The camera tracks through the forest. It goes through a lake, evoking classic horror imagery. It comes face to face with Teresa (Mirabai Pease) The agent of the shot is revealed to be a drone. The film opens with the “spectral” tracking/P.O.V shot made iconic in the first Evil Dead, suggesting the presence of a malevolent paranormal force. It’s not until its first apparent “victim” screams that the ruse is revealed for what it is. The ghost we thought we were perceiving is nothing more than a drone, expensive technology in lieu of the paranormal.
We open with the Evil Dead Franchise’s iconic shot, a spectral point-of-view (P.O.V.) tracking shot, which pushes and bends through the environment in search of an unsuspecting person who will be made the victim of this malignant force, referred to as a deadite, viewing them. The score becomes increasingly unnerving as the camera moves, signaling a terrifying presence. As the soundscape continues to become more disturbing, the camera finishes traversing through a forest and zooms over a lake, traditional horror iconography to be sure, before coming face-to-face with an unsuspecting woman, Teresa (Mirabai Pease), who immediately recoils upon contact.
Based on all the clues, we’re convinced that she’s been destroyed by this otherworldly, cosmic presence. However, a cut to a wide shot reveals that the P.O.V. we were following was not that of a deadite but that of a drone being flown by Teresa’s acquaintance, Caleb (Richard Crouchley), who takes great pleasure in the manner by which he elicited fear from his camera’s subject and captured it on frame. In this manner, the film’s opening subtly equates the supernatural gaze with that of the upper class looking for entertainment at the sake of someone else’s misery.
Teresa (Mirabai Pease) goes towards the distorted cabin. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) is reflected in the clock. The focus shifts from the clock to Teresa’s’ (Mirabai Pease) reflection. A split diopeter of Teresa (Mirabai Pease) and flies. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) enters the room and is framed against the clock once more. Teresa talks to Jessica, whose face is kept hidden from the audience. Teresa’s traversal is littered with a litany of seemingly small, yet effective directing choices that set the mood for the upcoming terror. The cabin she walks to, in addition to evoking the iconography of the franchise, looks wonderfully twisted. When she enters the abode, a looming clock takes center frame and a nice focus re-rack lets us know that Teresa’s time is up. A quick split diopeter of her and trapped insects cements this mood. As she begins to enter the room where Jessica lies, she’s once positioned with respect to the clock, this time next to it as opposed to within its structure. Most importantly, Jessica’s visage is kept hidden even as Teresa continues to talk to her, allowing the tension to ratchet up to the clock’s beating.
Upset at being made a fool of, Teresa walks away from the pier and goes towards a cabin for comfort. The distorted composition along with the context of the genre (and franchise) immediately informs us that this is where things will go wrong. Director Lee Cronin ensures of as much with a series of wonderful aesthetic choices.
When Teresa enters the cabin, we see her reflection in the glass of a clock, whose foreboding ticks slowly encroach and dominate the soundscape. The camera’s focus shifts and her reflection within the domain of the clock becomes a focal point. Her time will run out; this much is certain. The film cuts to a wonderful split-diopeter, one of many that punctuate the film, which emphasizes that this space is malevolent; Teresa is akin to a fly in a trap, waiting to die. As she enters the inner-most room, she is once again positioned in reference to the clock and its sounds fade out as the barrier to the room is opened; the moment is almost here.
She calls out to the room’s inhabitant, Caleb’s partner, Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas), but Cronin deftly avoids revealing the latter’s visage; she remains covered in a shroud of mystery.
Text from Wuthering Heights. Jessica sits up. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) begs Jessica to stop. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) vomits. The film wonderfully sustains tension by dragging out Jessica’s ultimate reveal. We go from close-up sections of Wuthering Heights which set the tone and infuse the mood with a gothic eeriness, hear Jessica speak while being unable to observe her mouth as she does so, exacerbating the horrific nature of what she’s doing, and are finally shown her visage as she begins to profusely vomit a putrid, white stream.
Jessica remains mostly unresponsive to Teresa’s banter, slightly chucking when the former makes a violent joke in response to Caleb. The lack of discourse prompts Teresa to read a book, Wuthering Heights, to pass the time. However, this solitary literature session is interrupted by the previously silent occupant, who sits up on her bed and begins to recite the text on the page – text which the camera cuts to in order to reinforce both the terror of the words being recited along with the action – without any prompts. The sound of the clock violently stops while Jessica’s voice becomes increasingly distorted, causing Teresa to beg for the phenomenon to stop. Time is up.
It’s at this point that Cronin lets us see Jessica’s face, but almost instantly, the demonic sounding girl falls to the floor and begins to vomit a grotesque, vile bile while shuddering violently. Teresa, unaware of what’s to come, tries to help but is caught off guard when Jessica reveals her helplessness was but a ruse; she proceeds to violently scalp her friend by pulling the former’s ponytail with great force.
Teresa’s POV as she stumbles towards the lake. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) informs Caleb (Richard Crouchley) of what’s happened. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) goes towards the drone and drops Teresa’s scalp. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) stares at the couple, and the audience, before engaging in drone violence. Teresa (Mirabai Pease) is shocked at Caleb’s dismembered head. Jessica (Anna-Maree Thomas) rises along with the title card. Once the terror begins it proceeds with haste. Cronin expands on the film’s form with a new P.O.V shot, this time from Teresa, before moving to a canted shot which showcases the possessed Jessica’s control of the situation. She is the dominant element in the foreground and then introduces a new space into the frame before then directly confronting the couple and by extension the viewer with a stare towards the camera. Violence ensues and she rises in spectacular fashion, harkening the start of the film proper as the title blooms up alongside her in the background.
