2/14/15 (Part One): Hurting the Ones You Love

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aliens, Ben Huber, body horror, cabins, cinema, co-writers, dark films, directorial debut, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Hanna Brown, Harry Treadaway, Honeymood, horror, horror films, husband-wife relationship, isolated communities, Leigh Janiak, Lovecraftian, Lovely Molly, low-budget films, Movies, Phil Graziadei, possession, relationship, Rose Leslie, writer-director

Every relationship has its “honeymoon” phase: whether weeks, months or years, there’s always a sweet spot in any new union where cloyingly sweet pet names are common, arguments are unimaginable and every couple seem joined at the hips. These are the times when lovers can while away an entire afternoon just staring into each other’s starry orbs, whispering sweet nothings while hand-feeding one another grapes. While the honeymoon is always great, it’s never where the actual meat of a relationship lies, however: once the initial “puppy-dog” phase is over, couples have to actually get down to the business of dealing with each other, a process which misses as much as it hits. For every couple that grow old together, there are plenty that implode after the rose-tinted glasses (and gloves) come off. Being with someone during the good times is easy: you know that you’ve found a partner for life when the bad times are equally appealing.

Leigh Janiak’s Honeymoon (2014) is, both literally and figuratively, about this happy little time: we pick up with the film’s lead couple right as they arrive at their honeymoon destination, immediately following their wedding. Bea (Rose Leslie) and Paul (Harry Treadaway) are that aforementioned google-eyed pair of lovebirds that make everyone else gag and roll their eyes: he calls her “honeybee” and she “buzzs” while lovingly touching his face, every comment is some sort of “sassy” quip. They’re obviously in love and perfect for each other, the kind of “quirky” renegades who serve Indian food at their wedding as a reference to their first-date food poisoning and have a cake made out of cinnamon rolls. She’s an outdoorsy-type who spent 12 years as a Girl Scout, he’s a city boy who doesn’t know how to fish…it’s the ultimate meet-cute, as if we’re beginning with the triumphant conclusion to any number of generic modern rom-coms.

But then, of course, little cracks begin to appear in the smooth surface veneer. Paul makes an extremely odd comment about Bea’s “womb” which seems to surprise him as much as her…a childhood friend of Bea’s, Will (Ben Huber), lives in the nearby town and there seems to some underlying sexual tension between the two…the swamps and woods that surround Bea’s childhood home seem to be teeming with life, yet we see very little of it. Things come to a head when Paul discovers Bea missing, one night, and frantically searches the woods for her. Upon finding her nude and crouched in the dirt, Paul is (rightfully) worried but Bea passes the incident off as mere sleep-walking. As Bea’s behavior becomes ever stranger, however, Paul is confronted with the disturbing notion that something terrible might have happened to his wife in the woods. Was she attacked by Will or is there something altogether darker involved, something with motives no rational human could comprehend?

After a somewhat shaky first act (Bea and Paul are so nauseatingly cute and broad, at first, that the first 15 minutes or so almost play out like a parody), Honeymoon smooths out into a reasonably tense, atmospheric chiller, albeit one that manages to be both a little too vague and a little to on-the-nose (no mean feat, if you think about it). While none of the events in the film are ever really explained, there’s a point, towards the end, where Bea still manages to give us a recap, of sorts, similar to the point in many films where we finally “see” how all of the events transpired. If it reads a little confusing, it actually plays even more so: rather than wrapping everything up with a bow, she just re-explains what we saw, without the benefit of any new insight whatsoever. It’s similar to asking someone for the score to a sporting match and then having them recap said match without ever mentioning the final score. I’m certainly not a fan of hand-holding but Honeymoon’s many “clues” come across as red herrings simply because we’re never given quite enough to go on.

