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.
It’s hard to believe that a storyline involving a psychic monster capable of brutally murdering scientists, inept help from the relevant authorities, a woman who has psychic visions of a black-robed murderer who contorts and viciously slices apart its victims, and meticulously crafted murder set pieces is the basis of a James Wan horror movie when it feels like something plucked out of Dario Argento’s giallo playbook, in particular his fever dream film, Phenomena. In other words, the movie is a showcase of spectacle; the point is not the narrative but the audio-visual journey. Extravagance matters more than plot, which functions more as a vehicle for Wan to canvas off of. He’s always been a stylistic director, but Malignant showcases the height of his visual prowess; it’s an absolute treat to behold.
The movie starts with a small taste of things to come as the walls of a institutional facility are drenched with blood. Dr. Florence Weaver (Jacqueline McKenzie) escorts a group, which includes an officer with a gun, towards a room where people are flung out with bloody aplomb. She instructs them to shoot the patient, Gabriel, who is causing all the issues. The group suffers heavy casualties, but the nature of Gabriel along with his powers is left to the viewer’s imagination as the film cuts to twenty-eight years later.
A woman, Madison (Annabelle Wallis ), argues with her husband, Derek (Jake Abel) over the nature of her pregnancies, which seem to always terminate in miscarriages. He viciously attacks her for inability to conceive and beats her against the wall, causing the back of her head to bleed. Madison locks the door to keep safe from her husband, but then nighttime comes and a shadowy assassin makes its presence known. Its form is just a shadow creeping, and Wan teases the audience slowly with its presence before letting the violence continue; the husband is stabbed with no hesitation before Madison herself is thrown on the floor.
She wakes up at the hospital where she reunites with her sister, Sydney (Maddie Hasson). We learn that the siblings haven’t had contact with one another due to Derek’s controlling nature; he stopped Madison from reaching out. Thus, the black-coated figures first kill marks the end of the estrangement between Madison and her sibling and the start of her journey to move past and overcome her trauma at the hands of abuse.
However, later at night, Madison realizes that after this attack she’s now linked to the black-coated figure and can see the murders committed by the figure as they’re happening. These psychic drop-ins, which feel like the pensieve from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, feature the walls around our protagonist dissolving and reforming around her. Within crisp and fluid shots, Madison is transported from wherever she is to the scene of the next assault. Desperate to figure out the reason for this connection, she tasks Detectives Shaw (George Young) and Moss (Michole Briana White) along with Sydney in an race against time before the killer is allowed to strike again.
Wan said he wanted Malignant to be his take on giallo and the film more than delivers a set-up let lets him have fun. [1]Navarro, M. (2021, September 1). “My version OF GIALLO”: James wan lets us know what to expect from his new horror Movie ‘Malignant’ [Interview]. Bloody Disgusting! Retrieved … Continue readingThere’s a mysterious killer in possession of a distinctive weapon, brutal murders, a race to figure out the identity of the murderer, and law enforcement characters who are meant to help but who actively inhibit the protagonist while bumbling around. However, penchant of any great gialli, like the ones made by Argento and Bava, is to structure the violence with great care around fluid and dramatic camera moves which transform the macabre into the sensational. Malignant nails all of this and more. The plot moves along at a pace that keeps the audience invested until a reveal 30 minutes before the ending which then ratchets the film into an utterly enthralling cinematic experience that any fan of sensual cinema should watch. It’s entirely unpredictable; even if you guess one element of the way events will unfold, the entirety of the combined threads is something that can only be described as Shymalanesque in the best possible way.
Wan, who has always been stylistically talented, is allowed to push the boundaries on his own patterns. While the movie starts slow with some of his trademark sequences, like a tense overhead tracking shot which follows the characters as they navigate a household à la The Conjuringand The Conjuring 2, it really starts to show its hand once Madison is allowed to “dissolve” into the psychic visions that she’s made to see. The transitions are as evocative as the murders which follow and serve a purpose in delineating the contours of Madison’s psyche. As the film continues and Madison is allowed to explore the connection, its visualization changes in ways to reflect the same.
However, what pushes Malignant over the edge is the vitality and fury by which Wan shoots some of the larger set-pieces, moments which blow out scenes from even movies, including even Wan’s own Aquaman. The camera is an assassin and follows the path of blood and carnage with surgical precession. Every blow is brutal. Every slice is sinister. Every moment is an extension of the dance of the fabulous blood-bath. He lets the impact of the ferocity sit with the audience as the frame sticks on the murders unbroken. There may be a lot of the stereotypical horror movie teasing with the slow set-ups and the disappearing shadows, but the pay-off is bloody, excessive, beautiful, and utterly worth every moment in wait – a carnivalesque celebration of blood and splatter.
The supernatural slasher often takes place in rooms lit by rich reds and glowing greens along with rooms dyed in shades of dark blue and pockets of darkness. Often times, the camera glides from one room to another, swinging between colors in a way to accentuate the visual momentum of the spectacle occurring. Even though some of the needle drop moments feel like they could have been timed to synch up with the emotional intensity of the film a bit better, most of Joseph Bishara’s electric score fulfills what it sets out to do – provide a companion to the visuals that can match their energy. Many of the tracks inject a head-bobbing energy that add a fiery intensity to the scenes. The combination of both elements creates dynamite film-making that serves as proof that some things have to be seen on the big screen to be experienced in their full glory.
While there are some plot issues here and there, the muscular film-making put on display by Wan is more than worth witnessing for fans of the genre and for those people looking for a off-the-walls story to have fun with. It’s more than just stylistic homage. Malignant is a celebration of sheer and utter excess in the best of ways. It’s the best of Wan’s artillery amplified to the next level – truly bravura filmmaking.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Since his horror debut with Saw, Wan has put out some of the most well-loved horror classics. Insidious galvanized a new-age of horror fans and The Conjuring confirmed that his arrival was no fluke. Malignant is a confirmation of the director’s potential and showcases some of the highest highs in his oeuvre as of yet.
Rating
9.0/10
Grade
A
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 .
Ellen Burstyn as Chris MacNeil Linda Blair as Regan MacNeil Jason Miller as Father/Dr. Damien Karras Max von Sydow as Father Merrin Lee J. Cobb as Lieutenant Kinderman
Release Date
1973
Language(s)
English
Running Time
121 minutes
The title card comes in a deep red font surrounded by black. A black-and-white perspective on the sun rising. The fantasy fades and the hues of the sun overpower the frame.The opening sequence of The Exorcist marks the end of simplistic worldviews; order is broken and the world isn’t a clear cut black-and-white image anymore. The battle begins with a hellish intensity that must be overcome.
The film opens with a bright red title card as the Islamic call to prayer is heard in the background. A grayscale image of a desert is shown before its burning red, orange, and yellow hues dominate the screen. The simplicity of the black-and-white image gives way to a hellish haze that burns the natural environment around it. The world isn’t black-and-white and the battle between good and evil has begun.
Animals walk in the haze of the desert. People dig at a site. Location card indicates we’re in Northern Iraq. Father Merrin (Alex von Sydow) is framed between the legs of a young boy looking up. A series of establishing shots let us know we’re in a desert on a dig site somewhere in Northern Iraq. Despite being shot like a documentary, the establishing shots culminate in a picturesque frame where Father Merrin is trapped in between the legs of a young boy. It’s a sign of strenuous things to come, where he’ll be be starting at a lower vantage point.
We see a series of establishing shots – animals walking through a haze and workers digging up a site – before a location card shows up informing us that we’re in Northern Iraq. The presentation makes us feel like we’re watching a documentary. Eventually the camera comes upon and follows a young boy at the site who runs through the grounds. He stops and we see the subject of his search, an older archaeologist and priest named Father Merrin (Max von Sydow), positioned between his legs looking up. The child informs the priest that that something of interest has been dug up.
Despite the fact that the compositions and camera movements are done in a naturalistic, unassuming manner, director William Friedkin is still able to fill the film with evocative frames like this one to set up the narrative. Merrin is trapped by the child and the announcement. He looks up from a lower position suggesting that what’s to come will be a struggle for him, one in which he will be lowered. The fact that the one giving him the message and demarcating him is a child is not a coincidence; it’s just one small demonstration of one The Exorcist’s major strengths: the ability to portray events in documentary like fashion while retaining full control on what each frame entails in a thematic sense. This is how Friedkin transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary.
Merrin (Max von Sydow) finds the Medal of St.Joseph.Merrin (Max von Sydow) finds a sculpture of Pazuzu’s head. A lone bird flies through the sun covered frame. Merrin’s (Max von Sydow) hands tremble as he takes his medication. Merrin (Max von Sydow) sees a blacksmith tending to burning fire. The blacksmith looks at Merrin. One of his eyes is clouded in shades of gray.Father Merrin finds both a medal of St.Joseph and a sculpt of Pazuzu’s’, a demon-God, head. This double finding of a sign of good luck and a sign of bad luck will be repeated as a motif throughout the film. After finding both items, we see the sun dominate the frame for a split second as a bird flies through the frame – this creature will show up later. The experience disgruntles Merrin so much that even a simple encounter with a blacksmith becomes elevated.
Merrin walks through the desert towards the location of the aforementioned discovery and finds a medal of St.Joseph. The medal is out of place in the environment, both geographically and chronologically, calling to question how and why it’s present in the area. The film even calls attention to the discrepancy by having the characters mention that such an artifact doesn’t belong in the area. After puzzling over the medal, Merrin starts to dig and comes upon a sculpting. The sound of the wind gets stronger as he brushes the dust off the figure revealing it to be a statue of Pazuzu. [1] While Pazuzu is never mentioned explicitly, it’s clear from the material and discussion on the film that the figure is of Pazuzu. As he stares at the ominous looking head, the sound of buzzing flies becomes more intense.
Once again, the hellish haze of the sun takes control of the screen; this time its presence is brief while it burns not just the desert like before but also a large building in the background; the flames have made their way to civilization. A single bird flies through the frame; the conflict has started to move. The scene dissipates and we cut back to Merrin sitting in a crowded area. It’s clear he’s perturbed by his encounter with Pazuzu as his hands tremble fumbling with his medicine. From the way his eyes glaze out, we know he’s not taking in any of his surroundings; his mind is focused entirely on the presence of malevolence. He gets up and walks through the city before coming upon a blacksmith. The intensity of the flames from their work feels off-putting as they remind us of the intensity of the sun. A simple encounter becomes nefarious as our mind puts the visual cues together; a sub-conscious fear is being laid out.
Insert shot of the clock’s chime. Insert shot of the clock.Insert shot of a recovered statue head. Merrin (Max von Sydow) catalogues his finding. Merrin (Max von Sydow) picks up the Medal of St.Joseph. The clock goes on behind him. Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks at the Medal of St. Joseph. Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks at the head of Pazuzu while being informed it’s a ward against evil. Merrin (Max von Sydow) notices the clock behind him has stopped. Friedkin hides subliminal clues in this establishing montage; seemingly benign insert shots become triggers for a scare in the making. By clueing us in to look at the clocks, not from one but two separate angles, Friedkin manages to get our subconscious hyper-focsed on the clock. This is why it stopping hits as hard. The fact that it happens after a repetition of the double finding motif – Merrin touches both the medal and statue again – helps both techniques reinforce one another. This is how the film weaves psychic chains.
We see another set of establishing shots – a clock chime, a clock head, recovered statues – before revealing Merrin documenting his dig findings. He picks up the medal and looks at it for a brief moment before picking up the head. Another worker in the building notes that the head is a figure of “Evil against Evil.” This mention is not without purpose; Pazuzu is both a demon associated with the evils of the air and a God invoked by people to protect against other more malicious forces. [2]Near eastern antiquities : Mesopotamia. Statuette of the demon Pazuzu with an inscription – Near Eastern Antiquities | Louvre Museum. (n.d.). … Continue reading Thus, we have a symbol of God from a different area juxtaposed against the symbol of a God-Demon from a more local culture being discovered by a Father who is deadly terrified of the latter.
Immediately, the clock behind Merrin stops and our anxieties rise along with him. Because Friedkin disguised the clock parts as part of the establishing shot, our minds were primed to pay attention to the clock without being immediately aware of it. This makes its eventual stoppage more effective because it’s something we’re already thinking about. Friedkin shows us the clock multiple times in a non-innocuous manner, so he conditions us even further to recognize its disparity as off-putting. Combining this with the juxtaposition of the findings amplifies our unease, transforming a small clock pause into a moment of utter panic.
Merrin (Max von Sydow) walks past a group of Muslims praying. A woman looks down at Merrin from above. Merrin (Max von Sydow) walks past two women who are veiled. Merrin (Max von Sydow) is almost hit by a carriage. Even though nothing should be going wrong, we’re primed for the worst to happen. Every point of God is met with a counter-point of bad luck, so after Merrin walks past Muslims praying, we’re expecting something go awry. He walks past a woman looking down on him, just like the child did earlier, which starts the trepidation. After he walks past two women, we’re not even surprised that he’s almost run over. The film constantly generates expectations because of how it repeats itself.
Merrin leaves the establishment as a group of Muslims start to pray – a callback to the call for prayer at the start of the film. Despite being a man of faith, he makes no notice of the group and walks past them. It’s a continuation of the juxtaposition between the figures; orientations towards religions constantly mix and swap in this battle for and of faith. While the anxiety ridden priest makes his way around a corner, the camera cuts to a woman who seems him from up above looking down. The shot itself is nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s inclusion in an already tense movement makes us scared for the elderly priest. The last time someone was looking down on him, the child giving the announcement, he was met with a dark presence.
We cut from the women back down to Merrin who stares down at the ground as he walks past two women. Within seconds of passing them, he is almost ran over by a carriage which approaches from a darkened tunnel. Is this Pazuzu or is it just Merrin’s pre-occupation?
Merrin (Max von Sydow) looks up as a shadow comes over him and a gust of wind threatens to blow off his hat. A statue of Pazuzu is revealed to be above, with the burning sun behind it. Pazuzu and Merrin (Max von Sydow) stare off. A man is revealed to be behind Merrin. Dogs fight in the desert. The camera zooms in on Pazuzu. Pazuzu and Merrin (Max von Sydow) are engaged in battle. Pazuzu and Merrin’s (Max von Sydow) battle dissolves into the red heat of the sun. The heat of the sun covers everything. The heat of the sun dissolves into the cool looking cityscape. The city is revealed to be Georgetown. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) hears some animal noises and goes to investigate. A black-and-white image of her daughter is positioned next to her bed. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) puts on an orange robe and goes to investigate the source of the noise. Regan (Linda Blair) wears yellow pajamas. The window to Regan’s room is open and a gust comes in. The confrontation between Merrin and Pazuzu sets the stage for everything to come and marks one of the greatest movie introductions. The wind and sound of animals are established to be antagonistic forces as their presence makes way while Merrin realizes he’s being stared down on by Pazuzu. Merrin has been set lower by the boy, woman above, and now finally, the demon-God before him. We already know the battle will be brutal. A man behind Merrin reminds us that the entity of Pazuzu is not one of pure evil; Merrin is reacting strongly but a local doesn’t move. The film is establishing sources of ambiguity.
