A message comes in. It’s transmitted to the Dark Star.A man (Miles Watkins) from Central Command communicates. From the very start, communication is revealed to be something that can be compartmentalized and commodified. The bureaucratic machine can turn a profit but can’t do anything to help.
A red screen takes center frame. A message meant for the ship “Dark Star” begins to play. A man (Miles Watkins) from Mission Control informs the ship’s crew that the message they previously sent took near 10 years to get transmitted back to Earth where it was broadcast to rave reviews. He smirks and asks the crew to send increase the pace of the messages sent, a redundant gesture given aforementioned temporal delays.
But to add insult to injury, he proceeds to inform them that their request for mechanical assistance to deal with a radiation leak has been declined due to the same distance issues; sending up tools to their location is financially infeasible. Thus, communication is rendered nothing more than a product, losing its function as connective tool. The crew’s messages are nothing more than nicely packaged goods meant to be consumed as entertainment by the public on prime-time instead of as genuine requests for assistance meant to be acted on. They make profit but are awarded none of its spoils. The communicative farce brings to a close as the man gleefully tells the crew they’ll make do in spite of the difficulties.
The Dark Star ship flies into frame. The crew presses buttons. Pinback (Dan O’Bannon) converses with the bomb. The bomb responds. The film’s budget becomes apparent from the very start but the major beats of the story are never unclear.
Director John Carpenter’s electronic synth score plays, generating a propulsive energy as the ship appears on screen flying towards a planet. We get a view of the crew; one member – Talby (Dre Pahich) stays at the top of the ship while another 3 members – Doolittle (Brian Narelle), Pinback (Dan O’Bannon), Boiler (Cal Kuniholm) – work in a chamber of sorts. The group work in tandem to drop a bomb from their ship.
Pinback (Dan O’Bannon) proceeds to engage in cordial conversation with the bomb to set it up for its upcoming drop and Carpenter employs the traditional shot-reverse-shot between Pinback and the bomb itself, elevating the artificial intelligence qua tool of destruction to a similar agential field as the crew proper. The bomb is released and the crew engages in hyperdrive to get out of the area before the explosion goes off.
The Dark Star moves towards the vanishing point. A planet follows. The Dark Star moves towards the camera. The stars begin to move…… and break into streaks of different colored lights. The Dark Star travels through the light streams. The crew braces for immpact. A report about of the destruction .The ship is far away from the explosion. Quick cuts, references to science fiction milieu, and a sense of forward momentum within the frame help Carpenter showcase a hyperdrive sequence that’s effective in spite of the budgetary limitations in play.
Carpenter deftly conveys the effects of such a maneuver in spite of obvious budgetary limitations. The ship quickly “moves” forward into the screen and disappears into a vanishing point created by the movement. A planet emulates the ship’s motion and disappears in a similar fashion. Then, the ship is seen approaching the frame from its front-side, and it comes into the frame before the screen cuts to a view of the stars.
The series of cuts up to now have generated a forward momentum within the frame and the stars begin to blur into streaks of multiple different colors. Another cut reveals the ship flying past a host of streaking colors, demonstrating the intensity of the ship’s speed.
The green lights in the chamber accentuate the intensity of the event before we cut to a screen read-out charting the explosion’s success. The final shot highlights the ship in the foreground and explosion in the background and makes the distance travelled more apparent.
Each part of this sequence is low-tech and has the propensity to feel jarring in its own right, but Carpenter knows exactly how to use them in tandem to present a convincing sequence of the crew successfully accomplishing their mission: they bomb uninhabited areas which may impede future human colonization.
The ship’s computer congratulates the crew on a nice bomb run before they set out to their next mission location. Boiler locates a 95% probability of intelligent life in one sector and asks Pinback if they should head out there; the latter scoffs at the suggestion and reminds the group that when Powell led them to find life during his tenure as ship leader, they only discovered a mindless balloon-like creature that they could do nothing meaningful with; bomb runs have proven to be more productive uses of time. This cynical move to prioritize destruction over preservation extends the farcical nature of the initial transmission sent to the ship: in a world where communication is a compartmentalized product instead of connective force, there’s no reason to prioritize incorporating more voices into one’s discursive sphere.
Thus, the crew continues on their merry way: they ignore all signs of life, plot out the destruction of planets which may impede a future humanity’s evolution, and send communications doomed to receive no meaningful responses back to this same humanity. Carpenter and screen-writer Dan O’Bannon tap into darkly comedic, misanthropic stylings of Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb in the way they navigate communicative failure and humanity’s drive towards violence but cross it against a futuristic milieu which pays homage to Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, namely in the way it uses artificial intelligence as a way to define and tease out the parameters of humanity and its tendencies.
By using two of Kubrick’s masterpieces as spring-boards for Dark Star, Carpenter and O’Bannon give what started out as a student-film enough momentum to work as a feature-length film[1]IMDb.com. (n.d.). Dark star. IMDb. Retrieved July 11, 2022, from https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0069945/trivia/?ref_=tt_trv_trv. The film spends its run-time constantly demonstrating the way communication operates and breaks apart on the ship: the crew-members avoid talking to one another in favor of recording their messages for record-keeping or transmission while the most talkative parties end up being the ship’s main computer and the bombs themselves. By primarily orienting the film around screens and non-human entities, Carpenter is able to create effective set-pieces that expand on the themes without the need for grandiose visuals.
Unfortunately, the gaps made by stretching out the narrative’s running-time are large and frequent enough to seriously dampen the pacing, drawing a negative attention to the film’s sparsity. Communicative efforts between the characters, which already hinge on a dry, wit that may not work for many viewers, often devolve into unclever, insipid moments that feel like run-time extensions, undermining narrative momentum and making the 83-minute film feel like a slog to get through at times.
The intent behind these moments is discernible given the film’s thematic context, but the execution suggests a focus on ensuring the relevant footage exists rather than elevating it with a more intricate build-up. Yet, the thematic intent of the narrative buoys it through its less than memorable moments, culminating in a finale that brings together the film’s best elements in satisfying fashion. Despite being a (very) far cry from his best work, Dark Star serves as a charming calling card for Carpenter’s filmography-to-come, portending the cynical, misanthropic, anti-establishment attitude that will characterize much of it.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
In spite of production issues and limitations, John Carpenters debut film, Dark Star, should provide more than enough laughs for viewers in the mood for a wry, cynical science-fiction feature that asks what life should look like in a world where authentic communication seems inaccessible.
Rating
7.8/10
Grade
B
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Ellen Burstyn as Chris MacNeil Linda Blair as Regan MacNeil Jason Miller as Father/Dr. Damien Karras Max von Sydow as Father Merrin Lee J. Cobb as Lieutenant Kinderman
Release Date
1973
Language(s)
English
Running Time
121 minutes
The title card comes in a deep red font surrounded by black. A black-and-white perspective on the sun rising. The fantasy fades and the hues of the sun overpower the frame.The opening sequence of The Exorcist marks the end of simplistic worldviews; order is broken and the world isn’t a clear cut black-and-white image anymore. The battle begins with a hellish intensity that must be overcome.
The film opens with a bright red title card as the Islamic call to prayer is heard in the background. A grayscale image of a desert is shown before its burning red, orange, and yellow hues dominate the screen. The simplicity of the black-and-white image gives way to a hellish haze that burns the natural environment around it. The world isn’t black-and-white and the battle between good and evil has begun.
Animals walk in the haze of the desert. People dig at a site. Location card indicates we’re in Northern Iraq. Father Merrin (Alex von Sydow) is framed between the legs of a young boy looking up. A series of establishing shots let us know we’re in a desert on a dig site somewhere in Northern Iraq. Despite being shot like a documentary, the establishing shots culminate in a picturesque frame where Father Merrin is trapped in between the legs of a young boy. It’s a sign of strenuous things to come, where he’ll be be starting at a lower vantage point.
We see a series of establishing shots – animals walking through a haze and workers digging up a site – before a location card shows up informing us that we’re in Northern Iraq. The presentation makes us feel like we’re watching a documentary. Eventually the camera comes upon and follows a young boy at the site who runs through the grounds. He stops and we see the subject of his search, an older archaeologist and priest named Father Merrin (Max von Sydow), positioned between his legs looking up. The child informs the priest that that something of interest has been dug up.
Despite the fact that the compositions and camera movements are done in a naturalistic, unassuming manner, director William Friedkin is still able to fill the film with evocative frames like this one to set up the narrative. Merrin is trapped by the child and the announcement. He looks up from a lower position suggesting that what’s to come will be a struggle for him, one in which he will be lowered. The fact that the one giving him the message and demarcating him is a child is not a coincidence; it’s just one small demonstration of one The Exorcist’s major strengths: the ability to portray events in documentary like fashion while retaining full control on what each frame entails in a thematic sense. This is how Friedkin transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
Merrin (Max von Sydow) finds the Medal of St.Joseph.Merrin (Max von Sydow) finds a sculpture of Pazuzu’s head. A lone bird flies through the sun covered frame. Merrin’s (Max von Sydow) hands tremble as he takes his medication. Merrin (Max von Sydow) sees a blacksmith tending to burning fire. The blacksmith looks at Merrin. One of his eyes is clouded in shades of gray.Father Merrin finds both a medal of St.Joseph and a sculpt of Pazuzu’s’, a demon-God, head. This double finding of a sign of good luck and a sign of bad luck will be repeated as a motif throughout the film. After finding both items, we see the sun dominate the frame for a split second as a bird flies through the frame – this creature will show up later. The experience disgruntles Merrin so much that even a simple encounter with a blacksmith becomes elevated.
Merrin walks through the desert towards the location of the aforementioned discovery and finds a medal of St.Joseph. The medal is out of place in the environment, both geographically and chronologically, calling to question how and why it’s present in the area. The film even calls attention to the discrepancy by having the characters mention that such an artifact doesn’t belong in the area. After puzzling over the medal, Merrin starts to dig and comes upon a sculpting. The sound of the wind gets stronger as he brushes the dust off the figure revealing it to be a statue of Pazuzu. [1] While Pazuzu is never mentioned explicitly, it’s clear from the material and discussion on the film that the figure is of Pazuzu. As he stares at the ominous looking head, the sound of buzzing flies becomes more intense.
Once again, the hellish haze of the sun takes control of the screen; this time its presence is brief while it burns not just the desert like before but also a large building in the background; the flames have made their way to civilization. A single bird flies through the frame; the conflict has started to move. The scene dissipates and we cut back to Merrin sitting in a crowded area. It’s clear he’s perturbed by his encounter with Pazuzu as his hands tremble fumbling with his medicine. From the way his eyes glaze out, we know he’s not taking in any of his surroundings; his mind is focused entirely on the presence of malevolence. He gets up and walks through the city before coming upon a blacksmith. The intensity of the flames from their work feels off-putting as they remind us of the intensity of the sun. A simple encounter becomes nefarious as our mind puts the visual cues together; a sub-conscious fear is being laid out.
Insert shot of the clock’s chime. Insert shot of the clock.Insert shot of a recovered statue head. Merrin (Max von Sydow) catalogues his finding. Merrin (Max von Sydow) picks up the Medal of St.Joseph. The clock goes on behind him. Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks at the Medal of St. Joseph. Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks at the head of Pazuzu while being informed it’s a ward against evil. Merrin (Max von Sydow) notices the clock behind him has stopped. Friedkin hides subliminal clues in this establishing montage; seemingly benign insert shots become triggers for a scare in the making. By clueing us in to look at the clocks, not from one but two separate angles, Friedkin manages to get our subconscious hyper-focsed on the clock. This is why it stopping hits as hard. The fact that it happens after a repetition of the double finding motif – Merrin touches both the medal and statue again – helps both techniques reinforce one another. This is how the film weaves psychic chains.
