NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
A young woman, Harper (Jessie Buckley) comes to an English countryside where she rents a cottage to deal with trauma stemming from her husband’s (Paapa Essiedu) unexpected passing. To get her mind off the situation, she goes on a stroll through the grounds and ends up in a forest ripe with greens all around. She finds herself at the entrance of a tunnel, a dark passage to an unknown location; the hole captivates her and she enters it.
Her voice echoes in the cave, reverberating against itself in cycles. She sings a variety of different tunes, some with only a few notes, against one another, transforming the collective soundscape into an evocative ouroboros-like melody wherein each discrete set of notes fades into the next before eventually returning. But Harper’s song of echoes comes to an end as a silhouetted man appears at the other side of the tunnel. The man breaks the moment’s serenity and gives chase to Harper all the way back to her cottage.
This scene defines and crystallizes the logic of Men, a work in which narrative, visual, and auditory patterns are interwoven against and within one another, generating a complex schema of meaning contingent on how the viewer orients themselves towards the cinematic experience. This act of interpretation places the viewer squarely on Harper’s side; as she navigates a matrix of men, each obnoxious in their own chauvinistic, irritating way, and has to deal with all manners of gaslighting from them, the viewer is forced to make sense of how different story threads suture around one another and come together to form a cohesive narrative, surreal or not.
From the moment Harper meets the residents near her abode, these interpretative decisions start to sprout up: each of the men she meets sports a similar face – an intentional decision as they’re all played by Rory Kinnear. Yet this similarity in appearance is never noted by Harper or any of the characters, leaving its purpose up to interpretation. The viewer gets to determine whether or not the homogeneity is due to Harper’s subjective view of all men being the same or the film’s themes suggesting that the men are so similar that their physical appearances should reflect one another or something else entirely. Each interpretation is suggested by the film as the echoes generated by its elliptical formal choices tie seemingly innocuous details into larger theses that bracket the film in one discrete direction versus another. These choices in perspective have such a compounding effect on the nature of the narrative that a viewer could leave justifiably thinking that the film only portrays one character death, shown in flashback, or showcases multiple character deaths sprinkled throughout the story. However, regardless of which path the viewer and Harper choose to follow, the center of that journey always terminates in man.
Thus, Harper’s journey, whatever the viewer determines it is, elliptically orders itself around the nature of a subject’s relationship to men and the social order oriented around and indexed towards their positions. Regardless of which man Harper finds herself encountering, the same cycle ensues: her attempts at individual peace are interrupted as she’s forced to give attention to the man in question, the nature of that attention being contingent on the above interpretative schema.
The dream-like quality can easily be dismissed as art-house pretension, especially as the subtext sublimates in a visceral body horror that threatens to confuse more than illuminate. But by leaving the viewer in the same fractured and entranced state as its protagonist, Men manages to provoke an empathetic engagement with the subject matter, even if the nature of that engagement differs wildly from viewer to viewer. Far from gaslighting the viewer with obtuse, opaque threads meant to elicit confusion, Men forces the viewer to take responsibility for the narrative they craft from the film itself.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Men is an ambitious piece of film-making that investigates the nature of gaslighting and obfuscation by making the viewer responsible for piecing together the narrative and taking charge of what it means. The unnerving, surreal imagery takes on a new life as its purpose takes on a subjective meaning, letting the horrors take firm root in the mind. Even when the thresholds for explanation wear thin, the experience generated by the emphatic connection with a protagonist going through a similar labyrinth of meaning and construction ensures the feelings of the film still wash over.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Benedict Cumberbatch as Dr. Stephen Strange Elizabeth Olsen as Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch Benedict Wong as Wong Xochitl Gomez as America Chavez Rachel McAdamsas Christine
NOTE: This review contains spoilers for: Avengers: Infinity War, Avengers: Endgame, Wandavision.
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch), complete with a brand-new hair and wardrobe style, and a teenager, America (Xochitl Gomez) run down a shimmering bridge in a seemingly cosmic realm. They make a mad dash towards a floating tome in the sky while avoiding the attacks of a cosmic terror chasing after them; the creature blocks the duo’s path to the tome and Strange begins to despair. He turns to America and tells her that due to the level of threat the duo faces, he’ll have to sacrifice her; the creature is after her powers and she can’t control, so sacrificing her and allowing the experienced Doctor Strange to take the powers instead will at least give the “good” guys a fighting chance. America is aghast at the proposed solution, but as Strange reaches over to begin the sacrificial transference, the creature impales him, stopping him in his tracks.
America freaks out in response to the attack and subconsciously uses her power, breaking a star-shaped wormhole in the fabric of reality; both she her and the recently deceased Doctor Strange are up by the force of the portal. The camera rotates 180° as the two are sucked in and the corpse of Doctor Strange takes central focus – a sudden match cut to the Doctor Strange we know. He wakes up in a fright obviously disturbed by his nightmarish vision. His face is reflected in a broken watch face, reflecting the turmoil and lack of cohesion he feels.
He magically changes clothes and adorns a suit and tie – a far cry from his robe. He makes his way to his former lover Christine’s (Rachel McAdams) wedding where he’s accosted by a former colleague on the decisions made during Avengers: Infinity War; Strange is challenged on the possibility of having allowed Thanos’s brutal snap due to ineptitude rather than necessity. But Strange persists that he did what he had to do.
When he goes to congratulate and honestly talk to Christine about her future and their shared time together, he’s once again brought to task for his decision-making process. Christine points out that their relationship would never be able to work even if Stephen wasn’t a sorcerer tasked with protecting the realms because his inability to let other people, herself included, handle or share responsibilities make genuine connection and change impossible to achieve. The nightmarish opening rears its ugly head again as the most recent confirmation of this truth: Doctor Strange cannot trust others to act properly so he has to ensure things go according to his vision and his vision alone.
Before he can think for too long, a monstrous disturbance makes its presence known. Doctor Strange seamlessly transforms on screen via the use of his magical cape and dashes into action with magical aplomb. He reveals the source of the disturbance, an tentacular cosmic creature, who wreaks havoc chasing after none other than America, the girl from Strange’s dream.
Director Sam Raimi, no stranger to super-hero fare, captures the sorcerer’s battle with the creature using his trademark style from the Spider-Man trilogy; Strange and company move deftly through the cityscape as terrified bystanders run around, lending to a chaotic flurry. Raimi cuts to singular shots of the bystanders reacting to the spectacle on display, accentuating the campy aspects of the story while capitalizing on the catharsis inherent to watching a super-hero rescue the innocent. The battle beats may be familiar, but the vitality inherent in their craft makes them a joy to watch. Finally, the battle ends with a gory finish atypical of Marvel fare and more reminiscent of Raimi’s own filmography- a sign of the things to come.
Strange questions America regarding her presence; it’s not everyday figures from dreams burst into reality. But America pops Strange’s bubble and reveals that his vision, far from being a dream, was a reality from another universe, one of many universes spanning the multiverse. America’s unease around him suddenly makes sense; it may have been him from another dimension, but it was still a Dr. Strange that threatened to and attempted to kill a teenager in order to preserve the greater good. But our Strange convinces America to divulge the nature of her troubles and comes to understand that she’s being chased through the multiverse by some entity desperate to use and her control her powers; America has the ability to freely travel the multiverse through her star-shaped portals but presently does not have control over when and where the power manifests.
With no other clue to go on besides some runic enchantments on the tentacle creature from before, Strange sends America to the magical abode of Kamar Taj with Sorceror Supreme Wong (Benedict Wong) and visits Wanda (Elizabeth Olsen), the only magical being he knows of who may be able to understand the runes. Unfortunately, she warns him that the threat chasing after America is far more dangerous and threatening than he could have conceptualized. Strange realizes the stakes of allowing such a creature access to unbridled access to every universe would be catastrophic and is now tasked with protecting America’s power.
As the antagonistic force chasing America comes closer to succeeding, the film is allowed to become stranger and more in line with Raimi’s horror filmography à la The Evil Dead. For the first time in the M.C.U’s franchise history(28 films including this one), it feels like the director has been given reign to exhibit the unexplored territories of comic book movies and Raimi takes full advantage to ramp up the tension and intrigue. The force chasing after America is a behemoth of an antagonist and Raimi captures their presence as monstrous; there are sequences that feel straight out of a slasher film as the enemy pursues America, generating a palpable tension that the franchise has never truly had before.
Canted angles, well-timed jump scares, brutal death sequences, and even the spectral P.O.V shot Raimi created in The Evil Dead are incorporated to underscore the depravity of the threat. The score cuts out at perfect moments to build up the dread and the brutality by which the antagonist carries out their mission always feels like a serious threat. It’s in this commitment to visually reinforcing the terror of the antagonist that Raimi finds a way to counterbalance the campy, goofier sections of the film without incurring a tonal whiplash.
Yet, in spite of the film’s distinct Raimi-isms, it never feels contextually out of place within the grander scheme of the M.C.U because it develops its characters’ arcs in germane fashion relative to what came before. For Doctor Strange, the journey he experiences in Doctor Strange, going from doctor saving lives with medicine to sorcerer saving lives in the trillions with magic, is never broached on again in the other entries of the franchise involving the character. He never has to deal with inability to reconcile with Christine or how the nature of his role as sorcerer runs in direct contrast to his Hippocratic oath; the idea of sacrificing America at the start of the film is reminiscent of the Strange we’ve seen up to now and this story sees him returning to his roots to re-discover just why he’s doing what he’s doing.
Likewise, Wanda’s’ journey from Wandavision picks up soon after the series ends and follows her as she navigates the nature of her powers and the ways they implicate her reasons for acting. Like Stephen, her character has had little time to deal with the depths of her trauma and is given an opportunity to tackle those issues head on while traversing the multiverse. Both characters get to meet alternate versions of themselves who, driven by the same passions, have made slightly different decisions than them resulting in vastly different lives. Through this, the characters are given the opportunity to reflect on themselves in an authentic fashion.
By maneuvering the set-pieces and pivotal story moments around emphatic character moments, Raimi is able to elevate the hobbled narrative that finds itself jumping from one MacGuffin to the next. Because every movement is motivated by or centered around the characters’ decisions, they feel relevant and make the piecemeal story cohesive. While the logic behind the story might be forgettable, the emotional resonance of important character beats persists and makes an Frankeinsteined story wholly engaging.