We cut to a new P.O.V. shot that stumbles towards the lake and learn that this is Teresa, looking desperately for help. But before she can get Caleb to act, we cut to a canted shot of Jessica entering the frame. The possessed is now fully in control of the situation and the framing emphasizes as much; her body and the effects of her violence – the bloody scalp – dominate the frame. She moves towards the drone and then stares at the camera, gazing directly at her former friends and the audience proper. She smiles. The violence to come will be enjoyable for her, terrifying for her friends, and will be somewhere in the middle for the audience; after all, what else would a viewer going into an Evil Dead movie expect?
She bashes this representative of the faux-spectral P.O.V. shot and proceeds to decapitate her former boyfriend after he tries to save her from the same.
The water in the lake becomes a bloody red and Jessica flies up out of it; there will be no escape. The disturbing soundscape from the opening returns in full force. Then, in a brilliant move, the title card rises up behind her, emerging as furthest back element of the frame in full crimson glory. The film can now properly begin.
Canted shot of Beth (Lily Sullivan) realizing she’s pregnant. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) advises her kids. Danny (Morgan Davies) plays music. Bridget (Gabrielle Echols) holds up her “Eat the Rich” shirt. Kassie (Nell Fisher) cuts off her doll’s head. The principal cast is quickly introduced afterwards and given just enough characterization to drive the story forwards. Beth realizes she’s pregnant and this impending confrontation with motherhood is treated as horrific vis-a-vis the canted angle choice. Ellie is a tattoo artist who is also dealing with her role as a mother – an immediate counterpoint. Then we see her kids in their environments: Danny is an aspiring musician who grinds out on hi-tech sound system, Kassie is a unique girl who cuts her doll’s head off, and Bridget is a social activist who looks for her “Eat the Rich” shirt.
We cut to black, the sound drops, and we change settings entirely. Like the 2013 attempt at rebooting the franchise, the 2023 iteration draws the viewer in with a small helping of violence, a promise that what’s to come will satisfy their desires, before going to develop the primary cast. Here, our first member, Beth (Lily Sullivan), enters a bathroom and takes a pregnancy test. She sees her result and the frame becomes canted as the camera slowly pushes in on her face; the discovery of her newfound status as potential mother is treated as a horrifying event.
She drives to a dilapidated apartment building as the rains beat down on her. We cut to an apartment inside this structure and are introduced to our other primary characters: Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland), a mother who works as a tattoo artist; her older daughter, Bridget (Gabrielle Echols), whose interests lie in political activism; her son, Danny (Morgan Davies), who is having a blast with his state of the art music set-up; her younger daughter, Kassie (Nell Fisher), who seems to be doing her own thing, cutting off the head of a doll as if to remind the viewer of the film they’re watching.
Ellie hears her doorbell. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) sees no one there. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) checks the hallway. Beth (Lily Sullivan) is punched by Ellie. Beth’s attempt to scare Ellie sets the tone, albeit in a retroactively comedic fashion. She wants to scare her sister in an endearing move and is socked in the face for her efforts. The film takes this basic conceit – horror in relation to the family – and twists and warps it from this cuter interaction into something bloody and miserable.
As the chaos in the house enfolds, Ellie responds to a ring at the front door and goes to answer. She opens the door and sees no one. She checks a corner. No one. The camera slowly pushes in on her; for just a moment, we’re concerned that the evil from the opening has come here. But right as Ellie turns to go inside, Beth appears from the other side of the door, shots “Boo!”, and gets appropriately punched in the face by her sister. This inoffensive jump-scare, a trick played by one family member by another in an attempt at eliciting fear for entertainment, hearkens back to the opening sequence and sets the stage what’s to follow: the cute moment’s perversion into the grotesque and macabre.
Thus, the principal characters are established and we’re given just enough bits and pieces to ascertain the family dynamic. We learn that Beth has been distant from her sister and niblings in pursuit of her own career. However, in this time, her sister, Ellie, has had to deal with a separation from her own husband and the responsibility of maintaining a household on her own. To make it worse, Beth learns that her sister is set to lose her residence as the building is set to be demolished. This is a condemned environment.
Unfortunately, Ellie’s previous attempts to convey this information to Beth have fallen on deaf ears, as the latter has been so focused on her craft that she has ignored calls for help. The awkward revelation gives Ellie an excuse to send the kids out for food so that the adults can find a way to deal with the alienating tension between them.
Beth realizes her mistake and is upset with her lack of action. Ellie forgives her sister and subsequently attempts to probe the reason for this surprise visit. However, before Beth can reveal that she’s concerned about her potential tangle with motherhood, an earthquake erupts and disrupts the already shoddy environment further, preventing the conversation from going any further.
Danny (Morgan Davies) decides to explore the hole. Danny (Morgan Davies) goes through the vault. Danny (Morgan Davies) is scared by a statue of Christ jumping towards him. Crosses and religious ornaments decorate the space. Danny (Morgan Davies) continues to explore. Danny (Morgan Davies) finds the book. Insects fly off the book. The book of the dead. Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) stares into the screen. Danny’s exploration of the bank makes good on Beth’s earlier light-hearted jump scare. This time it’s the figure of Christ himself who comes out and “warns” this intruder searching for riches to stay away. But Danny refuses to heed this warning and continues to explore in spite of the variety of clear warning signs; this is an Evil Dead movie after all. The damning excursion immediately cuts to Ellie staring at the camera, making explicit the horror to come and clueing us in on who will the be the first victim.