We see another set of establishing shots – a clock chime, a clock head, recovered statues – before revealing Merrin documenting his dig findings. He picks up the medal and looks at it for a brief moment before picking up the head. Another worker in the building notes that the head is a figure of “Evil against Evil.” This mention is not without purpose; Pazuzu is both a demon associated with the evils of the air and a God invoked by people to protect against other more malicious forces. [2]Near eastern antiquities : Mesopotamia. Statuette of the demon Pazuzu with an inscription – Near Eastern Antiquities | Louvre Museum. (n.d.). … Continue reading Thus, we have a symbol of God from a different area juxtaposed against the symbol of a God-Demon from a more local culture being discovered by a Father who is deadly terrified of the latter.
Immediately, the clock behind Merrin stops and our anxieties rise along with him. Because Friedkin disguised the clock parts as part of the establishing shot, our minds were primed to pay attention to the clock without being immediately aware of it. This makes its eventual stoppage more effective because it’s something we’re already thinking about. Friedkin shows us the clock multiple times in a non-innocuous manner, so he conditions us even further to recognize its disparity as off-putting. Combining this with the juxtaposition of the findings amplifies our unease, transforming a small clock pause into a moment of utter panic.
Merrin (Max von Sydow) walks past a group of Muslims praying. A woman looks down at Merrin from above. Merrin (Max von Sydow) walks past two women who are veiled. Merrin (Max von Sydow) is almost hit by a carriage. Even though nothing should be going wrong, we’re primed for the worst to happen. Every point of God is met with a counter-point of bad luck, so after Merrin walks past Muslims praying, we’re expecting something go awry. He walks past a woman looking down on him, just like the child did earlier, which starts the trepidation. After he walks past two women, we’re not even surprised that he’s almost run over. The film constantly generates expectations because of how it repeats itself.
Merrin leaves the establishment as a group of Muslims start to pray – a callback to the call for prayer at the start of the film. Despite being a man of faith, he makes no notice of the group and walks past them. It’s a continuation of the juxtaposition between the figures; orientations towards religions constantly mix and swap in this battle for and of faith. While the anxiety ridden priest makes his way around a corner, the camera cuts to a woman who seems him from up above looking down. The shot itself is nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s inclusion in an already tense movement makes us scared for the elderly priest. The last time someone was looking down on him, the child giving the announcement, he was met with a dark presence.
We cut from the women back down to Merrin who stares down at the ground as he walks past two women. Within seconds of passing them, he is almost ran over by a carriage which approaches from a darkened tunnel. Is this Pazuzu or is it just Merrin’s pre-occupation?
Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks up as a shadow comes over him and a gust of wind threatens to blow off his hat. A statue of Pazuzu is revealed to be above, with the burning sun behind it. Pazuzu and Merrin (Max von Sydow) stare off. A man is revealed to be behind Merrin. Dogs fight in the desert. The camera zooms in on Pazuzu. Pazuzu and Merrin (Max von Sydow) are engaged in battle. Pazuzu and Merrin’s (Max von Sydow) battle dissolves into the red heat of the sun. The heat of the sun covers everything. The heat of the sun dissolves into the cool looking cityscape. The city is revealed to be Georgetown. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) hears some animal noises and goes to investigate. A black-and-white image of her daughter is positioned next to her bed. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) puts on an orange robe and goes to investigate the source of the noise. Regan (Linda Blair) wears yellow pajamas. The window to Regan’s room is open and a gust comes in. The confrontation between Merrin and Pazuzu sets the stage for everything to come and marks one of the greatest movie introductions. The wind and sound of animals are established to be antagonistic forces as their presence makes way while Merrin realizes he’s being stared down on by Pazuzu. Merrin has been set lower by the boy, woman above, and now finally, the demon-God before him. We already know the battle will be brutal. A man behind Merrin reminds us that the entity of Pazuzu is not one of pure evil; Merrin is reacting strongly but a local doesn’t move. The film is establishing sources of ambiguity.
At the same time, the battle dissolves into the harsh sun, tying the battle between Merrin and Pazuzu to the universal breaking of black-and-white morals. This further dissolves into Georgetown, which is bathed in a cool blue. The battle has changed locations.
As Chris moves from her black-and-white photograph of Reagan to Reagan herself, we notice that the mother-daughter duo pair are wearing the colors of the sun. Another movement of black-and-white breaking to the intensity of the solar spectrum. At the same time, the gusts of wind break through Reagan’s window. Another repetition.
An answer is given. Merrin walks down to the dig site and a gust of wind blows threatening to take his hat off. His face is cast in shadows as he looks up. The camera cuts to a statue of Pazuzu looking down upon him, the blinding hot sun appearing right behind the figure. Finally, the confrontation has come to a head. The sounds of dogs fighting and the gusts of wind rage over the soundscape as the two combatants take their stances. The two figures stand apart from each other, Merrin positioned lower looking up, as the scene dissolves into the burning bright sun – a confirmation that the days of a black-and-white world are over. This burning environment dissolves to an establishing shot of Georgetown; the arena of the battle has shifted grounds from Iraq to Washington D.C.
The camera moves from the city to the bedroom of a large mansion. We see Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) writing notes on her bed. On her nightstand is a large black-and-white portrait of her daughter, Regan (Linda Blair). Chris hears loud animal noises coming from her attic and gets up to investigate. She puts on an orange nightgown before checking on Regan, who happens to be asleep in yellow pajamas. The window in Regan’s bedroom is wide open and gusts of wind are blowing through. A black-and-white image that gives way to orange and yellow, gusts of wind, and animal noises are all signs that the conflict we saw in the opening act has made its way here. Once again, Friedkin has managed to tell us what’s going to happen with just the most subtle of elements, using the repetition of visual and auditory cues to highlight the parallels between the evil happenings between both locations.
Extras playing students on the film hold up signs in protests against the Vietnam War, which was hugely unpopular and televised at the time. Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller) laughs in the background as he watches Chris and Burke squabble. The sub-text of the Vietnam war is present but the reasoning for why is never given to the audience. Instead, we’re made aware of its odd placement in the film and then made to laugh at it as to let it float away, to the recesses of our subconscious.
The next day comes and we cut to a film materialized within the film; it turns out Chris is a famous movie actor and is on set filming a movie about the Vietnamese war. Extras on set hold up signs indicative of the counter-culture at the time. The Vietnam war was raging and was immensely unpopular to many college aged students at the time. The war was famous for being the first “televised war” and media reporting at the time made it infamous at large. [3]Spector, R. H. (2016, April 27). The Vietnam War and the Media. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/The-Vietnam-War-and-the-media-2051426.. In particular, it was a time associated with the hippie movement – a group who was known for its opposition to consumerist bourgeois culture and Christianity. [4]Quinn, D. (2019, August 21). The mixed legacy of the 60s hippie movement. The Irish Catholic. https://www.irishcatholic.com/the-mixed-legacy-of-the-60s-hippie-movement/. It’s place in a film about supernatural evil feels out of place. However, this strangeness is called to attention by a crew member who asks the in-movie director, Burke Dennings, if “this scene [is] really essential” and if “[Dennings could] consider on whether or not [the film] can do without it?” Chris then follows up and asks Dennings to explain the student’s motivations for tearing the building down. In both cases, no real answer is given, but the mention of a purpose entices us to give the scene more attention than we would; immediately, we become aware that what we’re about to see has a purpose which allows the sub-text to become imprinted on our psyches.
Dennings ignores the crew member and responds to Chris’s question by reiterating her role. He tells her that as a “teacher at the college, [she] doesn’t want the building torn down.” In exasperation this non-answer , Chris exclaims, “C’mon I can read for Christ’s sake.” – the first verbal mention of Christ in the film – and continues her search for a purpose to the scene. Dennings is still unable to provide a reason and jokes around with Chris about the situation – diffusing it and providing entertainment for the throng of people who have come around the shoot to watch it in action. In the audience is a priest adorned in black, Damien Karras (Jason Miller), who smiles along in excitement at the proceedings. The joke diffuses us as well as it does the proxy audience within the film, causing us to drop our guard again; the lingering questions disappear, leaving only their spectral vestiges behind to accumulate in the the recesses of the mind.
Chris (Ellen Burstyn) mentions God as she tells the students to calm down. The camera picks up on Damien (Jason Miller) as he leaves the crowd. Damien (Jason Miller) leaves as Chris mentions that change has to occur within the system. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) walks past a yellow door as the wind blows Autumn leaves past her. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) walks past a red door as the wind blows Autumn leaves past her. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) smiles at children in Halloween costumes running past her. Chris walks past two Nuns, one of whom is carrying a rosary. Chris ( Ellen Burstyn) sees Damien (Jason Miller) consoling another priest but can’t make out the conversation due to the loud noise of wind displacement. The filming scene does a great job establishing that Chris and Damien’s paths have and will continue to intertwine almost as if fate is pushing them together. We start with Chris, hop to Damien in a crowd of faces, then cut back to Chris who eventually runs back into Damien. It’s a poetic movement; they can’t meet till the time is right.
Chris’s journey back is also a double of Merrin’s journey in Iraq. She walks past red and yellow (the sun), goes past kids in costumes (a symbol of evil against evil) and nuns holding a crucifix (a symbol of the Lord and two veiled women), while the wind blows and “Tubular Bells” play. We know she, like Merrin ,will have to deal with the forces of evil.
Our attention focuses on the scene itself as it begins. Chris, now in character, walks up to the top of the school and tells the students to stop their protests. Once again, she verbally mentions “God” in her exclamations while telling the crowd of extras around her that if they “wanna effect any change [they”] have to do it within the system.” The irony of a wealthy atheist actress playing a teacher working against the counterculture movement while invoking “God” and “the system” is so astoundingly blatant that the fact that Friedkin was able to disguise each element by only subtly drawing a viewer’s attention to it, while simultaneously not compromising the structure of the film proper is proof enough of how textured The Exorcist is at cultivating multifaceted themes. As Chris’s monologue comes to a close, the camera zooms in on a crowd of faces before finding and following the young priest, Karras, as he makes his way to the Church.
The in-movie scene ends and Chris walks back from the set to her mansion. The red, orange, and yellow Autumn leaves around her blow as the wind blows them around her. The iconic theme music, “Tubular Bells” plays, a confirmation to the audience that the sings they’re seeing are a confirmation of the evil that has come to lay siege to the MacNeils. Chris walks by a series of doors, the first of which is yellow and the last of which is red. Children, symbols of innocence, dressed in Halloween costumes run by her. The tradition of wearing costumes on holiday started namely to protect people from evil spirits. Costumes were meant to disguise oneself from evil. Wearing the monsters protected one from monsters – evil against evil. It’s fitting then that the innocent Regan, soon to be possessed, is being affected by Pazuzu of all entities.
Unlike the innocent depictions of costumes on these children, Chris will be forced to deal with the real thing; just like in Iraq, the conflict has started and Chris, just like Father Merrin, will have to come face to face with her nightmares. On the other side of the street, two nun’s walk by. Their presence does not make the sinister soundscape abate. This scene is done in parallel to Merrin’s own walk in the opening; both parties walk by women in veils as evil pursues. Eventually, Chris come to the Church’s gates and sees Father Karras. He starts to talk but both us and Chris are unable to hear as the soundscape is once again interrupted by the sound of the winds. Chris and Karras have not met yet but the seeds for their encounter have been planted.
With this, all the key players have been introduced and The Exorcist can truly begin as Regan MacNeil finds herself in a series of supernatural events that force her mother and self into action in a race to save their lives. The above description of the first 16 minutes is only scratching the surface of the intricate and deeply enigmatic story lying at the heart of the film. Hypnotic suggestions loom around every corner as the movie cuts between sequences in thematic fashion. Consequently, the story’s rythm always feel constant so we’re none the wiser to how much time has passed in between scenes. It’s from these “gaps” that Friedkin puts the mysteries of the film behind. Just like the medal Merrin finds at the start, The Exorcist is littered with minor oddities like repetitions of certain quips and details in the mise en scène like the cover of a magazine that are brought to attention and then pushed to the periphery only to pop up later in the strangest of ways.
