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Film Review: Who’s That Knocking at My Door – 1967

February 10, 2023 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Martin Scorsese
Principal Cast	Harvey Keitel as J.R. Zina Bethune as Girl
Release Date	1967
Language(s)	English
Running Time	90 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

An older woman (Catherine Scorsese) cooks while the Virgin Mary “watches”.

The film opens with an energetic drum-beat on an image of the Virgin Mary in the foreground and a mirror showcasing an older woman cooking in the background. These figures – the older woman and the Virgin Mary – will continue to be juxtaposed in aggressive fashion as the sequence continues. First, simple cuts jump between the two of them, but as the drum beat continues, the film utilizes dissolves to cement the duo into a unified entity. The holy aspects of Mary become imbued in the woman, and the scene ends with the latter feeding a large group of kids as Mary looks on – the connection between the image of the “mother” and the divine has been cemented.

Immediately, this divine motherhood is contrasted with the next scene which starts with a weapon held behind a back – a symbol of violence. The drum-beat is replaced by the sounds of a radio. The editing pattern also shifts; this time the camera cuts three separate times, starting from a wide shot before eventually cutting to a single shot of a young man, J.R. (Harvey Keitel) standing in a group. Part of his entourage, Joey (Lennard Kuras), the person holding the weapon, waits for his opponent, a man from another group who stands across from him, to get ready.

The radio begins to play a rock song proper, “Jenny Take a Ride” by Mitch Ryder, as opposed to just an instrumental like the previous scene, and two fights among the groups begin to break out. The camera tracks on one of them and neatly captures the brawl in one smooth movement while the film cuts to the other scuffle happening in a proximate location before cutting back to the earlier tracking shot which now showcases the two fights in the same frame, one in the background and one in the foreground.

Among all this chaos, the title card drops and signifies the arrival of a brazen new cinematic voice (at the time), that of director Martin Scorsese. His opening neatly juxtaposes the ideas of the divine and the profane, a dichotomy that’s been ever-present in his work since. The seeds for the primary conflict have just been sown.

The film cuts to a shot of a market; a woman inside gets food ready – a direct callback to the “divine” connection generated in the first scene in the film between the image of the cooking woman and the Virgin Mary. The camera zooms out from this divine allusion and moves along the street before zooming in on J.R. and Joey, figures who have just been involved with violence. This duo enters a location called the “Pleasure Club”; thus, a distance between the Edenic and the sinful is reinforced spatially.

Joey (Lennard Kuras) beats Gaga (Michael Scala).

Inside the establishment, Joey goes to a table where a card-game is being played and asks the see the respective players’ hands. Upon looking at the second player’s hand, he claims that said player has lost and proceeds to beat him. This player, Sally Gaga (Michael Scala), is this group’s “runt” and has borrowed so much money from Joey that playing cards is out of the question. As Joey aptly puts it: “You steal from your mother, not me.” When Sally attempts to apologize, Sally reminds him: “Your priest you tell you’re sorry to. Me, you don’t tell you’re sorry to!” The dichotomy established in the opening continues to sink its fangs as this group is established as a counter-point to the holy and “good”. They are not the holy priest or the divine mother.

The group departs and the trio of friends – J.R., Joey, and Sally – convene in a bar owned by Joey. Yet, J.R.s mind is unable to focus on the conversation at hand and he seems transfixed by something else. A cut to a girl (Zina Bethune) smiling at him, yet located at a different location, indicates exactly where his thought lies. Scorsese cross-cuts between these temporally and geographically separated moments to highlight J.R.’s transfixion.

He utilizes a “double-cut”, a shot of the girl’s face which then briefly cuts to a close-up of the same, to reinforce the subjective involvement on the part of J.R. Our protagonist is utterly mesmerized by this girl and the conversation from the bar can no longer even be heard. The silence which replaces the chatter of the bar suggests this encounter is a dream and the girl becomes something “more”, a transcendent figure.

J.R. (Harvey Keitel) steals a look at the Girl’s (Zina Bethune) paper.

Then, the oneiric mood dissipates, and we along with J.R. find ourselves back in the past – the encounter between boy and girl plays out in its totality as the past usurps the present. The noise of a crowd creeps into the soundscape, informing of us of this shift, while the camera slowly pulls out of J.R.’s isolated face to reveal him sitting next to the girl. He keeps stealing glances at the paper she’s reading, but she notices as much and invites him to read along with her.

A shot of John Wayne in *The Searchers.*

He tries to play coy and bumbles his words but indicates he’s interested in the picture of John Wayne; another “double-cut” emphasizes his fixation on this mythical western figure. She responds that the magazine is a French magazine, and the two engage in a conversation about foreign cinema, Italian and French, and the respective print media associated with the same; the conversation is fitting, given the film’s obvious influences from both the Italian Neo-Realists and the French New Wave in its stylizations and narrative conventions (or lack thereof). The conversation discusses the need for an English analog to these foreign media, a suggestion (or rather, a revelation) that this film, Scorsese’s debut, is an attempt at bridging a connection (and paying homage) to foreign developments in cinema.

The camera pans from the Girl (Zina Bethune).

The conversation continues and becomes increasingly stylized. The camera neatly moves from each party, framed as singles, as the two discuss the image of Wayne in the context of the film it’s from: John Ford’s The Searchers – notably one of Scorsese’s favorite films and one that will continue to remain in the “text” of his films to follow. ^[1]Schickel, R., & Scorsese , M. (2011). The Ford Connection. In Conversations with Scorsese. essay, Alfred A. Knopf.J.R. ,like Scorsese, is absolutely enthralled by the film and tries to discuss it with the girl who can’t seem to recognize it. He talks about the dichotomy between the cowboy protagonist played by John Wayne and the Native American antagonist and they both seem to agree that the latter is the “bad” guy, even though their discussion seems to suggest that both characters share a similar negativity. Thus, the figure of the hero is elevated and given leeway for participating in problematic behavior that is used to condemn the antagonist. J.R. touches on this seemingly unfair value judgement for a brief moment before continuing on the conversation; this (mis)identification of goodness and its opposite is a key issue that his journey with this girl will force him to confront and is fittingly set-up via this discussion of cinema.

The girl eventually realizes she’s seen the film and comments that she’s not used to liking westerns before J.R. pushes her on the issue and claims that everyone’s problems would be solved if they “liked westerns.” He makes it clear that a clear hero to root for against an antagonist appeals to him. This clear-cut value structure grounds him.

She acquiesces to his declaration, and the conversation moves on to the nature of the ferry ride they’re both on. She admits that she’s going on it to experience it as a “ride”, a view which he can’t conceptualize; the ferry to him just represents a chore – a break with familiarity for him.

All the while, the film cuts to-and-fro between him at the bar with his friends to this conversation with the girl where his mind remains. Tracking shots of both his and the girl’s eyelines reveal the depth of their growing feelings for one another and a dramatic overhead shot accompanied with a dissolve of the girl laughing set the stage for a grand romance. There’s a clear connection here and J.R.’s obsession with it rings clear.

But the idyllic moment breaks; Joey slaps J.R. and interrupts the latter’s recollection in an attempt to get attention back to the conversation at the bar. J.R.’s friends want go out and meet a “new broad” but he shows no interest. Why would he when he’s so focused on this bright, cheery girl who’s completely enamored him? Who would leave “Eden” to sin? This is the Madonna-Whore (the film would utilize the terms “Girl”- “Broad” instead) complex in play, one that seems to fit J.R.’s view of the world, evidenced by the valorization of Wayne’s protagonist and the western genre as neatly separated into discrete notions of “right” and “wrong”. Thus, a clear opposition is established between the worlds the girl and his friends represent, and the film truly begins as J.R. is forced to choose between these two distinctive modes of existence.

