8/2/15: Don’t Look Now

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abandoned inns, Brian Austin Green, cinema, Curtiss Frisle, David de Lautour, debut feature, Don't Blink, dramas, Emelie O'Hara, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, Fiona Gubelmann, horror, horror movies, independent films, indie horror film, isolated estates, isolation, Jayson Crothers, Joanne Kelly, Leif Gantvoort, Mena Suvari, Mike Verta, missing friends, mountain resort, Movies, mystery, romantic rivalry, Samantha Jacobs, supernatural, Travis Oates, vanished into thin air, weekend in the country, writer-director, Zack Ward

If you think about it, almost all horror films boil down to one central question: how much do you show/explain/reveal to the audience and, conversely, how much do you keep concealed from them? Do you show the whole monster or just a shoulder? Cut to black before the final assault or let the camera’s unblinking eye do its worst? Explain the whole thing via a complicated system of flashbacks and “ah ha!” moments or leave it open-ended so that your audience does the heavy-lifting? Carpenter’s original Halloween (1978) is the film that it is because of what he purposefully doesn’t show, whereas Zombie’s 2007 remake is the film it is because of what he does. It all comes down to that paraphrased adage “To show or not to show…that is the question.”

Voice-over actor-turned writer/director Travis Oates’ feature-length debut, Don’t Blink (2014) is a good example of a film knowing when to keep its mouth shut, even if the result ends up being more than a little vague and kind of arbitrary. Despite any reservations and/or complaints I might have about the film, itself, I have to absolutely give props where they’re due: Oates manages to avoid one of my biggest cinematic pet peeves (let’s call it oversharing, to be generous) and, in the process, turns in a modest, effective and suitably chilling little indie horror film. Toss in a pretty great location and you get a film that gets the job done, even if it’s not setting the world on fire. Sometimes, that’s victory enough.

Utilizing one of the mustiest conceits in the horror film playbook, a group of ten assorted couples, friends, enemies and frenemies all descend upon a suitably isolated location (in this case, a supremely creepy abandoned mountain resort lodge) for some of that good old-fashioned movie r & r that always seems to involved vacationing with folks you kind of hate. In one car, we have Tracy (Mena Suvari), her brother, Lucas (Curtiss Frisle) and her new boyfriend, Jack (Beverly Hills, 90210’s Brian Austin Green). In another car, Claire (Joanne Kelly) and Amelia (Emelie O’Hara), a couple of single girls on the prowl. For balance, we also get best friends, Alex (Zack Ward) and Sam (Leif Gantvoort), along with Sam’s girlfriend, Charlotte (Samantha Jacobs). And, of course, for maximum dramatic potential, we have Jack’s ex-girlfriend, Ella (Wilfred’s Fiona Gubelmann, once again caught in a love triangle) and her new boyfriend, Noah (David de Latour).

Once they’ve all arrived at the lodge, the group begins to notice a few things that make them all slightly uneasy. For one thing, the nearby lake has frozen solid, so fast, apparently, that a row-boat is stuck fast in the middle. This might be explained away by unseasonable weather if the surrounding area wasn’t, conversely, strangely warm. There also seems to be a decided lack of wildlife, including birds and fish: again, not so strange in and of itself but decidedly unsettling when one considers the remote wilderness locale. And then, of course, there’s the little matter of the lodge, itself: each and every guest seems to have just vanished into thin air, leaving behind warm bowls of food, purses, still-running vehicles and handily hidden messages with helpful declarations like “Help me!” and “Don’t blink.”

Just as the group gets down to the business of arguing amongst themselves, with Alex leading the charge to get the fuck out of Dodge, Tracy takes a cue from the other missing guests and just disappears, without so much as a trace. This, of course, does absolutely nothing to quell anyone’s nerves and pretty much wrecks Jack’s romantic weekend, all in one, fell swoop. Once Noah and Lucas follow suit, the rest of the group changes lanes from “rather concerned” to “full-on freaked out,” as they try to figure out what’s going on, all without vanishing themselves. The rules, as inexplicable as they may be, seem pretty simple: don’t stop looking at anyone, don’t take your eyes off them for even a second (in other words, “don’t blink”) or they’ll disappear.