While the adults try and stabilize in the apartment, the children, who are located in the garage, duck for cover. However, the aftermath of the quake reveals the foundations of their apartment building, a bank, lurking underneath. A newly created gap offers a way to untold riches and Danny decides to explore in order to potentially find something of value.
Yet, his exploration, in true Evil Dead fashion, is filled with a litany of symbols and objects that would scream to any other person to “stay out!” In contrast to his aunt’s earlier playful jump-scare, a statue of Jesus Christ literally jumps out from a corner in an attempt to deter him from his ill-founded material pursuits. But Danny persists, ignoring the warning sign of the holy entity, and finds a set of vinyl records before uncovering a grotesque tome, the iconic “Book of the Dead”. This discovery marks the beginning of the end and the film consequently cuts to Ellie staring forward at the camera, letting us know that evil is imminent.
In customary fashion, evil, supernatural hymns are recited, cosmic horrors enter the fray, and our group of characters are forced to find a way to survive against an immensely powerful malevolent force that takes immense pleasure in enacting the sickest, most twisted forms of violence on its victims. From this view, the plotting of this latest entry in the iconic Evil Dead franchise goes mostly as one would expect.
P.O.V shot goes through a lake, evoking classic horror imagery. Spectral P.O.V shot up to the condemned apartment building. Tracking shot of Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland). Disembodied P.O.V shot. The film’s focus is on perspective and it attempts to explore the way one’s vantage point defines violence and explains its effects. There are traditional P.O.V. shots that feel right at home with the franchise’s best, alongside handheld tracking shots, and more subtle uses of P.O.V. shots. The film is constantly reframing things, informing the viewer to pay attention to who’s really in charge of different moments and how those changes in power are matriculated vis-a-vis violence. While some of the more interesting variations on this technique are not as developed as I would like, the effort is more than worthy of praise and study.
However, Cronin distinguishes his rendition of the Evil Dead from the rest of the franchise’s mainstays through his exploration and deconstruction of the spectral P.O.V. shot. If the opening wasn’t enough of a clue, an early conversation between Beth and Kassie draws textual attention to this point of focus, as the former party informs her niece that she doesn’t believe in ghosts because she can’t see them.
Thus, we are made aware that it is the gaze that is relevant and the film serves as an extended analysis of the way that its functions, both in regards to ourselves and within cinema, operate in relation to and through violence of different sorts. We are being asked: In what ways does our perspective of what is and is not violence change based on our perspective in relation to the phenomenon and its effects.
But Michael Haneke’s Funny Games this is not, and the analysis is mostly limited to simplistic thematic domains, namely to traditional thematic overtures regarding the family structure and manner by which it operates a kind of communal barrier. While the film’s set-up includes multiple angles by which to position said discussion and offer nuance into multiple domains, the limited deployment of its techniques ossifies the possibilities inherent within them. The thematic playground the film finds itself playing in is so much smaller than the space its elements give it access to and the way it dances with its cinematographic exploration, though deft, barely scratches the surface of the space it seeks to explore. In other words, the film’s area of focus is compelling and it judiciously utilizes both genre conventions and the franchise’s own history in pursuit of the same, but it limits its purview within artificial-feeling trappings that feel disappointing given the skill on display.
These commitment issues extend to the film’s tone which feels like it’s trying too hard to please all the myriad of fans, all of whom enjoy different aspects of the multi-faceted franchise. At times the film plays it straight and acts like a pot-boiler thriller with terrific pacing and frights abound. Every relevant plot element is neatly set-up à la Checkov’s gun and there’s very little fat as the film moves to its rhythm. The scares are neatly executed with subtle cues, few jump-scares, and mostly excellent sound design which helps accentuate the mean-spirited nature of the visceral horror set-pieces, playing on the ability of the genre to get viewers to imagine such violence’s happening to them. But right as the terror hits a fever pitch, the film will awkwardly toss aside the momentum for strange detours, like slapstick jokes found in Evil Dead II, which completely dissipate the tension and stop the pacing dead in its tracks.
Rises’ reliance on sticking to a formula also prevents it from gaining any new converts or impressing fans who are more so interested in the worldbuilding promised by the franchise. If you’ve seen any of the films before, you’re already going to know where and how the majority of the narrative will proceed which leaves only the spectacle remaining, and while that spectacle is stylized as all hell and is certainly visually evocative, it still does not approach that critical point at which the work feels transformative and wholly its own.
Instead of trying to be a terrifying thriller, a gory spectacle for splatter aficionados, a dark comedy for the horror-jaded, an examination of violence in relation to cinema for the theorists, and wholly honest to the plethora of expectations engendered by the franchise, the film should have given upon the juggling act and truly committed to the most congruent of these elements so that it could transcend itself in the way that certain parts of the film would suggest it would be able to do otherwise. Of course, it’s difficult to criticize a film when the criticism is aimed at its desires to please everyone, a task which it mostly does based on discussion surrounding it, but inevitably, upsetting some in favor of experimentation that pushes the needle forward is the only way to make a long-lasting mark and it’s disappointing when a film this fantastic doesn’t quite live up to that type of potential.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Evil Dead Rises is an ambitious, wonderfully stylized piece of work that deftly utilizes genre trappings and the conventions of the franchise to deliver a filmic experience that should please most of the fans it seeks to impress even if its attempt to do the same inevitably lowers its own artistic ceiling.