The biggest proof of this is America who serves as the biggest MacGuffin of all. She’s both the target of the antagonistic forces and Doctor Strange and company. One side definitively wants to kill and take her powers and the other side is willing to protect her but has shown the capacity to act in a more malicious manner. Both sets of characters are in constant pursuit of her and as their convictions come to the surface, the status of her relation to her powers changes. She becomes an external representation of the characters’ arcs and her status as MacGuffin reflects these developments. Consequently, when the character arcs start to come to a close, the film proceeds in domino effect with each arc pushing one another to a close.
While this approach may disappoint fans of the franchise looking for more explosive worldbuilding or rich storytelling, its a refreshing change of pace that should entice those tired of the usual trappings associated with the genre. The character focus is gripping enough to keep the viewer engaged and Raimi’s direction buoys otherwise contrived story moments and makes emotionally rich moments all the more compelling. Fans of the characters and of the horror sensibilities of Raimi will be more than satisfied with this latest superhero outing.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is a much needed breath of fresh air for a genre and a cinematic universe that’s felt stylistically barren for most of its existence. The focus is on delivering an engaging spectacle that grips the viewer. While the story is basic and patchy, the vitality present in the film’s construction make it an absolute delight to watch. The story may be on the lighter side in the grand scheme of the cinematic universe and doesn’t engage in as much fanfare as some viewers might want, but it’s navigation of characters and their respective arcs makes it truly resonant when it needs to be.
Rating
9.4/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Whitman (Tim Morgan) stares at the disfigured man. The disfigured man reveals his disfigurement to the audience and Whitman screams. A stop motion skeletal entity shows up. Whitman (Tim Morgan) continues to scream.The disfigured person starts to mess with a flesh wound on their stomach. Whitman (Tim Morgan) trembles in his sleep. A skeletal creature rips out of a man’s stomach. Dick (Bill MacLeod) and Ranger Stillman (Mike Magri) speak to one another. Winterbeast’s opening sets the stage for the entire movie: it starts with a nightmare sequence that confusingly combines stop-motion and live-action, has delayed acting that undercuts the horror of the moment, and confusingly shifts between perspectives and moments without giving the audience to latch onto.
Sergeant Whitman gazes upon a person smiling on a chair. Despite being privy to the person’s face from the start of the scene, Whitman only reacts in aghast to the deformities on the person’s face when the film cuts to a face reveal for the audience. Out of nowhere, a stop-motion skeleton figure makes its appearance and we cut to Whitman reacting in an increased panic at the spectral entity; there is no effort made to incorporate both the live action and stop-motion visual into one scene and Whitman’s reaction is the only connective tissue letting the viewer know this is all taking place in the same environment. To add to the chaos, the deformed person starts to rip at his own flesh. This disturbing sequence is then revealed to be Whitman’s nightmare as he tosses and turns in bed.
However, instead of easing the viewer in to the story by showing the sleeping character, Whitman, waking up and confirming the vision before getting to their day-to-day, Winterbeast instead chooses to cut to another equally out-of-context nightmarish scene, this time of a skeletal creature coming out of another man’s stomach. Then, the story cuts to two completely different characters, Ranger Stillman (Mike Magri) and Dick (Bill MacLeod), providing the viewer no context by which to ground that which came previously. Whitman eventually shows up to the station and is informed by Stillman, who we learn works for the former, that Dick, an on-goer, found one of Whitman’s other rangers, Bradford (Lissa Breer), abandoned in the mountain and was unable to find another ranger, Tello (David Mica), accompanying her. The group makes plans to investigate the trail the next day.
A woman begins to undress. A tree monster shows up. Tree monster P.O.V shot moving towards the woman’s abode. The tree monster grabs the woman out of her abode and slams her to death against the wall. The first kill sequence demonstrates Winterbeast’s tenacity in getting its monsters on screen. It uses live action, a slasher-styled P.O.V shot, and stop-motion to showcase a tree monster killing a woman; the final shot transforms the woman into a stop-motion representation to have the monster and victim interact, hoping that the viewer will go along with the ride.
Suddenly, the scene changes and we cut to a completely different woman. She gets undressed in her abode when another stop-motion creature, a large tree, enters the area she’s in. A slasher-styled P.O.V shot is used to show the creature approaching the woman. He reaches and grabs her from her room; the film opts to transform the woman into a stop-motion figure to keep visual consistency with the tree-monster. The monster then slams the woman’s body against the wall, seemingly killing her.
This haphazard cutting from and to scenes with whiplash-inducing changes in perspective are par for the course in Winterbeast, a fascinating movie that operates on pure kinetic momentum and nothing more. Continuity in narrative or within scenes matters less than entertaining at every stop along the way which is why the movie constantly meanders from point to point with a loose reverence for earlier narrative threads ; the focus is always getting to the next moment of violence, context be damned. The structure of the movie diverges very little from this opening structure: the characters gather information about, or seemingly about the disappearance and then a different stop-motion creature kills another character, usually unrelated to the story outside of their carnage candy role.
If there is a larger overarching plot, it’s about Whitman and company trying to circumvent a Jaws mayoral-like figure in the form of the town lodge’s owner, Mr. Sheldon (Bob Harlow), who refuses to close the lodge down despite the mystery surrounding the disappearance and the resulting supernatural phenomena. Unfortunately, while the plot synopsis seems like a springboard to jump off of, Winterbeast makes very little use of it. Nothing in the story is built up enough to generate an investment on the part of the viewer. The characters have very little to say to one another in the ways of motivation or traits, the different monsters/creatures that the story utilizes have no coherent overarching identity or relevant differentiable characteristics, and the acting is so far removed from the spectacle that it becomes impossible to care about what’s happening outside of sheer curiosity.
Whitman (Tim Morgan) and Charlie (Charles Majka) talk in a Natives decorated room. Charlie (Charles Majka) emulates the Native statue’s pose behind him. Bradford (Lissa Breer) and Whitman (Tim Morgan) speak about Indian legends as an marquee with “Indian Legends” looms in the background. There’s a strong focus on Native Indians in both the visuals and the narrative that feels like the start of something larger and more coherent to latch onto, but it ultimately ends up going nowhere impactful.
There’s an attempt to couch the mystery within a Native Indian dressing that even goes so far as to suggest one of Whitman’s friend’s, Charlie (Charles Majka), is a stand-in for Natives within the context of the story, but then does nothing to explain or relate any of the violence or the mystery proper to the Natives outside of the most superficial sense of possible; they might as well not have been in the the movie at all which is a shame because the proximity to the Natives is one of the only consistent visuals in the mise-en-scène.
Without any genuine way to relate to the narrative, all the movie has going for it is the spectacle, and the quality of what it has to offer is inconsistent at best. Outside of the general incongruity resulting between treating the pure stop-motion scenes and the live action as part of the same environment, the sound design is severely disorienting. While the movie tries to use its soundtrack in the vein of Halloween to ratchet up the tension and create a feeling of the dread, it fails to evoke the slightest sense of unease ; because the track often noticeably cuts before looping back in on itself during longer scenes, any notion of tension immediately dissipates and the audio becomes farcical. This feeling is exacerbated by poor sound mixing; the score and/or background-noises like the wind or leaves become so loud as to obscure the dialogue or one another, culminating in scenes where the impact of any.
In spite of that, where director Christopher Theis and producer Mark Frizzell’s Winterbeast succeeds is in its sheer dedication to presenting a cinematic “something. Just like Obayashi does in House, they impart such passion to presenting a vision, albeit a vision that seems incomprehensible by most measures, that one can’t help get caught up in at least appreciating the effort. For all its issues, if there’s one thing Winterbeast is not it’s lacking in passion. Where other teams might see the inability to properly incorporate their stop-motion creatures with the live action nature of their shooting and subsequently can the creatures in lieu of something more tame, this movie opts for the full vision, no holds barred. If the people and monsters can’t mingle directly, then P.O.V shots and stop-motion people will have to suffice; it’s better than fully compromising on the spectacle of what-could-be.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Winterbeast is a movie of pure passion that’s put together with no other purpose than to stay consistently entertaining. It sacrifices narrative coherence, thematic resonance, character development, and even visual continuity to ensure that spectacle upon spectacle can be presented; the movie so fervently goes for broke in trying to do something that in spite of all its failures its not a miserable experience. Echoing the poster tagline, the movie “must be seen to be believed.”
Rating
1.5/10
Grade
F
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Mia Goth as Maxine / Pearl Jenna Ortega as Lorraine Martin Henderson as Wayne Gilroy Scott Mescudi as Jackson Owen Campbell as RJ Brittany Snow as Bobby-Lynne Stephen Ure as Howard
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
The camera starts positioned behind a doorway, framing the shot in a smaller boxier format reminiscent of old-school movies. The camera pushes through the door and the frame extends to a wide shot, revealing a bloody crime scene. This change in frame size sets the stage for what’s to come as the film proper finds itself switching between a boxy format and a wide format, the former used in depicting the pornographic film that the main characters of the story are shooting and the latter used to depict the story proper. As the camera crosses the door’s threshold from one “frame” to another, it becomes apparent that the liminal space between these two frames of reference – art and reality – is what X sets out to explore.
While police investigate the trail of violence at the scene, a television set on the premises blares the ramblings of a conservative Christian preacher talking about moral degradation – a clear contrast in values to both the violent setting and the story of the aspiring pornographers. With carnage guaranteed, the film cuts to 24 hours earlier.
One of the crew-members, Maxine (Mia Goth) sits in front of a mirror and gazes into her reflection. She adulates herself while snorting cocaine, affirming her identity as a “star”. Her boyfriend and the producer of her films, Wayne (Martin Henderson) retrieves her from the dressing room she occupies, frisking her and the rest of his crew to a rural property in Texas for their next project. On the way to the location, the crew enter a gas station; Maxine bemoans her lack of status but Wayne assuages her and reaffirms that her “X-factor” will propel her into the limelight; while the couple valorizes the star-making powers of pornography the voice of the Christian preacher from the film’s start comes into prominence from a television in the station, decrying the degenerate functions of sexual deviancy brought about by the culture of sexual liberation; once again a contrast in values is emphasized between conservative Christian values and the pleasures which the former decries as sin.
