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2020, 2020s, A, found footage, Grade, Horror, mystery, Past, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Film Review: Host – 2020

April 16, 2021 The Critic 1 Comment

Director(s)	Rob Savage
Principal Cast	Haley Bishop as Haley Jemma Moore as Jemma Emma Louise Webb as Emma Radina Drandova as Radina Caroline Ward as Caroline Edward Linard as Teddy Seylan Baxter as Seylan
Release Date	2020
Language(s)	English
Running Time	56 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

Haley starts the Zoom meeting at the start of the movie.

We start in the virtual plane. A Zoom call opens up. The mouse moves to start up a meeting. The computer screen is the stage this play takes stage on. The physical pierces through the virtual as the filter tape that covers the meeting host’s camera is slowly removed. Privacy gives way for a chance at intimacy. We finally see our host, Haley (Haley Bishop), as she gets ready for meeting. Unbeknownst to her, someone else has joined her meeting room.

Haley moves the laptop down the hallway to look for the noise.

Suddenly we hear a loud thud. Has something happened already? Does it have something to do with the unseen participant in the room? Haley leaves to find out, moving the laptop with her to bring us along on the journey. The screen is no longer bound to one place and is allowed to be active. As she makes her way to her living area, she realizes the sound is coming from outside. She peers out the window.

Crisis averted. She realizes that this noise, this false source of fear, is her friend Jemma (Jemma Moore), who’s outside making a ruckus in an attempt to get Haley to give her, Jemma, permission to join the zoom meeting; thus, the boundary between the physical gives way to the virtual as the encounter between the two transitions to the online call.

In just a little under 4 minutes, Rob Savage’s Host manages to showcase its themes, set up a scare, and foreshadow the structure of the story (along with finer plot details). As the rest of the members of the Zoom meeting show up, it’s revealed that the jolly group of friends, made up of 5 women – Haley, Jemma, Emma ( Emma Louise Webb), Radina (Radina Drandova), and Caroline (Caroline Ward) along with their male cohort Teddy (Edward Linard ), have come together under Haley’s instructions to perform an online séance. However, it becomes clear that things are going to take a turn for the worse as the group is inevitably forced to defend themselves against supernatural forces.

Now while creepy séance movies are nothing new, Host manages to raise the stakes by taking the process online. A séance is a ritualized procedure whereby individuals participate with one another to communicate with the spirits. The procedure involves the dissolution of the physical into the spiritual. It is not a coincidence that the nature of a séance matches up so well with the nature of an online meeting. Like the best J-Horrors (Pulse, Ringu), Host is focused on exploring the way the web has become the realm of a new spiritual – a site of connectivity where the the bonds between the living and the dead commingle. As communication transforms so does the nature of the haunting.

This is where the COVID-19 quarantine based setting of the movie comes in. Participants in a séance have to follow protocol to safely engage with the astral world. Breaking these rules can have consequences in the same way that breaking quarantine protocol can. Quarantine limits communication, relegating people to online messages as opposed to in person discussion. Without the physical presence of people around us, the way we engage in that conversation changes. We may be less inclined to follow rules of decorum or less likely to be as committed to engaging. In a more intimate sense, the forced closeness generated by quarantine protocol means that in-person relationships are forced to weather increased presences. People who you might have been able to ignore now are an everyday presence, and if they choose to ignore protocol they can end up infecting you with the virus potentially harming you and those you love. Privacy becomes harder to feign because the private is forced to seep into the public – another dissolution.

It is these qualities that makes an online séance during COVID-19 quarantine the perfect melting pot of ideas and themes. Barriers between the physical, spiritual, virtual, public, and private bleed into one another forcing us to ask tough questions about what we think about those closest to us and ourselves. Corona is compared to the nature of haunting. The breakdown of spirits is compared to the way the virtual space is made up. Each layer of the movie works on it’s own, but the strength of the movie comes from the way the ideas so easily build upon and proceed into one another.

This can most be seen in the way the movie marries its metaphysical vision to an equally exciting visual style. The way the script tackles its particular spirit(s) gives Savage and co. carte blanche to go hog wild with their ways of supernatural scares along with building up a mythos for what’s going on. Early on, the movie intentionally calls note to some small flickers on a user’s screen to goad you into focusing onto small details. That way when the screen changes from the group view to the individual view and back, you’re hyper focused on making sure nothing’s moving. The smallest flicker can elicit a scare. By layering moments like these early on, the movie manages to ratchet up the tension to incredibly high levels.

However unlike its most of its found-footage contemporaries, Host isn’t satisfied with just going for micro-scares and ending with one big scare akin to Paranormal Activity. It’s more ambitious and plays closer to something like James Wan’s The Conjuring; there are beautiful big set pieces, scares that are set up earlier in the movie, and practical effects are deployed wherever possible to help enhance the sense of immersion

Despite being constrained by filming (mostly) by themselves in their own apartments., Savage and his crew don’t shy away from going for big and impactful scenes with real heft demonstrating that embracing limitations is a powerful way to ground scares. Because it starts small and builds up progressively, the story is able to explore the development of the spiritual and offer space for questions to form on what’s actually going on.

By grounding the more horrifying elements of the supernatural encounter the movie’s individual elements can congeal. This is primarily achieved in two ways:

Careful attention to characterization details
Maintaing the feeling of a Zoom call.

Subtle interactions between the characters and in relation to the way they describe/deal with their respective living situations helps to fill in a lot of context as to what they’re doing and their respective histories with one another. Every piece of dialogue feels natural and conversations between the character’s feel consistent and proceed in a way that’s too natural to feel scripted but to well put together to fell fully done off the cuff. For example, early on the girls rag on Teddy before he shows up. Anyone who’s had friends can tell that under the playfulness is a real frustration at his presumed recent callousness at their group interactions. Moments like these are a testament to both the editor, Brenna Rangott, for picking clips that seamlessly flow off of one another and the cast and crew for playing off one another in a way that feels like actual friends would.

From left to right and top to bottom: Emma (Emma Louise Webb), Caroline (Caroline Ward), Haley (Haley Bishop), Jemma (Jemma Moore), Radina (Radina Drandova). The group uses the Zoom audio interface to boost up their ability to capture potential noises happening around them demonstrating both a commitment to the application and a neat way of using it to the movie’s advantage.

However, what grounds the film and makes it work is its impeccable formal consistency; never once does the film break away from the formatting of a Zoom call. It starts and ends on the application proper. The audio and video feeds range from high definition and nice microphone quality to scratchy and lagging video streams. The characters make use of functions in the application to problem solve a variety of issues. As they switch between mediums, from phones to computers, audio feedback delays and connection issues come about. Variation comes from the quality of the videos as the film cuts between the group participant views of the screen to solo participant views of the screen, and having the characters move the camera when the situation calls for it. The result is a movie that’s brimming with visual life despite being so limited in location and space.

Furthermore, there’s no score, because the movie is supposed to be a chronicle of a séance. But instead of silence, the soundscape is littered with bits of feedback and small creaks which manages to unsettle just as well as any compelling horror score. No noise or visual cue betrays the feeling of the movie which in turn makes the more grandiose moments feel satisfying, authentic, and unexpected.

Best of all, there’s no cheating with the use of awful glitch effects. Even the better found-footage horror movies like Hell House LLC tend to use cheap-feeling glitch effects where the camera presents a stream of static in an attempt to show the supernatural distorting things. It typically comes off as awful visual clutter that betrays the aesthetic of found-footage movies. Host completely avoids these issues because the practical stunts and effects are done so well that there’s no need to be afraid of showing the audience the horror.

However, the bursts of cinematic genius and narrative levity come to a close far too quickly. Many of the fleshier metaphysical ideas feel like they get truncated too quickly and consequently the depth present in each haunting is diminished. For example, the movie introduces the idea of personal totems that each character can use during the séance but makes very little use of it as the film goes on. Tying in some of the intense scary scenes with these more intimate character items would have helped give more definition to certain character arcs and relationship dynamics and made the supernatural subjectivity the film is trying to establish more apparent.

But in spite of these misses, Host is part of a select few found footage to evoke same sense of dread and unease that the The Blair Witch Project did at the turn of the century. By placing the narrative within the pandemic that many remains so fresh in many of our minds, it’s more easily able to get us to invest in the story and care about what happens to the characters because they’re like us: they’re trapped, forced to take responsibility for others, and susceptible to the smallest misstep from someone in their social group. It’s this empathetic identification that makes the sense of unease in Host so poignant and terrifying – a reminder of the shared horrors we’re still vulnerable to today.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Host is proof that budget matters less than the guts to commit to a vision and figure out the most effective way to demonstrate that vision with the tools available. Despite being made during quarantine and with a low budget, each member of the cast and crew came together to turn in a cohesive and well-oiled horror machine that looks and plays like a major horror blockbuster. There’s characters to cheer for, scares that get under the skin, and a story that’s easy to follow while remaining compelling to think about.
Rating	8.7/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2012, A+, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Science Fiction, science fiction horror, Thriller, Year

Review: The Endless

December 16, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Justin Benson Aaron Scott Moorhead
Principal Cast	Justin Benson as Justin Aaron Scott Moorhead as Aaron Callie Hernandez as Anna Tate Ellington as Hal Lew Temple as Tim Shane Brady as Shane Kira Powell as Lizzy James Jordan as Shitty Carl
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English
Running Time	111 minutes

The opening quote to the movie encapsulates the thematic journey we’ll be taking- a mixture of Lovecraft, confronting the unknown, fear, alienation, and the way those ideas intertwine in relationships.

The movie opens with two quotes : one from Lovecraft and one from an Unknown source. Lovecraft’s quote encapsulates the drive behind his writing – the idea that the unknown is the root of fear. The latter quote notes that siblings only tell each other their feelings when they’re on their deathbeds. The presentation of the quote highlights that the Unknown Lovecraft is talking about is an agent of sorts that’s the source of the second quote, informing the audience that the movie we’re about to experience is going to explore a sibling relationship against a Lovecraft background – an navigation of the unknown, fear, and relationships.

After this the movie cuts to two brothers, Justin and Aaron, who are attempting to navigate their day to day lives in spite of a grayness that seems to permeate their existence. On top of their sullen demeanors, the color grading is undersaturated and reinforces a dreary and lifeless mood.

Justin (Justin Benson) tries to reach out to his brother Aaron (Aaron Scott Moorhead) who is too sullen to respond or reciprocate. *The brothers lives are gray and worn out after having left the cult . Even the bright sun can’t lighten up their days, reflecting the way their lives have fallen into a depressive rut.*

It’s quickly revealed that the two are survivors of a cult and are struggling with adapting to their new lifestyle. The older brother, Justin, domineers over his younger brother and constantly dictates the duo’s course of action. He’s the one who dragged them out from the clutches of the cult due to fears about them committing some kind of mass suicide. On the other hand, Aaron is very much sick and tired of their current life and is desperate to go back to the cult and experience the sense of warmth he had back there – a familial unity that seems to be missing with his own flesh and blood. After the two receive an ominous videotape from their former cult members talking about an “ascension” of sort. The tape is obviously old and its quality is poor, but it ends on an image of a circle. Desperate, to get his brother back to normal, Justin acquiesces and tells Aaron they’ll go to the cult for one day to get the latter’s mojo back.

As they journey to their previous habitat, the color that had been missing from their lives permeates the screen. The gray gives way to bright and warm colors that compliment Aaron’s newfound joy.

Once they decide the go back to the cult for a day, the light seeps in and saturates the brothers’ lives. There’s a newfound vitality here that was missing before.

During this drive back the brother’s stop at a funeral site – the place where their mother had died so many years ago. Surprisingly, the offerings they had left so many years ago as children still stand, no blemishes or markings to indicate how long they’ve been there. Having given their respects, the two make their way to the cult site – a campground that immediately feels unnerving and inviting at the same time. Their journey is accompanied by a score that evokes hints of John Carpenter – a spectral synth that has a The first person they run into ignores them and keeps walking past them, obviously perturbed. The next person they run into is smiling creepily, their face unmoving. Eventually the duo runs back into their previous acquaintances who happily welcome them back to the site. A nice meal followed by a good night’s sleep assuages Aaron and confirms to him he made the right choice. Meanwhile, Justin is still very much on the fence about the decision.