By focusing on the subjective exploration of a character, J.R. in this case, and his decision to “sin” or not, Scorsese is able to eschew traditional narrative conventions and focus purely on the mood of the characters. The basic plot – boy falls in love with girl and has to figure out how to deal with his feelings despite lacking a “grammar” by which to do so – feels so much more epic because of the way Scorsese directs the ebb and flow of the emotional battle that underpins it. By cutting between interactions of J.R. and the stand-ins for the worlds he finds himself traversing, the film is able to remain compelling even as “little” happens in a narrative sense; momentum is generated purely through exploring the subjectivity inherent to the decision-making process.

J.R. (Harvey Keitel) is framed by the barstools.

This is why Scorsese consistently frames the characters against stools (especially in the film’s first half). He wants us to compare-and-contrast between the choices; the “world” the girl represents is open to persons and allows a genuine relationship to form, while the other is more insulated and is less open. The former’s communicative possibilities open up the chance of suffering as distance between people is closed while the latter operates as a façade that protects as it conceals the nature of what’s being done.

However, that doesn’t mean Scorsese only uses visuals to do the talking; in lieu of explicit dialogue, he uses songs as a formal mechanism to reflect and reinforce the distinctions between the worlds and the consequences of their intersection. From the opening, the music is established as a “cover” of sorts to the violent behavior that J.R. engages in, a reprieve that transforms his sinful actions into something enjoyable and permissible; this is an act of “insulation”. But as his relationship with the girl continues, music qua reprieve becomes problematized and the soundtrack reflects as much; the score continues to play rock tunes but their function radically changes as J.R.’s traversal reveals the costs associated with remaining in one world versus another.

For a film-maker as important and relevant as Martin Scorsese, it’s baffling that his debut feature-film, Who’s That Knocking at My Door, has been so eagerly dismissed (including by Scorsese himself) ^[2]Schickel, R., & Scorsese , M. (2011). Little Italy. In Conversations with Scorsese. essay, Alfred A. Knopf. when, as evidenced above, it so neatly portends the auteur’s interests and stylistic influences/tools. There’s the focus on a character’s subjectivity, meditation on sin versus divinity, a wonderous use of music to evoke mood – trademarks of the master’s oeuvre. While Scorsese isn’t as restrained or formally motivated in how he employs all his tools- freeze frames, slow-motion, distinctive camera movements, intense cross-cutting between scenes and jarring cuts within scenes at times are employed with abandon- as he would be later in his career, his ambition in “throwing the kitchen sink” at the screen in this debut certainly has an effect on the viewer especially in his utilization of the “double-edit” which succinctly achieves a subjective mood that weaves J.R.’s obsessions as a motif begging to be dissected.

So yes, while the film, as Scorsese suggests, serves as a “rough draft” of his first masterpiece, Mean Streets, it certainly warrants a broader appreciation in its own right ^[3]Ibid. given the way it forces us to focus on character as opposed to plot; the film is such a profound mood-piece, working on feeling over narrative heft in every major decision it makes, that it’s hard to take one’s eye off the screen. While the film sometimes lapses, namely in the amount of time it wastes in the sinful domain, that of J.R.’s friends whose intersections with our protagonist are far less interesting, varied, and developed as his scenes with the girl, there’s more than enough here to chew on and appreciate.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Martin Scorsese’s debut film neatly foreshadow many of the auteur’s obsessions and operates entirely as an exercise in mood and style; plot gives way to character exploration and we follow a man who’s forced to find a grammar to deal with a world that seems newly foreign and alienating to him. While there are moments where the film throws so much at the wall that it forgets what’s already sticking and undermines its own rhythm, when it works it genuinely enthralls and captivates, making you forget about the small bumps on the way. What a wonderous start to a filmography as legendary and storied as Scorsese’s.
Rating	9.3/10
Grade	A

Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
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2020s, 2022, A, Drama, Grade, Horror, Past, psychological, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Film Review: The Black Phone – 2022

July 3, 2022 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Scott Derrickson
Principal Cast	Mason Thames as Finney Madeleine McGraw as Gwen Ethan Hawke as The Grabber
Release Date	2022
Language(s)	English
Running Time	103 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.

A Little League baseball game is underway. The pitcher, Finney (Mason Thames), winds up and throws the ball. The batter, Bruce (Tristan Pravong), swings and misses. Strike one. The crowd cheers for Finney and he can feel their approval hanging in the balance.

He winds up and throws again. Strike two. The crowd’s encouragement increases. A girl within the crowd stares at Finney with affection. He takes notice; the pressure is on.

The ball leaves his hand on the third throw but this time Bruce is ready for it; the bat connects with the ball and it soars over the gates – a homerun. Suddenly, the momentum flips and Bruce becomes the recipient of the adulation while Finney is relegated to the periphery.

We follow Bruce as he leaves the field, glowing in victory. Edgar Winters’ “Free Ride” plays evoking a feeling of jubilation. But then a black van enters the frame and the color and sound begin to fade leaving an all-consuming void in its wake – the happy façade breaks to reveal the grotesque underbelly.

Mark Korven’s unsettling score complete with a rhythmic pulse and discordant fluctuations starts to play as the title credits start to play – it’s time to enter the dark. This montage is presented in an aesthetic fashion similar to director Scott Derickson’s previous horror film, Sinister, utilizing the grainy texture of film stock proper to accentuate the uncanny series of images. In strong contrast to the opening’s evocation of a cheery 70’s milieu, the decisive switch in aesthetic and tone is a grim reminder of the horrors of the time lurking in wait – kidnappings and missing children on milk cartons, and the like.

It’s from this fractured backdrop that we join Finney once again. He’s revealed to be a prime target of hostile forces all around. From a drunk, violent father at home to bullies at school, Finney is constantly forced into compromising positions where he finds himself wholly at the whims of other parties; even when he’s bailed out of the awful situations he finds himself in, it’s due to the efforts of his friend Robin (Cazarez Mora) and his sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw) intervening on his behalf. His own sense of agency is sorely lacking.

But when he’s kidnapped by a serial child abductor referred to as the “Grabber” (Ethan Hawke), Finney is forced to abandon his passivity and discover his strengths or die trying. He finds himself trapped in a seemingly isolated and sound-proofed basement structure with no tools in sight sans a broken telephone attached on the wall. Yet, while the phone isn’t plugged into any power source and seems completely busted up, it still rings, serving as an conduit to unseen forces from the beyond who seek to intervene in the seemingly impossible situation.

The supernatural propels the narrative forward, operating on a mostly demonstrative, seldom explained layer that works to supplement the true-crime horror narrative. While the presentation of this material feels like an extension of Sinister in tone and feel, its use is more in line with Derrickson’s earlier supernatural procedural, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Like that film, otherworldly phenomena – grainy dream-sequences and spectral sightings – are couched within ambiguities which gestures towards multiple different angles of interpretation. This explicative restraint works in the films favor as it lets the characters’ struggles take focus; the supernatural set-pieces are just pieces of connective tissue that characters find themselves working with and through and are not the cause of interest in end of themselves.

The primary source of scares comes from Hawke’s “Grabber”, an masked man teetering on the edge of an emotional meltdown. At one moment he’s coy and wants to play nice. At another he’s downright malicious and one step away from a violent explosion. For every persona, he dons a new mask on, accentuating his instability and giving Hawke ample opportunity to flex his facial muscles in new, menacing configurations. The uncertainty behind what he wants adds to the suffocating feeling as his erratic behavior presents a minefield for Finney to traverse through.