Even within the crew there’s a difference in orientation towards sex. The director of the pornographic film, RJ (Owen Campbell) believes that porn can be elevated to the level of “art” while the actors see it as nothing more than a good bit of fun; it’s just smut after all. Thus, sex is positioned as art, entertainment, impulse, and source of evil. Director Ti West takes these perspectives and also transposes them against the slasher genre, a mapping which works out given the similarities in domain; slashers not only feature healthy amounts of fanservice in the form of scantily-clad/nude women but the sub-genre’s focus on gore, violence, and methods of execution position it as a pornography of violence.
In this sense, the moralizing of the preacher doubles as the moralizing inherent to the slasher genre which often finds its most promiscuous characters dying in brutal fashion while the virginal characters, chaste and “uncorrupt”, escape from the clutches of the killer. This transformation of the sub-genre’s themes to literal character qua superego gives the film a distinctive flavor wherein the protagonists are less fighting an antagonist killer as much as they’re fighting the ethical template by which “slashers” are structured. As the film cuts between the pornography being shot and the story proper, the binaries present between slasher/porn, porn/art, art/reality become blurry and suggest that the difference is just a question of vantage point.
The beauty of X stems from its ability to engage in such posturing without forcing the audience to forgo the slasher proper. West constantly cuts from shots of the porno to shots of the film proper begging the question on where artifice and art begin and end in relation to one another. In addition, he consistently utilizes a triple cross-cut between seemingly disparate events to suggest a hidden connection. None of these cuts interrupt the flow of the action or the momentum of the story, so an audience uninterested in the why can enjoy the bloodshed unabashedly without having to worry about thinking through a potential payoff while viewers more focused on cerebral elements of the filmmaking and themes can analyze the flow of the editing – it’s the perfect balance between engaging with the audience while entertaining them in the manner they hope.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
X is one of the best slashers to come out this side of Wes Craven’s Scream, deconstructing the slasher sub-genre in a fresh new way while relishing in its gory fun. The film’s navigation into the intersections of art, sexuality, reality along with the clever nods to the horror genre at large make it a must-watch for genre fans looking for a great time while providing enough heady material for viewers wanting to do a deeper-dive on the material.
Rating
10/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
The red title card. Text indicates this is a prequel to the first two franchise installments. The black screen becomes a bright white.The camera tilts down from the skies to Quinn (Stefanie Scott) standing on the street. The title sequence gets straight to the point, going from the title card to a street-view of our protagonist, Quinn, making her way to a house.
The title sequence starts in typical Insidious fashion: the credits are written with blue letters that dissipate in ethereal fashion before violent instrumentals punctuate the soundscape and the ominous red title card comes into frame. More blue text indicates that this third chapter in the franchise is a prequel to the first two movies. Then the text fades to a black screen which explodes in a burst of white light; the light becomes a skyline where birds fly around and the camera moves down to street-level. A young woman, Quinn Brenner (Stefanie Scott), walks down the street towards a house.
She knocks on the front door and an elderly woman, Elise (Lin Shaye) comes to answer. Quinn indicates she’s heard of Elise’s psychic powers and consultations and requests help with a supernatural affair. Elise responds in the negative and explains that her days of psychic entrepreneurship are over. Nonetheless, the sincerity of Quinn’s pleas moves Elise and she offers the would-be-customer a chance to come in and talk.
Quinn explains that she’s lost her mother some time ago and thinks that the latter is communicating with her. Since the occasion, she’s become insistent on reaching back out; it’s clear that her mom served a critical role in her life and confirmation of such contact would help Quinn find a firm footing in life. Elise gets swept up in the admission and begrudgingly offers to help Quinn try and contact Quinn’s deceased mother.
Elise (Lin Shaye) turns out the lights. The camera pushes in from behind Quinn (Stefanie Scott) as she turns around. A presence is felt even though its not seen. Elise (Lin Shaye) experiences pain and stops the séance. The séance goes wrong quickly. As the camera pushes in on Quinn, it becomes apparent an entity has responded to her and Elise’s calls. Its malevolent presence can be felt in the room behind Quinn, prompting Elise to stop the process immediately.
Elise turns out the light and begins delving into the realm beyond, but it becomes clear that something is going wrong. The camera pushes in from behind Quinn; something is coming. She turns and looks behind her and senses an unseen presence in the room. It’s clear that the wrong specter has heard the call. Elise’s face contorts in pain and she stops the séance, indicating that such occupational dangers are the reason she’s left the profession. The retired psychic turns to Quinn and warns the latter to stop reaching out for her mother because any message to one of the dead can be heard by all of them, and as the two just witnessed, some of the specters from beyond are more than willing to cause harm to those who call to them.
Alas, now that the other side has heard Quinn’s call and knows her of the depths of her longing, it’s not going to let her go so easily. Dark forces slowly infiltrate her life and begin to wreak havoc, leaving her bruised and damaged in her journey to find her mother. Unable to deal with the supernatural shenanigans, Sean (Dermot Mulroney), Quinn’s father, contacts Elise to help with the situation. The psychic is thus forced back into the fray and must confront her own inner demons as she seeks to stop the demonic forces that currently threaten Quinn’s life.
Unfortunately, for fans of the franchise, the film’s status as a prequel makes the journey to come predictable; the fate of pivotal characters is already known, so a sense of tension is missing. The script doesn’t account for this in any fashion, opting for inoffensive and tried story beats to generate a baseline level of interest in what’s to come. At one level, the story spends little time in building up Quinn or her family; the relationships between members of the Brenner family never get pushed or stressed in ways that would give the characters something for the viewer to latch onto.
Meanwhile, Elise, who serves as a secondary hero in the story, is given very little to do, which is a shame when Lin Shaye is one of the better actors here. The journey of a psychic so scared by the darkness of the astral world that she seals her own power is one that has so much ground to traverse, but instead of giving Elise room to grow and understand her role, the story prods her to her foregone conclusion with little demonstration of Elise’s decision-making process.
Consequently, the narrative, though coherent, offers very little space to latch on. It’s a vehicle for frightening set-pieces. But just like the story, these set-pieces are lacking a vitality or ingenuity that sets them apart from traditional haunted-house fare. A character will notice something is wrong. A presence will show up. The character will look around for them and then BOOM. A loud jolt along with a “creepy” image and the sequence is done. While both Insidious and Insidious: Chapter 2have “jump scares” in them, both films employ them in measured manners that lets them have an impact. They build up to their scares through a chaotic sound design which never gives the viewer a moment to rest or predict what’s going to come next. In contrast, Chapter 3 opts for the same audio design for each of its set-pieces which makes them feel more chore than scare.
The problem is frustrating because it’s clear that director Leigh Whannell is competent at the technical aspects of nailing suspenseful sequences. There are multiple moments where the tension builds naturally as entities enter the background quietly. There’s a time given to let a reaction build up. But instead of riding the momentum and delivering on the subtle and eerie nature of what’s going on, Whannell opts to go for bombastic and showy spectacles. This might be forgiven if, like Chapter 2, Chapter 3 utilized the metaphysical trappings of its universe to set-up visually distinctive spectacles, but it never manages to tap into the same visual possibilities. It’s telling when the first two entries bathe their supernatural sequences with hellish reds and astral blues and this entry only makes use of the color scheme at the start and end of its narrative. In fact, outside of some events in the third act, there’s very little here to distinguish the film as an entry in the franchise; it could have just been a supernatural story with no connection to what came before.
In this sense, Insidious: Chapter 3 is frustrating not because it’s particularly bad in any one way but because it never manages to embellish an identity for itself – a disappointment given the potential the mythos of the franchise offers. By opting for the safe and simple choice at most turns, the narrative never manages to endear itself to anyone looking for something deeper than just a simple and technically competent supernatural story.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The third chapter in the Insidious franchise lacks the identity or charisma that made the previous entries, namely the first film, mainstays of the horror genre. The set-pieces and narrative never make use of the metaphysical possibilities inherent to the franchise, opting for conventional set-ups and trappings at every turn. While this may be entertaining for the viewer looking for a simple, conventional supernatural outing, those hoping for something unique and engaging should look elsewhere.
Rating
6.9/10
Grade
C+
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Jaime Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode James Jude Courtney as Michael Myers Judy Greer as Karen Andi Matichak as Allyson Anthony Michael Hall as Tommy Doyle
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
As a fan of director David Gordon Green’s 2018 namesake, revival and sequel to John Carpenter’s original 1978 masterpiece, Halloween, I was hopeful that Halloween Kills would continue its predecessor’s measured approach at delving into the psychology of the characters, namely Laurie(Jaime Lee Curtis), in relation to Michael(James Jude Courtney). While not in the same league as the original, Green’s previous film at least seems to understand that the terror of Michael stems not just from his brutality but from his inability to be understood or cognized. As an emissary and force of evil, he remains an enigma.
Unfortunately, Kills forgets this key fact and throws nuance to the wind in favor of brash and abrasive points, many of which become especially confusing when given a few moments thoughts. The film’s title sequence serves as warning for what’s to come. In contrast to Carpenter’s original film’s eerie and evocative opening sequence which sets its pace with a slow push in on a jack-o-lantern that flickers menacingly, Halloween Kill’s introduction opts for something more grandiose, pushing in on a sea of flaming jack-o-lanterns which dissipate upon contact with the camera. The former approach favors the slow build-up before the spectacle, choosing to savor the moment of impact, while the latter favors extravaganza for its own sake, trading slow and methodical for bombastic. These orientations towards terror set the stage for their respective films; Halloween is a tense, atmospheric, palpable nightmare waiting to imprint its horror onto its audiences’ mind, while Halloween Kills is a to-the-point gore-fest that seeks to assault its audience with a barrage of scenarios that fail to leave a lasting mark after their initial presentation.
While the story picks up right at the end of the previous film, it almost immediately undermines everything that happened before. As Laurie, Karen(Judy Greer), and Allyson(Andi Matichak) make it to the hospital, Michael is promptly freed from his burning prison and soon starts to slaughter everything in sight. His massacre calls the attention of the residents of Haddonfield, who, under the rallying cry of a much older and still very much traumatized Tommy Doyle(Anthony Michael Hall), the young boy Laurie babysat in Carpenter’s film, go to ensure “evil dies tonight.” Consequently, the narrative jumps between groups of civilians who try and hunt Michael through the city, unaware soon-to-be victims caught in the middle of his rampage, and Laurie along with her family recovering at the hospital.