Even if Honeymoon ends up making imperfect sense (I hope it’s a rather clever, subtle take on Lovecraft’s Shadow Out of Innsmouth but it could also be a much less interesting alien visitation tale…I’m really not sure), there are plenty of creepy scenes here and some genuine pathos to the relationship between Bea and Paul. While Leslie and Treadaway aren’t always convincing as a couple (Treadaway, in particular, has a certain way of delivering lines that renders particular moments rather artificial, especially when he gets more agitated), they have a reasonable amount of chemistry together and the final scene packs a fairly hefty wallop. Leslie, known mostly for roles in hit TV shows like Downton Abbey and Game of Thrones, strikes a nice balance between kooky, sweet and distracted: when it all comes together, she projects a quite winning balance between aloof and vulnerable.  While Treadaway isn’t quite as impressive here as he was in either The Disappeared (2008) or Cockneys vs Zombies (2012), he’s still solid and largely sympathetic.

As a film about a relationship, there’s plenty of authenticity to Honeymoon. More than anything, the film is about the subtle little ways in which couples feint and maneuver around each other, digging into past injuries, hinting around bigger issues and feigning smiles when in-depth conversations might better serve. In some ways, the film can be seen as a microcosm of a fledgling marriage, with the crisis that befalls Bea and Paul serving as their first real “issue.” One of the subtlest, most effective scenes in the film is the one where Paul stares surreptitiously at Bea as they toast marshmallows: even as they’re supposed to be having fun, we can see the pain and suspicion festering in his eyes. Despite the couple’s desire to just enjoy their time together, their internal dialogue speaks volumes. In a genre that’s often criticized for being about “nothing,” Honeymoon actually has something to say, which is a nice change of pace.

As a horror film, Honeymoon is also effective, although it often feels like a modified take on a traditional found-footage film, minus the subjective camera element. We get plenty of staples from that sub-genre (shadowy figures appearing behind Paul, security cam footage, the notion that things are happening just out of frame) along with some (subtle) Lovecraftian elements and a particularly slimy ode to either Andrzej Zulawski’s Possession (1981) or Scott’s Alien (1979)…take your pick. Throughout the whole thing, first-time director Janiak (who also co-wrote the film with Phil Graziadei) displays a fairly deft touch with establishing mood and tension. That being said, I couldn’t help but feel that the film could have benefited from a much darker, grimmier tone, ala Eduardo Sanchez’s knockout Lovely Molly (2011): aside from the ending, Honeymoon never digs the screws into the audience (or its characters) as much as it could, which ends up being a little disappointing.

That being said, there is a lot to like here. While Paul ends up being the focus of the story, in many ways, it’s always refreshing to watch a horror film that gives equal screen-time to the female lead: much of the body horror here is feminine in nature, which provides another parallel to the aforementioned Possession. The film is never out-and-out terrifying, so to speak, but it’s certainly a slow-burner, worming its way under your skin and culminating in a suitably sad, striking finale. For a low-key, low-budget indie horror film, Leigh Janiak’s Honeymoon strikes plenty of right notes: here’s to hoping her follow-up continues to raise the bar.

2/3/15: It’s Always the Quiet Ones

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Aloha Oe, alternate title, Carl Marznap, Carl Panzram, child abuse, childhood trauma, cinema, crime film, dark films, dark tourism, Dark Tourist, disturbing films, dramas, film reviews, films, flashbacks, Frank John Hughes, gang rape, grief tourism, Grief Tourist, hallucinations, Hawaiian songs, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, homophobia, horror, insanity, isolation, juvenile detention facility, juvenile offenders, loners, Lovely Molly, Melanie Griffith, mental breakdown, mental illness, Michael Cudlitz, misanthropes, misanthropic, mother-son relationships, Movies, murdered prostitutes, Nayo Wallace, Pruitt Taylor Vince, serial killers, Suri Krishnamma, Suzanne Quast, Taxi Driver, transgender, Travis Bickle, twist ending, unpleasant films, voice-over narration

In certain cases, I can predict exactly what I’ll be getting when I sit down with a previously unknown film. Sometimes the cover art will give clues or there’ll be some strategic stunt casting that sets off alarm bells (anything with a WWE personality, for example, is probably not going to be “a contender”). It might be a filmmaker that I’m familiar with, giving me a general idea of what lays ahead, or a screenwriter that’s intrigued me with other scripts. In some cases, certain films just project an aura of…well, let’s just call it “compromise” and be generous, shall we? These are the equivalent of the direct-to-video detritus that used to line store shelves back in the glory days of VHS: they’re still here, of course, although now they clog virtual racks rather than physical ones.