As the two of them explore the camp and re-integrate with their previous acquaintances/friends they’re forced to confront the host of inexplicable phenomena that pervade the camp. There’s constant mentions of an alien entity that watches the camp ground, a locked wooden shed that’s described as a storehouse for brewery equipment, magic tricks that go from discernible to out of this world, camp bonding activities that seem physically impossible, the presence of two moons, strange totem like objects scattered throughout the area, and camp members who fluctuate from cozy and inviting to seemingly hostile and suspicious. It’s a creepy cult gamut featuring enough additional oddities to keep both the brothers and the audience in a constant search to determine who’s on whose side and what’s really causing these off-putting occurrences. The best part is that the visual effects for many of these moments are simple, effective, and don’t cheapen out on stunning the audience. It’s testament to Benson and Moorhead’s skill that they can shoot a low budget picture but add enough visual magic in the right ways to absolutely nail the impact of each of these visceral phenomena. Very rarely did I feel myself fall into disbelief as the fantastical nature of what was happening blended seamlessly into the reality of the world, calling into question where the bounds of “real” stopped and started.

Everything pays off because each incident by itself is unnerving but put together it generates a fragmented experience. It’s impossible to know exactly where anything is going which generates both tension and a constant desire to figure it out. At the same time, the obvious call backs to horror tropes (ex: a cult brewing beer is the spiritual cousin of a cult drinking the Kool-Aid, Native Indian markings throughout the camp invite the idea that it’s a haunting taking place, etc.) helps us piece the pieces together according to our own preconceptions firmly placing us on the side of one or both of the brothers. Justin is suspicious of them and thinks they have to do with the cult trying to gain control over the brothers. Meanwhile, Aaron is more trusting of the camp members and accepts the oddities as they are. Their relationship develops as a result of every occurrence which not only adds an emotional resonance to the disconcerting events but also pushes the two of them to confront their deep seated feelings. It’s an encapsulation of the beginning quotes – a relationship that develops in the face of fear through the lens of the unknown.

Exemplifying this is the constant use of circles both as visual motif and in the way the camera moves. A circle is a closed shape – marked by boundaries but having no discernible start or end. It’s a loop that contains an infinite possibility of meanings depending on how you break its components down. The movie emphasizes this by constantly cutting to multiple circles, each distinct from one another in size and composition.

Circles are used a constant motif throughout the film, highlighting and tying together the fragmented horror tropes into a cohesive narrative that invites the audience to carve out their own interpretation of what everything means. Every circle represents something different but they’re all united by their shape and the use of match cuts reinforces the idea that there’s something tying these disparate elements together.

Early on, when the brothers get the initial tape from the cult, the tape cuts on an image of a circle – an eerie circle that calls back to something like Stonehenge. The move match cuts this with the bucket of cleaning supplies that the brothers use in their jobs – an circle that constraints their lives in a mundane job. The maps the camp uses are marked with circles – circles of containment that lock in zones. The camp members city in circles around the campfire – a circle of community. On top of this, Benson and Moorhead make multiple uses of arc shots that circle around and give the full view of a situation – a circle of meaning. Multiple scenes are shot in slow motion as the camera arcs – a circle of time. Is there a difference between insulating ourselves in a domestic circle where we take on mundane jobs versus isolating ourselves in a cult like circle that feeds our social and emotional needs? By utilizing the circles in such a way the movie gets us to ask questions like these throughout the movie, tying the fragmented and disparate elements into more cohesive strands – a symbolism that ties narrative to them and back again in a mutually reinforcing loop that’s open to infinite meaning.

This duality in meaning is aided by the stellar cast and crew. Surprisingly, the main players Justin and Aaron who play the the two brothers going by the same names are not the stars of the show. Don’t get me wrong – their performances are more than adequate – better than I expected when I saw the directors were taking center stage. Outside of a few moments of overexertion near the first half of the movie, they do their job at selling their characters relationship through effective and comedic banter along with requisite emotional moments necessary to propel the story. However, it’s their supporting cast that drives home the ambiguity of the camp happenings and the real emotional weight of what’s at stake behind the mysteries. Ellington gives Hal, the de facto leader/not leader, of the group a kind aura that belies the expectations of him that the brothers and us might have of him being a culty control freak. Temple makes Tim, the camp’s brewer, feel both tired and sincere. The way he emotes through his eyes indicates his character’s frustrated, serious, but not malicious. Powell’s dove eyed portrayal of Lizzy is both unnerving and endearing. She makes her character feel crazy, open, or a little bit of both. James Jordan as the aptly named Shitty Carl goes from absolutely batshit, to serious, to emotionally devastated, to goofing around in a seamless manner that underscores the weight of the camp’s mystery/(ies). I could go on and on, but the point is each performance both gives gravity to the consequences of the phenomena that we witness and emphasizes the theme of infinite interpretation.

The Endless proves that all you need is a tight script, interesting ideas, innovative execution, and a real focus on theme to tell a great and compelling story. Despite the budgetary limitations, Benson and Moorhead demonstrate that they’re more than comfortable in their Lovecraftian wheelhouse and can tell complex and diverse stories from within without ever boring their audience. After Resolution and Spring, this is the movie that cements that they’re an up and coming talent that deserves more recognition. If you’re someone who’s been itching for a sci-fi horror that’ll get you to think without giving you easy answers, look no further. The Endless is the kind of movie that begs to be watched and re-watched in an attempt to carve out meaning from it’s seemingly infinite world.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Endless expands and builds on Moorhead and Benson’s previous endeavors – combining horror tropes, relationship struggles, the search for meaning, and a healthy dose of Lovecraftian ideas to create a truly mesmerizing movie that’ll get you invested in the characters and invite you to think about the deeper meaning of your life and the way it ebbs and flows. Though the budget is on the smaller side, the movie never suffers and demonstrates that interesting ideas and tight execution are all that’s necessary to tell a thrilling and moving story. Every element – from the tropes, to the characters, to the visual effects, to the worldbuilding- fits with one another and will leave you genuinely impressed by the end. If you’re a fan of sci-fi and/or fantasy, you owe it to yourself to check this out.
Rating	9.8/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2012, A+, Drama, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Resolution

December 11, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Justin Benson Aaron Scott Moorhead
Principal Cast	Peter Cilella as Michael Vinny Curran as Chris Kurt David Anderson as Billy Skyler Meacham as Micah Zahn McClarnon as Charles
Release Date	2012
Language(s)	English
Running Time	93 minutes

The movie opens on a montage of a man, Chris, acting sporadically in the wilderness. He lights up his crack pipe and takes a large hit. He shoots bottles around him. He plays with a dog near him. There’s no clear cohesion behind the sequencing of these moments. They’re random, sporadic, and paint a disturbing picture. The camera reveals the montage is actually a video file being watched by Michael, Chris’s best friend. Obviously worried by his buddy’s actions on the video, Michael decides to track Chris down using GPS coordinates sent along with the file. After a lengthy drive, he locates an erratic Chris shooting at the birds in the sky with a hail of bullets.

Michael (Peter Cilella) approaches Chris (Vinny Curran) for the first time in years as the latter puts his gun down to greet his friend.

He carefully makes his way up to Chris’s house of sorts after declaring himself and slowly catches up with his friend. Unbeknownst to Chris however, is Michael’s real purpose – saving and rehabilitating his forlorn friend. Michael tricks and handcuffs Chris to a fixture in the house before informing the latter that he intends on getting him to kick his drug habit over the next 7 days.

However, this main story thread of Michael trying to rehabilitate Chris as the latter fights back tooth and nail is a decoy set up by directors Benson and Moorhead to give them a jumping off point to unabashedly explore horror genre conventions. From the moment Michael arrives at Chris’s abode, a series of strange occurrences start to occur almost like clockwork. As Michael tries to find Chris’s drug stash he comes upon a series of eerily shot photographs in the cellar-like area. Later on as he’s walking, he runs into a group of alien cultists who give an off-putting feeling. When the two are sleeping, a girl randomly pops up and watches them through the window. Later it’s revealed that Chris is located on Native grounds. Eventually, the two find a series of increasingly disturbing home-videos.

Some of the most disturbing situations the main duo run into involve strange photographs and movie reels that depict unexplainable moments of violence to strangers.

It’s like an unrelenting barrage horror occurrences/situations that keep you on your toes guessing as to what’s really happening. By playing the conventions straight as opposed to being overtly comedic with them in the vein of something like The Cabin in the Woods, Resolution manages to generate a genuine sense of unease and tension. You know something is up because horror conventions are sprinkled everywhere, but because the movie treats them as serious it avoids turning them into predictable and boring clichés. That’s effective horror film making.

There’s no hand holding from Benson and Moorhead. They’re not here to be tongue-in-cheek or overtly comedic. They’re here to tell a faithful horror story that explores and critiques the genre in a subversive way. This is reflected in their choices to not use a soundtrack or any jump scares. The tension and unease is meant to come from the movie proper, not some auditory tricks. In the place of these played out tools of commercial horror are some compelling visual and auditory clues that hint at, but don’t reveal the true nature of what’s going on. From the moment Michael chooses to pursue his friend, certain scenes are marked with a film burn effect that envelops the screen.

These are examples of the film burns that occur throughout the movie at seemingly random moments. Their purpose is unexplained till the very end, inviting the viewer to question what they mean and what’s causing them.

At other moments, the camera switches from being with the characters to POV shots that look at the characters like objects – implying the presence of something else.

A POV shot of *Chris (Vinny Curran)* and *Michael (Peter Cilella)* talking to one another. The camera shifts from being in the room with the characters to this outside perspective, inviting the audience to ask what’s watching them and why.

Accompanying these visual cues are audio distortions where lines repeat or become glitchy sounding. Because the movie takes such care to not introduce non-diegetic elements , each of these clues feels like part of the world’s fabric and invite the audience to investigate what they really mean. It’s a great way of not only ratcheting up the tension, but it also plays an important part in getting us on Chris and Michael’s side – we’re trying to figure out what’s going just like them.

This is the heart of what makes Resolution so much fun. It invites the audience to play along with the characters in a race to come up with a narrative that explains every story thread. What are the characters really after? Why are certain photos and tapes revealed? Why does the camera shift as the audio becomes distorted? As the layers start to unravel, it becomes more and more apparent that this is a movie about the cinematic form – an exploration of the way we create narratives and imbue them with a certain power, thereby generating foregone conclusions and apparent contradictions that make us question why we even want certain things to happen to begin with. Do I think the movie nails all the punches it goes for? No. There are some ideas that feel thrown in just for the sake of adding more confusion to the narrative, while other ideas are introduced without enough of a build-up. However, these concerns feel small in the face of what the movie is trying to accomplish and what it does to get the audience to question their own complicity in the way horror narratives are put together. The ending of the movie is an absolute knock-out that delivers the goods in a satisfying way.

Now while Chris and Michael’s storyline is not the main draw of Resolution, it is the focal point that ties all these otherwise discordant conventions into a cohesive narrative. Without their central struggle and the audience’s subsequent investment in it, the movie wouldn’t be able to explore any of the ideas above to their fullest. While Michael is controlled and domineering, Chris is a manic ball of energy. The former is down-to-Earth graphic designer desperate to bring his friend back into the “normal” world. The latter is a drug-addicted, misanthropic conspiracy-theorist who doesn’t care if he dies as much as he cares about enjoying the little life he has. There’s a good bit of depth to the both of them that turns them from horror inserts into real people which is obviously helped by the two lead actors’ performances. The movie spends a fair bit of time letting the two just talk to each other, whether that be in the form of Michael hurling insults at Chris or the two of them reminiscing about better times. The way Cilella and Curran riff off one another and banter reminds me of conversations I’ve had with my own friends. It’s hard to believe they’re actors and not two buds catching up after a long time away from one another. Curran in particular gives some emotional heft to his character that I wasn’t expecting, injecting a genuine somberness to his otherwise bombastic personality. They get you to care about their characters because they feel like people you might actually know.