However, while Finney finds himself powerless at the start of the film, he quickly finds himself changing for what the situation calls. His experiences dealing with abuse in more grounded scenarios helps him play the Grabber’s inexplicable games as the latter’s acts just feels like an amplification of the atrocities he’s used to dealing with. Thus, his progression is clearly demarcated; the film uses its opening to demonstrate where Finney struggles and then utilizes the supernatural trappings of his struggle with the Grabber to highlight his growth.

The film does misstep slightly when it comes to wrapping up all the relevant story threads as the manner by which certain narrative parallels made between the domestic and horrific conclude seem incongruous with one another, but the overwhelming momentum of how Finney’s arc culminates more than buoys the issue.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Black Phone is Scott Derrickson’s best film as of yet and seems him combining the aesthetic sensibilities and sense of unease from Sinister with the narrative ambiguity and supernatural restraint of The Exorcism of Emily Rose. The result is a tense, supernatural, character-driven story that earns its shocks.
Rating	8.9/10
Grade	A

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Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .

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2020s, 2022, A, Action, Adventure, Grade, Horror, Past, Review, review-movie, Superhero, Year

Film Review: Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness – 2022

May 13, 2022 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Sam Raimi
Principal Cast	Benedict Cumberbatch as Dr. Stephen Strange Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch Benedict Wong as Wong Xochitl Gomez as America Chavez Rachel McAdams as Christine
Release Date	2022
Language(s)	English
Running Time	126 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

NOTE: This review contains spoilers for: Avengers: Infinity War, Avengers: Endgame, Wandavision.

NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.

Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), complete with a brand-new hair and wardrobe style, and a teenager, America (Xochitl Gomez) run down a shimmering bridge in a seemingly cosmic realm. They make a mad dash towards a floating tome in the sky while avoiding the attacks of a cosmic terror chasing after them; the creature blocks the duo’s path to the tome and Strange begins to despair. He turns to America and tells her that due to the level of threat the duo faces, he’ll have to sacrifice her; the creature is after her powers and she can’t control, so sacrificing her and allowing the experienced Doctor Strange to take the powers instead will at least give the “good” guys a fighting chance. America is aghast at the proposed solution, but as Strange reaches over to begin the sacrificial transference, the creature impales him, stopping him in his tracks.

America freaks out in response to the attack and subconsciously uses her power, breaking a star-shaped wormhole in the fabric of reality; both she her and the recently deceased Doctor Strange are up by the force of the portal. The camera rotates 180° as the two are sucked in and the corpse of Doctor Strange takes central focus – a sudden match cut to the Doctor Strange we know. He wakes up in a fright obviously disturbed by his nightmarish vision. His face is reflected in a broken watch face, reflecting the turmoil and lack of cohesion he feels.

He magically changes clothes and adorns a suit and tie – a far cry from his robe. He makes his way to his former lover Christine’s (Rachel McAdams) wedding where he’s accosted by a former colleague on the decisions made during Avengers: Infinity War; Strange is challenged on the possibility of having allowed Thanos’s brutal snap due to ineptitude rather than necessity. But Strange persists that he did what he had to do.

When he goes to congratulate and honestly talk to Christine about her future and their shared time together, he’s once again brought to task for his decision-making process. Christine points out that their relationship would never be able to work even if Stephen wasn’t a sorcerer tasked with protecting the realms because his inability to let other people, herself included, handle or share responsibilities make genuine connection and change impossible to achieve. The nightmarish opening rears its ugly head again as the most recent confirmation of this truth: Doctor Strange cannot trust others to act properly so he has to ensure things go according to his vision and his vision alone.

Before he can think for too long, a monstrous disturbance makes its presence known. Doctor Strange seamlessly transforms on screen via the use of his magical cape and dashes into action with magical aplomb. He reveals the source of the disturbance, an tentacular cosmic creature, who wreaks havoc chasing after none other than America, the girl from Strange’s dream.

Director Sam Raimi, no stranger to super-hero fare, captures the sorcerer’s battle with the creature using his trademark style from the Spider-Man trilogy; Strange and company move deftly through the cityscape as terrified bystanders run around, lending to a chaotic flurry. Raimi cuts to singular shots of the bystanders reacting to the spectacle on display, accentuating the campy aspects of the story while capitalizing on the catharsis inherent to watching a super-hero rescue the innocent. The battle beats may be familiar, but the vitality inherent in their craft makes them a joy to watch. Finally, the battle ends with a gory finish atypical of Marvel fare and more reminiscent of Raimi’s own filmography- a sign of the things to come.

Strange questions America regarding her presence; it’s not everyday figures from dreams burst into reality. But America pops Strange’s bubble and reveals that his vision, far from being a dream, was a reality from another universe, one of many universes spanning the multiverse. America’s unease around him suddenly makes sense; it may have been him from another dimension, but it was still a Dr. Strange that threatened to and attempted to kill a teenager in order to preserve the greater good. But our Strange convinces America to divulge the nature of her troubles and comes to understand that she’s being chased through the multiverse by some entity desperate to use and her control her powers; America has the ability to freely travel the multiverse through her star-shaped portals but presently does not have control over when and where the power manifests.

With no other clue to go on besides some runic enchantments on the tentacle creature from before, Strange sends America to the magical abode of Kamar Taj with Sorceror Supreme Wong (Benedict Wong) and visits Wanda (Elizabeth Olsen), the only magical being he knows of who may be able to understand the runes. Unfortunately, she warns him that the threat chasing after America is far more dangerous and threatening than he could have conceptualized. Strange realizes the stakes of allowing such a creature access to unbridled access to every universe would be catastrophic and is now tasked with protecting America’s power.

As the antagonistic force chasing America comes closer to succeeding, the film is allowed to become stranger and more in line with Raimi’s horror filmography à la The Evil Dead. For the first time in the M.C.U’s franchise history(28 films including this one), it feels like the director has been given reign to exhibit the unexplored territories of comic book movies and Raimi takes full advantage to ramp up the tension and intrigue. The force chasing after America is a behemoth of an antagonist and Raimi captures their presence as monstrous; there are sequences that feel straight out of a slasher film as the enemy pursues America, generating a palpable tension that the franchise has never truly had before.

Canted angles, well-timed jump scares, brutal death sequences, and even the spectral P.O.V shot Raimi created in The Evil Dead are incorporated to underscore the depravity of the threat. The score cuts out at perfect moments to build up the dread and the brutality by which the antagonist carries out their mission always feels like a serious threat. It’s in this commitment to visually reinforcing the terror of the antagonist that Raimi finds a way to counterbalance the campy, goofier sections of the film without incurring a tonal whiplash.

Yet, in spite of the film’s distinct Raimi-isms, it never feels contextually out of place within the grander scheme of the M.C.U because it develops its characters’ arcs in germane fashion relative to what came before. For Doctor Strange, the journey he experiences in Doctor Strange, going from doctor saving lives with medicine to sorcerer saving lives in the trillions with magic, is never broached on again in the other entries of the franchise involving the character. He never has to deal with inability to reconcile with Christine or how the nature of his role as sorcerer runs in direct contrast to his Hippocratic oath; the idea of sacrificing America at the start of the film is reminiscent of the Strange we’ve seen up to now and this story sees him returning to his roots to re-discover just why he’s doing what he’s doing.