Rating
9.5/10
Grade
A+
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
NOTE: This is a new release and the review is based off a theatre viewing. This means the review won’t feature common elements like visual analysis, extended theme analysis, or long-form discussions of the cinematic techniques being used. Once I am able to get a copy of the movie to watch, pause, analyze, and get stills from the review will be updated to match the current site’s standard.
A Little League baseball game is underway. The pitcher, Finney (Mason Thames), winds up and throws the ball. The batter, Bruce (Tristan Pravong), swings and misses. Strike one. The crowd cheers for Finney and he can feel their approval hanging in the balance.
He winds up and throws again. Strike two. The crowd’s encouragement increases. A girl within the crowd stares at Finney with affection. He takes notice; the pressure is on.
The ball leaves his hand on the third throw but this time Bruce is ready for it; the bat connects with the ball and it soars over the gates – a homerun. Suddenly, the momentum flips and Bruce becomes the recipient of the adulation while Finney is relegated to the periphery.
We follow Bruce as he leaves the field, glowing in victory. Edgar Winters’ “Free Ride” plays evoking a feeling of jubilation. But then a black van enters the frame and the color and sound begin to fade leaving an all-consuming void in its wake – the happy façade breaks to reveal the grotesque underbelly.
Mark Korven’s unsettling score complete with a rhythmic pulse and discordant fluctuations starts to play as the title credits start to play – it’s time to enter the dark. This montage is presented in an aesthetic fashion similar to director Scott Derickson’s previous horror film, Sinister, utilizing the grainy texture of film stock proper to accentuate the uncanny series of images. In strong contrast to the opening’s evocation of a cheery 70’s milieu, the decisive switch in aesthetic and tone is a grim reminder of the horrors of the time lurking in wait – kidnappings and missing children on milk cartons, and the like.
It’s from this fractured backdrop that we join Finney once again. He’s revealed to be a prime target of hostile forces all around. From a drunk, violent father at home to bullies at school, Finney is constantly forced into compromising positions where he finds himself wholly at the whims of other parties; even when he’s bailed out of the awful situations he finds himself in, it’s due to the efforts of his friend Robin (Cazarez Mora) and his sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw) intervening on his behalf. His own sense of agency is sorely lacking.
But when he’s kidnapped by a serial child abductor referred to as the “Grabber” (Ethan Hawke), Finney is forced to abandon his passivity and discover his strengths or die trying. He finds himself trapped in a seemingly isolated and sound-proofed basement structure with no tools in sight sans a broken telephone attached on the wall. Yet, while the phone isn’t plugged into any power source and seems completely busted up, it still rings, serving as an conduit to unseen forces from the beyond who seek to intervene in the seemingly impossible situation.
The supernatural propels the narrative forward, operating on a mostly demonstrative, seldom explained layer that works to supplement the true-crime horror narrative. While the presentation of this material feels like an extension of Sinister in tone and feel, its use is more in line with Derrickson’s earlier supernatural procedural, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Like that film, otherworldly phenomena – grainy dream-sequences and spectral sightings – are couched within ambiguities which gestures towards multiple different angles of interpretation. This explicative restraint works in the films favor as it lets the characters’ struggles take focus; the supernatural set-pieces are just pieces of connective tissue that characters find themselves working with and through and are not the cause of interest in end of themselves.
The primary source of scares comes from Hawke’s “Grabber”, an masked man teetering on the edge of an emotional meltdown. At one moment he’s coy and wants to play nice. At another he’s downright malicious and one step away from a violent explosion. For every persona, he dons a new mask on, accentuating his instability and giving Hawke ample opportunity to flex his facial muscles in new, menacing configurations. The uncertainty behind what he wants adds to the suffocating feeling as his erratic behavior presents a minefield for Finney to traverse through.
However, while Finney finds himself powerless at the start of the film, he quickly finds himself changing for what the situation calls. His experiences dealing with abuse in more grounded scenarios helps him play the Grabber’s inexplicable games as the latter’s acts just feels like an amplification of the atrocities he’s used to dealing with. Thus, his progression is clearly demarcated; the film uses its opening to demonstrate where Finney struggles and then utilizes the supernatural trappings of his struggle with the Grabber to highlight his growth.
The film does misstep slightly when it comes to wrapping up all the relevant story threads as the manner by which certain narrative parallels made between the domestic and horrific conclude seem incongruous with one another, but the overwhelming momentum of how Finney’s arc culminates more than buoys the issue.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The Black Phone is Scott Derrickson’s best film as of yet and seems him combining the aesthetic sensibilities and sense of unease from Sinister with the narrative ambiguity and supernatural restraint of The Exorcism of Emily Rose. The result is a tense, supernatural, character-driven story that earns its shocks.
Rating
8.9/10
Grade
A
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
The film explains the role of dolls. Nurses explain how they came upon Annabelle. Annabelle gazes into the camera. …and fades to black…The gargoyle’s face is posed next to the title. Location and time card. Father Perez (Tony Amendola) extols the virtues of sacrifice. John (Ward Horton) and Mia (Annabelle Wallis) sit in the congregation listening. The opening is slightly disjointed in how it jumps from exposition to plot proper, but it establishes the film’s main narrative: an evil presence wants to attack a newly wed couple with a baby on the way.