There are always those films, however, that end up defying, destroying and resetting expectations. Every once in a while, a film that might seem completely forgettable from the outside ends up surprising me and boring straight into my brain-pan. One of my favorite examples of this is Eduardo Sanchez’s Lovely Molly (2011), a film which seems so generic and bland from the outside that it feels like you’ve been dipped in lava once it reveals itself to be an absolutely unholy hell of an experience. Without a doubt, Lovely Molly is one of the single most unpleasant films I’ve ever watched: it’s also completely unforgettable and, quite possibly, one of the greatest unknown films of the 2000s. While Suri Krishnamma’s Dark Tourist (2012) isn’t quite the film that Lovely Molly is, it still managed to obliterate my low expectations, positioning itself as a sort of cross between Taxi Driver (1976) and Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986). When Dark Tourist is good, it’s absolutely riveting and, easily, one of the most grueling, unpleasant cinematic experiences I’ve had in months. This is definitely not a film that can (or will) appeal to everyone. If you’re ready to take a trip to some seriously damaged locales, however, Dark Tourist is saving you a seat on the bus.

Our protagonist is Jim (Michael Cudlitz), a misanthropic security guard who works the over-night shift at some sort of factory. Via his near constant voiceover, we learn a few handy things about our wannabe hero: he absolutely loves his solitude, eschewing human contact whenever possible; he’s obsessed with serial killers and their lives to the point where he makes yearly “pilgrimages” to check out their childhood homes, murder sites, etc.; he’s a virulent homophobe, racist and sexist, who decries Hollywood as “for the faggots,” bitches about his “Jew fucker” doctor and cheerfully describes his co-workers as “sluts, drug addicts, whore mongers and child molesters.” That Jim is able to be this terrible of a human being while still maintaining the outward semblance of normalcy is admirable, to say the least: we know how fucked up the guy is, since we’re getting the info straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. To everyone else, however, he just comes across as a standoffish, polite but cold guy with some weird hobbies. In other words, the epitome of “he seemed like such a nice, quiet guy.”

For this year’s trip, Jim has set his sights on the life and times of one Carl Marznap (based on real-life serial killer/monster Carl Panzram). Marznap was a killer/arsonist who was gang-raped in a juvenile facility and sought to take out his anger on the rest of the world, culminating in burning down a church full of people. Jim traces Marznap’s journey from his boyhood home to the (now abandoned) juvenile facility and the remains of the burned church, trying to get some sense of who the real Carl was. Along the way, Jim strikes up a tentative friendship with a lonely diner waitress (Melanie Griffith) and stays at a fleabag motel where the constant activities of the resident hooker, Iris (Suzanne Quast), start to provoke some rather “Travis Bickle-esque” feelings in him. Soon, Jim is having a hard time concentrating on his “vacation,” a situation which becomes even more difficult once he starts to see visions of an adult Marznap (Taylor Pruitt Vince). As Jim’s grasp on reality gets more and more precarious, he finds himself rocketing towards a revelation that is both impossibly sad and unrelentingly horrifying.

One of the greatest tricks that Krishnamma and screenwriter Frank John Hughes pull with Dark Tourist is making the misanthropic Jim such a thoroughly fascinating character. Chalk this up to a combination of good writing and a great performance by Cudlitz (who instantly reminded me of a younger Ron Perlman) but it’s a real coup: Jim should have been an absolutely miserable character to spend 80 minutes with but we still end up on his side (kind of/sort of) right up until the whole thing goes ass-over-tea kettle in a holocaust of violence. For a time, it’s easy to believe that Jim is just a severely damaged individual, ala Travis Bickle, who still has some deep-buried sense of morality, however perverted. When the worm turns, however, we’re smack-dab in Henry territory and it’s a pretty nasty place to be.

