The 31 Days of Halloween (2018): 10/8-10/14

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31 Days of Halloween, Halloween, Halloween traditions, horror, horror films, horror movies, Housewife, neighbors, October, Puppet Master The Littlest Reich, Stitches, Terrified, Terrifier, Terrortory 2, The Windmill

A little late but, at long last: Week Two of the 31 Days of Halloween! This week featured three unplanned variations on the word “terror” (Terrifier, Terrified and Terrortory 2), along with a couple of older favorites and one of the most gonzo, over-the-top headfucks I’ve seen in some time. With no further ado: the 31 Days of Halloween continues.

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Terrifier (2018)

Picking up where writer/director Damien Leone’s All Hallows’ Eve left off, Terrifier puts us back in the bad company of Art the Clown, serial killer extraordinaire. This time around, the anthology format is ditched for a more straight-forward, grindhouse slasher feel that focuses exclusively on Art and the mess he makes over the course of one very gory Halloween eve. As the body count rises, will anyone be able to put an end to the evil clown’s reign of terror?

Here’s the thing with Terrifier: it’s the cinematic equivalent of a game of freeway chicken and your appreciation of said offering will really depend on whether you swerve first. Leone and crew have perfectly captured the feel of sleazy, vile, unrepentant “golden era” slasher films, the kind that played in back-alley dives rather than big theaters. The film is ridiculously gory (one setpiece involves sawing someone in half with a hacksaw) and features truly impressive practical effects. It’s ugly, arguably misogynistic (although just as many men as women are slaughtered in the film), full of casual “acting,” oddly paced and possessed by one of the truly unforgettable modern-day boogeymen in Art the Clown. Terrifier is inventive, disgusting, tedious and, every so often, mind-blowing. It’s a film that my teenaged self would have probably obsessed over but one that my middle-aged self might accuse of trying a little too hard. If you’re looking for blood, guts and grime, look no further than Terrifier but be forewarned: this is just about as extreme as non-underground horror offerings get.

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Stitches (2012)

Sleazebag birthday clown Stitches (comedian Ross Noble) meets an untimely end at the hands of a bunch of truly shitty kids. Years later, Stitches returns from the dead, seeking revenge on his now-teenaged antagonists, determined to kill them all in the clowniest of ways. It’s up to sixteen-year-old protagonist Tommy to put an end to the infernal funnyman once and for all and stop his lethal shenanigans.

Full disclosure: I’m madly in love with this film…hopelessly, completely and madly. There’s not one frame I would change, one awful character I would modify, a single catch-phrase I would delete. I think that the backstory involving the shadowy clown cabal is fascinating, fully believe that the death set-pieces easily equal the best of the Nightmare on Elm Street series (the ice cream pieta is just perfect) and consider Ross Noble’s Stitches to be one of the very best horror villains ever. The film is funny and scary, tense and silly. As far as I’m concerned, there are really only two evil clown films that ever need to be bothered with: Jon Watt’s Clown and Conor McMahon’s Stitches.

Beep, beep, Pennywise.

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The Windmill (2016)

A bus full of tourists break down during a tour of Dutch windmills and wind up at the stomping grounds of a Satanic medieval miller who ground people’s bones to make his bread. Literally. As luck would have it, the miller isn’t totally dead (these things happen) and he proceeds to cut a mighty swath through our collected stereotypes with a mighty scythe. The survivors must band together and find some way to send this particular demon straight back to Hell before they all get turned into meat scraps. Amsterdamned, indeed!

I first saw writer/director Nick Jongerius’ The Windmill as part of my effort to see every horror film released in 2016, regardless of content or quality. I didn’t expect much, at the time, but was quickly blown away by not only the film’s overall quality (it looks simply smashing) but also by how fun it ended up being. Simply put, The Windmill is a blast, the kind of old-school horror film that demands you yell at the screen and throw your fist in the air when something truly epic happens. The film isn’t perfect, mind you, but none of its flaws are critical: in pretty much every regard, The Windmill is just about as good as slick, big-screen, gory, pop-horror films get. Add in a pretty memorable villain and you have the recipe for a damned good seasonal treat.

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Puppet Master: The Littlest Reich (2018)

For the latest installment in Charles Band’s long-running franchise (30 years young in 2019), the keys to the kingdom are handed over to a few interesting choices: Swedish Evil Dead devotees Sonny Laguna and Tommy Wiklund direct, while pulp wunderkind S. Craig Zahler handles the writing duties. The results, which concern chaos and carnage at an auction devoted to the lethal puppets, are some of the bloodiest, funniest and most outrageous of the entire series.

