6/8/15 (Part Two): Boy Meets Demon

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Akom Tidwell, Ashleigh Jo Sizemore, Bovine Fantasy Invasion, cinema, creature feature, dead parents, demonic possession, demons, DIY filmmaking, Dustin Dorough, Emmett Eckert, Equinox, fantasy, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Goat Witch, gory films, Hex of the Vulture, horror, horror films, husband-wife team, indie horror film, James Sizemore, John Chatham, Josh Adam Gould, low-budget films, Lucio Fulci, made-up language, Melanie Richardson, Movies, multiple writers, Nightbreed, occult, possession, practical effects, Sade Smith, Sam Raimi, special-effects extravaganza, summoning demons, supernatural, the Dark Womb, The Demon's Rook, The Evil Dead, Tim Reis, underground colonies, writer-director-producer-actor

Stuffed to bursting with more genuine imagination, passion, invention and pure love for the genre than most films with a hundred times the budget and resources, burgeoning indie auteur James Sizemore’s The Demon’s Rook (2013) is that rarest of films: it’s a modern throwback to the glories of ’80s direct-to-VHS spectacles that manages to not only nail the look but also replicate the wide-eyed, anything-goes feel of the era. To boil it down to its purest essence, The Demon’s Rook is the real, no bullshit deal and Sizemore may just prove to be this generation’s Sam Raimi.

In certain ways, The Demon’s Rook plays like an ultra low-budget version of Clive Barker’s Nightbreed (1990), as filtered through an ’80s-era Raimi sensibility. Young Roscoe (Emmett Eckert) seems to be fairly chummy with a demon named Dimwos (John Chatham): the two hang out in Roscoe’s room, at night, and the boy is constantly drawing pictures of his demonic buddy. This fact doesn’t really seem to bother Roscoe’s parents, who are either the world’s most understanding mom and dad or pretty confident that their kid has an overactive imagination.

Turns out, they should have paid better attention. One night, something emerges from the mysterious opening in the woods and reduces Roscoe’s parents to a couple of scorch marks on their bedspread. Dimwos leads the boy to the woods, straight to the mysterious opening. Flash forward “years later” and we see the now-adult Roscoe (writer-director Sizemore) emerge from the opening. He’s got a bit of the ol’ “wild man of the woods” look to him, along with some newly honed psychic powers (fuck the Clapper: Roscoe can turn off lights by just pointing at them!).

Roscoe reconnects with his childhood love, Eva (Sizemore’s real-life wife, Ashleigh Jo Sizemore), in time to warn her of a pending demon invasion. Sure enough, three very bad demons (helpfully color-coded as white, black and red) emerge from the fog-shrouded forest cavern and proceed to wreck unholy hell on the hapless denizens of the area. The demons’ preferred method of destruction is to possess their victims, thereby causing them to either rip into those around them or rip into themselves, depending on the needs of the particular scene. One of the “possessed” even turns into a sort of man/monster hybrid (the transformation scene is just about as good as this sort of thing gets) and runs around attacking everything around him like a super-pissed off Toxic Avenger. Needless to say: good stuff.

As Roscoe and Eva try to quell the unholy onslaught, things get even hairier after the white demon reveals itself to be a bit of a necromancer and raises the inhabitants of a nearby cemetery as a gut-munching, zombie army. Zombies, demons, a wild concert in a barn that’s one part hillbilly-rave-orgy and two-parts Grand Guignol slaughterhouse…it’s enough to make anyone throw in the towel! Good thing for the locals (and the world) that Roscoe and Eva are made of much stronger stuff: when it comes to bloodthirsty demons, these are definitely the people you want on your side. So, blast your Bovine Fantasy Invasion tape, keep an eye out for the Manbeast and hold on to your guts: The Demon’s Rook is one helluva rollercoaster ride right to the wild side!

First and foremost, it’s obvious that The Demon’s Rook is a real labor of love: not only do the majority of the crew, including Sizemore, wear more hats than a haberdasher (this is, after all, the very definition of “indie filmmaking”), but the attention to detail and infectious good humor seem to indicate that no one was just punching the clock. The cinematography looks great (Tim Reis, who also edited, is an easy nominee for MVP, although he’s got a lot of competition) and the score, attributed to a variety of performers, is absolutely phenomenal: the running joke about Bovine Fantasy Invasion is pretty great, culminating in the aforementioned wildly awesome barn blowout. While the score is fun and interesting, on its own, it also perfectly fits the film’s ’80s-video vibe: as someone who grew up on these films, this gave me a pretty warm sense of nostalgia, let me tell ya.

