Literary Bleach

Starting to get reading again.  In the last few weeks I have finished a whole murder of horror collections, most of which I had started at some point in the past.
King's 'Nightmares and Dreamscapes' has its fair share of dodgy material, but with so many stories this is to be expected.  It's still entertaining and what I always take from King is his storytelling ability.  The stories are not always the greatest - just look at what too often ends up on the silver screen - but the telling is worth the journey.
Then I finished off Dennis Etchison's 'The Dark Country'.  A totally different kettle of fish.  Aiming more at the high-brow, his stories are resolutely downbeat.  After a point I got a little weary of the whole maliciousness of it all.  I put the book down over midway through some months back.  However, with less left to read I thought I'd try it again.  I am not sure what his problem is with organ transplants, and sometimes the ambiguity of the whole thing irritated me, but in the end he is definitely a voice worth hearing.  Not entirely my cup of tea, but fine in sips.
When I was young, Ray Bradbury, ripe prose and all, was someone I associated with the Twilight Zone style of story and as a result was one of my heroes.  Then I read some of 'Quicker than the Eye' in my later years and started to get a wee bit disillusioned.  Am I just maturing, getting older, or losing my childlike sense of wonder?  Whatever it is I read Bradbury's 'The October Country' a while back to give him another chance.  Not bad.  Some tales are nice and dark (the one about the husband and wife in Mexico, for instance.)  Still though it didn't blow me away and I started on 'The Illustrated Man' more for completeness sake than out of enthusiasm.  After a while I put it down.  Again in the last few days I thought I'd finish it off, and so I did.
I had read some of the stories in this collection before and okay, it is good.  But ultimately there's a superficiality to everything that kind of bores me.  The downbeat bleakness I took from other stories by Bradbury (such as 'The Small Assassin' or 'The Playground') is too tempered by an overdose of sentimentality here.  It's sad stuff, but paper thin too.
I suppose it's the likes of Etchison and particularly the next author I read that has raised my expectations a little.  Robert Aickman's apparently most 'accessible' collection, 'Cold Hand in Mine' is BIZARRE.  He is an excellent writer, but what on earth is he doing?  His description of his own stories as 'strange stories' is the most appropriate description anyone has ever made of their work.  Each one is full of unease, sexual tension and some sort of horror, but rarely is there any closure, and seldom any attempt at explanation.  'The Same Dog' is horrible, but what the hell just happened?!!  'Meeting Mr Millar' is full of the adult character you do not get in Bradbury, but again what is going on?  As to the masterpiece of the collection, 'The Hospice', I really do not know what it was all about, I just know it was nasty.  What was the cat bite about, not that it seemed to be a cat?  Was it a rest home for fans of the Seven Deadly Sins?  What was with the food, the lightbulb, the woman with the perfume, the changing Banner, the EVERYTHING?  Never before have I reached for my phone so many times to look up Aickman to find out what were his views on religion, women, Freud - who the hell was this guy.  He is bizarre, definitely not for everyone, but for those who can take the lack of solid answers, strangely addictive.  It says something that the one story that seems most straight-forward, 'Pages from a Young Girl's Diary', was for me the least interesting.  As a slow, slow reader I was surprised to find I had finished the book in just over two days.  Addictive.
Algernon Blackwood's 'John Silence' stories should be just the thing I like.  Silence is an investigator, or rather specialist, in the supernatural, something along the lines of Hodgson's Carnacki, and acting as a precursor to Kolchak and the X-Files.  However, the stories despite dealing with shape-shifters, mummies, possessions and devils are almost always too genteel to really get the blood racing.  After three or four stories again I had put the book down.  Anyhow there were only three stories left so I picked it up again last night.  'Secret Worship' deals with a coven of Satanists masquerading as monks running a posh, isolated school for toffs (not a million miles from Argento's 'Suspiria', for instance).  You can see immediately how influential it has been as a theme, and Blackwood's John Silence is always at the centre of truly mythic themes.  The story starts well following a former pupil's mysterious compulsion to visit his old school and it builds well too.  You can practically see poor old Christopher Lee, may he rest in peace, as Kalkmann the monk who opens the door and makes the visitor so welcome.  The tension builds.  Even the appearance of the devil is original enough to keep things on a good footing.  However, the entrance of John Silence (previously largely missing from the tale) is something of a damp squib.  He is literally compared to Jesus, and the best sort of English man, while the German monks are equated with evil.  Blackwood slyly amplifies this ludicrous dichotomy with an alignment of merchants and silk-selling with the forces of Goodness.  Capitalism is a very Good thing apparently!  Anyhow I will finish the thing, but Blackwood, for all that he wrote 'The Willows' and 'The Wendigo' is still an awfully silly, not to mention too laid-back, a writer.
Anyhow I am finally starting to clear the reader's block.