Alas, none of these narrative threads is interesting or unique. Laurie’s story might as well have not been in the film given how little she ends up doing, and all the non-Laurie related plot-lines follow the same formula as one another: introduce character, introduce said character’s quirk in lieu of meaningful personality, kill character in brutal fashion. If the character is a mob character as opposed to just a victim caught unaware, they will mention, without fail, how dangerous Michael is to confront alone, let alone with group, before then confronting him alone. Forget predictable, try exhausting. Never at any point, does anything amount to more than casually interesting, and most of the film comes up much shorter than even that.
Rather than setting firm foundation and direction for the story and its ideas to traverse along, Green and his fellow screen-writers seem content with establishing threadbare connections to Carpenter’s ’78 film, as though mere association is enough to transfer heft from one story to another. Halloween Kills confuses reverence to the most minute details for enthralling cinematic texture, assuming that because the characters are related to the first film, that somehow the audience will care about them and invest into their respective stories. Every single character or detail, big or small, is highlighted by the film as if screaming, “See, it’s all connected!” But, by and large, the effort comes off as farce. No one outside of Laurie and her family, has any embellished reason for doing what they do, and the narrative never gives the audience a reason to root for the mob and their efforts.
Furthermore, even though the last film makes it clear that Michael’s murder spree in 1978 isn’t as serious a sequence of violence as status quo events (ex: modern shootings), Kills expects the audience to now believe that there are throngs of people around who are as upset and devastated about the spree as Laurie. This insinuation not only undermines the contextual work of the last film but also moots Laurie’s unique connection to the situation. If everyone is as obsessed about the event as her, then the last film would not have happened as it did, but Kills requires this to be true in order to ramp up to the ham-fisted themes and set-pieces that it so desperately wants to present as evidence of its artistic depth.
It’s evidence that the film wants to serve as a moral warning against succumbing to mob violence; don’t pursue uncontrolled violence lest you become a monster yourself. However, the story presents no alternative to the problems mob violence seeks to resolve, especially within its own context. When a police officer talks about how they didn’t want to shoot Michael once apprehended due to respect for shared human empathy and respect for the law, it seems obvious that, without context, the audience should be in favor of such a view. Officers killing unarmed and captured enemies should not be encouraged. But because we know Michael is a brutal murderer, a point the film gleefully reminds us of as he mutilates teenagers, couples, and the elderly galore, the message of restraint and respect for rule of law becomes much more confusing, especially when the narrative constantly demonstrates just how inept the law is at dealing with such events. If monsters are bad and the law is unable to stop them, chastising mob violence and condemning it in such a moralistic fashion muddies the discourse surrounding the issue.
The point also fails to make any resounding impact given that the film is a CELEBRATION of violence. It’s hard for the consequences of mob violence to linger in one’s mind in thought-provoking fashion when the camera treats this violence no differently than it does Michael’s carnage tour. If we’re supposed to marvel and cheer at the effective, technical execution of the latter, it becomes difficult to explain why the audience shouldn’t cheer for the former, especially when both are treated in the same manner: on-display gore for the audience to gawk at.
As a result, even though Halloween Kills share many of the same qualities as the early movies in the Friday the 13th franchise, namely disposable characters and focus on brutal set-pieces at the cost of narrative or thematic depth, it never reaches near the same levels of entertainment because it takes it forces its subject matter to be treated with a undeserved gravity that makes the overall experience uneven and tepid. Despite boasting Carpenter’s excellent score, slicker moment of gore, and a more robust production than many of the Friday films, Kills inhibits enjoyment by trying to tie the gratuitous and over-the-top violence to more severe and intricate themes.
With no one to cheer for and no hefty ideas to mull about on, it’s hard to recommend Halloween Kills to anyone but ardent fans of the franchise, good and bad, and gore hounds looking for mean-spirited slayings. The story is confused and doesn’t know if it wants to be a serious contemplation on evil or a carnage candy exhibition; consequently this identity-crisis permeates and undermines the film at critical junctures, leading little to offer. I can only hope that the follow-up, Halloween Ends, wraps things up nicely, but with how disappointing Kills ended up being, I’m not holding my breath.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Halloween Kills is a sorely lacking sequel that not only squanders all good will engendered by director David Gordon Green’s previous film Halloween but also fully drops the ball for the upcoming finale, Halloween Ends. The film wants to be both a blood-bath and a piece with heart, but it fails to do either effectively because it spends no time setting up its characters or its story beats for meaningful success. Only ardent franchise fans and lovers of gore should check this one out.
Rating
4.8/10
Grade
F
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
The camera crawls over the internal workings of a car engine, jumping from one section to another, canvassing each in sensuous manner. Country music strings can be heard intermingled with the mechanical noises of the engine proper. Eventually, the film cuts inside of the car; now the engine’s rumbles are replicated by a young girl, Alexia, who delights in her loud and boisterous emulation much to the chagrin of her father who turns up the country music louder and louder as a response.
Upset with her father’s refusal to be her plaything, Alexia starts to repeatedly kick his chair before then taking off her seatbelt to presumably cause more havoc. Her father immediately turns back to yell at her and ends up losing control. Crash. She flies and suffers a head wound. Disfiguration. At the hospital, her head is outfitted with a titanium plate. Transformation. Titane is here. Metal has become flesh. Alexia has been reborn as cyborg proper, a child of metal. Far from just emulating its hums, she now is partly composed of it.
After the procedure, Alexia ignores her father and goes out to the car. Due to her crash, one would expect some kind of traumatic response, but Alexia goes to kiss the vehicle, showering it with a kind of love that seems all the more absurd given her seeming lack of feeling to her parents. Her kinship is with the world of metal and not with the world of humanity; metal becomes more skin than skin itself – a reorientation towards flesh. Just like Raw, director Julia Ducournau is most interested in breaking down the boundaries of where flesh stops being banal and starts being something worth protecting. Instead of utilizing cannibalism as the means of navigating the contours of what renders flesh valuable, she uses Alexia’s fetishistic relationship to metal.
Jump to the future. Country strings are replaced by The Kills’ “Doing It To Death” – a sign of things to come. An older adult Alexia (Agathe Rousselle) struts confidently through an underground car facility. Cinematographer Ruben Impens captures her movements in a smooth tracking shot that never breaks, gliding through a erotic gallery of bodies moving, women dancing evocatively over the hoods of cars as customers wait and watch, before finally revealing Alexia as one of these women. Unlike Raw’s gorgeous one-shot tracking shot of a rave scene meant to demonstrate it’s main characters disorientation, Titane’s introductory one-shot highlights its protagonists wholehearted embrace of an sensual and no-bars lifestyle. Far from learning discipline from her car crash, Alexia has only become more emblazoned; it’s no coincidence that car she dances on top is painted with flames. She’s an unrestrained fire that seems hellbent on “doing it to death”.
She leaves the show but is accosted on the way to her car by a fan who gives chase to her. The situation is clearly uncomfortable; the nature of his approach is downright predatory and his actions afterwards, including a non-consensual kiss, make it clear that Alexia can’t easily get away from him. Curiously, she leans in to him and begins kissing him more passionately, seemingly rewarding his unwarranted advances with tacit approval. However, this clearly is demonstrated to be far from the case as she quickly removes a long, pointed, hairpin and quickly stabs the unsuspecting fan through his ear, killing him in brutal fashion. The point of injury is near the same point of her own titanium implant – the site of which is still fleshy and observable. In her own way, she has rendered unto her attacker a similar injury – a ritual reenacting her own trauma.
Once home, she takes a shower and attempts to wash away the events of the night. But as soon as she steps out of the shower, the walls and floors start to rumble and shake. A mirror against the wall reflecting Alexia shakes and threatens to come off. Alexia opens the door to discover the source of the noise and realizes that the rumbles are coming from her flaming car. It’s calling to her, beckoning her forward. She answers its calls and gets into the vehicle. Ducournau pushes it to 11 at this point and gives the audience a small taste of what’s to come, as it is at this point Alexia begins to have passionate sexual relations with the car, moaning and rejoicing in the vehicle as she would any other lover. The scene cuts from Alexia writhing in ecstasy within the metal cocoon to shots of the car buckling up and down, shaking all around, confirming its status as fully alive.
Consequently, the experience pushes Alexia to embrace her relationship with metal qua flesh in more radical fashion. It’s revealed that far from considering metal superior, she considers it the only flesh worth protecting. Far from being a chance murder, it turns out that the ear-impaled fan is only one of Alexia’s many victims; she’s a mass murderer of sorts and kills people as easily as people eat their meals. Human flesh isn’t sacred or relevant to her; she has no reason to love it and treats it as nothing more than a nuisance. Eventually, things catch up and she’s forced to abandon her home, her parents, and occupation. Made to carve out a new station in life, Alexia proceeds through an entanglement of metal and skin in an attempt to carve out a orientation towards the flesh, one predicated on love.
Like Raw, Titane features gory set-pieces tied to the themes of the story, impeccable and uncomfortable sound design that emphasizes squelching, and a host of perverse orientations towards the flesh. However, unlike Raw, which features a mainly straight-forward, albeit textured, story, Titane is far more ambitious in the scope of its themes and the surreal, almost dream-like way its narrative proceeds, choosing to show character interactions and reactions instead of explaining them or having anyone mention them explicitly. Ducournau is clearly in her element here and deftly weaves ideas about gender expectations against Alexia’s ongoing relationships with flesh, demonstrating that what conditions and furnishes meaning is not blood or similarity, but an ability to feel love. Form matters less than content, a notion that’s stretched to its limits as Alexia navigates the borders of both gender and humanity in an attempt to find meaning in her life.
Her journey and it’s development are made all the more obvious by the no-holds barred fashion in which Ducournau captures the macabre, often times showing the bloody in a nonchalant and apathetic fashion thereby giving brutal murder sequence s a sick comedic undertone that less squeamish viewers will enjoy. Murder stops being the focus and its purpose becomes the point of focus, as Alexia’s murderous drives change form as she considers what makes flesh normatively valuable. Agathe Rousselle makes these moments of transformation palpable, rendering a variety of expressions from tired, but otherwise unfazed to broken in and devastated. It’s no small feat that she gets the viewer to invest in and root for a serial murderer whether they think she’s going to change her lifestyle or not.
