A family is tied to a tree. A family is hung to death on a tree. The title card for Sinister scratches into the celluloid. The film’s opening sets the gritty tone with a home video from hell. A family hung by an unseen force on grainy footage that hearkens back to an older time. This sentimental past is brutalized by a senseless violence – a violence that the film “signs” off on.
A projector starts up and the guttural mechanical sounds of its inner workings cloud the soundscape. Super 8 footage emits from the unseen machine depicting a family, each member of which has their head covered by a bag, being hung on a tree. The gritty footage is augmented by the abrasive noises of the projector – the footage takes on a disturbing home-made quality. Every member of the domestic unit is executed when a tree branch is cut by an entity not shown on the screen. As the family’s feet stop moving, the title card crops up in the lower right corner of the frame, as if etched out against the grain of the celluloid.
The sheriff (Fred Thompson) accosts Elliot (Ethan Hawke). Tracy (Juliet Rylance) questions Elliot (Ethan Hawke) regarding the altercation. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) notices the tree from the opening short film. Ethan’s character is quickly revealed: he’s a writer with a penchant for pissing off the people in charge and he’s willing to do whatever he needs to do get to the heart of his stories, even if it means moving his family to a house where the previous occupants had been murdered.
Post title sequence, the viewer is introduced to the film’s protagonist, Ellison (Ethan Hawke), a writer moving to a new house in an effort to find materials to publish a new best-seller. However, his move is interrupted by a sheriff (Fred Thompson) who accosts him and gives the audience Ellison’s relevant backstory: the writer published a best-seller but struck out with his subsequent novels which not only painted law enforcement as incompetent but also incorrectly assessed the nature of situations being documented. It becomes clear that this current book is Ellison’s attempt at striking gold once more after a set of failures.
Before leaving, the sheriff mentions that Elliot’s pursuits will only bring up answers that no one wants to know and that his decision to move into the house he’s chosen is disrespectful in light of the circumstances surrounding the disappearance. Both warning and condemnation alike are ignored by Elliot who waives the sheriff off. This interaction is noted by Ellison’s wife, Tracy (Juliet Rylance), who asks her husband what the altercation was about. She hesitatingly questions if the house the family has moved into is next to a murder site again, implying that Elliot has made the family move to dangerous locations before. He assuages her concerns and confirms the house is not neighboring a murder location. But as he stares at the same broken tree from the snuff film from the opening, it becomes clear that he’s moved his family into an abyss where a family was hung. Far from keeping the family some proximity away from the terrors of his investigative work, he’s brought them right into the heart of darkness.
A scorpion rattles Elliot. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) , Tracy (Juliet Rylance) , and their children sit at the table surrounded by darkness. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) starts the Super-8 footage. A family sits in an idyllic picnic setting. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) is disturbed by the footage……as the family is hung on the tree. Ethan’s decision to put his family at the heart of darkness can be immediately felt in the brutally dark lighting. The moment he finds the tapes, dread sets in. The opening has primed us for homegrown horrors and the tape confirms as much, showcasing the transformation of an idyllic family image into a monstrous nightmare.
The all-encompassing evil surrounding his family makes its appearance felt as the four-person unit eats dinner in complete black. They don’t know what Elliot has dragged them into and act in total bliss, unaware of the abyss slowly encroaching from all around. Unfortunately, this façade is one doomed to collapse as Elliot discovers when he goes upstairs to do some unpacking. He notices a black scorpion near a box filled with super 8 film reels. Suddenly, the title sequence rears its ugly head again – the scorpion becomes an emissary of terrible things to come.
Alas, Elliot is unaware of these connections and takes the box of “home videos” downstairs after trying to dispatch the scorpion. He goes into his private study, far from the eyes of his family, and starts to play the tapes. At first, the super 8 footage depicts a peaceful domestic image; a family plays around while having a joyous looking picnic. However, this idyllic image is shattered as the jittery footage cuts to the title sequence’s footage – it becomes clear that this cheerful family is the same one the viewer saw being hung. Now, Elliot has seen the same. Now, the tree in his backyard seems all the more ominous. Now, evil has made its presence brazenly known.
The tree covers the moon. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) looks at the tree. The tree looks down upon Elliot (Ethan Hawke). Upon watching the video, Elliot is drawn to the tree and it seems to communicate to him, warning him about the impending danger.
Perturbed by the experience, Elliot goes outside to check on the tree and is confronted by its looming presence. It’s as if the spirits of the family still linger from where they were executed, warning Elliot of what’s to come. Nevertheless, he persists and goes back to his study to continue investigating the demented home films.
The carnage is displayed on Elliot’s (Ethan Hawke) glasses. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) calls the police. Elliot (Ethan Hawke) looks at copies of Kentucky blood. The bloodshed of the tapes proves too much for Elliot and he goes to call the police and bring in official help, but then the red from the tapes becomes replaced with the red of his best-selling book and his convictions shift again; fame is worth more than anything and to jeopardize that for the public good is foolhardy. This is Elliot’s Faustian deal.
But the footage proves to be too much. Each film he watches follows the same pattern – a peaceful vision of a family which is followed by their gruesome execution. Finally, the violence erupts and totally breaks Elliot down. Shocked and disgusted, he takes out phone and dials the police, ready to get legal enforcement in on an issue which seems to be more heinous than he previously imagined.
And then he stops. He looks up and sees a stack of his bestseller, Kentucky Blood, sitting perched on a shelf under a bright light, a limelight from a past age. The decadent red color of the books entrance Elliot; within them, he sees this case as a chance at being great all over again. The allure of greatness takes precedence over all else, and he turns the phone off. A decision made that cannot be undone.
This is the heart of Sinister and where the film excels: the story of a writer pursuing the restoration of his status at all else, making a Faustian deal with to get back in the limelight. The film spends the entirety of its run-time with Elliot as he attempts to discover the root of the mystery, the reason behind the murders, and the connective tissue behind the tapes. The more he watches the found-footage films, the more he gets invested. Because we’re forced to watch with him, the same sense of morbid curiosity infects us. Even though the conclusion of each tape is foregone, there’s a horrific spell cast that makes it impossible to avert the eyes from the screen. It’s in these moments, watching a man watch horror films, that Sinister manages to unnerve the most. The true crime feeling gives the supernatural events captured on the home videos gone wrong a palpable malevolence – they’re meanspirited and get under the skin because of how vicious and unforgiving they are.
These moments gain their power not from gore but from their propensity at triggering the viewer’s imagination. At a fundamental level, there’s something creepy about super 8 film stock because of the way the texture of it obfuscates and “dirties” the image. There’s an uncomfortable grittiness that’s always present. Normal images are distorted enough to feel unnerving, but the hellish and inexplainable nature of what’s depicted only amplify the feeling. Sinister takes this unease and transforms it into palpable dread with its sound design. Along with the sounds of the projector, the film utilizes distortions, scratches, incomplete jumbles, demonic choral riffs, and other sonic oddities to create states of paranoia. Something is always buzzing or disconcerting enough to create worry. Because of this, the viewer is forced to think about where the noise is coming from and what it has to do with the image. There’s a fundamental disconnect between what’s going on and that sense of mystery is what generates unease and causes one’s thoughts to run wild. Like Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain SawMassacre, Sinister evokes the feeling that one has seen gore of the most depraved kind even when no gore has been shown purely by stimulating unconscious fears regarding the situation.