Craftwise, Dark Tourist isn’t exactly a home-run. The cinematography is often flat and kind of ugly, at its worst, and serviceable, at best. There’s an unfortunate lens-distortion effect used on the flashback scenes, which is rather cheesy, and the supporting performances range from good (Donna Ponterotto as Jim’s waitress mother) to serviceable (Pruitt Taylor Vince’s performance as Marznap is fine, if rather clichéd and perilously close to a cameo) to rather dreadful (I adore Melanie Griffith but the less said about her awkward, halting performance as Betsy, the better). There’s also an unfortunate tendency to hammer things home a bit hard: the part where Jim’s voice-over explicitly lays out his mental state is way too obvious, especially since the film had been so good at subtly laying out the same notion prior to that.

When the film follows through on its convictions, however, it comes perilously close to being a truly soul-shattering experience. The “twist” is a real gutpunch, which allows the previously foregone conclusion to pack much more emotional weight than it might otherwise have. The violence is sparse but genuinely disturbing when it comes (similar to Henry, if you think about it) and Krishnamma’s use of traditional Hawaiian instrumentals and songs such as “Aloha Oe” help keep the whole thing off kilter. For every familiar beat, Krishnamma throws in something so outside the box that it makes the whole production feel much fresher than it probably should have. This is, without a doubt, the very definition of something being far greater than the sum of its parts.

Ultimately, for as good as Dark Tourist ends up being (and the film is very, very good), it’s still the kind of movie that will have extremely limited appeal. Similar to Simon Rumley’s misery-epics The Living and the Dead (2006) and Red, White & Blue (2010), there is no sunshine to be found here whatsoever. Things begin on a grim note and degrade from there into abject and complete despair: it’s not spoiling a thing to say that nothing in Dark Tourist will end positively because there’s no way it could…Jim (and the world he inhabits) are way too fucked up for any sort of “fairy tale ending.” This is the kind of film that is best described as an “endurance match”: for as much as I respected Krishnamma and Hughes’ bleak vision, I would be extremely wary of anyone who said that they actually enjoyed it. Gentle readers, take note: if you’re not ready to descend to the depths of human depravity, you might want to book passage on an entirely different cruise.

1/2/15 (Part Two): Do Not Provoke the Bigfeet

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1st person POV, Altered, Bigfoot, Blair Witch Project, cabins, Chris Osborn, cinema, creature feature, Denise Williamson, Dora Madison Burge, Eduardo Sanchez, Exists, film reviews, films, found-footage, hand-held camera, horror, horror movies, isolation, Jaime Nash, Jeff Schwan, John Rutland, lost in the woods, Lovely Molly, Movies, Roger Edwards, Samuel Davis, Sasquatch, Seventh Moon, siege, The Blair Witch Project, vengeance, Willow Creek

While it was certainly odd to see six or seven doppelgänger films released in 2014, I actually found the mini-trend towards Bigfoot films to be even weirder. After all, I can understand the current fascination with thinking that there’s a cooler, more successful version of yourself running around the world: it’s only natural that we’d begin to reap the fruits that we planted in the Social Media Age. What’s behind the boom in Bigfoot/Sasquatch films, though? Current facial hair trends? Our desire to return to the wilderness and live simpler lives? The notion that as the world continues to shrink (that darn social media thing, again), we’re gradually running out of isolated pockets of the unknown to poke and prod, leading us to go over old ground with a finer tooth comb?

Here’s where it gets even stranger, however: of the three Bigfoot films that were released in 2014 (Willow Creek, Skookum: The Hunt for Bigfoot and Exists), two of them actually share a connection, however tenuous. You see, Bobcat Goldthwait’s Willow Creek plays like a Sasquatch-oriented re-do of The Blair Witch Project (1999), albeit one that seems to have the goal of fixing Blair Witch’s many problems (unlikable characters, lack of action, iffy script). Exists, by contrast, is the newest film by Eduardo Sanchez, one of the two filmmakers responsible for The Blair Witch Project and our current obsession with found-footage films. Exists is also a found-footage film (for the most part), which means that we got two, separate found-footage Bigfoot films that both appeared to (obliquely) reference Blair Witch…holy alternate universe, Batman!