Right off the bat, the newest Puppet Master is two things: genuinely funny and zealously determined to offend. Whether via the astoundingly gory effects (the film starts slow but ends closer to Dead Alive territory, gore-wise), the brazenly politically-incorrect humor or focus on taboo situations, this is a film that will absolutely not be for everyone.

Give it a chance, however, and the new Puppet Master reveals itself as more than just a cheap provocateur. The film is not only extremely well-made and ruthlessly effective, but it also has a genuine heart, albeit a smirking, blood-smeared one. In many ways, the film is kindred spirits with the equally raunchy Hobo With a Shotgun: if the content and grue don’t turn you off, the emotion might pull you in. Plus, that opening credit sequence really is one of the best of the whole year.

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Housewife (2018)

A few years back, Turkish filmmaker Can Evrenol blew me away with a disturbing little ditty that was equal parts Reservoir Dogs and Hellraiser: Baskin was a little talky, in the opening stretch, but devolved into nothing short of a nightmare by the time it all went, literally, to Hell. Suffice to say, anticipation was pretty high for the follow-up: is there any way it could possibly be as fucked up as its predecessor?

The answer, it turns out, is a resounding “yes.” For only his second full-length, writer/director Evrenol has created something that feels like a companion piece to Ari Aster’s Hereditary, an austere, psychological nightmare that descends into complete and unmitigated, howling insanity. The less said about this, the better (some of the surprises really do need to wallop you over the head, for maximum impact) but the film manages to take elements of the aforementioned Hereditary, Aronofsky’s Mother, Phantasm, Rosemary’s Baby and H.P. Lovecraft and turn them into something completely unique and impossibly disturbing. Right on the edge between arthouse and grindhouse, I’m willing to wager that you’ll never get Housewife out of your head…for better or worse.

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Terrortory 2 (2018)

Whenever possible, I like to root for the underdog. Case in point: multi-director, indie anthology Terrortory. I screened this a few years ago for my 2016 project and was rather impressed. Despite being a micro-budget indie horror film with a mostly amateur cast, the film had tons of heart and creativity. It was nowhere close to perfect but never less than watchable. At the time, I made a personal vow to keep up with the filmmakers…and then promptly forgot all about ’em. Flash-forward to this year and I finally get to keep my promise as writer/director Kevin Kangas delivers Terrortory 2.

Like the original, the sequel is an anthology film taking place in the mystical Terrortory, a spot of land where a myriad of monsters, ghosts, demons and generally weird things all happen to hang out together. Similar to the first film, the sequel is ultra-low budget and features a cast that ranges from rather blank to decent enough. The stories range from effective to slightly less so (“The Fountain” is appropriately Lovecraftian and well-paced, whereas “The Wendigo” is nothing more than a minute-long setup for a punchline: the other handful of tales fall between these poles), the effects are decent and the original story-line is continued in a logical way. Terrortory 2 may be a far-cry from the best horror films of 2018 but it’s got more passion and heart than many films of its ilk. At this rate, I’m already booking my next trip to the Terrortory, presumably sometime around Halloween 2019.

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Terrified (2018)

A sleepy, suburban neighborhood finds itself under assault from a myriad of paranormal terrors, including creepy voices in the sink, a dead child who won’t stay buried and a terrifying, gangly humanoid with a propensity for hiding under beds and emerging in the wee hours of the night. It’s up to a trio of ghost hunters, along with a local police captain, to get to the bottom of the eerie events before all Hell breaks loose and takes the suburbs with it.

This Argentinian export had ferociously good word-of-mouth at recent genre festivals, making it one of my most anticipated screenings of the year. After watching it, however, I found myself more than a little conflicted. On the one hand, Terrified does feature several instantly memorable setpieces and plenty of creepy moments: the scene involving the dead kid at the kitchen table is just about as good as horror gets, for one thing. On the other hand, the whole film is batshit crazy and makes not one whit of sense. As a champion of plenty of nonsensical films in the past, I must also freely admit that Terrified takes that inch and runs for a country mile.

Imagine a cross between more traditional entries in the Waniverse (think Insidious) and something totally nuts like Obayashi’s Hausu. Terrified has plenty of atmosphere but also plenty of insanely-loud jump scares, making it a constant see-saw between loud, obvious, dumb scares and more subtly, creepy moments. When Demian Rugna’s film works, though, it’s a pretty singular experience and one of the more memorable films of the year.

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That takes care of Week Two. As we approach the big day, stay tuned for recaps on Weeks Three and Four. Stay spooky, boos and ghouls!