It’s rare for a horror movie to both pay homage and still be surprising, but Resolution is one of those rare few that pulls off the balancing act to great effect. The characters are compelling, well-rounded, and written in a way that gets you to invest in their wellbeing. The diversity in plot threads keeps you guessing where the movie is going and what’s causing everything to happen, even if every sub-plot/idea isn’t utilized or explained to its fullest. The movie effectively manages to keep the sense of dread palpable while asking the audience to think and explore the world with the lead characters, making the experience active and informative on top of being entertaining. If you’re a genre fan looking for a movie that plays the conventions straight while remaining interesting, this is the movie for you.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Resolution is a love-letter to the horror genre that plays off conventions while treating them seriously. The story of a guy trying to help his junkie friend get off the drugs turns out to be so much more, as multiple horror plot threads are layered onto the initial narrative creating interwove mystery that’ll have you asking what is actually going on. If you ever saw The Cabin in the Woods and wished it was less tongue-in-cheek and less expository, this is the movie for you. Through some subtle, yet clever cues the movie forces its audience to question their own biases about the genre in an entertaining and emotionally resonant fashion. Genre fans own it to themselves to check this out.
Rating	9.5/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2018, A, Black-Comedy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Piercing

December 3, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Nicolas Pesce
Principal Cast	Christopher Abbott as Reed Mia Wasikowska as Jackie Laia Costa as Mona
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	English
Running Time	81 minutes

The camera pans through a beautiful cityscape that feels artificial and out of touch with reality as the song “L’eredità & agguato nel buio” from the giallo movie The Red Queen Kills Seven Times plays in the background . As the camera gets closer to an open window on a building, the movie cuts to a baby cooing against a red backdrop as an ice pick slowly makes its way closer to to its face. The hand holding it retracts away to reveal an anxious looking man , Reed, who’s then immediately called by his wife, Mona, to come back to bed. Unable to now finish his task, he goes off and chokes himself, a pained expression enveloping his face. After enough time has passed, he goes back to his wife who caresses his head tenderly in an attempt to help him destress. She may not know that he was trying to kill their child, but she does know something is disturbing him. However, just as he gets comfortable their child starts to cry in the background. The noise immediately disturbs him, and his face turns from calm to agitated once again. As he goes to comfort his child, the newborn child says to him in a demonic voice , “You know what you have to do.” It’s at this point that Reed realizes that he has to kill to satiate the urge within and makes plans to hire and murder a prostitute. Unfortunately for him, his dreams to get away with the perfect murder go off the rails when the escort service he’s contacted sends him an unhinged and sporadic woman, Jackie, who threatens to unravel his plan at every step of the way.

This is Nicolas Pesce’s sophomore effort, Piercing ,a cocktail of psychosexual plotlines, imperceptible characters, and a distinct sense of black humor. It’s a love letter to giallo movies that seeks to deconstruct the sub-genre from the inside out, while mixing it with the confusing battle of the sexes from Takashi Miike’s Audition (which makes sense given that both Audition and Piercing are based on books written by Ryū Murakami). Traditional giallo movies follow a fairly standard plotline – there’s a brutal series of murders by an masked black-gloved killer, a journalist-type character tries to figure out what’s going on with or without the presence of some sidekicks, and the killer is eventually revealed with a brief explanation of the trauma that caused them to act out the series of murders. Along the way are psychosexual plotlines, trauma, mystery, tension, and a healthy amount of visual violence. Oh and of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the traditional soundtrack – a combination of progressive rock, jazz, disco, electric, and epic orchestral elements put together to keep the audience energized and invested. Piercing lovingly takes all these components and flips the script by placing the audience on the side of the giallo killer, Reed, as he desperately tries to solve the source of his trauma by killing a prostitute under a peculiar set of conditions. By removing the killer’s mask and placing them front and center, Pesce is able to showcase the absurdity and complexity that drives the genre. The presence of an unknowable entity in Jackie serves to take the mysterious nature of desire that’s normally only present in the backdrop of previous gialli and bring it to the center of discussion, forcing Reed, and subsequently the audience, to examine the way modes of psychosexuality are constructed.

As evidenced by his baby talking earlier, Reed’s delusions play a significant part of the word of the movie, threatening to infect every aspect of it. Images of strange and artificial cityscapes are juxtaposed against real backdrops to suggest that artificiality is always present – a fantasy that covers the trauma within.

An artificial cityscape that looks to be painting of sorts.

The soundscape is filled with diegetic (in the world of the movie , things the characters interact with) and non-diegetic (the external elements of the movie, things that are for the audience) that constantly bleed into one another, reflecting the way that psychotic delusion infects the world but is built from a trauma stemming from that world at the same time. For example, Reed practices what he’s going to do to the prostitute sent to him by physically going through the motions, an imaginary roleplay if you will. As he cuts, and saws, and violates we see nothing on the screen but we can hear every single crack and flow of blood – a clear indication of what Reed is hearing in his mind. In the backdrop is some nice calming music that feels at complete odds with what’s going on (think high class elevator music). At first glance this soundtrack feels non-diegetic, a score meant to elicit a laugh from the audience because of it’s sharp contrast with Reed’s intended actions. However, as he finishes his walkthrough the score is revealed to be part of his mental soundscape as well, becoming dimmer and more muffled as he gets more nervous about what he’s going to do. Along with moments like these which are spread throughout the movie, Reed’s more overt delusional episodes, and Jackie’s general imperceptibility, the movie constantly forces the audience to ask what’s real and piece together the character’s respective desires like a detective getting to the bottom of the mystery, effectively placing them in the role of the traditional giallo detective. It’s not about who’s doing what, but why are they doing what they’re doing.

The sadomasochistic sexual playground the characters interact with each other in opens the perfect space for desire and its exploration. Initially, Reed brings up the idea of S&M to have an excuse to tie Jackie up so he can finish her off, but as the movie unravels the power dynamic inherent in such a relationship is given room to evolve. Sex and violence are staples of gialli and the movie transforms them from merely visually striking elements into genuine mode of communication. Sadism and masochism are orientations towards pleasure and the Other that elicits it. Why does a character like to be beaten in one way? Why does another like to submit? Why are relationships filled with a sense of ambiguity and mystery? It’s all due to some kind of past experience that’s become coded in the flow of desire that subconsciously drives the subject towards their intended action. S&M allows this hidden desire to sublimate and helps to explain the subject and their trauma in a meaningful way. It’s this move that makes every moment of sexual tension or expressive violence more than what it appears. It’s not just shock and excess for the sake of it – it’s an attempt at revealing something more intimate and personal about the subjects at the center of such actions. Without a partner to tango with, be it to inflict violence on or to have sex with, nothing can come to pass because there’s nothing to incite and push desire to the forefront. This is reflected in the movie’s constant use of split-screens which reinforce that both partners in the act are equally important and have a role to play in constructing themselves and one another. Meaning can only be constructed once the two of them interact with one another in an dance for and of power.

The movie uses split screens to highlight the way the characters intrude onto one another lives and shifts the course of their actions. *Jackie( Mia Wasikowska)* on the left brings to light *Reed’s (Christopher Abbott)* desires on the right and vice versa.

Speaking of the partners, the movie entirely hinges on the backs of Abbott and Wasikowska who have to sell their characters’ game of constantly (re)volving interpretative cat-and-mouse. The former exudes general anxiety with his nervous mannerisms and voice that threatens to go to an indescribably whisper at points as he tries gain control of the situation. His nervous energy is present in the way he breathes deeply and in how his eyes dart and move in confusion and worry as he tries to piece together what to do next. He’s a clump of paranoid trepidation that occasionally laughs and smiles as his submerged self slowly comes to the forefront. Meanwhile, the latter is imperceptible, switching from flirty to batshit crazy to seductive without missing a beat. It’s almost impossible to get a read on her as she coyly asks questions one moment and threatens to shock both Reed and the audience with some excessively gratuitously actions the next. The two of them play off each other in an off-putting romantic fashion that constantly feels like it will break apart into something far more terrifying or evolve into something more cutesy, as they circle one another.

Jackie( Mia Wasikowska) informs Reed( Christopher Abbott) that she’s “onto him”.

However, in spite of my praises, the movie does partially fall into the trap it critiques by making the references to the character’s respective traumas and reasons for action too obtuse. The joke about many gialli is that the killers’ motivations are threadbare and only present to help piece together the grandiose kill sequences. While I don’t think the movie fits that description, I can’t help but feel that it plays the characters’ traumas and desires too safe. In both of their cases, there’s a litany of clues that help piece together profiles that give a subtle glimpse behind the veil. For example, there are a plethora of moments where Reed’s anxiety, meticulous attention to detail and procedure, and the murder he’s committed to do are derailed and forced to adapt to the whim’s of his unpredictable victim leading to a variety of horrifying yet comedic scenes that’ll get us to ask why he’s acting in such a peculiar fashion but never go far enough as to give us information to answer them in a satisfying way. I think Pesce could’ve extracted more from these situations without giving up the comedy or ambiguity he was going for. Obviously the movie can’t reveal everything – that would ruin the fun and make the themes less precise. It’s just that the few reveals that do happen feel too surface level in spite of their sometimes surreal presentation. Slightly more information or exploration would help the audience fill in the elliptical scenes and provoke deeper and more nuanced questioning and analysis. As it is the movie is a lot of fun and is tightly put together, but I can’t help feeling it would be a more accessible homerun if it spent more time exploring the characters’ fractured pasts with a bit more depth in the vein of something like Audition.

As a result, this is a movie that I can’t recommend to every horror fan. If you like your movies more visceral than cerebral and are unfamiliar with gialli, a lot of what the movie does might come off as too strange or pretentious. There’s no clear answers to what really drives the movie’s duo and if you want those answers front and center you’ll end up feeling disappointed. Likewise, the subtle way the movie plays with the sub-genre can only be appreciated if you’re a fan of those movies. I first saw Piercing after watching Pesce’s debut, The Eyes of My Mother, a much darker and more universally palatable horror that really gets under your skin. Coming into this from that was a strange shift, because of how much more stylized and funny this movie turns out to be. After going on a huge gialli binge earlier this year (2020) comprised of watching all of Argento’s classics (Tenebrae, Deep Red, Opera) along with a healthy heaping of other fan favorites (Blood and Black Lace, The Red Queen Kills Seven Times, Don’t Torture a Duckling, and so on) I’ve come to love the sub-genre and all it’s trashy and classy components. Watching Piercing again with a knowledge and appreciation of what gialli are about and their respective elements makes me truly appreciate what Pesce is going for. For example, the score heavily samples/uses music from some of the aforementioned classics, and if you recognize the tracks, you appreciate what’s been curated and how it’s been used. For instance, Goblin’s (one of Argento’s most famous musical collaborators) heavy hitters are only used during important moments between Reed and Jackie. “Profondo Rosso” starts blaring as the movie uses a split-screen to chronicle the first time the two of them meet, using the more iconic and bombastic song to signify the importance of what’s happening. This music can enjoyed by someone who’s never seen gialli , but it takes on a new level of depth if you know where it’s coming from. So if you’re a gialli fan and enjoy movies that play with cerebral and surreal moments over more visceral and direct ones, this is the movie for you. If not, you might end up frustrated with the way the story unravels and proceeds.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Piercing is a darkly-comedic and intensely quizzical love letter to gialli that deconstructs the sub-genre from the inside out. By placing the audience on the side of an aspiring murderer who’s forced to contend with an equally strange and powerful potential victim, the movie creates an effective backdrop to explore trauma, sexuality, and communication in innovative and interesting ways. The visual design is filled with paintings and the soundscape goes from diegetic to non-diegetic constantly to induce a state of confusion in the viewer, forcing them to piece together what’s real and what’s fantasy. The score features classics from gialli like Deep Red and should get your head bopping even if you’re not familiar with the context or importance of the music. If you’re a gialli lover who enjoys cerebral movies that don’t give you all the answers, you’ll love what Pesce is doing with this wholly unique horror entry.
Rating	9.2/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2014, A, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: A Dark Song

November 29, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Liam Gavin
Principal Cast	Steve Oram as Joseph Solomon Catherine Walker as Sophia
Release Date	2016
Language(s)	English
Running Time	99 minutes

Discordant and dark strings start to play, setting the ominous and foreboding journey to come. A woman, Sophia, drives down a long and desolate road. Her drive is crosscut with her buying an enormous mansion. She asks odd questions to the realtor like what directions the rooms are facing. Her focus is clearly not on the typical qualities of the house, but instead these more precise spatial ones. She hands the realtor a huge stack of cash to rent the location for a year – no bartering, no negotiating, no questions. All she asks is for the agent to keep the purchase discreet.