At the same time, the battle dissolves into the harsh sun, tying the battle between Merrin and Pazuzu to the universal breaking of black-and-white morals. This further dissolves into Georgetown, which is bathed in a cool blue. The battle has changed locations.
As Chris moves from her black-and-white photograph of Reagan to Reagan herself, we notice that the mother-daughter duo pair are wearing the colors of the sun. Another movement of black-and-white breaking to the intensity of the solar spectrum. At the same time, the gusts of wind break through Reagan’s window. Another repetition.
An answer is given. Merrin walks down to the dig site and a gust of wind blows threatening to take his hat off. His face is cast in shadows as he looks up. The camera cuts to a statue of Pazuzu looking down upon him, the blinding hot sun appearing right behind the figure. Finally, the confrontation has come to a head. The sounds of dogs fighting and the gusts of wind rage over the soundscape as the two combatants take their stances. The two figures stand apart from each other, Merrin positioned lower looking up, as the scene dissolves into the burning bright sun – a confirmation that the days of a black-and-white world are over. This burning environment dissolves to an establishing shot of Georgetown; the arena of the battle has shifted grounds from Iraq to Washington D.C.
The camera moves from the city to the bedroom of a large mansion. We see Chris MacNeil (Ellen Burstyn) writing notes on her bed. On her nightstand is a large black-and-white portrait of her daughter, Regan (Linda Blair). Chris hears loud animal noises coming from her attic and gets up to investigate. She puts on an orange nightgown before checking on Regan, who happens to be asleep in yellow pajamas. The window in Regan’s bedroom is wide open and gusts of wind are blowing through. A black-and-white image that gives way to orange and yellow, gusts of wind, and animal noises are all signs that the conflict we saw in the opening act has made its way here. Once again, Friedkin has managed to tell us what’s going to happen with just the most subtle of elements, using the repetition of visual and auditory cues to highlight the parallels between the evil happenings between both locations.
Extras playing students on the film hold up signs in protests against the Vietnam War, which was hugely unpopular and televised at the time. Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller) laughs in the background as he watches Chris and Burke squabble. The sub-text of the Vietnam war is present but the reasoning for why is never given to the audience. Instead, we’re made aware of its odd placement in the film and then made to laugh at it as to let it float away, to the recesses of our subconscious.
The next day comes and we cut to a film materialized within the film; it turns out Chris is a famous movie actor and is on set filming a movie about the Vietnamese war. Extras on set hold up signs indicative of the counter-culture at the time. The Vietnam war was raging and was immensely unpopular to many college aged students at the time. The war was famous for being the first “televised war” and media reporting at the time made it infamous at large. [3]Spector, R. H. (2016, April 27). The Vietnam War and the Media. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/The-Vietnam-War-and-the-media-2051426.. In particular, it was a time associated with the hippie movement – a group who was known for its opposition to consumerist bourgeois culture and Christianity. [4]Quinn, D. (2019, August 21). The mixed legacy of the 60s hippie movement. The Irish Catholic. https://www.irishcatholic.com/the-mixed-legacy-of-the-60s-hippie-movement/. It’s place in a film about supernatural evil feels out of place. However, this strangeness is called to attention by a crew member who asks the in-movie director, Burke Dennings, if “this scene [is] really essential” and if “[Dennings could] consider on whether or not [the film] can do without it?” Chris then follows up and asks Dennings to explain the student’s motivations for tearing the building down. In both cases, no real answer is given, but the mention of a purpose entices us to give the scene more attention than we would; immediately, we become aware that what we’re about to see has a purpose which allows the sub-text to become imprinted on our psyches.
Dennings ignores the crew member and responds to Chris’s question by reiterating her role. He tells her that as a “teacher at the college, [she] doesn’t want the building torn down.” In exasperation this non-answer , Chris exclaims, “C’mon I can read for Christ’s sake.” – the first verbal mention of Christ in the film – and continues her search for a purpose to the scene. Dennings is still unable to provide a reason and jokes around with Chris about the situation – diffusing it and providing entertainment for the throng of people who have come around the shoot to watch it in action. In the audience is a priest adorned in black, Damien Karras (Jason Miller), who smiles along in excitement at the proceedings. The joke diffuses us as well as it does the proxy audience within the film, causing us to drop our guard again; the lingering questions disappear, leaving only their spectral vestiges behind to accumulate in the the recesses of the mind.
Chris (Ellen Burstyn) mentions God as she tells the students to calm down. The camera picks up on Damien (Jason Miller) as he leaves the crowd. Damien (Jason Miller) leaves as Chris mentions that change has to occur within the system. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) walks past a yellow door as the wind blows Autumn leaves past her. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) walks past a red door as the wind blows Autumn leaves past her. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) smiles at children in Halloween costumes running past her. Chris walks past two Nuns, one of whom is carrying a rosary. Chris ( Ellen Burstyn) sees Damien (Jason Miller) consoling another priest but can’t make out the conversation due to the loud noise of wind displacement. The filming scene does a great job establishing that Chris and Damien’s paths have and will continue to intertwine almost as if fate is pushing them together. We start with Chris, hop to Damien in a crowd of faces, then cut back to Chris who eventually runs back into Damien. It’s a poetic movement; they can’t meet till the time is right.
Chris’s journey back is also a double of Merrin’s journey in Iraq. She walks past red and yellow (the sun), goes past kids in costumes (a symbol of evil against evil) and nuns holding a crucifix (a symbol of the Lord and two veiled women), while the wind blows and “Tubular Bells” play. We know she, like Merrin ,will have to deal with the forces of evil.
Our attention focuses on the scene itself as it begins. Chris, now in character, walks up to the top of the school and tells the students to stop their protests. Once again, she verbally mentions “God” in her exclamations while telling the crowd of extras around her that if they “wanna effect any change [they”] have to do it within the system.” The irony of a wealthy atheist actress playing a teacher working against the counterculture movement while invoking “God” and “the system” is so astoundingly blatant that the fact that Friedkin was able to disguise each element by only subtly drawing a viewer’s attention to it, while simultaneously not compromising the structure of the film proper is proof enough of how textured The Exorcist is at cultivating multifaceted themes. As Chris’s monologue comes to a close, the camera zooms in on a crowd of faces before finding and following the young priest, Karras, as he makes his way to the Church.
The in-movie scene ends and Chris walks back from the set to her mansion. The red, orange, and yellow Autumn leaves around her blow as the wind blows them around her. The iconic theme music, “Tubular Bells” plays, a confirmation to the audience that the sings they’re seeing are a confirmation of the evil that has come to lay siege to the MacNeils. Chris walks by a series of doors, the first of which is yellow and the last of which is red. Children, symbols of innocence, dressed in Halloween costumes run by her. The tradition of wearing costumes on holiday started namely to protect people from evil spirits. Costumes were meant to disguise oneself from evil. Wearing the monsters protected one from monsters – evil against evil. It’s fitting then that the innocent Regan, soon to be possessed, is being affected by Pazuzu of all entities.
Unlike the innocent depictions of costumes on these children, Chris will be forced to deal with the real thing; just like in Iraq, the conflict has started and Chris, just like Father Merrin, will have to come face to face with her nightmares. On the other side of the street, two nun’s walk by. Their presence does not make the sinister soundscape abate. This scene is done in parallel to Merrin’s own walk in the opening; both parties walk by women in veils as evil pursues. Eventually, Chris come to the Church’s gates and sees Father Karras. He starts to talk but both us and Chris are unable to hear as the soundscape is once again interrupted by the sound of the winds. Chris and Karras have not met yet but the seeds for their encounter have been planted.
With this, all the key players have been introduced and The Exorcist can truly begin as Regan MacNeil finds herself in a series of supernatural events that force her mother and self into action in a race to save their lives. The above description of the first 16 minutes is only scratching the surface of the intricate and deeply enigmatic story lying at the heart of the film. Hypnotic suggestions loom around every corner as the movie cuts between sequences in thematic fashion. Consequently, the story’s rythm always feel constant so we’re none the wiser to how much time has passed in between scenes. It’s from these “gaps” that Friedkin puts the mysteries of the film behind. Just like the medal Merrin finds at the start, The Exorcist is littered with minor oddities like repetitions of certain quips and details in the mise en scène like the cover of a magazine that are brought to attention and then pushed to the periphery only to pop up later in the strangest of ways.
Strange cuts and displacements offer an answer one way, while the nature of the narrative suggests others. Based on how a viewer interprets one event, they color the way other events proceed; each of these decisions, culminates in how one processes the ending and subsequently the themes of the movie. Each little detail is placed there with a purpose, waiting to be deciphered in the matrix of meaning afforded by the rich subtext the film employs. The end result is a movie with an infinite permutations of meanings, each justified by an orientation grounded in the film itself.
For example is the film, like Stephen King suggests, about “the entire youth explosion that took place in the late sixties and early seventies”? [5] King, S. (2010). Danse macabre. Gallery.The film-making scene in-movie would certainly be evidence to suggest as much. Or is the film about the way we demonize the Other? The use of Pazuzu as opposed to directly invoking the Devil from the start is a choice made for a reason. These are only a few of the questions the movie allows us to ponder. Every detail, no matter how small it is, presents with it another layer of themes by which to interpret the primary conflict and a set of questions along with them. It’s not an exaggeration to say that one could watch the movie on repeat and come to a different conclusion each time.
Regan (Linda Blair) is shaken by her blue bed while dressed in yellow pajamas. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) talks to Dr. Klein (Barton Heyman) in a blue hallway. Lt. Kidnerman (Lee J. Cobb) accosts Damien (Jason Miller) in front of blue seats.I have to applaud the efforts in production design to ensure such a consistent color scheme. One only has to pause at a important enough juncture to see the scenes bursting in either blues, oranges, reds, and/or yellows depending on the nature of the scene. Whether it be in the architecture or the clothing, the relevant colors are there when they need to be and frequent enough to not feel like coincidence.
This is due, in no small part, to the way Friedkin repeats motifs, making the connections between seemingly disparate moments seem clear if one is looking. The colors red, yellow, and orange are first introduced at the start of the film and represent the spiritual battle. Whenever the colors prop up in the mise en scène, like in the color of the doorways or the characters clothing, we can already tell something is afoot. This is the color of the fight. In contrast, blues envelop the screen whenever a party is attempting to work against the malicious entities. It makes sense from a color theory perspective; in contrast to the heat feeling generated by the sun’s gradient, the cool and calm feeling of the blues feel like a natural response. Likewise, wind makes its presence apparent preceding scenes of terror, reinforcing Pazuzu’s dominion and area of reach. Animal noises like growls and barks creep into the soundscape reminding us of the buzz of the flies and the fighting of the dogs in Iraq while “Tubular Bells” all but confirms the sinister is going to happen when it turns up.
Damien (Jason Miller) tells Tom (Thomas Bermingham) that he, Damien, has lost his faith. Chris (Ellen Burstyn) hears animal noises from above. Ellen (Chris Burstyn) bathes Regan (Linda Blair) after the latter’s incident. The darkness crowds around them as the light gets further away. The fact that Friedkin could get some of the shots he did with the style of filmmaking he was pursuing is testament to his genius. The use of harsh shadows, smoke, and distant sources of light let him give all his images a distinct texture while enabling thematically rich visual storytelling.
Furthermore, the film’s lighting and use of shadows hearkens back to German Expressionism movement, and to an effect the noir movement which was deeply influenced by the former movement. Smoke fills many frames, emanating from cigarettes constantly being lit and the freezing cold temperatures of the increasingly chilly gusts of wind, giving them a more textured and gritty look. Lighting is harsh and often shows the dark nooks and corners in characters faces. Shadows encroach on characters visually demonstrating the influence of evil on their lives. Likewise, divinity comes in the form of bright lights which often show up near the spiritually inclined characters.
By sticking to a mostly unassuming style, Friedkin is able to employ all the above stylistic flourishes, call attention to them momentarily, and then sweep that attention under the rug in favor of something else. The end result is a hypnotic film that creeps under the skin without notice. Suggestions become patterns which become motifs that inform how one proceeds down the mine. Our mind is conditioned to associate certain triggers with evil and others with good, ultimately giving the viewer full reign in determining what the film really means.
The documentary like severity by which the subject matter is treated is the reason this subsequent engagement is so powerful and potentially cathartic. Because everything leading up to the supernatural phenomena is so grounded, the inclusion of such events is given a real power. Every single actor, from the main to the side cast, deals with the events of the film with a cold sense of realism forcing us to do the same. While I could spend at least a few paragraphs detailing the meticulous performances on display, I mainly want to draw attention at how well the film humanizes our leads and gets us to care about their well-being. In particular, the mother-daughter relationship between Chris and Regan, played by Ellen Burstyn and Linda Blair respectively, is sweet and endearing; their love is palpable. Blair presents her soon-to-be possessed character as innocent, whimsical, and child-like.
This is why her flip to cruel and off-kilter hits so hard; it feels impossible to believe that such a sweet little girl could transform into something so much more sinister. There’s no respite from the macabre cruelty put on display. One isn’t allowed to escape from the violence or allowed to cast it aside; instead, they’re forced to sit and marinate with it, imbuing it with their own personal subjective tendencies. It’s no wonder then that the film elicited such strong reactions when it was released with some more sensitive members fainting in theatres. [6]Vanderbilt, M. (2017, August 23). Audiences had some intense reactions to the exorcist in 1973. The A.V. Club. … Continue reading The movie tapped into the cultural zeitgeist at the time and pricks on a litany of unconscious fears and desires ranging from generational to cultural that are bound to generate strong responses even now and it does all that while remaining a conventionally frightening movie that doesn’t cheap up on the spectacle of the scares.