It’s precisely when the film tries to explain the nature of its supernatural set-up and remove the level of mystery that it suffers; the unconscious fears that had previously been building up fizzle out as the direct explanation of the spectral undermines the unease by which it operates. The film goes for these more overt gestures in order to engage in predictable, expendable jump-scare sequences that pad the story until it ends. In fact, once the last home movie is played, there’s a significant drop in narrative momentum, as the film becomes lost on how to effectively move the characters to the next story beat.
This should not have been the case; the terrors should have been built around and upon Elliot’s compromised relationship with his family and his obsessive pursuit of a glorious time at the cost of everything else. It is precisely in the destruction of the idyllic family life that Sinister disturbs deepest, so the larger story should have been focused more on the disintegration of the family unit in relation Elliot’s decision; however, the film only ever shows his arguments with Tracy and even those play second-fiddle to the film’s investigation into the actual nature of the supernatural mystery, which as previously mentioned, undermines what makes the film effective. Consequently, the tension that the first half excels in is lost for much of the latter portion of the film as both character and narrative momentum is squandered on cheap thrills that pale in comparison to the frights from before.
This pivot in focus is a shame because it squanders Ethan Hawke’s grounded and terrified character work which otherwise laid out a perfect foundation on which to build the film. His emphatic reactions to the home movies is part of the reason they come off as so disturbing. There’s a visceral pain he imparts upon seeing the families meet their end. But then this pain is juxtaposed against the ambition in his eyes that props up every time he’s reminded of his past. Both heaven and hell are present in his gaze and lets the viewer at least understand his character’s actions even the consequences seem disastrous.
Thankfully, the final few minutes of the film bring the narrative back to the threads that made it compelling to begin with, both subverting the the haunted house story and resolving Elliot’s arc in satisfying fashion. It’s a far cry from the potential hinted at in the opening act, but Sinister‘s craft, mood, and performance carry its uneven narrative to terrifying heights.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Sinister starts strong as a true-crime styles supernatural thriller that follows an author going in over his head to get a story, but falters towards the end as it settles for cheap and conventional horror tactics. When the film is at it’s best, it’s truly terrifying and promises to unsettle even the most veteran of horror aficionados, but at it’s worst, the film does little more than undermine the basis of what makes it so effective. Thankfully, with an near impeccable first act, a thoroughly engaging performance by Ethan Hawke, and a perfectly poetic ending, there’s much to recommend for viewers looking for a spooky time.
Rating
8.5/10
Grade
B+
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
A blinding white flash …… is revealed to be coming from a street light…The street light illuminates……a textiles factory. The film opens with a burst of bright light that sets the tone.
The film opens on a burst of white light. As the camera pulls back, the source of this light, a post outside a textile building, is revealed.
A shadowy figure stares at Esther. Esther (Lotta Losten) can’t see the figure in the light. The figure gets closer to Esther as the lights go out again. Esther notices a figure that gets closer to her as the lights flicker between on and off.
A worker in the building, Esther (Lotta Losten), goes to finish off the last of her duties and notices a woman’s silhouette standing in the doorway. She turns on the light to get a better look and the figure disappears. Esther tests the phenomenon by flicking the lights on and off, but immediately stops and runs off when the silhouette moves closer to her during an intermission between the light switches.
She promptly goes to warn her boss, Paul (Billy Burke), who pays little heed to her warning as his focus is preoccupied on a conversation with his step-son, Martin (Gabriel Bateman); Paul tries to assuage Martin’s concerns about some personal affairs and then gets ready to leave the office.
Paul (Billy Burke) sees the shadow figure. The figure leaves Paul’s (Billy Burke) corpse in the spotlight. The title card flickers on. Paul sees the same shadowy figure but isn’t as lucky as Esther at getting away from it. It eviscerates him and leaves him on the floor. The camera fades out to a darkness – the light is gone. Then, the title card flickers on.
But the silhouetted figure makes her appearance once again and stops him. Suddenly, he finds himself being chased through the warehouse; the creature manages to injure him when in shadow but can’t seem to touch him while he’s under a light source. Unfortunately, the shadow demon seems capable of turning out the lights and manages to kill him under the guise of the dark. She throws his corpse and the scene fades to black – a counterpoint to the intense light that opened the scene. This is a clash between light and dark with deadly stakes. The title card flickers onto the screen, breaking through the darkness and the battle continues.
A domesticated vision of horror. Rebecca (Teresa Palmer) and Bret (Alexander DiPersia) talk about their relationship. Rebecca (Teresa Palmer) stares into a mirror…Rebecca (Teresa Palmer) tries to steady herself. From a poster of a domesticated horror figure, the camera moves to a young couple, Rebecca and Bret, navigating their relationship with one another. Rebecca is more hesitant to commit and is clearly dealing with something; she stares in the mirror as if to center herself from the echoes of something else.
The camera pulls out from a poster of a vampiric entity, a domesticated rendition of the shadow entity from before. It moves from the poster to a young couple, Rebecca (Teresa Palmer) and Bret (Alexander DiPersia), getting up from bed. Bret attempts to establish a more explicit relationship with Rebecca but she rejects his attempts. She’s dealing with her own set of issues and as she gazes into the mirror, it’s clear she’s trying to affirm herself. She reassures Bret of her feelings but explains she can’t be as forthright as he is.
A photograph of Rebecca (Teresa Palmer) and Martin (Gabriel Bateman) in Rebecca’s room. A photograph of Rebecca (Teresa Palmer) and Martin (Gabriel Bateman) in Martin’s room. Photo’s of Paul (Billy Burke) with Martin (Gabriel Bateman)Martin (Gabriel Batemen) is terrified in bed. A neat matching transition from Rebecca’s room to Martin’s room reveals their sibling relationship and makes apparent the depressing cascade of events that seems to be surrounding Martin – a series of events which looks to become even more unfortunate.
As he leaves for the night, the camera pans to Rebecca’s shelving unit and pushes into a photograph of Rebecca and Martin, the boy from opening talking to Paul; the two of them are siblings. The camera pulls back from the photograph, pulling us to a new room – Martin’s. From the photograph of the siblings, we track from additional photographs of Martin with Paul and his mother, Sophie (Maria Bello) to an obituary photo of Paul to Martin sitting on his bed with an expression of fear: a trail of familial darkness coalescing in one scared boy.
He gets up out of his bed to check on his mom and notices her talking to a “Diana” (Alicia Vela-Bailey) hidden in the shadows. He tries to get a better look at her but experiences terror as he feels something inhuman gazing back at him. He hides in his bed, utterly petrified of the situation and unable to close his eyes.
The next day, Martin, suffering from sleep deprivation, is brought to the nurse and calls Rebecca to come pick him up. From there, she learns that Martin has been sleeping in school for days on end, seemingly unable to get any rest at home. Rebecca, with Bret in tow as chauffeur, drives to Sophie’s house to get a handle on the situation. On the way, Martin mentions to Rebecca that Sophie has been speaking to someone named Diana, and a chilling realization sweeps through Rebecca’s eyes. She tells Martin that “Diana” came to their mother a lot during Rebecca’s youth as well – a harbinger of the debilitating depressive phases Sophie commonly went through and is currently going through.
With the context of Diana, Rebecca goes in to confront Sophie and comes to the realization that her mother has fallen into a depraved state, neglecting therapy and medication in favor of communing with Diana in a perpetually dark house with the lights out. The loss of Paul has sent Sophie reeling into an abyss that threatens to take her family along with it. Thus, Rebecca and company are tasked with figuring out a way of to deal with the darkness and the despair that comes along with it.