She continues her drive and meets with an aloof man, Joseph Solomon (talk about Biblical naming) in a restaurant. As he scarfs down food, it becomes apparent that she’s meeting with him for the sake of performing some dark ritual. Their conversation ends and the two inspect the previously bought house together. He asks her if she’s followed an arcane set of steps – eating only between dawn and dusk, refraining from sex, and similar behaviors. She answers in the affirmative, emphasizing her desperation for the ceremony to start with each response. Finally he asks her what she wants to perform the ceremony for. She answers love. He refuses to go along with the procedure and asks for the large sum of money she promised for anyone willing to even listen to her magical demands.

The two sit at a bus stop, waiting for Joseph’s bus to come. They’re positioned far apart from one another, reflecting the lack of trust and alienation between them. He’s upset that he travelled all this way for a waste of a request. She’s horrified that she’s going to lose her chance at performing the magic ritual. Desperate to not lose her sorcerer, she moves closer to him, overcoming the gap in understanding between the two, and reveals that her real desire is to talk to her deceased child. This changes things. Joseph recognizes the demand as legitimate and worthy of the laborious Abramelin ritual she wishes to perform, accepts the request, and sets off to set up the household for what is to come.

Sophia (Catherine Walker) getting closer to Joseph (Steve Oram ) as she reveals the truth of what she wants. Her lies keep her far away and her desperation to get help manifests in her getting closer and telling the truth. This is one of the movement the movie utilizes to depict the way the duo’s alienation manifests and is momentarily overcome with open communication.

In the meanwhile, Sophia runs into her sister who immediately accosts her about the dark magic she’s going to be attempting. She asks if the ritual is “something Godly” to which Sophia responds both that she believes in God and that God’s goodness is missing in a world where her son could be taken from her, leaving her with only pain and hatred. After bidding a farewell, she goes to the house, ready to start the dark song.

Alienation. Grief. Desperation. Faith. Magic. God. A Dark Song is an exploration in the intersections of these concepts against and with one another. As the ritual starts, Joseph explains the procedures as if they’re a science. He draws on numerology , gnosticism, and the like to emphasize how every part of the ceremony is to work and their respective metaphysical purposes. The ritual that he and Sophia are attempting is not one that works 100% of the time, something he mentions early on, but rather, is one contingent on the drives of the conduit, in this case Sophia, aligning with the magic in such a way as to conjure a Guardian Angel who will be able to grant the both of them their respective wishes.

While the intricacies of the ceremony are hard to keep down, the gravity of what is being attempted is incredibly clear – the duo is attempting to use an arcane system of knowledge in an attempt to gain dominion over supernatural entities far beyond their control to grant their wishes. This danger is something that is constantly highlighted by Joseph who yells and screams about the dangers at each and every moment. His trepidation and worry about the magical endeavor give it a palpable sense of tension that keeps the situation grounded in reality. God, angels, demons, and the like are real and serious within the confines of the narrative. There’s no room for disbelief. It is this foundation that gives the movie its uncomfortable aura, as every manifestation of the supernatural is tinged with an feeling of danger that would normally be disregarded in a lesser movie dealing with the same subject matter.

This dark occultism is juxtaposed against both science and a more orthodox religious praxis to highlight the way that belief motivates and gives power to action. From her earlier interaction with her sister, it’s clear that Sophia believes in God. Her doubt comes from whether or not God actively shows a presence in the world or must be conjured through intermediaries to generate any meaning. Likewise, Joseph makes it abundantly clear that he believes in God as he takes the existence of a Creator along with the supernatural as grounding facts for the metaphysical breakdown of the world. In this sense, A Dark Song , is an interesting take on the idea of “dark” magic because it’s predicated on being religious and having faith, not being some kind of Devil worshipper and perverting the will of God.

At one point, Sophia and Joseph talk about science versus religion/magic during which Joseph indicates that science can only describe the least of things while religion/magic can describe the mystery behind those things. The former is a schema for the physical, while the latter is a blueprint for navigating the metaphysical. The elaborate and laborious steps the two follow to complete the ritual invoke an idea of a science experiment – there are clearly defined steps that must be followed, each step has it’s purpose in the grander scheme of the ritual, and there’s an ultimate conclusion to be reached by the end of it all. Where the similarities end is that there’s no guarantee that success can be replicated. As Joseph indicates early on, he’s done the ritual once successfully but failed more than that. The ritual requires looping through the steps over and over till a Guardian Angel appears. There’s no spectacle that confirms or denies the magic is working – only hints and and clues that have to be believed as being signs of the arcane process. It’s a science based on belief. In a very Kierkegaardian sense, the ritual can only work if the practitioners go at with complete faith, in both their drives and the ceremony proper. It may be dark magic, but it plays out an like praying.

At a visual level , the magic ceremony is evocative and keeps your attention glued onto the screen. The rituals are painstakingly followed and the camera constantly cuts to the intricate set-ups that both evokes a strange sense of admiration at the beauty of the symbols and markings while generating a constant sense that there is a meaningful transgression occurring. The dark strings that play at the beginning are persistent throughout key moments of the movie, transforming in intensity based on what’s happening. They evoke a foreboding spirituality which pairs well with what’s going on narratively. When the music transforms into something else, you notice it and appreciate it because of how much the string sections seep into your brain as you watch the majority of the movie. It’s a truly effective use of an otherwise simple score.

One of the many scenes of the artifice involved in enacting the ritual. Symmetrical, geometrically aligned, and evocative – each of these scenes is beautiful to look at and the movie is filled with them.

Accompanying this presentation, is the brutal performance of the ritual itself which involves Solomon tearing down Sophia at every corner as she pushes herself to physical and mental extremes that are uncomfortable to watch. What she’s asked to do isn’t just hard in a physiological sense but also in a mental and emotional sense . She has to go days without sleeping or eating. She’s forced to go through long periods of the equivalent to spiritual waterboarding. The worst part? These are only the lighter tasks she has to persevere through to get to her ultimate wish. All the while, Solomon shows no mercy or compassion to his client, reminding her that she asked to do a ceremony knowing well that that’d be brutalizing. As the movie goes on, their relationship morphs in relation to the rituals, wavering between absolute hatred and a kind of acceptance of each other as fellow aliens to the “real” world.

It is this exploration of humanity underscoring the ritualistic endeavor that makes A Dark Song so interesting to watch. Because the ritual is repeatedly emphasized to be tied to Sophia’s disposition and will, her relationship to Joseph and herself helps serve as a kind of external check on the progress of the magical activity. However, at a more basic level, the back and forth between the two gives the fantastical story a layer that makes you invested. Both characters are loners , alienated from the world for different reasons. They can’t seem to find a place for themselves outside and seemingly reject efforts to reconcile and reintegrate with affairs around them. The scene with Sophia and her sister emphasizes this, as the former rejects the latter’s request to move in with her and embrace a new family structure. Both of these wayward souls naturally repel each other because neither wants to open up and give way to the other . Their natural proclivities prevent that from happening. However, because of their predispositions, they’re both aligned in a plethora of ways, the most pressing being their willingness to engage in the Abramelin ritual to accomplish their tasks. The ebb and flow they feel between their respective misanthropic tendencies and their feverish desire to do what they must gives the movie an emotional center that elevates the magic and the horrors to a level where they pull the audience fully into the story’s world.

This relationship is also explored spatially in the movie, with the characters placement and the respective mise en scène working in tandem to highlight the way it transforms. Initial moments between the two constantly show them separated from one another, often times facing separate directions to show they’re not looking out for each other. The constant framing of the characters in doorways highlights their isolation and sense of loneliness. The few cordial and surprisingly comedic moments between have them positioned closer to one another, facing the same direction without any kind of overarching frame to isolate them. In these brief reprieves, they’re almost a united front of sorts, like a off-kilter romantic couple of sorts. The back and forth shift between their positions and the open and closed framing reflects the way the two try and open up to one another and gives their interactions a profound heft.

The movie constantly highlights how both *Sophia (Catherine Walker) and Joseph (Steve Oram )* are alienated from the world around them and from each other, while also demonstrating that their alienation is what makes it possible for them to become closer with one another. By utilizing distance and framing devices like doorways to highlight their isolation and togetherness, the movie is able to visually show the transformation of their relationship as it fluctuates from antagonistic to caring.

Walker and Oram feel like they get lost in their roles as Sophia and Joseph respectively . Their bombastic disagreements and subtle moments of closeness exude an authentic quality that feels less performance and more like two real people trapped apart from the world and forced to reckon with the dark mysteries that lay beneath. Oram’s eyes can go from conveying condescension to severe fear in a moment’s notice as he desperately seeks to emphasize how dangerous their undertaking really is. Walker’s face never loses her resoluteness to get the task accomplished, her eyes constantly steely and determined. The transformations the characters go through feel believable because the painful subtleties that lay beneath the veneer of their egoistic personas are demonstrated time and time again. You can always feel their sense of loneliness and isolation, which makes their otherwise manic behavior understandable. In spite of how revolting they are at times, they never come off as inhumane monsters. They’re just hurt people looking for something more.

Speaking of something more, the ending completely shattered my expectations of what I thought would happen going in. Gavin really goes for broke in the last 20 minutes of the movie and rewards the audience’s patience and investment in everything that came before. It’s a shocking move that feels both completely out of left field but totally earned. The movie moves subtly and slowly, ratcheting up the tension and scope of magic, until the ending where everything is turned up to 100 real fast. The first time I saw it, I thought it felt too hokey and jarring, but upon subsequent watches I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of what Gavin is trying to convey. My biggest issue with it is the visuals during these moments along with the story logic feel too jarring compared to everything else. They almost threaten to take audience members out of the story completely. If someone came to me and said they hated the ending, I could understand that because it operates closer to a poetic logic than a narrative one. However, the antagonism between faith (poetic) and certainty (logic) is presented as a key undercurrent that keeps all the independent parts of the story moving, so the theme sublimating to the level of the narrative feels earned. If anything, I wish that the movie was a bit longer and fleshed out this discussion so that the shift would be more palatable, but I have to give my respect to the filmmaker for going all out.

To those viewers looking for an grounded and in-depth look at magic, A Dark Song should provide what you’re looking for and more. The story deftly explores dark magic in a way that treats it with respect and grounds it in the same vein as meaningful religious activity. From the intricate way the ceremony is visually depicted to the harrowing consequences that result from it, the story emphasizes the wonder and darkness inherent in the occult. The string based score transports you to a world of arcane possibilities, while the emphatic and powerful performances by the two leads keeps you aware that what’s happening is real and purposeful. Though I think some parts of the movie could be better fleshed out, mainly to make the whiplash of the last 20 minutes feel less prominent, what Gavin and his team have done is truly special. This is a movie that invites the audience to think along with its characters as to what faith and belief truly looks like.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	A Dark Song is that rare horror movie that pushes genre conventions in unexpected ways to great results. The story mixes magic with religion to force us to ask questions about our own faith and orientation towards the unknown and mystical. The formal presentation of the rituals along with the evocative and chilling score help keep the audience glued to the unique presentation of magic and ensure that the deeper meanings of the movie aren’t lost in the background. This is magic done in a unique and effective way that treats its subject matter with the respect it deserves. At the same time, the story never forgets to be chilling and utilizes its narrative elements to get under your skin. The performances by the two leads gives the arcane story an emotional center that helps propel both the themes and narrative to a conclusion that feels satisfying, even if completely out of the blue. If you’re looking for a story about magic or want a horror that examines the mystical in a grounded way, look no further. A Dark Song will help take you beyond simple appearances to a world that will make you genuinely ponder.
Rating	9.4/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2018, A+, Art House, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: Luz

November 24, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Tilman Singer
Principal Cast	Luana Velis as Luz Jan Bluthardt as Dr. Rossini Julia Riedler as Nora Nadja Stübiger as Bertillon Johannes Benecke as Olarte Lilli Lorenz as Margarita
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	German, Spanish
Running Time	77 minutes

The movie opens on a receptionist who sits behind his desk and slowly does his work. A slow paced synth score plays in the background as if to set the tone. After a little bit, a young woman walks into the reception area, her shoulders drooping and her general appearance indicating a fatigue. She slowly meanders around the location and eventually comes to the vending machine at which point she decides to buy a drink. The score picks up and gains a serious energy as a siren noise penetrates the slow beat. The girl, Luz, walks towards the receptionist and aggressively asks him ,”Is this how you wanna live your life? Is this seriously what you want? ” He looks up at her and signals that he needs a moment. He looks up and indicates to her he’s ready to hear her at which point she repeats what she said before, this time her voice becoming distorted and terrifying. Her words echo and reverberate all around as the title card comes up.