Red Lights

Robert De Niro, Sigourney Weaver, Cillian Murphy, Elizabeth Olsen...don't be fooled by the cast! 'Red Lights', a tale about paranormal investigators (played by Weaver and Murphy) coming up against a formidable blind clairvoyant is pure hokum. Weaver is excellent, De Niro nothing special, Murphy by the numbers, and Olsen completely wasted (remember her in 'Martha Marcy May Marlene'), but the real let down is with director and writer Rodrigo Cortes. This is a classic case of someone taking on too much.
There is the seed of an interesting story here. Paranormal investigators, especially modern thoroughly scientific ones (do they really exist?), are appealing characters and provide a fertile environment for spooky happenings. More particularly Cortes is aiming at a Shyamalan-esque big twist (yes, there's one of those) that has a lot of potential too. However, at almost every turn he fumbles the ball. Starting off with a weak joke (Murphy wakes Weaver to tell her to get some sleep), we then get the obligatory debunking scene (to show what they do, how good they are, and the types of charlatans and issues they may encounter). All very well. But when weird things do start to happen the rigour and curiosity they initially showed seems to go out the window. We get unlikely, unbelievable encounters (Murphy visits a fraud he helped put in prison and expects help; Murphy assaults a fellow academic and then expects to be put on the man's committee) and bewildering non sequiturs (What is Silver doing giving private audiences? And how does he not recognise Murphy?).
The big twist is barely effective given the muddle that has gone before. Things are not helped by a consistently hyperactive approach to direction. High angles, a busy camera and rapid cutting (Cortes is editor too) all make the most mundane scene painfully bloated or portentous. Again 'muddle' is the word that comes to mind. He seems to have no sense of building tension, no understanding of structure. The climactic confrontation is hardly involving at all given that Cortes has already displayed all his wares in previous less important scenes. Cortez obviously got this gig on the strength of his earlier (overrated) 'Buried'. That film was set entirely in a coffin. Getting out of that box doesn't seem to have helped him much.

Coincidentally

Given the pleasure of watching "The Cabin in the Woods", I should mention that I'm reading Lovecraft's "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward" at the moment. It's the one major work by Lovecraft I haven't yet read (though of course I am familiar with the story and have seen both Corman's "The Haunted Palace" and O'Bannon's "The Resurrected"). It is a frustrating piece of work. Even more than usual, Lovecraft's insistence on not describing what he describes as indescribable is just plain annoying. The plain thrust of things is pretty clear, yet to make his 'big reveal' late in the novel, he feels the need to obscure things early, so of the raid on Curwen's farm we get small hints and glimpses from people uninvolved in the action. You see it is terrifying just how close-lipped everyone actually involved subsequently became! I feel like throwing the rubbish away, but my dedication to the genre necessitates some hard work. It shall soon be over, thank Yog-Sothoth!

