6/1/15 (Part Two): The Mournful Cry of the Lone Wolf

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absentee father, Adrian Garcia Bogliano, Alex de la Iglesia, auteur theory, blind, blind protagonist, Caitlin O'Heaney, cinema, Cold Sweat, Eric Stolze, Ernesto Herrera, Ethan Embry, father-son relationships, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Here Comes the Devil, horror, horror movies, Karen Lynn Gorney, Karron Graves, Lance Guest, Larry Fessenden, Late Phases, Movies, Nick Damici, old folks home, Penumbra, practical effects, retirement communities, Robert Kurtzman, Rutanya Alda, The ABCs of Death, Tina Louise, Tom Noonan, Under the Bed, Vietnam vet, war veterans, werewolves, Wojciech Golczewski

In the modern world of cinematic monsters, werewolves sure do seem to get the short end of the stick. Sure, they may have factored into the mega-colossi that were the Twilight and Underworld franchises and they’ll never be able to take Lon Chaney, Jr. away from us but, to quote the parlance of the time, “What have they done for us lately?” Compared to peers like zombies, vampires and space aliens, there’s a notable shortage of lycanthrope films to choose from but, ironically, some of the best werewolf films have also been some of the best horror films, period: the aforementioned classic The Wolf Man (1941), An American Werewolf in London (1981), The Company of Wolves (1984), Ginger Snaps (2000) and Dog Soldiers (2002) are not only shining examples of tortured folk howling at the full moon but they also hold fairly esteemed ranks within the horror genre, as a whole.

While it’s been some time since I’ve seen a werewolf film that’s good enough to howl about from the rooftops, it looks like the dry-spell has finally been broken: not only is Spanish auteur Adrián García Bogliano’s Late Phases (2014) the best werewolf film to come out in over a decade, it’s also one of the very best horror films I’ve seen this year. While it’s tempting to say that I’m surprised, I’m really not: with a track record that includes such essential cinema as Cold Sweat (2010), Penumbra (2011) and Here Comes the Devil (2012), I fully expect any and all Bogliano films to kick major ass over and above their daily allotted allowances. Truth be told, I can’t think of a better filmmaker to tell the story of a legally blind Vietnam vet who goes to war with the werewolves terrorizing his seemingly serene retirement community. In the simplest way possible: Adrián García Bogliano has done it again.

The fearless, tough-as-nails protagonist of our little tale is Ambrose McKinley (the always amazing Nick Damici), the aforementioned blind war veteran who has just been moved into a retirement community by his disapproving, micro-managing son, Will (Ethan Embry). Ambrose is a difficult guy, no two ways about it: with a perma-scowl affixed to his face, Ambrose’s unseeing eyes seem to peer right through everyone he meets, cutting through any societal pleasantries and exposing the rest of us for the bullshit artists we really are. Call him the AARP Holden Caulfield, if you must, but for god’s sake, don’t do it to his face.

As Ambrose settles into his new home, he immediately meets some of his new neighbors: his next-door-neighbor, Delores (Karen Lynn Gorney), and the local “welcoming committee” of Emma (Caitlin O’Heaney), Gloria (Rutanya Alda) and Clarissa (Tina Louise), as well as local preacher Father Roger (genre vet Tom Noonan) and church benefactor James Griffin (Lance Guest). As befits his nature, Ambrose does absolutely nothing to curtail favor with anyone, leading Delores to view him with something approaching puppy-dog infatuation, while the others react in ways ranging from extreme amusement to extreme suspicion.

Practically before he’s completely unpacked, however, Ambrose finds himself knee-deep in a grisly mystery: as he listens, helplessly, from his room, he hears Delores being savagely attacked on the other side of the wall. The local authorities blame it on vicious dogs, saying that “old people make good targets” and should be more aware of their surroundings. Ambrose is the furthest thing from stupid, however, and none of this makes sense to him, especially after he finds himself under attack from the same monstrous creature that mutilated his neighbor. Once he discovers that these attacks seem to occur once a month, around the full moon, Ambrose launches into his own investigation, much to the dismay of his put-upon son.