One of the most obvious (and impressive) things about The Demon’s Rook is its outstanding production design and practical effects. The film has an amazing atmosphere: with its thick, rolling fog and hard red, green and blue lighting, there are times when Sizemore’s micro-epic recalls nothing so much as the glory days of Dario Argento’s eye-popping oeuvre: the cave, in particular, is a really great, simple setpiece and a perfect example of how “less” can always be “more,” in the right hands.

Like the direct-to-video treasures that it so lustily emulates, The Demon’s Rook is a veritable orgy of disembowelments, exploding heads, severed limbs and over-the-top carnage. The kicker here, of course, is that not only are the effects all practical, they’re all absolutely astounding: from the makeup to the costuming to the gore effects, The Demon’s Rook actually looks better than most “professional” films. There’s a sense of physicality, here, that can only be achieved through latex, fake blood and boundless imagination. It says a lot when the worst thing that I can say about the effects is that the Manbeast ends up looking like a super-expensive, high-end Halloween mask: if that’s the biggest effects issue, I’d say they knocked the whole thing out of the park.

The stellar effects go hand-in-hand with the film’s constant sense of invention and imagination: like the best, gonzo ’80s films, there’s very much the sense that just about anything could be lurking around the corner. The film’s mythology is original (I, for one, cannot reiterate how unbelievably refreshing that is in this cookie-cutter era of remakes and re-imaginings) and there’s always the sense of larger-scale world-building going on in the background. While there’s plenty of room for interpretation and further explanation (I won’t pretend that the entire film made complete sense, only that it made “sense enough,” in a Lucio Fulci kind of way), Sizemore never gets so bogged down in the details that it prevents the action from rocketing forward at a nicely frenzied pace. If the “Dark Womb” and its demonic inhabitants are going to be Sizemore’s signature fantasia, I can’t wait to see how the world expands and develops.

As should be fairly obvious from the above, I’m a huge fan of The Demon’s Rook: whether it’s the genuinely terrifying red demon (talk about a perfect synthesis of design, function and performer), the ridiculous “I’m gonna marry Barbara!” jig, the Troma-approved barnstravaganza (complete with bemasked nude dancers, apple-bobbing, moonshine and metal detectors that look like weedwackers) or any of the endlessly inventive gore scenes (talk about lighting up the “Italo-horror” portion of my little, reptilian brain), there’s a whole lot to love here.

This isn’t, of course, to infer that The Demon’s Rook is a perfect film: it falls victim to many of the same issues that plague most micro-budget indies, although none of these prove to be critical injuries. The acting, with the exception of the Sizemores, is universally rough and ranges from non-acting (in every sense of the term) to passable understatement. The pacing can be uneven, especially in the film’s first half, and there’s plenty of “dead air,” so to speak: at nearly two hours, there’s no question that The Demon’s Rook could be tightened up.

The most critical issue ends up being the sound mix, which is so lopsided as to be constantly noticeable. Even with the volume cranked up to the max, I found myself missing dialogue, while the ensuing score/sound effects would end up shaking the walls. This becomes doubly frustrating given that the film isn’t exactly dialogue-lite: I have a feeling that some of my confusion might have been allayed if I were only able to hear what people were saying. To be honest, the sound mix is so bad that, in a lesser film, it would have turned me off almost immediately. It’s to the film and filmmakers’ immense credit that I ended up gritting my teeth and just baring through it: I’m certainly glad that I did but I wonder how many others might not be as willing to meet the film halfway.

Ultimately, despite a few shortcomings and the same growing pains that any like-minded filmmakers might experience (neither Raimi nor Peter Jackson sprung fully formed from the air, like Athena out of Zeus’ cranium), it’s quite obvious that The Demon’s Rook is something special. James Sizemore, Ashleigh Jo Sizemore (like James, she has her hand in everything from creating the demons’ unique language to working with the production design and effects) and the rest of the ultra-talented crew have an unabashed love for not only fantastic-horror but indie films, in general. In many ways, The Demon’s Rook reminds me of Equinox (1970), the ridiculously cool low-budget creature flick that would go on to influence Raimi’s iconic The Evil Dead (1981). If there’s any justice in the world, The Demon’s Rook will go on to inspire a whole new generation of horror filmmakers in the same way that The Evil Dead once did.