Strange cuts and displacements offer an answer one way, while the nature of the narrative suggests others. Based on how a viewer interprets one event, they color the way other events proceed; each of these decisions, culminates in how one processes the ending and subsequently the themes of the movie. Each little detail is placed there with a purpose, waiting to be deciphered in the matrix of meaning afforded by the rich subtext the film employs. The end result is a movie with an infinite permutations of meanings, each justified by an orientation grounded in the film itself.
For example is the film, like Stephen King suggests, about “the entire youth explosion that took place in the late sixties and early seventies”? [5] King, S. (2010). Danse macabre. Gallery.The film-making scene in-movie would certainly be evidence to suggest as much. Or is the film about the way we demonize the Other? The use of Pazuzu as opposed to directly invoking the Devil from the start is a choice made for a reason. These are only a few of the questions the movie allows us to ponder. Every detail, no matter how small it is, presents with it another layer of themes by which to interpret the primary conflict and a set of questions along with them. It’s not an exaggeration to say that one could watch the movie on repeat and come to a different conclusion each time.
Regan (Linda Blair) is shaken by her blue bed while dressed in yellow pajamas. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) talks to Dr. Klein (Barton Heyman) in a blue hallway. Lt. Kidnerman (Lee J. Cobb) accosts Damien (Jason Miller) in front of blue seats.I have to applaud the efforts in production design to ensure such a consistent color scheme. One only has to pause at a important enough juncture to see the scenes bursting in either blues, oranges, reds, and/or yellows depending on the nature of the scene. Whether it be in the architecture or the clothing, the relevant colors are there when they need to be and frequent enough to not feel like coincidence.
This is due, in no small part, to the way Friedkin repeats motifs, making the connections between seemingly disparate moments seem clear if one is looking. The colors red, yellow, and orange are first introduced at the start of the film and represent the spiritual battle. Whenever the colors prop up in the mise en scène, like in the color of the doorways or the characters clothing, we can already tell something is afoot. This is the color of the fight. In contrast, blues envelop the screen whenever a party is attempting to work against the malicious entities. It makes sense from a color theory perspective; in contrast to the heat feeling generated by the sun’s gradient, the cool and calm feeling of the blues feel like a natural response. Likewise, wind makes its presence apparent preceding scenes of terror, reinforcing Pazuzu’s dominion and area of reach. Animal noises like growls and barks creep into the soundscape reminding us of the buzz of the flies and the fighting of the dogs in Iraq while “Tubular Bells” all but confirms the sinister is going to happen when it turns up.
Damien (Jason Miller) tells Tom (Thomas Bermingham) that he, Damien, has lost his faith. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) hears animal noises from above. Ellen (Chris Burstyn) bathes Regan (Linda Blair) after the latter’s incident. The darkness crowds around them as the light gets further away. The fact that Friedkin could get some of the shots he did with the style of filmmaking he was pursuing is testament to his genius. The use of harsh shadows, smoke, and distant sources of light let him give all his images a distinct texture while enabling thematically rich visual storytelling.
Furthermore, the film’s lighting and use of shadows hearkens back to German Expressionism movement, and to an effect the noir movement which was deeply influenced by the former movement. Smoke fills many frames, emanating from cigarettes constantly being lit and the freezing cold temperatures of the increasingly chilly gusts of wind, giving them a more textured and gritty look. Lighting is harsh and often shows the dark nooks and corners in characters faces. Shadows encroach on characters visually demonstrating the influence of evil on their lives. Likewise, divinity comes in the form of bright lights which often show up near the spiritually inclined characters.
By sticking to a mostly unassuming style, Friedkin is able to employ all the above stylistic flourishes, call attention to them momentarily, and then sweep that attention under the rug in favor of something else. The end result is a hypnotic film that creeps under the skin without notice. Suggestions become patterns which become motifs that inform how one proceeds down the mine. Our mind is conditioned to associate certain triggers with evil and others with good, ultimately giving the viewer full reign in determining what the film really means.
The documentary like severity by which the subject matter is treated is the reason this subsequent engagement is so powerful and potentially cathartic. Because everything leading up to the supernatural phenomena is so grounded, the inclusion of such events is given a real power. Every single actor, from the main to the side cast, deals with the events of the film with a cold sense of realism forcing us to do the same. While I could spend at least a few paragraphs detailing the meticulous performances on display, I mainly want to draw attention at how well the film humanizes our leads and gets us to care about their well-being. In particular, the mother-daughter relationship between Chris and Regan, played by Ellen Burstyn and Linda Blair respectively, is sweet and endearing; their love is palpable. Blair presents her soon-to-be possessed character as innocent, whimsical, and child-like.
This is why her flip to cruel and off-kilter hits so hard; it feels impossible to believe that such a sweet little girl could transform into something so much more sinister. There’s no respite from the macabre cruelty put on display. One isn’t allowed to escape from the violence or allowed to cast it aside; instead, they’re forced to sit and marinate with it, imbuing it with their own personal subjective tendencies. It’s no wonder then that the film elicited such strong reactions when it was released with some more sensitive members fainting in theatres. [6]Vanderbilt, M. (2017, August 23). Audiences had some intense reactions to the exorcist in 1973. The A.V. Club. … Continue reading The movie tapped into the cultural zeitgeist at the time and pricks on a litany of unconscious fears and desires ranging from generational to cultural that are bound to generate strong responses even now and it does all that while remaining a conventionally frightening movie that doesn’t cheap up on the spectacle of the scares.
There’s a reason The Exorcist is often the first name mentioned in discussions regarding the greatest horror films of all time[7]I’m in the camp of critic Mark Kermode who regards The Exorcist as the greatest film of all time. I’m not at that level, but I have the film in my top 30 of all time and it constantly … Continue reading At one level it is as spiritual of an experience as a film by Dreyer or Bergman and then on another level it’s use of spectacle is of the greatest variety providing chills so deep and unsettling that they still serve as a benchmark, along with John Carpenter’s The Thing, on how to utilize practical effects to make horror as real as possible. It is a film that understands true terror lies hidden in the unconscious, so it employs psychological ands subliminal tricks to prime our minds and feelings for the nightmares to follow, but it doesn’t forget that the audience has come to be scared, so it pays off all the tension with the most depraved and upsetting images it can. It’s one of the crown jewels of cinema and is proof the medium’s power at truly probing the corners of one’s mind. Friedkin puts it best in his intro to the film: ” Over the years, I think most people take out of The Exorcist what they bring to it. If you believe the world is a dark and evil place, then The Exorcist will reinforce that. But if you believe that there is a force for good that combats and eventually triumphs over evil, then you will be taking out of the film what we tried to put into it.” [8] William Friedkin’s Introduction to The Exorcist. Warner Brothers. (1973) The Exorcist.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Exorcist is one of the greatest works of cinema, let alone horror cinema, serving spiritual lessons along with nightmares in equal amount. It is a film that treats every frame as an opportunity to set up subliminal scares, demonstrating that the best results require the most delicate of touches. By lulling the audience to the film’s hypnotic, but elliptical, rhythm, Friedkin forces every viewer to engage in a subjective tango with his mangum opus thereby ensuring that no two viewing experiences are totally alike. Multiple events in the film require the viewer to imagine their own scenes of terror in order to get a “whole” perspective on what transpires. If you give yourself wholly to it, The Exorcist will take you on an unbelievable journey that only the cream of the crop of cinema can dare to venture. The choice is yours.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Kimiko Ikegami as Gorgeous Miki Jinbo as Kung Fu Ai Matsubara as Prof Kumiko Oba as Fantasy Mieko Sato as Mac Masayo Miyako as Sweet Eriko Tanaka as Melody Yōko Minamida as Auntie Kiyohiko Ozaki as Keisuke Tōgō Saho Sasazawa as Gorgeous’s Father Haruko Wanibuchi as Ryoko
A blue line demarcates a frame in the center of the frame at which point a red letter “A” appears in the center.
The word “MOVIE” then appears in the frame. It’s a green color.
The name of the movie is reveals and he “O” in the title is revealed to have a mouth with jagged teeth.
The blue from the border of the inner frame bleeds in to color the entire background.
The “O” starts to chew onto something. It’s pale color has given way to a blood red.
A hand falls out of the “O” mouth.
The “O” mouth opens up to reveal an eyeball at the center.
The title card then becomes filled with the blood red – the color of the violent lips overwhelms and subsumes the rest of the letters.
The title card becomes less threatening as the word “House” becomes loose and animated again with a peaceful green background.
The opening sequence of House starts with music before a blue box is demarcated against the black box. It’s within this center frame that the majority of the action for the next minute will take place as the space is filled with a variety of different words, colors, and animations. Obayashi constantly demonstrates the way the space is demarcated, its presence constantly being interrupted by the suggestions of surrounding elements.
A somber and melancholic tune plays as soon as the title sequence starts up . The sound of wind intrudes upon the music creating an auditory clutter. The apparent diegetic sound (the wind) bleeds in with the apparent non-diegetic sound(the music) suggesting they’re occurring in the same auditory space. [1]Note: I say apparent here because there’s no reason to suggest that the music is inherently non-diegetic or the wind is inherently diegetic. It’s just an assumption of cinema that music … Continue reading The melodic part of the soundscape become more hopeful sounding than before. As the tune changes, a small blue box is drawn in the center of the screen before the words “A” and “movie” show up in the colors of red and green respectively within it – a frame within a frame. It’s at this point that the title of the movie, House, fills the inner frame. Unlike the previous two words which were static, the title presentation is fully animated. The letters each move up and down with whimsy and vigor.
However, a scream intrudes the soundscape . The inner frame is suddenly encroached upon by the blue border surrounding it and eventually its black background subsequently turns blue. Then, the letter “O” in “House” is revealed to have a ruby red mouth and a set of jagged teeth. It starts to chew maliciously before opening up and revealing an eyeball hidden inside of it. Suddenly, a peaceful high pitched tune starts to play completely incongruent with the image in the frame which shows the “O” mouth letting a bloodied stump of a hand drop out of it. It’s at this point that the blue background becomes black and devoid once again as all the letters take on a blood red color . The blood red from the lips, now transformed by a literal ingestion of a what appears to be a person, transforms the entire word into a monstrous abomination. before finally transforming into a less malicious configuration. The letters settle and become white again. Likewise, the background becomes green and calm once more. The violence which threatened to overwhelm disappears just as fast as it came – a momentary explosion.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) stares at the camera. Her head is covered by a veil.
Fantasy (Kumiko Oba) stares at Gorgeous.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) tells Fantasy (Kumko Oba) to hurry up with the shot.
The flash of the photograph ruptures the frame itself. the green image of Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) gives way to one of red. The contrast in color reminds us of the title card, immediately tying the flash to violence. The moment at which the present is frozen in a moment is a temporal violence.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) after the shot.
The background comes in around Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami).
The color of the inner frame changes from green to a colorscape that matches the background surrounding the enclosure.
The temporal frame demarcating Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) from the flow of time dissipates as soon as she takes off the veil. She’s now free to enter the present once again.
The photography sequence reinforces the way the movie uses colors and further expands on the idea of how a space can be made up of both the past and present colliding with each other. The color green is not only tied to peace but also the constant flow of time – a present. The moment of the flash is the moment of capture – where the present is captures as past and transformed into a temporary moment. Thus the past is linked with violence. The discontinuity of the frame within the frame reinforces these disjunctions in time – the past and present colliding against each other in the same arena.