Likewise, Wanda’s’ journey from Wandavision picks up soon after the series ends and follows her as she navigates the nature of her powers and the ways they implicate her reasons for acting. Like Stephen, her character has had little time to deal with the depths of her trauma and is given an opportunity to tackle those issues head on while traversing the multiverse. Both characters get to meet alternate versions of themselves who, driven by the same passions, have made slightly different decisions than them resulting in vastly different lives. Through this, the characters are given the opportunity to reflect on themselves in an authentic fashion.

By maneuvering the set-pieces and pivotal story moments around emphatic character moments, Raimi is able to elevate the hobbled narrative that finds itself jumping from one MacGuffin to the next. Because every movement is motivated by or centered around the characters’ decisions, they feel relevant and make the piecemeal story cohesive. While the logic behind the story might be forgettable, the emotional resonance of important character beats persists and makes an Frankeinsteined story wholly engaging.

The biggest proof of this is America who serves as the biggest MacGuffin of all. She’s both the target of the antagonistic forces and Doctor Strange and company. One side definitively wants to kill and take her powers and the other side is willing to protect her but has shown the capacity to act in a more malicious manner. Both sets of characters are in constant pursuit of her and as their convictions come to the surface, the status of her relation to her powers changes. She becomes an external representation of the characters’ arcs and her status as MacGuffin reflects these developments. Consequently, when the character arcs start to come to a close, the film proceeds in domino effect with each arc pushing one another to a close.

While this approach may disappoint fans of the franchise looking for more explosive worldbuilding or rich storytelling, its a refreshing change of pace that should entice those tired of the usual trappings associated with the genre. The character focus is gripping enough to keep the viewer engaged and Raimi’s direction buoys otherwise contrived story moments and makes emotionally rich moments all the more compelling. Fans of the characters and of the horror sensibilities of Raimi will be more than satisfied with this latest superhero outing.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a much needed breath of fresh air for a genre and a cinematic universe that’s felt stylistically barren for most of its existence. The focus is on delivering an engaging spectacle that grips the viewer. While the story is basic and patchy, the vitality present in the film’s construction make it an absolute delight to watch. The story may be on the lighter side in the grand scheme of the cinematic universe and doesn’t engage in as much fanfare as some viewers might want, but it’s navigation of characters and their respective arcs makes it truly resonant when it needs to be.
Rating	9.4/10
Grade	A

Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .

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2010s, 2012, A, Action, Adventure, Grade, Marvel, Past, Review, review-movie, Science Fiction, Superhero, Year

Film Review: The Avengers – 2012

January 27, 2022 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Joss Whedon
Principal Cast	Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark / Iron Man Chris Evans as Steve Rogers / Captain America Tom Hiddleston as Loki Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury Mark Ruffalo as Bruce Banner / Hulk Chris Hemsworth as Thor Scarlett Johansson as Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow Jeremy Renner as Clint Barton / Hawkeye
Release Date	2012
Language(s)	English
Running Time	143 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

Marvel title card.

Marvel title card dissolves in the flames of the Tesseract.

A hooded figure narrates to an unseen usurper.

The opening sets the stage for what’s to come. The title card dissolves into the Tesseract which becomes the focal point of the sequence. There’s a universal scope in this story as we see alien figures plotting an invasion of the Earth in search of the cosmic cube. The rhythmic fades to black create a foreboding effect and as the camera pushes into the Tesseract, it becomes clear that intergalactic conflict is coming.

The title sequence starts with the Marvel logo prominently in the center of the screen. The camera pulls back from the logo which becomes encompassed by blue flames, flames which are revealed to be the core of the Tesseract, the cosmic item recovered by S.H.I.E.L.D in Captain America: The First Avenger. The screen fades to black.

A voice mentions that the “Tesseract has awakened” on Earth. The camera pans up an elaborate, alien staircase where a hooded creature bows to an unseen figure. The creature, the narrator from earlier, continues and claims that an informant who is intimately aware with the cube will claim it for them. The screen fades to black.

The informant in question is handed a glowing scepter. Another fade to black.

Then an army of armored alien creatures, the Chituari, start to roar as the narrator guarantees that the informant will take the Earth as compensation for retrieving the cube, using the army of Chituari to take control. Upon retrieving the cube, the unseen figure will rule the universe. A final fade to black.

Once again, the Tesseract takes center stage and the camera starts to push into it. This is an opening that makes it clear from the get-go: The Avengers is more epic than the films that came before. The rhythmic fades to black induce a sense of a grandiose force building up. The alien world and set-piece confirms that this story is taking place against a much grander backdrop. As the camera pushes in through the Tesseract, to the planet of Earth it becomes clear that worlds are going to collide.

Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) and Clint (Jeremy Renner) talk about the Tesseract.

A S.H.I.E.L.D base is being evacuated as a helicopter arrives at the facility. Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) steps out and begins to head into the building that everyone else is running out of. He runs down to the testing facility overseen by Dr. Selvig (Stellan Skarsgård) where tests are being run on the Tesseract. Selvig explains that Tesseract is active and is taking action of its own accord, setting off fluctuations and discharges as it pleases. Clint (Jeremy Renner), the agent overseeing the experiments, tells Fury that any disruption on display is not due to any party on “this” side. Suddenly, it becomes clear. If the Tesseract is a doorway, then it reasons that it can be opened from two sides. One side might be on Earth, but the other side is somewhere else entirely and is raring to invade the planet.

On cue, the Tesseract discharges a bright blue light, opening a portal to another location. The informant from earlier makes their appearance in spectacular fashion, completely shifting the feeling of the room. We cut to a close-up and learn that this intruder is none other than Loki (Tom Hiddleston), Thor’s (Chris Hemsworth) brother who we had been led to believe was dead at the end of Thor. The questions begin to pile up: How did Loki survive? Who hired him? Why do they want the Tesseract so badly?

Loki takes control of Clint (Jeremy Renner) using the scepter.

But Loki’s not concerned with giving any answers, and he quickly takes charge of the situation, blasting agents with his scepter and laying waste to the highly, secure government building. He turns his scepter to both Selvig and Clint’s chests and takes control of their minds; they switch allegiances immediately. Fury is easily handled and the Tesseract is stolen from the premises but not before the cube releases one last burst of energy, destroying the facility in its entirety.

For the first time in the franchise, Fury is thoroughly trounced and left beaten. He declares an emergency and tells his agents to begin looking for the cube. Loki’s attack means that the world is now at war and needs to prepare. One of his subordinates, Agent Coulson (Clark Gregg), asks what they can hope to do. The Avengers theme starts to play in the background as the title card drops as a response. Fury’s answer is a given: it’s time to assemble to the Avengers, a task force made up of individuals capable of mounting a resistance to forces that conventional might cannot stand up against.

But far from being a solution to the Loki problem, creating the Avengers brings about a whole host of other issues for Fury because the rag-tag set of individuals he seeks to have work together are far from cooperative. Given the persons that Fury wants to involve with the project, namely the heroes of the previous Marvel films, it’s easy to see how problems could stack up. Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) is a ego-maniac who can’t help but demonstrate just how smart he is. Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo) of is a man so afraid of himself that he’d rather live his life as a wanderer than be near people and risk harming them as the Hulk. Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) is a man haunted by the loss of his past and is desperate to do anything to numb those sensations. Thor might be fond of the Earth but his priorities lay with Asgard and its people. Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) only shows true loyalty to Fury and is more than willing to pull one over on people to achieve any given mission. Meanwhile, Clint Barton is compromised and controlled by Loki.