There’s a reason The Exorcist is often the first name mentioned in discussions regarding the greatest horror films of all time[7]I’m in the camp of critic Mark Kermode who regards The Exorcist as the greatest film of all time. I’m not at that level, but I have the film in my top 30 of all time and it constantly … Continue reading At one level it is as spiritual of an experience as a film by Dreyer or Bergman and then on another level it’s use of spectacle is of the greatest variety providing chills so deep and unsettling that they still serve as a benchmark, along with John Carpenter’s The Thing, on how to utilize practical effects to make horror as real as possible. It is a film that understands true terror lies hidden in the unconscious, so it employs psychological ands subliminal tricks to prime our minds and feelings for the nightmares to follow, but it doesn’t forget that the audience has come to be scared, so it pays off all the tension with the most depraved and upsetting images it can. It’s one of the crown jewels of cinema and is proof the medium’s power at truly probing the corners of one’s mind. Friedkin puts it best in his intro to the film: ” Over the years, I think most people take out of The Exorcist what they bring to it. If you believe the world is a dark and evil place, then The Exorcist will reinforce that. But if you believe that there is a force for good that combats and eventually triumphs over evil, then you will be taking out of the film what we tried to put into it.” [8] William Friedkin’s Introduction to The Exorcist. Warner Brothers. (1973) The Exorcist.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Exorcist is one of the greatest works of cinema, let alone horror cinema, serving spiritual lessons along with nightmares in equal amount. It is a film that treats every frame as an opportunity to set up subliminal scares, demonstrating that the best results require the most delicate of touches. By lulling the audience to the film’s hypnotic, but elliptical, rhythm, Friedkin forces every viewer to engage in a subjective tango with his mangum opus thereby ensuring that no two viewing experiences are totally alike. Multiple events in the film require the viewer to imagine their own scenes of terror in order to get a “whole” perspective on what transpires. If you give yourself wholly to it, The Exorcist will take you on an unbelievable journey that only the cream of the crop of cinema can dare to venture. The choice is yours.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2 for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Kimiko Ikegami as Gorgeous Miki Jinbo as Kung Fu Ai Matsubara as Prof Kumiko Oba as Fantasy Mieko Sato as Mac Masayo Miyako as Sweet Eriko Tanaka as Melody Yōko Minamida as Auntie Kiyohiko Ozaki as Keisuke Tōgō Saho Sasazawa as Gorgeous’s Father Haruko Wanibuchi as Ryoko
A blue line demarcates a frame in the center of the frame at which point a red letter “A” appears in the center.
The word “MOVIE” then appears in the frame. It’s a green color.
The name of the movie is reveals and he “O” in the title is revealed to have a mouth with jagged teeth.
The blue from the border of the inner frame bleeds in to color the entire background.
The “O” starts to chew onto something. It’s pale color has given way to a blood red.
A hand falls out of the “O” mouth.
The “O” mouth opens up to reveal an eyeball at the center.
The title card then becomes filled with the blood red – the color of the violent lips overwhelms and subsumes the rest of the letters.
The title card becomes less threatening as the word “House” becomes loose and animated again with a peaceful green background.
The opening sequence of House starts with music before a blue box is demarcated against the black box. It’s within this center frame that the majority of the action for the next minute will take place as the space is filled with a variety of different words, colors, and animations. Obayashi constantly demonstrates the way the space is demarcated, its presence constantly being interrupted by the suggestions of surrounding elements.
A somber and melancholic tune plays as soon as the title sequence starts up . The sound of wind intrudes upon the music creating an auditory clutter. The apparent diegetic sound (the wind) bleeds in with the apparent non-diegetic sound(the music) suggesting they’re occurring in the same auditory space. [1]Note: I say apparent here because there’s no reason to suggest that the music is inherently non-diegetic or the wind is inherently diegetic. It’s just an assumption of cinema that music … Continue reading The melodic part of the soundscape become more hopeful sounding than before. As the tune changes, a small blue box is drawn in the center of the screen before the words “A” and “movie” show up in the colors of red and green respectively within it – a frame within a frame. It’s at this point that the title of the movie, House, fills the inner frame. Unlike the previous two words which were static, the title presentation is fully animated. The letters each move up and down with whimsy and vigor.
However, a scream intrudes the soundscape . The inner frame is suddenly encroached upon by the blue border surrounding it and eventually its black background subsequently turns blue. Then, the letter “O” in “House” is revealed to have a ruby red mouth and a set of jagged teeth. It starts to chew maliciously before opening up and revealing an eyeball hidden inside of it. Suddenly, a peaceful high pitched tune starts to play completely incongruent with the image in the frame which shows the “O” mouth letting a bloodied stump of a hand drop out of it. It’s at this point that the blue background becomes black and devoid once again as all the letters take on a blood red color . The blood red from the lips, now transformed by a literal ingestion of a what appears to be a person, transforms the entire word into a monstrous abomination. before finally transforming into a less malicious configuration. The letters settle and become white again. Likewise, the background becomes green and calm once more. The violence which threatened to overwhelm disappears just as fast as it came – a momentary explosion.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) stares at the camera. Her head is covered by a veil.
Fantasy (Kumiko Oba) stares at Gorgeous.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) tells Fantasy (Kumko Oba) to hurry up with the shot.
The flash of the photograph ruptures the frame itself. the green image of Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) gives way to one of red. The contrast in color reminds us of the title card, immediately tying the flash to violence. The moment at which the present is frozen in a moment is a temporal violence.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) after the shot.
The background comes in around Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami).
The color of the inner frame changes from green to a colorscape that matches the background surrounding the enclosure.
The temporal frame demarcating Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) from the flow of time dissipates as soon as she takes off the veil. She’s now free to enter the present once again.
The photography sequence reinforces the way the movie uses colors and further expands on the idea of how a space can be made up of both the past and present colliding with each other. The color green is not only tied to peace but also the constant flow of time – a present. The moment of the flash is the moment of capture – where the present is captures as past and transformed into a temporary moment. Thus the past is linked with violence. The discontinuity of the frame within the frame reinforces these disjunctions in time – the past and present colliding against each other in the same arena.
It’s at this point the movie cuts and the soundscape changes. The music changes to a cheerful tune that has a hypnotic jingle in the background. Instead of words occupying the inner frame, there’s a young woman, Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami), staring directly at the screen, a green filter covering her. She has a veil covering the top of her head and a lit candle on her side. The inner frame then shows another young woman, Fantasy (Kumiko Oba), standing with a camera before quickly moving back go Gorgeous who tells , Fantasy, to hurry up with the photo shoot. Fantasy takes the shot of Gorgeous. As the flash of the camera goes off the green hue gives way to red – a callback to the color motif used in the title sequence. After getting an “Okay” from Fantasy confirming the success of the shot, the space around the inner frame comes back into the view letting us know the girls are both in a classroom. However, the only spot of the frame where motion happens is the inner frame. Even as the color in the frame changes back to match its surroundings, Gorgeous moves as though the world outside of the box doesn’t exist. It’s as if the moments are intruding on one another, a present and a past out of joint with one another. However, once she takes the veil off the inner frame fades away and she is allowed to “return” to the present flow of time.
In just these opening 90 seconds , Obayashi’s House has foreshadowed the entire story, demonstrated its cinematic style, laid the framework for its approach to color, and set up the thematic point it wants to play upon. Up to the title sequence the soundscape suggests that music is not only going to be a prominent feature but that it intrudes upon the very world. If you enjoyed the start of Godiego’s score get ready to enjoy even more because every track is as addictive and fun to listen to and the music is played for almost the entirety of the movie’s run time.
The inner frame showcases the way moments in time can become demarcated- separated from what they were previously a part of. It’s no coincidence that the words entering this newly formed space are “A”, “Movie”, and “House”. It also imbues the space with the idea of cinema. What’s more cinematic than a frame that captures a story? Everything cinematic (at least in the traditional sense) that happens until the 90 second mark happens here and only here. The title turning from innocuous to horrifying to back again represents the way the movie will proceed in its tone as well – cheery, scary, joyful, and disjointed.
Suddenly, the title is abruptly interrupted by none other than the story proper as the movie cuts to a young woman, Gorgeous, who now occupies the inner frame. The cut itself is disorienting because the inner frame has changed while the background of the frame around it has stayed the same. The movie has spent so long making us aware of the power of the frame that we’ve become hypnotized and are staring right at it as the cut happens. Because we’re staring at the center, we are hyper aware of the change whose impact is magnified by the fact that everything around it stays the same. We’re reminded of the cinematic power of the frame – simply through the technique of demarcation and transition a discontinuity (the inner frame) is created through unity (the unchanging background). The movie’s past, the title, foreshadows the movie’s future, the story. The movie confirms this by revealing the space is one where a photoshoot is happening. The green image- calmness and continuity- gives way to a red image – violence and stillness – which then gives way to the green once more. The red is associated with the flash. The flash is the moment where a moment in time is demarcated, rendered permanent as the flow of time continues marching onwards. The flash is also the moment where a subject is shown in their true state, as the darkness is removed from their visage. A violent past that breaks a calm present- a sign of things to come. It’s at this point the blackness occupying the background of the frame is replaced by an appropriate classroom setting. The demarcation of the moving inner frame is suddenly juxtaposed against an immobile outside, but now that there is a content to that outside the disorientation feels all the more apparent. The time before the shot and the time mix like oil and water, both overwhelming the screen until finally the past fades into the present and the movie continues.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) and Fantasy (Kumiko Oba) embrace. As the camera arcs around them, they become framed by lush green trees.
As soon as Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) starts to leave the green forests leave the frame and a blood red filter bleeds over everything, casting an ominous shadow. Another repetition of the color motif.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) and Fantasy embrace happily after the photoshoot, completely surrounded by a superimposed bright green forest. However, as soon as Gorgeous bids farewell and starts to go home, the green forests disappear and a blood red filter envelops the screen. The ending of the moment marks the appearance of red, tying the color to the “death” of the present, when a moment ceases and becomes an event, a memory lost to time.
The two girls frolic into the hallway as the happy go-lucky main theme continues to play. Suddenly, as they descend down a stairwell, the camera arcs around the two of them as they embrace and converse. The background around them are the green leaves of a forest. This idyllic moment is broken as Gorgeous bids her friend farewell. As she leaves the green from the background gives way to a crimson red filter which encompasses the screen – a signal of an end to peaceful times.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) runs into her father’s (Saho Sasazawa) arms
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) learns from her Father (Saho Sasazawa) that he plans on getting married once more, to a woman named Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi).
The camera slowly moves to frame the new attempt at a family structure in a unified way. Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami), her father (Saho Sasazawa), and Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi) represent a potential future.
Unfortunately for the adults, Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) is in shock upon hearing the news. The camera shows the images around her reflecting and distorting, showcasing the damage.
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) remembers fonder days with her father (Saho Sasazawa).
Gorgeous (Kimiko Ikegami) throws her scarf as the frame partially freezes.
Gorgeous’s meeting with her father quickly turns from serene and picturesque to divided and broken up once he mentions his plans on remarriage to the youthful and beautiful Ryoko. Ryoko enters the screen gracefully and attempts to curry favor with her soon-to-be step-daughter by giving her a sash but it’s of no use. As both her father and Ryoko try and interact with her Gorgeous starts to reminisce about the past, better times when things seemed more unified. Unable to deal with the situation, Gorgeous throws the gifted sash and runs off the screen. Her running motion stays trapped in place as the sash falls in the background – the abdication of the possible future cements this past as an event lost in time as the sash (the future) floats away.
Gorgeous makes her way home and runs to her Father (Saho Sasazawa). She runs into his arms, the camera capturing the two of them in tender embrace. However, the camera starts to move and reveals that its positioned behind a glass pane. As Gorgeous’s father indicates he needs to talk, the frame becomes demarcated into multiple rectangular pieces. The peaceful music track is interrupted by a the discordant fast paced noises of a piano. The unity in the image of father and daughter splits. It’s fitting then that he tells her that their planned father-daughter vacation is now being intruded upon by a third agent, Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi).
She makes her way onto the screen, passing by the window pane – constantly being split into new configurations. The music changes and becomes more hopeful as well. It’s at this point the camera starts zooming in, the panes start to overlap with the frame almost presenting a fully unified image again. Just as the two boundaries are about to meet and become one her father mentions that he plans on marrying Ryoko. However, mention of this unity breaks the scene. The shot reveals a closer view of Gorgeous, her image and surroundings being reflected and distorted around her edges. As she’s processing the news, Ryoko tries to put a scarf around her neck as an attempt at starting a fresh bond towards a hopeful future. Gorgeous however can only focus on the past. As her father talks, the camera cuts from the present of the conversation the adults are trying to have to the memories that Gorgeous is desperate to maintain. These memories, though slightly demarcated by the pane on the edges of the shot, are mostly centered and show a unified happy image of the pair.
This past memory gives way to the future as the camera transitions to the present and shifts away once again, showing the scene breaking into segments. Gorgeous, unable to deal with the situation, runs away and throws her newly gifted scarf into the air. It’s at this time the temporality of the screen breaks again. Half the screen shows the scarf slowly falling down as the other half shows Gorgeous frozen as she runs off. This establishes not only the importance of her throwing the “future” away but reinforces the way continuous time breaks into discrete moments which are then stored as memories. Temporality is quickly returned as Gorgeous comes back to the present and runs into her bedroom which is aptly adorned with flowers. She takes out a host of photos showcasing both her father and deceased mother, wishing for her mother fondly, before recollecting that her mother had a sister – an Auntie (Yōko Minamida) whom she, Gorgeous, would be able to escape to given her father’s “betrayal”.
It’s with this motivation that Gorgeous meets up with her friends Fantasy, Melody (Eriko Tanaka), Kung Fu (Miki Jinbo), Mac (Mieko Sato), Prof AKA Professor (Ai Matsubara), and Sweet (Masayo Miyako). As you’d imagine each girl’s name is indicative of their respective personality traits. For example, Melody, as her name implies, is the musically inclined member of the group. Gorgeous asks her friends to accompany her to her Auntie’s house for their summer vacation trip. The 6 girls agree and the group of 7 venture off to the country in hopes of a fun-filled vacation. Unfortunately for them, their hopes are squashed almost immediately by bouts of supernatural phenomena. As the title sequence indicated, there’s nothing but discordant violence to be found once one enters the house.