Luz (Luana Velis) enters the reception area as if in a daze and confronts the receptionist after a 4 minute wait. The whole time the camera stays still letting the audience become immersed into the story’s world.

This is Tilman Singer’s Luz, a slow paced story that harkens back to Euro horrors of old in the vein of something like Zulawski’s Possession. It’s slow, methodical, and focused on immersing the audience in an ambiance more so than telling a straightforward story. The opening scene seems short in theory, but it plays out slowly over a period stretching a little longer than 4 minutes – an uninterrupted shot that gives the audience a chance to fully immerse themselves in what’s going to happen while giving away almost nothing of what’s going on. It’s eventually revealed that Luz has entered a police station and is immediately taken in for questioning due to her bruised appearance and strange behavior. Her interrogators include an authoritative chief named Bertillon, a translator going by Olarte, and Dr. Rossini, a hypnotist and psychologist of sorts.

Unbeknownst to them however, a supernatural force is also invested in Luz, albeit for different reasons, and intervenes in the ongoing interrogation. What does it want? Luz’s love and affection – a relationship between the corporeal and the demonic. Thus the stage is set for a movie that’s part police procedural as the law enforcement agents try and get to the bottom of the truth of what happened to Luz and part possession love story as the demonic entity tries to usurp the process and make Luz engage in communion with it. The interweaving of these storylines enables Singer to deconstruct the commonly held ideas about possession, as the spirit does not seem to harm Luz (as is common in possession based movies) but ,rather, tries to make the confused cab driver hers in an intimate sense. Given that the primary method the interrogators use to investigate the past is hypnotizing Luz and probing her innermost thoughts, the movie asks the question if possession is any different from the way we violate others by forcing expectations of proper behavior on them and punishing them for violations of the same. Is hypnosis done for the sake of finding the truth really better than having a body enveloped by some alternative power? Is submission to some kind of code, whether it be religious or legal, distinct from a supernatural exchange of power? By mixing the distinct storylines together, the movie seeks to investigate what the nature of communication, reception, agency really means.

Like the opening scene suggests, some lines are said by characters without a context by which to make sense of them. Luz’s outbursts at the receptionist feel odd because they indicate a sense of familiarity with the recipient. Why ask such invasive questions about someone if you know nothing about them? This idea bleeds naturally into both the intrusive nature of hypnosis and possession but also communication in general. When we speak we attempt to convey a certain meaning meant to elucidate our thoughts and feelings. However, there’s always a disjunct in what we mean to say and what we actually say. Freudian slips, misinterpretations, and the like plague everyday conversation revealing that communication isn’t as easy as it’s made out to be. We only have control over our words, but we have no control over how others perceive them. If I talk to a friend in public, it’s possible they misunderstand me. It’s also possible they understand me, but a random stranger walking by doesn’t understand me. The interpretative chain goes on and on as every utterance can take on a different meaning based on who’s listening and what information they have about the speaker and their respective circumstances. This is the heart of what the movie seeks to explore as sentences and phrases are constantly repeated by different characters in different ways in different contexts.

Words and phrases constantly echo and reverberate in strange and disorienting ways. The camera will go to a close-up of a character’s mouth and words will be heard, but the respective character’s mouth won’t move. Luz speaks in Spanish but her interrogators are German, so each of her lines is initially uttered with no subtitles confounding the viewer, until Olarte repeats her words a few seconds later creating another discrepancy between what we see and what we hear. When Luz goes under for hypnosis, she plays the role of multiple characters and speaks as though she’s multiple people creating a sense of confusion, as the translations on top of her rapid switching between different point of views becomes more difficult to break apart. At times sound fades out. At other times it gets much louder. Most of the while, there’s always an evocative synth score playing in the background adding to the auditory chaos. It’s affective audio mixing and gives the soundscape and impressionist feeling, almost as if the words matter less than the feelings behind them. It’s an experiment that could go disastrously poor, but instead gives full life to the themes and ideas inherent in the story by placing the audience in the middle of the communicative battleground where meaning is constantly being carved out.

Matching this chaotic sound design is immaculate set design and editing. The movie primarily takes places in one location, but with the way flashbacks and clever set pieces are used nothing ever feels stale. This is most evidenced during the hypnosis portions of the movie. The camera constantly shows the shift between where Luz is mentally and what her actual surroundings are like. As she re-enacts the cab driving accident that led her to come to the station, we see glimpses of the real situation coming through the fray. Lighting and camera shifts show the way her past forces itself into the present. In a beautiful demonstration of the way the two intermingle, the camera shows Luz’s passenger in the backseat of her “car” through a mirror, provided by the officers to help create a sense of immersion, while everything around her remains the same.

*Luz (Luana Velis)* “driving” under the hypnosis of Dr. Rossini (Jan Bluthardt). In the begginig the camera is positioned to show Luz looking the right with her face in the mirror. As the session progresses, the camera shifts perspective and shows Luz looking towards the left with her passenger Nora’s (Julia Riedler) reflection now taking up the mirror. The subtle transition marks the way Luz’s vision leaks into reality and demonstrates the shift in agencies she experiences.

As the session becomes more intense, the interrogation room becomes more and more misty eventually turning into to a thick impenetrable haze – a reflection of the miasma that surrounds the discourse being cultivated in the room. Set pieces from earlier flashbacks integrate themselves into the room, demonstrating that an effective script and smart set design is all that’s needed to create an truly immersive story. It helps that movie is shot on 16MM which gives every scene a truly gritty and rugged feeling tying all these moments together in an aesthetic fashion.

The strand holding all these elements together is the multifaceted performances given by the small, but highly talented, cast of actors. Luana Velis is the focus of the story and gives life to the enigmatic titular character. From her early and disturbing behavior to the way she becomes laid back and calm during the early stages of her hypnosis, she demonstrates a full range of emotions. Watching her pretend to drive her cab is a treat to see, because it demonstrates how subtle and precise movements are all that’s needed to convey an effective illusion. The way she bops her head to the imaginary radio in her car along with the way she breaks by slamming the pedals matches up so well with the accompanying driving sound effects. It’s hard to believe that she’s not actually hypnotized. Likewise Bluthardt and Riedler give wholly emphatic performances that demonstrate the duplicities of their respective characters. They have to switch and take on multiple different roles to sell central ideas in the movie, and they manage to do so in a way that’s genuinely unnerving. Bluthardt in particular manages to go to some dark and disturbing places with an ease that gets under the skin. I’d love to say more, but I don’t want to give too much away.

My biggest issue with the movie is that in focusing so heavily on Velis, Bluthardt, and Riedler’s characters it loses the potential of Stübiger and Benecke’s characters. Both Bertillon and Olarte seem important from the beginning, but they’re slowly pushed to the sideline as the plot unravels, which feels like a shame given what they potentially offer to the story. The former is a powerful and assertive chief , while the latter is a more timid and religiously uptight translator. Given the thematic dynamic involving supernatural power, possession vs hypnosis, and communication it feels like they could have had a bigger role in fleshing out some of the ideas. For example, there’s one moment where a hypnotized Luz engages in some sacrilege and Olarte refuses to translate given his religious upbringing. Bertillon’s response is just to confusingly ask if her translator is serious about the refrain. This moment could’ve explored a power dynamic between legality and religion and the power of uttering something profane, but instead it’s brushed aside to get the focus back on Luz and Dr. Rossini. The movie is a crisp 77 minutes (a little under if you include the credits), so it’s not like its overly long and couldn’t fit in these moments. That being said, the story is so tight and well structured that these omissions don’t hurt as much as they make you wonder what could’ve been. It’s a strange thing to criticize a movie by saying “I love it, but I want more.” , but with how great the movie is I can’t help but wonder how much more staggering it could’ve been if it fleshed these ideas out more.

However, in spite of my praise, this is not a horror movie I would recommend to everyone. It’s slow, methodical, and very much in the old-school European art-house vein. This is a meditation on communication, power, and the way our attempts at reaching out to one another are always caught in a matrix of interpretation – a matrix that is only partially controlled by us. From the subdued, yet evocative visual style to the inspired soundscape, the movie imbues every painstakingly long scene with an ambiance that will completely hypnotize audience members who are willing to give themselves to the it.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Luz feels like a movie from a different age, one that’s more focused on making the audience feel something than giving a clear narrative with answers at every turn. The way it investigates communication is brilliant and makes effective use of both the possession and police procedural elements of its narrative. Combined with strong compositions, effective set pieces, and a brilliant sound design the movie oozes charisma and a creepy ambiance that old-school horror fans will love. Those viewers who are okay with a slower pace, less plot driven, and more mood drive story will find something special in Tilman’s deconstruction of the supernatural possession based genre.
Rating	9.7/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2018, A+, Art House, Drama, Grade, Horror, Musical, mystery, psychological, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Film Review: Climax – 2018

November 10, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Gaspar Noé
Principal Cast	Sofia Boutella as Selva Romain Guillermic as David Souheila Yacoub as Lou Kiddy Smile as Daddy Claude Gajan Maull as Emmanuelle Thea Carla Schøtt as Psyché
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	French, English
Running Time	96 minutes

A woman crawls in the snow leaving bloody markings wherever her body moves. The camera follows her ragged, desperate movement and swirls around her as her body imprints a set of bloody snow angels into the previously white and pure backdrop. The camera slowly pans down passing over a tree, a torrent of branches unfolding in a rhizomatic pattern – an mazelike structure with infinite openings and endings.

The camera moves from the first image to the next in a nice and steady pan down, highlighting that the bloody snow-angel making figure can be interpreted in a plethora of ways, as diverse as the rhizomatic branches of the tree.

Words pop up on the screen informing us the movie is dedicated to “makers who are no longer with us” before indicating that the movie is based on a real event that happened in France, during the winter of 1996. The text “existence is a fleeting illusion” pops up on the screen for a split second, its appearance as fleeting as the message it provides. Then the credits start to play. These first 3 minutes of Gaspar Noé’s climax tell the story of the entire movie while revealing absolutely nothing about what’s to come. A brief impression – violence, beauty, movement, text, beginning, ending, climax – that informs that audience that they are in fact watching a movie, not an illusion of reality.

The postmodern bent continues as the movie cuts to an old fashioned television set , one that you’d see back in ’96, surrounded by a collection of Noé’s favorite books and movies. Titles like Zulawski’s Possession and Argento’s Suspiria are present, letting you know the auteur’s influences and future direction. The screen shows the audition tapes of dancers who are trying out for a troupe. They’re questioned by two off screen presences, one of whom is Noé himself – a director who quite literally places himself in the movie, reminding us that the director’s voice is as part of the movie as anyone else.

Psyché (Thea Carla Schøtt) gives her interview on the TV screen surrounded by Noé’s favorite books and movies on both sides. Media within media – this is postmodern filmmaking that informs the audience that they’re watching a movie and the director is very much involved in it.

The dancers are asked a series of questions involving their relationship to dance, the meaning of what they do, what experiences they’ve had, what they look forward to, and so on. Each dancer only talks for a few moments, giving the audience a brief impression of them and their interests, as their answers reveal the importance of dance as a method of experiencing life and joy – a survival mechanism that lets the body transform into something else. They talk about drugs, sex, sexuality, and the way those elements permeate the dance scene turning the discussion and interview into one about dance as an assemblage – a mechanization of multiple moving parts interacting with the desire of the dancers. Like the tree shown in the introduction, dancing is a rhizome that’s infinitely malleable.

As if to demonstrate this thought the movie cuts from the interviews to a beautifully choregraphed dance sequence that showcases the talent of the dancers. Energetic music pulses through the background setting the stage for the wonderous number that’s about to commence. The camera glides and dips around from multiple different angles without ever cutting, reflecting the way bodies move in an constant ebb and flow among and within each other. Multiple bodies coalesce into a singular entity showcasing the transformative power of dance as a way to break down ones barriers. Finally the group breaks and the pseudo-protagonist of our movie, Selva, proclaims “God is with us”, indicating that the creativity and beauty of the dance piece is a form of spiritual praxis.

These two stills from the fantastic dance sequence show the body as an assemblage as each individual gives way and comes together to create a moving, writhing entity that feels entirely whole. The camera deftly navigates the dance troupe showcasing them from multiple angles to highlight this idea of difference in and out of sameness.