Balancing these personalities isn’t easy, but director Joss Whedon successfully manages to plot a narrative course that lets the characters bounce off each other authentically. The characters act as we would expect them to given their previous cinematic depictions; the fun emerges from watching the sparks between the characters we know and love getting to experience the same level of familiarity with one another. It’s clear that the actors are enjoying themselves and play off one another seamlessly, so it’s hard not to get invested in the burgeoning friendships. As bonds begin to form between members at a more personal and at a larger ensemble level, the various narrative threads from the previous films start to make sense as a larger puzzle. The group feels less a collection of arbitrarily selected heroes and more like a naturally forming assemblage. Consequently, even when the technical maneuverings of the plot feel outlandish, the energy on display by the key players ensures that no moment remains dull. This is a narrative that knows how to keep a steady hand on the momentum and keep the viewer engaged.

The film’s formula is so effective that it’s effectively served as the de-facto template of the franchise ever since. A story of a diverse group learning to work together maps well with the depths of the Marvel Universe, offering any minor character from a previous film a chance to reprise a more important, embellished role in a future entry. Learning to fight together means that the narrative can be built around multiple fight set-pieces; have the heroes get a minor win, then suffer a loss of sorts, before finally coming together and achieving a victory of sorts. Progression can be clearly marked and delineated which makes character arcs easier to notice and subsequently appreciate.

Yet, The Avengers remains unique even after a decade filled with films taking inspiration from its formula because there’s an earnest enthusiasm in its construction. Long one takes and extensive use of spectator reactions to the spectacles gives the film a distinctive visual identity that many other entries in the franchise are missing. The characters also all have a distinct sense of personality; they’re not all quipsters, so when characters like Tony make a snarky remark, those moments register because they operate in contrast to otherwise “straight” dialogue. This makes the humor hit harder and the serious events linger for a moment of reflection. While the seams sometimes crop up – an inevitability given the film’s duty in patching together every previous Marvel entry – concerns regarding them melt away due to the sense of wonder and enthusiasm on display.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Even a decade after it’s release, The Avengers still entertains due to the spontaneous and organic way it mixes the founding Marvel cinematic characters and their respective story threads. The foundational super-hero ensemble film demonstrates that any character can find new purpose if helmed in another story and that characters from seemingly different, developed worlds can come together in a coherent manner in which the sum is greater than the parts. The film’s ambition has paid off multiple-fold, establishing the basis of the largest cinematic franchise the world has seen to date.
Rating	9.0/10
Grade	A

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2020s, 2021, A, Action, Grade, Review, review-movie, romance, Science Fiction, Year

Film Review: The Matrix Resurrections – 2021

December 23, 2021 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Lana Wachowski
Principal Cast	Keanu Reeves as Thomas Anderson / Neo Carrie-Anne Moss as Tiffany / Trinity Yahya Abdul-Mateen II as Morpheus Jessica Henwick as Bugs Jonathan Groff as Smith
Release Date	2021
Language(s)	English
Running Time	148 minutes
Report Card	Click to go to Review TLDR/Summary

NOTE: There are light spoilers regarding the first act of the film. These spoilers are present in the second wave of trailers for the film, but if you are someone who’s trying to avoid any of the story’s twists, come back to this review after you’ve seen the movie.

NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.

The screen is filled with sprawling green code. This is a set-up we’re familiar with. There’s few things that are synonymous with the franchise as the code which makes up the virtual worlds denizens inhabit. Bugs (Jessica Henwick) comments that the code segment she’s looking at is a modal, a sandbox environment where explicit code changes can be tested without compromising the main system, which is self-repeating – an anomaly in the system. She talks to her partner, Sequoia (Toby Onwumere) about the secrets the code could hide before jumping into the sequence of bits.

She appears in the background of a scene and suddenly it becomes clear; we’re back in The Matrix. More precisely, we’re watching the start of the first film where Trinity (Carrie-Ann Moss) finds herself accosted by police officers during her investigation into Neo’s location. Bugs watches the scene from the background; it’s obvious that this moment is one she knows about as she comments that Trinity is about to kick ass. However, the scene does not play out as Bugs or ourselves predicts.

Instead of seeing our Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) enter in like expected, we are introduced to his double of sorts, a new Agent (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), who sets the events in disarray. The script goes off the rails. Trinity gets chased down by the agents and Bugs is pulled into the simulation. Now the other players are aware of her, so she’s forced to switch from passive observer to active participant. She makes her escape from the agents and seemingly evades their tracks, making her way to what appears to be Thomas Anderson’s desk (Neo’s original name) where she runs into the new Agent.

Like Smith in the original film, this Agent exhibits a difference in perception, choosing to investigate the next location of his target instead of chasing aimlessly behind them. However, this Agent isn’t seeking to kill Bugs and instead begins a dialogue with her. They both confess that their perception of the world has been altered; they’ve both gone through experiences where the code of the world revealed itself to them, shattering their expectations of what is and is not real. They believe that these experiences are linked to Neo/Thomas, whose presence they can feel even if they can’t trace. Suddenly Bugs realizes that the Agent is none other than a representation of Morpheus, the man who first revealed the truth of “the Matrix” to Neo in the first film. But the duo is unable to figure out why Morpheus of all people has been coded as an agent in a never ending-loop chronicling Trinity’s discovery of Neo. Why indeed.

Their attempts to escape the modal fades into lines of code on another screen. This time the user can be seen and its none other Thomas Anderson, except this time he’s not the subject of the Matrix. He is its creator. The modal on his screen is revealed to be old code from his hit series of video games “The Matrix.” He’s the lead designer of the trilogy of games which depict the journeys of Neo, a renegade who fights machines and Agents in a computer-generated world. Instead of revealing the mysteries behind the code, this Thomas Anderson (Keanu Reeves) is responsible for the code itself.

The flip in perspective calls into question the entire nature of the franchise up to the moment. Are Bugs and Morpheus real or are they just scripts created by Thomas? Is the Matrix trilogy “real” or was it just a fabrication on the part of a coder who started to lose the ability to distinguish between his fictional world and the reality around him? The cracks between what is and is not happening and who is charge of who become blurred as Thomas goes through his work day. He’s haunted by visions – scenes ripped from the trilogy – but their presence isn’t comforting because their status as markers of truth is wholly based on context.

As Thomas learns from his therapist (Neil Patrick Harris), these visions could be an after-effect of delusional self-insertions. Artists often take from events, characters, and the like from their lives and use them as the basis for stories and ideas. The therapist argues that Thomas has done much the same with the Matrix videogames; unfortunately, because of his susceptibility to delusion, he’s reversed the inspiration process; instead of letting the game take cues from his life, his life is taking cues from the games. For example, the character Neo projects a hostility to Agent Smith. Because Thomas sees himself as Neo, a natural self-insert, he takes that hostility and applies it to the antagonistic force in his life, his boss Smith (Jonathan Groff). Unfortunately, these problems are only exacerbated when this same Smith reveals that the gaming company’s parent company, Warner Brothers, has demanded a sequel to the hit-trilogy; far from being free of the “Matrix’s” influence, Thomas finds himself in right back within its domains.

This is just the tip of the meta-rabbit hole that Resurrections offers to give any viewer willing to take its trip with an open mind. Far from being more of the same or a mere repetition, director Lana Wachowski’s return to the world of the “Matrix” is content with nothing less than pushing the boundaries on what the franchise is capable of. Franchise mainstays like the precisely choreographed gun-fu action set-pieces by Yuen Woo-ping or ever-present green tint in the lighting and production design are gone as this latest entry chooses to lean, more so than any of the previous entries, into its Alice in Wonderland influences. Like Alice, Neo finds himself caught in a world that constantly pulls the rug out from under him and is desperate to find a jumping-off point that will allow him to determine who he is, to determine what his reality means, to figure out how deep the rabbit hole really goes.

