a kid and I can recall eagerly heading to the theater when the filmed version was released, despite the trepidation that always comes with any new King adaptation. Filmed versions of King’s novels have always been something of a running joke, so it’s quite refreshing to find one that actually gets it right. And The Dark Half, for the most part, really gets it right. While rewatching the film for the first time in years, I was pleased (and more than a little relieved) to discover that it still held up after all those years.

Romero’s adaptation, which he also penned, follows King’s original novel pretty faithfully. The film involves mild-mannered writer Thad Beaumont (Timothy Hutton), who secretly writes pulpy crime novels under the pseudonym George Stark. While Thad’s own books are high-minded literary “art,” Stark’s trashy, violent work is the real bread-winner for Thad, his wife, Liz (Amy Madigan) and twin babies. Imagine Thad’s consternation, then, when a sleazy fellow named Fred Clawson (Robert Joy) approaches him after a book-signing and threatens to expose the truth about George Stark (whose made-up background is one of the biggest selling points for his rabid fans) unless he receives some payola. Incensed, Thad discusses the situation with his wife and editors, Miriam (Rutanya Alda) and Rick (Tom Mardirosian), and they all decide that the best course of action is to get ahead of the impending controversy: it’s high time that Thad “killed off” Stark once and for all.

Staging a mock burial ceremony using a Beaumont family grave and fake tombstone, Thad and Liz lay Stark to rest, although the symbolic “ending” actually signals a horrifying new beginning. When the photographer is found murdered (beat to death with his own prosthetic leg) and the grave is desecrated, Thad becomes the number one suspect, since his fingerprints were all over the crime scene. After Clawson is found brutally murdered, in the exact way that Thad was heard to threaten him, things look increasingly dire for the beleaguered novelist.

Faster than you can say, “Candyman,” however, we see the truth: Thad’s violent alter-ego, George Stark (also Hutton), has come to horrific, shuddering life and is rather upset at Thad’s attempts to kill him off. George only wants one thing and he’s willing to massacre everyone that Thad knows and holds dear to get it: he wants another Stark novel, something to keep his legacy intact. The problem, of course, is that Thad and George cannot, technically, co-exist: as one grows stronger, the other weakens and begins to physically deteriorate. As Thad begins to re-experience the headaches and visions of ominous clouds of sparrows that plagued him as a boy, he and George move relentlessly towards an end game that will involve Thad’s family, his past and his very future: only one will emerge victorious…will it be Thad…or Stark?

From the opening intro that cues us in to the existence of Thad’s unborn twin all to the way to the visually impressive finale, The Dark Half is an exceptionally close reading of King’s original novel. Romero even manages to toss in a few blink-and-you-miss-’em bits of fan service, including the revelation that Thad is currently working on “Here There Be Tygers,” one of Stephen King’s earliest short stories. The film, itself, looks great: there are several really nifty set-pieces, including the tense, protracted scene where Mike Donaldson (Kent Broadhurst) is stalked by Stark down a dingy apartment hallway that lit by alternating red and blue lights. Hutton does a good job portraying both halves of the equation, as it were, with his George Stark being a suitably sleazy representation of King’s creation. It’s also nice to see veteran character actor Michael Rooker in a rare “good guy” role as Sheriff Pangborn: it feels like a classic case of casting against type and it works spectacularly well. Romero also makes great use of practical effects, including a jarring stabbing via pencil and the impressive “ripped apart by sparrows” finale.

In many ways, Romero’s film is also staged in a similar manner to Bernard Rose’s Candyman (1992), which preceded it by a year: as people close to him are killed off, Thad comes under more and more suspicion for the crimes, similar to the arc that occurs with Helen in the Clive Barker adaptation. There are even moments where people are killed while Thad is in another room, just like various scenes in Candyman. This particular tact offers up quite a bit of tension and plenty of creeping paranoia, as Thad tries in vain to convince his wife and the sheriff about the true nature of the crimes unfolding around them. Paranoia is always a potent element of horror fiction and Romero delivers the goods in more than satisfactory measure here.

Thematically, The Dark Half brings up several interesting issues, not the least of which is a writer’s inherent connection to his/her creations. Like the real Stephen King, Thad Beaumont is a study in contrasts: on the one hand, literary, high-minded and grasping for greatness while, on the other, visceral, pulpy, audience-friendly and uber-violent. There’s a nicely realized moment where Liz explains to Thad that he doesn’t actually want to “kill off” his alter-ego: he enjoys Stark because it gives him an excuse to behave badly, as it were, smoking, drinking and acting like a complete jerk. It’s the true dichotomy of any artist, be they actor, filmmaker, painter or author: the person creating the art is not always equitable to the art being created. Live it to King (and Romero) to bring this concept to glorious life by, literally, splitting the artist in two.

As previously mentioned, there’s certainly a dearth of “good” King films but I’ve always thought of The Dark Half as part of the solution, rather than the problem. It goes to prove that, in the right hands, it’s not only possible to make a good Stephen King adaptation but a good film, period. It may be approaching 15 years since Romero turned to non-zombie properties but, with a track-record like his, maybe it’s time to leave the walking dead behind for a little bit. If you’ve never seen The Dark Half, give it a whirl: after all, how could you possibly go wrong with murderous doubles, ominous sparrows and Black Beauty pencils?