Now, House has been described as many things by many different people. The Criterion Collection fondly describes the movie as, ” a psychedelic ghost tale”, “[a] stream-of-consciousness bedtime story”, and “[a]n episode of Scooby-Doo as directed by Mario Bava”. [2]https://www.criterion.com/films/27523-house Each of these descriptions is accurate. In fact, most of the praise surrounding House focus on it’s colorful and surrealist visuals, outlandish story, quirky and eccentric characters, Godiego’s emotionally distinctive and iconic score, and/or its absurdist sense of humor. Don’t get me wrong, I think all of these things are true. If the description of the opening 10 minutes of the movie above wasn’t proof enough, let me confirm. You’ve never seen a movie like House before. It’s a movie where Obayashi throws everything but the kitchen sink on screen. Painted backdrops, stop-motion, split frame shots, use of stutter motion, blue-screen, animation, and the like are used with gusto lending themselves to dozens of memorable scenes. However, all these techniques aren’t done just for fun; every one of them is put in place to develop the movie’s themes – namely how one can confront Japan’s horrifying nuclear history and more broadly how humanity can confront its own past bouts of violence.
Early on before the girls get to Auntie’s house, they have a conversation discussing the end of World War II, the nuclear devastation that occurred as a result of it, and the subsequent loss. However, because the girls are young and naivete, they brush past the historical atrocity with relative ease.
The girls discuss Japan’s fate at the end of World War II and go over the devastating effects of the nuclear bombs dropped. However, the impact of the weapons is still too hard to conceptualize for such a young and naïve group, so they end up treating it as another everyday event.
Mac even goes so far as to compare the smoke clouds with cotton candy before the group turns to more positive matters. This disconnect between Japan’s past and it’s future is something Obayashi explicitly wanted to tackle, having lost some of his own friends to the war and its related horrors. [3]“Constructing a “House.”” House, Criterion Collection, 2010. Blu-Ray. The nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were brutalizing, not only in their immediate impact, but in the way the effects of the damage persisted and continue to do so even now. This is why the movie constantly emphasizes the idea of intrusion – the idea that the present is constantly being interrupted by the past. By tying the supernatural events of the movie to Japan’s nuclear past, Obayashi is demonstrating the way the bombings still rupture in Japan’s present, even affecting the youth who think they’re separated from the violence. This violence is in turn presented in a surreal, colorful, and festive way. Obayashi’s daughter was the source for many of the situations the girls end up finding themselves in, so both the situations and the manner they play out are childlike. The horror subsequently comes off as bizarre and comedic on a surface level.
It’s no surprise so many people say House is not “really” a horror film. Even ardent fans praise the movie not for its horror but for the passion and sense of childlike whimsy it has. However, it is my position that House is not only a horror movie, but an example of horror surrealism done at a masterful level. At the stories base are tales of fear as described by Obayashi’s daughter, so the nightmares we see on screen are definitionally someone’s fears come to life. [4]Constructing a “House.”” House, Criterion Collection, 2010. Blu-Ray. The presentation of each sequence might be cute and harmless to us, but the sequences proper have horrifying consequences for the characters that inhabit the story’s world. In the same way Mac sees the devastation of the bomb and sees cotton candy, we see the brutalization of the girls and think it’s all good fun. The movie’s surrealist presentation disguises the violence so it’s palatable to us, but the reality lurking under the vibrant colors is terrifying.
Just like the specter of the nuclear incident in the movie precipitates the girls inevitable faiths, the specters of past injustices continue to prop up even now. Ghosts haunt the characters in the same way the past haunts the present. The fact that Gorgeous chooses to go to her Aunt, a person linked to her past, over her Father, a person linked to a new future, is not a coincidence but a reminder to the audience of the way the past nullifies potential futures, rendering them ghosts. All those who died in the nuclear blasts of WWII had lives with trajectories that suddenly ended, no place to go – a demarcation frozen in time as everything moves around it.
However, House also reveals the way cinema can bring life to these frozen moments and let their memory linger breathing life into the spirits of the past. From the opening frame that showcases the way moments can be captured, frozen, and then reincorporated to the last line of dialogue in the movie, Obayashi’s point is to never forget. If the past can never be negated and it cannot be run from then it must be embraced. The power of cinema is in its ability to embrace and transform moments into narratives with a broader appeal, breathing life into demarcated moments to create a moving whole.
The power of House is it doesn’t trade subtext for entertainment or vice versa. Sure, there are some elements that are less than perfect. Certain effects are a bit shoddy and some of the acting comes off as amateurish. However, I’d deal with these issues any day of the week if I was guaranteed a piece of art with this much depth. None of these “problems” at any point takes you out of the story because the sincere presentation of the movie makes such moments feel like a natural extension of the setting. Who really cares if a green-screen effect isn’t the greatest when you have a cat playing the piano in forwards and backwards motions? By wholeheartedly embracing these small production flaws and keeping them in line with the spirit of the story, Obayashi manages to turn even imperfections into endearing qualities. The end result is a wholly charming story that’s visually captivating from start to finish, that uses surrealism to transform horrifying scenes into colorful and whimsical moments, and that manages to have a compelling and relevant theme underlying it all. It’s a movie that everyone should watch at least once because there is quite literally nothing else out there like it.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
House is a movie that has to be seen to be believed, combining an audacious visual style with a childlike tale of whimsy and terror in an effort to deconstruct the way the future and present are always constantly indicted by a past they can’t escape. Every scene from start to finish is memorable not just because Obayashi uses ever cinematic tool in the book but because of his dedication to ensuring that the movie was at it’s core fun for the audience. For those viewers just looking for a one of a kind experience, there’s no movie that can prepare you for the absurdity that is House. You can watch it and have a blast even if you only take it at its face value.
However, those viewers willing to take the plunge into the subtext will find themselves deeply rewarded. Under the vibrant colors and absurdist humor, is a truly surreal horror story that reminds us of the way the specters of humanity’s past violence and atrocities of will always remain in the background, intruding in on the present along with how cinema can honor them.
Rating
10/10
Grade
S+
Go to Page 2for the for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3to view this review’s progress report .
Haley Bishop as Haley Jemma Moore as Jemma Emma Louise Webb as Emma Radina Drandova as Radina Caroline Ward as Caroline Edward Linard as Teddy Seylan Baxter as Seylan
Haley starts the Zoom meeting at the start of the movie. Haley removes the tape from her camera.Haley (Haley Bishop) sends out invitations to the meeting.Someone else joins the meeting as Haley steps away from the camera.
We start in the virtual plane. A Zoom call opens up. The mouse moves to start up a meeting. The computer screen is the stage this play takes stage on. The physical pierces through the virtual as the filter tape that covers the meeting host’s camera is slowly removed. Privacy gives way for a chance at intimacy. We finally see our host, Haley (Haley Bishop), as she gets ready for meeting. Unbeknownst to her, someone else has joined her meeting room.
Haley moves the laptop down the hallway to look for the noise.Haley discovers Jemma (Jemma Moore) is the source of the noise.
Suddenly we hear a loud thud. Has something happened already? Does it have something to do with the unseen participant in the room? Haley leaves to find out, moving the laptop with her to bring us along on the journey. The screen is no longer bound to one place and is allowed to be active. As she makes her way to her living area, she realizes the sound is coming from outside. She peers out the window.
Crisis averted. She realizes that this noise, this false source of fear, is her friend Jemma (Jemma Moore), who’s outside making a ruckus in an attempt to get Haley to give her, Jemma, permission to join the zoom meeting; thus, the boundary between the physical gives way to the virtual as the encounter between the two transitions to the online call.
In just a little under 4 minutes, Rob Savage’s Host manages to showcase its themes, set up a scare, and foreshadow the structure of the story (along with finer plot details). As the rest of the members of the Zoom meeting show up, it’s revealed that the jolly group of friends, made up of 5 women – Haley, Jemma, Emma ( Emma Louise Webb), Radina (Radina Drandova), and Caroline (Caroline Ward) along with their male cohort Teddy (Edward Linard ), have come together under Haley’s instructions to perform an online séance. However, it becomes clear that things are going to take a turn for the worse as the group is inevitably forced to defend themselves against supernatural forces.
Now while creepy séance movies are nothing new, Host manages to raise the stakes by taking the process online. A séance is a ritualized procedure whereby individuals participate with one another to communicate with the spirits. The procedure involves the dissolution of the physical into the spiritual. It is not a coincidence that the nature of a séance matches up so well with the nature of an online meeting. Like the best J-Horrors (Pulse, Ringu), Host is focused on exploring the way the web has become the realm of a new spiritual – a site of connectivity where the the bonds between the living and the dead commingle. As communication transforms so does the nature of the haunting.
This is where the COVID-19 quarantine based setting of the movie comes in. Participants in a séance have to follow protocol to safely engage with the astral world. Breaking these rules can have consequences in the same way that breaking quarantine protocol can. Quarantine limits communication, relegating people to online messages as opposed to in person discussion. Without the physical presence of people around us, the way we engage in that conversation changes. We may be less inclined to follow rules of decorum or less likely to be as committed to engaging. In a more intimate sense, the forced closeness generated by quarantine protocol means that in-person relationships are forced to weather increased presences. People who you might have been able to ignore now are an everyday presence, and if they choose to ignore protocol they can end up infecting you with the virus potentially harming you and those you love. Privacy becomes harder to feign because the private is forced to seep into the public – another dissolution.
It is these qualities that makes an online séance during COVID-19 quarantine the perfect melting pot of ideas and themes. Barriers between the physical, spiritual, virtual, public, and private bleed into one another forcing us to ask tough questions about what we think about those closest to us and ourselves. Corona is compared to the nature of haunting. The breakdown of spirits is compared to the way the virtual space is made up. Each layer of the movie works on it’s own, but the strength of the movie comes from the way the ideas so easily build upon and proceed into one another.
This can most be seen in the way the movie marries its metaphysical vision to an equally exciting visual style. The way the script tackles its particular spirit(s) gives Savage and co. carte blanche to go hog wild with their ways of supernatural scares along with building up a mythos for what’s going on. Early on, the movie intentionally calls note to some small flickers on a user’s screen to goad you into focusing onto small details. That way when the screen changes from the group view to the individual view and back, you’re hyper focused on making sure nothing’s moving. The smallest flicker can elicit a scare. By layering moments like these early on, the movie manages to ratchet up the tension to incredibly high levels.
However unlike its most of its found-footage contemporaries, Host isn’t satisfied with just going for micro-scares and ending with one big scare akin to Paranormal Activity. It’s more ambitious and plays closer to something like James Wan’s The Conjuring; there are beautiful big set pieces, scares that are set up earlier in the movie, and practical effects are deployed wherever possible to help enhance the sense of immersion
Despite being constrained by filming (mostly) by themselves in their own apartments., Savage and his crew don’t shy away from going for big and impactful scenes with real heft demonstrating that embracing limitations is a powerful way to ground scares. Because it starts small and builds up progressively, the story is able to explore the development of the spiritual and offer space for questions to form on what’s actually going on.
By grounding the more horrifying elements of the supernatural encounter the movie’s individual elements can congeal. This is primarily achieved in two ways:
Careful attention to characterization details
Maintaing the feeling of a Zoom call.
Subtle interactions between the characters and in relation to the way they describe/deal with their respective living situations helps to fill in a lot of context as to what they’re doing and their respective histories with one another. Every piece of dialogue feels natural and conversations between the character’s feel consistent and proceed in a way that’s too natural to feel scripted but to well put together to fell fully done off the cuff. For example, early on the girls rag on Teddy before he shows up. Anyone who’s had friends can tell that under the playfulness is a real frustration at his presumed recent callousness at their group interactions. Moments like these are a testament to both the editor, Brenna Rangott, for picking clips that seamlessly flow off of one another and the cast and crew for playing off one another in a way that feels like actual friends would.
From left to right and top to bottom: Emma (Emma Louise Webb), Caroline (Caroline Ward), Haley (Haley Bishop), Jemma (Jemma Moore), Radina (Radina Drandova). The group uses the Zoom audio interface to boost up their ability to capture potential noises happening around them demonstrating both a commitment to the application and a neat way of using it to the movie’s advantage.
However, what grounds the film and makes it work is its impeccable formal consistency; never once does the film break away from the formatting of a Zoom call. It starts and ends on the application proper. The audio and video feeds range from high definition and nice microphone quality to scratchy and lagging video streams. The characters make use of functions in the application to problem solve a variety of issues. As they switch between mediums, from phones to computers, audio feedback delays and connection issues come about. Variation comes from the quality of the videos as the film cuts between the group participant views of the screen to solo participant views of the screen, and having the characters move the camera when the situation calls for it. The result is a movie that’s brimming with visual life despite being so limited in location and space.
Furthermore, there’s no score, because the movie is supposed to be a chronicle of a séance. But instead of silence, the soundscape is littered with bits of feedback and small creaks which manages to unsettle just as well as any compelling horror score. No noise or visual cue betrays the feeling of the movie which in turn makes the more grandiose moments feel satisfying, authentic, and unexpected.
Best of all, there’s no cheating with the use of awful glitch effects. Even the better found-footage horror movies like Hell House LLC tend to use cheap-feeling glitch effects where the camera presents a stream of static in an attempt to show the supernatural distorting things. It typically comes off as awful visual clutter that betrays the aesthetic of found-footage movies. Host completely avoids these issues because the practical stunts and effects are done so well that there’s no need to be afraid of showing the audience the horror.
However, the bursts of cinematic genius and narrative levity come to a close far too quickly. Many of the fleshier metaphysical ideas feel like they get truncated too quickly and consequently the depth present in each haunting is diminished. For example, the movie introduces the idea of personal totems that each character can use during the séance but makes very little use of it as the film goes on. Tying in some of the intense scary scenes with these more intimate character items would have helped give more definition to certain character arcs and relationship dynamics and made the supernatural subjectivity the film is trying to establish more apparent.
But in spite of these misses, Host is part of a select few found footage to evoke same sense of dread and unease that the The Blair Witch Project did at the turn of the century. By placing the narrative within the pandemic that many remains so fresh in many of our minds, it’s more easily able to get us to invest in the story and care about what happens to the characters because they’re like us: they’re trapped, forced to take responsibility for others, and susceptible to the smallest misstep from someone in their social group. It’s this empathetic identification that makes the sense of unease in Host so poignant and terrifying – a reminder of the shared horrors we’re still vulnerable to today.
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TLDR
Host is proof that budget matters less than the guts to commit to a vision and figure out the most effective way to demonstrate that vision with the tools available. Despite being made during quarantine and with a low budget, each member of the cast and crew came together to turn in a cohesive and well-oiled horror machine that looks and plays like a major horror blockbuster. There’s characters to cheer for, scares that get under the skin, and a story that’s easy to follow while remaining compelling to think about.