Thus, far from just being a set of gore-pieces held together by indecipherable plot threads, Titane is meticulous and precise, with even small details blowing up quietly in the background of the film as it goes on. At every point, Ducournau focuses on showing the way flesh, metal or human, engenders its own preservation via inculcating love in others, demonstrating that the connecting force between subjects/objects is not so much perceived sameness as the possibility for affection between them. Because of this, even the more outlandish plot elements make sense within the confines of the story even if the actual reasons behind them or the way they culminate aren’t completely known to the viewer. For those willing to spend the analyzing the parallels, Titane offers a gory story that not only manages to captivate from start to end but also manages to showcase the true powers of love.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Though largely silent and visual, Titane, far from having too little to say, has a wide breadth of fleshy ideas it dives into and explores. The juxtaposition of human skin and metal along with idea of gender as a socially coded role gives Ducournau room to explore what renders flesh something worth caring about and protecting. Though more squeamish viewers might be put off, those looking for a film that invites the them to think and engage with them without giving all the answers will find more than their fair share’s worth in Titane.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Note: This review contains spoilers for: Insidious.
Director James Wan’s sequel to Insidious opens in the past. A young Elise (Lindsay Seim) makes her initial visit to Lorraine (Jocelin Donahue) and Josh (Garrett Ryan) after being called as an additional line of help by her friend and fellow-psychic, Carl (Hank Harris ), who finds himself unable to deal with old woman spirit (Tom Fitzpatrick) haunting Josh. Elise hypnotizes Dalton to make him more suggestible and asks him to reveal information on the old woman. She searches the house in order to confront the malevolent entity. As the events of the night continue, Josh gets up and starts speaking to an entity who no one else can see, psychic gifts or otherwise. Josh leads the entity to a location in the house and points to the location at which point, due to his inexplicable behavior and the nature of the spirit, Elise recommends “sealing” his astral projection gifts away.
The title card drops.
A blue light passes over the title card.
The camera moves towards a red door and pushes forward…
…through a chasm of darkness…
..before landing on Renai (Rose Byrne) being interrogated by a police officer.
Renai (Rose Byrne) answers the police officer.
Insidious: Chapter 2’s title sequence isn’t as effective as the original, but it manages to set expectations for what’s to come. The blue lamp lets us know this tale will full venture into the world of the “Further”. As the camera moves through a red door and an abyss to a cornered off Renai, it becomes clear that her family’s struggles are far from over. She knows that Elise is dead. She knows that the spirit who haunted her spirit is responsible. However, she does not know if her husband is and the spirit are one in the same.
The bright red title card drops in as a sea of violent noises come to a crescendo. However, the malevolent color is displaced by a spectral blue that comes from the reveal of the “Chapter 2” in the title. A lantern similar to the ones used in the “further” goes across the title card, letting the viewer know that unlike the first film which had to tease the metaphysical, this film is more than ready to dive into supernatural hijinks.
Drawing to a close, the title sequence ends on a red door, and the camera glides through it and the dark void it opens to towards a faraway light in the distance. Eventually, the camera gets to the light, which turns out to be a lamp lighting a room where Renai (Rose Byrne) is being interrogated by a police officer over the death of Elise (Lin Shaye), an action which is revealed to the viewer at the end of Insidious as having been committed by a recently possessed Josh. Renai recalls finding Elise’s limp body and then finding the photograph of the old woman before running into an emotionally off Josh at the scene of the crime; her doubts were set then and have only continued to fester, but without definitive proof of her husband being possessed or just off, she has to learn to work with him . She confirms to the detective that she doesn’t think her husband is responsible for Elise’s death before going back home to continue dealing with the supernatural mess still wreaking havoc in the Lambert’s lives.
Chapter 2, as such, is split between telling two tales: the first follows the way the ‘Further’ intermingles and intervenes in the Lamberts life and the second explores the background of the spirit possessing Josh. While both stories inform and effect one another, the former is markedly more original and ambitious and gives the mechanics of the Insidious franchise a put-togetherness that other supernatural outings wish they could achieve. Comparatively, the latter story is contrived, not as tight, and plays like a series of lost opportunities, often settling for horror in the moment as opposed to building to larger moments of intense panic. While the nature of what’s revealed in this second narrative thread is “shocking” at a surface level, it does nothing to develop either the film’s themes or the themes of its prequel in nearly as effective a manner as the first narrative thread.
This first story takes the building blocks established in the first movie and expands on the metaphysical makeup of its supernatural domain: the ‘Further’, a place where circuits of desire are repeated while specters engage in the same acts over and over again in loop. This time the narrative focus is less on the domain itself and more on the the effects it has on the living world. It’s not the mechanics of the ‘Further’ which are explored as much as the way the domain intervenes in the world of the living, tying seemingly disparate moments together. Consequently, the film revels in building up scenes from one vantage point and then exploring them again from the other domain; the interplay between these jumps from the “real” world to the ‘Further’ and back again gives Wan an and scriptwriter Leigh Whannell more than enough space to explore creative spectral interplays.
Unfortunately, these mechanics are barely utilized to their fullest and are leveraged in service of the second story, which, while not being incompetently constructed, lacks the nuance or creativity of the first film. While the first story feels like an extension of the Lambert’s conflicts from the first film, the second story feels largely separated. The struggles depicted in the former have a texture and feeling because there’s a sense of empathy in the helplessness and nature of what’s going on, but the tribulations in the latter feel overly theatric and break the sense of immersion generated by the former. Realism takes a seat back to spectacle, and the themes get lost in translation, as the viewer focuses on terror for terrors sake as opposed to terror in serve of a larger thematic movement. As a result, visceral moments in the film shock when presented but don’t have the same staying power as the scenes from the initial Insidious which linger in the viewer’s memory long after.
This is a shame because the first story could have served as the basis for the investigation the second story ventured on if better attention was given to the nature of Josh’s possession. As a location, the ‘Further’ gives fertile ground to explore the way trauma unfurls. Like the first film demonstrates, spirits are trapped into cycles of repetition and are made to re-enact their trauma ad-infinitum. Seemingly unable to find peace, it seems that being a trapped within the ‘Further’ is a horrific fate that any entity would seek to escape, but the furthest the film goes towards exploring that idea, a great source of motivation which could have served as the basis of the second story’s mystery, is having a character mention the idea off-hand a few times. Instead of just saying it, the film could have built on this idea visually and tied it to the Lambert’s struggle to find a locus of healing and stability. Wan and his production team do a great job at evoking ethereal and inexplicable horror, but it feels like they barely scratched the surface of demonstrating the brutality of the material they’re working with, choosing instead to go for familiar and easy-to-explain over ambitious and potentially more confusing. For example, there’s a great set piece involving a host of covered bodies but by the end of the film the scene says very little besides “evil exists”. It’s just unsettling imagery that disturbs momentarily before being cast aside.
Thankfully, lack of memorable scares does not entail lack of memorable moments and Wan and Whannell still manage to leverage the better parts of the story to great effect, satisfyingly bringing the prequel’s story to a resolute close. There are a few hiccups getting to this ending, but eventually, when Chapter 2’s two story threads come together, the narrative proper is allowed to go full throttle towards an emotionally satisfying finish line that concludes (almost) all the relevant story threads on a nice ending point. While this sequel entry isn’t as strong a stand-alone as Wan’s initial foray in to the supernatural genre, it’s certainly a good enough follow-up that fans of the original should check it out. It does what all good sequels should attempt to do: extend the interesting ideas of the first movie without re-hashing them in boring fashion. Just because the film doesn’t elevate all the interesting ideas to their potential, it does more than enough to distinguish itself from and progress its prequel.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Insidious: Chapter 2 is a film that serves up many of the same thrills of its prequel in terms of ambiance and technical construction, while bringing many plot threads to a neat and resolute end-point. While it settles for cheaper scares than its worldbuilding allows, thus squandering some of its potential, it delivers more than enough intrigue to keep fans of the original and those interested more broadly in supernatural horror and its related mechanics intrigued from start to finish. It may not nail all it’s beats, but it’s certainly a good deal more fun than many of its peers.
Rating
7.9/10
Grade
B
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
An explanation that the film is comprised of “real” found footage.
Though the opening seems tame today, back when it was released, this introduction marked The Blair Witch Project as a very real kind of horror. The explanation of the source of the footage informs the viewer that no one in the film is going to make it and the amateur quality of the footage and technique throughout the film seemingly confirms that this film is in fact genuine. The tame introduction gives the footage that follows a credibility that something more stylized or pronounced would ruin.
The film opens on the title card, white letters against a black backdrop, before informing the viewer that the footage presented comes from three student filmmakers who disappeared while shooting it. In other words, this is a “true” story based on true, un-edited, footage.
As if in demonstration and confirmation of this status, a completely unfocused mess of colors permeate the screen. It becomes apparent that the camera technician is trying to get the camera to focus on its subject, Heather (Heather Donahue), who explains that she is going to film a documentary on the eponymous “Blair Witch”. Unlike other horrors that start with the “true story” introduction, like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre by Tobe Hooper, The Blair Witch‘s look confirms its announcement, thereby imbuing it with a grounded feeling. Consequently, Heather’s announcement transforms from quirky and cheerful to swan song; the viewer knows that her documentary will lead her to her disappearance. The cheery footage is confirmation that she, and her two cameramen, Joshua (Joshua Leonard) and Michael (Michael Williams) are no more.
This impending doom permeates the film and tinges each of the introduction to the documentary’s crew with melancholy. Heather’s unending enthusiasm feels like a cruel joke. Likewise, Michael telling his mother goodbye hits harder because it’s the last time he’s ever going to see her. As the crew sets off to Burkittsville, Maryland to get footage for their “film”, the viewer knows they’re marching off to their doom.
Town sign for Burkittsville, Maryland
A statue of an angel.
A shot of tombstones at a cemetery.
The amateur attempt at setting a creepy mood via striking and unnerving establishing shots captured by 16 MM film immediately makes it clear that this is a student film. The voiceover narration by Heather adds to this feeling and consequently makes the entire production feel amateurish. The earnestness by which Heather tries to make her documentary creepy makes what happens to her and her crew cruelly ironic.
Upon getting to the location of where the “Blair Witch” myth started, Heather, the director of the documentary, switches cameras from the camcorder, which records in color, to the 16-MM film camera, which records in black and white. The former camera is her attempt to capture a “behind-the-scenes” and the latter camera is for the for the documentary proper. The juxtaposition of the black and white scenes to the colored scenes which came before, accentuate the realism the film goes for precisely because of the amateur nature of Heather’s filmmaking.