The Cabin in the Woods

Ah, it makes an old horror buff's heart grow warm! An unholy, if welcome, conjunction of Shirley Jackson ('The Lottery') and H.P. Lovecraft (Chthulu), 'The Cabin in the Woods' is a humorous celebration of the schlockier depths of horror. Five pretty teenage stereotypes go off to the titular cabin - a structure not just like but pretty much identical to that of 'The Evil Dead' - where they encounter well, pretty much everything you'd expect, and a lot more. Because, you see, the cabin is not all it appears....
Which is pretty clear from the outset (and from the trailer), so don't expect too many surprises. The joy of Drew Goddard's film is the joy with which he embraces all the tropes and conventions of the genre and doesn't just send them up (a la Kevin Williamson's 'Scream' movies), but revels in them. It is silly fun, but undeniable fun.
Knowing its territory so well, it tries to cover all bases, and largely succeeds. For instance, while the opening credits were rolling, I eagerly looked for a cameo appearance from a big name ("And with...."). You need a heavyweight for the big villain, don't you? Not really, but given all the unknowns involved (Chris Hemsworth is the biggest name listed, though Richard Jenkins also features), such a guest role would add a little class (remember De Niro in "Angel Heart"?). I had a little twinge of disappointment; there was no one of note listed. This movie might be just too close to the middle-budget, B-movie rip-offs Hollywood recently has churned out after all (eg. 'Friday the 13th'). Thankfully there is a small, but appropriate cameo towards the end. And anyway this is original enough to be a million miles distant from Hollywood's usual horror output (usually horrific in every way). Much better than Raimi's last "Drag Me to Hell", this is inventive shlock with a tongue so far in its cheek it's pierced the skin.
It makes me want to go out and call up the Old Ones now.... Or maybe I'll just go see it again.
Oh, by the way, did I mention "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas"? There's even a philosophical point.

Weary, Woeful Wheatley

Reading wise I had to give up Dennis Wheatley's "The Haunting of Toby Jugg". With an interest in the horror genre I feel it is incumbent on me to try out such writers, but there's only so much I can take. A right-wing polemic full on nauseating jingoism and anti-semitism. Bear in mind that this book is set during the Second World War in Britain; the only Jewish character is an amoral Communist spy working for Russia and trying to marry an British Labour party member in order to infiltrate Government. On top of this the story is dull, predictable and, considering it is supposedly a horror novel, distinctly lacking in scares. Indeed the strapping airman at the centre of the story (an heir to a multimillion pound empire no less), a man used to facing death a hundred times over in the air, spends the book in mortal fear of a shadow! The villain of the piece is just short of twirling his moustache. All in all a dreadful piece of claptrap. I stopped halfway through and have now started a novel by Norman Mailer.
Just to show I was trying to give Wheatley a chance, I also watched a little known Hammer film adapted from another of his novels, "The Lost Continent". Borrowing from Hodgson, Haggard, Doyle and a host of other turn of the century fantasists, it is the worst mishmash of seafaring junk I've ever had the misfortune not to throw up over. Avoid!

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

Telling the story of a young girl going to a new home, a new parent and coming into contact with mythological beings, featuring a maze and with the name Guillermo del Toro attached, you might be forgiven for thinking 'Don't Be Afraid if the Dark' is a remake of 'Pan's Labyrinth'. It's not. It's a remake of a 70's TV movie that had me sleepless for months after I saw it (right up there with 'Salem's Lot'). Though that earlier film scared the Cadbury's Creme Eggs out of me, no one could accuse it of a high budget or lofty aspirations, both of which this version has. I mean use the hallowed name of Arthur Machen, give your beasties a persuasive history, model them on the drawings of Arthur Rackham, and stick them in a wonderful old, dark house, and you must have a winner, right?
Sadly, no. I appreciate what the movie was striving for, but the back story involving tooth fairies(!) and the netherworld adds nothing to an otherwise run-of-the-mill, not to mention mechanical, horror. The direction tries to be fancy, but forgets to build tension, and very little is made of the classic 'they won't believe me' dynamic that the original made so much of. Clichés like the knowledgeable old retainer, the boarded up cellar, and the dark history gradually discovered, are trotted out like disinterred ancestors caught rolling in their graves. And for all they look like creatures from Faerie, the CGI monsters are too obviously 'animated' to really terrify. The original had guys in furry suits wearing Doomlord masks. They would hide behind out-sized furniture and set wicked little traps. But hell, did they terrify me! All the budget and knowledge of the genre has done is blunt that crude, but sharp blade.
Nothing about this unfortunate movie can hold a flickering candle to the original. Don't be afraid of the dark, but don't go to it either.

Season of the Witch

The Nicholas Cage film, not the Romero one, and ain't that the pity. A pile of junk. If you want to watch how this kind of thing should be done watch the low budget Sean Bean film, 'Black Death'.