Now that the main piece is done, the dancers mingle about one another celebrating their achievement with a festive and joyous party. They drink sangria from the punch bowl and engage in celebration at their accomplishments. The camera follows members of the party (primarily Selva) as everyone interacts with one another. The movie takes the time to cut between different characters conversing with one another, giving the audience a chance to let their impressions of the characters from earlier fill out and grow. There’s an impromptu nature to the dialogue which gives it an earnest realness and helps serve as a contrast to the more extreme intrusions the movie has forced/will force upon us. After a while, the movie cuts to a long individual dance montage, where the dancers show themselves off as their peers crowd around them in a circle cheering whoever is dancing on. This will be the last reprieve before the terror of the movie sets in. At the end of the dance, the credits play again- another beginning, another ending, another climax.

The movie births a new scene that comprises the brunt of the run time and zooms in on a cup of sangria being taken from a pitcher. The focus on the drink is important, because unknown to the characters, the sangria is spiked with LSD and turns the peaceful and energetic party into a chaotic hellscape.

The sangria is a player in the process , helping each dancer lose their mask to reveal another self within. The camera showcases it’s a key agent in the depravity that unfolds.

Characters start to lose any and all inhibitions as they become increasingly prone to acting on emotion as opposed to any semblance of reason. They realize something is wrong and a group of them desperately try and figure out who spiked the sangria. The ensuing witch hunt is horrifying to watch, as characters are brutalized by mob style accusations and judgements. Meanwhile, other characters drift off in the background, some of them dancing as though the events occurring in other portions of the dance hall are of no importance to them while others wander aimlessly, struggling to keep an internal coherence.

All the while the neon colors bursting through every shot become threatening as opposed to comforting, highlighting the chaos of the setting. The dance music which previously felt so upbeat and energizing transforms into a pulsating terror, not because the songs or their tempo themselves change, but because the situation they’re playing in is so radically different. At one point, Sofia Boutella channels her inner Isabelle Adjani and performs her own rendition of the infamous Possession subway scene – one of the instances of Noé’s earlier winks to the audience coming to life in his own movie.

Selva (Sofia Boutella) channels Isabelle Adjani in this homage to Possession by Andrzej Żuławski. The chaotic way she throws her body around fits with the energy and mood of the movie once the sangria hits and also serves as a nice callback to the opening audition scene.

As her character struggles to find footing in the topsy-turvy environment, the camera suddenly turns upside down. The dancers who looked so majestic earlier turn into hellish figures, evoking images of gargoyles and other creatures of the night. A heaven turned into hell.

Bodies seem like demonic entities when filmed upside down and dancing, fully lost in a rhythm and energy that assaults the senses. The world is as upside down as everyone feels and the embrace of chaos transforms the dancers.

The story of Climax is the story of the Earth – a place of beauty and wonder that goes through bouts of chaos. The dancers represent the different facets of humanity – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the sublime. Their introductions at the beginning of the movies are their representations of themselves – a persona they inhabit and may genuinely believe is indicative of who they are. Dancing is their method of engagement, a way of living among and with each other. It can be beautiful and a sight to see or horrifying and something the eyes want to avert away from. The dancers’ deterioration is not so much a comment on drugs as it is on the hidden desires that lay buried beneath the masks we place. For some of us those desires are ugly, violent, and brutal. For others they’re beautiful, quiet, and loving. Noé ensures this message is clear by ensuring that some of the characters do not partake in the sangria. Their behavior matching those of their peers reflects that these transformations in personality are not substance based, but rather another side, a birth of a new self marked by the death of some other self. The movie even tells us this directly. Near the start of the movie the words “birth is a unique opportunity” pop on the screen. Near the end of the movie the words” death is an extraordinary experience” show up. Life and death- two sides of the same coin – an interplay everything and everybody constantly goes through because stability is fleeting.

The image on the right says “Birth is a unique opportunity” , while the image on the left says “Death is an extraordinary experience” albeit upside down. Slides with expressions constantly interrupt the movie like this to offer some poetic aphorism before disappearing and letting the narrative run its course. Each is individually stylized to bring home the point of the message being presented.

The constant interruptions of sections of the movie by either the words or by the presence of new credits tells the audience that every act should be seen as the birth of a new story. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end with its own respective climax. As the movie demonstrates near the end of its runtime, the scene we see at the start of the movie is really the end- a story that starts with a climax and ends with a climax. For what is a climax? A culmination and development of a thread into something spectacular. But if everything lives and dies, if every moment is the birth of something new and the death of what came before, then every second is a climax of its own sort. This is the beauty of the movie – it demonstrates this idea in every way possible, from the structure of the story to the way scenes play out. It’s all a climax and as such it’s all open to the possibility of creativity and/or chaos.

Dance is the vehicle by which the movie explores this idea and Noé uses his impeccable technical skill to translate this idea into an experience. One does not walk away from Climax without going through some intense feelings, whether those feelings are of excitement at the beauty and creative explosion present or disgust and misery at the pain that’s on display. The focus on the movement of the dancers and the constant and energetic soundtrack makes the movie a feast for the eyes and ears. There’s always something visually interesting happening on screen, even if it terrifying. The neon color palette is breathtaking and drips through every single frame.

The color palette shifts from neon blues to greens to reds without ever feeling boring or played out. This is Noé paying homage to *Suspiria* and using its evocative color scheme to his advantage. Along with the way bodies move, the color keeps every shot visually arresting.

The incredibly long takes keeps the experience continuous, never giving the audience a moment to breathe or think. This is experiential filmmaking at its finest. I can totally understand people who dislike this movie and see it as a series of random events and dialogue that seemingly proceeds in a haphazard manner. Likewise, I can understand people who hate the movie because of how miserable it ends up feeling. It goes to some dark and disturbing places. But to me, that’s life. It’s a random scattered set of experiences with some semblance of order that is then constantly interpreted by us as we move along its path. There’s good and bad and everything in between. This is a movie that captures that essence and makes everything from the structure of the movie to the narrative proper reflect that feeling.

None of the movie would be possible without the cult of personalities presented by the actors, most of whom have never acted before this. Obviously Boutella is excellent and serves as a kind of character anchor the audience follows to help keep them from getting too lost in the chaotic world Noé creates. Anyone who can do Adjani’s chaotic acting from Possession justice deserves kudos and Boutella nails it. But she’s an actor. It’s no surprise that she can act well. What is surprising is a large majority of the primarily dancer cast is able to keep up with her energy and ability to flip a switch the moment shit hits the fan. The cast is huge, but every single member of it exudes their own unique set of traits that makes them all interesting to follow in their own right. Maull nails a constant anxiety and fear that makes her character seem jumpy and unconfident. Schøtt brings an apathy and an off-kilter vibe that makes Psyché feel like a force of nature more than an actual person. Smile brings a sense of comfort and authority to his aptly named character, Daddy. I could go on and on, but the point is every actor brings something new to the mix giving Climax a surprising amount of depth. In fact, every time I watch the movie I focus on another one of the characters and follow whatever they’re doing when the movie pans to them. Are they embracing creativity or chaos ? How are they acting compared to their previous interview and/or conversations from the earlier acts of the movie? Because of how much time is spent letting the actors breathe life into their characters, you can come away from movie having gotten a plethora of different “narratives”, showcasing the themes mentioned above.

The genius of Climax is despite being unabashedly artistic, experimental, in your face, and provocative it still manages to have time to answer the mystery of who spiked the sangria – saving the reveal for the very last moment of the movie. Based on all previous information, the reveal is poetic and gives the movie a neo-giallo kind of feeling behind all the music and dance. There’s a “masked” killer (the mask being the persona the killer use) whose plans end up causing tremendous amounts of violence, characters desperately try to figure out who the character is with no real success, and the movie ends on the killer’s reveal without ever giving away their motivations, leaving that interpretation up the audience. Having a narrative that ends with an actual answer on top of doing everything else in between is testament to Noé’s strength as an auteur. He doesn’t forget to deal with the main plot despite seemingly not being all at that interested in it.

Now while I think of Climax as an audio-visual poem that uses its dancers as different stanzas in a tale about life, I don’t think the movie is for everyone. I do think those who dislike Noé’s earlier works might find something interesting in this. However, I don’t think those who like a conventional narrative will enjoy this. There is a story. There is a buildup. There is a conclusion. But the movie is more focused on feeling like an experience than giving you a coherent tale. It’s very much inspired by the French New Wave (the movie even tells the audience in one of its text/phrase cutaways that it’s a French film and it’s proud of it) and doesn’t hesitate to let the audience know that this is a movie. It intentionally wants to get a rise out of you. Noé is a provocateur and wants you to feel uneasy and miserable. A lot of people call this movie an exercise in style as opposed to substance and while I disagree as evidenced by my adoration above, I can understand that point of view if you’re coming into it expecting a well-structured story with a clear plot. If you’re someone who enjoys art house proclivities and want an experience that ferociously comes at your sense this is the movie for you. If not, go watch something else. The world is open to infinite possibilities. Go and embrace whatever suits your fancy.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Climax is an audio-visual experience that demonstrates that style can absolutely be substance. It’s a cinematic poem that explores the multiplicity of life in both its creative splendor and its ability to fall into depravity. The narrative eschews tradition in favor of embracing its themes in every way possible from slides of words that interrupt the action to constantly playing a different version of the credits at interesting points in the movie. All of this is done in service of demonstrating that life is a constant process of birth and death- an infinite series of climaxes where anything can happen. The dance sequences are mesmerizing and the music is hypnotic. The depravity is heartbreaking and revolting without ever losing its sense of beauty. Shots are draped in neon colors and constant movement which makes every moment visually arresting. The story of a dance troupe falling into disarray after drinking spiked sangria is only a small portion of the movie despite “being” the main narrative. To get the full experience, you have to be willing to take a leap of faith into Noé’s rhizomatic world.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2014, A, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: The Autopsy of Jane Doe

November 7, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	André Øvredal
Principal Cast	Emile Hirsch as Austin Brian Cox as Tommy Olwen Kelly as Jane Doe Ophelia Lovibond as Emma Michael McElhatton as Sheriff Burke
Release Date	2014
Language(s)	English
Running Time	86 minutes

The title sequence opens up on words slowly being revealed under layers of dirt. As each member of the movie is revealed, their name and role is blown away by the wind until finally the title of the movie shows for a brief few seconds.

The title card is slowly unearthed from the dirt like a secret hidden away and waiting to be uncovered. An signal of things to come.

The camera cuts to an outside view of a house- fuzzy and upside down. As the shot slowly reorients itself to look normal the movie cuts to outside of the house, changing from a point of view shot to an establishing shot. This is a hint of things to come- an agency that has just been unearthed that remains in the background – disrupting the objectivity of what is to occur.

Sherrif Burke enters the house – the scene of a crime that he and his crew can’t seem to figure out. As the camera slowly moves throughout the abode, revealing the badly damaged and bloodied corpses all around, it eventually ends up in the basement where Burke discovers a clean and unsullied female corpse, preserved under a layer of dirt. Compared to the mutilated bodies aboveground, this Jane Doe has absolutely no sign of external injury. Baffled by the strange discovery, Burke moves the body town to the Tilden funeral home, eager to get a cause of death by the morning.

The bodies found upstairs are bloodied and bruised, as though violently beaten and mangled. Meanwhile, Jane Doe’s body on left image is preserved in almost pristine condition, with the dirt encasing her like a protective shield. The way her body is covered in dirt ties in directly to the way the title card appears from underneath the ground.

The movie cuts to the funeral home which is run by Tommy, an older and emotionally jaded man, and his younger and more optimistic son, Austin. Before showcasing the father-son duo at work, the camera establishes the setting for the audience, weaving through the mazelike hallway. This home for the dead zigs and zags with very little room to maneuver around. There’s only one way up and out of the underground dwelling – an elevator that whirs with power as it moves. The camera constantly showcases a curved mirror on the corner of one of the hallways, which gives a reflection that seems to only give impressions of what it sees. Eventually the camera settles on Tommy and Austin performing an autopsy on a badly burned body, as the radio plays in the background giving their morbid work a moreupbeat soundtrack. The latter is goaded into giving his own assessment before being corrected by his father, who reminds him their job is not to figure out why a cadaver is there but instead to figure out how it got to the position its in. It’s clear there’s an disconnect between the two as Tommy injects a sympathy into his work for the deceased as opposed to his father who rationally approaches the work, determined to get to the bottom of each as. As he reminds his son afterwards, every body has a secret. Some are just better at hiding them than others. These words gain a haunting resonance as the movie continues, becoming the thematic thread that ties the relevant sub-plots together. It is just as they finish up with the corpse at their table, that Burke shows up at their location with Jane Doe.