From this angle, Lights Out is an allegory about depression much in the vein of Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook, utilizing the trappings of a supernatural horror to explore the way dark thoughts lay roost and come to consume not only oneself but ones entire family as well. As Sophie suffers the people closer to her – Rebecca, Martin, Paul – are forced to deal with and suffer the consequences of depression imagined as supernatural infiltration. By mapping depression to darkness and healing to light, director David F. Sandberg sets the film up for frantic battles where characters have to desperately scramble to find the light in the darkest of situations to keep themselves afloat, nailing the metaphor on its head.
Yet, this reading of the film is rendered formally suspect by the opening sequence at the textile factory. Having Esther deal with Diana makes the latter less a representation of familial grief and more a general demonic entity, and the film leans into this idea repeatedly, having Diana engage in creepy maneuverings typical of something more akin to The Conjuringfilms. Instead of being tied to Sophie’s thoughts and inner circles, Diana is allowed to be a loose cannon only tangentially tied to depression and is able do whatever the plot needs her to do. This conflict in identity contributes to a disconnect in the narrative and its emotional arcs as the story refuses to commit to either being an horror motivated by intimate family drama or horror motivated by the machinations of an evil creature.
Instead of this combined approach, the story should have committed to one haunted vision over another: either go for a more traditional supernatural demon story with an explicit threat or go for an allegory about grief. As is, the narrative feels like it wants to be the latter story but is forced to deal with intrusions from the former story.
Consequently, even though many of the more shocking sequences are technically competent and incorporate creative uses of lighting to keep the tension palpable, they are transformed from being evocative representations of the characters’ inner turmoil to run-of-the-mill jump-scare sequences. There’s still fun to be had, but it’s a far cry from what the ideas and sense of sequence design should have allowed for.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Lights Out is a technically proficient horror that knows how to set up a scary sequence but its story is torn between wanting to be a character-driven supernatural allegory and a ghost story about a spectral menace. This lack of direction pervades the narrative and makes it the well-executed scare sequences nothing more than temporary frights with no staying power after watching.
Rating
7.7/10
Grade
B
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Note: This review contains spoilers regarding the first 30 minutes of the film as opposed to the site’s usual benchmark of 10-20 minutes. The same effort towards sustaining the intrigue and momentum of the film, especially in its second and third acts, is maintained in this review, and all plot details revealed are just meant to be a springboard to discuss the scope of the work in better detail. Nothing discussed should undermine the “best” portions of the film or the many mysteries that keep the story engaging.
Waves churn in the sea.The waves slowly dissolve and become….… a screen of pixels…which end up “becoming” a baseball game. From left to right: Masami(Hitomi Sato) and Tomoko (Yûko Takeuchi) have the baseball game playing in the background. Masami(Hitomi Sato) tells Tomoko (Yûko Takeuchi) about the cursed videotape. The clock ticks ominously. The happy mood between Masami(Hitomi Sato) and Tomoko (Yûko Takeuchi) dissipates as the truth comes out. Masami(Hitomi Sato) and Tomoko (Yûko Takeuchi) answer the phone downstairs and are relieved upon hearing Tomoko’s parents. The television turns on behind Tomoko ( Yûko Takeuchi) as if by its own volition. Tomoko ( Yûko Takeuchi) stares at the screen in fear. Tomoko’s ( Yûko Takeuchi) face freezes as the negative image takes hold of the frame. The domain of technology is shown to be home to forces beyond human comprehension as the sea’s waters become the pixels which comprise the television’s image, looming ominously in the background while Tomoko and Masami talk gleefully to one another. Far from being alone, the girl’s are seen by a force of nature, an emissary of the sea. When Masami mentions the tale of the cursed VHS tape, it’s as this presence is named. Somehow, there’s a connection. Tomoko mentions she’s watched the tape and the sound of a phone call confirms that something is wrong. Far from being a rumor, the threat of a specter becomes a genuine possibility. When Masami leaves Tomoko under the assumption that everything is fine, the threat manifests as real, taking Tomoko by surprise and snapping a photograph of her, a negative image in contrast to the film’s positive image.
Ambient rumbles and the sounds of the churning waves mix as the camera pans over a tumultuous sea. The uncanny waters become grainy before dissolving into the static dots of a television set; thus, nature and technology merge in unholy unison. A pathway is formed. Static transforms the sea into a baseball game.
It’s revealed that two young girls, Tomoko (Yuko Takeuchi) and Masami (Hitomi Sato), have the game on in the background, as a source of background noise to a conversation they’re having. The latter mentions an urban rumor regarding a cursed VHS tape which supposedly kills its viewer after exactly 7 days. Apparently, after watching the tape, the viewer receives a phone call confirming their doom and then they succumb a week later as consequence. Tomoko displays an unease and asks where Masami heard about the rumor before revealing that she’s seen the aforementioned tape. Suddenly, the clock on the wall becomes a menacing presence, a death knell counting down towards Tomoko’s inevitable end. Terror takes its hold and the jovial mood in the room dissipates as demise makes itself known. It’s at this point Tomoko breaks the tension by claiming she’s joking and the girls laugh once again.
However, this moment of relief is ripped out from under them. The ominous ringing of a phone pierces the soundscape and casts a spell of doom, silencing the girls’ laughter. Both girls go downstairs towards the phone which beckons them forward. Masami picks it up and expresses relief upon hearing Tomoko’s parents on the other side. She hands the phone to her friend and goes upstairs, assured that the crisis is averted.
Unfortunately, this reprieve is also revealed to be temporary; despite being clearly off before, the television set near the phone turns on. The baseball game from earlier which marked a peaceful change from the sea now casts an ominous electric blue light. The relationship between sea and television has now been reversed: the television itself imposes presence of the blue, tumultuous waves come alive in the form of a similar colored light.
Tomoko attempts to turn the television off, but the technological apparatus initially refuses her commands. Finally, she succeeds in her endeavor and turns around assured that the issue over. But as she gets a drink ready, she hears a presence making scratching noises behind her. She turns her head to confront the presence and her face breaks into absolute terror. The frame freezes and the colors invert; a negative image takes the place of a positive image as if the unseen presence has taken a picture of Tomoko’s reaction to its abject aura – a snapshot taken from and by the void.
Thus, the film allows for a film to be born from within its structure – the start of a series of negative images that serve as an undercurrent to the positive appearance which will dominate the majority of the film. Far from being just a diegetic element, the spectral nature of the rumored VHS tape permeates into the non-diegetic layer and suggests that Ring itself shares the same uncanny characteristics as the cursed video that serves as the heart of its narrative proper.
A young girl is intervied by Reiko, captured in a positive image by the camera. Reiko(Nanako Matsushima) asks about the cursed video tape. The group of schoolgirls talk about the urban rumor regarding the VHS tape. In contrast to the negative image image of Tomoko, a positive image of a young girl fills the frame. This time the camera is controlled by a human force, Reiko, who is reporting on the urban tale of the cursed VHS tape. Though the news segment she’s filming appears to be some small news, the introduction alerts us that this otherwise innocuous sounding gossip is anything but.
This dichotomy between film and the reality it frames and captures is doubled down in the next scene which follows our protagonist Reiko (Nanako Matsushima), a news reporter, as she interviews young schoolgirls about the rumors swirling around the cursed tape. In contrast to Tomoko’s spectral encounter whereby reality gave way to negative photographic capture, Reiko’s news report transforms reality into positive photographic capture. In her case, she films to get footage for a news report which calls to question what the negative image and the cursed VHS tape are being/have been produced for. A matrix is made present through the juxtapositions of images caught between the planes of the living and the otherworld.