Despite the surface similarities, however, there are actually quite a few differences between Willow Creek and Exists (I never screened Skookum, so that may very well slot in here, as well). Of the two films, Willow Creek is much closer to the original Blair Witch Project in tone and intent, whereas Sanchez’s Bigfoot opus is more of an action-horror/siege film: in many ways, Exists is another in the long, storied tradition of “something chasing our heroes through the woods” films, rather than a “traditional” found-footage horror film. Both films have their merits, although I’ll admit to leaning a little heavier on Willow Creek than Exists, which often seems too reminiscent of other films (including Blair Witch). Nonetheless, Exists has plenty to offer fans of Bigfoot-themed horror flicks and manages to whip up a pretty decent sense of atmosphere and tension.

The film begins with us firmly in found-footage cliché land, as we get hand-held footage of our intrepid heroes goofing around on the picturesque drive to their backwoods cabin location. We have brothers Matt (Samuel Davis) and Brian (Chris Osborn), couple Todd (Roger Edwards) and Liz (Denise Williamson) and fifth-wheel Dora (Dora Madison Burge), all out for a nice, fun weekend at the cabin owned (and mysteriously abandoned) by Matt and Brian’s Uncle Bob (Jeff Schwan). The group has snuck out to the cabin, without Uncle Bob’s knowledge, so no one has any idea where they are. If you just said “Sounds like a bad idea,” go ahead and give yourself that gold star, buckaroo.

While driving at night, the group appear to hit something with their SUV: after the most cursory of cursory looks, they take off, convinced that they’ve just “wounded” some friendly, little woodland creature. Turns out this was another bad idea, since something large, angry and extremely violent is now after their group. When the friends hole up in Bob’s abandoned cabin, they quickly find themselves under siege from what appears to be an angry mob of…well, of some kind of furry, bipedal creatures that are, essentially, the exact opposite of the Henderson’s ol’ buddy, Harry. When the group are forced to split up in order to get help, they only end up making themselves easier targets. As Uncle Bob races to the cabin for a desperate rescue mission, the others will learn the terrible price of their thoughtless actions. Can they find forgiveness and salvation in the deep, dark woods or will they end up as just more mysterious footnotes in the murky history of the creature known as Bigfoot?

For my money, Eduardo Sanchez was always the most talented of the Sanchez/Myrick combo. In the time since The Blair Witch Project revolutionized the indie horror film, Sanchez has been responsible for a small handful of really exceptional films: Altered (2006), Seventh Moon (2008), Lovely Molly (2011) and a segment in V/H/S 2 (2013). Lovely Molly, in particular, is an amazing gut-punch of a film and easily one of the best of the past decade. Myrick, by contrast, released the disappointing Believers (2007), Solstice (2008) and The Objective (2008) in the same time-period, none of which approached the quality of Sanchez’s output.

In this case, then, we have the more gifted of the two Blair Witch filmmakers returning to the found-footage sub-genre that he helped popularize: my anticipation for this was pretty high, especially considering how much I respect Lovely Molly. If nothing about Exists manages to hit the heady heights of Lovely Molly, however, it probably has something to do with this being a slightly less personal project: Sanchez directs from a script by Jaime Nash rather than writing the film himself, as he’s done in the past. The characters are much flimsier than his previous films, for one thing, nearly reduced to the level of stock characters (Todd and Brian, in particular, are more stereotypes than actual real people). Again, this only really becomes an issue when compared to Sanchez’s previous full-length, the astounding Lovely Molly: the drop in quality might not be as notable were it not for this rather unfortunate progression.

One of Exists greatest strengths, in the long run, ends up being its more action-oriented take on found-footage films. The usual complaint with these type of films (a complaint that goes right back to Blair Witch) is that nothing actually happens until the final five minutes: everything else is just atmospheric build-up to that brief pay-off. One can’t make that complaint here, since things start happening almost immediately and the film is chock-full of memorable setpieces: the assault on the cabin, the incredible attack on the stranded RV, the Go-Pro-filmed forest bike chase that directly recalls the “A Ride in the Park” segment of V/H/S 2, the effective (if slightly hokey) ending. Exists is able to build and release tension at regular intervals, making it much closer to a “traditional” horror film than the usual “delayed gratification” of found-footage.