The structure of the film exemplifies this energy as its first act starts as an analysis of the franchise itself from an external point of view. As Thomas develops the 4th sequel to his franchise, he’s forced into meetings with people who seek to breakdown what made the franchise popular. Is it the bullet time sequences, the themes of trans liberation, the mind melting storyline, or something else entirely that energizes and makes the Matrix tick as it does? These discussions aren’t meta for the sake of being meta; they’re meant to invite us into the conversation and get us to think about what the film entails.

There’s a comedic underbite in the meta-elements that makes us aware that the drive to capitalize on nostalgia is a method of placation, a form of hypnotism by which subjects are lulled into a state of complacency by being. It’s apparent that Lana is not interested in doing a rehash of the franchise’s greatest hits, so when the homages start to kick in, the immediate response is to question them. In this sense, Resurrections is the equivalent to being shown what seems to be a completed puzzle and a bag of puzzle pieces and being told to complete the full picture.

Given its set-up, it’s understandable why the film’s reception has been so polarizing. It’s not a sequel in a traditional sense and refuses to give the audience what they think they want. Like Thomas, many might themselves frustrated with Resurrections because they yearn for the comfort and stylings of what came before even as the film suggests that repetition of the same material ad infinitum only creates stagnation that resembles progress when its anything but. The traditional sequel would aim to be closer to Spider-Man: No Way Home, slyly putting call-backs to previous installments and using those moments to build up to a conducive story that serves as a continuation of what came before. Resurrections unapologetically rejects such an approach in favor of a leap of faith that upends everything that came before and puts it all back together in a way that allows us to re-imagine the franchise in wholly new ways.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	In an entertainment climate filled with soft-reboots and rethreads of beloved story beats, its refreshing to see a sequel to such an enshrined franchise get so thoroughly broken down and reformulated in a film with as much passion and emotional heft. While The Matrix Resurrections might disappoint fans looking for a re-run of the franchise’s greatest hits like the crisp gun-fu action set-pieces, it should more than satisfy those who enjoy the philosophical possibilities inherent to the world.
Rating	9.4/10
Grade	A

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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, 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, 2015, A, Black-Comedy, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, slasher, Thriller, Year

Review: The Final Girls

December 1, 2020 The Critic 1 Comment

Director(s)	Todd Strauss-Schulson
Principal Cast	Taissa Farmiga as Max Malin Åkerman as Nancy / Amanda Alia Shawkat as Gertie Alexander Ludwig as Chris Nina Dobrev as Vicki Thomas Middleditch as Duncan Adam DeVine as Kurt Angela Trimbur as Tina Daniel Norris as Billy Murphy
Release Date	2015
Language(s)	English
Running Time	91 minutes

After losing her mother, Amanda, in a tragic accident, Max and a group of her friends go to a fan screening of the popular Camp Bloodbath, a Friday the 13th ripoff Amanda starred in decades before. However, during the screening things go awry and Max and her friends find themselves trapped in the world of the slasher movie with no explanation as to how they got there or how to get out. Faced with no other option, the group is forced to play along with the narrative to find a way back to the real world.

Now if the synopsis didn’t make it clear enough, this is a movie that’s a love letter to 80’s slasher movies, especially those from the Friday the 13th franchise. From Camp Bloodbath’s “KiKiKi MaMaMa”- based parody theme to the increasingly caricatured acting from the fictional movie’s cast, every trope you know and love is here and is ready to be celebrated. However, what sets the movie apart from other slasher comedies is the emotional center that serves as the movies main through line. The story opens on Max and Amanda and demonstrates just how much the mother-daughter duo depends on one another. The latter, having been typecast as sexy bimbo who gets killed due to her involvement with the slasher cult hit, is desperate to find a role that will let her be a real star, while the latter fawns over her mom while dealing with tasks like managing the bills. Watching Amanda dies it’s clear that Max’s world is shattered and Farmiga conveys her characters grief by going from bubbly and filled with life to desolate and lethargic. That’s why her journey into a movie where her mom was a star hits so hard – it’s her chance to reunite and deal with the trauma in a moving, albeit unconventional way.

On the right, Max (Taissa Farmiga) bonds with her mom, Amanda (Malin Åkerman), before the latter’s untimely death. Once she gets trapped in the world of Camp Bloodbath, she gets to bond with her mom’s breakout character, Nancy, who gives her a spiritual chance at bonding with her mom one more time. The relationship between these 2(3?) is the heart of the movie and gives it an unexpected emotional weight.

It’s this emotional center that elevates the usual slasher formula into something that gets you to cheer for the characters success because even the stock caricatures get an extra level of depth due to their humanizing connection to the actual actors. Max relating to her Amanda’s character Nancy reminds us that there’s an actor hiding behind every character that seeps and pervades through the representations we see on screen. This makes the clash between the “real” life characters – Max, Gertie, Chris, Vicky, and Duncan- and the movie’s characters – Nancy, Tina, Amanda, and co. – enthralling because they twist the perceptions we have of stock characters and gives them a chance to show us something more. It also injects the movie with a healthy dose of existential humor as the Bloodbath characters are forced to reckon with their fictional makeup in contrast to something more “real”, begging the question of what reality even is.

It’s this playing with reality that gives the movie its unique comedic angle, setting it apart from the sea of slasher comedies that have come to inundate the market post Scream. Duncan, the Camp Bloodbath super fan, acts like the Randy of the movie and explains the worlds tropes and plot mechanisms – there’s a final girl who happens to be a virgin, people die when they have sex, and so on – while giving the audience the perfect nerd to cheer alongside. He helps the group determine the rules of the movie-turned-reality so that they can break and manipulate them to figure out a way to get out. Max and co. realize near the start of the movie that they can’t leave the story without playing along in a comedic scene that shows the Camp Bloodbath staff driving by the characters every 92 minutes (the run-time of the in-universe movie). Waiting just introduces another playthrough, so they’re forced to take action.

The group is stuck in a loop where the movie plays back-to-back on loop, until they decide to make themselves part of the in-universe movie’s story.

As they become more familiar with the way slasher conventions work, they engage in some pretty ingenious mechanisms to bypass typical scenes to increase their chances of survival. On the flipside, some of their experiments don’t work out as well which introduce some bleak, yet hilarious moments that keep the audience constantly guessing as to what the next step is going to be. The result is a movie that plays along with our expectations while subverting them at every turn. The more you know about slashers, the more fun you end up having because the game becomes guessing how the trope will be subverted instead of witnessing the trope happening.

In an attempt to highlight this constantly changing perspective, the movie makes wonderful use of a constantly moving camera. There are quite a few arc shots (where the camera moves steadily in a circle) that highlight the absurdist nature of the movie’s narrative, reinforce the idea of the characters being stuck in loops of sorts, and constantly highlighting the juxtaposition of the story of Camp Bloodbath against the injunction of real life characters. One of my favorite moments in the movie involves a characters getting brutally killed after thinking they’re safe as the camera starts turning in a circle and zooming in highlighting just how wrong they actually were. The movement keeps us as disoriented as the characters and adds another layer of empathy as we realize that neither us or Max and co. know exactly what’s going on.