It’s at this point the movie cuts and the soundscape changes. The music changes to a cheerful tune that has a hypnotic jingle in the background. Instead of words occupying the inner frame, there’s a young woman, Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami), staring directly at the screen, a green filter covering her. She has a veil covering the top of her head and a lit candle on her side. The inner frame then shows another young woman, Fantasy (Kumiko Oba), standing with a camera before quickly moving back go Gorgeous who tells , Fantasy, to hurry up with the photo shoot. Fantasy takes the shot of Gorgeous. As the flash of the camera goes off the green hue gives way to red – a callback to the color motif used in the title sequence. After getting an “Okay” from Fantasy confirming the success of the shot, the space around the inner frame comes back into the view letting us know the girls are both in a classroom. However, the only spot of the frame where motion happens is the inner frame. Even as the color in the frame changes back to match its surroundings, Gorgeous moves as though the world outside of the box doesn’t exist. It’s as if the moments are intruding on one another, a present and a past out of joint with one another. However, once she takes the veil off the inner frame fades away and she is allowed to “return” to the present flow of time.
In just these opening 90 seconds , Obayashi’s House has foreshadowed the entire story, demonstrated its cinematic style, laid the framework for its approach to color, and set up the thematic point it wants to play upon. Up to the title sequence the soundscape suggests that music is not only going to be a prominent feature but that it intrudes upon the very world. If you enjoyed the start of Godiego’s score get ready to enjoy even more because every track is as addictive and fun to listen to and the music is played for almost the entirety of the movie’s run time.
The inner frame showcases the way moments in time can become demarcated- separated from what they were previously a part of. It’s no coincidence that the words entering this newly formed space are “A”, “Movie”, and “House”. It also imbues the space with the idea of cinema. What’s more cinematic than a frame that captures a story? Everything cinematic (at least in the traditional sense) that happens until the 90 second mark happens here and only here. The title turning from innocuous to horrifying to back again represents the way the movie will proceed in its tone as well – cheery, scary, joyful, and disjointed.
Suddenly, the title is abruptly interrupted by none other than the story proper as the movie cuts to a young woman, Gorgeous, who now occupies the inner frame. The cut itself is disorienting because the inner frame has changed while the background of the frame around it has stayed the same. The movie has spent so long making us aware of the power of the frame that we’ve become hypnotized and are staring right at it as the cut happens. Because we’re staring at the center, we are hyper aware of the change whose impact is magnified by the fact that everything around it stays the same. We’re reminded of the cinematic power of the frame – simply through the technique of demarcation and transition a discontinuity (the inner frame) is created through unity (the unchanging background). The movie’s past, the title, foreshadows the movie’s future, the story. The movie confirms this by revealing the space is one where a photoshoot is happening. The green image- calmness and continuity- gives way to a red image – violence and stillness – which then gives way to the green once more. The red is associated with the flash. The flash is the moment where a moment in time is demarcated, rendered permanent as the flow of time continues marching onwards. The flash is also the moment where a subject is shown in their true state, as the darkness is removed from their visage. A violent past that breaks a calm present- a sign of things to come. It’s at this point the blackness occupying the background of the frame is replaced by an appropriate classroom setting. The demarcation of the moving inner frame is suddenly juxtaposed against an immobile outside, but now that there is a content to that outside the disorientation feels all the more apparent. The time before the shot and the time mix like oil and water, both overwhelming the screen until finally the past fades into the present and the movie continues.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) and Fantasy (Kumiko Oba) embrace. As the camera arcs around them, they become framed by lush green trees.
As soon as Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) starts to leave the green forests leave the frame and a blood red filter bleeds over everything, casting an ominous shadow. Another repetition of the color motif.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) and Fantasy embrace happily after the photoshoot, completely surrounded by a superimposed bright green forest. However, as soon as Gorgeous bids farewell and starts to go home, the green forests disappear and a blood red filter envelops the screen. The ending of the moment marks the appearance of red, tying the color to the “death” of the present, when a moment ceases and becomes an event, a memory lost to time.
The two girls frolic into the hallway as the happy go-lucky main theme continues to play. Suddenly, as they descend down a stairwell, the camera arcs around the two of them as they embrace and converse. The background around them are the green leaves of a forest. This idyllic moment is broken as Gorgeous bids her friend farewell. As she leaves the green from the background gives way to a crimson red filter which encompasses the screen – a signal of an end to peaceful times.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) runs into her father’s (Saho Sasazawa) arms
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) learns from her Father (Saho Sasazawa) that he plans on getting married once more, to a woman named Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi).
The camera slowly moves to frame the new attempt at a family structure in a unified way. Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami), her father (Saho Sasazawa), and Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi) represent a potential future.
Unfortunately for the adults, Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) is in shock upon hearing the news. The camera shows the images around her reflecting and distorting, showcasing the damage.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) remembers fonder days with her father (Saho Sasazawa).
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) throws her scarf as the frame partially freezes.
Gorgeous’s meeting with her father quickly turns from serene and picturesque to divided and broken up once he mentions his plans on remarriage to the youthful and beautiful Ryoko. Ryoko enters the screen gracefully and attempts to curry favor with her soon-to-be step-daughter by giving her a sash but it’s of no use. As both her father and Ryoko try and interact with her Gorgeous starts to reminisce about the past, better times when things seemed more unified. Unable to deal with the situation, Gorgeous throws the gifted sash and runs off the screen. Her running motion stays trapped in place as the sash falls in the background – the abdication of the possible future cements this past as an event lost in time as the sash (the future) floats away.
Gorgeous makes her way home and runs to her Father (Saho Sasazawa). She runs into his arms, the camera capturing the two of them in tender embrace. However, the camera starts to move and reveals that its positioned behind a glass pane. As Gorgeous’s father indicates he needs to talk, the frame becomes demarcated into multiple rectangular pieces. The peaceful music track is interrupted by a the discordant fast paced noises of a piano. The unity in the image of father and daughter splits. It’s fitting then that he tells her that their planned father-daughter vacation is now being intruded upon by a third agent, Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi).
She makes her way onto the screen, passing by the window pane – constantly being split into new configurations. The music changes and becomes more hopeful as well. It’s at this point the camera starts zooming in, the panes start to overlap with the frame almost presenting a fully unified image again. Just as the two boundaries are about to meet and become one her father mentions that he plans on marrying Ryoko. However, mention of this unity breaks the scene. The shot reveals a closer view of Gorgeous, her image and surroundings being reflected and distorted around her edges. As she’s processing the news, Ryoko tries to put a scarf around her neck as an attempt at starting a fresh bond towards a hopeful future. Gorgeous however can only focus on the past. As her father talks, the camera cuts from the present of the conversation the adults are trying to have to the memories that Gorgeous is desperate to maintain. These memories, though slightly demarcated by the pane on the edges of the shot, are mostly centered and show a unified happy image of the pair.
This past memory gives way to the future as the camera transitions to the present and shifts away once again, showing the scene breaking into segments. Gorgeous, unable to deal with the situation, runs away and throws her newly gifted scarf into the air. It’s at this time the temporality of the screen breaks again. Half the screen shows the scarf slowly falling down as the other half shows Gorgeous frozen as she runs off. This establishes not only the importance of her throwing the “future” away but reinforces the way continuous time breaks into discrete moments which are then stored as memories. Temporality is quickly returned as Gorgeous comes back to the present and runs into her bedroom which is aptly adorned with flowers. She takes out a host of photos showcasing both her father and deceased mother, wishing for her mother fondly, before recollecting that her mother had a sister – an Auntie (Yōko Minamida) whom she, Gorgeous, would be able to escape to given her father’s “betrayal”.
It’s with this motivation that Gorgeous meets up with her friends Fantasy, Melody (Eriko Tanaka), Kung Fu (Miki Jinbo), Mac (Mieko Sato), Prof AKA Professor (Ai Matsubara), and Sweet (Masayo Miyako). As you’d imagine each girl’s name is indicative of their respective personality traits. For example, Melody, as her name implies, is the musically inclined member of the group. Gorgeous asks her friends to accompany her to her Auntie’s house for their summer vacation trip. The 6 girls agree and the group of 7 venture off to the country in hopes of a fun-filled vacation. Unfortunately for them, their hopes are squashed almost immediately by bouts of supernatural phenomena. As the title sequence indicated, there’s nothing but discordant violence to be found once one enters the house.
Now, House has been described as many things by many different people. The Criterion Collection fondly describes the movie as, ” a psychedelic ghost tale”, “[a] stream-of-consciousness bedtime story”, and “[a]n episode of Scooby-Doo as directed by Mario Bava”. [2]https://www.criterion.com/films/27523-house Each of these descriptions is accurate. In fact, most of the praise surrounding House focus on it’s colorful and surrealist visuals, outlandish story, quirky and eccentric characters, Godiego’s emotionally distinctive and iconic score, and/or its absurdist sense of humor. Don’t get me wrong, I think all of these things are true. If the description of the opening 10 minutes of the movie above wasn’t proof enough, let me confirm. You’ve never seen a movie like House before. It’s a movie where Obayashi throws everything but the kitchen sink on screen. Painted backdrops, stop-motion, split frame shots, use of stutter motion, blue-screen, animation, and the like are used with gusto lending themselves to dozens of memorable scenes. However, all these techniques aren’t done just for fun; every one of them is put in place to develop the movie’s themes – namely how one can confront Japan’s horrifying nuclear history and more broadly how humanity can confront its own past bouts of violence.
Early on before the girls get to Auntie’s house, they have a conversation discussing the end of World War II, the nuclear devastation that occurred as a result of it, and the subsequent loss. However, because the girls are young and naivete, they brush past the historical atrocity with relative ease.
The girls discuss Japan’s fate at the end of World War II and go over the devastating effects of the nuclear bombs dropped. However, the impact of the weapons is still too hard to conceptualize for such a young and naïve group, so they end up treating it as another everyday event.
Mac even goes so far as to compare the smoke clouds with cotton candy before the group turns to more positive matters. This disconnect between Japan’s past and it’s future is something Obayashi explicitly wanted to tackle, having lost some of his own friends to the war and its related horrors. [3]“Constructing a “House.”” House, Criterion Collection, 2010. Blu-Ray. The nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were brutalizing, not only in their immediate impact, but in the way the effects of the damage persisted and continue to do so even now. This is why the movie constantly emphasizes the idea of intrusion – the idea that the present is constantly being interrupted by the past. By tying the supernatural events of the movie to Japan’s nuclear past, Obayashi is demonstrating the way the bombings still rupture in Japan’s present, even affecting the youth who think they’re separated from the violence. This violence is in turn presented in a surreal, colorful, and festive way. Obayashi’s daughter was the source for many of the situations the girls end up finding themselves in, so both the situations and the manner they play out are childlike. The horror subsequently comes off as bizarre and comedic on a surface level.
It’s no surprise so many people say House is not “really” a horror film. Even ardent fans praise the movie not for its horror but for the passion and sense of childlike whimsy it has. However, it is my position that House is not only a horror movie, but an example of horror surrealism done at a masterful level. At the stories base are tales of fear as described by Obayashi’s daughter, so the nightmares we see on screen are definitionally someone’s fears come to life. [4]Constructing a “House.”” House, Criterion Collection, 2010. Blu-Ray. The presentation of each sequence might be cute and harmless to us, but the sequences proper have horrifying consequences for the characters that inhabit the story’s world. In the same way Mac sees the devastation of the bomb and sees cotton candy, we see the brutalization of the girls and think it’s all good fun. The movie’s surrealist presentation disguises the violence so it’s palatable to us, but the reality lurking under the vibrant colors is terrifying.
Just like the specter of the nuclear incident in the movie precipitates the girls inevitable faiths, the specters of past injustices continue to prop up even now. Ghosts haunt the characters in the same way the past haunts the present. The fact that Gorgeous chooses to go to her Aunt, a person linked to her past, over her Father, a person linked to a new future, is not a coincidence but a reminder to the audience of the way the past nullifies potential futures, rendering them ghosts. All those who died in the nuclear blasts of WWII had lives with trajectories that suddenly ended, no place to go – a demarcation frozen in time as everything moves around it.