Yōichi(Rikiya Ōtaka) sits facing the television, waiting for Reiko to come back home. Yōichi(Rikiya Ōtaka) helps zip up Reiko’s (Nanako Matsushima) dress in preparation for his cousin’s funeral. His questions about why his cousin died are answered in unsatisfying fashion. Reiko leaves Yōichi with his grandfather. Yōichi’s cousin is revealed to be Tomoko ( Yûko Takeuchi), the young woman who saw the tape at the start of the film. Yōichi(Rikiya Ōtaka) sees what appears to be Tomoko running up the stairs. The lighting switches from dark to light momentarily as a young girl, presumably Tomoko, runs up the stairs. Yōichi(Rikiya Ōtaka) walks up the stairs which are dark once again. Yōichi is led to Tomoko’s room, the place where the sea became the television. Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) finds Yōichi(Rikiya Ōtaka) in the room and takes him out before anything can transpire. Televisions litter the mise-en-scène, becoming gradually more unsettling as the film continues. When we see Yōichi sitting innocuously by one while waiting for his mother, Reiko, the unit seems benign. However, it ultimately becomes an malevolent force as Yōichi comes face to face with the television which first marked the encounter with the sea qua uncanny. Furthermore, he is led to this encounter by none other than the victim of the tape’s curse, his cousin, Tomoko. The re-appearance of the young woman suggests that the business with the tape is far from being over.
Reiko returns to her abode post interview and is greeted by her son,Yōichi (Rikiya Ōtaka), who helps her get ready for a funeral. While zipping up her dress, Yōichi asks Reiko why his cousin, Tomo-chan, died and if kids die in general – serious issues to deal with, especially when asked by a child. His mother answers both questions matter-of-factly, that is to say in an unsatisfying matter, and brushes off the gravity of his existential distress, telling him instead to keep such thoughts quieter around her sister, Tomo-chan’s mother, as to not distress her. Angst about death is pushed underground in favor of keeping an appearance of peace.
The mother-son pair arrive at Reiko’s sister’s place where Reiko’s father (Katsumi Muramatsu) takes Yōichi aside to give Reiko time to help with the funeral arrangements. It’s at this point Reiko’s journey and the film’s opening intertwine as it’s revealed that Tomo-chan is none other than Tomoko, the first on-screen victim of the cursed VHS tape. Yōichi stares at her picture on the wall longingly. It’s clear that her absence is troubling him.
While he stands at the foot of darkly lit stairs, he suddenly sees a young girl’s feet running up them, the darkness momentarily replaced by light. If Tomoko’s absence brings darkness to his life, then this change in lighting suggests he feels her presence. Is this a psychic vision, manifestation of his loss, or a mixture of both? No answer is given.
Yōichi follows this potential “Tomoko” up the stairs before coming face to face with the television in her bedroom, her apparition now missing. Paranoia builds as the horrors of the opening rear their head more viciously here – a TV, the presence of something supernatural, and someone left all alone. Thankfully, Reiko, who had been looking for Yōichi , finds him alone in the room and whisks him out promptly; the confrontation with the abyss is averted momentarily.
Outside of the house, hosts of schoolgirls stand looking both solemn and uncomfortable. Reiko notices them as she’s getting ready to leave and goes to question them. She naturally gets the girls to open up and explain their concerns without fear of judgement. Like the schoolgirls she interviewed earlier, these girls mention a cursed video tape and confirm that Tomoko and friends of her not only saw the tape while on a trip to Izu but died on the same day in similarly incomprehensible circumstances. Once again, the tape comes up as the source of everything. Now caught at the intersection between her investigative pursuits and family tragedy, Reiko’s dance with the abyss has come. The tape and her are on a collision course with one another.
Footage of two of the victims, who were both discovered dead in a car with no sign of foul play. Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) and her co-worker analyze the footage. The victim’s face is frozen in abject terror. As Reiko analyzes footage of other apparent curse victims, the viewer is drawn into the process of analyzing the minute details of the film. The faces of the victims look frozen as if caught at their most scared.
Drawn by the enigma presented by the situation, Reiko goes to work and begins investigating the deaths of Tomoko’s friends, analyzing the footage documenting the discovery of two of their deaths. One of their faces, that of a young girl, is frozen in abject terror as if scared beyond comprehensible limits. The moment is demarcated and framed, captured in a moment to be investigated, replayed, and reinterpreted. Photography captures the present and transforms into a discretized unit of time, capable of being reactivated with new perspectives.
An gust with no apparent source helps Reiko notice a note. Reiko’s (Nanako Matsushima) sister (Kiriko Shimizu) comes into the room unnoticed and struggles to describe how Tomoko died. Tomoko’s (Yûko Takeuichi) body lays crumpled in her closet. Tomoko’s ( Yûko Takeuichi) face is contorted into absolute terror like her classmates who died. Tomoko’s face matches the face of the other victims of the tape calling to question what exactly could be so terrifying that people would die with an expression of utter terror on their face. Reiko is headed on the course to find out as the force responsible for these deaths seems to edge her towards finding it, pointing out Tomoko’s note in an effort to lure the reporter.
While the mechanics of how the students died remains a mystery to Reiko, the confirmation that the entire group died around the same time as Tomoko drives her towards investigating her family connection more stringently. She goes to her sister’s house and investigates Tomoko’s room. Initially unable to notice anything, she discovers a folded piece of paper as it’s brought to her attention by an unseen presence, a small wind with seemingly no in-room source which moves the note. Written inside is a date along with the name of a photo processing store. It seems that Tomoko’s’ vacation pictures from Izu have yet to be picked up – a new clue for Reiko to follow.
Just as Reiko turns to leave the room, her sister shows up from behind, expressing a demonstrable trauma in the shattered look on her face. The latter looks at Tomoko’s closet and finds herself unable to describe the manner in which she found her daughter’s corpse. Instead, the film shows us this horrific discovery flashback. The closet door opens and Tomoko’s body is shown crumpled in a corner, her face frozen in the same terrifying manner as her similarly deceased friend. Both girls look scared to death, their faces trapped in absolute horror.
The photos of Tomoko and her friends appear normal. Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) looks at the photographs and seems relieved. By a certain date, the images become distorted. The students’ faces are now warped and indiscernible. The plot thickens as the photographs of Tomoko and her friends look markedly different before and after a certain date. Their faces go from joyous and jovial to distorted and indiscernible, as though something is effacing the camera’s ability to directly capture their images. It’s like an unseen filter clouds the camera’s eyes – another spectral technological event.
Later at the photography store, Reiko discovers that the photographs of Tomoko and her friends have a marked difference before and after a date in time. While their early photos in Izu are marked with smiling faces and cheery dispositions, the latter photos are marked by distortion and disturbances. Once again, technology has been rendered uncanny from a previously domestic state; an unseen force returns and inhabits the technology which formerly worked as tool for the living and turns it into a tool for the spectral. Happy faces become distorted, but we know they’ll end up breaking into a blood-chilling terror that will remain forevermore etched onto the faces of the victims. But the cause of this metaphysical transformation is still to be discovered and Reiko is determined to get to the bottom of it.
Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) sends Yōichi to school, choosing, once again, to not answer his questions. Instead, she chooses to go to Izu to investigate the cursed tape. A visual marker with the time and date along with a strange aural cue come up on the screen as she makes this choice, marking the occasion. Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) is unable to find anything in the cabin the students rented sans a notebook that guests can write in. As she flips the pages, she comes upon a drawing of a child and their parents with a statement indicating that a child’s traits are a result of their parents’ traits. Reiko scans the tapes that customers can borrow. An umarked VHS tape takes control of the frame, giving it a grainy filter similar to the pixels of a television screen. Like the gust of wind from earlier, a presence is calling Reiko. Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) puts the television on. Reiko (Nanako Matsushima) prepares herself for the tape to start. Reiko’s confrontation with the tape is marked by increasing intrusions, first in the form of a textual and auditory marker signifying the date and then by the cursed tape itself which applies a grainy filter to the image. Far from just being an object in the plot, the tape seems to exude control over non-diegetic elements and choices in the story.
The next day comes and Reiko prepares to trek to Izu in order to find more pertinent information. While she cooks food for Yōichi to warm up and eat later at night during her absence, he comes up to her and informs her that Tomoko watched the curse tape. Obviously upset that her son has knowledge of such matters, she asks him where he learned about such a fact before then beseeching him to not mention the issue at school. Once again, Reiko skirts the uncomfortable topic broached by her son in favor of idyllic appearances that taper over the abyss.
It’s at this point that the date and day of the week- Monday, September 13th – comes onto the screen accompanied by a disconcerting, yet melancholic set of sounds. Like the spectral snapshot taken of Tomoko, this non-diegetic feature becomes open to diegetic possibilities. If a specter took a “photo” of Tomoko, who’s to say it’s not documenting Reiko until she meets a similar fate? Viewed in this way, the text marks the starting date of Reiko’s confrontation with constitutive void hiding at the heart of the tape. This audio-visual interruption dissipates and Reiko departs towards the inn Tomoko and the other students stayed in.
Inside the inn, her attempts at investigation come up nil. There appears to be no hints or clues towards foul play of any sorts. Opposed to any clues, Reiko only manages to find a notebook filled with quotes and drawings from previous guests. A sketch by a child catches her attention. It depicts a obese mother, father, and child figure. Written near the drawing is the child’s declaration that they are fat because their mother and father are fat. Thus, the qualities of the child inhere from the qualities of the parent; if something is found in the former, it is due to something from the latter. Seemingly benign, this observation will come to play a pivotal role in deciphering the assemblage of terrors lying in wait.
At a surface level, films are the children of creator-parents that give birth to them and disseminate them into the world. Choices like framing, editing, sound design, camera movements, and the like are decisions that play a decisive role in determining the genetic make-up of a film and what it “grows” up to be. Given this, Reiko’s upcoming confrontation with the VHS tape will bring to question the nature of its “parent” and the tape qua child’s place in the world.
While questioning the front desk about Tomoko and her friends, Reiko notices an unmarked VHS tape in the rental stack of tapes available for those staying in the inns. The tape calls out to Reiko, directly transforming the film. Its presence forces a close-up and the camera’s filter becomes grainy and textured as if unable to fully contain the presence manifesting in the moment. The pull is enough and Reiko rents it. She takes it back to her cabin. The time has come. Reiko puts the tape in and lets it play.
A view of the clouds from a well. A woman(Masako) brushes her hair in the mirror. A girl(Rie Inō) with hair covering her face The woman(Masako) looks over at the girl. The word “Eruption” erupts through the frame, manifesting in a variety of shapes and sizes. Men crawl and rumble in disorienting fashion. A man with a towel over his head points towards our left. “Sada” appears in an eye which stares at the screen. A well appears. The contents of the cursed video tape prove to offer very little immediate meaning. The montage seems to lack any throughline, but the grainy, ambiguous presentation of each scenario creates a palpable unease.
The tape and the film become one as the viewer and Reiko view the cursed footage from the same proximity, that of minimal distance. A view from a well cuts to a mirror’s reflection of a woman brushing hair. Another mirrored reflection, this time from framed on the right of the screen instead of the left, comes in momentarily, depicting a young woman with hair covering her face. The initial woman’s reflection stares at the other woman before text ruptures the screen. The word “eruption” appears all over. Blurred people crawl along a hillock while the ambient whispers present in the soundscape erupt into what sounds like guttural chanting emanating from an abyss. A man with a towel on his head points towards the left of the frame as sharp noises jolts the auditory precession before an eerie silence takes hold. A blinking eye gazes at the viewer. Letters seemingly appear in the pupil. Finally, a well appears on the screen and the camera lingers as if waiting for a presence. But nothing comes.
Reiko(Nanako Matsushima) notices a specter’s(Rie Inō) reflection on the television. Reiko(Nanako Matsushima) picks up the phone and hears nothing. The clock ticks, announcing her future time of death. The television sits even as Reiko leaves, marking the site of her confrontation with the world beyond. Its presence as a conduit between the worlds is confirmed one and for all. Reiko’s confrontation with the tape, marked by both a visit by a specter along with the dreaded call at the end of it all, confirms that the curse of the tape is real. Far from a tool of humanity, the television set has rendered a site for the immemorial to take hold again, as forces from beyond make their presence felt on the world of the living. The television set sits as though representative of an sinister agency that far exceeds its boxy frame.
Suddenly, the film cuts back from the tape to Reiko watching it, granting the viewer a distance, a mercy it does not extend to Reiko who spots in her reflection against the television screen a specter staring back her. A haunted tape featuring reflections played on a television which becomes a mirror depicting the tapes viewer and creator. The TV set becomes the site where the immemorial clashes with the contemporary – technology serves as a conduit for both the human and non-human and allows the planes to interact with one another.
Right on cue, the phone rings and the doom sets in. Reiko gets no answer on the call, but she as well as the viewer know that her date has been set. Seven days exactly till she meets the same end as her deceased niece. Now the battle has come to head and the textual interlude marking the date – Monday the 13th – and the clock marking the time – a little past 7:05 P.M.- becomes a time of death cast exactly 7 days in the future. Understandably frightened by the encounter, Reiko runs out of the room, but the camera lingers and stays focused on the television, reminding the viewer of who’s currently winning the battle. With the clock ticking against her in the most literal of senses, Reiko is forced to trek back home and call upon the help of her estranged ex-husband, Ryūji (Hiroyuki Sanada), to get to the bottom of the mystery before her untimely demise.
Given its set-up, it’s no wonder that director Hideo Nakata’s Ring legacy has endured since its inception; the film injects the terror of horror as genre into the structure of the film itself, creating a loop wherein the diegetic and non-diegetic elements intertwine with one another, informing each other. At one level the viewer is watching a film about characters watching a film (of sorts) which the viewer also gets to watch. The viewer is then made to analyze the structural choices of this film within the film, as Reiko and Ryūji do minute analyses behind the creator’s choices to figure out how to unravel. Simultaneously, the structure of Ring proper- it’s editing choices, freeze frames, textual interludes describing the day, and the like – gives the film a feeling of returning on itself. It’s as if a film is being made from within the film about a film – a circuit whereby the spectral and the technological intertwine with one another in a constantly shifting dance of meaning. The same questions and methods of analyses used on the cursed footage leaks over to the film proper, begging the question of where the VHS tape ends and where the film begins.
Ring constantly seeks to probe this sense of discomfort via its demonstration of how same channels humans use to communicate with one another can give to an unhuman force. Phones which help connect family members across geographical boundaries now connect the spectral and corporeal, rendering the boundaries between the human and nonhuman bare. Televisions which provide entertainment and a respite from the drudgery of the day became channels by which the other world can reach out and curse the living. Technology becomes a marker of the trace between humanity and its attempt at demarcating itself against. No one is safe…not even the viewer who is subject to the same “cursed” footage that victims and Reiko have seen. It becomes clear that if such a phenomenon were to occur in our world, we’d be just as doomed, just as trapped as Reiko. We watched the tape too. Thus, spectral intrusion is demonstrated to be as insidious as it is terrifying. It can’t be taken seriously until it’s too late.