Rating
8.7/10
Grade
A
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 .
Justin Benson as Justin Aaron Scott Moorhead as Aaron Callie Hernandez as Anna Tate Ellington as Hal Lew Temple as Tim Shane Brady as Shane Kira Powell as Lizzy James Jordan as Shitty Carl
Release Date
2017
Language(s)
English
Running Time
111 minutes
The opening quote to the movie encapsulates the thematic journey we’ll be taking- a mixture of Lovecraft, confronting the unknown, fear, alienation, and the way those ideas intertwine in relationships.
The movie opens with two quotes : one from Lovecraft and one from an Unknown source. Lovecraft’s quote encapsulates the drive behind his writing – the idea that the unknown is the root of fear. The latter quote notes that siblings only tell each other their feelings when they’re on their deathbeds. The presentation of the quote highlights that the Unknown Lovecraft is talking about is an agent of sorts that’s the source of the second quote, informing the audience that the movie we’re about to experience is going to explore a sibling relationship against a Lovecraft background – an navigation of the unknown, fear, and relationships.
After this the movie cuts to two brothers, Justin and Aaron, who are attempting to navigate their day to day lives in spite of a grayness that seems to permeate their existence. On top of their sullen demeanors, the color grading is undersaturated and reinforces a dreary and lifeless mood.
Justin (Justin Benson) tries to reach out to his brother Aaron (Aaron Scott Moorhead) who is too sullen to respond or reciprocate. The brothers lives are gray and worn out after having left the cult . Even the bright sun can’t lighten up their days, reflecting the way their lives have fallen into a depressive rut.
It’s quickly revealed that the two are survivors of a cult and are struggling with adapting to their new lifestyle. The older brother, Justin, domineers over his younger brother and constantly dictates the duo’s course of action. He’s the one who dragged them out from the clutches of the cult due to fears about them committing some kind of mass suicide. On the other hand, Aaron is very much sick and tired of their current life and is desperate to go back to the cult and experience the sense of warmth he had back there – a familial unity that seems to be missing with his own flesh and blood. After the two receive an ominous videotape from their former cult members talking about an “ascension” of sort. The tape is obviously old and its quality is poor, but it ends on an image of a circle. Desperate, to get his brother back to normal, Justin acquiesces and tells Aaron they’ll go to the cult for one day to get the latter’s mojo back.
As they journey to their previous habitat, the color that had been missing from their lives permeates the screen. The gray gives way to bright and warm colors that compliment Aaron’s newfound joy.
Once they decide the go back to the cult for a day, the light seeps in and saturates the brothers’ lives. There’s a newfound vitality here that was missing before.
During this drive back the brother’s stop at a funeral site – the place where their mother had died so many years ago. Surprisingly, the offerings they had left so many years ago as children still stand, no blemishes or markings to indicate how long they’ve been there. Having given their respects, the two make their way to the cult site – a campground that immediately feels unnerving and inviting at the same time. Their journey is accompanied by a score that evokes hints of John Carpenter – a spectral synth that has a The first person they run into ignores them and keeps walking past them, obviously perturbed. The next person they run into is smiling creepily, their face unmoving. Eventually the duo runs back into their previous acquaintances who happily welcome them back to the site. A nice meal followed by a good night’s sleep assuages Aaron and confirms to him he made the right choice. Meanwhile, Justin is still very much on the fence about the decision.
As the two of them explore the camp and re-integrate with their previous acquaintances/friends they’re forced to confront the host of inexplicable phenomena that pervade the camp. There’s constant mentions of an alien entity that watches the camp ground, a locked wooden shed that’s described as a storehouse for brewery equipment, magic tricks that go from discernible to out of this world, camp bonding activities that seem physically impossible, the presence of two moons, strange totem like objects scattered throughout the area, and camp members who fluctuate from cozy and inviting to seemingly hostile and suspicious. It’s a creepy cult gamut featuring enough additional oddities to keep both the brothers and the audience in a constant search to determine who’s on whose side and what’s really causing these off-putting occurrences. The best part is that the visual effects for many of these moments are simple, effective, and don’t cheapen out on stunning the audience. It’s testament to Benson and Moorhead’s skill that they can shoot a low budget picture but add enough visual magic in the right ways to absolutely nail the impact of each of these visceral phenomena. Very rarely did I feel myself fall into disbelief as the fantastical nature of what was happening blended seamlessly into the reality of the world, calling into question where the bounds of “real” stopped and started.
Everything pays off because each incident by itself is unnerving but put together it generates a fragmented experience. It’s impossible to know exactly where anything is going which generates both tension and a constant desire to figure it out. At the same time, the obvious call backs to horror tropes (ex: a cult brewing beer is the spiritual cousin of a cult drinking the Kool-Aid, Native Indian markings throughout the camp invite the idea that it’s a haunting taking place, etc.) helps us piece the pieces together according to our own preconceptions firmly placing us on the side of one or both of the brothers. Justin is suspicious of them and thinks they have to do with the cult trying to gain control over the brothers. Meanwhile, Aaron is more trusting of the camp members and accepts the oddities as they are. Their relationship develops as a result of every occurrence which not only adds an emotional resonance to the disconcerting events but also pushes the two of them to confront their deep seated feelings. It’s an encapsulation of the beginning quotes – a relationship that develops in the face of fear through the lens of the unknown.
Exemplifying this is the constant use of circles both as visual motif and in the way the camera moves. A circle is a closed shape – marked by boundaries but having no discernible start or end. It’s a loop that contains an infinite possibility of meanings depending on how you break its components down. The movie emphasizes this by constantly cutting to multiple circles, each distinct from one another in size and composition.
Circles are used a constant motif throughout the film, highlighting and tying together the fragmented horror tropes into a cohesive narrative that invites the audience to carve out their own interpretation of what everything means. Every circle represents something different but they’re all united by their shape and the use of match cuts reinforces the idea that there’s something tying these disparate elements together.
Early on, when the brothers get the initial tape from the cult, the tape cuts on an image of a circle – an eerie circle that calls back to something like Stonehenge. The move match cuts this with the bucket of cleaning supplies that the brothers use in their jobs – an circle that constraints their lives in a mundane job. The maps the camp uses are marked with circles – circles of containment that lock in zones. The camp members city in circles around the campfire – a circle of community. On top of this, Benson and Moorhead make multiple uses of arc shots that circle around and give the full view of a situation – a circle of meaning. Multiple scenes are shot in slow motion as the camera arcs – a circle of time. Is there a difference between insulating ourselves in a domestic circle where we take on mundane jobs versus isolating ourselves in a cult like circle that feeds our social and emotional needs? By utilizing the circles in such a way the movie gets us to ask questions like these throughout the movie, tying the fragmented and disparate elements into more cohesive strands – a symbolism that ties narrative to them and back again in a mutually reinforcing loop that’s open to infinite meaning.
This duality in meaning is aided by the stellar cast and crew. Surprisingly, the main players Justin and Aaron who play the the two brothers going by the same names are not the stars of the show. Don’t get me wrong – their performances are more than adequate – better than I expected when I saw the directors were taking center stage. Outside of a few moments of overexertion near the first half of the movie, they do their job at selling their characters relationship through effective and comedic banter along with requisite emotional moments necessary to propel the story. However, it’s their supporting cast that drives home the ambiguity of the camp happenings and the real emotional weight of what’s at stake behind the mysteries. Ellington gives Hal, the de facto leader/not leader, of the group a kind aura that belies the expectations of him that the brothers and us might have of him being a culty control freak. Temple makes Tim, the camp’s brewer, feel both tired and sincere. The way he emotes through his eyes indicates his character’s frustrated, serious, but not malicious. Powell’s dove eyed portrayal of Lizzy is both unnerving and endearing. She makes her character feel crazy, open, or a little bit of both. James Jordan as the aptly named Shitty Carl goes from absolutely batshit, to serious, to emotionally devastated, to goofing around in a seamless manner that underscores the weight of the camp’s mystery/(ies). I could go on and on, but the point is each performance both gives gravity to the consequences of the phenomena that we witness and emphasizes the theme of infinite interpretation.
The Endless proves that all you need is a tight script, interesting ideas, innovative execution, and a real focus on theme to tell a great and compelling story. Despite the budgetary limitations, Benson and Moorhead demonstrate that they’re more than comfortable in their Lovecraftian wheelhouse and can tell complex and diverse stories from within without ever boring their audience. After Resolutionand Spring, this is the movie that cements that they’re an up and coming talent that deserves more recognition. If you’re someone who’s been itching for a sci-fi horror that’ll get you to think without giving you easy answers, look no further. The Endless is the kind of movie that begs to be watched and re-watched in an attempt to carve out meaning from it’s seemingly infinite world.
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TLDR
The Endless expands and builds on Moorhead and Benson’s previous endeavors – combining horror tropes, relationship struggles, the search for meaning, and a healthy dose of Lovecraftian ideas to create a truly mesmerizing movie that’ll get you invested in the characters and invite you to think about the deeper meaning of your life and the way it ebbs and flows. Though the budget is on the smaller side, the movie never suffers and demonstrates that interesting ideas and tight execution are all that’s necessary to tell a thrilling and moving story. Every element – from the tropes, to the characters, to the visual effects, to the worldbuilding- fits with one another and will leave you genuinely impressed by the end. If you’re a fan of sci-fi and/or fantasy, you owe it to yourself to check this out.
Rating
9.8/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 to view this review’s progress report
Peter Cilella as Michael Vinny Curran as Chris Kurt David Anderson as Billy Skyler Meacham as Micah Zahn McClarnon as Charles
Release Date
2012
Language(s)
English
Running Time
93 minutes
The movie opens on a montage of a man, Chris, acting sporadically in the wilderness. He lights up his crack pipe and takes a large hit. He shoots bottles around him. He plays with a dog near him. There’s no clear cohesion behind the sequencing of these moments. They’re random, sporadic, and paint a disturbing picture. The camera reveals the montage is actually a video file being watched by Michael, Chris’s best friend. Obviously worried by his buddy’s actions on the video, Michael decides to track Chris down using GPS coordinates sent along with the file. After a lengthy drive, he locates an erratic Chris shooting at the birds in the sky with a hail of bullets.
Michael (Peter Cilella) approaches Chris (Vinny Curran) for the first time in years as the latter puts his gun down to greet his friend.
He carefully makes his way up to Chris’s house of sorts after declaring himself and slowly catches up with his friend. Unbeknownst to Chris however, is Michael’s real purpose – saving and rehabilitating his forlorn friend. Michael tricks and handcuffs Chris to a fixture in the house before informing the latter that he intends on getting him to kick his drug habit over the next 7 days.
However, this main story thread of Michael trying to rehabilitate Chris as the latter fights back tooth and nail is a decoy set up by directors Benson and Moorhead to give them a jumping off point to unabashedly explore horror genre conventions. From the moment Michael arrives at Chris’s abode, a series of strange occurrences start to occur almost like clockwork. As Michael tries to find Chris’s drug stash he comes upon a series of eerily shot photographs in the cellar-like area. Later on as he’s walking, he runs into a group of alien cultists who give an off-putting feeling. When the two are sleeping, a girl randomly pops up and watches them through the window. Later it’s revealed that Chris is located on Native grounds. Eventually, the two find a series of increasingly disturbing home-videos.
Some of the most disturbing situations the main duo run into involve strange photographs and movie reels that depict unexplainable moments of violence to strangers.
It’s like an unrelenting barrage horror occurrences/situations that keep you on your toes guessing as to what’s really happening. By playing the conventions straight as opposed to being overtly comedic with them in the vein of something like The Cabin in the Woods, Resolution manages to generate a genuine sense of unease and tension. You know something is up because horror conventions are sprinkled everywhere, but because the movie treats them as serious it avoids turning them into predictable and boring clichés. That’s effective horror film making.
There’s no hand holding from Benson and Moorhead. They’re not here to be tongue-in-cheek or overtly comedic. They’re here to tell a faithful horror story that explores and critiques the genre in a subversive way. This is reflected in their choices to not use a soundtrack or any jump scares. The tension and unease is meant to come from the movie proper, not some auditory tricks. In the place of these played out tools of commercial horror are some compelling visual and auditory clues that hint at, but don’t reveal the true nature of what’s going on. From the moment Michael chooses to pursue his friend, certain scenes are marked with a film burn effect that envelops the screen.
These are examples of the film burns that occur throughout the movie at seemingly random moments. Their purpose is unexplained till the very end, inviting the viewer to question what they mean and what’s causing them.
At other moments, the camera switches from being with the characters to POV shots that look at the characters like objects – implying the presence of something else.
A POV shot of Chris (Vinny Curran) and Michael (Peter Cilella) talking to one another. The camera shifts from being in the room with the characters to this outside perspective, inviting the audience to ask what’s watching them and why.
Accompanying these visual cues are audio distortions where lines repeat or become glitchy sounding. Because the movie takes such care to not introduce non-diegetic elements , each of these clues feels like part of the world’s fabric and invite the audience to investigate what they really mean. It’s a great way of not only ratcheting up the tension, but it also plays an important part in getting us on Chris and Michael’s side – we’re trying to figure out what’s going just like them.
This is the heart of what makes Resolution so much fun. It invites the audience to play along with the characters in a race to come up with a narrative that explains every story thread. What are the characters really after? Why are certain photos and tapes revealed? Why does the camera shift as the audio becomes distorted? As the layers start to unravel, it becomes more and more apparent that this is a movie about the cinematic form – an exploration of the way we create narratives and imbue them with a certain power, thereby generating foregone conclusions and apparent contradictions that make us question why we even want certain things to happen to begin with. Do I think the movie nails all the punches it goes for? No. There are some ideas that feel thrown in just for the sake of adding more confusion to the narrative, while other ideas are introduced without enough of a build-up. However, these concerns feel small in the face of what the movie is trying to accomplish and what it does to get the audience to question their own complicity in the way horror narratives are put together. The ending of the movie is an absolute knock-out that delivers the goods in a satisfying way.