The film opens with text explaining the multifaceted function of dolls: they can be toys, collectibles, or conduits for demonic activity. Then, the opening from The Conjuring plays as a group of nurses explain the havoc they faced at the hands of a demonic doll named Annabelle – the opening exposition immediately comes to head. The camera pushes into the doll’s unnerving face before cutting to black.
From the black, we cut to a church and the camera pans from the glass windows to a demonic gargoyle visage. The blood red title card drops in and reinforces a malevolent feeling indicating that Annabelle’s presence is very much present in this holy domain.
A location card reveals that the film has jumped back a year in the past. While Father Perez (Tony Amendola) extols the virtues of sacrifice in his sermon, the camera moves to the congregation onto a young expecting couple, John (Ward Horton) and Mia (Annabelle Wallis) Form.
While the order of this opening sequence isn’t as crisp as it should be – it jumps from a piece of written exposition that adds very little to a scene of exposition from another film to then yet another location card before finally getting to the primary characters – the basic roadmap for the narrative is established: the demonic presence associated with Annabelle is after this newly established family with a baby on the way.
Someone is watching Mia (Annabelle Wallis). News coverage of the Manson Murders plays on the television. The camera highlights the dangerous proximity between Mia’s fingers and the blade in the sewing machine. Annabelle gazes down at the Form family from her newfound position. Annabelle’s presence is gradually built up to. There’s confirmation of a stalker, coverage of the Manson Murders, implications of a bloody accident, and then the doll herself. Evil seems to be oozing around the Form family.
An eerie point-of-view from behind a mesh-structure raises the stakes: something is already following Mia. The couple gets back to their home where Mia chastises John for not locking the door. Changing times and unease in the air means even the tranquility of the suburbs is no longer a guarantee. A news report on the Manson murders starts to play further entrenching the feeling of malevolence: there’s something evil bubbling. The tension ratchets as the camera cuts to close-up shots of Mia sewing, implying an accident to come – a burst in the bubble.
Suddenly, John calls out and asks for Mia to turn off the television; he thinks the distressing news might influence the fetus within the womb and wants to ensure its safety. Consequently, Mia turns off the television and machine, bringing a temporary calm. The coast seems clear and the feeling improves as John calls Mia to give her a gift.
But as it’s revealed that his present is none other than Annabelle, our mood immediately dissipates. Mia’s elated because she’s a doll collector and places the doll proudly on a shelf with her other figures, but we know that this is only the beginning of something awful to come. The camera moves closer to Annabelle’s visage and the cheerful sounds of the couple’s celebration become distorted by a discordant ringing. Evil has found a place to roost.
The camera moves from Mia (Annabelle Wallis) , who is comfortably asleep……to a view of violence happening next door. The Form’s neighbors are brutally murdered. Mia (Annabelle Wallis) waits for John’s response. Mia (Annabelle Wallis) calls the police while home intruders come into her house. The female killer (Tree O’Toole) lies slumped next to the Annabelle doll. Her blood is absorbed into Annabelle’s eye. The news footage of the home invasion dissolves into the image of ……an ultrasound test. The “bubble” pops as violence enters the fray, arriving at the neighbor’s house before quickly entering the Forms’ residence. Malevolent forces break through and threaten the unborn child, both literally in the form of a knife wound and symbolically in the rupturing of the previously safe space.
The young couple turns in for the night, and the camera slowly moves up from their sleeping bodies towards their bedroom window, showcasing a bout of brutal violence happening in their neighbor’s house – the bubble forming up till now has finally popped and given way to a malevolent storm. The disturbance wakes Mia who asks John to check out the situation; he comes out in shock and tells her to call the police.
The camera follows Mia in one singular motion as she runs in through her front door to get to the phone; yet in her haste, she forgets to lock up and the killers from next door enter in the background without her knowing; the trappings of the Manson murders come to the forefront as the home invasion proceeds. The male killer stabs Mia’s stomach – evil has now penetrated the domestic barrier and threatens to take the unborn.
Though the police make their way just in time to save the couple from death, they’re unable to stop the corrupting influence of the demonic realm. The killers may be dead, but their presence has only accelerated the haunting to come. Blood from the female killer drips down to the Annabelle doll’s face and streams into its eye before being absorbed. The demonic presence grows stronger and, much to John’s chagrin, has clearly started to permeate their unborn child’s existence. Even though John and Mia tried to stop the evils of their worlds from permeating into their lives, malevolent forces have found a way in; like the Manson murders from earlier, the violence the couple experiences are broadcast on television. But instead of being turned off and put out of sight and mind, the static image dissolves into an ultrasound view of Mia’s stomach demonstrating just how entrenched in the darkness the Form family is. Now they find themselves in a true battle against a demonic force looking to take everything from them.
Thus, Annabelle positions itself to be an exploration of motherhood and the loss of domestic stability in a similar vein to Rosemary’s Baby. From the Manson murders to the home invasion proper, the film stresses that the domestic family structure is under attack. The domain of motherhood which furnishes love and guidance is no longer safe as acrimonious forces threaten to intervene and corrupt, bringing despair instead of peace.