As Austin is just about to leave for the night to go on a date with his partner, Emma, he feels a sense of guilt at leaving his father alone to deal with a fresh new corpse and postpones his rendezvous in order to help his dad out. As evidence by his playful pleading with Emma, this is commonplace behavior, as Austin feels the need to take care of his father after the loss of his mother. He ventures back down to the autopsy room and takes his place with Tommy, eager to finish the nights work and get to more pleasant activities. They begin the autopsy with gusto, intrigued by the unmarred body that is somehow dead. As they perform their procedural tests, the camera cuts to Jane Doe, imbuing with her with a strange sense of agency despite her appearance. During the procedure, the radio the Tildens have on continues to blare their upbeat and positive music.

However, the music quickly changes to “Open Up Your Heart (And Let the Sunshine In)” when Tommy gets to ready to perform invasive procedures on the body.

Almost as if to signal the presence of an unseen agent turning the radio signal, the camera zooms in to the speaker portion emphasizing the ominous nature of the otherwise cheery song which randomly seems to appear.

As the song continues, the movie once again cuts to Jane Doe, as though she has something to do with the random occurrence. The odd choice of song becomes especially eerie in contrast to the brutal precision by which her body is torn apart. The Tildens are baffled by a series of impossible discoveries- injuries on the inside of the body that would be impossible to inflict onto someone without some reflection on the outside only scratch at the surface of the rabbit hole they go down. The deeper they prod, the stranger circumstances at the funeral home seem to get. The radio constantly switches to either to “Open Up Your Heart (And Let the Sunshine In)” or a news report that indicates that there’s a massive amount of flooding happening, a strange juxtaposition between sunshine and dampening rainfall to match with the strange contrast between the pristine condition of Jane’s body versus her brutal internal injuries. The whole time, the camera lingers on Jane’s gaze, which penetrates the audience as if she’s watching and controlling the situation around her. If Tommy’s statement about secrets is correct, then what nefarious truth is being hidden by a body whose presence can force a radio to play a song about sunshine whenever her cadaver is further ripped apart.

Matching the strange occurrences happening within the autopsy room are the eerie sounds of bells and movements outside in the hallways. Early on Tommy reveals that in the past, bodies had bells tied around their ankles so that mistaken comatose people could ring and indicate they were alive as opposed to dead. As things ramp up, these noises become more and more prominent, prompting some intense investigation scenes which constantly amp up the tension. Images are reflected on the curved mirror, never clear enough for us or the character’s to get a good view of who or what is roaming through the halls. This interplay – Jane’s face staring at the camera, the radio switching from happy song to eerie news story, reflections in the mirror, creepy noises abound, and the autopsy proper- keeps the movie flowing at a steady pace all while keeping the audiences creeped out. There’s never a moment for us to breathe a sigh of relief. That’s what I call effective horror filmmaking.

This is a movie about assumptions and the way we play into into them willingly and/or unknowingly. These assumptions are based on information that’s available to us and the way it matches up with the presuppositions we have about the world around, which lead us to to radically different interpretations of the same event. At the level of the main story Tommy’s interpretations of Jane’s condition are based on his rationalistic and procedural interpretation of the way bodies react to physical stimuli. He’s obsessed with explaining how an unblemished body on the outside can host such disgusting injuries within. Meanwhile Austin’s interpretation is based on trying to place Jane within a context that explains why this even happened to her. As Tommy noted earlier, if everyone has secrets and those secrets are hidden, then how do these interpretations find a finality? They’re based on what an agent wants us to know about them which might radically differ from what we “should” know about them. This struggle to discover Jane’s truth bleeds over to the Tildens’ struggle to understand one another and their own shared trauma, tying the supernatural investigation to an emotional center we can relate to. The plot points build on and contrasts one another in a dialect of interpretation that really hits home the importance of not taking anything for granted.

If there’s an issue with the film’s story structure, it has more to do when certain emotional moments are revealed as opposed to the reveals themselves. There’s obviously a tension and emotional bond between the father-son duo that’s constantly hinted and teased at. There’s a reason Tommy is doting on his dad and a reason his dad is so focused on his work and unable to open up. Up to the second act, this secretive bond is slowly prodded open, revealing the heart of what’s going on. However, the movie ramps the pace of the reveal up unexpectedly and jarringly in the third act, as it comes directly after another unrelated emotionally jarring incident involving the two characters. Compared to the slow and effective pacing up to then, the simultaneous gut punch loses efficacy because there’s not enough time for the characters or us to process the importance of what’s being said. Substantively, the revelation is fantastic – it ties into the themes of the story and compliments the final reveals related to Jane Doe. The issue is it structurally feels haphazard which removes a lot of the heft it could have packed.

However, despite this slight misstep there is still an emotional resonance the movie manages to tap into due the acting power of its main duo. Brian Cox’s may portray a cold and unopen father for most of the movie, but he constantly makes it apparent he cares for Hirsch’s character through the way he smiles at his son’s growth in the autopsy craft or through his concern for his son’s health as things get dicer in the story. Watching him make the decisions he does in the third act tug at heartstrings and feel earned despite the rushed emotional reveal I talked about earlier. He shows a genuine care in his eyes that makes you realize in spite of his stoicism, he possesses a deep love for his last remaining family. Meanwhile, Hirsch perfectly encapsulates the role of a son who’s desperate to help his father, but unable to find a way how. He shows a stubbornness in his demeanor that makes sense given the way he’s “bossed” around on the job but never lets that collapse into a frustration. Their performances naturally compliment one another and their believable relationship is what gives the movie’s ending as much power as it has.

That being said, the star of the movie is Olwen Kelly, who manages to terrify the audience despite never moving an inch from the operating table she’s placed on. It would have been easy to go for a dummy. It is a movie about performing an autopsy on a dead body. However, Øvredal’s decision to go with a live actor is what makes the cuts to Kelly’s face so unnerving. The reason she feels alive – the reason a cadaver feels like it has a genuine agency in the events of the movie – is because the camera is on an actress and not some synthetic stand-in. Despite being naked, Øvredal’s camera never exploits the actor and constantly positions her in a way that makes her the center of the room. Even when her breasts are exposed on frame, they’re never the focal point. It’s always her gaze – a pair of cloudy eyes that are impossible to read but seemingly rip into the soul of the audience. There are no “sexy” shots. It’s all about respect, and as a result Kelly manages to give a lifeless, immobile character a sense of power and presence without ever moving a muscle. That’s good filmmaking and a testament to the importance of acting in the most subtle ways.

From left to right: Tommy (Brian Cox), Jane Doe (Olwen Kelly), and Austin (Emile Hirsch). Despite being in the nude, Kelly’s body is never sexualized and is treated with respect which in turns gives her character, Jane, a presence that feels equal to the Tildens who are performing the autopsy. Shots similar to this fill the movie with Kelly being made the focal point without the movie ever feeling exploitative. Even during an action which could be made sexual, like photographing, the camera shows a more neutral view. This is classy filmmaking that serves a purpose.

Does the movie nail every punch it throws? No. But when the journey is as unsettling and powerful as this one turns out to be, that’s a minor complaint. If you’re looking for a supernatural flick that’s willing to subvert your expectations in ways that are earned as opposed to cheap or are just looking for a movie that gets under your skin, look no further. The secrets hidden beneath the surface of The Autopsy of Jane Doe are worth digging into.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Autopsy of Jane Doe is a supernatural thriller that proves tight execution and meaningful camera work are all that’s necessary to unnerve and creep out audiences. The story of a father-son duo desperate to figure out the secrets of a deceased Jane Doe invites the audience to think critically about secrets and whether or not we can ever really know someone as well as we think we do. There’s an emotional heft, disturbing visual scares, and an constant sense that something’s wrong. Plus, Olwen Kelly manages to give an unmoving corpse a sense of agency and character. That should be reason enough for any genre fan to check this one out.
Rating	9.3/10
Grade	A

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1920s, A+, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, psychological, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

November 5, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Robert Wiene
Principal Cast	Werner Krauss as Dr. Caligari Conrad Veidt as Cesare Friedrich Fehér as Francis Lil Dagover as Jane Hans Heinz v. Twardowski as Alan
Release Date	1920
Language(s)	Silent
Running Time	67 minutes

Jagged structures. Paths that go down when they appear to go up. Unnatural shadows painted along surfaces to confuse perception. The constant use of close-ups and iris shots to reinforce that every scene is a certain point of view. Wiene’s seminal work of German Expressionism, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a tale that makes use of every method possible to reinforce the nature of subjectivity – the underlying deception hidden beneath the truth of everyday beliefs. From the masterful mise-en-scene to the way scenes transition to one anther, the story constantly reminds us that no character should be trusted as an arbiter of the truth, but rather as merely a malleable perspective on it.

The story starts off with a young man, Francis, talking to an elderly gentlemen about the madness he and his fiancé, Jane, faced at the hands of the nefarious Dr. Caligari. From the start of the movie, it’s made apparent this is a story, a certain point of view about a collection of events. This is a framing device done right, as the camera moves from the “normal” world to the crooked and sharp shadow world of Francis’s past, a reflection that this is a story told from a certain perspective.

Brilliant compositional work. There are moving pieces in the foreground and background which give the jagged and highly stylized cityscape a real sense of vitality.

This tale opens on a fair happening in the jagged city, a fair that a certain Dr. Caligari has come to in hopes of exhibiting a somnambulist (sleepwalker) to the public. As an excited crowd draws near to his tent, he opens up his titular cabinet and presents Cesare, a man who he claims has been sleeping since for the past 23 years, the moment of his birth. Dr. Caligari invites the crowd to ask Cesare questions, assuring them that the eternal sleeper can answer their inquiries without fail. Without missing a beat, Francis’s friend, Alan, asks, “When will I die?” Cesare, responds with an intense ferocity in his eyes, “At dawn”. Obviously perturbed at the ominous pronouncement, Alan and Francis leave Caligari’s tent with the former trying to comfort the latter. As they walk through the distorted cityscape, they run into Jane whose bright smile livens the both of them up. Unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end as dawn slowly approaches and Alan is woken by a unseen figure ready to impale him with a knife. The gruesome power struggle is not shown directly, but is rather displayed on the wall through the shadows of the two fighting one another. The depiction of the murder in this way conceals the identity of the true assailant, but also calls into question real purpose behind the murder. Shadows can be deceptive and in a city that has painted shadows everywhere to reinforce the idea that truth can be hidden and obfuscated, a battle between shadows can also be read as a battle between selves , between a hidden truth that refuses to let itself be seen.

Masterful use of shadows to highlight the dual nature of the killer and his victim along with concealing the mystery. The precise way the shadows move and are blocked by the jagged edges surrounding them makes the moment of unseen violence disturbing.

Upset at his friends untimely demise and concerned with the accuracy of Cesare’s prediction, Francis attempts to investigate Caligari and his so called sleepwalker. Unfortunately for him a stream of new revelations, deceptive appearances, and rampant uncertainties plague his journey to find the truth. People attempt to take advantage of the violence to plan their own nefarious schemes. Others maintain appearances to convince Francis that what he thinks he sees is not really what he’s seeing at all. All the while, the killer continues on their path, acting like a murder machine hellbent on fulfilling some agenda. As their identity is eventually revealed and a true chase starts to get to the bottom of the mystery, the threads of the story become even more refracted, breaking under constant reinterpretation by the principle characters. The city’s architecture shines through in these moments, as at one point the killer kidnaps Jane instead of killing her and leads the town on a wild goose chase. As it looks like the killer is going up stairs, it’s revealed that the stairs actually go down instead. A perceptual snafu that reinforces the idea that nothing is what it appears to be, even the killer themselves when their identity is finally discovered.

During this entire narration, the movie constantly uses closeups of characters along with iris lens shots to highlight that certain actions and interpretations stem from a subjectivity. Multiple scenes open up with only a minute portion of the scene being show, revealing a certain picture, that then becomes more clear as the entire scene comes into view. The repetition of this along with the clear close-ups constantly leads us to reconsider who’s story we’re following along and why exactly they’re telling it the way they are.