If I were you, I’d keep a close eye on Sizemore and his happy crew: in an increasingly homogenized era, this breath of fresh air isn’t only appreciated, it’s damn near necessary. If it’s good enough for Dimwos, you better believe it’s good enough for me.

1/1/15 (Part One): Hollywood Meat Grinder

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Adam Bricker, Alexandra Essoe, Amanda Fuller, Astraeus, casting couch, cinema, co-directors, co-writers, Dennis Widmyer, Fabianne Therese, fame, Fautian deals, film reviews, films, Hollywood, horror, horror movies, insanity, Kevin Kolsch, Los Angeles, Louis Dezseran, Marc Senter, Maria Olsen, Movies, Natalie Castillo, Nick Simmons, Noah Segan, occult, Pat Healy, Sarah Walker, Satanism, selling your soul, Shane Coffey, starlets, Starry Eyes, The Fly

Just how far would you go to be a star? For some folks, the idea of fame doesn’t have much appeal: they’re more than happy to conduct their business from the sidelines, keeping cool while someone else burns under the spotlight. For others, however, the pursuit of fame is all-encompassing, a never-ending quest for that fabled brass ring, that opportunity to stand on the world stage, hold their heads up high and shout, “Here I am,” to bask in adulation, admiration and envy from the masses. We live in an era where people can become famous, if only briefly, for seemingly capricious reasons: one person uploads a YouTube video and receives a million views…their next-door-neighbor does the same thing and hears crickets. Despite how important fame is for so many people, there is no such thing as a “sure thing,” no unbeatable formula to becoming a star.

But what if there was? What if there was some way to ensure your celebrity, some sure-fire way to “jump the line,” as it were, and go straight to the “adoring fans” stage? If fame is so important, would you give up everything in your life – your friends, your family, any interests – in order to guarantee your 15 minutes in the spotlight? Just how much would you be willing to give up to be a star? Your morality? Your dignity? Your soul? These are the questions that get asked in Kevin Kolsch and Dennis Widmyer’s Starry Eyes (2014), a Faustian tale of one young starlet’s search for fame and the hideous price that she pays to finally see her name on the big marquee. The answers won’t surprise horror fans but they might give budding ingenues pause for thought as they continue their own quests for immortality and fame. Spoiler alert: these things never go as planned.

Our wannabe starlet is Sarah Walker (Alexandra Essoe), a bright-eyed, hopeful and rather naive young actress who spends her days wearing hot-pants at Big Tators (think a sleazier version of Hooters) and her evenings going to one audition after the other, all in pursuit of that fabled “big break.” Her manager, Carl (Pat Healey), is a chauvinistic jerk, her “friends” are a bunch of catty, privileged and unbelievably shallow assholes (all of whom are, likewise, hunting for fame and fortune) and the limelight seems impossibly far away. All of this seems to change, however, when Sarah receives a call to audition for mysterious production company Astraeus Pictures’ newest film, The Silver Scream. Could this finally be the break that she’s so desperately looking for?

After a terrible audition, Sarah heads right to the bathroom and promptly throws the kind of fit usually reserved for young children or mental patients: screaming, sobbing, tearing huge chunks of hair out of her head and throwing herself about, Sarah is interrupted by one of Astraeus’ casting agents. Perhaps they’ve missed something “special” after all: Sarah is invited back, with one caveat – she has to throw the same fit for the casting agents. She does and is rewarded with yet another call-back. As Sarah continues to meet with the representatives from Astraeus Pictures, the auditions get stranger and stranger, culminating in a meeting with The Producer (Louis Dezseran) where all of the cards are laid on the table: the coveted lead role is Sarah’s…provided she takes her spot on the casting couch, that is.

Mortified by the “offer,” Sarah rushes out and resigns herself to becoming a star “the right way.” Her roommate, Tracy (Amanda Fuller), seconds Sarah’s outrage: none of them would ever sink that low, so there’s no reason Sarah should, either. After realizing that she’ll never break into their tight-knit clique, however, Sarah begins to reevaluate the offer from Astraeus: she calls them back and is offered one more chance to “meet” with The Producer. As Sarah will find out, however, everything has a price and she will have to trade in one small thing in her pursuit for fame: her basic humanity.