As he pokes around the retirement community, Ambrose begins to uncover the threads of a larger conspiracy, one that may or may not include the community’s quiet, slyly watchful man of God. Despite being blind, however, Ambrose can actually “see” better than anyone around him: he’s also a pretty damn good shot, a fact which certainly comes in handy when you’re hunting monsters. Before it’s all over, Ambrose, armed with a sharpened shovel, more moxie than a mob of Eastwoods and a studied disdain for morons, will become a one-man army. He’d better move fast, however: there’s another full moon on the horizon and it’s bringing a very hairy, very hungry beast with it. As Ambrose knows all too well, you don’t come to places like the retirement home to live: you come to places like this to die.

For his English-language debut, Bogliano turns in his most streamlined effort to date: not surprisingly, Late Phases ends up being the best film (thus far) in an extremely impressive body-of-work. Gone are the occasionally tedious flourishes and unnecessary camera zooms of his previous effort, the otherwise excellent Here Comes the Devil. Bogliano also minimizes the darkly humorous elements of previous films like Penumbra and Cold Sweat, making Late Phases seem more like a serious cousin to Don Coscarelli’s Bubba Ho-Tep (2002) than the natural successor to his earlier works. Despite being his most straight forward film, however, Late Phases is a virtual embarrassment of riches, thanks in no small part to a great script, fantastic performances and some truly amazing werewolf effects, courtesy of legendary SFX guru Robert Kurtzman.

One notable difference between Late Phases and Bogliano’s previous films is that he relinquishes the pen here, handing writing duties over to Under the Bed’s (2012) Eric Stolze. At first, this change carried the most potential for disappointment: after all, Bogliano’s earlier films were tightly plotted and often rather ingenious, whereas Stolze’s prior genre effort was disjointed and, frequently, kind of a mess. As it turns out, however, I had very little to fear: short of one completely unnecessary and confusing red herring involving certain characters coughing, the script and plotting for Late Phases is air-tight and easily comparable to Bogliano’s scripts, albeit without his (usually) overt political sensibilities.

From a technical aspect, Late Phases looks and sounds great: frequent Bogliano cinematographer Ernesto Herrera turns in some beautifully autumnal imagery, even managing to imbue the film’s frequent gore with a lovely, burnished quality that makes the entire film feel almost impossibly lush. He does some truly great things with light and shadow, not least of which is the quietly powerful scene where Ambrose slowly moves backwards into darkness, his craggy features slowly subsumed by inky nothingness. The gorgeous imagery is handily tied together by Wojciech Golczewski’s understated score: each aspect helps to elevate the film past its simple indie horror roots, taking it into the territory of something like Jim Mickle’s classic Stake Land (2010).

One of the main issues with any creature feature, dating all the way back to the Universal originals, is the actual depiction of said creature. In many cases, monster movies are inherently disappointing because whatever promise is set up by the movie’s mythology is usually dashed once we actually get to see the creature: anyone who grew up on old horror flicks will be more than familiar with that reliable old game of “spot the zipper.” Not so here, in any way, shape or form: Late Phases’ lycanthropes are brought to roaring, terrifying life by SFX pioneer Kurtzman (if you’re a horror fan and aren’t familiar with KNB, you need a refresher course, stat) and they’re easily the equal of any werewolves that came before, including Rick Baker’s iconic American ex-pat wolf man. Equally important for werewolf films are the obligatory transformation scenes: as expected, Late Phases knocks this out of the park with one of the goopiest, most painful-looking transformations ever put to film. If you’re not gritting your teeth by the time our monster rips his own skin off, like a snug t-shirt, well…you have more iron in your blood than I do, neighbor.

As a werewolf/horror film, Late Phases meets and exceeds pretty much every requirement: what really sets the film into its own class, however, is the high-quality performances that ground everything, starting with the film’s protagonist, Ambrose. Quite simply, Nick Damici is one of the greatest, unsung treasures of our modern era and Bogliano uses him to spectacular effect here. Ambrose is easily the equal of Damici’s iconic Mister (from Stake Land) and ends up being one of the most effortlessly cool, kickass heroes since Eastwood lost his name and donned his serape. The concept of a blind protagonist always brings issues with it: in many cases, plot developments like this are usually just ways for filmmakers to shoehorn in gimmicks involving dark rooms, night-vision, what have you. In Late Phases, however, Bogliano and Stolze do the best thing possible: they just establish Ambrose and then let Damici sell us on the character. In the best example of “show don’t tell” I’ve seen in years, he does just that. If there were any justice, Nick Damici would be a household name along the lines of Jason Statham or Scott Glenn.