1/29/15: The Lunatic is Us

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'80s comedies, 1980s films, adult friendships, Brother Theodore, Bruce Dern, Carrie Fisher, cinema, comedies, Corey Feldman, Courtney Gains, Dana Olsen, dark comedies, Dick MIller, eccentric people, film reviews, films, Gale Gordon, Gremlins, Henry Gibson, Jerry Goldsmith, Joe Dante, Movies, mysteries, neighbors, Rick Ducommun, Robert M. Stevens, strange families, suburban homes, suburban life, suburbia, The 'Burbs, Tom Hanks, Wendy Schaal

Ah, suburbia: to some, the identical, immaculately maintained homes, on perfectly manicured lawns, at the ends of respectably located cul de sacs, are the ultimate light at the end of the tunnel, the happy reward for a life properly lived. Two-car garages, Scrabble with the Wilsons on Tuesday, beers and polite small-talk with the guys on Thursdays, regular garbage pick-up plus recycling (separate the glass) and close proximity to a dog park. Neighborhood watch keeps them safe, every kid gets invited to the birthday parties and there’s always someone around to lend them a wrench, ride or shoulder. Do you smell that? Fresh-cut grass and fresh-baked cookies, I do believe. Yes, indeed, neighborino…for some folks, suburbia is one sweet dream.

To others, however, it might be a little closer to hell on earth. All of those rows of tightly packed, anonymous houses, yards so close you can sneeze and hit your neighbor, tight streets choked with cars and children. The Wilsons are always complaining about the branches on your scrawny tree, there’s always dog shit on your lawn and some jerk keeps throwing fast food trash into your recycle bin. Every identical window contains an identical pair of staring eyes and they always seem to be interested in every single thing you do. Do you smell that? If so, call the HOA: there’s probably a regulation against it. And what, exactly, is your neighbor doing in his garage at 3 in the morning?

Joe Dante’s The ‘Burbs (1989) deals with the head-on collision between the dream and the nightmare of suburbia, territory that’s been fertile ground for cinema for some time. Think back to films like Neighbors (1981), with Jim Belushi and Dan Ackroyd or Neighbors (2014), with Seth Rogen and Zac Efron, if you prefer. Don’t forget about Parents (1989), Serial Mom (1994) or Blue Velvet (1986), either. Since this is Dante we’re dealing with, the mischievous imp behind The Howling (1981), Gremlins (1984) and Matinee (1993), we know that The ‘Burbs will examine suburbia through a darkly comic lens: since it stars Tom Hanks, one of the biggest, most likable actors of the ’80s and ’90s, we know that the ride won’t be too dark…ol’ Tom wouldn’t do us like that. In the process, we get a film that aspires to some of the same dark power as films like Neighbors (1981) and Parents, yet, ultimately, tempers everything with the kind of “feel-goodism” that was par for the course in many ’80s films. It’s no Gremlins but, if you think about it…what is?

In many ways, Ray Peterson (Tom Hanks) is the prototypical ’80s every-man: wife, son, house in the suburbs, makes decent money, lots of kooky neighbors, cheerful outlook on life, if slightly hassled, over-worked and a little too high-strung. He doesn’t take enough time off, knows everyone on the block by name and is a little too susceptible to peer pressure. His best buddy and next-door-neighbor, Art (Rick Ducommun), is high maintenance, the kind of guy who barges into your kitchen and starts eating your breakfast. Ray’s neighborhood also includes retired (and slightly wackadoodle) Lt. Mark Rumsfield (Bruce Dern) and his much younger wife, Bonnie (Wendy Schaal); old Walter (Gale Gordon) and his yappy little dog; and Ricky (Corey Feldman), the teenager who uses the neighborhood as his own, personal TV show. At Hinkley Hills, life is good.

Trouble comes in the form of Ray’s secretive new next-door-neighbors, the Klopeks. Rarely seen and never spoken with, the Klopeks violate the established order of the neighborhood by standing outside of the accepted social order. They don’t lend sugar, they don’t share a beer…they don’t seem to do much of anything, although strange sounds and smells seem to come from the decidedly sinister-looking house at odd hours of the night. Egged on by Art and Mark, Ray begins to view the neighbors with a suspicious eye, especially when efforts to meet them are continually (and comically) rebuffed.

When Walter seems to disappear, however, Art and Mark are convinced that the Klopeks are to blame. Despite the level-headed sanity of Ray’s wife, Carol (Carrie Fisher), Ray finds himself going down the rabbit-hole of paranoia and fear: are the Klopeks Satanists? Murderers? Aliens? Robots? There’s only one way to find out: breach the unknown and actually enter the Klopeks home. What they find there, however, will both answer and raise a multitude of questions. Just who are the Klopeks and what are they doing at Hinkley Hills? Good thing Ray and the Subarbanites are on the case!