Atmosphere-wise, Exists is a complete success: at times, the film is layered with so much tension and dread that it’s almost unbearable. Cinematographer John Rutland (who also shot Lovely Molly) perfectly captures the eerie, isolated woodland location and turns the abandoned cabin into one of the creepiest places of the year. The night scenes are also exceptionally well-shot, with plenty of good image definition, along with lots of that aforementioned tension. From a craft standpoint, Exists biggest failings can actually be traced directly back to its found-footage roots: at times, the film almost seems to replicate specific shots from Blair Witch (the night-vision scenes, in particular), which, ironically, gives it a more slavish air than Willow Creek: Sanchez seems to be ripping himself off, which is a decidedly odd move. There are also several points in the film where the 1st-person perspective is abandoned in favor of a more omniscient viewpoint, which gets kind of confusing: just who, exactly, is supposed to be filming those angles? A Bigfoot? It’s not a deal-breaker but it’s definitely noticeable and anything that takes the audience out of a film like this runs the very real risk of not getting them back.

All in all, I definitely liked Exists: the film was fast-paced, well-made and quite tense, even if it was never particularly unique. That being said, I also found this to be the weakest of Sanchez’s post-Blair Witch output, by a long shot: I would have figured this to be the direct follow-up to his debut, not his fifth full-length. There’s a lot to like here (the repeated images of uprooted trees are frankly awesome and that RV assault is one of the record books) although I can’t help but wish the characters were more fully realized and sympathetic (or, at the very least, interesting). Of the two Bigfoot films I saw in 2014, I was definitely more impressed by Goldthwait’s, even though it seemed to be the less “hard-charging” of the two, on paper. Perhaps it was Willow Creek’s great characters, its handful of genuinely hilarious scenes or that impressive final 30 minutes but it just ended up grabbing me harder than Exists. Despite that fact, however, I’m confident that there’s enough room in the woods for both of these shaggy beasts to happily co-exist: if you’re looking to scratch that Bigfoot itch, you could do a whole lot worse than Exists.

1/28/14: Innocence Lost

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Carrie, child abuse, child trauma, cinema, Dark Touch, Film, horror films, Irish films, killer children, Lovely Molly, Marina de Van, Missy Keating, Movies, Niamh, telekinesis, unpleasant

As someone who watches a lot of films, particularly horror and exploitation fare, I occasionally find myself in the position of watching something that, in hindsight, I would rather not have seen. This can be due to several factors: visuals/scenes that are excruciatingly nauseating or graphic; themes/plot elements that are genuinely disturbing (I’m thinking more child and animal abuse than alien abduction or masked slashers); constant and never-ending misery, etc. Over the years, I’ve seen a few films (Salo, Cannibal Holocaust, Lovely Molly, Nekromantik, Irreversible, Henry) that I’ll never quite forget but will never actively think about for fear that details of each pop fresh into my skull (which they just did as I typed out this sentence). Unfortunately, I inadvertently added to this list with my recent viewing of Marina’s de Van’s unrelentingly disturbing Dark Touch.

On the outside, Dark Touch doesn’t seem particularly disturbing but the devil is definitely in the details with this one. The film details the struggles of Niamh, an 11-year-old irreparably scarred and twisted by abuse. Her mother and father have just been massacred in what the police in her small Irish town are calling a brutal home invasion. When Niamh goes to stay with Nat and Lucas, kindly friends of her deceased parents, it seems that she may just have a chance at happiness. Alas, the seeds of abuse can be planted deeply and the weeds they produce can choke and kill any happiness. Niamh already knows this and, soon, Nat, Lucas, their two small children and the entire town will learn this, as well.

In many, many years of watching films, I’ve rarely seen a film as fundamentally unpleasant as Dark Touch. For one thing, the film is unrelenting grim and gray, from the first frame to the last frame. There is absolutely no humor, levity or happiness to be found anywhere within the film’s 90 minutes. This does, of course, befit a film that focuses on the horrible aftermath of physical and sexual child abuse. Imagine if, however, the entirety of Requiem for a Dream consisted of the scene with the arm abscesses. There is misery and then there is misery: Dark Touch manages to stake out a new place at the head of the pack.