As she uses the 16 MM to film a set of insert shots in foreboding manner – a town sign, an angel figure, headstones in a cemetery, etc – it’s apparent she’s trying to evoke a sense of fear and immensity for the audience she thinks is going to watch her piece. Her narration is overdramatic and makes the attempt at horror on her part feel cheesy. However, it is precisely because her attempts at selling fear in such a forward fashion fail, that the terrors she experiences in the latter half of the film gain their legitimacy. Because the polish associated with a studio project is missing from these “proper” shots, they give the “improper” shots an extra genuine feeling.
An old man talks about the Blair witch on the camcorder.
The old man repeats his story in more professional manner when captured on the 16 MM camera.
A child covers their mother’s mouth when the latter mentions the Blair Witch.
Because the film switches between a camcorder and a 16MM film camera, using the latter for the expressed sake of the “professional” documentary Heather is shooting, it gets to establish multiple layers of “reality”. By revealing a layer of artifice, the film disguises the acting of its actors as a documentary proper – an even more real description of reality. This unseen privileging of the “camcorder” reality over the “16 MM” reality lets the film use exposition and action that seem random as ways to amp up the tension.
Case in point, Heather and her crew interact a decent amount of townspeople for clues about the witch before deciding to go off into the forest to get footage on landmarks associated with the malevolent entity. They approach most of these people with the camcorder first, before then asking their subject questions about the witch. If the answer satisfies them, they switch to the 16MM camera and start to shoot “serious” footage. The viewer gets to see the crew canvas targets, ask them questions, hear vague series of answers which paint a dark mythos that reveals very little, and then switch cameras to film those townspeople who had something “interesting” to say.
In fact, it is precisely the film’s switching between the two cameras that gives it the terrifying texture that’s made it such an integral part of horror canon. The film invites the viewer into the film-making process and shows them a view of “reality” and then “reality via artifice” in comparison. These moments provide a point of minimal difference that cements that the found-footage comes from the real world, the world the viewer actually resides in. When on camcorder, the townsfolk talk naturally and seem like average residents. There’s nothing obviously phony about them or their presentation. However, when the film camera is used, the townsfolk adopt a persona for the camera, as though conscious that they are now “officially” going to be on film, so they have to act their best. By providing a point of contrast and a measured difference, the film convinces the audience of the “truth” of the two realities its presenting.
Obviously, this technique implies that the theatrics are only happening behind the black-and-white screen. As a result, the camcorder scenes achieve a level of “legitimacy” that gives them a staying power. For example, a baby screaming out and rushing to cover their mother’s mouth when the latter mentions the Blair Witch stories on the camcorder immediately feels like an omen, because it’s not “staged”/repeated in 16 MM. Thus, the camera gains the power of being a filter for reality. It’s a measure of control that demarcates what is reality and what is artifice.
This idea of the camera as controlling force is the driving theme behind The Blair Witch Project and explains why it’s one of the most frightening found-footage films ever. Heather is obsessed with getting more footage of the events, constantly shoving a camera in someone’s face or trying to get more coverage of terrifying events as they happen. Her compulsion to record is criticized by both Josh and Michael at various points, as they see the behavior as at odds with the group’s ability to navigate the spectral occurrences they run into. However, as she explains herself, the act of documentation is all “she has left.” The camera is the only tool she has left to frame the horrors around her into a cohesive narrative that she overcome.
This is also why the camera is constantly associated with civilization, with Heather and company constantly mentioning that their detour in the woods as having to end eventually because America is destroying its environment. Far from being a cause of concern, the characters repeat the statement in the hopes that the unconquerable vastness of the wilderness will eventually give way to the calm control provided by civilization. In this way, the camera becomes the normalizing force of the social order – a tool meant to help carve out the wild and mystical unknowns into something more agreeable. It is an extension of an American dream which envisions technology being used to cut through and remove the inexplicable from the day-to-day.
This posture towards technology stands in stark contrast to Japanese horror (J-horror) films coming out at the same time, like Ring by Hideo Nakata and Pulse by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, which focused on the anxiety inherent in technology. In Nakata and Kurosawa’s films, technology provides a conduit through which the supernatural past can make its presence felt once again in the “modern” world. In The Blair Witch Project, far from being a tool of the supernatural, the camera is never allowed to witness supernatural events happening as they happen and instead is only ever allowed to assess their consequences, suggesting that the supernatural can’t be tamed by the powers of modernity. This effect is made all the more suspenseful because of the ambiguous worldbuilding provided by the townspeople. Not a single story any member gives is wholly consistent with another, so the nature of who or what what the Blair Witch and their respective capacities is a mystery. One phenomenon hearkens back to one legend of the myth while another leans another way. With no rhyme or reason to the terror at play, the viewer is stuck, like the crew themselves, to experience the scares without knowing the stakes.
In this way, The Blair Witch Project, is a found-footage horror truly representing the sub-genre’s name. It’s a demonstration of the inability of film to mediate horror and provide enough of a gap to render it palatable and tame. Found footage, far from providing answers, only hints at the uncanny power of the abyss which gives no refuge or answers to anyone willing to seek them. By the time the film gets to the latter sections, the characters no longer find solace in their cameras because their ability to frame the situation is removed. The 16 MM and camcorder become interchangeable as the distinctions between what is reality and what is artifice becomes blurry before vanishing into a void with no answers. The behind-the-scenes footage becomes artifice and vice versa as the places to hide from the terror of the unknown disappear.
When the film approaches its end, the edits between scenes become more jarring and provide less information as to what’s happened in the “down-time”. It’s apparent that the characters are clearly filming less as they find themselves trapped and terrified in a situation they can’t comprehend, let alone control. Like the characters, the viewer gets no reprieves from the terrors, as the camera cutting off doesn’t mean respite as much as it means one awful moment is going to cut to a moment even worse in the future. The audience is strapped into a roller-coaster of nightmares that shows no signs of slowing down as the film races towards its finish.
While the directors, Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez, deserve credit for pushing such a low-budget idea to such great lengths, the reason the film is able to work at all, let alone so effectively, is because of the seeming veracity of every actor. Every member of the cast, whether it be the primary trio or the townspeople, has to put on multiple layers of performance, both presenting a “genuine” representation and an obvious façade on that representation that seemingly also stems from it. In other words, the actors have to present a fantasy off as reality and then pass another related fantasy off as artifice. Despite interviewing a plethora of characters, there’s never a point where this dichotomy fails or feels questionable. Actually, the spontaneous nature of the storytelling and dialogue feels so put together and cohesive that it reaches that magical place where it is both too unkempt to feel constructed but is also pointed enough to not come off as feeling totally left-field.
Even though the film might not be as terrifying as it was when it first came out in 1999, at the height of mainstream acceptance of the internet, its construction and “honesty” make it a compelling watch for anyone willing to invest seriously into its premise. The natural character interactions, commitment to authenticity, lack of polish, and unpredictable roller-coaster of scares of The Blair Witch Project are still rarities in the found-footage genre which it helped to popularize and make commonplace, and all serve as proof of just how special the film is.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Blair Witch Project is proof that a solid idea and tight execution can be scarier than any polished Hollywood production. Despite being one of the first “found-footage” horrors, The Blair Witch Project is still one of the best. It effectively combines ambiguous worldbuilding, realistic performances, and quick and efficient pacing to deliver a horror that reveals our natural proximity to the terrors hiding beneath the veneer of civilization. Those viewers willing to suspend their disbelief and give in to the film can still find some of the terror that audiences back in 1999 first got a taste of.
Rating
A+
Grade
9.6/10
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
India (Mia Wasikowska) walks across the street as the frame freezes. Her actor’s name appears across from her. India (Mia Wasikowska) walks over her name. She sees tall grass. The wind billows India’s (Mia Wasikowska) skirt as another cast member’s name appears in its folds. India’s hair freezes. India (Mia Wasikowska wears her mothers blouse and her father’s belt. The flower has a healthy splattering of red covering its initial white color. India (Mia Wasikowska) smiles at her freedom. India (Mia Wasikowska) dissolves as her younger self “breaks” through the screen, showing us the start of India’s journey towards growth. The film starts on a young woman, India, delivering a whispered monologue about her extraordinary senses and the nature of how identity is always formed by that which it is not. As she walks across a street, her actor’s name shows up on the street. The frame pauses. Then time starts again and India walks over the name, subsuming it. It’s a demonstration of both how meaning is everywhere, waiting to be absorbed into identity, and proof of the way the present is composed of moments which each break into discrete blocks known as the past. As the scene continues, the same visual patterns repeat until finally India’s smiling face dissolves to a view of a past her, running through a green field.
“My ears hear what other cannot. Small, faraway things people cannot normally see are visible to me. These senses are the fruits of a lifetime of longing. Longing to be rescued. To be completed. Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow…I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father’s belt tied around my mother’s blouse. And shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color…we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free. And to become adult, is to become free.”
These words are whispered by our protagonist, India (Mia Wasikowska) in a part opening montage and part intro credit sequence that opens on her walking away from a sports car and police car across the street to a green pasture. Her actress’s name, Mia Wasikowski appears on the screen right next to her as the frame freezes momentarily – the present fading into the past. Time flows again and she walks over the name, subsuming it. She stands over the pasture and looks over it, as the wind blows her skirt and the long grass around her. Another cast member’s name appears in the enclosing of her skirt as the frame freezes again. Once again, the present “intervenes” and the freeze stops while the name recedes into the invisible abyss it came from. This pattern continues to repeat before settling on a white flower spattered in red.
This image is unsettling because at this point in the monologue, India directly refers to how a flower doesn’t choose its colors, in the same way as people do not choose the contingent events that shape up their lives up to that moment. The camera cuts to an image of her face smiling as her whispered speech ends on her explaining that realizing this truth is to become adult, thereby becoming free. The frame freezes one last time as her smiling face dissolves to another shot of a younger her running through another field of green; the sounds of wind and rustling fabrics and grass give way to composer Clint Manwell’s fairy-tale like score which evokes feelings of wonder and propulsive change.