A Taster

Oh, and 'Troll Hunter' opens this weekend. Well worth watching. The comment has been made that there is probably a few too many shots of the Norwegian landscape, but it's lots of fun. Again to be reviewed later.

John Carpenter's The Ward

In a psychiatric hospital (resembling the Overlook Hotel), a group of young women are terrorised by a killer who can appear at will and murder with ease. Could there be a homicidal ghost in the hospital?
John Carpenter has not made many good movies in the last, ooh, 30 years, but I'll always give him the benefit of the doubt and I've looked forwarded to seeing 'John Carpenter's The Ward' for quite a while. Some impressive opening credits, and a Goblin-esque score, had me hoping for the best, but in the end I cannot say it was a return to the exceptional form of yesteryear. The cast of relative unknowns (only Jared Harris is somewhat well-known) were fine (even if Jennifer Heard was a little unsubtle), but they were hampered by their (necessarily) stock characters. The frights were effective, but very predictable (camera pans away and then back to have the monster behind the victim). The only sign that there was anyone other than a hack behind the camera was clear only in the choice and variety of shots. He made his hackneyed location still manage to be fresh, that despite the fact that we have seen this very same set-up in a very recent film, 'Sucker Punch'. That movie was execrable in every way, whereas Carpenter's (despite having a cast of similarly pretty, young things) is not. However, it does highlight what is the main problem with the whole enterprise; there is nothing original here. The sequel to Carpenter's own 'Halloween' featured a psychopath in a hospital, while the usual panoply of labotomy picks and electric shock generators are trotted out again as on so many occasions before (anyone see 'The House on Haunted Hill', or 'Session 9', or 'Asylum', or...). But the real killer is the story itself which is a very, very close reworking ****SPOILER ALERT! READ NO FURTHER IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE TWIST**** of James Mangold's 'Identity', and that was made in 2003! I could see what was coming from a very early stage, and knowing that, suspense, if it ever was there, disappeared.
So rich in production value, but short on originality. I guess we'll have to wait some more for that Carpenter come back.

An Evening with Clive Barker

Well, 25 minutes anyhow.
Advertised as a chat with horror auteur, Clive Barker, with a few early short films thrown in, it soon became apparent, after a late start, that the emphasis was to be on the short films. Unfortunate as Barker proved to be a very amicable guest, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one who would gladly have spent the full 90 minutes allotted just listening to him. As it was even the interviewer seemed hell-bent on centering the chat around these two films, despite having this very rare opportunity to discuss a far more interesting oeuvre, and life, with one of horror's most respected practitioners. It was Barker himself who had to bring up his other work and other issues, such as contemporary Hollywood horror.
Needless to say he doesn't like the sanitised rubbish that is regularly issued as franchises (a very dirty word in his mouth). Instead, and despite his enormous success, he emphasised passion based work, ignoring the 'experts', and making movies with a washing up bottle and a piece of string as long as you make them (or indeed any piece of art; he himself is a director, writer, and painter). There were, as you can tell, a lot of platitudes spouted ("Follow your bliss!"), but he did seem sincere.
Apart from the entertaining conversation though, the years have not been kind to Clive Barker. At 58, he did not look a well man, hunched and apparently helped a little as he left. It's not very long ago that he hosted a BBC show on 'The A-Z of Horror' and looked remarkably youthful. Not so now.
Returning to his youth, we were then shown those infamous early works. 'Salome' and 'The Forbidden' were made with friends before Barker was twenty and for all their limitations have a lot of potent imagery. As with his later 'Hellraiser', we were treated to a man being flayed alive, though at a far more leisurely pace. Indeed, given that the films were silent, and often unintelligible, they were both a little too leisurely. And whatever I had planned for a Wednesday night, watching a young, naked Clive Barker spin his erection in every direction (a prominent dance scene from 'The Forbidden', I kid you not) was not really something I'd considered, nor particularly cared for. For curiosity value then, they were interesting if not especially satisfying productions.
If only they had let him talk!