However, House also reveals the way cinema can bring life to these frozen moments and let their memory linger breathing life into the spirits of the past. From the opening frame that showcases the way moments can be captured, frozen, and then reincorporated to the last line of dialogue in the movie, Obayashi’s point is to never forget. If the past can never be negated and it cannot be run from then it must be embraced. The power of cinema is in its ability to embrace and transform moments into narratives with a broader appeal, breathing life into demarcated moments to create a moving whole.
The power of House is it doesn’t trade subtext for entertainment or vice versa. Sure, there are some elements that are less than perfect. Certain effects are a bit shoddy and some of the acting comes off as amateurish. However, I’d deal with these issues any day of the week if I was guaranteed a piece of art with this much depth. None of these “problems” at any point takes you out of the story because the sincere presentation of the movie makes such moments feel like a natural extension of the setting. Who really cares if a green-screen effect isn’t the greatest when you have a cat playing the piano in forwards and backwards motions? By wholeheartedly embracing these small production flaws and keeping them in line with the spirit of the story, Obayashi manages to turn even imperfections into endearing qualities. The end result is a wholly charming story that’s visually captivating from start to finish, that uses surrealism to transform horrifying scenes into colorful and whimsical moments, and that manages to have a compelling and relevant theme underlying it all. It’s a movie that everyone should watch at least once because there is quite literally nothing else out there like it.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
House is a movie that has to be seen to be believed, combining an audacious visual style with a childlike tale of whimsy and terror in an effort to deconstruct the way the future and present are always constantly indicted by a past they can’t escape. Every scene from start to finish is memorable not just because Obayashi uses ever cinematic tool in the book but because of his dedication to ensuring that the movie was at it’s core fun for the audience. For those viewers just looking for a one of a kind experience, there’s no movie that can prepare you for the absurdity that is House. You can watch it and have a blast even if you only take it at its face value.
However, those viewers willing to take the plunge into the subtext will find themselves deeply rewarded. Under the vibrant colors and absurdist humor, is a truly surreal horror story that reminds us of the way the specters of humanity’s past violence and atrocities of will always remain in the background, intruding in on the present along with how cinema can honor them.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Jessica Harper as Suzy Bannion Stefania Casini as Sarah Alida Valli as Miss Tanner Joan Bennett as Madame Blanc Flavio Bucci as Daniel Barbara Magnolfi as Olga Udo Kier as Dr. Frank Mandel Rudolf Schündler as Professor Milius Eva Axén as Pat
Release Date
1977
Language(s)
Italian
Running Time
99 minutes
The sound of drums progresses into a hypnotic rock lullaby, punctuated with whispers, screeches, and ominous ad libs. As the opening credits continue and the title track, aptly titled “Suspiria”, continues to play, narration suddenly cuts over the same, an indication to the audience that the following story will operate more as a poetic fairy tale than a straightforward tale consistent with a logic we normally expect. The narrator explains that a young American woman, Suzy Bannion, has decided to perfect her ballet skills at a prestigious dance academy in Freiburg, Germany and has flown out to attend it. As the narration ends the score becomes more violent and cuts out. The opening credits give way to Suzy entering the Freiburg airport. Everything seems normal – that is until the door leading out of the airport opens up. As they open, “Suspiria” plays once again. However, as soon as the doors close, the score disappears. This sequence repeats itself – the score playing while the doors open and disappearing when the close again – signals to the audience that outside the world of the airport the rules of reality no longer apply. Suzy exits the airport and the score suddenly bursts through the reality of the world culminating in a crescendo with a burst of rain to visually signify the torrential chaos to come.
Suzy desperately tries to flag down a cab, eventually finding one but becoming soaked in the process. As she gets in the vehicle to dry herself, the lighting in the movie reminds the audience that this is now a world of fantasy, as the screen is tinged with neon blues and reds, interrupted by bits of yellow periodically. The reds become an orange while the blues become a green, creating an everchanging color palette which keeps the eyes fully engaged with the screen. Harper’s face becomes the canvas upon which the colors dance making Suzy appear as though she’s being interpellated by and into this new phantasmal world.
Suzy ( Jessica Harper) bathed in neon reds, blues, oranges, and greens as she drives around the city. She’s become part of the fantasy world.
Her cab makes its way through an ominous forest filled with a plethora of tall and imposing trees, as Goblin hisses “Witch” in an eerie and disorienting way as the score still rages on. The cab pulls up to the school, an imposing building with a red exterior as the score comes to a close. She exits the cab and sees a girl, Pat, muttering nonsensical worlds by the entranceway and running away in a hurry. Suzy attempts to get into the school but is told to go away by someone on the other side. Desperate to get out of the rain, she gets back in the cab and looks for a place to stay until she can solve the issue the next day. As the car drives back through the woods, she sees Pat running through the woods. A new song starts to play – “Witch” which replaces the melodic “Suspiria” with a more intense and aggressive beat that conveys an immediate sense of danger as opposed to wonder. The movie switches from Suzy in the car to Pat as she she enters a dormitory whose architecture radiates an absolute aesthetic beauty, with pleasing geometric compositions littering every part of the room. The walls are bathed in in a blood red. However, the real oddity with this entrance room is its size, which feels exceptionally large when compared to Pat’s small frame, highlighting how tiny and powerless she is compared to the threat that she’s trying to get away from. The room threatens to swallow her up whole.
Pat (Eva Axén) entering the dormitory which seeks to envelop her.
She hurriedly rushes up the ornately decorated elevator to visit and stay with a friend of hers for the night. Obviously perturbed, even the smallest disturbance sets her off. She’s worried, but we still don’t know what it is that’s tormenting her. The camera switches to a view of her from outside the building, slowly zooming in like a typical POV shot in Argento’s other giallo movies. As she continues to look out, she happens upon a dimly lit set of yellow eyes and is immediately accosted by a pair of arms which break through the window, dragging her out of the living unit. She’s brutally murdered along with her friend, and the movie returns to Suzy, finally ready to start after giving the audience a preview of everything they should be expecting.
This is Argento’s masterpiece Suspiria, a fairy tale from hell born straight from German Expressionism given life through immaculate sets, gorgeous neon lighting, a bombastic score that never lets up, and compositions that make the piece feel more like a set of paintings than an actual movie.
This still on the right from one of German Expressionism’s masterpieces, Nosferatu, serves as a precursor to the use of shadows in Suspiria on the left. Argento and his cinematographer Tovoli manage to recreate the same mise-en-scene tinged with gorgeous neon lighting, breathing new life into the striking aesthetic.
The plot is sparse and as the narration at the beginning informs us, is more a throughline by which a series of nightmarish images and ideas are allowed to come to life. The story loosely involves Suzy experiencing a strange series of events while attending the supposedly prestigious dance academy. Pat’s death is merely the domino that sets the series of unexplainable happenings in motion. Who or what is the killer and what is their actual motivation? Certain scenes in the movie hearken back to traditional giallo images (ex: a POV shot of the killer looking at Pat and her subsequent brutal and gory murder), while other shots invoke a supernatural feeling that can’t be explained. The contrast helps drive the mystery and Suzy’s journey forward.
Pat (Eva Axén) being viewed at from the outside by some outside forces, hearkening back to the POV shots Argento loves to use in his giallos.
At a higher level , the movie is a coming of age story, about a young girl trying to find her place in a new and alienating world. One of Suzy’s first tasks is even getting to the school, because her accent makes it hard for the German driver to understand what she’s actually saying. Once she gets to the school she’s denied entrance. Once she’s allowed into the school, she’s immediately bombarded with requests to pay money for various services and items. It’s like a nightmare of what a kid has to look forward to as an adult, and this idea is reflected in every aspect of the set. The rooms are large and seem to swallow up the characters’ agency. Doors are slightly out of reach and make her and her classmates seem infantile. She’s constantly put in a position where her decisions are ignored in favor of instructors at the school who seem to have their own priorities. This larger thematic schema gives the horror a new dimension. It’s scary enough to navigate an alien world, but doing that as a younger person broaching into adulthood and being thrust into a new dimension of responsibility is something else all together. Combined with the supernatural happenings and bouts of violence that surround her, the world of Suspiria feels more like a gorgeous hellscape.
This is reflected in the genius visual design of the movie, which might be one of the best uses of color in cinema – full stop. Almost every scene is draped in a neon blue or red – the former representing an impending doom and the latter representing violence and death. At every turn these colors are transformed by the presence of a yellow, which transforms passive moments into active moments of tension. As red turns to orange, the characters and audience are lulled into a false sense of security that quickly evaporates as it becomes obvious that the characters are doomed. Likewise, as blue turns to green the danger that’s targeting the characters becomes active and threatens to fully envelop them in its violence. Luciano Tovoli works an ethereal magic in every scene in this way, by pushing colors to their absolute limits. There are dozens of shots which can be printed and framed as works of arts. A movie is lucky if it gets a few, but Tovoli makes Suspiria a buffet filled with them.
This combined with the score transforms the movie from a simple murder mystery into cinematic poetry, as every moment is punctuated with Goblin’s score. No piece of music ever feels like it overstays its welcome and each of them immediately tell the audience what they need to know – a character is being observed by the killer, a character is in danger, things are going absolutely off the walls. It’s hard to watch the movie and not be moved along by the score which is not only effective, but genuinely catchy. From the sharp and loud pounding noises in “Witch” that get the heart rate pumping to the whispery and otherworldly “Suspiria” the soundscape of the movie feels like a whole other character.
Keeping all the pieces of the movie moving together is Argento’s trademark pacing and macabre sensibilities. Just because he’s tackling a different horror sub-genre doesn’t mean that his usual bag of tricks won’t work. In fact I’d argue that the supernatural sensibilities of the story (due in part to the wonderful work of his undermentioned fellow screenwriter, Daria Nicolodi) let him push his ideas to their absolute extreme. Whereas his previous movies, like Deep Red or The Bird With the Crystal Plumage , had to obey some level of logistics when it came to killing victims and solving the mystery, Suspiria is allowed to explore sequences that would otherwise be impossible. Characters die in ways that you’d never be able to predict which helps sustain a palpable sense of tension throughout the movie. It’s impossible to know how violence will happen , but because the colors and music tell you something is going to happen, every moment is injected with a dread that only continues to build one bloody death at a time. The first 9 minutes of the movie starts the tension off right and the movie never lets up until the end credit sequence starts up again.
Many people place this as one of the greatest horror movies of all time. Many others go one step further and rank Suspiria as one of the most important cinematic achievements to date (given how many movies have been influenced by its visual style, I’d say that’s probably accurate) . I consider myself firmly in both of these camps. I’m someone who usually loves a good, layered, and intricate plot that ties into a nuanced set of themes. However, when it comes to Suspiria, all those inhibitions seem to float away because the magic of the movie, the poetic way it moves through its score and visual style, speaks to something more important than a need for logic and precision. This is a cinema in the purest sense of the word. It’s a piece of art that must be experienced and not explained. If you haven’t yet had the chance to see this masterpiece, I urge you to give it a chance. Let Argento take you to a world of nightmares.
Report Card
TLDR
Suspiria is a masterpiece that has to be seen to be understood. Its sensuous compositions are visually arresting at all times, with many stills from the movie being good enough to be framed as wall art. The score by Goblin keeps the tension high, turning the barebones story into a audiovisual poem that operates on the logic of a nightmare. The supernatural leanings of the story give Argento ample room to explore his macabre tendencies and help create some of the most striking displays of violence
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 to view this review’s progress report .
Julie Christie as Laura Donald Sutherland as John Sharon Williams as Christine Nicholas Salter as Johnny Hilary Mason as Heather Clelia Matania as Wendy Massimo Serato as Bishop Barbarrigo Renato Scarpa as Inspector Longhi
Release Date
1973
Language(s)
English
Running Time
110 minutes
A little girl, Christine, runs along in her shiny red raincoat, playing with a ball near an ominous looking lake. Her brother, Johnny, who’s biking near her, runs over a glass surface and breaks it. An unlucky omen. Their father, John, turns in his seat, almost as if aware of the disturbance despite being firmly positioned in his house. Johnny looks at his bike, attempting to figure out the damage done to it. He looks back and sees his little sister in the background, clearly visible next to the lake.