For the most part, The ‘Burbs is a fun, if rather typical, ’80s comedy: vibrant, fast-paced, often silly and/or slapsticky, with just enough of a dark edge to distinguish it from the pack. The edge, of course, comes from director Joe Dante, the genre auteur who gifted us with such unforgettable films as the original Piranha (1978), Gremlins and its sequel, The Howling, Explorers (1985) and The Hole (2009). Dante is an absolute wizard at combining humor and horror, although he dabbles in plenty of non-horror-related fare, as well (see Explorers, among others). There are plenty of horror elements in The ‘Burbs, not least of which are the spook-show organs that signal the Klopeks and their home, although the film is not actually a horror movie.

Rather, the film is a clever dissection of suburban life, albeit one that gets tempered a bit by the twist resolution that spins the narrative in a decidedly “safer” direction. Dante’s intent can best be summed up in the penultimate scene where Ray publicly denounces all of the terrible things that he and his friends have done to the Klopeks, all in the pursuit of uncovering their “otherness.” The mysterious, secretive Klopeks aren’t the lunatics, he shouts: their supposedly “normal” neighbors are. We have seen the enemy and it is us, if you will.  It’s a bracing notion, certainly one of the high points of writer Dana Olsen’s script, and one that Dante wrings every last ounce of irony from. Too bad, then, that things get unraveled so soon after, although I can chalk that up to the Hollywood propensity for a happy ending more than anything else.

Hanks, of course, is Hanks. Let’s be frank…love him or hate him, Tom Hanks is the epitome of a box office star for one simple reason: he’s impossibly likable on-screen. Despite playing some of the most high-strung, needy, nerdy, goofy and nebbishy characters this side of Woody Allen, Hanks always manages to be the center of attention. He has genuine “it” factor, that ill-defined star quality that separates the good from the great and it’s an effortless quality: we always pull for Ray because he’s Tom Hanks…you really want to let that guy down?

It’s not a solo show, of course (that would come a bit later): there’s plenty of support in this particular back-field. Rick Ducommun is an able foil as the oafish, if empathetic, Art: we buy the relationship between him and Hanks even if we often want to slap the smirk off his face. Ducommun gets several funny scenes including a great bit with a great dane, a good ol’ “Satanic chant” and a nice closing monologue about the power of suburbanites. Dern brings a reasonable amount of unreason to the nutty Lt. Rumsfield but we expect nothing less from our favorite nutjob. While it’s not much different from his other roles, it’s always nice to see him in something light and there’s a rare and sublime joy to the scene where he (repeatedly) puts his feet through the Klopek porch.

It’s always good to see Carrie Fisher in something light and she brings some nice nuance to a character that could have been too hectoring or, alternately, just wallpaper. I liked Ray and Carol’s relationship and thought that her casual acceptance of the situation, at the end, was a really nice, subtle comment on the myriad Ditto Feldman, who takes the stereotypical snarky teen next-door and makes him a lot more fun, cool and likable than he could’ve been. His enthusiasm over the neighborhood is the furthest thing from modern-day ennui and it’s kinda awesome to see someone so genuinely interested in something so square as his neighborhood. On the Klopek side, we have the always dependable Henry Gibson as the patriarch, Brother Theodore (a frequent voice actor who finished his 40+year career in film with The ‘Burbs) as salty Uncle Reuben and Courtney Gains as the buck-toothed Hans.

While there’s a lot working in The ‘Burbs favor, this has always been a film that I like more than love. For one thing, I find the heavy-handed elements, such as the musical cues and slapstick, to be a little tedious and the film is at least 20 minutes longer than it needs to be. Some of the setpieces, like the bee attack, are great, while others, like Art’s shock, fall a little flat. There’s an awful lot of mugging going on (Hanks is especially guilt of this) and, with the exception of Gibson’s Dr. Klopek, the other Klopeks are rather under-utilized. There are also a few details, like the mysterious wind, that are never explained. By and large, however, my biggest issue comes with the ending, which reverses the deliciously ironic note that the film promises to end on before going in a much more conventional direction. To be honest, it’s kind of a bummer, even though the final chase/fight is lots of fun.

All in all, The ‘Burbs is fun but it’s certainly no Gremlins. While there are plenty of genuinely funny moments here, the sharp edges are sanded down just enough to make the whole thing seem just a little too safe. If you’re looking to stroll the darker streets of suburbia, I’d have to recommend Parents over this one. If you just want to spend a little time with some eccentric neighbors and have the luxury of leaving them behind after 100 minutes, however, there’s certainly nothing wrong with checking into The ‘Burbs. It’s no American dream but it ain’t a nightmare, either.