The Rite

In 'The Rite', an elderly priest takes on a doubtful new recruit in the murky world of exorcism. The murky Italian world of exorcism that is, as Rome seems to be a hotbed of potty mouthed teens with non-psychological psychological problems. And with all those wonderful sunsets and beautiful buildings, it's not really that murky.
There's not too much to be said for 'The Rite'. It makes oblique references to 'The Exorcist', as if to differentiate itself, but there's no getting away from the fact that this is Exorcist-lite with Anthony Hopkins standing in for Von Sydow and newcomer Colin O'Donoghue doing Jason Miller's Father Karras. As a horror movie it has some spooky moments, but few scary ones. Even the demons seem fairly mild by comparison with the peasoup spewing varieties of other movies. It goes some way to describing the tenor of this film when I say it has a malevolent mule, though thankfully only briefly.
So nothing original here then. Instead what we get is a pleasant recruitment film for the Catholic Church (not only do they pay your college fees, but you could get a free trip to Rome into the bargain). One shocking moment has a priest strike down a little girl, so all that stuff about the Church and children you can just put that down to demonic possession. I do kind of wonder why cold, but generally genial, Rutger Hauer, the young priest's father, seems to end up in Hell, but then God does move in mysterious ways.
Nothing to offend here, but no great revelation either.

Scream 4

As slasher movies go, the 'Scream' series set the trend for self-referential horror. In each movie, cinema savvy characters discuss the absurdities and formulae for successful horror movies, often right before succumbing to the inane behaviour they critique. There's always a couple of cinema geeks on hand to outline how this particular installment should unfold if it is a true sequel, or the third part in a larger story, or ...another postmodern sequel.
Kevin Williamson, the writer of the original movie, returns this time around, as does series director, Wes Craven. He has absorbed all that has been said about the rest of the series (and indeed the whole modern Horror genre that it shaped), and makes that the target of discussion. So we get movies within movies, second-guessing of rules in a self-aware culture, and a stab at a celebrity culture that thrives on people famous for being famous. Despite alluding to all these ideas though, there isn't too much real insight on display. But then why should there be? This is a slasher movie. And at base it's the same drill as the other three films, with a killer in a ghost mask and an annoying telephone manner, and a new set of suspects. Not to mention a whole new selection of bright young things to be sliced and diced.
Truth be told, I dislike stabbings, gratuitous gore and (especially) the needless slaughter of those bright young things. I get no kick out of the 'inventive' slayings. What's more, the 'Scream' series, by using the whodunnit device (like Argento before), ridiculous though the unmasking always is, places more emphasis on character and so makes the deaths a little sadder. You do kind of care. Not to say the characters in 'Scream 4' are any more than paper thin tropes - they're not - but they have a damn sight more likeability than the teenage tokens usually appearing in dreck like 'Friday the Thirteenth' or 'My Bloody Valentine'.
All that said, Craven delivers the requisite shocks, Williamson delivers the knowing humour, and a mixture of familiar and attractive cast members deliver a lot more than we have any right to expect. (Only Marco Beltrami's brainless score really jars, not only fanfaring events clumsily, but often needlessly drawing attention to itself.)
It's not as smart as it thinks it is, but 'Scream 4' is still a silly slash above the norm.

Confessions

After two of her students kill her four year-old daughter, a schoolmistress exacts revenge. Of course, that revenge sparks off more violence that sparks off more violence that....
As one gets older, the more the thought of punishing those pesky kids becomes more palatable. So it's not surprising that 'Confessions' entertains so well. Coupled to this is an appeal to the Thanatos in us all, that disillusioned sense of sheer frustration with the ineptitude of everyone and everything that occasionally makes us want to destroy it all. Ironically in a movie about children, it is this sense that is ultimately the most childish impulse of them all. And the one most selfishly indulged by the filmmakers.
Which is not to say this film is a stupid exploitation flick. Far from it. It acknowledges the argument that environment creates monsters, disregards it, then acknowledges it again as something too complex to allow for. In the face of such absurd cruelty the only option is to accept it as a given and indulge our own. Brief nods to the pain revenge actually causes the teacher are insufficient to offset the petty childish joy in hate that the film espouses. And that we espouse too, in our childish heart of hearts. Sometimes. When we're weak. Or at a movie.
Despite its Rashomon style delivery, with each character giving their 'confession' of events, the story itself is ludicrous. The acting is fine, but the film's execution is somewhat clunky at times (for instance the teacher's extended story-telling at the start), and the too obvious use of music by Radiohead etc. doesn't help. However, I say again, it is hard to argue with base instincts, and nasty revenge executed on nasty kids is as base as you can get.
A guilty pleasure.