Not since Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom, a film about a serial killer who kills women and photographs their contorted dying expressions, has a film so brilliantly captured the perversity inherent in photography and the way it captures the subject within its frame. Despite utilizing a different sub-genre as vantage point, supernatural and cosmic over slasher, Ring manages to traverse into the same uncanny territories Peeping Tom does in revealing the terrors inherent within humanity. The films’ shared focus on capturing dying expressions is a result of their investigative focuses: the liminal point at which humanity renders unto itself unhumanity.
This is why Ring is and will always continue to remain eerie, if not outright terrifying, long after the age of VHS tapes. It preys on the terrors lying at the heart of the horror genre – the peripheries and vestiges of that uncanny which we feel in our mythos and the world around us but can’t even pinpoint. It takes the act of viewing horror media itself as the basis of its investigation, forcing the viewer into an intimate encounter with the subject matter. Nakata’s film is demonstration that fear is a result not of loid noises or shocking violence but of making the viewer investigate the difference between reality and the abyss that seems to follow it.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
While Ring‘s legacy is more so remembered today for its impact in making J-Horror a global phenomenon both in terms of exports and westernized remakes, it goes without saying that the film itself a bona fide horror classic of the highest caliber. Hideo Nakata’s disturbing investigation into the ways technology renders the world from beyond to investigate with the world we inhabit is not only eerie in the way it renders some of our most used tools (televisions, phones) conduits for the supernatural but also reaffirms the power of the horror film and its ability to force encounters with the uncanny. By focusing the film on the power of horror film itself and taking those ideas to the extreme, Nakata is able to deeply unsettle and render even the medium the movie is playing on disturbing. It’s no wonder then that so many people find it hard to watch their television after watching this film. It’s hard to take the screen as trustworthy ever again.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Adrienne King as Alice Peter Brouwer as Steve Laurie Bartram as Brenda Kevin Bacon as Jack Mark Nelson as Ned Jeannine Taylor as Marcie Robbi Morgan as Annie
The full moon appears. The campers sing at Camp Crystal Lake in 1958. Campers gather around the campfire while singing. A POV shot through the the children’s cabins.The moon gains prominence. A young couple starts to make love while being watched by an outside party. The couple is killed. The camera freezes the frame on the victims face, pushes into it, and then fades to white. The title screen breaks through the glass along with score. The opening scene evokes shades of John Carpenter’s Halloween. A POV camera stands in for a killer who murders a couple after they’ve begun to intimate as the track whispers “ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma” in the background to the swell of an orchestra. It’s effective, to the point, and a perfect encapsulation of what the movie is about.
Clouds go over the full moon as the camera tracks down from the celestial object to a campground, Camp Crystal Lake. The year is 1958. People inside one of the cabins sing a cheery camp song. The film cuts away to an POV shot. It’s subject wades through the campground and looks at the children. Meanwhile, the cheery diegetic track gives way to a more foreboding non-diegetic set of orchestral noises accompanying a whisper-like chant: “ki-ki-ki-ma-ma ma”. The film cuts back to the cabin where the cheery song is being sang and the ominous track dissipates for a moment.
After the singing is done, two of the camp counselors sneak off to enjoy the indiscretions of youth. A close-up of the foreboding moon comes up for a brief moment before the film cuts back to the couple as they vacate to a empty cabin and go upstairs to enjoy more sensual pleasures. However, just as they start getting intimate, the film cuts back to the POV shot and its subject. The non-diegetic chant comes back in and continues to increase in intensity. Suddenly, the subject is face to face with the couple who realizes they’re being watched. The two of them get up and make some excuses to the figure – clearly someone they both know. However, the subject slashes and kills both of them. The camera pushes in on the final victim’s face, cementing the expression of fear before the screen dissolves into an intense flash of white light; the title card shoots forward and breaks the glass screen.
Now, the year is 1980 and the story picks up on a group of camp counselors who have been hired by the owner of the Camp Crystal Lake campground, Steve (Peter Brouwer) to help him with his attempt at re-opening the location. As each of the youthful characters makes their way towards the camp, they run into locals who inform them of site and its terrifying reputation. The townspeople try and warn the new counselors of previous incidents at the camp like a drowning in 1957 and the murders of 1958 to get the youthful bunch to quit, but the youngsters refuse and set-up shop at camp with Steve, getting the campsite ready for a grand re-opening. Unfortunately for them, the movie’s opening moments has informed the viewer of the threat of murderer, so the seeds for the carnage are now allowed to bloom.
If the structure of the opening feels familiar, it’s because the movie intentionally emulates the footsteps of John Carpenter’s seminal classic, Halloween. There’s a scene of conjugal innocence interrupted by a killer whose point-of-view becomes the camera’s view. There’s an iconic theme and music profile associated with the terror; composer Harry Manfredini’s “ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma” whisper replaces John Carpenter’s terrorizing synths. This is all intentional; director Sean Cunningham and screen-writer Victor Miller wrote the film explicitly to ride on Halloween’s success and capitalize on what they thought were its strong points for as cheap as possible. [1]Kennedy, M. (2019, December 7). How Halloween directly inspired Friday the 13th. ScreenRant. Retrieved October 2, 2021, from https://screenrant.com/halloween-movie-inspired-friday-the-13th-franchise/.
However, it’s precisely where the movie openings diverge from one another where the issues effecting Friday the 13th can be made clear. Halloween ends its opening sequence by revealing that its killer is a young boy, Michael, shocking the audience and setting it’s story’s dark tone. The film’s use of the P.O.V shot disguises the identity of the killer but reveals their modus operandi and points of focus. However, once the initial act of murder is done, the P.O.V shot is flipped to a traditional view of the subject and the viewer is aghast and made aware that the killer is not normal and is out of synch with the “morally righteous” world. Because the killer is treated as a heinous monster the film is able to focus less on developing their character; through just their screen presence, the killings are made terrifying enough and the tension stems from following the victims that have to deal with the killer who is beyond any reason or comprehension. This creates multiple points of interest and tension.
But Friday the 13th treats the identity of its killer as the driving force of the narrative, generating tension from the possibility of the killer being any of the characters. Yet, because the story gives no clues about the nature of the identity of the killer till late into the third act when the reveal is all but inevitable and also doesn’t make any of the victims interesting in their own right outside of being possible red herrings, there’s absolutely no narrative momentum. Given the movie’s release context and the nature of its killer, it makes sense that Miller wanted to ensure there was no chance the killer’s identity would be revealed. However, because the focus is so stringent on maintaining “perfect” mystery until the moment of the reveal, there’s no reason to care about the movie, sans bits of gory fun, until that moment happens. Naturally, this puts the brunt of the thematic and emotional weight of the narrative on the killer’s reveal and reasoning for acting as they did, but Friday the 13th’s set-up is convoluted to say the least and does not spend nearly enough time laying the seeds for these revelations to feel earned.
Even within the context of the violence, there’s no effort made at establishing any kind of clues regarding the killer’s psychological profile. While Halloween spends little time characterizing its killer, it does relish in showing off its killers macabre decisions to give the viewer room to think about the nature of the killer’s thoughts; there’s an unease generated by trying to and and eventually making sense of the grim choices being made. Friday the 13th doesn’t even try to show personality behind the butchering; while the nature of the kills sequences are all creative by the standards of the time, there’s no connective tissue between them that would lead even a diligent viewer to gleam any meaningful information about the killer’s identity or reasoning for acting in the way they do.