However, just like the opening sequence, the film often stumbles in getting from one point to the next. Instead of focusing on Mia’s relationship to motherhood and the way she tries to orient herself within a fractured domestic space, the film opts to bracket its maternal discussion within a more abstract, religious good versus evil framing. This faith-based orientation might’ve worked if the story spent time to develop its characters motivations along these lines, but in the frenzied attempt to get all the different beats set-up, director John R. Leonetti and screen-writer Gary Dauberman forget that it’s the characters relationship with themes that makes them poignant not the ideas themselves, especially not in the basic manner the story opts to present them.
Unfortunately, the characters are underdeveloped and their motivations are stated in such a straight-forward and unfelt manner that it becomes impossible to take the haunting as seriously as the story seems to want to. While this disconnect between thematic aspirations and actualities is minimal to start with, it balloons to extreme proportions by the end of the film: the themes (and characters) cannibalize one another and undermine the finale in its totality, transforming a potentially cathartic ending into nothing more than a farce.
Mia (Annabelle Wallis) stares at Annabelle in a chair. Annabelle’s presence makes itself known as Mia (Annabelle Wallis) walks away. Mia (Annabelle Wallis) questions the Annabelle doll on what the latter wants. Leonetti constantly utilizes compositions which frame Mia and Annabelle against one another. Their antagonism is the most interesting part of the film and should have been the driving force – it’s clearly where the film excels.
It’s a shame because Annabelle has all the components to tell a gripping tale capable of exploring the Mia’s relationship to motherhood. Leonetti constantly employs compositions that stress the ever-growing battle between Mia and Annabelle for control of the Form family – it’s clearly the tale that he wants to tell and proves he’s more than capable of.
Evaluated independently outside of the context of the overarching narrative, the sequences between these two parties are done competently at a technical level. At their best, these scenes evoke the same polished put-togetherness feeling present in James Wan’s supernatural outings, utilizing deft camera movements and drawn-out set-ups made up of multiple moving parts to generate moments of palpable tension. However, unlike Wan’s work, where the sequences naturally build into one another and propel momentum to the finish line, each interesting movement in Annabelle operates in its own discrete space, leaving little impact on the work as a whole as it stutters to its ending.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Annabelle is demonstrative proof that less is more as its over bloated story undermines its themes, emotional beats, and technically-executed horror sequences. The story about a mother trying to protect her soon-to-be born child should be compelling given the proper set-up, but the film’s decision to veer away from this core story in order to add unneeded depth only complicates and weakens it. While there are great moments within the film, they never get to shine because the overarching structure of the narrative renders them emotionally and thematically sterile soon after.
Rating
6.7/10
Grade
C
Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
The red title card. Text indicates this is a prequel to the first two franchise installments. The black screen becomes a bright white.The camera tilts down from the skies to Quinn (Stefanie Scott) standing on the street. The title sequence gets straight to the point, going from the title card to a street-view of our protagonist, Quinn, making her way to a house.
The title sequence starts in typical Insidious fashion: the credits are written with blue letters that dissipate in ethereal fashion before violent instrumentals punctuate the soundscape and the ominous red title card comes into frame. More blue text indicates that this third chapter in the franchise is a prequel to the first two movies. Then the text fades to a black screen which explodes in a burst of white light; the light becomes a skyline where birds fly around and the camera moves down to street-level. A young woman, Quinn Brenner (Stefanie Scott), walks down the street towards a house.
She knocks on the front door and an elderly woman, Elise (Lin Shaye) comes to answer. Quinn indicates she’s heard of Elise’s psychic powers and consultations and requests help with a supernatural affair. Elise responds in the negative and explains that her days of psychic entrepreneurship are over. Nonetheless, the sincerity of Quinn’s pleas moves Elise and she offers the would-be-customer a chance to come in and talk.
Quinn explains that she’s lost her mother some time ago and thinks that the latter is communicating with her. Since the occasion, she’s become insistent on reaching back out; it’s clear that her mom served a critical role in her life and confirmation of such contact would help Quinn find a firm footing in life. Elise gets swept up in the admission and begrudgingly offers to help Quinn try and contact Quinn’s deceased mother.
Elise (Lin Shaye) turns out the lights. The camera pushes in from behind Quinn (Stefanie Scott) as she turns around. A presence is felt even though its not seen. Elise (Lin Shaye) experiences pain and stops the séance. The séance goes wrong quickly. As the camera pushes in on Quinn, it becomes apparent an entity has responded to her and Elise’s calls. Its malevolent presence can be felt in the room behind Quinn, prompting Elise to stop the process immediately.
Elise turns out the light and begins delving into the realm beyond, but it becomes clear that something is going wrong. The camera pushes in from behind Quinn; something is coming. She turns and looks behind her and senses an unseen presence in the room. It’s clear that the wrong specter has heard the call. Elise’s face contorts in pain and she stops the séance, indicating that such occupational dangers are the reason she’s left the profession. The retired psychic turns to Quinn and warns the latter to stop reaching out for her mother because any message to one of the dead can be heard by all of them, and as the two just witnessed, some of the specters from beyond are more than willing to cause harm to those who call to them.
Alas, now that the other side has heard Quinn’s call and knows her of the depths of her longing, it’s not going to let her go so easily. Dark forces slowly infiltrate her life and begin to wreak havoc, leaving her bruised and damaged in her journey to find her mother. Unable to deal with the supernatural shenanigans, Sean (Dermot Mulroney), Quinn’s father, contacts Elise to help with the situation. The psychic is thus forced back into the fray and must confront her own inner demons as she seeks to stop the demonic forces that currently threaten Quinn’s life.