India (Mia Wasikowska) feels an injury on her foot. India (Mia Wasikowska) examines her foot next to a stone statue in the garden. India (Mia Wasikowska) prods her wound and produces a puss. India (Mia Wasikowska) climbs up a treeIndia finds her birthday present in the tree. People run around the birthday cake as the camera pushes in. The camera dives down on the cake as a glass case is put on top. The smoke of the candles dissipates, filling the covering with a smoke. The dissolve to the title card makes the cake look like an eye. The title card for ‘Stoker’ appears. India recognizes a pain in her foot and sits down next to a stone statue which takes the same position as her. She pops a blister on her foot and the clear pus seeps out. With that out of the way, she begins to search all around her expansive land, from the hillocks to the trees looking for a birthday gift which eludes her. Eventually she comes upon a package which seems to be it wrapped in a yellow box, but before she opens it, the film cuts to her birthday cake and a ruckus around it. As the camera moves towards the cake, which gets covered by a class container, the candles give out and the smoke spreads in wispy manner, covering the frame. The image dissolves as the ‘o’ in stoker appears, leaving an impression of an eye momentarily, before the rest of the title gets written out by an invisible pen scratching away.
Just like her “modern” counterpart, this younger India is also followed by the opening credits which appear in the environment around her. She pays them no mind; instead, she takes her shoes off upon noticing a callous and sits next to a gray statue who serves as a mirror image to her. Her wound bursts with clear pus after she pops it, bursting through the soundscape momentarily, before disappearing again. Without a moment wasted, India continues a search, canvassing multiple locations surrounding her expansive residence for “something.” Finally, she climbs up a tree and finds a Birthday present in a box wrapped with yellow ribbons.
Upon finding her mystery item, the film cuts to India’s birthday cake; the propulsive score fades away as the sounds of sirens and flames take charge – a sharp contrast to the scene in question. The camera pushes in on the cake and then rises above it before descending. Now covered in a glass container, the cake is unable to sustain its flames which dissipate into wisps of smoke as a phone starts to ring. A woman screams, “Richard. No!” as the glass container dissolves into the film’s title card proper, which is etched out by an invisible pen and ink.
The camera lingers on both Evelyn’s and India’s shooes. One wears heels while the other wears saddle shoes, a mark of adulthood and childhood respectively. Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) and India (Mia Wasikowska) sit as the latter notices someone gazing upon them. She looks and sees a stranger (Matthew Goode) looking down on the pair from a hill above. The birthday is interrupted by the death of Richard, India’s father. Both her mother, Evelyn, and her sit at the funeral, grieving the loss of the Stoker patriarch. However, India notices a gaze upon her from somewhere else. She looks up at a hillock above her and notices a man staring down.
A preacher’s voice can be heard and it’s revealed that Richard, India’s father, has died. Thus, her 18th birthday, the threshold marking her “birth” as an adult, is marked by the loss of a parent, a figure meant to guide her on that path. Her mother, Evelyn, and her sit at the funeral, both distraught in their own ways. India is stoic and steely while her mother is visibly puffy and devastated. The camera goes to the pair’s feet momentarily; Evelyn is wearing heels while India is wearing saddle shoes. However, India notices a disturbance – a gaze taking notice of her. She turns her head to the side and notices a figure in the distance, a man staring down at her from above the hillocks she previously ran through.
India plays the piano as a spider crawls towards her. Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) asks India (Mia Wasikowska) to help in the kitchen. The spider crawls up India’s leg. Unable to deal with the absence of her father, India tries to play the piano to distract herself. As she does so a spider, seemingly supernatural, crawls towards her feet slowly. Evelyn comes in to ask India to help in the kitchen. As she derides and pleads with India, the spider makes its way its way closer and closer. India notices it crawl up her leg but says nothing about it.
The funeral service proper ends, but the preacher’s sermon continues playing in the soundscape of India’s mind. She tries to play piano while a spider crawls towards her feet. However, her attempts at distracting herself are interrupted by her mother, whose figure makes its presence known on the mirror above her. As Evelyn implores India to help with the event’s cooking, the latter stares her down with a kind of disdain. Even after turning to face Evelyn, as opposed to facing her mirror image, India refuses to say anything. Evelyn exasperatedly pushes her point while the aforementioned spider skirts up the grieving daughter’s leg.
India (Mia Wasikowska) sits in the kitchen to help make deviled eggs. India starts to crack an egg and focus intently on just the sounds of the cracking in an attempt to drown out the gossip regarding her family. India (Mia Wasikowska) is consoled by Mrs.McGarrick (Phyllis Somerville) who reveals that the former’s birthday present is hidden somewhere. India notices the ribbon on the flowers is the same as on her present and comes to realization that her father was not responsible for her yearly birthday present of shoes. India discovered a key in the birthday box instead of her expected pair of shoes. India (Mia Wasikowska) notices her mother (Nicole Kidman) talking to the stranger (Matthew Goode) from earlier. Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) introduces Charlie (Matthew Goode), Richard’s brother, to India. India (Mia Wasikowska) walks into the kitchen pale after seeing Charlie. Mrs.McGarrick (Phyllis Somerville) inquires into her state of mind. The confrontation between India and Charlie comes to a head right after the former learns that her father was not the one responsible for the yearly birthday gifts of shoes that she held so dear to her. She walks into the living area of the house after the realization and then is hit with another announcement from her mother: the mysterious man gazing down on them from earlier is actually her uncle Charlie, her dead father’s brother who he never once mentioned. The experience proves to be too much for India who rushes back inside and confides in the head caretaker, Mrs. McGarrick, that everything is wrong because her father is dead.
However, India does acquiesce to her mother’s demands and goes to the kitchen to help make deviled eggs. She overhears a pair of maids gossiping about the state of her family’s affairs. These unwanted thoughts her, so she starts to roll an egg, cracking it slowly. Outside noise fades out as the sound of the eggs breaking overwhelms the ears, until finally, Mrs. McGarrick (Phyllis Somerville), the Stoker’s head caretaker, silences the pair and goes to inquire into India’s state of mind. The two remnisce on their shared past with deviled eggs and it becomes clear that unlike, Evelyn, India sees the elderly caretaker as a surrogate-mother of sorts. Mrs. McGarrick takes out flowers which are tied with a yellow ribbon and asks India if she found her birthday present yet. India ties the color of the ribbon on the flower to the color of the ribbon on the box from her initial adventure and reveals she found a key in the box before also expressing surprise at the revelation that Mrs.McGarrick is tied to her yearly birthday presents, shoes, as opposed to her deceased father like she initially thought.
She leaves the kitchen momentarily and sees her mother talking to the stranger who gazed upon the mother-daughter duo earlier at the funeral. Her mother sees India and calls out to her, introducing the stranger as Roger’s brother, Charlie – a stranger turned into long lost uncle. The revelation deeply upsets India who immediately walks back into the kitchen. Her pale expression invites concern from Mrs.McGarrick who inquiries into what’s wrong. India responds honestly: “Yes. My father is dead”.
India (Mia Wasikowska) sleeps in her bed dejected. The camera tracks right, showing one pair of her shoes……which dissolves into another pair…which finally dissolves into the first pair of shoes she ever received on her birthday.The camera tracks right from India’s oldest shoes back to her. India (Mia Wasikowska) is revealed to be surrounded by all her pairs of shoes, the circle they make around her is de-centered. India sleeps in her bed in lethargic fashion. The camera tracks from her head to a box of shoes which dissolves into a series of shoes, each a present which she received on her birthday. Shoes help one walk a path, a path that India thought was being presented to her by father but learns is actually the result of someone else’s efforts. This is why the circle of 16 shoes and 1 pair on the floor is decentered – her notion of unity in relation to this key tenet of her identity has been shaken. A disunity has been revealed in the way her image of things has been formed and the discrete elements must be analyzed again.
As if in response to her dejection, the film cuts to a fully lethargic India. The camera tracks to the right from India’s face to a pair of shoes, like the ones she’s worn previously. This pair of shoes dissolves into another which dissolves into another and so on, each pair smaller than the one that came before it. Eventually, the dissolving shoes come to a small pair, fit for a toddler, before the camera tracks right back to India’s face. The camera steps back and reveals that India is laying in a circle of 16 pairs of shoes; each pair from the montage lies around her, in a displaced oval like shape, ranging from oldest to newest pair. Her “current” 17th pair, lies on the floor next to the bed; one pair for every birthday except for the most current birthday – the threshold to becoming an adult.
It’s not just that the 18th pair, the guide to walking the path to adulthood, is missing. India’s turmoil stems from the double mystery of who was fully responsible for her previous 17 pairs of shoes. Up to the moment of Mrs.McGarricks’ reveal, India has walked in her “father’s” footsteps. With the identity of the gift-giver stripped away, the path which has defined her so long as a subject is now that has to be re-treat, rediscovered. The words from the opening monologue ring more resounding here: “I’m not formed by things that are of myself alone “.
The montage which initially presented itself as a series of discrete images, moments bleeding into one another, turns out to be multiple sections of the same image. Far from being from different times, the shoes exist in the same “present” moment with India. However, the montage of them dissolving demonstrates the logic of how moments are just accumulations of everything that came before. Each “shoe” is an epoch that can now be re-cast; a past that can open the doors to new futures.
Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) comments that India and Richard’s hunting trophies are wastes of life but Charlie seems to appreciate the work the father-daughter duo did. Charlie removes a bird qua trophy and reveals an egg underneath it.The egg fades into India’s (Mia Wasikowska) eye – the place of the gaze. India (Mia Wasikowska) walks around her house as guests whisper about her family from all corners. India (Mia Wasikowska) notices Charlie talking to Mrs. McGarrick. Charlie (Matthew Goode) and Mrs. McGarrick (Phyllis Somerville) speak in hurried tones. Charlie (Matthew Goode) notices India gazing at him and returns the favor. India (Mia Wasikowska) quickly averts her eyes. Charlie (Matthew Goode) tries to relocate India as the camera arcs around the room with him. Charlie(Matthew Goode) locates India (Mia Wasikowska) but can’t stop her before she exits out of one of the side doors in the house. The camera tracks India (Mia Wasikowska) as she escapes the confrontation. She traverses the background of the frame while Evelyn (Nicole Kidman) seemingly has Charlie (Matthew Goode) occupied. India (Mia Wasikowska) gets to the front of the house.India (Mia Wasikowska) discovers that Charlie has somehow got to the top of the stairs. India (Mia Wasikowska) walks up the stairs to confront her uncle and the camera pushes in to show the two entering into one another’s frame. India (Mia Wasikowska) makes her way up to Charlie (Matthew Goode) India (Mia Wasikowska) and Charlie (Matthew Goode) finally stand face-to-face, at the same eye level. Now their battle can begin. If the egg is potential, the dissolution of an egg under a bird qua trophy hunted by Richard and India to India’s eye is indicative of both her role as a bird of prey but also a sign that her uncle, who appreciates her hunting, understands what she’s capable of. India, still finding her own way, walks around her house and comes upon Charlie talking to Mrs. McGarrick, which triggers her curiosity. What could the mysterious stranger want with her and what is his connection here?