Ably supporting Damici are a handful of some of the most accomplished character actors currently treading the cinematic boards: indie MVP Larry Fessenden has some nice scenes as a slightly bemused headstone salesman; Ethan Embry does great work as Ambrose’s son, with some genuinely touching moments between the two; Tom Noonan gets to don a priest’s collar, again, and his performance is his typically assured combo of quietly reptilian intelligence and paternal concern; and, of course, genre fans should recognize Lance Guest from more things than they can shake a stick at, including Halloween II (1981), The Last Starfighter (1984) and any number of ’80s and ’90s-era TV shows. We also get the phenomenal tag-team of Tina Louise (Ginger from Giligan’s Island), Rutanya Alda and Caitlin O’Heaney (who also appeared in the ’80s-era cult classic Wolfen (1981): between these three actresses, you’ve got more amazing horror and genre history than most films have in their entire casts.

Ultimately, there’s one big thing that separates Bogliano’s Late Phases from any number of pretenders: genuine passion. At no point in the proceedings is there ever the notion of “phoning it in” or “making do.” Unlike Álex de la Iglesia’s severely disappointing English-language-debut, The Oxford Murders (2008),  Bogliano’s film feels like it belongs squarely in his canon: it’s a natural progression from what came before, not a watered-down reminder of what worked better in the native tongue. At this rate, Adrián García Bogliano is quickly establishing himself as one of modern horror cinema’s foremost artists: with another potential masterpiece, Scherzo Diabolico (2015), on the horizon, I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot more of Bogliano in the future. I, for one, can’t wait.

1/17/15 (Part One): Set An Extra Place at the Table

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A Lonely Place to Die, action films, Adam Wingard, Best of 2014, Brendan Meyer, brother-sister relationships, bullies, Chase Williamson, children in peril, cinema, covert military action, Dan Stevens, dark comedies, Drive, electronic score, families, favorite films, film reviews, films, Joel David Moore, Lance Reddick, Leland Orser, Maika Monroe, military coverup, military experiment, Movies, mystery, Robby Baumgartner, Sheila Kelley, Simon Barrett, Steve Moore, stylish films, Tabatha Shaun, The Guest, thrillers, war veterans, writer/director teams, You're Next

Hot on the heels of their surprise hit, You’re Next (2013), director Adam Wingard and writer Simon Barrett have returned with another gleefully demented genre offering. Whereas their last film took the “home invasion” sub-genre into some truly inspired new directions, this time around, the dynamic duo have set their sights on “stranger in our home” films. Like You’re Next, The Guest (2014) is a gonzo good time, full of clever writing, subtle black-as-coal humor and some truly asskicking action setpieces. At the center of the film is a truly inspired trio of performance from Dan Stevens as the handsome, charismatic and ultra-sensitive “golden boy” who may or may not be a murderous psychopath and Maika Monroe and Brendan Meyer as the savvy kids who may or may not be able to stop him dead in his tracks. The end result? Over 90 minutes of pure, pulpy, cinematic bliss and another check in the “Win” column for the Wingard/Barrett juggernaut.

As the Peterson’s mourn the unexpected death of their soldier son, Caleb, in Iraq, a mysterious visitor shows up and puts the household into a topspin. David (Dan Stevens), a quiet, ridiculously polite and charismatic young man, claims to be a friend of Caleb’s and fellow soldier. After getting discharged, David sought out the Petersons, as per Caleb’s last wish, in order to “watch over them.” Mother Laura (Sheila Kelley) is only too happy to have David around, since any reminder of her beloved son is a good thing. Father Spencer (Leland Orser), however, isn’t quite as big on David, worried that the seemingly nice young man might have a bit of “the PTSD.” For their parts, Caleb’s sister and brother, Anna (Maika Monroe) and Luke (Brendan Meyer), seem to regard David with a mixture of curiosity and faint amusement: the guy is so unbelievably polite and nice that he might as well have stepped out of a woodcut, for all his old-fashioned “aw shucks”-ness.