Unfortunately, for fans of the franchise, the film’s status as a prequel makes the journey to come predictable; the fate of pivotal characters is already known, so a sense of tension is missing. The script doesn’t account for this in any fashion, opting for inoffensive and tried story beats to generate a baseline level of interest in what’s to come. At one level, the story spends little time in building up Quinn or her family; the relationships between members of the Brenner family never get pushed or stressed in ways that would give the characters something for the viewer to latch onto.
Meanwhile, Elise, who serves as a secondary hero in the story, is given very little to do, which is a shame when Lin Shaye is one of the better actors here. The journey of a psychic so scared by the darkness of the astral world that she seals her own power is one that has so much ground to traverse, but instead of giving Elise room to grow and understand her role, the story prods her to her foregone conclusion with little demonstration of Elise’s decision-making process.
Consequently, the narrative, though coherent, offers very little space to latch on. It’s a vehicle for frightening set-pieces. But just like the story, these set-pieces are lacking a vitality or ingenuity that sets them apart from traditional haunted-house fare. A character will notice something is wrong. A presence will show up. The character will look around for them and then BOOM. A loud jolt along with a “creepy” image and the sequence is done. While both Insidious and Insidious: Chapter 2have “jump scares” in them, both films employ them in measured manners that lets them have an impact. They build up to their scares through a chaotic sound design which never gives the viewer a moment to rest or predict what’s going to come next. In contrast, Chapter 3 opts for the same audio design for each of its set-pieces which makes them feel more chore than scare.
The problem is frustrating because it’s clear that director Leigh Whannell is competent at the technical aspects of nailing suspenseful sequences. There are multiple moments where the tension builds naturally as entities enter the background quietly. There’s a time given to let a reaction build up. But instead of riding the momentum and delivering on the subtle and eerie nature of what’s going on, Whannell opts to go for bombastic and showy spectacles. This might be forgiven if, like Chapter 2, Chapter 3 utilized the metaphysical trappings of its universe to set-up visually distinctive spectacles, but it never manages to tap into the same visual possibilities. It’s telling when the first two entries bathe their supernatural sequences with hellish reds and astral blues and this entry only makes use of the color scheme at the start and end of its narrative. In fact, outside of some events in the third act, there’s very little here to distinguish the film as an entry in the franchise; it could have just been a supernatural story with no connection to what came before.
In this sense, Insidious: Chapter 3 is frustrating not because it’s particularly bad in any one way but because it never manages to embellish an identity for itself – a disappointment given the potential the mythos of the franchise offers. By opting for the safe and simple choice at most turns, the narrative never manages to endear itself to anyone looking for something deeper than just a simple and technically competent supernatural story.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
The third chapter in the Insidious franchise lacks the identity or charisma that made the previous entries, namely the first film, mainstays of the horror genre. The set-pieces and narrative never make use of the metaphysical possibilities inherent to the franchise, opting for conventional set-ups and trappings at every turn. While this may be entertaining for the viewer looking for a simple, conventional supernatural outing, those hoping for something unique and engaging should look elsewhere.
Rating
6.9/10
Grade
C+
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
Note: This review contains spoilers for: Insidious.
Director James Wan’s sequel to Insidious opens in the past. A young Elise (Lindsay Seim) makes her initial visit to Lorraine (Jocelin Donahue) and Josh (Garrett Ryan) after being called as an additional line of help by her friend and fellow-psychic, Carl (Hank Harris ), who finds himself unable to deal with old woman spirit (Tom Fitzpatrick) haunting Josh. Elise hypnotizes Dalton to make him more suggestible and asks him to reveal information on the old woman. She searches the house in order to confront the malevolent entity. As the events of the night continue, Josh gets up and starts speaking to an entity who no one else can see, psychic gifts or otherwise. Josh leads the entity to a location in the house and points to the location at which point, due to his inexplicable behavior and the nature of the spirit, Elise recommends “sealing” his astral projection gifts away.
The title card drops.
A blue light passes over the title card.
The camera moves towards a red door and pushes forward…
…through a chasm of darkness…
..before landing on Renai (Rose Byrne) being interrogated by a police officer.
Renai (Rose Byrne) answers the police officer.
Insidious: Chapter 2’s title sequence isn’t as effective as the original, but it manages to set expectations for what’s to come. The blue lamp lets us know this tale will full venture into the world of the “Further”. As the camera moves through a red door and an abyss to a cornered off Renai, it becomes clear that her family’s struggles are far from over. She knows that Elise is dead. She knows that the spirit who haunted her spirit is responsible. However, she does not know if her husband is and the spirit are one in the same.
The bright red title card drops in as a sea of violent noises come to a crescendo. However, the malevolent color is displaced by a spectral blue that comes from the reveal of the “Chapter 2” in the title. A lantern similar to the ones used in the “further” goes across the title card, letting the viewer know that unlike the first film which had to tease the metaphysical, this film is more than ready to dive into supernatural hijinks.
Drawing to a close, the title sequence ends on a red door, and the camera glides through it and the dark void it opens to towards a faraway light in the distance. Eventually, the camera gets to the light, which turns out to be a lamp lighting a room where Renai (Rose Byrne) is being interrogated by a police officer over the death of Elise (Lin Shaye), an action which is revealed to the viewer at the end of Insidious as having been committed by a recently possessed Josh. Renai recalls finding Elise’s limp body and then finding the photograph of the old woman before running into an emotionally off Josh at the scene of the crime; her doubts were set then and have only continued to fester, but without definitive proof of her husband being possessed or just off, she has to learn to work with him . She confirms to the detective that she doesn’t think her husband is responsible for Elise’s death before going back home to continue dealing with the supernatural mess still wreaking havoc in the Lambert’s lives.