Johnny looking back on his sister, ensuring that we , the audience, are aware that she’s present but far away and precariously close to the body of water.
Christine tosses her ball up and the movie cuts to John tossing his wife, Laura, a pack of cigarettes. Christine’s ball drops into the pond creating a splash and the movie cuts back to John as he spills a glass of water over a slide he’s looking at.
The slide John is looking at before he spills water over it. it depicts a short figure clad in a shiny red raincoat sitting in a Church.
Psychic connections and shared actions. An insert of the ball floating without Christine. Her missing presence tells us all we need to know before the movie cuts back to John looking at the damaged slide.
The slide once hit with water starts to bleed color, as a running red trail develops and starts to flow from the little red figure.
The slide which up to this point depicted a small figure adorned in a shiny red raincoat transforms into a bloody mess, as the water spreads the red color around like a pool of blood. John moves towards the outside, as though he knows something awful has transpired. Laura picks up the slide, takes a quick look, and tosses it on the couch seat next to her. A quick cut of Christine’s unmoving body in the water is followed by Johnny running to get his father.
Christine’s body floating limp in the body of water.
It’s clear what’s coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. As John jumps into water the movie constantly cuts between him howling in pain, holding his daughter’s corpse and the slide, whose red color continues to expand. The music is daunting and ominous until suddenly an uplifting melody plays. At this moment, the slide transforms once more as the red flow of water becomes a rainbow of colors, almost like a beam of light through a prism.
The slide almost fully covered in the water and its effects. The figure is blurred out of sight. Only the colors it provides remain, but the red has transformed into a spectrum of colors . The base image has been fully transformed through the water “bending” the initial image.
John gets out of the water and tries to resuscitate Christine, but it’s far too late to do anything for her as she is. Mustering the last bit of strength in his body, he moves towards the house, barely coherent as his face contorts in pain. Laura sees him coming the window holding their dead daughter and screams. This scream transforms into the sound of a drill as the movie cuts to the couple in Italy, the main location for the rest of the movie, and the place where the couple’s respective journey to deal with the pain of their loss starts.
This almost 8-minute opening perfectly encapsulates everything that makes up Roeg’s masterpiece, Don’t Look Now. It’s a story about grief, hardship, and suffering. That much is obvious from the drawn out and emotionally devastating depiction of Christine’s death and her parents’ subsequent responses. The use of both visual and auditory match-cuts reinforces the psychic relationships between seemingly unrelated events and the way that aspects of life can bleed into and affect one another. The visual representation of the transforming slide highlights the way perspective and time can alter the way images are perceived. At first, it’s a plain image that John looks at curiously – the object of interest not immediately understood by the audience. Then the small red figure transforms into a blood spiral. A premonition of the violence to come. But interestingly enough, Roeg doesn’t stop here. He lingers on the slide until the blood red flow transforms into a shining rainbow. This combined with the uplifting melody that plays immediately before it suggests that the image can be read in another way. In another light. A refraction of sorts. Almost like truth is perspectival and something that can’t be ascertained in the moment. This is confirmed by the final match cut, this time auditory as opposed to visual, which transforms Laura’s scream into the sound of a drill being used at John’s new place of employment. Now it’s impressive enough that this level of seamless editing and visual and auditory storytelling could be sustained in such a cohesive manner for 8 minutes.
However, what makes this movie a true cinematic tour-de-force is that it continues to expand and build upon all these of these ideas for the rest of the near 2-hour run-time in a similar fashion. The movie never lets up in its use of immaculate cross-cutting to constantly reinforce the idea that life is an accumulation of elements that circle around one another in a series of interpretations and re-interpretations. The early motifs involving water, reflections, refractions, duplicate images, and psychic connections are all pushed to their poetic limits to create a finely tuned tale that constantly subverts your expectations in the best way possible. Through its use of consistent visual motifs, the movie manages to use flashbacks and flashforwards in ways that feel integrated into the very essence of the narrative. A body of water transforms into rain which transforms into grey colored eyes, connecting fragments of the story happening at different times and in different places. Nothing feels out of place because the “place” you’re watching is constantly transforming before your eyes. Just like the slide, the end goal/image can only be understood by watching the story’s full progression up to that point and even that understanding is open to interpretation.
At the heart of the story is the tale of a couple desperately trying to communicate with another and recover from the grief and emotional devastation caused by the loss of their child. John’s new job involves moving to Italy for a while as he helps to renovate an old dilapidated Church. While having lunch with Laura, he runs into Heather and Wendy, two sisters who seem to show a heavy interest in the grieving couple. The former, who happens to be blind, claims that she’s a psychic who can see the spirit of Christine. She tells Laura that her daughter is happy and “with” the couple. This affirmation in some kind of spiritual afterlife along with the image of her happy daughter brings Laura out of her depressive state. She wholeheartedly puts her faith in the two strangers and their proclamations and finds a newfound energy that gives her back a sense of meaning. When she mentions this to John, the latter scoffs at it as foolish and quite literally walks his own path away from Laura. He refuses to entertain the idea that his daughter could still be “there” and closes himself off more.
Laura attempts to persuade John to give the sisters a shot so that he can begin to heal like her.
John literally pushes Laura away and tells her to go on her own path as he walks down a perpendicular street away from her.
John and Laura in front of entry/exit attempting to communicate and find a way past their grief. It ends with John going one way as Laura goes the other, reflecting the way perspective (rationality vs affective sensibility) drastically affect the actions we take.
This sharp contrast between the two exemplifies the subjective nature of responding to grief and how being open versus being closed can lead to radically different conclusions and actions. Throughout the movie, John continues to be closed, suspicious, and unable to openly say what he wants to say. This is a characteristic that’s demonstrated by all the men in the movie from his employer, Bishop Barbarrigo to a police inspector, Longhi. On the other hand, all the women in the movie are open and cordial with one another, operating with good faith with respect to one another. As the plot progresses and interactions between different sets of characters occur, the effects of one’s predisposition towards possibility and openness become far more pronounced. Male to male communication scenes are awkward and cold. Women to women communication scenes are open and receptive. Added to this jumble is Roeg’s genius decision to not include subtitles for any of the Italian spoken in the movie. That’s right. A movie set in Italy, with only a few English-speaking characters, has no subtitles for what the majority of the background characters have to say. There are multiple scenes of John communicating with town folk in Italian and it’s impossible to determine if he’s actually saying something meaningful or just getting confused. The lack of subtitles also amplifies the uneasiness we feel, because like John, every interaction is an “unknown.” This means that we, the audience, have to make a determination on what characters intentions and actions really entail. Like John, we can be suspicious and read the situations with a cold rationality. Or like Laura, we can read the situations with an intuitive and affective sensibility.
Of course this level of emotional resonance would only be possible if the actors involved were capable of bringing a wide range of affective reactions to the situations that unfold. The way Donald Sutherland expresses his grief in early scenes and rage in later scenes is not only wholeheartedly believe but emotionally devastating. It hurts to watch him suffer and anguish in the guilt he feels over Christine’s death. Serving as a counterbalance of sorts, Julie Christy brings a genuine sense of life and and joy into the scenes she’s in. From the way her smile lights up in her eyes as she plays with children in a hospital to the jovial enthusiasm she exhibits while talking to the sisters, she becomes a beacon of hope in an otherwise dour and depressing movie. Hilary Mason’s performance as the movie’s “psychic” is what brings Sutherland and Chrisy’s range together as her depiction of psychic happenings simultaneously feel staged and genuine. The way she contorts , moves, and emotes during these moments feel overtly theatrical and I remember thinking her character was full of it during some scenes and incredibly trustworthy in others. It’s her duality that allows the interpretative schema that underpins the stories logic, narrative, and position respective to the audience to work out. Without all 3 actors nailing their scenes, the attempt at placing the audience in the position of following John versus following Laura , of following cold rationality versus open affectivity, would fail. It’s all about opening up the scene to interpretations.
Things are never what they really seem and becoming steadfast in one perspective destroys the possibility of seeing things through other perspectives. The best part? The movie ends in the same way it began- an immaculate set of cross and match cuts that tie all the strands of the story and themes together in a way that still leaves things up to interpretation. Even after multiple re-watches of this movie, I can honestly say I don’t have it all worked out, but that’s the point. If I did, I wouldn’t have as much watching the movie over and over again.
Report Card
TLDR
Don’t Look Now is one of the best edited movies of all time and manages to make every cut and transition matter. The way the narrative plays with time and perception through its innovative motifs – reflections, refractions, and duplications -is something in a league of its own and transforms this tale of grief, despair, and recovery an impressionistic masterpiece that one needs to experience to believe. If you love movies, you owe it to yourself to watch this one. If you’re a horror fan, that goes doubly for you. There’s rarely a movie that so masterfully combines all of its elements to create a narrative that simultaneously ties up every loose end while leaving them open.
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 to view this review’s progress report .
Sigourney Weaver as Ripley Tom Skerritt as Dallas Ian Holm as Ash Veronica Cartwright as Lambert Yaphet Kotto as Parker Harry Dean Stanton as Brett John Hurt as Kane Bolaji Badejo as the Alien
Release Date
1979
Language(s)
English
Running Time
117 minutes
It’s hard writing a review about a movie that’s gotten as much love and adoration as Ridley Scott’s Alien, but I’ll try my best to persuade the few of you out there who haven’t seen it to give this masterpiece a go around. The story of a small commercial space crew who receive orders to investigate an alien spaceship and who subsequently come into contract with a hostile alien species seems like a simple narrative meant to provoke fear. Like the release poster says,” In space no one can hear you scream.” It seems like a no brainer as to why such a story could be so scary. However, a slew of Alien based knockoffs and even some of the franchise sequels indicate that its not just a simple and well executed narrative that makes this movie from the 70’s so enduring as classic in both the horror and science-fiction genres. Underneath the narrative is a hefty amount of subtext, painstakingly interwoven in the movie through the use of immaculate creature designs, pristine lighting, top notch set design, and a soundtrack that’s perfectly suited to transporting the audience into the affective territory of fear.
From the moment the title screen opens, the movie makes it clear that there’s more than meets the eye. As letters slowly appear on the screen spelling out the title, Alien, the camera slowly pans across an oblong object instead of a traditional circle object which would be more inline with what we’d expect from space – planets, stars, and the like.
This is the title track as the camera moves left to right and finishes covering the egg/oblong. The discoloration near the L is the outer boundary of the egg.
This egg like shape sets the stage for the thematic meat at the center of the story – sexuality and our relationship to it. From this egg like shape the camera slowly moves through the Nostromo, a commercial space vehicle with a crew deep in sleep. However, after a distress signal is received from an outside source the ship’s computer, aptly named Mother, sends a signal to wake the crew up. The camera then moves to the crew as they wake up and emerge from a series of oblong, egg-shaped pods.
The crew of the Nostromo waking up from their egg/oblong shaped pods.
After giving us a few moments to get to know the members of the crew the movie quickly moves to getting them to respond to the signal. A small subset of the crew is led by Kane, an executive officer, to investigate the source of the signal and to determine if anyone needs help. Unfortunately, for the members of the Nostromo, Kane discovers an oblong egg-shaped object with a cross symbol (religious heresy at its finest) in the middle, that shoots out an alien species which immediately latches onto his body.
Despite quarantine protocol dictating that he be left behind and not allowed back onto the ship Ash, the ship’s scientist, overrules Ripley’s, the warrant officer, command to follow the same and allows the expedition crew and a grievously injured Kane back aboard. This subsumption of authority is quickly brushed aside by the rest of the crew due to Kane’s condition, but it sets up the “war of the sexes” power dynamic that guides the rest of the movie. Ripley, one of the two female crewmates, has her orders ignored to save a crewmate despite orders. Kane, a male, is then shown with the “face hugger” alien aptly covering his face. With its phallic tail coiling around Kane’s neck and a tube running from its body down his throat, the scene utilizes sexuality – particularly a male on male oral rape scene- as a method of genuinely scaring the audience.