1/4/15: Leave Your Mind At the Sound of the Beep

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Ahnna Rasch, Alexander Brøndsted, Antonio Tublen, audio experiments, audio tones, Björn Löfberg Egner, cheating husbands, cinema, Computer Chess, dark comedies, dramas, dysfunctional family, electronic score, Erik Börén, experiments, film reviews, films, flashbacks, foreign films, hallucinations, husband-wife relationship, infidelity, insanity, Johanna Tschig, LFO, Linus Eklund, loners, Lukas Loughran, mental breakdown, mental illness, mind control, Movies, neighbors, Patrik Karlson, Per Löfberg, Samir Dounas, sci-fi, scientists, secrets, sound frequencies, sounds, stylish films, Swedish films, synthesizers, troubled marriages, writer-director-score-editor

Suppose that you invented the perfect self-help device, a machine that would put you into a highly suggestible state, allowing for subtle modifications to your behavior. Trying to cut back on sweets? Simply leave a “message” for yourself and your mind will subconsciously take care of the heavy lifting. Want to exercise more? Listen to a particular tone and, without even trying, you’ll actually want to run a marathon and do sit-ups until the cows come home. Want to just be a “better” person, in general? Set the controls, leave your command and, through no additional effort of your own, your brain and body will spring into action, making your “wish” come true. Sounds pretty amazing, right?

Now…suppose that you also just realized that if your humble little invention works so well on you, it might also work equally well on others. Suppose you discover that your device allows you to “control” others, using the power of hypnotic suggestion to subliminally influence and direct their actions and thoughts. Would you use said device to help make the world a better place, influencing people to abandon selfish, dangerous and destructive behaviors in favor of a more helpful, unified world view, inching humanity ever closer to a long-sought-after utopia? Or would you use it to turn those around you into mindless slaves, unknowingly beholden to your whim and command?

In a nutshell, that’s the conflict at the center of multi-hat-wearing director Antonio Tublen’s (he also wrote, edited and performed the electronic score) intriguing LFO (2014), an odd, stylish and darkly humorous bit of heady sci-fi that whips mind control, mental illness, marital discord and God complexes into a heady brew. While the film can be a little rocky, at times, and comes across as overly complex in the early going, LFO eventually settles down into a smart, edgy and appropriately weird little film that’s somewhat reminiscent of Andrew Bujalski’s Computer Chess (2013), while still managing to stake out plenty of original territory of its own.

Robert (Patrik Karlson) is a loner who lives by himself, routinely ignores his self-posted notes to “Take his medication” and seems to hallucinate the specter of his former wife, Clara (Ahnna Rasch), who appears to serve as his conscience. He also appears to be a scientist, of some sort, who’s working on an experiment involving sound frequencies: Robert collaborates with several other colleagues, including Sinus-San (Erik Börén), via short-wave radio, since he rarely seems to leave his house. Robert makes a breakthrough when he notes that a particular frequency makes him highly susceptible to suggestion: upon further experimentation, he discovers that he can actually command himself to do things by giving an order into his device and listening to the resulting tone. In a humorous bit, Robert makes himself dislike cookies: after “waking up” from the frequency, he absent-mindedly noshes on a cookie, only to spit the treat out in disgust. Success!

After further tests prove how well the device works, Robert decides to take everything to the next level, “Phase 2,” as it were. Inviting his new neighbors, Linn (Johanna Tschig) and Simon (Per Löfberg) over for coffee, Robert uses the device on them and discovers that it has the exact same effect as on him. While in their hypnotic states, Robert plants subtle subliminal commands that have the effect of turning Linn and Simon into mindless drones: whenever they hear the tone, they’re powerless to resist Robert’s commands, although they remember nothing upon “waking.” In short order, the mad scientist is using Simon for free labor, while Linn serves as his sex slave, in a pretty obvious example of “absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

As Robert continues to fine-tune and perfect his device, however, outside forces begin to swirl about him. Sinus-san has taken to lurking around the periphery after discovering that Robert has cut him out of their joint discovery, while a mysterious insurance adjuster, Peter (Lukas Loughran), keeps asking questions about a car accident that Robert seems to have been involved with. There’s also the little matter of Clara, whose presence becomes more and more pronounced, as she constantly admonishes Robert to take his meds. Buffeted on all sides, Robert begins to lose control of his unwitting neighbors, who are now beginning to experience strange, unexplained half-memories of things that they can’t quite recall, such as Linn having sex with Robert. As Robert slips further and further into madness, humanity slides ever closer to a complete loss of free will…for better or much, much worse.

Tublen’s LFO bursts out of the gate with a smart, fresh concept and then proceeds to expand on it in some interesting ways. If the initial going can be head-swimmingly complex (perhaps those with knowledge of sound frequencies and the resulting science behind it may be able to keep up but this viewer was underwater fairly quickly), the film eventually settles down and, once we’ve accepted the tech aspect, becomes much more of a basic “mind control” film, albeit one filtered through the cracked, surreal lens of something like a Quentin Dupieux film. While not as outwardly strange or surreal as Dupieux’s films, there’s still the basic sense of a world that’s similar to ours but just off-kilter enough to be strange and unsettling.