It’s no secret or spoiler to note that Niamh is an abused child and that her parents are the abusers: we’re given this information within the first 15 minutes of the film. The only mystery, ultimately , ends up being just how far Niamh will be stretched before she breaks. In many ways, Dark Touch is like a pitch-black, pre-teen version of Carrie, with abuse subbed for the oppressive religious angle of King’s classic. There was never much doubt in my mind as to who, exactly, was causing the mysterious deaths (if you’ve seen at least two poltergeist/moody kid horror films in your life, this should come as no surprise whatsoever), although I’m not sure that the film ever posits itself as a genuine mystery, so this is probably a moot point.

As mentioned, the film is exceedingly grim and unpleasant throughout its runtime. The final 20 minutes, however, manages to out-do the entire rest of the film in terms of sheer squeamishness/unpleasantness/potential to scar. Without giving any actual details away, let’s just say that Niamh and two other abused kids adopt the personas of their abusers and proceed to inflict these abuses upon innocent people. This sequence, to be honest, is so sickening, so revoltingly raw and terrible, that it becomes impossible to look away. It truly is like looking all the way to the bottom of Nietzsche’s abyss and seeing a reflective surface. Suffice to say that I hope to never, in this life or any others afterwards, see its like again.

Content and tone aside, Dark Touch, from a filmmaking perspective, is an exceptionally well-made film. The visuals are consistently stunning and moody, if constantly dark but the sound design is a true thing of beauty. Dark Touch is one of the few modern horror films that understand how truly important a good sound design can be to the overall impact of a film. The movie is loaded with great examples of the design but my favorite comes from the creepy scene where Niamh wanders the streets of her town at night, whistling an eerie tune. As she whistles, the sound becomes modulated and distorted, eventually becoming part of the soundtrack, by which time the whistle has been something altogether different and alien. It’s a genius technique, one that is employed at a few other key points in the film. The soundtrack has a tendency to favor dissonant, ringing tones and high, wavering sounds, at times coming across as some nightmarish collision of Philip Glass and Aphex Twin.

From a horror perspective, the violence in the film is fairly hardcore: imagine the poltergeist activity (moving tables, slamming doors) of most “haunting” films taken to a completely Grand Guignol level. People are ripped apart, bodies are torn, tender extremities are pierced, faces are pulverized: the gore scenes are so violent, especially when juxtaposed against the slower, moodier atmosphere of the rest of the film, that they almost come across as parody or satire. Imagine if the kill scenes from a Final Destination film were welded onto a dark indie chiller and you have a basic idea. Across the board, however, the effects work is exceptional and seems to rely on plenty of practical effects, which is always a nice touch.

The acting, unfortunately, tends to be a bit hit-and-miss. Missy Keating, as young Niamh, is a revelation, an actress so perfectly suited to the role that it doesn’t really seem like an acting job. She’s one of the most impressive child actors I’ve seen in years and I really hope she gets a chance to do something other than be miserable for an hour and a half. The adults, particularly Nat and Lucas (Marcella Plunkett and Padraic Delaney, respectively) have a habit of being too over-the-top and frantic, traits which make them seem less capable than the children (which, come to think of it, may be the film’s intent). The script, likewise, can be clunky and overly expository: Lucas, in particular, gets saddled with so many leaden lines that his character can seem more like a plot-construct than an actual human being.

At the end of the day, however, one’s acceptance and enjoyment (if you could call it that) of Dark Touch will hinge entirely upon the child abuse angle, in the same way that appreciation for something like Ms. 45 or I Spit on Your Grave hinges entirely on the rape-revenge subgenre. If you are unable to view cinematic depictions of child abuse (the abuse is very obvious and open, although the film is careful to only show the abuse being perpetrated on adults, for the most part, as opposed to the intended child victims), this is absolutely not something you will be able to sit through. The message behind the film is decidedly non-exploitative and important: the evils of child abuse continue to propagate and spread, long after the initial abuse is but a memory. After watching the film, however, I really did only have one thought: I’m glad that I’ll never have to watch this again.