A Child Across the Sky

A Child Across the Sky
Part of the same fictional universe within which his "Bones of the Moon" and "Sleeping in Flames" occur, Jonathan Carroll's "A Child Across the Sky" is a strange meditation on evil, art and cinema. After director Weber Gregston's best friend commits suicide, he is supernaturally summoned by his friend (via videotape) to complete his friend's slasher movie. Among those aiding him in his task is a little girl who may or may not be an angel.
The more I read of Carroll the more I am torn in two, but in this novel that is not only right, but almost the point of the story. The complexity of life, both physically and morally, is a prime concern for Carroll. He wants a black and white order, and sometimes succumbs to its allure (witness the climax of 'Bones of the Moon'), but he is fully conscious of the falsity of such a perspective. I still feel he is a romantic who ultimately underwrites all his work with this binary division, but he's no fool and his explorations of the theme make for some fascinating writing. Good may be real, and Evil too, but they play a very bewildering game of chess. Everything is compounded of this confusion. The richness he almost fanatically brings to his characters is proof of this.
In creating a rich, fictional world (one with recurring characters and its own consistent history, eg. the great Californian Earthquake), yet one that shares some characteristics of our own world (eg. an airport terrorist attack from the Eighties) he inevitably generates a certain alienation in the reader. The constant references to films never seen (because they were never made) is annoying, for instance. It seems to highlight Carroll's hunger to be on celluloid (according to IMDB he's only participated in the production of one, 'B', movie).
His very real influence on Hollywood is all over this tale. From 'Drop-Dead Fred' to 'In the Mouth of Madness', the seeds of much of common cinema culture is contained (and originates) here. People have been 'borrowing' from his work for ages. (Ironically part of this story is concerned with just that kind of theft.) He does this kind of dark fantasy better than any of them (yes, including you, Mr Carpenter!). But, and this is probably part of the reason for his failure to be realised on screen, his bizarre events often serve as springboards to pungent philosophizing. The rationale for their happening (eg. a bird tattoo coming to life) loses much of its persuasive power (when indeed it is persuasive) once divorced from these ramblings.
Of course, he borrows too and much of this book is plainly inspired by the Freddy, Jason, Candyman and Pinhead movies that haunt the contemporary horror genre. 'Candyman', for instance has a score by that pop minimalist, Philip Glass. Carroll has rival minimalist Steve Reich as the composer for the films of his fictitious monster, Bloodstone. Of course what isn't acknowledged is that Steve Reich just happens to be Carroll's half-brother. Jokes within self-referential jokes is the Carroll way. If there is one common thread in his work though, it is the eruption of the fantastical into the real world and vice versa.
The ending to 'A Child Across the Sky' left me angry. Rightly. Tied up quickly, though ambiguously, it was a typical Carroll ending, but all the more memorable for that. I hated it. I loved it. Damn it, he's good.

Coincidence No. 23

Today after reading a particularly nasty story by Clark Ashton Smith called 'The Seed of the Sepulchre', it struck me that this type of horror is akin to a car crash; we know it's all going to end badly, but we can't look away. Indeed the 'enjoyment' is that almost 'pornographic' voyeurism 'enjoyed' by accident witnesses. Tired of this 'torture porn', but happy at my encapsulation of this subgenre with the term, 'car crash' horror, I picked up Jonathan Carroll's 'Child Across the Sky' and started to read it. To divert myself from Smith. A fifth of the way into the book (five minutes ago), I was reading a fictitious film maker's account of reading a friend's script, a screenplay for a horror film: "I called it car-crash art -- you don't want to look, but you have to...." Okay, my original idea wasn't so original (and neither was Carroll's), but really....

Black Swan

Silly, over-the-top nonsense. 'All about Eve' meets 'Repulsion' with director Darren Aronofsky thinking he's David Cronenberg. He's not.