As the group is slowly whittled down, one by one, the remaining “survivors” must band together (multiple eyes, in this case, really are better than two) in order to prevent a repeat performance. Will they be able to hold out until help arrives or are they doomed to disappear, just like the untold number before them? What, exactly, is going on in this picturesque place…and where do the people go if (and when) no one’s watching? They might not want to see but looking away could very well be the last thing any of them ever do.

For the most part, Don’t Blink is a very well-made indie horror flick, even if it never quite scales the heights to become more than that. The acting is pretty solid for this kind of thing, with Green coming out the worst (his performance as Jack is never believable, even if he’s always kind of likable) and Ward’s alpha-asshole take on Alex coming out the best: in between those two poles, the rest of the cast does just fine, even if none of them really stand out (Gubelmann, in particular, is just kind of there).

The film looks consistently good: cinematographer Jayson Crothers produces lots of nicely atmospheric shots, including plenty of cool overheads, and the creepy lodge location makes for a suitably beautiful, eerie location. While the film does feature plenty of red herrings in the form of visual and audio “fake-outs,” it never overuses jump scares, which is another big checkmark in the “plus” column. The script, for the most part, is good: the twist ending is obvious but strong and while not all of the dialogue has an authentic feel to it (Green, again, comes off the worst here), the group really does feel like they at least know each other, which is more than you can say for some micro-budget horror films.

Story-wise, the film is endlessly intriguing, even if it’s also more than a little vague and open-ended. While Oates allows for several different answers to their collective predicament (I, personally, favor a “Cabin in the Woods (2012)-type scenario but that’s probably just my over-active imagination), nothing concrete is ever determined or, to be honest, even strongly hinted at. For the most part, the group just disappears, one by one, and no one is ever the wiser. While I’m sure that some viewers out there might call foul on this, I still prefer this kind of “choose your own adventure” tact over the always eye-rolling “take my hand and I’ll walk you through every nuance” approach that many indie films seem to have tattooed over their collective hearts. Do we ever really know why the group is disappearing? Nope…and the film is actually stronger for it.

All in all, I enjoyed Oates’ debut and certainly look forward to seeing more from the filmmaker: hopefully, this wasn’t just a one-and-done but actually the beginning to the next phase of his career. While Don’t Blink never really explodes out of the box and will never be mistaken as an unsung classic, it also doesn’t make a lot of obvious mistakes: the movie is eerie, tense, interesting and no more weighted-down by clichés than at least two dozen other films I might mention. Not every horror film can be “the next big thing” but I’m more than happy to say that Don’t Blink is a perfectly good way for any horror/suspense fan to spend 90 minutes.

11/16/14 (Part Two): The Dance Commander Cometh

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British comedies, childhood trauma, Chris O'Dowd, cinema, comedies, Cuban Fury, dancers, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, foreign films, Ian McShane, James Griffiths, Kayvan Novak, Movies, Nick Frost, Olivia Colman, public opinion, Rashida Jones, romances, romantic rivalry, romantic-comedies, Rory Kinnear, salsa dancing, Strictly Ballroom, UK films

Fear of public ridicule can be a powerful mitigating factor, even for those of us who consider ourselves “above” such considerations: it can affect how one dresses, walks, talks, eats and slurps soup. Concern over our own self-image can result in “guilty musical pleasures,” “ironic” interests in pop culture and “hate-watching” programs rather than admitting to actually liking something “uncool.” If you think about it, it’s a pretty sad way to live: so concerned with the court of public opinion that you’d rather listen to something “respectable” than blast the Eddie Money cassette that you idolized as a kid. When folks can no longer feel free to leave the house wearing their most comfortable clothes, ladies and gentlemen, than the terrorists, whoever they may be, have truly won.

Bruce Garrett (Nick Frost), the heroic schlub at the heart of James Griffiths’ Cuban Fury (2014), knows all too well the high price of looking “uncool”: as a kid, Bruce was a salsa-dancin’ machine, a bespangled dance floor maestro who had the goods to go all the way. On his way to the championships, however, poor Bruce is accosted by a group of loutish teens who mock his shiny red outfit and beat the crap out of him in an alley. Properly chastised, our faithful protagonist vows never to dance again. We, of course, know better: once the dancing bug has bitten you, all you can do is hold on for dear life.