Now while Chris and Michael’s storyline is not the main draw of Resolution, it is the focal point that ties all these otherwise discordant conventions into a cohesive narrative. Without their central struggle and the audience’s subsequent investment in it, the movie wouldn’t be able to explore any of the ideas above to their fullest. While Michael is controlled and domineering, Chris is a manic ball of energy. The former is down-to-Earth graphic designer desperate to bring his friend back into the “normal” world. The latter is a drug-addicted, misanthropic conspiracy-theorist who doesn’t care if he dies as much as he cares about enjoying the little life he has. There’s a good bit of depth to the both of them that turns them from horror inserts into real people which is obviously helped by the two lead actors’ performances. The movie spends a fair bit of time letting the two just talk to each other, whether that be in the form of Michael hurling insults at Chris or the two of them reminiscing about better times. The way Cilella and Curran riff off one another and banter reminds me of conversations I’ve had with my own friends. It’s hard to believe they’re actors and not two buds catching up after a long time away from one another. Curran in particular gives some emotional heft to his character that I wasn’t expecting, injecting a genuine somberness to his otherwise bombastic personality. They get you to care about their characters because they feel like people you might actually know.
It’s rare for a horror movie to both pay homage and still be surprising, but Resolution is one of those rare few that pulls off the balancing act to great effect. The characters are compelling, well-rounded, and written in a way that gets you to invest in their wellbeing. The diversity in plot threads keeps you guessing where the movie is going and what’s causing everything to happen, even if every sub-plot/idea isn’t utilized or explained to its fullest. The movie effectively manages to keep the sense of dread palpable while asking the audience to think and explore the world with the lead characters, making the experience active and informative on top of being entertaining. If you’re a genre fan looking for a movie that plays the conventions straight while remaining interesting, this is the movie for you.
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TLDR
Resolution is a love-letter to the horror genre that plays off conventions while treating them seriously. The story of a guy trying to help his junkie friend get off the drugs turns out to be so much more, as multiple horror plot threads are layered onto the initial narrative creating interwove mystery that’ll have you asking what is actually going on. If you ever saw The Cabin in the Woods and wished it was less tongue-in-cheek and less expository, this is the movie for you. Through some subtle, yet clever cues the movie forces its audience to question their own biases about the genre in an entertaining and emotionally resonant fashion. Genre fans own it to themselves to check this out.
Rating
9.5/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 to view this review’s progress report
Christopher Abbott as Reed Mia Wasikowska as Jackie Laia Costa as Mona
Release Date
2018
Language(s)
English
Running Time
81 minutes
The camera pans through a beautiful cityscape that feels artificial and out of touch with reality as the song “L’eredità & agguato nel buio” from the giallo movie The Red Queen Kills Seven Times plays in the background . As the camera gets closer to an open window on a building, the movie cuts to a baby cooing against a red backdrop as an ice pick slowly makes its way closer to to its face. The hand holding it retracts away to reveal an anxious looking man , Reed, who’s then immediately called by his wife, Mona, to come back to bed. Unable to now finish his task, he goes off and chokes himself, a pained expression enveloping his face. After enough time has passed, he goes back to his wife who caresses his head tenderly in an attempt to help him destress. She may not know that he was trying to kill their child, but she does know something is disturbing him. However, just as he gets comfortable their child starts to cry in the background. The noise immediately disturbs him, and his face turns from calm to agitated once again. As he goes to comfort his child, the newborn child says to him in a demonic voice , “You know what you have to do.” It’s at this point that Reed realizes that he has to kill to satiate the urge within and makes plans to hire and murder a prostitute. Unfortunately for him, his dreams to get away with the perfect murder go off the rails when the escort service he’s contacted sends him an unhinged and sporadic woman, Jackie, who threatens to unravel his plan at every step of the way.
This is Nicolas Pesce’s sophomore effort, Piercing ,a cocktail of psychosexual plotlines, imperceptible characters, and a distinct sense of black humor. It’s a love letter to giallo movies that seeks to deconstruct the sub-genre from the inside out, while mixing it with the confusing battle of the sexes from Takashi Miike’s Audition (which makes sense given that both Audition and Piercing are based on books written by Ryū Murakami). Traditional giallo movies follow a fairly standard plotline – there’s a brutal series of murders by an masked black-gloved killer, a journalist-type character tries to figure out what’s going on with or without the presence of some sidekicks, and the killer is eventually revealed with a brief explanation of the trauma that caused them to act out the series of murders. Along the way are psychosexual plotlines, trauma, mystery, tension, and a healthy amount of visual violence. Oh and of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the traditional soundtrack – a combination of progressive rock, jazz, disco, electric, and epic orchestral elements put together to keep the audience energized and invested. Piercing lovingly takes all these components and flips the script by placing the audience on the side of the giallo killer, Reed, as he desperately tries to solve the source of his trauma by killing a prostitute under a peculiar set of conditions. By removing the killer’s mask and placing them front and center, Pesce is able to showcase the absurdity and complexity that drives the genre. The presence of an unknowable entity in Jackie serves to take the mysterious nature of desire that’s normally only present in the backdrop of previous gialli and bring it to the center of discussion, forcing Reed, and subsequently the audience, to examine the way modes of psychosexuality are constructed.
As evidenced by his baby talking earlier, Reed’s delusions play a significant part of the word of the movie, threatening to infect every aspect of it. Images of strange and artificial cityscapes are juxtaposed against real backdrops to suggest that artificiality is always present – a fantasy that covers the trauma within.
An artificial cityscape that looks to be painting of sorts.
Reed(Christopher Abbott) helping Jackie( Mia Wasikowska) out of the cab.
The cityscape transforms from looking constructed and artificial to real and concrete. The juxtaposition between the alternating cityscapes showcases the way fantasy pervades and transforms the real world. It might not be immediately noticeable, but the ambiance it generates is unnerving and reveals that everything is not what it seems.
The soundscape is filled with diegetic (in the world of the movie , things the characters interact with) and non-diegetic (the external elements of the movie, things that are for the audience) that constantly bleed into one another, reflecting the way that psychotic delusion infects the world but is built from a trauma stemming from that world at the same time. For example, Reed practices what he’s going to do to the prostitute sent to him by physically going through the motions, an imaginary roleplay if you will. As he cuts, and saws, and violates we see nothing on the screen but we can hear every single crack and flow of blood – a clear indication of what Reed is hearing in his mind. In the backdrop is some nice calming music that feels at complete odds with what’s going on (think high class elevator music). At first glance this soundtrack feels non-diegetic, a score meant to elicit a laugh from the audience because of it’s sharp contrast with Reed’s intended actions. However, as he finishes his walkthrough the score is revealed to be part of his mental soundscape as well, becoming dimmer and more muffled as he gets more nervous about what he’s going to do. Along with moments like these which are spread throughout the movie, Reed’s more overt delusional episodes, and Jackie’s general imperceptibility, the movie constantly forces the audience to ask what’s real and piece together the character’s respective desires like a detective getting to the bottom of the mystery, effectively placing them in the role of the traditional giallo detective. It’s not about who’s doing what, but why are they doing what they’re doing.
The sadomasochistic sexual playground the characters interact with each other in opens the perfect space for desire and its exploration. Initially, Reed brings up the idea of S&M to have an excuse to tie Jackie up so he can finish her off, but as the movie unravels the power dynamic inherent in such a relationship is given room to evolve. Sex and violence are staples of gialli and the movie transforms them from merely visually striking elements into genuine mode of communication. Sadism and masochism are orientations towards pleasure and the Other that elicits it. Why does a character like to be beaten in one way? Why does another like to submit? Why are relationships filled with a sense of ambiguity and mystery? It’s all due to some kind of past experience that’s become coded in the flow of desire that subconsciously drives the subject towards their intended action. S&M allows this hidden desire to sublimate and helps to explain the subject and their trauma in a meaningful way. It’s this move that makes every moment of sexual tension or expressive violence more than what it appears. It’s not just shock and excess for the sake of it – it’s an attempt at revealing something more intimate and personal about the subjects at the center of such actions. Without a partner to tango with, be it to inflict violence on or to have sex with, nothing can come to pass because there’s nothing to incite and push desire to the forefront. This is reflected in the movie’s constant use of split-screens which reinforce that both partners in the act are equally important and have a role to play in constructing themselves and one another. Meaning can only be constructed once the two of them interact with one another in an dance for and of power.
The movie uses split screens to highlight the way the characters intrude onto one another lives and shifts the course of their actions. Jackie( Mia Wasikowska) on the left brings to light Reed’s (Christopher Abbott) desires on the right and vice versa.
Speaking of the partners, the movie entirely hinges on the backs of Abbott and Wasikowskawho have to sell their characters’ game of constantly (re)volving interpretative cat-and-mouse. The former exudes general anxiety with his nervous mannerisms and voice that threatens to go to an indescribably whisper at points as he tries gain control of the situation. His nervous energy is present in the way he breathes deeply and in how his eyes dart and move in confusion and worry as he tries to piece together what to do next. He’s a clump of paranoid trepidation that occasionally laughs and smiles as his submerged self slowly comes to the forefront. Meanwhile, the latter is imperceptible, switching from flirty to batshit crazy to seductive without missing a beat. It’s almost impossible to get a read on her as she coyly asks questions one moment and threatens to shock both Reed and the audience with some excessively gratuitously actions the next. The two of them play off each other in an off-putting romantic fashion that constantly feels like it will break apart into something far more terrifying or evolve into something more cutesy, as they circle one another.
Jackie( Mia Wasikowska) informs Reed( Christopher Abbott) that she’s “onto him”.
Jackie( Mia Wasikowska) and Reed (Christopher Abbott) embrace in a moment of levity that’s shot upside down to showcase the shift in the couple’s dyanmic.
Jackie( Mia Wasikowska)and Reed (Christopher Abbott) go through a series of transformations going from distrust, to questioning, to love, and everything in between as they constantly posture for a better foothold in the power dynamic.
However, in spite of my praises, the movie does partially fall into the trap it critiques by making the references to the character’s respective traumas and reasons for action too obtuse. The joke about many gialli is that the killers’ motivations are threadbare and only present to help piece together the grandiose kill sequences. While I don’t think the movie fits that description, I can’t help but feel that it plays the characters’ traumas and desires too safe. In both of their cases, there’s a litany of clues that help piece together profiles that give a subtle glimpse behind the veil. For example, there are a plethora of moments where Reed’s anxiety, meticulous attention to detail and procedure, and the murder he’s committed to do are derailed and forced to adapt to the whim’s of his unpredictable victim leading to a variety of horrifying yet comedic scenes that’ll get us to ask why he’s acting in such a peculiar fashion but never go far enough as to give us information to answer them in a satisfying way. I think Pesce could’ve extracted more from these situations without giving up the comedy or ambiguity he was going for. Obviously the movie can’t reveal everything – that would ruin the fun and make the themes less precise. It’s just that the few reveals that do happen feel too surface level in spite of their sometimes surreal presentation. Slightly more information or exploration would help the audience fill in the elliptical scenes and provoke deeper and more nuanced questioning and analysis. As it is the movie is a lot of fun and is tightly put together, but I can’t help feeling it would be a more accessible homerun if it spent more time exploring the characters’ fractured pasts with a bit more depth in the vein of something like Audition.
As a result, this is a movie that I can’t recommend to every horror fan. If you like your movies more visceral than cerebral and are unfamiliar with gialli, a lot of what the movie does might come off as too strange or pretentious. There’s no clear answers to what really drives the movie’s duo and if you want those answers front and center you’ll end up feeling disappointed. Likewise, the subtle way the movie plays with the sub-genre can only be appreciated if you’re a fan of those movies. I first saw Piercing after watching Pesce’s debut, The Eyes of My Mother, a much darker and more universally palatable horror that really gets under your skin. Coming into this from that was a strange shift, because of how much more stylized and funny this movie turns out to be. After going on a huge gialli binge earlier this year (2020) comprised of watching all of Argento’s classics (Tenebrae, Deep Red, Opera) along with a healthy heaping of other fan favorites (Blood and Black Lace, The Red Queen Kills Seven Times, Don’t Torture a Duckling, and so on) I’ve come to love the sub-genre and all it’s trashy and classy components. Watching Piercing again with a knowledge and appreciation of what gialli are about and their respective elements makes me truly appreciate what Pesce is going for. For example, the score heavily samples/uses music from some of the aforementioned classics, and if you recognize the tracks, you appreciate what’s been curated and how it’s been used. For instance, Goblin’s (one of Argento’s most famous musical collaborators) heavy hitters are only used during important moments between Reed and Jackie. “Profondo Rosso” starts blaring as the movie uses a split-screen to chronicle the first time the two of them meet, using the more iconic and bombastic song to signify the importance of what’s happening. This music can enjoyed by someone who’s never seen gialli , but it takes on a new level of depth if you know where it’s coming from. So if you’re a gialli fan and enjoy movies that play with cerebral and surreal moments over more visceral and direct ones, this is the movie for you. If not, you might end up frustrated with the way the story unravels and proceeds.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Piercing is a darkly-comedic and intensely quizzical love letter to gialli that deconstructs the sub-genre from the inside out. By placing the audience on the side of an aspiring murderer who’s forced to contend with an equally strange and powerful potential victim, the movie creates an effective backdrop to explore trauma, sexuality, and communication in innovative and interesting ways. The visual design is filled with paintings and the soundscape goes from diegetic to non-diegetic constantly to induce a state of confusion in the viewer, forcing them to piece together what’s real and what’s fantasy. The score features classics from gialli like Deep Red and should get your head bopping even if you’re not familiar with the context or importance of the music. If you’re a gialli lover who enjoys cerebral movies that don’t give you all the answers, you’ll love what Pesce is doing with this wholly unique horror entry.
Rating
9.2/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Taissa Farmiga as Max Malin Åkerman as Nancy / Amanda Alia Shawkat as Gertie Alexander Ludwig as Chris Nina Dobrev as Vicki Thomas Middleditch as Duncan Adam DeVine as Kurt Angela Trimbur as Tina Daniel Norris as Billy Murphy
Release Date
2015
Language(s)
English
Running Time
91 minutes
After losing her mother, Amanda, in a tragic accident, Max and a group of her friends go to a fan screening of the popular Camp Bloodbath, a Friday the 13th ripoff Amanda starred in decades before. However, during the screening things go awry and Max and her friends find themselves trapped in the world of the slasher movie with no explanation as to how they got there or how to get out. Faced with no other option, the group is forced to play along with the narrative to find a way back to the real world.