LFO is a highly stylish, visual film, filled with vibrant colors, blinking lights, lo-fi technology and lovingly composed frames. The cinematography, courtesy of dual personnel Alexander Brøndsted and Linus Eklund, is consistently strong and the film always looks interesting. As befits a film focused on sound frequencies, the sound design in LFO is absolutely top-notch: I don’t normally single out sound engineers but I’d be a real jerk not to heap some praise on Samir Dounas, since the sound mix and editing is so vital to this particular film’s success. There’s also a highly effective electronic score, courtesy of the director, himself, which adds immeasurably to the atmosphere and tone of the film: another way in which LFO reminded me of Dupieux’s filmography.

The performances are uniformly strong, with Karlson being particularly impressive as the increasingly unhinged Robert. Tschig and Löfberg are quite convincing as the couple, vacillating between dead-eyed drones and confused, slightly frightened babes-in-the-woods: particularly good are the later scenes where Robert pretends to be a marriage counselor and leads the couple through his version of reconciliation therapy. One of the most impressive aspects of the film is how outwardly funny it is, albeit in a dark, rather twisted way. All three of the leads display excellent and subtle comic timing, which helps keep everything moving smoothly.

If I have any real complaints with LFO, they’re the same kinds of issues I might have with any similarly “tricky” film: at times, the film can get tripped-up in its own complex rationalizations and the whole thing feels just slightly longer than it should be. There’s also the underlying problem of Robert’s virtually unbeatable ability to control minds: similar to superheroes/villains that are too powerful, the balance of power in LFO is always drastically unbalanced. Since Robert is able to effortlessly control any and every situation with a click of his remote, there are times when the film feels rather low stakes: regardless of his situation, we’re always fairly sure that our little anti-hero will be able to regain control. Tublen still manages to wring plenty of genuine suspense and tension out of the scenario, don’t get me wrong, but this is definitely the epitome of a “stacked deck.”

In the end, I quite liked LFO: the film was very smart, relentless and genuinely intriguing. While never as unpredictable as something like Computer Chess or Wrong (2012), it was still one of the trickier films I saw last year and is never anything less than thought-provoking. LFO also manages to go out on a real high point, with one of the best endings I’ve seen in some time: in fact, the ending is so good that it actually helped to smooth out some of my previous reservations, proof positive that you always want to leave ’em with your best foot forward. While I’m sure that none of us would ever want a neighbor like Robert, it goes without saying that we could all benefit from spending a little time with the creepazoid, now and then.

12/30/14 (Part Two): Deja Vu All Over Again

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adult friendships, Alex Manugian, cinema, Coherence, comets, dinner parties, directorial debut, doppelgängers, doubles, Elizabeth Gracen, Emily Foxler, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, friends, Hugo Armstrong, James Ward Byrkit, Kristin Ohrn Dyrud, Lauren Maher, Lorene Scafaria, Maury Sterling, Movies, neighbors, Nic Sadler, Nicholas Brendon, Outer Limits, parallel universe, probability, quantum physics, sci-fi, Timecrimes, Twilight Zone, writer-director

On the night of a comet’s passage into Earth’s orbit, a group of four couples meet for dinner at one of their houses. As the friends hang out and talk, they notice that they’ve all lost cell reception. When the lights suddenly go out, the group heads outside only to discover that the entire neighborhood seems to have lost power…with the exception of a single house several streets down, that is. A hesitant mission to explore the mysteriously lit house returns with information but it’s not the kind of thing anyone wants to hear: the house is full of people, all right…eight people that look just like them.

That’s the basic set-up for writer James Ward Byrkit’s directorial debut, Coherence (2014), an exceptionally smart little bit of sci-fi paranoia that neatly slots into a year that saw a plethora of doppelgänger/double films, including the similar +1 (2014). If some of the execution comes across as a bit rushed and the acting often veers into the rough end of things, there’s no shortage of ambition here and Byrkit nails a creepy tone often enough to justify hanging in for the ride. There’s also a genuine sense of intelligence here that pushes Coherence into a select group of films that include Timecrimes (2007) and Primer (2004), nice company for a first-time director to be in. There are even times where the film achieves the kind of unexplained, Lovecraftian dread that made Denis Villeneuve’s Enemy (2014) one of my favorite films of the year: again, not bad company to be in at all.