Chapter 2, as such, is split between telling two tales: the first follows the way the ‘Further’ intermingles and intervenes in the Lamberts life and the second explores the background of the spirit possessing Josh. While both stories inform and effect one another, the former is markedly more original and ambitious and gives the mechanics of the Insidious franchise a put-togetherness that other supernatural outings wish they could achieve. Comparatively, the latter story is contrived, not as tight, and plays like a series of lost opportunities, often settling for horror in the moment as opposed to building to larger moments of intense panic. While the nature of what’s revealed in this second narrative thread is “shocking” at a surface level, it does nothing to develop either the film’s themes or the themes of its prequel in nearly as effective a manner as the first narrative thread.
This first story takes the building blocks established in the first movie and expands on the metaphysical makeup of its supernatural domain: the ‘Further’, a place where circuits of desire are repeated while specters engage in the same acts over and over again in loop. This time the narrative focus is less on the domain itself and more on the the effects it has on the living world. It’s not the mechanics of the ‘Further’ which are explored as much as the way the domain intervenes in the world of the living, tying seemingly disparate moments together. Consequently, the film revels in building up scenes from one vantage point and then exploring them again from the other domain; the interplay between these jumps from the “real” world to the ‘Further’ and back again gives Wan an and scriptwriter Leigh Whannell more than enough space to explore creative spectral interplays.
Unfortunately, these mechanics are barely utilized to their fullest and are leveraged in service of the second story, which, while not being incompetently constructed, lacks the nuance or creativity of the first film. While the first story feels like an extension of the Lambert’s conflicts from the first film, the second story feels largely separated. The struggles depicted in the former have a texture and feeling because there’s a sense of empathy in the helplessness and nature of what’s going on, but the tribulations in the latter feel overly theatric and break the sense of immersion generated by the former. Realism takes a seat back to spectacle, and the themes get lost in translation, as the viewer focuses on terror for terrors sake as opposed to terror in serve of a larger thematic movement. As a result, visceral moments in the film shock when presented but don’t have the same staying power as the scenes from the initial Insidious which linger in the viewer’s memory long after.
This is a shame because the first story could have served as the basis for the investigation the second story ventured on if better attention was given to the nature of Josh’s possession. As a location, the ‘Further’ gives fertile ground to explore the way trauma unfurls. Like the first film demonstrates, spirits are trapped into cycles of repetition and are made to re-enact their trauma ad-infinitum. Seemingly unable to find peace, it seems that being a trapped within the ‘Further’ is a horrific fate that any entity would seek to escape, but the furthest the film goes towards exploring that idea, a great source of motivation which could have served as the basis of the second story’s mystery, is having a character mention the idea off-hand a few times. Instead of just saying it, the film could have built on this idea visually and tied it to the Lambert’s struggle to find a locus of healing and stability. Wan and his production team do a great job at evoking ethereal and inexplicable horror, but it feels like they barely scratched the surface of demonstrating the brutality of the material they’re working with, choosing instead to go for familiar and easy-to-explain over ambitious and potentially more confusing. For example, there’s a great set piece involving a host of covered bodies but by the end of the film the scene says very little besides “evil exists”. It’s just unsettling imagery that disturbs momentarily before being cast aside.
Thankfully, lack of memorable scares does not entail lack of memorable moments and Wan and Whannell still manage to leverage the better parts of the story to great effect, satisfyingly bringing the prequel’s story to a resolute close. There are a few hiccups getting to this ending, but eventually, when Chapter 2’s two story threads come together, the narrative proper is allowed to go full throttle towards an emotionally satisfying finish line that concludes (almost) all the relevant story threads on a nice ending point. While this sequel entry isn’t as strong a stand-alone as Wan’s initial foray in to the supernatural genre, it’s certainly a good enough follow-up that fans of the original should check it out. It does what all good sequels should attempt to do: extend the interesting ideas of the first movie without re-hashing them in boring fashion. Just because the film doesn’t elevate all the interesting ideas to their potential, it does more than enough to distinguish itself from and progress its prequel.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Insidious: Chapter 2 is a film that serves up many of the same thrills of its prequel in terms of ambiance and technical construction, while bringing many plot threads to a neat and resolute end-point. While it settles for cheaper scares than its worldbuilding allows, thus squandering some of its potential, it delivers more than enough intrigue to keep fans of the original and those interested more broadly in supernatural horror and its related mechanics intrigued from start to finish. It may not nail all it’s beats, but it’s certainly a good deal more fun than many of its peers.
Rating
7.9/10
Grade
B
Go to Page 2for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis. Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .
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.
REPORT CARD
TLDR
Host is proof that budget matters less than the guts to commit to a vision and figure out the most effective way to demonstrate that vision with the tools available. Despite being made during quarantine and with a low budget, each member of the cast and crew came together to turn in a cohesive and well-oiled horror machine that looks and plays like a major horror blockbuster. There’s characters to cheer for, scares that get under the skin, and a story that’s easy to follow while remaining compelling to think about.
Rating
8.7/10
Grade
A
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 .
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