Now if the synopsis didn’t make it clear enough, this is a movie that’s a love letter to 80’s slasher movies, especially those from the Friday the 13thfranchise. From Camp Bloodbath’s “KiKiKi MaMaMa”- based parody theme to the increasingly caricatured acting from the fictional movie’s cast, every trope you know and love is here and is ready to be celebrated. However, what sets the movie apart from other slasher comedies is the emotional center that serves as the movies main through line. The story opens on Max and Amanda and demonstrates just how much the mother-daughter duo depends on one another. The latter, having been typecast as sexy bimbo who gets killed due to her involvement with the slasher cult hit, is desperate to find a role that will let her be a real star, while the latter fawns over her mom while dealing with tasks like managing the bills. Watching Amanda dies it’s clear that Max’s world is shattered and Farmiga conveys her characters grief by going from bubbly and filled with life to desolate and lethargic. That’s why her journey into a movie where her mom was a star hits so hard – it’s her chance to reunite and deal with the trauma in a moving, albeit unconventional way.
On the right, Max (Taissa Farmiga) bonds with her mom, Amanda (Malin Åkerman), before the latter’s untimely death. Once she gets trapped in the world of Camp Bloodbath, she gets to bond with her mom’s breakout character, Nancy, who gives her a spiritual chance at bonding with her mom one more time. The relationship between these 2(3?) is the heart of the movie and gives it an unexpected emotional weight.
It’s this emotional center that elevates the usual slasher formula into something that gets you to cheer for the characters success because even the stock caricatures get an extra level of depth due to their humanizing connection to the actual actors. Max relating to her Amanda’s character Nancy reminds us that there’s an actor hiding behind every character that seeps and pervades through the representations we see on screen. This makes the clash between the “real” life characters – Max, Gertie, Chris, Vicky, and Duncan- and the movie’s characters – Nancy, Tina, Amanda, and co. – enthralling because they twist the perceptions we have of stock characters and gives them a chance to show us something more. It also injects the movie with a healthy dose of existential humor as the Bloodbath characters are forced to reckon with their fictional makeup in contrast to something more “real”, begging the question of what reality even is.
It’s this playing with reality that gives the movie its unique comedic angle, setting it apart from the sea of slasher comedies that have come to inundate the market post Scream. Duncan, the Camp Bloodbath super fan, acts like the Randy of the movie and explains the worlds tropes and plot mechanisms – there’s a final girl who happens to be a virgin, people die when they have sex, and so on – while giving the audience the perfect nerd to cheer alongside. He helps the group determine the rules of the movie-turned-reality so that they can break and manipulate them to figure out a way to get out. Max and co. realize near the start of the movie that they can’t leave the story without playing along in a comedic scene that shows the Camp Bloodbath staff driving by the characters every 92 minutes (the run-time of the in-universe movie). Waiting just introduces another playthrough, so they’re forced to take action.
The group is stuck in a loop where the movie plays back-to-back on loop, until they decide to make themselves part of the in-universe movie’s story.
As they become more familiar with the way slasher conventions work, they engage in some pretty ingenious mechanisms to bypass typical scenes to increase their chances of survival. On the flipside, some of their experiments don’t work out as well which introduce some bleak, yet hilarious moments that keep the audience constantly guessing as to what the next step is going to be. The result is a movie that plays along with our expectations while subverting them at every turn. The more you know about slashers, the more fun you end up having because the game becomes guessing how the trope will be subverted instead of witnessing the trope happening.
In an attempt to highlight this constantly changing perspective, the movie makes wonderful use of a constantly moving camera. There are quite a few arc shots (where the camera moves steadily in a circle) that highlight the absurdist nature of the movie’s narrative, reinforce the idea of the characters being stuck in loops of sorts, and constantly highlighting the juxtaposition of the story of Camp Bloodbath against the injunction of real life characters. One of my favorite moments in the movie involves a characters getting brutally killed after thinking they’re safe as the camera starts turning in a circle and zooming in highlighting just how wrong they actually were. The movement keeps us as disoriented as the characters and adds another layer of empathy as we realize that neither us or Max and co. know exactly what’s going on.
Complimenting this visual vertigo is the narrative whiplash that occurs as modern “real” people interact with outdated 80’s slasher stereotypes and dive beneath their personas. Homophobia and sexual objectification meet their modern match which allows the movie to lampshade its baser fun with bits of commentary. In one scene, Kurt, the prototypical jock/sex fiend, makes some bigoted jokes to Chris which are quickly shot down by the latter’s more open worldview, but the presence of a challenge to the retort forces Kurt to delve deeper (not that much) into what he actually thinks. Moments like these between the different intersections of characters allows the movie to relish in its homage while making comments on the side without ever coming off as too obnoxious or on the nose.
It helps that every single member of the star studded cast nails their performances, with special kudos given to the Camp Bloodbath members who are forced to play both a caricature and a deconstruction of those same stereotypes as they figure out their true metaphysical makeup. DeVine nails the contemptible player persona from the laid back and confident posturing to the arrogant smirk he keeps on his face. Meanwhile, Trimbur makes the slutty, sexy girl who typically dies first far more energetic and expressive than she has any right to be by injecting a manic ton of energy into contorting her body and facial muscles. Being the emotional center of the movie, both Farmiga and Ackerman bring a surprising amount of tenderness to the story, displaying a real sense of vulnerability with one another. There are moments in the third act that tug at the heartstrings because of how believable their real and fictional bond is built up and played out. In particular, Ackerman nails the fictional character realizing that they’re both real and not real with some expressions that exude fear and love simultaneously.
The only things holding the movie back are some less than stellar CGI elements along with some story moves that feel like they should’ve paid off in bigger and grander ways. The movie plays so well with sub-genre conventions that the presence of such overt and modern digital effects feels completely out of place.
One of the bad CGI renderings that threatens to distract the audience from the beauty of the movie. This scene of a car crash feels like a cut-scene from a PS2 game and feels out of place compared to the realism of what came before.
If these were a one-off occurrence it’d be fine, but these issues crop up enough during the run-time to feel like an issue. Given how clever the movie is with playing with sub-genre conventions, I was surprised that these moments weren’t rendered with cheesy and over-the-top practical effects to keep with the 80’s slasher energy. Adding to this is the soft rules approach the movie utilizes to keep the pace going. As I mentioned earlier, the tropes that are recognized are subverted in ways that aren’t expected which keeps an underlying sense of mystery and tension at bay, but because there are no clear and fast rules there are definitely some moments that just come off as odd. The movie can just explain them away as anomalies like everything else, but that comes off feeling lazy with how intricate other scenarios play out. If these moments were capitalized on and explained in the context of the story or breaking certain tropes, the movie would’ve felt more cohesive and tightly knit.
That being said, what we get is a heartfelt, clever, and truly funny movie that any slasher fan should give a watch. Every character feels distinct and interesting, despite the fact that some of them are walking caricatures, and watching their inevitable clashes among one another is constantly entertaining. Even though it’s comedic, the movie wants to be more than just funny and constantly combines its humor with epic visual compositions and narrative shifts that demonstrate just how much love went into the worldbuilding. The riffing and appreciation of sub-genre tropes plays well with the way they’re subverted and gives the movie a constant energy that should keep you invested from start to finish.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Final Girls shows that horror comedy very much has more room to explore in its ingenious design. The story of characters getting trapped in a slasher movie explores and relishes in genre conventions, while at the same time upending them to great effect. The effect is a dark absurdist comedy with an emotionally resonant center that keeps the otherwise fantastical elements feeling grounded, yet entertaining. Horror fans – slasher fans especially – should check this love letter to the sub-genre if they haven’t already. It’s sure to entertain and leave you wanting more.
Rating
9.1/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Steve Oram as Joseph Solomon Catherine Walker as Sophia
Release Date
2016
Language(s)
English
Running Time
99 minutes
Discordant and dark strings start to play, setting the ominous and foreboding journey to come. A woman, Sophia, drives down a long and desolate road. Her drive is crosscut with her buying an enormous mansion. She asks odd questions to the realtor like what directions the rooms are facing. Her focus is clearly not on the typical qualities of the house, but instead these more precise spatial ones. She hands the realtor a huge stack of cash to rent the location for a year – no bartering, no negotiating, no questions. All she asks is for the agent to keep the purchase discreet.
She continues her drive and meets with an aloof man, Joseph Solomon (talk about Biblical naming) in a restaurant. As he scarfs down food, it becomes apparent that she’s meeting with him for the sake of performing some dark ritual. Their conversation ends and the two inspect the previously bought house together. He asks her if she’s followed an arcane set of steps – eating only between dawn and dusk, refraining from sex, and similar behaviors. She answers in the affirmative, emphasizing her desperation for the ceremony to start with each response. Finally he asks her what she wants to perform the ceremony for. She answers love. He refuses to go along with the procedure and asks for the large sum of money she promised for anyone willing to even listen to her magical demands.
The two sit at a bus stop, waiting for Joseph’s bus to come. They’re positioned far apart from one another, reflecting the lack of trust and alienation between them. He’s upset that he travelled all this way for a waste of a request. She’s horrified that she’s going to lose her chance at performing the magic ritual. Desperate to not lose her sorcerer, she moves closer to him, overcoming the gap in understanding between the two, and reveals that her real desire is to talk to her deceased child. This changes things. Joseph recognizes the demand as legitimate and worthy of the laborious Abramelin ritual she wishes to perform, accepts the request, and sets off to set up the household for what is to come.
Sophia (Catherine Walker) getting closer to Joseph (Steve Oram ) as she reveals the truth of what she wants. Her lies keep her far away and her desperation to get help manifests in her getting closer and telling the truth. This is one of the movement the movie utilizes to depict the way the duo’s alienation manifests and is momentarily overcome with open communication.
In the meanwhile, Sophia runs into her sister who immediately accosts her about the dark magic she’s going to be attempting. She asks if the ritual is “something Godly” to which Sophia responds both that she believes in God and that God’s goodness is missing in a world where her son could be taken from her, leaving her with only pain and hatred. After bidding a farewell, she goes to the house, ready to start the dark song.
Alienation. Grief. Desperation. Faith. Magic. God. A Dark Song is an exploration in the intersections of these concepts against and with one another. As the ritual starts, Joseph explains the procedures as if they’re a science. He draws on numerology , gnosticism, and the like to emphasize how every part of the ceremony is to work and their respective metaphysical purposes. The ritual that he and Sophia are attempting is not one that works 100% of the time, something he mentions early on, but rather, is one contingent on the drives of the conduit, in this case Sophia, aligning with the magic in such a way as to conjure a Guardian Angel who will be able to grant the both of them their respective wishes.
While the intricacies of the ceremony are hard to keep down, the gravity of what is being attempted is incredibly clear – the duo is attempting to use an arcane system of knowledge in an attempt to gain dominion over supernatural entities far beyond their control to grant their wishes. This danger is something that is constantly highlighted by Joseph who yells and screams about the dangers at each and every moment. His trepidation and worry about the magical endeavor give it a palpable sense of tension that keeps the situation grounded in reality. God, angels, demons, and the like are real and serious within the confines of the narrative. There’s no room for disbelief. It is this foundation that gives the movie its uncomfortable aura, as every manifestation of the supernatural is tinged with an feeling of danger that would normally be disregarded in a lesser movie dealing with the same subject matter.
This dark occultism is juxtaposed against both science and a more orthodox religious praxis to highlight the way that belief motivates and gives power to action. From her earlier interaction with her sister, it’s clear that Sophia believes in God. Her doubt comes from whether or not God actively shows a presence in the world or must be conjured through intermediaries to generate any meaning. Likewise, Joseph makes it abundantly clear that he believes in God as he takes the existence of a Creator along with the supernatural as grounding facts for the metaphysical breakdown of the world. In this sense, A Dark Song , is an interesting take on the idea of “dark” magic because it’s predicated on being religious and having faith, not being some kind of Devil worshipper and perverting the will of God.
At one point, Sophia and Joseph talk about science versus religion/magic during which Joseph indicates that science can only describe the least of things while religion/magic can describe the mystery behind those things. The former is a schema for the physical, while the latter is a blueprint for navigating the metaphysical. The elaborate and laborious steps the two follow to complete the ritual invoke an idea of a science experiment – there are clearly defined steps that must be followed, each step has it’s purpose in the grander scheme of the ritual, and there’s an ultimate conclusion to be reached by the end of it all. Where the similarities end is that there’s no guarantee that success can be replicated. As Joseph indicates early on, he’s done the ritual once successfully but failed more than that. The ritual requires looping through the steps over and over till a Guardian Angel appears. There’s no spectacle that confirms or denies the magic is working – only hints and and clues that have to be believed as being signs of the arcane process. It’s a science based on belief. In a very Kierkegaardian sense, the ritual can only work if the practitioners go at with complete faith, in both their drives and the ceremony proper. It may be dark magic, but it plays out an like praying.
At a visual level , the magic ceremony is evocative and keeps your attention glued onto the screen. The rituals are painstakingly followed and the camera constantly cuts to the intricate set-ups that both evokes a strange sense of admiration at the beauty of the symbols and markings while generating a constant sense that there is a meaningful transgression occurring. The dark strings that play at the beginning are persistent throughout key moments of the movie, transforming in intensity based on what’s happening. They evoke a foreboding spirituality which pairs well with what’s going on narratively. When the music transforms into something else, you notice it and appreciate it because of how much the string sections seep into your brain as you watch the majority of the movie. It’s a truly effective use of an otherwise simple score.
One of the many scenes of the artifice involved in enacting the ritual. Symmetrical, geometrically aligned, and evocative – each of these scenes is beautiful to look at and the movie is filled with them.
Accompanying this presentation, is the brutal performance of the ritual itself which involves Solomon tearing down Sophia at every corner as she pushes herself to physical and mental extremes that are uncomfortable to watch. What she’s asked to do isn’t just hard in a physiological sense but also in a mental and emotional sense . She has to go days without sleeping or eating. She’s forced to go through long periods of the equivalent to spiritual waterboarding. The worst part? These are only the lighter tasks she has to persevere through to get to her ultimate wish. All the while, Solomon shows no mercy or compassion to his client, reminding her that she asked to do a ceremony knowing well that that’d be brutalizing. As the movie goes on, their relationship morphs in relation to the rituals, wavering between absolute hatred and a kind of acceptance of each other as fellow aliens to the “real” world.
It is this exploration of humanity underscoring the ritualistic endeavor that makes A Dark Song so interesting to watch. Because the ritual is repeatedly emphasized to be tied to Sophia’s disposition and will, her relationship to Joseph and herself helps serve as a kind of external check on the progress of the magical activity. However, at a more basic level, the back and forth between the two gives the fantastical story a layer that makes you invested. Both characters are loners , alienated from the world for different reasons. They can’t seem to find a place for themselves outside and seemingly reject efforts to reconcile and reintegrate with affairs around them. The scene with Sophia and her sister emphasizes this, as the former rejects the latter’s request to move in with her and embrace a new family structure. Both of these wayward souls naturally repel each other because neither wants to open up and give way to the other . Their natural proclivities prevent that from happening. However, because of their predispositions, they’re both aligned in a plethora of ways, the most pressing being their willingness to engage in the Abramelin ritual to accomplish their tasks. The ebb and flow they feel between their respective misanthropic tendencies and their feverish desire to do what they must gives the movie an emotional center that elevates the magic and the horrors to a level where they pull the audience fully into the story’s world.