This means the movie, up till the killers reveal, is functionally irrelevant character interaction and nicely put together gore sequences. No character, sans the killer, has a motivation that the viewer can latch onto as a reason to root for anyone through their trials and tribulations. While the group of “protagonists”, though calling them that feels like a stretch in itself, is generally likable, nothing inventive or fruitful ever happens because of or between the characters to distinguish them in meaningful fashion. Unfortunately, this makes the murderous moments ones with low stakes and subsequently renders the characters’ deaths as nothing more than beautiful bits of carnage candy.
But even without stakes, delightful gore with no narrative fat is certainly appealing, depending on the viewer, in its own right and that’s what Friday the 13th excels at delivering. The characters become blood-soaked paintbrushes in makeup designerTom Savini’s hands, conjuring up visions of the macabre and grotesque. Cunningham relishes in the sensuality of the violence and setting up the bodies in cruel and tragic fashion. This effect is accentuated because the movie only shows a few of the murders; selective moments of mutilation engender a matrix of fear which makes the reveal of other bodies all the worse. Because the moments of brutality are incorporated selectively, they actually manage to be shocking. This is why in spite of being light on plot, the film still manages to unnerve. While the characters may not be all that relatable, the way their bodies are violated certainly makes one a bit squeamish concerning their own flesh. It’s no wonder then that in spite of its own inception as a Halloween clone, Friday the 13th has managed to leave its own indelible mark on the slasher genre, demonstrating that good enough gore can make up for a lot.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Friday the 13th functions more as a vehicle for slaughter than a deeper foray into the human condition, providing the audience little more than momentarily evocative carnage candy until the explosive reveal of the killer’s true identity and motivations. Though there’s little subtext and the mystery driving the heart of the story is unfairly withheld from the audience until its reveal, the ride the movie takes viewers is fun even decades after its initial release in theatres. For those fans looking for quick, brisk, and to the point slasher-fare, Friday the 13th more than holds up.
Rating
7.4/10
Grade
C+
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Based on a true story text. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) is tucked away within frames in the frame. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) is lost in thought. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) turns to answer the landlady. The landlady (Dee Wallace) wants Samantha to take the apartment. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) stares down at the place’s listing. The price is out of her range. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) walks back to her dorm room as the title card drops. The opening sets the tone with its healthy sprinkle of 70’s and 80’s horror homages and references to the Satanic Panic gripping the times. The milieu sets expectations, so we know what to expect. Samantha’s good luck is going to very quickly run out.
The film opens with text claiming that it’s based on a true story regarding the Satanic Panic of the 80’s. The text fades to black which then fades into to a view of a room. A young woman, Samantha (Joceline Donahue), can be seen framed by a set of doorways and shadows; she’s tucked away within the space. The camera slowly zooms in to get a better perspective of her; she’s lost in thought and the long zoom only exemplifies the intensity of her deliberation.
Suddenly, an older woman (Dee Wallace) approaches Samantha from behind and asks the latter if she enjoys the apartment unit. Samantha snaps back to reality, turns around, and claims it’s perfect. The landlady is enthused by the response. She claims that she didn’t like another applicant who seemed like trouble and would rather Samantha, someone who reminds her of her own good-natured daughter, move into the location instead.
But while the residence appears to be perfect, it’s clear there’s an issue. Samantha gazes apprehensively at the listing’s price and the reason for her earlier indecision simultaneously becomes apparent: she doesn’t have the funds needed to afford the location. When she mentions her financial struggles, the landlady decides to waive some initial fees and put off the first payment; helping out a daughter surrogate matters more than making a higher profit. With some financial wiggle room, Samantha hops off to her dorm room.
While she traverses, the opening sequence proceeds in gusto with loud yellow credits, diegetic music introduced by Samantha’s Walkman, and a few freeze frame shots. If the opening’s “true story” homage to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Amityville Horror wasn’t enough, this sequence makes the 70’s/80’s horror milieu that the film is placing itself within clear and sets expectations of where the story is going to go, cueing the viewer to focus in on the smaller details on the journey as opposed to its destination.
Samantha (Jocelin Donahue)sees a sock on her door. A babysitter ad is surrounded by notices about an upcoming eclipse. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) takes the first slip with a callback number for the ad. The add uses the “$” symbol as a replacement for “S”.With an awful living situation in her dormitory, it’s no wonder that Samantha is desperate to escape. Getting money to leave is the only thing that’s on her mind which is why a babysitting ad provides to be so tantalizing.
But at the end of her trek, Samantha sees a sock hanging on her door, a telltale sign that her roommate (Heather Robb) has the room occupied for carnal purposes. Frustrated, she knocks on the door and reminds her roommate that it’s morning, implying that the latter’s “adventure” has been ongoing since the night and has prevented Samantha from being able to enter her own living area. What should have been her private reprieve from the world becomes an uninhabitable space occupied by antagonistic “others”.
Unwilling to walk in and deal with her roommate and her roommate’s partner in the nude, Samantha walks off and leaves the dormitory. She passes by a bulletin board plastered with flyers: in the center is an ad for a babysitter job and surrounding it are calls to join in watching an upcoming eclipse. The camera lingers on the board with the ad positioned center-frame even after Samantha passes by it highlighting the importance of what it conveys.
Then, Samantha walks back into frame and re-reads the babysitting ad. She checks around to make sure no one’s watching her and takes the first of the slips containing the number to call. She leaves the frame and the camera zooms in on the ad, emphasizing that the “S” in “Sitter” is written with a “$” symbol; Samantha’s desperate desire to find a new residence necessitates a quick stream of cash and that’s all she can focus on now.
Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) calls the number. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) wallks away from the phone. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) responds to the caller. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) stares suspiciously at the phone. The paranoia sets in as Samantha experiences a strange phenomena with a public phone. She calls the number on the ad but gets no response, so she leaves a message with a proper call-back number. Yet, as soon as she begins to leave the area, the public phone begins to ring. Somehow, the client managed to track down which public phone Samantha was using and call it all well under a minute. The feeling of being watched becomes palpable as Samantha looks back at the phone as if anticipating a presence to be lurking.
She gets to a payphone and calls the number only to hear the answering machine; she leaves her name and number and asks for a callback if the opportunity is still available. The camera stays in place as she walks off, framing both her and the phone against one another; the visual importance given to the inanimate object generates a slight unease.
But then the phone starts to ring. Samantha is as surprised as us and walks back to receive the seemingly impossible call. Accordingly, she asks the caller, who is revealed to be the babysitter client, how they got the payphone number and called it; the sequence of events implies that someone had to have been watching her put the call in to call back the phone quickly enough so that she would be able to hear it and pick it up. Yet, the client sidesteps the question and presses on with the opportunity, ascertaining if Samantha is still interested. She quickly pivots; money is more important than strange coincidences and she can’t afford to question a gig offering a nice payout.
The caller asks to meet at a building in the university and Samantha agrees. She walks away from the phone again and the composition from earlier is replicated. This time, she turns around and looks at the phone quizzingly. The strangeness of the call still lingers on her mind.
Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) hesitates before opening the door. Samantha wades through a minefield of clothes. Her roommate’s partner hits on her. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) waits in front of the student building. A dissolve of Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) waiting. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) decides to leave. The empty building fades to a sign of……the Eclipse PieSamantha (Jocelin Donahue) vents to Megan (Greta Gerwig)Even when Samantha can get into her room, she isn’t allowed to rest as she’s immediately accosted by her roommate’s lover of the day. Desperate to get out of the location, but immediately and in the long run, she waits for a long time for the client to come and meet her to no avail. She expresses her frustrations about her situation to her friend later that day all while the upcoming eclipse lingers in the backdrop.