The Dark Hours

The Dark Hours - as opposed to Hollywood's The Dark years
Haven't we heard this one before? A doctor with responsibility for dangerous criminals apparently takes her work home with her when two psychos turn up at her log cabin and proceed to terrorise her, her husband and pretty sister. Psychos? Log cabin? Terrorised family? Hmmmmm. But then is all really as it seems to be?
Released in 2005, low-budget Canadian thriller, "The Dark Hours", tempted me with its 80 minute running time. The title hints at William Wyler's classic, "The Desperate Hours", a movie also about a suburban family taken hostage by some escaped convicts, but there is more going on here than a straight-forward remake. In fact this probably has more in common with Haneke's "Funny Games", another story of suburbanites being terrorised by sociopaths. That movie was offensively sadistic and iconoclastic to make a very simple point. This movie also has some unpleasant scenes, but the violence is integral to the story and the characters, an authentic expression of inner guilt. It doesn't have the time to dwell on its themes of responsibility and conscience, but it is sincere in exploring them. The audience, in their identification with the female lead, are made to question their relationship with the screen violence while also being appropriately distanced narratively (as opposed to using the almost Brechtian shenanigans Hanneke employed). Ironically it makes the point "Funny Games" wanted to make in a more intelligent, complex and satisfying way.
And it's scary. You may think you've seen this kind of thing before, but it never fails to set the pulse racing. And then, you haven't seen this kind of thing before, because without wanting to give too much away, this is a cleverly written film that also boldly chooses to play with reality. (Actually its tricksy plot makes writing about the story very difficult; I hate giving away spoilers.) In support of this brave agenda a cast of unknowns give very solid performances, providing flesh for some well-developed characters. Characters! Imagine that! The score too shoots above its station.
So we have a cleverly written, thoughtful, tensely directed, well-acted movie with a nice 'Shining'-like score. It therefore came as a shock to me to discover that it made €423 in the US on its release in 2005. That's €423. €423. Could you read that? $423. Apparently distributors didn't really distribute it. Presumably as a result, that cast of unknowns are still largely unknowns. They get work, but.... (For instance, Iris Graham, the 'Pretty Sister', seems to have hit the big time playing Emily's sister in "The Exorcism of Emily Rose". What? Exactly.) The director, one Paul Fox, is a TV director. The scriptwriter of that nicely crafted screenplay? Wil Zmak got a few TV story editing gigs. I think Lucas made "Star Wars - Episode 3" in 2005. He might have spent $423 on a coffee.
I'm not trying to make any great claims for "The Dark Hours". It is a B-movie in the classic tradition. It's better than "Funny Games", but anything would be. It doesn't disgrace its reference to Wyler's masterpiece, but it will never be remade itself. And for all the good storytelling, you will see the end coming well, well before you get there. But "The Dark Hours" is far, far from bad too. Very far. It, and everyone attached to it, did an excellent job. I just wish it hadn't gone so gently into that dark night.