David ends up staying with the Petersons and goes about the business of ingratiating himself into the family’s good graces: he helps Luke with his homework (with some difficulty), drinks beers with Spencer as he pours his heart out about his shitty job, helps Laura around the house and goes with Anna to a Halloween party. All seems nice and normal, even if we sometimes get shots of a pensive David that border on the unsettling. At one point, Spencer asks David if he’s tired: “I don’t need much sleep,” he responds, with a knowing look, and anyone paying attention should get a little of the ol’ goose flesh.

The situation hits a new level when David finds out that Luke is being bullied at school: in a truly awe-inspiring scene, David has Luke take him to the bullies, at an isolated roadside bar well-known for serving minors. After taunting the high school toughs with a particularly offensive drink order, David proceeds to wipe the bar up with the creeps in a scene that makes Road House (1989) look like a commercial for allergy medicine. The point is crystal clear: David is absolutely not the kind of guy that you want to fuck with, in any way, shape or form.

As David continues to thread his way through the lives of the various Petersons, however, Anna begins to notice that strange things are happening all around them, including the unexpected death of one of her friends. As Anna begins to believe that David might not be quite who he seems, the rest of the family seem to close ranks, more convinced than ever that David is a true-blue friend and confident. Is Anna right or has she unfairly maligned this sweet, young man? Will she be able to convince her family of the “truth” (whatever that might be) before it’s too late? Why, exactly, is David here? Is he really trying to protect the family, at all costs, or is his real mission to destroy everything? By the time it’s all over, Anna will have learned a very important lesson: always be careful who you invite into your home…not all guests are created equal.

Similar to You’re Next, The Guest is sort of a hybrid-genre film, melding together elements of action, horror, thriller, comedy and drama into one seriously delicious stew. The film is stuffed to bursting with some ridiculously energetic action setpieces (the bar beat-down is, without a doubt, solid gold: if you don’t shadowbox the screen, you might be watching a different film), as well as some genuinely nail-biting moments of pure tension. The drama elements are well-represented via the family’s interpersonal dynamics and the ways in which they subtly come to accept (and rely on) David’s presence in their lives. One of the biggest and best surprises regarding The Guest is how funny it actually is: while this is certainly not an out-and-out laugh-riot, the vein of dark humor that runs through the film is quite pronounced and leads to some of its best moments. The bar fight sequence is a great example of all of the elements coming together in one heady moment: this is the kind of genre splicing that folks like Robert Rodriguez and Quention Tarantino excel in and Wingard/Barrett knock it right out of the park.

At times, The Guest almost plays like a more tongue-in-cheek, conventional version of Refn’s Drive (2011): the production values are high, the John Carpenter-influenced electro-score (courtesy of Steve Moore) is utterly fantastic and the whole thing is stylish almost to a fault (the finale, in particular, is an absolute masterclass in stylish anarchy). Where Ryan Gosling’s Driver was a self-styled, if nihilistic, white knight, however, Dan Steven’s David is a decidedly more shadowy individual: for the majority of the film, it’s impossible to really gauge his motives, lending an overriding air of unease and tension to the proceedings. We knew why the Driver was doing what he did, regardless of how violent, self-destructive or pointless his actions, but we’re never sure about David. Even when he’s whupping ass on the “bad guys,” we’re still never quite sure if he’s right or wrong.

While the entire cast is solid, Stevens, Monroe and Meyer are exceptional as the trio at the center of everything. Monroe is a nice, strong female character, with a sardonic edge and just enough youthful inconsistency to make her seem like a real person, rather than a stock “final girl.” For his part, Meyer makes Luke quite likable, while still allowing for subtle hints of darkness around the edges: the scene where he emulates David and kicks the shit out of one of his bullies is all kinds of awesome but it’s also kind of scary and unhinged: predominantly known for TV roles in the past, here’s to hoping that Meyer gets more opportunities like this to stretch his wings.

And then, of course, there’s Dan Stevens. Almost supernaturally good-looking, with piercing eyes and a purposefully blank expression, the British actor is the kind of fellow that you might expect to play a prince in a life-action Disney film, not a potentially insane and murderous misanthrope. His performance is pitch-perfect, however, full of the kind of subtle mannerisms and expressions that build his character without handing the audience a cheat-sheet to follow along with. When David is being nice, he’s the kind of dude that everybody wants to hang out with: nowhere is this made more clear than the awesome scene where David triumphantly walks into the Halloween party, carrying kegs like they were six-packs. It’s the kind of bit that makes you want to high-five the nearest bro. When David unleashes the darkness, however, he’s absolutely terrifying, leading to some of the most surprising, shocking bursts of violence I’ve seen in some time. It’s a terrific balancing act and it’s to Stevens immense credit that he makes it look so easy. Let’s hope this is but Act One of Steven’s career in genre films, since we could absolutely use more of this guy ASAP.