25 years later, Bruce is a buttoned-down, boring as white toast architect and any dreams of championship gold are too far in the rearview mirror to even consider. He’s got a decent job, a boring life and one of the biggest shit-heel co-workers of all time in Drew (Chris O’Dowd breaking the bank on obnoxious behavior): in other words, he’s probably like most of us. Unlike most of us, however, Bruce has got the dancing fever in his veins and, once in your DNA, you’re never completely free of it. All it takes is a little nudge, a wee reminder of how things used to be…how they could’ve been had the fork in the road gone a bit differently. All it takes is one little incident to change everything…if you let it.

Bruce’s “little incident” comes with his company’s new project manager, the adorably quirky American Julia (Rashida Jones). Bruce is sweet on her but she seems to be way out of his league, although horn-dog Drew, ever the cretin, sees her as “easy pickings.” When Bruce finds out that Julia is taking a salsa dancing class, he suddenly sees an in with her, although it means stepping back into his dreaded past and, once again, donning them dancin’ shoes. In order to prevent himself from looking like the rusty, out-of-step idiot he currently is, Bruce hunts down his old salsa coach, Ron (Ian McShane), and begs him to finish the tutelage he started 25 years earlier. Ron’s still a bit pissed off at Bruce, it turns out (being abandoned by your star pupil during a national championship will do that, apparently), but he eventually shelves his hard feelings and agrees to get Bruce ship-shape enough to duly impress Julia.

Since romantic comedies are nothing without a little rivalry, Drew decides that he’s in love with Julia, too, and determines to sweep her off her feet faster than Bruce can say “cha cha cha.” As he smugly puts it, “Women go and get advice from guys like you about guys like me.” This establishes a rivalry between the two that will result in a parking garage dance-off (impossibly silly but also fun) and will culminate in another salsa championship: will Bruce be able to overcome his old fears, put Drew in the rubbish pile, win the competition and get the girl or will this be another example of “too little, too late?” If you’ve ever seen another romantic comedy in your entire life, I’m reasonably sure you can figure out the answer to this ahead of time.

First off, Cuban Fury might seem a little familiar to fans of quirky British comedies since it is, for the most part, exactly like at least two dozen other similar films, from Kinky Boots (2005) to Brassed Off (1996), from The Full Monty (1997) to Calendar Girls (2003). Specifically, Griffiths’ feature-debut reminds me of the cult-classic Aussie flick Strictly Ballroom (1992), which was also about a neebish overcoming the court of public opinion to succeed on his own terms. For the most part, Cuban Fury does nothing to differentiate itself from the rest of the pack although, to be fair, there’s not much it drops the ball on, either. All of the expected beats/scenes are here: the bit where Bruce’s gay friend finally drags him to a nightclub to “let loose”; the dance-off between Bruce and Drew; the climatic finale at the salsa championship; the training montage…Cuban Fury manages to tick each and every one off the list.

Truth be told, despite its complete familiarity, Cuban Fury is a fun, sweet and spirited little film, full of great performances from the likes of Frost, Jones and O’Dowd (even playing a real asshole, O’Dowd is relentlessly watchable and charismatic: anyone else would have played Drew like a complete Neanderthal but O’Dowd somehow makes him kind of pitiable…kind of) and is a quick, fun watch. The script, written by Jon Brown from an idea by Frost, is full of some nice dialogue (Bruce and Drew trade some snappy zingers throughout the film) and everything gets wrapped up in a pretty tidy package by the end. McShane is great as the grumpy salsa expert, although Jones doesn’t do much noticeably different from any of her other roles: she has some decent chemistry with Frost but no one will mistaken them for star-crossed lovers anytime soon. The film’s many dance scenes are nicely realized, with some effective choreography but, again, nothing mind-blowing: this probably won’t make anyone forget Luhrmann’s debut any time soon.

More than anything, my takeaway from Cuban Fury is thus: if you’re looking for a nice, polite, fairly non-challenging romantic comedy with a good cast, Cuban Fury is for film. At the very least, I find it hard to believe that any audience would walk away from this without a smile on their faces. Will you remember the film a year (or even six months) from now? Highly doubtful. Not everything in life needs to be a grand slam, however: sometimes, you can get the same results with a humble little pop-up into the outfield.