Complimenting this visual vertigo is the narrative whiplash that occurs as modern “real” people interact with outdated 80’s slasher stereotypes and dive beneath their personas. Homophobia and sexual objectification meet their modern match which allows the movie to lampshade its baser fun with bits of commentary. In one scene, Kurt, the prototypical jock/sex fiend, makes some bigoted jokes to Chris which are quickly shot down by the latter’s more open worldview, but the presence of a challenge to the retort forces Kurt to delve deeper (not that much) into what he actually thinks. Moments like these between the different intersections of characters allows the movie to relish in its homage while making comments on the side without ever coming off as too obnoxious or on the nose.

It helps that every single member of the star studded cast nails their performances, with special kudos given to the Camp Bloodbath members who are forced to play both a caricature and a deconstruction of those same stereotypes as they figure out their true metaphysical makeup. DeVine nails the contemptible player persona from the laid back and confident posturing to the arrogant smirk he keeps on his face. Meanwhile, Trimbur makes the slutty, sexy girl who typically dies first far more energetic and expressive than she has any right to be by injecting a manic ton of energy into contorting her body and facial muscles. Being the emotional center of the movie, both Farmiga and Ackerman bring a surprising amount of tenderness to the story, displaying a real sense of vulnerability with one another. There are moments in the third act that tug at the heartstrings because of how believable their real and fictional bond is built up and played out. In particular, Ackerman nails the fictional character realizing that they’re both real and not real with some expressions that exude fear and love simultaneously.

The only things holding the movie back are some less than stellar CGI elements along with some story moves that feel like they should’ve paid off in bigger and grander ways. The movie plays so well with sub-genre conventions that the presence of such overt and modern digital effects feels completely out of place.

One of the bad CGI renderings that threatens to distract the audience from the beauty of the movie. This scene of a car crash feels like a cut-scene from a PS2 game and feels out of place compared to the realism of what came before.

If these were a one-off occurrence it’d be fine, but these issues crop up enough during the run-time to feel like an issue. Given how clever the movie is with playing with sub-genre conventions, I was surprised that these moments weren’t rendered with cheesy and over-the-top practical effects to keep with the 80’s slasher energy. Adding to this is the soft rules approach the movie utilizes to keep the pace going. As I mentioned earlier, the tropes that are recognized are subverted in ways that aren’t expected which keeps an underlying sense of mystery and tension at bay, but because there are no clear and fast rules there are definitely some moments that just come off as odd. The movie can just explain them away as anomalies like everything else, but that comes off feeling lazy with how intricate other scenarios play out. If these moments were capitalized on and explained in the context of the story or breaking certain tropes, the movie would’ve felt more cohesive and tightly knit.

That being said, what we get is a heartfelt, clever, and truly funny movie that any slasher fan should give a watch. Every character feels distinct and interesting, despite the fact that some of them are walking caricatures, and watching their inevitable clashes among one another is constantly entertaining. Even though it’s comedic, the movie wants to be more than just funny and constantly combines its humor with epic visual compositions and narrative shifts that demonstrate just how much love went into the worldbuilding. The riffing and appreciation of sub-genre tropes plays well with the way they’re subverted and gives the movie a constant energy that should keep you invested from start to finish.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Final Girls shows that horror comedy very much has more room to explore in its ingenious design. The story of characters getting trapped in a slasher movie explores and relishes in genre conventions, while at the same time upending them to great effect. The effect is a dark absurdist comedy with an emotionally resonant center that keeps the otherwise fantastical elements feeling grounded, yet entertaining. Horror fans – slasher fans especially – should check this love letter to the sub-genre if they haven’t already. It’s sure to entertain and leave you wanting more.
Rating	9.1/10
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, 2017, A, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: The Ritual

November 9, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	David Bruckner
Principal Cast	Rafe Spall as Luke Arsher Ali as Phil Robert James-Collier as Hutch Sam Troughton as Dom Paul Reid as Robert
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English
Running Time	94 minutes

A group of 5 friends – Luke, Phil, Hutch, Dom, and Robert- meet in a bar to plan their next vacation with one another. Like any group of mates from college they’ve obviously outgrown their younger tendencies and struggle to determine a good location. As each of them suggests a possible spot another rejects it for some contrived reason. The group session ends with no decision and Luke, the loner of the group who seems most caught up in his past life, decides he wants to buy another bottle of booze from a convenience store. His mates, who have responsibilities now, don’t particularly want to come with him, but eventually Robert acquiesces and joins along. Unfortunately, the store they visit is being robbed by some violent cretins. Luke, with his bottle in hand, runs and hides. Robert isn’t as lucky and ends up losing his life as he’s brutally sliced apart while Luke watches in the background, petrified and unable to move. The movie cuts to Luke waking up in Sweden as his friends and him have decided to go on a hiking trip – Robert’s suggestion from that night so many months ago – to honor their late friend’s legacy.

From the outset, Luke is positioned apart from his 3 other friends. It doesn’t need to be said, but the elephant in the room is clear – he survived and did nothing as Robert died inside. The movie makes this clear in its composition, keeping Luke at an arms length from his mates, reminding the audience there’s a wound there that hasn’t been addressed.

As the group wakes to give their respects to Robert, Luke (Rafe Spall) is the first one up and he positions himself immediately away from the rest of his mates. The first image is a recurrent composition the movie employs to showcase just how fractured the group is due to the tensions between him and the other members. The second image highlights the way the rest of Luke’s friends position themselves in relation to him. The first one out of the tent is Hutch (Robert James-Collier), followed by Phil (Arsher Ali), finally followed by Dom (Sam Troughton). This sequencing of the friends is also something the movie frequently employs to make Luke’s subsequent emotional journey more coherent, while giving the audience a good view of the group’s dynamic.

After making a toast to Robert, the four friends track back on the mountainous path that seems to engulf them. The camera showcases just how small they really are in this wide area, yet to be tamed by “modern” civilization. As they continue, Dom trips and hurts his leg. Given that he’s the member of the group who most misses Robert and positions himself furthest from Luke at all times, this external injury seems to match the internal struggle he faces in getting over the issue and forgiving his friend. Needless to say, his injury derails the groups plans and they decide to cut through an ominous, foreboding forest to get back to their lodge faster. As Luke and Hutch canvas the area, the camera demonstrates just how distant the lodge looks as it seems to be overwhelmed by the forest surrounding it from all angles – civilization covered by the mysterious and natural – a sign of things to come.

The group makes their way through the forest. An eerie string based composition starts to play, starting off low and slowly becoming more threatening. It cuts out and we can hear the twigs snap in an utter silence. The wind blows, a gust against the ears. This soundscape is the forest speaking – a natural language that’s incomprehensible to human ears in easy to define terms, but that generates an emotional sensation – that of fear. The group happens upon a gutted animal, ceremoniously hung from the trees. A hunter perhaps. But as the characters ask, what kind of hunter would be able to enact such a feat, let alone go ahead with it. Desperate to get the macabre imagery out of their heads, they continue until the night falls. A heavy rain covers the group, incentivizing them to stay the night in an abandoned cabin straight out of the Evil Dead. They explore the relic from the past and find a host of disturbing religious paraphernalia. Combined with the gutted animal, the images provide too much for the group who have no choice but to ignore and get to sleep.

Luke awakes to a bright lit pouring into the cabin. He tries to wake his friends but they refuse to wake up. He goes outside and suddenly he’s transported back to the convenience store where his friend passed. He’s forced to relive the trauma – to experience his mistake and sense of shame once again before waking and realizing it was just a dream. He runs back to the cabin and realizes like him, every one of his friends has experienced some kind of night time terror – a dance with the dark vestiges of their minds, the forest, or perhaps both. The group falls into an emotional disarray as the members are desperate to get over the instance and leave the menacing forest. Unfortunately for them, it’s not going to be so easy.