Perhaps the most important aspect of The Guest is how much fun it is. Like You’re Next, Wingard and Barrett’s newest film is an absolute blast from start to finish: adrenalized, stylish and smart, The Guest is almost calculatedly crowd-pleasing, jumping from one awesome setpiece to the next. If the ultimate revelation about what’s going on is both a little silly and a little tired, it’s the only thing about The Guest that ever feels less than totally righteous: I’m not saying that I disliked the “reveal” so much as that I felt Barrett could have come up with something a little stronger and/or stranger. That being said, I wouldn’t change a single frame of the climax, which manages to toe the line between “ridiculous” and “ridiculously cool” with total aplomb.

Ultimately, The Guest is a metric ton of good times, all wrapped up in a nice, shiny package. When the film is completely off-the-rails, such as the bar fight, Halloween party and finale, it’s completely unbeatable. More than just an asskicking action film, however, Wingard and Barrett toss all kinds of subtle details into the mix that constantly elevate the film. From David’s extremely awkward sex scene with one of Anna’s friends to the subtle moment where David and Luke carve pumpkins to the triumphant scene where David takes Luke’s obnoxious principal to task, there are so many little quirks here that add immeasurably to the richness of the film’s tableau.

Judging by this film and You’re Next, it would seem that Wingard and Barrett have decided to be the preeminent neo-thriller advocates for our modern day and age. All I can say to that is: bring on the next one, ASAP…we need more of these films like we need water and oxygen.

7/10/14: A Mediocre Day at Black Rock

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actor-director, Anslem Richardson, battle of the sexes, Black Rock, cinema, disappointing films, Donkey Punch, drama, female friendships, film reviews, films, friends, Iraq War, islands, isolation, Jay Paulson, Kate Bosworth, Katie Aselton, Lake Bell, Mark Duplass, Movies, survival-horror, The Descent, The League, The Puffy Chair, thriller, violence against women, war veterans, Will Bouvier

I really wanted to love Katie Aselton’s Black Rock (2012): oh, boy, did I ever. I went into the film with not only the highest of hopes but also the greatest of expectations, practically willing it to be amazing. How could it lose, after all? The film stars and is directed by Aselton  (a complete gold mine in the uproariously funny TV show, The League), is written by her husband, Mark Duplass (also of The League and equally amazing), features Lake Bell (who may just be this generation’s Crispin Glover) and is a female-centric survival-horror film. A pedigree like this seems almost tailor-made for my sensibilities, especially considering how much I’ve always loved The Descent (2005).

Alas, Black Rock ends up being a pretty major disappointment. From a clichéd storyline and heavy-handed musical score to unrealistic, irritating acting and wooden dialogue, the film ended up deflating all of my expectations, one by one. Rather than being a neo-classic, Black Rock ends up being a distinctly lackluster entry into the survival-horror subgenre, more Donkey Punch (2008) than Wilderness (2006). Even worse, the film manages to fail as both a friendship-oriented drama and a horror film, keeping one foot planted in the worst of both worlds.

All that poor Sarah (Kate Bosworth) wants to do is return to the secluded island that she remembered so fondly from her childhood and relive her girlhood memories with her best friends, Abby (Katie Aselton) and Lou (Lake Bell). The only fly in the ointment, of course, being that Abby and Lou can’t stand each others’ guts. Being a real Kissinger, however, Sarah decides to bring everybody together by just, you know, lying about it and invites them each separately. When they all show up at the dock, ready to board the boat, Abby and Lou look about as excited to see each other as a fly and a fly swatter might. Thinking fast, Sarah defuses the situation by pretending to have cancer. That’s right, Sarah the humanitarian bridges the divide by telling her best friends that she has a terminal disease. Let the good times begin!