This relationship is also explored spatially in the movie, with the characters placement and the respective mise en scène working in tandem to highlight the way it transforms. Initial moments between the two constantly show them separated from one another, often times facing separate directions to show they’re not looking out for each other. The constant framing of the characters in doorways highlights their isolation and sense of loneliness. The few cordial and surprisingly comedic moments between have them positioned closer to one another, facing the same direction without any kind of overarching frame to isolate them. In these brief reprieves, they’re almost a united front of sorts, like a off-kilter romantic couple of sorts. The back and forth shift between their positions and the open and closed framing reflects the way the two try and open up to one another and gives their interactions a profound heft.
The movie constantly highlights how both Sophia (Catherine Walker) and Joseph (Steve Oram ) are alienated from the world around them and from each other, while also demonstrating that their alienation is what makes it possible for them to become closer with one another. By utilizing distance and framing devices like doorways to highlight their isolation and togetherness, the movie is able to visually show the transformation of their relationship as it fluctuates from antagonistic to caring.
Walker and Oram feel like they get lost in their roles as Sophia and Joseph respectively . Their bombastic disagreements and subtle moments of closeness exude an authentic quality that feels less performance and more like two real people trapped apart from the world and forced to reckon with the dark mysteries that lay beneath. Oram’s eyes can go from conveying condescension to severe fear in a moment’s notice as he desperately seeks to emphasize how dangerous their undertaking really is. Walker’s face never loses her resoluteness to get the task accomplished, her eyes constantly steely and determined. The transformations the characters go through feel believable because the painful subtleties that lay beneath the veneer of their egoistic personas are demonstrated time and time again. You can always feel their sense of loneliness and isolation, which makes their otherwise manic behavior understandable. In spite of how revolting they are at times, they never come off as inhumane monsters. They’re just hurt people looking for something more.
Speaking of something more, the ending completely shattered my expectations of what I thought would happen going in. Gavin really goes for broke in the last 20 minutes of the movie and rewards the audience’s patience and investment in everything that came before. It’s a shocking move that feels both completely out of left field but totally earned. The movie moves subtly and slowly, ratcheting up the tension and scope of magic, until the ending where everything is turned up to 100 real fast. The first time I saw it, I thought it felt too hokey and jarring, but upon subsequent watches I’ve come to appreciate the beauty of what Gavin is trying to convey. My biggest issue with it is the visuals during these moments along with the story logic feel too jarring compared to everything else. They almost threaten to take audience members out of the story completely. If someone came to me and said they hated the ending, I could understand that because it operates closer to a poetic logic than a narrative one. However, the antagonism between faith (poetic) and certainty (logic) is presented as a key undercurrent that keeps all the independent parts of the story moving, so the theme sublimating to the level of the narrative feels earned. If anything, I wish that the movie was a bit longer and fleshed out this discussion so that the shift would be more palatable, but I have to give my respect to the filmmaker for going all out.
To those viewers looking for an grounded and in-depth look at magic, A Dark Song should provide what you’re looking for and more. The story deftly explores dark magic in a way that treats it with respect and grounds it in the same vein as meaningful religious activity. From the intricate way the ceremony is visually depicted to the harrowing consequences that result from it, the story emphasizes the wonder and darkness inherent in the occult. The string based score transports you to a world of arcane possibilities, while the emphatic and powerful performances by the two leads keeps you aware that what’s happening is real and purposeful. Though I think some parts of the movie could be better fleshed out, mainly to make the whiplash of the last 20 minutes feel less prominent, what Gavin and his team have done is truly special. This is a movie that invites the audience to think along with its characters as to what faith and belief truly looks like.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
A Dark Song is that rare horror movie that pushes genre conventions in unexpected ways to great results. The story mixes magic with religion to force us to ask questions about our own faith and orientation towards the unknown and mystical. The formal presentation of the rituals along with the evocative and chilling score help keep the audience glued to the unique presentation of magic and ensure that the deeper meanings of the movie aren’t lost in the background. This is magic done in a unique and effective way that treats its subject matter with the respect it deserves. At the same time, the story never forgets to be chilling and utilizes its narrative elements to get under your skin. The performances by the two leads gives the arcane story an emotional center that helps propel both the themes and narrative to a conclusion that feels satisfying, even if completely out of the blue. If you’re looking for a story about magic or want a horror that examines the mystical in a grounded way, look no further. A Dark Song will help take you beyond simple appearances to a world that will make you genuinely ponder.
Rating
9.4/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report
Luana Velis as Luz Jan Bluthardt as Dr. Rossini Julia Riedler as Nora Nadja Stübiger as Bertillon Johannes Benecke as Olarte Lilli Lorenz as Margarita
Release Date
2018
Language(s)
German, Spanish
Running Time
77 minutes
The movie opens on a receptionist who sits behind his desk and slowly does his work. A slow paced synth score plays in the background as if to set the tone. After a little bit, a young woman walks into the reception area, her shoulders drooping and her general appearance indicating a fatigue. She slowly meanders around the location and eventually comes to the vending machine at which point she decides to buy a drink. The score picks up and gains a serious energy as a siren noise penetrates the slow beat. The girl, Luz, walks towards the receptionist and aggressively asks him ,”Is this how you wanna live your life? Is this seriously what you want? ” He looks up at her and signals that he needs a moment. He looks up and indicates to her he’s ready to hear her at which point she repeats what she said before, this time her voice becoming distorted and terrifying. Her words echo and reverberate all around as the title card comes up.
Luz (Luana Velis) enters the reception area as if in a daze and confronts the receptionist after a 4 minute wait. The whole time the camera stays still letting the audience become immersed into the story’s world.
This is Tilman Singer’s Luz, a slow paced story that harkens back to Euro horrors of old in the vein of something like Zulawski’s Possession. It’s slow, methodical, and focused on immersing the audience in an ambiance more so than telling a straightforward story. The opening scene seems short in theory, but it plays out slowly over a period stretching a little longer than 4 minutes – an uninterrupted shot that gives the audience a chance to fully immerse themselves in what’s going to happen while giving away almost nothing of what’s going on. It’s eventually revealed that Luz has entered a police station and is immediately taken in for questioning due to her bruised appearance and strange behavior. Her interrogators include an authoritative chief named Bertillon, a translator going by Olarte, and Dr. Rossini, a hypnotist and psychologist of sorts.
Unbeknownst to them however, a supernatural force is also invested in Luz, albeit for different reasons, and intervenes in the ongoing interrogation. What does it want? Luz’s love and affection – a relationship between the corporeal and the demonic. Thus the stage is set for a movie that’s part police procedural as the law enforcement agents try and get to the bottom of the truth of what happened to Luz and part possession love story as the demonic entity tries to usurp the process and make Luz engage in communion with it. The interweaving of these storylines enables Singer to deconstruct the commonly held ideas about possession, as the spirit does not seem to harm Luz (as is common in possession based movies) but ,rather, tries to make the confused cab driver hers in an intimate sense. Given that the primary method the interrogators use to investigate the past is hypnotizing Luz and probing her innermost thoughts, the movie asks the question if possession is any different from the way we violate others by forcing expectations of proper behavior on them and punishing them for violations of the same. Is hypnosis done for the sake of finding the truth really better than having a body enveloped by some alternative power? Is submission to some kind of code, whether it be religious or legal, distinct from a supernatural exchange of power? By mixing the distinct storylines together, the movie seeks to investigate what the nature of communication, reception, agency really means.
Like the opening scene suggests, some lines are said by characters without a context by which to make sense of them. Luz’s outbursts at the receptionist feel odd because they indicate a sense of familiarity with the recipient. Why ask such invasive questions about someone if you know nothing about them? This idea bleeds naturally into both the intrusive nature of hypnosis and possession but also communication in general. When we speak we attempt to convey a certain meaning meant to elucidate our thoughts and feelings. However, there’s always a disjunct in what we mean to say and what we actually say. Freudian slips, misinterpretations, and the like plague everyday conversation revealing that communication isn’t as easy as it’s made out to be. We only have control over our words, but we have no control over how others perceive them. If I talk to a friend in public, it’s possible they misunderstand me. It’s also possible they understand me, but a random stranger walking by doesn’t understand me. The interpretative chain goes on and on as every utterance can take on a different meaning based on who’s listening and what information they have about the speaker and their respective circumstances. This is the heart of what the movie seeks to explore as sentences and phrases are constantly repeated by different characters in different ways in different contexts.
Words and phrases constantly echo and reverberate in strange and disorienting ways. The camera will go to a close-up of a character’s mouth and words will be heard, but the respective character’s mouth won’t move. Luz speaks in Spanish but her interrogators are German, so each of her lines is initially uttered with no subtitles confounding the viewer, until Olarte repeats her words a few seconds later creating another discrepancy between what we see and what we hear. When Luz goes under for hypnosis, she plays the role of multiple characters and speaks as though she’s multiple people creating a sense of confusion, as the translations on top of her rapid switching between different point of views becomes more difficult to break apart. At times sound fades out. At other times it gets much louder. Most of the while, there’s always an evocative synth score playing in the background adding to the auditory chaos. It’s affective audio mixing and gives the soundscape and impressionist feeling, almost as if the words matter less than the feelings behind them. It’s an experiment that could go disastrously poor, but instead gives full life to the themes and ideas inherent in the story by placing the audience in the middle of the communicative battleground where meaning is constantly being carved out.
Matching this chaotic sound design is immaculate set design and editing. The movie primarily takes places in one location, but with the way flashbacks and clever set pieces are used nothing ever feels stale. This is most evidenced during the hypnosis portions of the movie. The camera constantly shows the shift between where Luz is mentally and what her actual surroundings are like. As she re-enacts the cab driving accident that led her to come to the station, we see glimpses of the real situation coming through the fray. Lighting and camera shifts show the way her past forces itself into the present. In a beautiful demonstration of the way the two intermingle, the camera shows Luz’s passenger in the backseat of her “car” through a mirror, provided by the officers to help create a sense of immersion, while everything around her remains the same.
Luz (Luana Velis) “driving” under the hypnosis of Dr. Rossini (Jan Bluthardt). In the begginig the camera is positioned to show Luz looking the right with her face in the mirror. As the session progresses, the camera shifts perspective and shows Luz looking towards the left with her passenger Nora’s (Julia Riedler) reflection now taking up the mirror. The subtle transition marks the way Luz’s vision leaks into reality and demonstrates the shift in agencies she experiences.
As the session becomes more intense, the interrogation room becomes more and more misty eventually turning into to a thick impenetrable haze – a reflection of the miasma that surrounds the discourse being cultivated in the room. Set pieces from earlier flashbacks integrate themselves into the room, demonstrating that an effective script and smart set design is all that’s needed to create an truly immersive story. It helps that movie is shot on 16MM which gives every scene a truly gritty and rugged feeling tying all these moments together in an aesthetic fashion.
The strand holding all these elements together is the multifaceted performances given by the small, but highly talented, cast of actors. Luana Velis is the focus of the story and gives life to the enigmatic titular character. From her early and disturbing behavior to the way she becomes laid back and calm during the early stages of her hypnosis, she demonstrates a full range of emotions. Watching her pretend to drive her cab is a treat to see, because it demonstrates how subtle and precise movements are all that’s needed to convey an effective illusion. The way she bops her head to the imaginary radio in her car along with the way she breaks by slamming the pedals matches up so well with the accompanying driving sound effects. It’s hard to believe that she’s not actually hypnotized. Likewise Bluthardt and Riedler give wholly emphatic performances that demonstrate the duplicities of their respective characters. They have to switch and take on multiple different roles to sell central ideas in the movie, and they manage to do so in a way that’s genuinely unnerving. Bluthardt in particular manages to go to some dark and disturbing places with an ease that gets under the skin. I’d love to say more, but I don’t want to give too much away.
My biggest issue with the movie is that in focusing so heavily on Velis, Bluthardt, and Riedler’s characters it loses the potential of Stübiger and Benecke’s characters. Both Bertillon and Olarte seem important from the beginning, but they’re slowly pushed to the sideline as the plot unravels, which feels like a shame given what they potentially offer to the story. The former is a powerful and assertive chief , while the latter is a more timid and religiously uptight translator. Given the thematic dynamic involving supernatural power, possession vs hypnosis, and communication it feels like they could have had a bigger role in fleshing out some of the ideas. For example, there’s one moment where a hypnotized Luz engages in some sacrilege and Olarte refuses to translate given his religious upbringing. Bertillon’s response is just to confusingly ask if her translator is serious about the refrain. This moment could’ve explored a power dynamic between legality and religion and the power of uttering something profane, but instead it’s brushed aside to get the focus back on Luz and Dr. Rossini. The movie is a crisp 77 minutes (a little under if you include the credits), so it’s not like its overly long and couldn’t fit in these moments. That being said, the story is so tight and well structured that these omissions don’t hurt as much as they make you wonder what could’ve been. It’s a strange thing to criticize a movie by saying “I love it, but I want more.” , but with how great the movie is I can’t help but wonder how much more staggering it could’ve been if it fleshed these ideas out more.
However, in spite of my praise, this is not a horror movie I would recommend to everyone. It’s slow, methodical, and very much in the old-school European art-house vein. This is a meditation on communication, power, and the way our attempts at reaching out to one another are always caught in a matrix of interpretation – a matrix that is only partially controlled by us. From the subdued, yet evocative visual style to the inspired soundscape, the movie imbues every painstakingly long scene with an ambiance that will completely hypnotize audience members who are willing to give themselves to the it.
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TLDR
Luz feels like a movie from a different age, one that’s more focused on making the audience feel something than giving a clear narrative with answers at every turn. The way it investigates communication is brilliant and makes effective use of both the possession and police procedural elements of its narrative. Combined with strong compositions, effective set pieces, and a brilliant sound design the movie oozes charisma and a creepy ambiance that old-school horror fans will love. Those viewers who are okay with a slower pace, less plot driven, and more mood drive story will find something special in Tilman’s deconstruction of the supernatural possession based genre.
Rating
9.7/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