This is The Ritual, a meditation on friendship, grief, dissolution, and masculinity. From the pub scene at the beginning to the trek the group makes into the forest, it’s clear that the friend group is at a crossroads of sorts. While most of the members have seemingly grown up and become “adults” so to say, Luke is trapped in his “glory days”. His friends have partners and kids. Meanwhile he has his booze. The death of Robert is the camel that breaks the back of the friendship – forcing the party to confront one another over issues that have been ignored in lieu of maintaining a camaraderie. While civilization gave them avenues to forget and taper over the issue, the raw affective intensity of the forest, free from the bounds of society, give them a chance to get those emotions out in play. Their frustrations at being lost in the forest bleed into their original frustrations – Luke’s inability to save their friend.

As a man, it’s expected that Luke should’ve mustered some courage and fight for his friend. His friends might not outright say it, but they all believe it to some effect. This is constantly reflected in the blocking of the characters in position to Luke. When he’s not apart from the others, he’s always placed closest to Hutch, then Phil, ending with Dom – a reflection of the different levels of grief, acceptance, and culpability his friends feel about him and Rob’s death. The group has ignored the emotional wounds between them in an attempt to pretend everything is okay – another sign of a failed masculine overcoding that can’t reckon with the situation. Being bros somehow translates to not showing emotions, not accepting a place for weakness and vulnerability. This point is repeated by the shared dream sequence. Despite each member of the group having gone through something harrowing at night, experiencing psychologically painful visions, they refuse to talk about. Hutch even exclaims he doesn’t want to psychoanalyze because there are real issues at stake – as though the emotional damage the group feels is not real. The group of “friends” would rather beat the piss out of each other than genuinely talk to each other, a violent reaction as opposed to a vulnerable discussion. It’s a value statement that reflects the way emotional sensibilities are pushed aside by civility. It’s no coincidence that the group is forced to deal with their emotions once they’re outside of the bounds of the same.

The setting of the story constantly reflects this internal struggle, making it something we see and hear. As I’ve mentioned the score (which sounds similar in feeling to that of The Witch) and the crisp sound mixing give the forest a genuine sense of agency. Every branch being crushed, every gust of wind that feels like a spectral entity speaking, every random sound of movement gives the forest a voice. The music which starts off low becomes more boisterous and ceremonial sounding, ritualistic as the movie title suggests. It’s an unnerving soundscape that works at ratcheting up the tension while giving the movie’s emotional undercurrent a palpable measure. This is exemplified the most in the ending song of choice, which I won’t spoil, but will say succinctly ties the movie up beautifully. At a visual level, the camera constantly positions the group in the midst of long and looming trees, with ominous branches moving out like sets of hands literally threatening to come out and grab them at any time. There are multiple shots of just the scraggly and wicked looking branches, which look like they could poke an eye out if not careful. It’s an effective reminder of the way the emotional turmoil the group is facing risks swallowing them entirely, the weight of their emotions actively covering up and encroaching the spaces the characters place themselves in.

The forest threatens to overwhelm the group and represents their emotionally fragmented and tumultuous state. The first image in the first row showcases just how small they are in the grander scheme of the forest (the use of the tree to guide the audience’s eye is great). The second image in the first row one of the many shots of the ominous looking branches that seem like hands ready to grab the group. They radiate an malicious intent. The image in the second row is a demonstration of the beautiful way the trees are used to block the characters apart from one another. It represents the way their inability to deal with their issues literally separates them from one another.

Effective mood and atmosphere – this is how the movie manages to completely enrapture the audience in the terror its characters face. The fact that the story starts with Robert’s violent death sets the tone for everything that’s to come – it sets an expectation that this is a story motivated by loss, whether that be loss of a friendship, loss of identity, or loss of loved ones. The move to the forest and the effective utilization of familiar horror tropes -creepy cabin in the woods, runic carvings on trees, unnerving dream sequences, and undecipherable movement throughout the forest- helps the audience get familiar with the story with little effort. Instead of getting lost on the minutia , we’re razor focused on the story of the characters. That’s not to say that these tropes are used just as an easy tool to easy the storytelling – they’re all motivated by the storytelling and a compelling art direction that fully rears its head in the third act.

At the heart of the story is the group of friends themselves. The actors portraying each of these characters does a bang up job at selling the nature of their friendship. From the way the characters banter to the way they emote with one another, it’s clear that they’re a group of all friends who have a host of shared memories and a reluctance to engage in any serious emotional dialogue. As someone who’s had/has many of the same friend groups, I could literally place my own friends in the characters places. They’re relatable, down to Earth, and genuinely human. Because the movie spends so much time getting the audience focused on them as opposed to random story details, we end up caring when things start happening to them as opposed to questioning why those things are happening. Not one of the characters feels one note (even if some feel less developed than others). In fact, they’re so realistic that even their joking banter in the face of some truly heinous phenomena feels natural and gives the movie a levity that doesn’t upend the eerie tension that builds through the runtime at a steady pace. This is effective horror film-making.

The issues with the movie have more do with the movie’s focus on Luke as the primary vehicle the audience gets to experience trauma and overcoming it. As I mentioned, each of the characters has their own take on Robert’s death and Luke’s decision-making during that event, but we only ever really get to hear one persons opinion and part of another. For a movie that’s about breaking open a civilized masculinity in favor of emotional openness, it would have been nice to see the nuance in perspective from the group to get a fuller and more rounded picture. Likewise, this is reflected in the fact that the only dream sequences we see are Luke’s. The other characters hint at what they saw, but getting to see their visions and their relation to them would open up the possibility for a genuine deconstruction of the way over-masculinity manifests. The movie ends up using every character outside of Luke to help him transition from emotionally stunted to open, denying them a unique chance to grow and making them more like benchmarks for the protagonist to gauge character progression. Sure, the run time of the movie might have been another 10-15 minutes if they all got their unique arcs/development, but in the context of what the movie was trying to achieve I think that would’ve been fine. There are definitely moments in the movie , especially in the 3rd act, which could have been trimmed out to make time for these moments.

Speaking of the 3rd act, while I genuinely enjoyed the way it reveals the “secrets” of the forest and the mystery surrounding the groups journey, it comes off a bit jarring compared to the intensity of the previous two acts. The attempts at giving explanations to the mystery feel like they either should have been expanded on or given in a more cryptic fashion to match with the exceptional and breathtaking scenes that end up occurring.

That being said, these complaints should not detract from the bigger picture. The Ritual is a stunning movie that has an important message about overcoming trauma – both at an individual and social level. The way the cinematography and audio work externalize the characters internal struggles is masterful and keeps the stories themes front and center even if we’re not aware that’s what’s happening. Acting is great all around and really helps sell some of the emotional gut punches the movie has waiting for us. Definitely a movie you want to see with a group of friends, especially if you can see your mates in the characters present.

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TLDR	The Ritual is an ambitious piece of horror filmmaking that attempts to analyze and breakdown masculinity, friendship, trauma and their relations to one another in a palatable and non-preachy way. The story starts with a brutal death and carries the emotional weight of that event through the run-time, forcing the characters and the audience to engage in a dialogue about forgiving oneself and finding the strength to connect to our rawer, more emotional sides. The technical aspects of the movie are stunning from the unnerving score to the masterful art design. If you’re looking for a creepy movie to watch with the boys, look no further.
Rating	9.1/10
Grade	A

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