Part of what makes Coherence such an effective film is the way in which Byrkit threads the notions of cause-and-effect and probability through the entire narrative, which twists and turns on itself like a snake. At times, the films many whiplash twists can get a bit dizzying but it never feels overwhelming, mostly because the script doles out information and audience support as needed without ever feeling overly expository. There’s still enough doubt by the film’s conclusion to make it relatively open-ended, although it feels more like a choice than the kind of “backed into a corner” resolution that can often result from this kind of film. While some of the film’s rationalizations come across as a little wonky, it never feels silly or improbable.

Another aspect of Coherence that struck me as particularly impressive was the way in which the film managed to recall the feel of vintage Twilight Zone or Outer Limits episodes without ever seeming like a slavish imitation. In particular, the basic setup reminded me of the classic “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” episode, at least on a surface level. This impression was also driven home by the film’s editing style, which often felt as if it left room for commercial breaks, for some inexplicable reason: while I wasn’t a fan of this particular quirk in the slightest, I do admit that the enjoyed the Twilight Zone association immensely.

If I had any real issue with Byrkit’s debut (the filmmaking was generally fine, although the shaky cam and over-reliance on close-ups could be distracting), it definitely resides with the often hit-or-miss acting. When the ensemble connects, they definitely feel authentic, which lends a chilling sense of realism to the admittedly bizarre events around them. When they don’t, however, the whole thing tends to become amateurish and rather over-the-top. In particular, Hugo Armstrong and Nicholas Brendon are prime offenders as Hugh and Mike, respectively. Armstrong never really comes across as anything more than shouty and blustery, which strips any nuance from his character and makes him seem like a particularly obnoxious plot contrivance. Brendon is also over-the-top but I lay quite a bit of the blame for that at Byrkit’s feet: as written, the character of Mike is a complete mess and serves only to add unnecessary melodrama to scenes that don’t need it. His constant kvetching about his drinking gets old fast and I could never fully understand his motivations.

On the plus side, Emily Foxler is quite good as Em and provides a fairly well-rounded protagonist. She’s likable, which certainly helped in a film where the characters often seemed self-absorbed to the point of stage-bound artificiality. Maury Sterling was also consistently good as Em’s boyfriend, Kevin: the two actors had good chemistry together and Sterling was always an interesting performer to watch. Elizabeth Gracen’s performance as Beth could tend towards the OTT, ala Armstrong’s, but I chalked a bit of that up to story issues: she did some nice, subtle work, at times,  and I bought her relationship with Hugh part and parcel. For their parts, Scafaria, Manugian and Maher give good performances but don’t do much to stand out, although Manugian’s Amir does make a fairly ridiculous “bad boy.”

For the most part, I enjoyed Coherence: the film could be rough, at times (the lighting, in particular, was always rather flat and ugly), and it always felt like a few too many ideas were being stuffed into too small a space but there was no shortage of ambition here and many of the film’s concepts were the kind of next-level clever that you just don’t see in many films. While I ended up liking +1 just a little more (there’s something about that film’s gonzo pool-house siege scene that will forever reserve it a place in my heart), I will admit nothing but admiration for Byrkit’s debut. When it’s good, it’s subtly mind-blowing and is never anything less than completely thought-provoking. I, for one, will be eagerly awaiting Byrkit’s next film: if he can keep improving on the formula established here and tighten up the filmmaking, I have a feeling that he’ll be bending the fabric of space and time before we know it.

 

10/26/14 (Part One): Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

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1st person POV, 31 Days of Halloween, art installations, cinema, eponymous characters, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, found-footage films, guardians, horror, horror films, isolated communities, isolation, Jon Foster, Karl Mueller, Lovecraftian, Mark Steger, Movies, Mr. Jones, mysterious artists, neighbors, Sarah Jones, surreal, totems, voice-over narration, writer-director

Every town has one: a reclusive, secretive outcast who resists all friendly advances from the neighboring townsfolk, preferring his/her own company to that of the outside world. They’re the kinds of people who “polite” folks whisper about behind their hands and children make up stories about. In most cases, these recluses are probably just people who want to be left alone to do their own thing, whatever that may be, and I can’t pretend not to see eye-to-eye with them. In rare cases, however, these societal outcasts aren’t just loners but…well, let’s just call them sequestered, shall we? Sometimes, circumstances make it necessary for certain folks to isolate themselves away from everyone else. These can be for mundane reasons, of course, or they can be for sinister reasons (the provenance of the horror film for too many years to count). Sometimes, however, these outcasts can be sequestered away from society for reasons beyond our grasp…reasons that might just melt our comfortably safe world into candle wax if we were ever to come face to face with them.

Writer-director Karl Mueller’s debut feature, Mr. Jones (2013), takes a close look at just such an individual, the eponymous Mr. Jones of the title. Using the currently ubiquitous indie horror trend of “found footage/first-person POV” films, Mueller has no shortage of fascinating ideas, occasionally even lurching into the all-engulfing cosmic horror of Lovecraft. For all of the positives here, however, Mr. Jones is an ultimately confusing, fractured film, one with an ending that’s so positively out-there that it feels as if there’s a missing reel somewhere. The film is rough going, at times, but there’s a genuine intelligence and desire for coloring outside the lines that makes it worth a watch, even if the end result is a bit disappointing.