Kane with face hugger attached. The phallic coil slithers around his neck provocatively as the creature inserts itself down his throat.
The deviant sexuality is literally weaponized and works in horrifying because it A- depicts rape and B- masks that depiction through an alien organism that pulsates and oozes in an incomprehensible way. As the alien creature matures throughout the movie, it takes on more and more pronounced male and female sexual characteristics, transforming into an amalgamation of deviant sexuality that actively violates and threatens the crewmembers. This relationship to sexuality is developed by other characters’ attempts at reining in control over the situation and their attempts at fighting back the alien. Like the face hugger scene, none of these sexually violent images are overt but rather work on the level of suggestion and repetition. Eggs, phallic shaped objects, liquids gushing and oozing, penetration, and the like all work to trigger off a sub-conscious response that plays off our fears of sexuality, violence, and the forces inner workings. H.R. Giger’s aesthetic choices are what turn Alien from a superb thriller, into a deeply thought-provoking look at the way sexuality is coded and linked to power. None of the images overtly force us to think about things in this way, but their suggestive power combined with the setup of the plot makes those connections operate in the back of our minds leading to some genuinely frightening moments.
The story also does a great job of positioning the Alien in relation to humanity/animality by constantly juxtaposing the creature with both the human crewmates and the crew’s cat, Jones. At first glance, Jones can be written off as a minor character whose only purpose is to get crewmates put into precarious situation. However, a closer reading reveals that compared to the Alien’s overtly sexual and violent predatory practices, Jones is docile, restrained, and something that crew actively wants to protect. Jones isn’t just a cat. Jones is the inverse to the Alien – a sexuality that can be understood and controlled in a sense. The fact that the cat conveniently appears in so many scenes where the Alien pops up isn’t a coincidence as much as it is Scott’s attempts at making the audience piece together the connections. This becomes even more pronounced in the last act of the movie which does the best job of visually depicting the importance of Jones as a counterbalance.
Two sides of the same coin- Jones and the Xenomorph are different instantiations of a predator- docile and known versus violent and deviant
Put together, this is why the Alien creature (the Xenomorph) works so well. It plays off our natural fears of sexual violence through its increasingly disturbing amalgamation of female and male sexuality. Its attempts at gaining control and overpowering the crewmates ties back into the earlier instantiation of sexualized power hierarchies and depictions of agency. It’s juxtaposition against Jones highlights just how much about it we don’t know, understand, and are unable to control. As a result, the creature works perfectly as both a thematic and visual depiction of true horror.
Obviously, none of this sub-text would be relevant if the movie itself did not work on the level of its plot. The simplicity of the overarching narrative lets all the thematic elements become part of the stories identity as opposed to feeling like some postmodern meaning soup. Every element plays into one another and is highlighted through Scott’s impeccable visual storytelling as opposed to preaching to the audience through boring dialogue. From the way the spaceship looks all dark and dilapidated to how the alien planet looks musty, cloudy, and damp its clear a lot of effort went into creating a believable outer space. It’s astounding to think this movie was made back in 1979 because it holds up incredibly well even now. Outside of the superb aesthetic direction and wholly realistic looking set pieces, the movie excels in its use of lighting. Scott knows just how much to show you and the flickering light effects in the latter portions of the movie do a great job of exemplifying just how hidden and nefarious the Alien really is. It’s not that he’s afraid to show you the creature. Not at all. Trust me – you get to see every disgusting and skin crawling aspect of it by the end of the movie. It’s more that he wants you to be genuinely unnerved by it. He wants you to be staring at the creature in plain sight and not know that you’re looking at it. What’s scarier than not knowing you’re looking at the monster the whole time? Because the dialogue is so witty and does a great job of establishing the characters’ personalities and motivations it becomes hard to not become attached to the crew and place yourselves in their shoes. That’s why the revelation that you, like the crew, were incapable of finding the monster first is chilling. Because you would’ve died to.
Speaking of the crew members, every single member of the cast delivers a performance that has you wholeheartedly believe that they’re members of an actual space expedition and that they’re on another day on the job. From the constant bickering about payment to the lively banter between them, its easy to forget that everyone’s acting. Sigourney Weaver is great as the lead and manages to give the warrant officer equal helpings of raw humanity and genuine badassery. She can quickly go from panicked in the face of the Xenomorph to eager and ready to destroy it. Without her walking through some tricky emotional tightropes with precision, the emotional and thematic weight of the movie would not hit nearly as hard. I love Holm’s performance as Ash and think he does a great job at both acting as a foil to Weaver and at carrying along some fairly important story beats. Kotto and Stanton’s bantering is a genuine treat to watch near the start of the movie and provides the audience with much needed levity before things actually start going off the rocker.
From the script to the acting to the set design to everything in between, Alien never manages to disappoint. This is truly one of the movies I think you could call “perfect” and not get an eyeroll from everyone in the room. It’s a masterwork in the Science-Fiction and Horror genres and its ubiquity in pop culture (I’m looking at you Avengers:Infinity War) necessitate a watch from movie fans in general. It’s scary, thought provoking, and equal parts beautiful and disgusting to watch.
Report Card
TLDR
If you’re a fan of movies, you owe it to yourself to watch Alien. Rarely is there a movie that so perfectly manages to progress a message through its narrative, visual and sound design, and character progression. Despite being made in 1979, the movie looks, feels, and operates better than most things coming out now. The story of a space crew trying to fight for their lives against a horrifying alien is entertaining enough, but the treasure trove of subtext that lies beneath each and every frame make this a movie worth re-watching and studying. There’s so muchmore I could gush over , but I really do think some things are better experienced than explained. That’s a lesson Alien taught me well.
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 to view this review’s progress report .
Jaime Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode Donald Pleasence as Dr.Sam Loomis Nick Castle as Michael Myers Will Sandin as young Michael Myers P.J. Soles as Lynda Nancy Kyes as Annie
The title sequence to Halloween is a work of art in itself. The iconic theme song plays getting the audience uncomfortable and entranced at the same time as the camera zooms in slowly towards an eerily lit jack-o-lantern. The camera seemingly goes into the void within the pumpkin before the setting and date are revealed.
John Carpenter’s iconic Halloween theme song plays the as camera zooms in slowly on a jack-o-lantern whose inner light seems to be flickering menacingly, complimenting the unsettling music which feels like something out of one of Argento’s giallo movies. Eventually the light from the pumpkin fades and the screen blacks. The menacing theme transforms into a Halloween mantra being collectively chanted by children as on-screen text indicates the setting is Haddonfield, Illinois and the date is Halloween, 1963. The screen blacks once again before the camera seemingly moves left, out from the darkness of the title screen to a view of a typical suburban house.
The camera moves left from the darkness and opens on the Myers house.The entrance of the Myers house.Jack-o-lantern present at the front door of the Myers house.Judith Myers( Sandy Johnson) and her boyfriend (David Kyle) get amorous with each other. The latter wears a clown mask during lighter activities. Judith Myers( Sandy Johnson) and her boyfriend (David Kyle) go upstairs. Michael darts to the front of the house.Judith’s room’s light is on. As the couple gets ready to have sex the light in the room goes off. Michael enters the back of the house.Michael grabs a knife from the drawer.Michael waits for the boyfriend (David Kyle) to leave the house. Michael picks up David’s discarded mask and puts it on. The clown mask fills the frame with darkness. Michael goes towards Judith (Sandy Johnson). Michael stares at the phallic motion of the knife as he stabs Judith. Michael’s parents show up. Michael’s parents take off his mask revealing Michael’s (Will Sandin) identity as a child. The camera cranes away as if recoiling from impact of Michael’s (Will Sandin) actions.The first scene is presented as one continuous take in an attempt to give us a full run-down of Michael’s decision making process. The camera appears from the blackness of the title sequence suggesting that Michael’s point-of-view is akin to the spirit of Halloween’s point-of-view, charging him with a supernatural sense of agency. As he moves from camera to camera, it becomes apparent he’s fixated on his sister and the sexual activities she’s engaging – the extent and nature of this fasciation is unknown in spite of the fact that we’re literally in Michael’s shoes. As he realizes his sister is engaging in sex, he goes to the back of the house – his impermissible desire is granted access through unregulated passages. It’s through this entry that he gets the knife and same mask used by his sister’s partner – both parts somehow necessary for him to engage and enjoy the murder . It’s only after the prohibited act that he’s allowed to access the normal entrance to the house when he exits the front door. When the mask is removed and it’s revealed he’s a child, we recoil along with the camera at the shock that the murderer is someone who should be considered a source of innocence, not heinous brutality. It’s a shocking opening that lets the audience know the stakes of what’s to come and makes Michael’s presence one to be feared because we’re incapable of understanding him in any way.
The camera moves forward and it becomes apparent that we’re in a point of view shot – the subject of whom is yet to be revealed. We move towards the house where we see a young man and women engaging in amorous activity. As the two move around the house in their playful flirtations, the young man picks up a clown mask. All the while the subject of the camera, the point of view by which we’re experiencing the scene, darts around from window to window to keep an eye on the two before they eventually make their way to the woman’s bedroom . When the lights go off in the bedroom, the camera’s subject runs from the front of the house to the back of the house, picks up a knife, and waits for the boyfriend to leave the house before going upstairs to where the girlfriend resides. At the same time, the soundscape which had consisted of only diegetic noises – the call of birds and the sound of footsteps – gives way to another distressing Carpenter track which creates a feeling of distress – is this what the camera’s subject hears or is this music coming from elsewhere?
It’s at this point the subject’s hand reaches out to grab a clown mask on the floor putting it on over their face, thereby obscuring both their own face and the camera’s view in a shroud of darkness. From this newly adorned “vantage” point, the subject walks towards the unsuspecting victim-to-be who remains in the nude. She turns and looks at the intruder exclaiming, “Michael” before being brutally stabbed to death. The camera’s subject, Michael (Will Sandin) as we know now, takes more visual pleasure in watching the knife glide through the air, penetrating and coming out, than he does in watching the damage being done to the body. He looks at the lifeless body for a moment, as if trying to process what has happened, before going downstairs and leaving the house from the front door where two adults, make his way to him and remove his mask.
Point of view changes and the camera looks at Michael, now revealed to be a young child in a clown costume holding a bloody knife. His face seems untroubled given that he’s just murdered his sister. Horrific doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the revelation that such violence could happen in a safe environment, let alone by a child. Echoing this sentiment, the camera slowly cranes away from the scene of domestic terror both giving the audience time to process what’s happened while letting the impact of Michael’s brutality be felt visually as an inexplicable shock that can’t be contained.
In under 7 minutes, Carpenter’s masterpiece delivers not only one of the best title card sequences in cinema but also one of the greatest opening scenes. Both movements serve as thematic calling cards for the movie while blending into one another, setting the groundwork for what’s to come both at the level of Halloween and at the level of the slasher genre. A journey through the “mind” of “Halloween” as we traverse from the jack-o-lantern’s inner darkness to the point of view of Michael, tying his subjectivity with both the holiday and the force of darkness itself. The location – a suburban house- and Michael’s geographical route- going from the front of the house to the back – makes it apparent that the supposed protection of the suburbs is unable to contain deviancy which will always find a way in. The intimate relationship sex and violence that serves as the foundation for all slashers is enforced by the chronology of events – Michael’s sister has sex and is then murderdered immediately after- the phallic nature of the stabbing itself – two types of penetration- and the transference of the mask – lover turned into murderer. Finally and most importantly, from start to finish, the tension never lets up. We start uneasy because of the music and end completely shocked by the events that transpire – perfectly primed for what’s to come.