Unbeknownst, her gaze is felt and just like she did to him earlier, Charlie manages to locate his gazer and stare back. India averts his eyes and seemingly gets away from him as he chases after her, escaping in the background of the frame as he gets trapped in the foreground by Evelyn. However, Charlie announces his presence at the top of the stairs once she gets back into the house and demonstrates that he’s in charge. With India aware of both the stairs as the battleground and the power dynamic at play, Stoker’s cat-and-mouse game of gazes can begin with bloody aplomb.
Meanwhile, Evelyn and Charlie talk about India and Richard’s close-knit relationship, one formed primarily around hunting birds. Evelyn bemoans the act as senseless violence, but Charlie shows great respect for the duo’s craft. He picks up one of their winged trophies and reveals an an egg underneath. The deviled eggs which start as one of India’s favorite treats become an egg which serves as a remainder of her relationship with her father which then dissolves into her eye itself. Eggs are treats are trophies are eyes. A series of poetic connections between the images are formed.
Eggs are white on the outside and yellow on the inside. Eggs, at least the ones shown in the film, are related to birds. In other circumstances, the eggs would break apart to allow new life to come out – the birth of something new. This is a story of a girl becoming a woman, on the threshold of adulthood, looking for a path to walk on as influences all around her permeate her crumbling shell.
India walks around the house and the whispers about her family’s affairs continue. In hushed tones, adults abound talk about her family; their words enter her mental landscape constantly. She notices Charlie talking to a seemingly distraught Mrs. McGarrick, but just as she sensed her Uncle Charlie earlier during the funeral, her uncle senses her gaze and turns to meet it. However, India immediately averts the battle of gazes and escapes. Before Charlie can catch up to her, she runs out of a side entrance of her expansive manor. The camera track India while she roams the outside of the house in the background of the frame; in the foreground, Charlie is being occupied by Evelyn.
However, this turns out to be far from the case as India, initially confident upon entering her abode from the front, is shocked when Charlie calls to her from at the top of the master staircase. Just like the first time she saw him, he reigns above her. He coyly asks her if she wants to know why she feels she’s at a disadvantage, both announcing his take on the duo’s power relation and also preferring an analysis of her own psyche; this is all done despite the fact, as India rightly retorts, that she was unaware of his existence till the day. He ignores her comment and asserts the real reason is because she’s standing below him. The subtext of the stairs is thus brought to the level of text and the viewer is made aware of both the importance of height and presence of stairs as a motif representing control.
In response to his claim, India slowly climbs up the staircase. The camera pushes in through a doorway, signifying the start of the confrontation between uncle and niece, showing India alone, rising to meet Charlie, who slowly enters the frame. She gets to the top of the stairs and stares her newly found family member down, asserting her right to stand as equal to him. She quite literally rises to the challenge.
Upon giving him a long look, she remarks that he looks remarkably like her father. Suddenly, her confused emotional state at his presence gains additional texture. Her father, the one who guided her and took her hunting, not only turns out to not be the one setting her path via the shoes she walks in but has returned, so to speak, in the form of a part hidden relation, part quasi-doppelgänger. Her confrontation with Charlie, is then, the first step she has to take to find herself.
Charlie responds to her comparison with an expression of sympathy towards her loss. A strange response which she notices and calls out, reminding her uncle that the loss is shared among them. Once again, he ignores her observation and tells her that he’s planning on staying with her and her mother for the foreseeable future. He makes it clear that he’s gotten her mother on board but tells India that he wants her approval as well because it’s “important” to him. Thus, the stage for Stoker is set and the battle for power can truly commence.
Given the title, Stoker, a viewer with context would think of Bram Stoker and his work in gothic horror. On that level, Stoker works. All the ingredients for gothic feeling are present: there’s a death encased in mystery, a hidden relative that shows up, and troubled familial relations that bubble up and sublimate in obscene fashion. However, as the first 13 minutes above demonstrate, the film operates closer to the psychoanalytic thrillers of Alfred Hitchcock: the bodies of birds appear like in Psycho, the game of gazes is played like in Vertigo, and at the most obvious level, the basic story beats of Hitchock’s film noir, Shadow of a Doubt, serve as Stoker’s jumping off point. Both stories feature an uncle named Charlie, who shares a special bond with his niece and who is covered in a veil of mystery. Likewise, both stories follow a niece as she struggles against penetrating the veil her uncle puts up. Stoker even goes so far as to replicate Shadow of a Doubt’s use of the staircase as the scene of battle between uncle and niece along with its presence as a motif.
But, unlike Hitchcock’s film which uses the relationship between the uncle and niece to reveal the duplicitous nature of the social order and the underpinnings of the idyllic American fantasy, Stoker uses the relationship to examine the way personal identity is generated and navigated. In other words, one film is aimed at a macro-level and the other at the micro-level. In this way, Stoker is able to traverse a whole different set of ideas from the vantage point of a coming-of-age horror.
Furthermore, though the story and narrative progression may be Hitchcock inspired, the editing, sensuality, and painterly mise-en-scène are all in line with director Park Chan-Wook’s style as an auteur. His stylistic flourishes here give the film it’s poetic sensibilities because he elects to show most of the story rather than tell it. On top of layering motifs in a more traditional sense, he constantly uses the nature of his edits – both sequencing and the edit itself – to suggest connections between seemingly disparate ideas. Like the egg becoming the eye, “apparent” match-cuts between objects of similar sizes and shapes along with dissolves between images are used to demonstrate the state of India’s psychic journey and how she’s processing the story as it goes along. As she makes connections, the viewer can piece together both the narrative and what it means to her own journey.
That being said, the nature of this journey is constantly up for re-interpretation. Pivotal scenes aren’t cut chronologically but are cut in the order India is making sense of them and rendering them coherent from her own vantage point. This gives seemingly obvious moments, a palpable level of uncertainty, because the nature of what the moment is supposed to demonstrate is indeterminate until the very end of that movement, but because movements fade into one another and are constantly recalled, every sequence gains a newfound freedom in how it’s used in the present to open up future possibilities. Consequently, the film feels dynamic even as moments repeat, because those moments come to mean something new.
Even if all the moving parts don’t make sense, Chan-wook’s construction of the film ensures the journey can be felt even if not fully understood. He achieves this feeling of consistency via in how he utilizes the architecture of the house to reflect the ebb and flow of power and also his attention towards maintaining a consistent color palette. While the latter has been mentioned above, the former hasn’t been given it’s due. At a basic level, the exterior of the house is white like the color of an egg’s shell. The green surrounding the house in the form of vegetation makes its way in the walls of the “public” spaces of the house, like the dining room. India is constantly in the color yellow’s proximity. Likewise, her mother is always in red’s presence. By establishing the colors early on and constantly repeating them in and out of the house, Chan-wook is able to get the audience to think about the meaning of them in the background of their minds. As a result, the colors become affectively charged which is why they can be felt even if their presence isn’t consciously noted. Chan-wook is weaving poetic patterns that operate on a level that appears like it’s just style, but is in style employed in lieu of accentuating the substance.
In light of this, it’s surprising to see that critical consensus is so harsh on the film, with many critics chastising the film for being style over substance. It’d be one thing if the film gallivanted from scene to scene for shock value; with violent masterpieces like Oldboy in Chan-wook’s filmography, it would be easy for him to just sink to spectacle. But Stoker is less focused on the spectacle than the journey itself. It’s filmed in a delicate and sensual way because unlike many of his previous excursions, Stoker is a women-led character study; that too, it’s a women led horror movie where the protagonist, far from being victimized, is allowed to find herself in the most emphatic fashion, something which would certainly not be possible if there was no substance beneath the film’s stylistic maneuverings.
This oddity is even more inexplicable given that, in many ways, Stoker feels like a dress rehearsal for The Handmaiden, Park Chan-wook’s 2016 erotic thriller, considered by many, including myself, to be the director’s best work. Both film’s share a woman lead, explore relationships between women, and focus more on the unseen gazes of characters than any overt physical action. They both also showcase incredibly sensual moments of eroticism in unsuspecting fashion, demonstrating the way desire codes even the otherwise seemingly ordinary. Furthermore, while Stoker is an homage and twist on Shadow of a Doubt, The Handmaiden, feels like something similar in relation to Vertigo, at least from my view.
Perhaps the reason for Stoker’s undeserved treatment lies in its opacity. Though, the feeling of the film is something a viewer can take away from a viewing, the lack of direct explanation regarding some of the more overt symbols, like the spider, might put off those looking for a story that provides all the answers. However, it is precisely because the explanations are withheld, that the film opens up interpretative possibility and can evoke the feeling of poetry as opposed to pretentious philosophizing. It’s for that reason that Stoker is best reserved for those viewers who relish engaging with a film, whether that be mulling over it afterwards or playing it back it back to confirm a hint about a theory. It’s a film that rewards multiple viewings and interpretations of the events depicted. At the brisk rate of 99 minutes, Stoker would already be worth seeing for its visual splendor alone. Few films have this much fun presenting images in such confident fashion. However, given the depth Chan-wook manages to pack behind each and every movement, big or small, the film is something that any cinephile should give a watch.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Stoker is a film about whispers, glances, stolen gazes, and strategies for getting one’s way. The story uses Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt as a jumping off point to explore the psychological journey of a young woman, India, who is forced to find herself after the death of her father and the mysterious emergence of her uncle. Her journey is one that fluctuates from romance to horror to thriller back again all while remaining couched in psychoanalytic motifs and relationships that give each and every moment a host of meanings.
While fans of director Park Chan-wook’s other works should definitely seek out this underrated part of his filmography, I’d recommend Stoker to any viewer who enjoys the experience of being washed over by a film and trying to piece it together afterwards. For the viewer who enjoys the journey even if the destination is unclear, Stoker offers a key to a box waiting to be unlocked.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