Mr. Jones opens with one of those scenes that, for better or worse, will pretty much determine how an audience feels about the film: Scott (Jon Foster) holds a camcorder on Penny (Sarah Jones), his wife, as she drives their car to their new home out in the country. Right off the bat, we get one of the moldiest clichés in the found-footage rule-book (“Thou shalt always film the characters as they drive, for no apparent reason”) and I’ll be frank: my initial impression wasn’t exactly favorable. There’s a redundant voice-over, from the husband, that adds nothing to the narrative and plenty of nearly stock scenes of the couple discussing their, apparently, fractious relationship. So far, absolutely nothing that hasn’t been done to death by this point in the sub-genre.

Just when it seems as if we’re settling into another one of those “odd things happen to an unhappy couple” movies, however, Mueller and company inject a little life into the film. While out exploring their new environs, the couple happen upon another house, an isolated, out-of-the-way little place that seems to be the opposite of “welcoming.” Scott’s a wannabe documentarian which, in this case, means that he’s a busy-body, so he eagerly lets himself into the strange house for a little exploration, even though the place is obviously occupied and the furthest thing from abandoned. Penny, the voice of reason, thinks this is the furthest thing from a good idea until she gets a gander of the bizarre, amazing sculptures in the basement. At that point, she looks like a kid who just got Willie Wonka’s golden ticket. What gives?

Turns out that Penny recognizes some of the sculptures as belonging to the ultra-reclusive artist Mr. Jones, a mysterious figure that she describes as “like Banksy and J.D. Salinger.” Just then, the home-owner returns and the pair narrowly make it out after Penny creates a diversion. Despite their near brush with breaking-and-entering charges, however, Penny is completely hooked: she now wants to make a documentary about the most obvious subject of all: their world-famous, reclusive, mysterious next-door neighbor.

At this point, we get some standard “talking head” interviews with “experts,” who describe Mr. Jones’ decidedly strange M.O.: the artist mails his artwork to random, unsuspecting people around the world, people who then begin to experience drastic changes in personal luck, as it were. There are only nine verified Jones pieces in the whole world: any new work would be worth more than seven figures, or so we’re told. The allure, then, is obvious: we’re always fascinated by what we don’t understand, even more so when it involves giving away priceless possessions to complete strangers.

As Penny and Scott continue to poke around, however, they begin to uncover evidence that Mr. Jones might be more than just an outsider art hero: he may actually be involved in some sort of arcane, supernatural ritual that involves his sculptures, pieces which may or may not function as some sort of totems. The truth of the matter is actually more bizarre than even the couple can imagine, however, and leads to a chaotic, genuinely odd climax that drives home that most basic of truisms: good fences do, indeed, make good neighbors.

From a story/idea standpoint, Mr. Jones is rock-solid: Mueller manages to nail a Lovecraft vibe, particularly in the info dump scenes, that promises huge revelations and soul-shattering terror. The sculptures, themselves, are properly unearthly and, in some cases, flat-out badass: the “scarecrow,” in particular, is a real marvel and the kind of iconic image that most genre filmmakers would kill for.

On the other hand, however, the film is actually kind of a mess. The found-footage aspects are pretty tired and old-hat, especially when played as straight as they are here: there are so many “Blair Witch”-type “selfie” shots that it felt as if the filmmakers had just watched the film and were determined to craft their own version of events. Neither of the leads have much personality or individuality, although neither are obnoxious, for that matter: like much of the film, they’re just kind of there to help advance the storyline. The film’s climax, in particular, is massively confusing and seems to come from out of nowhere: it’s a real head-scratcher that’s definitely thought-provoking, albeit for the wrong reasons. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on but not completely sure: normally, that feeling would delight me, since it would indicate something outside the box. In this case, however, it’s more of a shrug and accept kind of thing: again, probably not what the filmmakers were shooting for.

Despite the fundamental problems with the movie, there was still a solid underlying idea that was fascinating and certainly worthy of exploration, even if the final result was decidedly hum-drum. While this was Mueller’s first directorial effort, he previously wrote the screenplay to French extreme-horror guru Xavier Gen’s mean-spirited The Divide (2011), which indicates someone who slowly climbing the indie-horror strata. In time, I’m confident that Mueller will have something under his belt that’s at least as explosive as Gens’ unforgettable Frontier(s) (2007). Mr. Jones isn’t that film, not by a long shot, but it’s not a bad way to begin the journey, either.