The main story picks up 15 years later in Haddonfield on Halloween once again, this time on a young woman, Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis). Unlike our introduction to Michael, our introduction to Laurie is one from a distance, from a more objective neutral position. We observe her leaving her house, talking to her father, calmly walking the streets before running into one of the neighborhood kids, Tommy Doyle (Brian Andrews). As she goes through her daily pattern we learn that she’s a down-to-earth nerdy type with a keen sense of perception and end up getting in her corner empathizing with her. However, our growing fondness of her is matched by a parallel sense of dread, as we’re shown early on that an recently escaped Michael (Nick Castle) has taken notice of her and her friends. It’s the perfect set-up.
First we see the monstrosity of the villain whose point of view is given a special privilege by being the first vantage point by which we experience the movie. It’s shot as though its one cut, meaning we get to see every detail he sees. Despite the fact that we experience his subjectivity so intimately we are unable to understand it – why does Michael kill his sister on this night in this way? Then we see the domesticity of the hero whose point of view is framed more objectively. However, we’re able to understand her reasons for action and her motivations. It’s a conundrum in comprehension as the point of view we should be more intimate with-Michael’s- is the one that escapes us, demonstrating the imperceptibility of evil and the way it escapes understanding. By tying both these character introductions in the same suburban environment, Carpenter is able to set their journeys up in parallel, as though two sides of the same coin – the normal domestic order and the sinister chaotic underbelly inherent within.
Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis) lays in bed. Sherriff Brackett (Charles Cyphers) and Dr.Loomis (Donald Pleasence) investigate the old Myers residence. Our heroes are all agents associated with a normally functioning social order where peace and idyllic life is preserved. Laurie is a model student and responsible babysitter. She represents the ideal “good kid.” Meanwhile Dr. Loomis and Sheriff Brackett are representative of the medical and legislative orders respectively. The movie constantly highlights the tact and perceptiveness of its heroes to make their struggles all the more terrifying. For if our most perceptive struggle at the individual and communal levels, what hope is there for us really?
This schema becomes more nuanced with the inclusion of the movie’s deuteragonist, Dr. Loomis (Donald Pleasence), who acted as Michael’s psychiatrist after the latter’s initial murder and is now obsessed with tracking him, Michael, down after his escape to prevent more violence. He spends the majority of the movie with law enforcement and can therefore be seen like Laurie, as an extension of a normal “acceptable” order. Thus the stage is set – a metaphysical battle in suburbia – between an unspeakable force of evil that can’t be controlled and the agents of “good” that desperately try to keep the peace by maintaining order. The movie reveals that the domains of safety we’ve constructed – homes, adult defenders, even institutions are unable to provide real security against evil.
Tommy (Brian Andrews) leaves Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis). Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis) starts to sing to herself. Michael (Nick Castle) shows up behind Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis) intruding the frame with his presence. Michael constantly takes control of frames that were free of his presence earlier acting as a force of cinematic horror. Early on, the camera lingers on Laurie and Tommy as they walk. Tommy leaves one way and Laurie proceeds to walk down the street singing to herself. However, the tranquility of the song is interrupted as Michael enters the frame from the right, reminding us that he’s the one in control and that no scene is ever “safe” from his presence.
Even the frame isn’t safe from Michael’s influence as he threatens to take control of any shot at any point. There are multiple moments in the movie where Michael appears for just a moment, usually as a kind of taunt to Laurie, before disappearing back into the background. He will only be seen when he wants. There are other moments where an objective shot of Laurie and/or her friends lingers for just a few moments longer than usual before Michael shows up in it, thereby transforming the shot into a point of view complete with the sound of his breathing invading the soundscape. Whenever any of the discordant themes play, our eyes immediately start looking at the screen alert that Michael is present. Passing cars go from everyday neighbors to a serial killer in the wait. Every bush goes from innocuous to a possible hiding spot where one will meet their demise. This anxiety over Michael’s presence is exacerbated by the way cinematographer Dean Cundey lights scenes, often times allowing only just enough light to see our victims’ faces and their immediate surroundings. When Michael eventually comes out it feels mythical, like he’s literally forming from the darkness – a callback to the transition from the title sequence to the opening which showed his point of view emerging from the blackness of the screen.
Combined with his physical appearance, it’s no wonder that Michael is so terrifying. His iconic white mask gives his presence an incomprehensibility that terrorizes by evoking the image of a human while being so radically anti-human, thereby causing an uncanny valley that’s disturbs us [1]Lay, S. (2021, April 8). Uncanny valley: why we find human-like robots and dolls so creepy. The Conversation. … Continue reading This effect is amplified because we know under the mask is a “human”, so our struggle at reconciling his existence with our ideas of normalcy is made all the more disturbing. In many ways he feels similar to the xenomorph from Alien – the corporealization of violence qua sexuality- a predator made from aspects of humanity taken to extremes . Given the introduction, we know the mask warps perspective shrouding everything in a darkness. His obsession with the mask thus cements his association as a harbinger of darkness. Thus, the movie transforms Michael into the truest form of the Boogeyman – he has the power to dominate the movie at any point, inflict violence on anyone, and is imperceptible. Transformed from a person into a force truly evil.
His presence only works because it’s positioned against the countervailing heroism of both Laurie and Dr.Loomis. From the very start Laurie demonstrates her intellectual capacity, demonstrated by the fact that only she seems aware of Michael at any point. Her perceptiveness gives her an edge up compared to her friends because she’s aware of the danger. Her wit and quick-thinking skills are utilized in ways that are intelligent, naturally line up with the plot, and don’t require some horrible exposition earlier on to set up. She’s one of the best models for the “final girl” archetype for a reason. Even in the moments where Laurie seems to be at her wits end she never loses her tenacity towards trying to solve the problem. Dr.Loomis, gives the movie a more cerebral philosophical side. As Michael’s former psychiatrist, he has a lot to say both about his former patient and the logistical problems that arise with trying to deal with genuine evil through normal social channels like the law or medicine. Pleasence manages to deliver the severity and dangers Michael poses in a way that grounds our seemingly supernatural antagonist in a very real setting. Some lines about Michael being pure evil could come off as melodramatic elsewhere, but here they feels as real and important as the everyday medical prescriptions we receive and follow. Without Pleasence’s delivery, Michael risks feeling too phantasmic and gimmicky. With his delivery, Michael becomes the Boogeyman incarnate.
Both characters are positioned as serious and resourceful. Both characters are positioned as being able to adapt to situations. Both characters are aware of Michael and what he can do. It’s precisely because the both of them are portrayed as heroes capable of saving the day that their subsequent inability to handle Michael’s reign of terror creates such a resounding sense of despair. If they can’t handle it, what hope is there for containing such evil?
It’s precisely because Halloween forces us to probe this question at every point – start to finish – that it has remained one of the greatest movies – horror or otherwise- from the date of its release. It takes the working parts of some of horrors best – the soundtrack from giallo, the camera movements from Black Christmas, the perversion from Psycho, and so on – and packs them into a tightly packed thriller that never lets up, constantly building up a palpable dread as it forces you to question how the characters will find a way out of the hellscape they find themselves trapped in. From the very start of the movie, we’re made aware of the stakes making every encounter feel unsafe. We’re left fully at the mercy of Carpenter, who relishes in teasing us with Michael’s appearance, making us almost beg for the violence to start so the tension can end. It’s no wonder then that Halloween has served as the archetype for the slasher-genre decades since inception.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Halloween is considered the best slasher for a reason and any fan of the horror genre owes it to themselves to watch the movie that pioneered/refined most of the tropes and camera techniques we’re familiar with today. The story of Michael Myers, the masked immortal Boogeyman, is timeless, violent, and genuinely frightening . From the iconic theme song to the brutality in each murder scene, it’s clear that Halloween is a cut above the rest in both presentation and execution. It’s plot might be simple, but Carpenter’s direction elevates it into a masterpiece that’s stayed scary since it first came out in 1978.
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 .
Olivia Hussey as Jess Margot Kidder as Barbara Keir Dullea as Peter Marian Waldman as Mrs.MacHenry John Saxon as Lt. Kenneth Fuller Douglas McGrath as Sergeant Nash
Release Date
1974
Language(s)
English
Running Time
98 minutes
If you’ve been keeping up with the site since the Halloween 2k19 Marathon (also known as when I first started this whole shindig), you’ll know I’m not the biggest fan of slasher movies. Growing up the only one I ever saw (and am a huge fan of) is John Carpenter’s Halloween. Thankfully, after taking a dive into the slasher cannon (Nightmare on Elm Street,Friday the 13th, Scream) , I’ve gotten fonder of them and wanted to catch up on the basics. After the mess that was Black Christmas (2019), I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone and watch the original Black Christmas, often hailed as one of the most important slashers from a technique standpoint. I went in curious and have come out a true believer. I’m happy to see that Black Christmas is not only my number one Christmas horror now (replacing Krampus) , but it deserves even more recognition and fandom than it currently gets.
From the moment the movie starts, you know something is wrong. The camera surveys a sorority house from the outside, like a voyeur. It’s made clear that we’re following the antagonist’s point-of-view through the beautiful and impressive at the time, first person shot. Just within the first few scenes, it’s clear there’s a very real danger waiting for the girls in the comfort of their own home. Soon after, the telephone rings as all the girls listen to the apparent ravings of some psycho-sexual pervert. As the night goes on, the girls are targeted one by one as they attempt to navigate the harrowing events they’re facing. It’s a setup that thrives because of its unsettling atmosphere. No gore. No awful jump scares. No absurd exposition. Every scare is well set-up, well executed, and well earned being viscerally jarring enough to shake you without disrupting the tension that’s building in the background. The movie dumps you straight into a state of anxiety and leaves you there from start to finish.
Unlike the 2019 sequel/remake , the original takes its time exploring women’s agency from smaller issues like being told in patronizing fashions how to be secure to larger issues like whether or not abortion is morally okay. The genius comes from how subtle the social commentary comes of. Nothing hits you over the head screaming “MAN BAD” or “WOMEN MOST OPPRESSED GROUP EVER”. Instead, the story generates its thematic discussion by juxtaposing the differences in the way agency is accorded to men versus women in similar circumstances. For example, when the girls initially put in their call for assistance they don’t get a real response until things start becoming more serious. Meanwhile, when an elder gentlemen literally SHOOTS a police officer, he gets a slap on the wrist. Moments like these are littered throughout to constantly highlight the hypocritical standards by which women are judged. Whenever one of the girls ends up getting killed, their murder often transitions into a joyous, everyday, playful kind of scene. It’s almost like an sick demonstration of how violence against women gets crowded out/erased and the way the technique consistently used makes that all the more apparent.
Now what pushes the movie over the top is the wide array of fleshed out and memorable characters at its disposal. Jess is our no-bullshit, cooperative protagonist who’s trying to live her own life and keep the peace. Barbara is the foul-mouthed , highly independent, deviant lifeblood of the sorority and has some of the best comedic moments in the movie. She takes the role of the traditional “sex-d” up male side-kick and makes it fully her own. Speaking of funny, Waldman absolutely knocked it out of the park as the house mother, Mrs. MacHenry. She’s the perfect blend of sardonic and fake sweet and watching her put on her airs is a delight. I was surprised at how much I was laughing in the first and second acts , but with characters this funny it’s not hard to tell why. What surprised me is how likable,diverse, and developed the male characters are. Sure, there are your generic domineering chauvinists like Sergeant Nash. However, there are also well-meaning people like Lt.Fuller, who outside of his thematically necessary blind spots, acts like a decent human being.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
If you love horror movies or are a big fan of the slasher genre and haven’t checked this gem of a movie out you’re doing yourself a disservice. Black Christmas blends together a compelling story, layers of mystery, memorable and likable characters, and ties them all together in a way that demonstrates the trials and horrors of women’s’ agency without being preachy or too on the nose.
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report.