On the left is an image of a town women bearing witness to a certain event, unseen from anyone else’s eye. On the right is Jane (Lil Dagover) trying to get to the bottom of Alan’s mysterious death. Both demonstrate the use of the iris lens that Weine makes prominent use of to reinforce how every decision and idea is predicated on a point of view which can change as new information or ideas reveal themselves, filling the frame of reference so to speak.

The acting on display lets this dialectic play out to its full potential, as each actor conveys a plethora of discernible emotions through their faces and body language. Krauss’s Caligari is absolutely revolting in certain scenes, giving a sneer and sense of malice that absolutely leaps off the screen and gives reason to question him constantly. Meanwhile Veidt somehow gives a convincing portrayal of a man who’s constantly asleep, whose personality is completely kept under a kind of ideological mask that overpowers the subjectivity within. Dagover makes Jane seem serene and playful at first but quickly transforms into someone experiencing a genuine emotional devastation when she learns of Alan’s untimely demise. Finally, Fehér, the leading man, goes through the whole gamut of human emotion – cheerful with his friends, devastated upon the loss of one, desperate to figure out the reason behind the suffering, eager to bring those responsible down, and so on.

This may be a silent movie, but it feels so radical in so many ways that you can’t help but fall in love with what the piece manages to accomplish, both from a narrative and technical perspective. This is a story from the 1920’s that somehow manages to tell a tale of subjectivity in every way possible from the use of a framing device to the depth of the actors emotional conflicts. The city’s construction is iconic (and ever present in the aesthetic design of so many movies even now) and makes you appreciate just how much work and artistic vision went into creating the pointed and imprecise architecture. The buildings and streets genuinely feel like they’re alive, as the camera utilizes constant movement in the background and foreground along with the scenery to create an illusion of depth and (un)reality. At one point, Caligari is literally bombarded with words that appear on the screen all around him as though they’re real entities threatening to destroy his world. It’s a truly spectacular sight to see that’ll make you question how Wiene managed to achieve all of this almost a century ago.

Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss) surrounded by words that seemingly assault him from all around, as these textual signals become part of the world’s fabric. A fantastic representation of the way ideology manifests and becomes something real that influences the way we act and move about in the world.

If you’re someone who’s not sold on watching silent movies give this one a shot. At under 90 minutes, it’s not a huge time investment compared to the possible upside. The sumptuous visual feast will give you more than enough to admire, while the multilayered plot and brilliant use of point of view will give you more than enough to think about. Who knows? You might find your perspective shifting.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	One doesn’t have to look far to see the influence of Weine’s seminal masterwork, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. From the pronounced use of shadows to the highly stylized cityscape this is a movie that defined the aesthetics for genres to come. It’s an absolute masterclass in mise-en-scene and the way the narrative constantly upends itself and reinforces that everything is just an interpretation from a certain point of view is truly poetic. This is a movie that takes subjectivity and ideology seriously and reinforces those ideas in every way from the formal construction of the movie to the story itself. I know silent films aren’t the most popular, but if you have 67 minutes to spare this one might change your perspective.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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1970s, 1977, A+, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Past, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: Suspiria

November 3, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Dario Argento
Principal Cast	Jessica Harper as Suzy Bannion Stefania Casini as Sarah Alida Valli as Miss Tanner Joan Bennett as Madame Blanc Flavio Bucci as Daniel Barbara Magnolfi as Olga Udo Kier as Dr. Frank Mandel Rudolf Schündler as Professor Milius Eva Axén as Pat
Release Date	1977
Language(s)	Italian
Running Time	99 minutes

The sound of drums progresses into a hypnotic rock lullaby, punctuated with whispers, screeches, and ominous ad libs. As the opening credits continue and the title track, aptly titled “Suspiria”, continues to play, narration suddenly cuts over the same, an indication to the audience that the following story will operate more as a poetic fairy tale than a straightforward tale consistent with a logic we normally expect. The narrator explains that a young American woman, Suzy Bannion, has decided to perfect her ballet skills at a prestigious dance academy in Freiburg, Germany and has flown out to attend it. As the narration ends the score becomes more violent and cuts out. The opening credits give way to Suzy entering the Freiburg airport. Everything seems normal – that is until the door leading out of the airport opens up. As they open, “Suspiria” plays once again. However, as soon as the doors close, the score disappears. This sequence repeats itself – the score playing while the doors open and disappearing when the close again – signals to the audience that outside the world of the airport the rules of reality no longer apply. Suzy exits the airport and the score suddenly bursts through the reality of the world culminating in a crescendo with a burst of rain to visually signify the torrential chaos to come.

Suzy desperately tries to flag down a cab, eventually finding one but becoming soaked in the process. As she gets in the vehicle to dry herself, the lighting in the movie reminds the audience that this is now a world of fantasy, as the screen is tinged with neon blues and reds, interrupted by bits of yellow periodically. The reds become an orange while the blues become a green, creating an everchanging color palette which keeps the eyes fully engaged with the screen. Harper’s face becomes the canvas upon which the colors dance making Suzy appear as though she’s being interpellated by and into this new phantasmal world.

Suzy ( Jessica Harper) bathed in neon reds, blues, oranges, and greens as she drives around the city. She’s become part of the fantasy world.

Her cab makes its way through an ominous forest filled with a plethora of tall and imposing trees, as Goblin hisses “Witch” in an eerie and disorienting way as the score still rages on. The cab pulls up to the school, an imposing building with a red exterior as the score comes to a close. She exits the cab and sees a girl, Pat, muttering nonsensical worlds by the entranceway and running away in a hurry. Suzy attempts to get into the school but is told to go away by someone on the other side. Desperate to get out of the rain, she gets back in the cab and looks for a place to stay until she can solve the issue the next day. As the car drives back through the woods, she sees Pat running through the woods. A new song starts to play – “Witch” which replaces the melodic “Suspiria” with a more intense and aggressive beat that conveys an immediate sense of danger as opposed to wonder. The movie switches from Suzy in the car to Pat as she she enters a dormitory whose architecture radiates an absolute aesthetic beauty, with pleasing geometric compositions littering every part of the room. The walls are bathed in in a blood red. However, the real oddity with this entrance room is its size, which feels exceptionally large when compared to Pat’s small frame, highlighting how tiny and powerless she is compared to the threat that she’s trying to get away from. The room threatens to swallow her up whole.

Pat (Eva Axén) entering the dormitory which seeks to envelop her.

She hurriedly rushes up the ornately decorated elevator to visit and stay with a friend of hers for the night. Obviously perturbed, even the smallest disturbance sets her off. She’s worried, but we still don’t know what it is that’s tormenting her. The camera switches to a view of her from outside the building, slowly zooming in like a typical POV shot in Argento’s other giallo movies. As she continues to look out, she happens upon a dimly lit set of yellow eyes and is immediately accosted by a pair of arms which break through the window, dragging her out of the living unit. She’s brutally murdered along with her friend, and the movie returns to Suzy, finally ready to start after giving the audience a preview of everything they should be expecting.

This is Argento’s masterpiece Suspiria, a fairy tale from hell born straight from German Expressionism given life through immaculate sets, gorgeous neon lighting, a bombastic score that never lets up, and compositions that make the piece feel more like a set of paintings than an actual movie.

This still on the right from one of German Expressionism’s masterpieces, Nosferatu, serves as a precursor to the use of shadows in Suspiria on the left. Argento and his cinematographer Tovoli manage to recreate the same mise-en-scene tinged with gorgeous neon lighting, breathing new life into the striking aesthetic.

The plot is sparse and as the narration at the beginning informs us, is more a throughline by which a series of nightmarish images and ideas are allowed to come to life. The story loosely involves Suzy experiencing a strange series of events while attending the supposedly prestigious dance academy. Pat’s death is merely the domino that sets the series of unexplainable happenings in motion. Who or what is the killer and what is their actual motivation? Certain scenes in the movie hearken back to traditional giallo images (ex: a POV shot of the killer looking at Pat and her subsequent brutal and gory murder), while other shots invoke a supernatural feeling that can’t be explained. The contrast helps drive the mystery and Suzy’s journey forward.

*Pat (Eva Axén)* being viewed at from the outside by some outside forces, hearkening back to the POV shots Argento loves to use in his giallos.

At a higher level , the movie is a coming of age story, about a young girl trying to find her place in a new and alienating world. One of Suzy’s first tasks is even getting to the school, because her accent makes it hard for the German driver to understand what she’s actually saying. Once she gets to the school she’s denied entrance. Once she’s allowed into the school, she’s immediately bombarded with requests to pay money for various services and items. It’s like a nightmare of what a kid has to look forward to as an adult, and this idea is reflected in every aspect of the set. The rooms are large and seem to swallow up the characters’ agency. Doors are slightly out of reach and make her and her classmates seem infantile. She’s constantly put in a position where her decisions are ignored in favor of instructors at the school who seem to have their own priorities. This larger thematic schema gives the horror a new dimension. It’s scary enough to navigate an alien world, but doing that as a younger person broaching into adulthood and being thrust into a new dimension of responsibility is something else all together. Combined with the supernatural happenings and bouts of violence that surround her, the world of Suspiria feels more like a gorgeous hellscape.

This is reflected in the genius visual design of the movie, which might be one of the best uses of color in cinema – full stop. Almost every scene is draped in a neon blue or red – the former representing an impending doom and the latter representing violence and death. At every turn these colors are transformed by the presence of a yellow, which transforms passive moments into active moments of tension. As red turns to orange, the characters and audience are lulled into a false sense of security that quickly evaporates as it becomes obvious that the characters are doomed. Likewise, as blue turns to green the danger that’s targeting the characters becomes active and threatens to fully envelop them in its violence. Luciano Tovoli works an ethereal magic in every scene in this way, by pushing colors to their absolute limits. There are dozens of shots which can be printed and framed as works of arts. A movie is lucky if it gets a few, but Tovoli makes Suspiria a buffet filled with them.

This combined with the score transforms the movie from a simple murder mystery into cinematic poetry, as every moment is punctuated with Goblin’s score. No piece of music ever feels like it overstays its welcome and each of them immediately tell the audience what they need to know – a character is being observed by the killer, a character is in danger, things are going absolutely off the walls. It’s hard to watch the movie and not be moved along by the score which is not only effective, but genuinely catchy. From the sharp and loud pounding noises in “Witch” that get the heart rate pumping to the whispery and otherworldly “Suspiria” the soundscape of the movie feels like a whole other character.

Keeping all the pieces of the movie moving together is Argento’s trademark pacing and macabre sensibilities. Just because he’s tackling a different horror sub-genre doesn’t mean that his usual bag of tricks won’t work. In fact I’d argue that the supernatural sensibilities of the story (due in part to the wonderful work of his undermentioned fellow screenwriter, Daria Nicolodi) let him push his ideas to their absolute extreme. Whereas his previous movies, like Deep Red or The Bird With the Crystal Plumage , had to obey some level of logistics when it came to killing victims and solving the mystery, Suspiria is allowed to explore sequences that would otherwise be impossible. Characters die in ways that you’d never be able to predict which helps sustain a palpable sense of tension throughout the movie. It’s impossible to know how violence will happen , but because the colors and music tell you something is going to happen, every moment is injected with a dread that only continues to build one bloody death at a time. The first 9 minutes of the movie starts the tension off right and the movie never lets up until the end credit sequence starts up again.

Many people place this as one of the greatest horror movies of all time. Many others go one step further and rank Suspiria as one of the most important cinematic achievements to date (given how many movies have been influenced by its visual style, I’d say that’s probably accurate) . I consider myself firmly in both of these camps. I’m someone who usually loves a good, layered, and intricate plot that ties into a nuanced set of themes. However, when it comes to Suspiria, all those inhibitions seem to float away because the magic of the movie, the poetic way it moves through its score and visual style, speaks to something more important than a need for logic and precision. This is a cinema in the purest sense of the word. It’s a piece of art that must be experienced and not explained. If you haven’t yet had the chance to see this masterpiece, I urge you to give it a chance. Let Argento take you to a world of nightmares.

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TLDR	Suspiria is a masterpiece that has to be seen to be understood. Its sensuous compositions are visually arresting at all times, with many stills from the movie being good enough to be framed as wall art. The score by Goblin keeps the tension high, turning the barebones story into a audiovisual poem that operates on the logic of a nightmare. The supernatural leanings of the story give Argento ample room to explore his macabre tendencies and help create some of the most striking displays of violence
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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