Dead and Buried

Visitors to a small seaside town are brutally murdered and then mysteriously resurrected in the 1981 horror, 'Dead and Buried'. The local sheriff must track down the killer(s) and figure out what dastardly deeds are really afoot. What more do you need to know?
Wait! Don't dismiss it quite yet.
I vaguely remember this from my childhood, but cannot quite reconcile that impression with what I just watched; I'm pretty sure this might have scarred me for life. Well, that's repression for you! With Gary Sherman, the director of the impressive "Death Line" (and needless "Poltergeist III"), at the helm, this film is taut, eerie and very unpleasant. Unusually for a film full of atmosphere and creepy suggestion, it's also gruesome, refusing to shirk from some unnecessarily messy murders. Were it not for an uneven screenplay - witness some silly behaviour by a family who stop off in town for directions - and what is ultimately a ludicrous storyline, this might be one of the all-time greats.
Cast-wise it's a strange mixed bag of character actors and also rans. For instance, Robert Englund, of later Freddy fame, shows up as a member of the threatening townsfolk, and they are a nasty bunch. "Flash Gordon"'s Melody Anderson has a substantial role as the local sheriff's wife, and she performs well. In the sheriff role, James Farentino seems to me like a stand-in for Roy Scheider's Chief Brody from "Jaws", investigating not with any real deduction, but through sheer salt-of-the-earth stubbornness. He's just a little over the top, but that is probably appropriate given how he must stumble from one extreme horror to the next, finding himself way, way out of his depth. The undoubted star though is Jack Albertson as the mortician/coroner. You may remember him from the original "Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory". How could little, old grandpa ever send a shiver down your spine? Watch this.
As I mentioned the storyline is ridiculous. However, it is a demonstration of the film's success that one forgets (or at least forgives) its contradictions accepting instead a dream logic appropriate to nightmares. There is a hint of "Plague of the Zombies" to be sure, but hanging over proceedings is a more pungent influence. This is Lovecraft territory, not the Lovecraft of Cthulu et al, but rather the Lovecraft of 'Re-animator' and the creator of sinister villages like Innsmouth. Although the victims mostly come from out of town, there is a real sense that this town is off the map, maybe even the planet, a world unto itself. There really is no 'out there'. As the terrors mount, the focus draws tighter and tighter on the ostensible heart of the town, the mortuary. Did I say heart? This is a journey backwards to the source of the evil, to a foul womb (the undead are referred to as children). Oh, yes, this is definitely Lovecraft territory.
Mention should also be made of the look of the piece. For what is evidently a low budget film, this has some surprisingly beautiful aspects. From it's opening black and white still of a smalltown street suddenly coming to colourful, empty life, to its foggy nights and hazy interiors, the cinematographer is shooting well above what you'd expect to be his level. The worn wooden houses, fussy labs, tangled fishyards and crowded offices all contribute to the close-fitting sense of darkness too.
Don't think too much about it and you might see what I just watched, a real claustrophobic B-classic. It may be dead, but don't leave it buried.

As If I had Free Will

When confronted in a bookshop by one of those lovely Everyman hardback editions of 'The Short Stories of Ray Bradbury', what would you do? I mean what could I do!
Now I did have a second thought or two - I read one of his later collections ('Quicker than the Eye', I think) and was hearthily disappointed - and it wasn't a complete edition of all his stories (though there are some on the market). However, it did contain a hundred stories. And I do have if not exactly fond then wonderfully unpleasant memories of 'The Jar', which has haunted me since childhood. So I ask again: what would you do? It's damn obvious what I did.

At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul

Coffin Joe - Isn't there a song about him?
A Brazilian horror movie by José Mojica Marins, aka Coffin Joe, 'At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul' sees the multi-talented director stalk around in top hat and cape, bullying people, killing others, eating meat on Good Friday, and otherwise seeking his perfect bride. Because he is free from superstitions, the devoutly atheistic gravedigger believes he is stronger than everyone else. I suppose there must be some reason, because it looks pretty ridiculous to see the gangly freak beating up burly locals while other similarly burly locals look on terrified. Look at him, his eyes go bloodshot when he's angry! Holy shit, he has a whip! Hell, he wears a top hat!!!!!!!!
The thing is that for all that he is a sadistic bully, Coffin Joe's Nietzschean bluster is refreshingly endearing. Compared with all those lily-livered Church-goers you almost like the guy, well, if you get past all that torture stuff. However, just when we begin to think this minor B-movie has been brave enough to portray a character most Hollywood flicks would run a mile from, Coffin Joe starts railing against the God he claims not to believe in. 'Show me you exist!' he says to cry. A case of the lady protesting too much, methinks, especially when after all his bluster, God, or at least the spirit world, does indeed show him, giving him a much needed come-uppence. You have to wonder though where that supernatural world was when he did his devilment in the first place, but then isn't that always the question?
Sociopathic Ubermensch as spoiled kid - you have to love him!

With its graveyards, cackling gypsy women, faux rebellion (that dress sense!) and gleeful violence, this comes across as nothing so much as a teenage, geeky outsider's vengeful wet dream. Even the transitions from scene to scene, all rolling eyes and wipes, remind me of De Palma picking the wings off flies. Fun though. Like when he poked out the doctor's eyes....yeeeuuuk!