Expertly crafted, Starry Eyes is the kind of well-made, full-throttle B-movie that used to choke video store shelves in the ’80s horror boom: the kicker, of course, is that the film is from 2014, not 1983, making it yet another in the boom of modern genre films that explicitly reference other eras. Despite being part of a larger stylistic trend, however, Starry Eyes holds its own: in many ways, it’s much closer to Ti West’s excellent The House of the Devil (2009) in that the film always “feels” like a period piece, without seeming like slavish imitation. Chalk it up to a mix of Adam Bricker’s cinematography, the film’s themes or its structure but Starry Eyes is one of the most authentic “non-authentic” genre films I’ve seen in some time.

At its heart, however, Kolsch and Widmyer’s film isn’t much more than another variation on the age-old Faust story, albeit one that manages to throw elements of Cronenberg’s gooey The Fly (1986) and the batshit Jeff Lieberman oddity Blue Sunshine (1978) into the mix. Despite a suitably unpredictable (and ridiculously gory) climax, Starry Eyes hits each and every expected beat for this type of story: someone makes a Faustian deal to acquire fame/fortune/power/knowledge, comes to regret their decision after the real “cost” is revealed. As far as the film goes, that’s pretty much it: the “Hollywood starlet/casting couch” aspect doesn’t mix things up much, although everything is wrapped-up in a suitably cohesive way by the conclusion.

If co-writers/directors Kolsch and Widmyer don’t do much new or unique with the formula, however, they also don’t make any obvious missteps. The film looks and sounds great, for one thing, and the frequent digressions into more visual stylistic tics are highly effective: there’s a really well-done drug-trip scene and the finale is wonderfully creepy and atmospheric, sort of a split between the aforementioned Blue Sunshine and one of Val Lewton’s classics. The filmmaking duo has style to spare and there’s a sense of economy to the film that quite nice: it feels like its own small, self-contained world, which is a nice change of pace in this day and age of “everything’s connected.” The acting is decent enough, with veteran character actor Healey bringing a little nuance to his performance as Carl (he could have just been a complete scuzzball but you actually end up feeling for him, a little) and Essoe doing good (if occasionally one-note) work as the aspiring starlet. I found myself actively hating all of Sarah’s friends, however, which probably had as much to do with the script establishing them as worthless twits as it did with the actual performances. That being said, it was impossible for me to get invested in any of their fates, which robbed the finale of some of its awful power: suffice to say, my mourning period was non-existent.

From a horror standpoint, Starry Eyes is exceptionally solid: despite the story’s inherent familiarity, there’s a reason why Faust has always played so well on the big screen and Kolsch and Widmyer manage to wring every last drop of dread and inevitability out of the scenario. The practical effects are actually quite exceptional, with some truly ghastly body horror stuff in the final reel and the single most intense head-smashing scene I’ve ever seen, including the infamous fire extinguisher scene from Irreversible (2002). I’m not normally one to dwell on gore in films (by this point in my life, you could say that I’m a little jaded) but that head-pounding setpiece really is a showstopper, in every sense of the word, and proof positive that the filmmakers have no problem going to some very extreme places.

All in all, I really liked Starry Eyes, even though there wasn’t anything particularly special about it. In certain ways, it reminded me of another retro-minded film, Almost Human (2013): while, likewise, well-made and massively entertaining, it was really nothing more than an enjoyable, direct-to-video B-movie. Perhaps my affinity for and slight (very slight) disregard of Starry Eyes come from the same place: I grew up on movies just like these, good but not amazing horror and genre films that were massively entertaining but largely disposable. If anything, I wish that there were a lot more films like this: I certainly wouldn’t object to a glut of well-made, effective genre films, even if none of them are mind-blowing or game-changing. Without a doubt, Starry Eyes is effective and extremely atmospheric: it compares favorably with the best horror films of the year on quality alone, even if it never takes that “big step” that would vault it above the competition. I liked it enough to anticipate Kolsch and Widmyer’s next project: if they keep mining this same vein of retro-minded horror, I have a feeling that they’ll come up with a real firecracker next time.