From here, we get some pretty sub-Blair Witch arguing in the woods stuff, as Abby and Lou proceed to hash out every bit of their contentious relationship. Rather than seeming like a good way to get the gang back together, this begins to seem like a plot on Sarah’s part to have her friends kill each other: could this be some kind of Hitchcockian twist on the part of screenwriter Duplass? Nah…it’s just a lot of pointless bickering to add some “drama” and “character development.” The big problem? All of the “development” stops at the obnoxious phase and never makes it past that.

While tooling through the woods, our trio are surprised by three hunters: Henry (Will Bouvier), Derek (Jay Paulson) and Alex (Anslem Richardson). Turns out that the ladies all went to high school with Henry’s older brother, Jimmy. After as much awkward hemming and hawing as a junior high formal, Abby invites the guys to hang out and get shit-faced with them. This, of course, doesn’t make Sarah and Lou particularly happy, since Sarah wanted a girls’ weekend and Lou just wants Abby to spontaneously combust, but Abby gets what she wants because she’s Abby, dammit!

After another exceedingly awkward scene where Abby gets trashed and makes fun of Derek’s lack of facial hair while flagrantly coming on to Henry, she excuses herself to go get some firewood, followed shortly afterwards by Henry, who sees a good opportunity to take this to the next level. This, of course, leaves Sarah and Lou alone with Derek and Alex, which is just enough time to learn that the three guys are recently back from Iraq, where they were dishonorably discharged. “Something” happened over there, something that they don’t want to talk about but, hey: these are still probably nice enough guys, right?

Not quite, as we find out once Henry attempts to rape Abby out in the woods. She puts the kibosh on the attack with a large rock, which ends up putting the kibosh on the rest of Henry’s lifespan. This, in turn, makes Derek and Alex fly into a murderous rage: how dare this crazy bitch kill their wannabe rapist/potentially lunatic war veteran/cuddly best friend?! Since any measure of actual thought, at this point, would derail the rest of the film, the remaining guys make what seems to be a pretty reasonable decision: kill the three women.

Being a survival-horror film, however, this is all just set-up for one long game of cat-and-mouse between the three friends and their (presumably) insane captors. It goes without saying that they’ll break free, escape, suffer injuries, fight back, get in touch with their inner warriors and kick a ton of ass: it goes without saying because these are all of the traditional beats in any survival-horror film and Aselton and Duplass are absolutely not interested in doing anything outside of this particular box. Period. This, of course, all leads to an ending that could probably be seen coming from at least the end of the first act, if not the opening credits and the sudden realization that tremendous success in television comedy doesn’t necessarily translate to incredible success in a thriller/horror film.

Not to flog this horse too much but Black Rock really isn’t a very good film. It’s stunningly unoriginal, for one thing, almost seeming like a paint-by-numbers attempt at this particular subgenre. While the cinematography and shot selection is actually quite good, the musical score is eye-rolling, so heavy-handed that it felt like the music was constantly elbowing me in the side, going, “Eh? Eh? Get it? You get it?” The script is consistently awful, filled not only with howlingly bad dialogue but also so many character and plot inconsistencies that it felt unfinished, as if the dialogue was half-scripted, half-improv.

The fatal blow, however, has to be the unrealistic acting and thoroughly unlikable characters. To be quite blunt, all six of these people are shitheads: the men are all homicidal, misogynist, insane, steroidal assholes, while Sarah is a misanthropic, self-centered nitwit, Abby is a bat-shit crazy boozehound and Lou is a unlikeable jerk who spends the entire film making bitter beer faces at Abby. Not only would I never want to be stuck on an isolated island with any of these people, I didn’t want to be stuck in a movie with them, either. By the time folks started to die off, it was too little, too late: I kept hoping this would turn into some sort of alien invasion film and ETs would swoop in and turn these jackasses into ash piles. Alas, it was pretty content to stay a thoroughly pedestrian survival-horror film.

Perhaps the worst thing about Black Rock is how much wasted potential there was here. Aselton, Bell and Bosworth are all more than capable actors, while Duplass was responsible for writing not only the mumblecore films The Puffy Chair (2005) and Baghead (2008), but also the way-excellent Jeff, Who Lives at Home (2011). What the hell happened? Short of any kind of definitive answer, I’m going to have to assume that this all looked a whole lot more promising during the planning stages, kind of like mixing the perfect souffle, only to have the whole thing collapse into mush in the oven.