She treks back to her room and sees the sock removed from the door knob. She hesitates for a moment, accepts the possibility of walking on her roommate having sex, and then opens the door to go in. Yet, what she enters into isn’t that much better. Her roommate’s side of the room is absolutely filthy with clothes littering the floor. After traversing the cloth minefield, Samantha tries to pack her bag but is promptly hit on by her roommate’s partner. It’s no wonder why she wants to leave as soon as possible.
Yet, things only proceed to get more frustrating for Samantha as she waits for her caller to approach. Even though she puts her Walkman on, the music is barely audible; she can barely focus on it in preparation for what’s to come. A dissolve showcases time passing her by. When she realizes that in the time she’s waited an entire class has finished, she decides to abandon the endeavor. The disappointing scene dissolves into a sign for “Eclipse Pie” – another mention of the eclipse.
It’s at this restaurant where Samantha finally divulges the frustrations building up in her up to the point to her best friend Megan (Greta Gerwig). Her fears about not having the money to get to a place she can call home swell up and threaten to burst. The babysitter job was the perfect opportunity to get cash quickly and under the table.
Megan tries to lift Samantha’s spirits up. First, she assures Megan that the latter will be taken care of if she can’t find any money. Megan comes from a family of wealth and at the very least will help her friend with a place to stay. Second, she highlights that the job could have been awful: “the kid could be from hell.” This call-back to the opening text’s mention of “Satanic cults” adds to the unease surrounding the situation. Perhaps, it’s a good thing Samantha didn’t get the job.
When Megan offers to help Samantha get revenge by finding and tearing down all the potential babysitter ads put up by the no-show client to ensure that no one responds to their call, there’s a part of us that wants Samantha to agree and prevent the seeming inevitability. However, Samantha, the upstanding girl the landlady characterized her to be, refuses her friend’s offer to retaliate and goes back to her room to figure out what to do.
Samantha tries to get a moment’s rest. The faucets cover up the noise of Samantha crying. Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) is frustrated in the stall. The water swirls around the drain, accumulating faster than it can be removed. The sound of water from the faucets covers up the sounds of Samantha’s frustrations while making the weight of her misery apparent: her problems are piling up faster than she can possibly get rid of them.
Unfortunately, while her roommate’s nighttime visitor is now gone, her roommate is still very much present and her constant snoring makes catching even a moment’s rest impossible. Samantha seldom places her head on a pillow before giving up and going to the bathroom. She flips all the faucets on. The noise generated by the streams covers the sounds of her crying. She’s isolated in the bathroom stall and the seemingly insurmountable pressure she feels is perfectly encapsulated by the image of the drain in the sink overflowing with water from a never-ending tap.
Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) writes down the Ulman address. The moon begins to get covered in shadows. Megan (Greta Gerwig) and Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) drive to the residence. The cemetery lingers. The camera lingers on the front door. An unseen man opens the door for Megan (Greta Gerwig) and Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) . When the babysitter opportunity presents itself again, Samantha immediately decides to give it a shot. The eclipse takes a bigger prominence as a shot of the moon is shown after her decision is made. Her journey to the residence amplifies the feeling of unease as the camera lingers on a cemetery and withholds as much information about what she’s walking into as possible.
But back in the room, Samantha is greeted with unexpected news from her roommate who informs her that someone called and left a message regarding a babysitter job. Immediately, Samantha jumps on the opportunity, gets the number, and calls the client once more. She quickly forgives his excuse for not coming: he had a hectic morning and found himself unable to come. He mentions that he had another sitter lined up but they backed out and gave him trouble and thanks Samantha for calling back in spite of his treatment of her. Just like with the landlady, it appears that the upstanding Samantha is here to save the day and take the place of another deviant woman.
He asks her to come in for the night and babysit till a little after midnight in exchange for double the rate of pay. With no hesitation, Samantha agrees and calls up Megan for a ride. The film cuts to a shot of the moon, a reminder of the coming eclipse, as Samantha gets into Megan’s car. During their long drive up to the client’s household. Megan admits that she took down all the ads she could find; Samantha realizes that her opportunity was a result of this interference as the client had no one else to reach out to. Megan, for all intents and purposes, got Samantha her position for the night.
This revelation is accompanied by a lingering shot of a cemetery the girls drive by – a sign of things to come. The cemetery dissolves to a shot of the girls finally making it to the house. They get out and make their way to the front door and knock. A long zoom on the door handle raises the stakes on what’s to follow, creating an anticipation to discover the truth behind the job opportunity. The door opens and the girls look up as a pair of long arms extends out to greet them; the client’s face is withheld from the frame and the viewer amplifying the mystery and beckoning both the viewer and the girls to discover what lies in wait. But as the night goes on, Samantha finds herself embroiled in a dark mystery that threatens to completely destroy her life.
While the nature of the mystery, presaged by the film’s opening text and multiple subsequent clues, offers little in the way of genuine surprise, it gives director Ti West the perfect backdrop to explore the anxieties of the time and present an almost mythological depiction of the horrors associated with the respective culture shift. Like the films whose styles it pays homage to, The House of the Devil uses the literal struggle its protagonist undergoes to identify the stakes of the culture war of the era, revealing that the true horror of the “other” side stems not from their perverse desires but from the way those desires seem to mirror and pervert traditional desires.
Samantha’s journey seems to be a slow one, but its meticulous construction gives West ample time to set up her archetypal innocence and establish threats, unseen to her but visible to us, which bubble underneath the surface until the final few minutes of the film where the violence finally erupts. It’s when the struggle finally comes to its climax that the cinematography shifts from the slow and meticulous to the rapidly shifting and handheld, reflecting the transitional state resulting from the horrific conflict. When the dust finally settles, the camera regains its composure and documents the aftermath of the battle, tying the thematic and narrative strands up in a nice, neat, mortifying package
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The House of the Devil perfectly encapsulates the best qualities of 70’s and 80’s horror films, capitalizing on cultural anxieties to elevate macabre sequences into terrifying nightmares. This is a Satanic Panic story that simmers in wait until just the right moment before bursting into a bloody hellscape that no fan of horror should miss.
Rating
10/10
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 .
This year I’ll be watching 31 horror movies- 1 for each day in October. I haven’t watched most of these movies or don’t remember watching them because I was too young to comprehend them at the time, so most of my thoughts to them will be pretty raw.
After watching and thinking about the movies, I’ll be posting my review/thoughts up on here. I’d love it if you left your feedback and experiences as well. Or if you want to lurk and follow along- that’s cool too. The more the merrier.
NOTE(10/3/19): I might move movies around, but if I do, the list below will be updated to reflect the change. The movies themselves will not change, however.
NOTE (10/28/19): After a few friends of mine pointed out that Joker is not officially categorized as a horror on any mainstream sites like Wikipedia , I’ve decided to add a bonus horror movie as a substitute. I do think the Joker movie is a horror and will address that concern later, but I think the arguments against it are decent enough to warrant a bonus movie. As such I will be watching Hell House LLC for a bonus 32nd movie.
The Selection Process
Most movies were picked off of the Dreadit Movie Guide. I usually watch a lot of supernatural movies and shy away from anything that has even a little bit of gore which is why I tried to “face my fears” on this list and add them on . I also wanted a bit of variety which is why there’s a healthy mix of sub-genres. I wish I could add more foreign films – goals for next year.
