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2010s, 2018, A, Black-Comedy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Piercing

December 3, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Nicolas Pesce
Principal Cast	Christopher Abbott as Reed Mia Wasikowska as Jackie Laia Costa as Mona
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	English
Running Time	81 minutes

The camera pans through a beautiful cityscape that feels artificial and out of touch with reality as the song “L’eredità & agguato nel buio” from the giallo movie The Red Queen Kills Seven Times plays in the background . As the camera gets closer to an open window on a building, the movie cuts to a baby cooing against a red backdrop as an ice pick slowly makes its way closer to to its face. The hand holding it retracts away to reveal an anxious looking man , Reed, who’s then immediately called by his wife, Mona, to come back to bed. Unable to now finish his task, he goes off and chokes himself, a pained expression enveloping his face. After enough time has passed, he goes back to his wife who caresses his head tenderly in an attempt to help him destress. She may not know that he was trying to kill their child, but she does know something is disturbing him. However, just as he gets comfortable their child starts to cry in the background. The noise immediately disturbs him, and his face turns from calm to agitated once again. As he goes to comfort his child, the newborn child says to him in a demonic voice , “You know what you have to do.” It’s at this point that Reed realizes that he has to kill to satiate the urge within and makes plans to hire and murder a prostitute. Unfortunately for him, his dreams to get away with the perfect murder go off the rails when the escort service he’s contacted sends him an unhinged and sporadic woman, Jackie, who threatens to unravel his plan at every step of the way.

This is Nicolas Pesce’s sophomore effort, Piercing ,a cocktail of psychosexual plotlines, imperceptible characters, and a distinct sense of black humor. It’s a love letter to giallo movies that seeks to deconstruct the sub-genre from the inside out, while mixing it with the confusing battle of the sexes from Takashi Miike’s Audition (which makes sense given that both Audition and Piercing are based on books written by Ryū Murakami). Traditional giallo movies follow a fairly standard plotline – there’s a brutal series of murders by an masked black-gloved killer, a journalist-type character tries to figure out what’s going on with or without the presence of some sidekicks, and the killer is eventually revealed with a brief explanation of the trauma that caused them to act out the series of murders. Along the way are psychosexual plotlines, trauma, mystery, tension, and a healthy amount of visual violence. Oh and of course, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the traditional soundtrack – a combination of progressive rock, jazz, disco, electric, and epic orchestral elements put together to keep the audience energized and invested. Piercing lovingly takes all these components and flips the script by placing the audience on the side of the giallo killer, Reed, as he desperately tries to solve the source of his trauma by killing a prostitute under a peculiar set of conditions. By removing the killer’s mask and placing them front and center, Pesce is able to showcase the absurdity and complexity that drives the genre. The presence of an unknowable entity in Jackie serves to take the mysterious nature of desire that’s normally only present in the backdrop of previous gialli and bring it to the center of discussion, forcing Reed, and subsequently the audience, to examine the way modes of psychosexuality are constructed.

As evidenced by his baby talking earlier, Reed’s delusions play a significant part of the word of the movie, threatening to infect every aspect of it. Images of strange and artificial cityscapes are juxtaposed against real backdrops to suggest that artificiality is always present – a fantasy that covers the trauma within.

An artificial cityscape that looks to be painting of sorts.

The soundscape is filled with diegetic (in the world of the movie , things the characters interact with) and non-diegetic (the external elements of the movie, things that are for the audience) that constantly bleed into one another, reflecting the way that psychotic delusion infects the world but is built from a trauma stemming from that world at the same time. For example, Reed practices what he’s going to do to the prostitute sent to him by physically going through the motions, an imaginary roleplay if you will. As he cuts, and saws, and violates we see nothing on the screen but we can hear every single crack and flow of blood – a clear indication of what Reed is hearing in his mind. In the backdrop is some nice calming music that feels at complete odds with what’s going on (think high class elevator music). At first glance this soundtrack feels non-diegetic, a score meant to elicit a laugh from the audience because of it’s sharp contrast with Reed’s intended actions. However, as he finishes his walkthrough the score is revealed to be part of his mental soundscape as well, becoming dimmer and more muffled as he gets more nervous about what he’s going to do. Along with moments like these which are spread throughout the movie, Reed’s more overt delusional episodes, and Jackie’s general imperceptibility, the movie constantly forces the audience to ask what’s real and piece together the character’s respective desires like a detective getting to the bottom of the mystery, effectively placing them in the role of the traditional giallo detective. It’s not about who’s doing what, but why are they doing what they’re doing.

The sadomasochistic sexual playground the characters interact with each other in opens the perfect space for desire and its exploration. Initially, Reed brings up the idea of S&M to have an excuse to tie Jackie up so he can finish her off, but as the movie unravels the power dynamic inherent in such a relationship is given room to evolve. Sex and violence are staples of gialli and the movie transforms them from merely visually striking elements into genuine mode of communication. Sadism and masochism are orientations towards pleasure and the Other that elicits it. Why does a character like to be beaten in one way? Why does another like to submit? Why are relationships filled with a sense of ambiguity and mystery? It’s all due to some kind of past experience that’s become coded in the flow of desire that subconsciously drives the subject towards their intended action. S&M allows this hidden desire to sublimate and helps to explain the subject and their trauma in a meaningful way. It’s this move that makes every moment of sexual tension or expressive violence more than what it appears. It’s not just shock and excess for the sake of it – it’s an attempt at revealing something more intimate and personal about the subjects at the center of such actions. Without a partner to tango with, be it to inflict violence on or to have sex with, nothing can come to pass because there’s nothing to incite and push desire to the forefront. This is reflected in the movie’s constant use of split-screens which reinforce that both partners in the act are equally important and have a role to play in constructing themselves and one another. Meaning can only be constructed once the two of them interact with one another in an dance for and of power.

The movie uses split screens to highlight the way the characters intrude onto one another lives and shifts the course of their actions. *Jackie( Mia Wasikowska)* on the left brings to light *Reed’s (Christopher Abbott)* desires on the right and vice versa.

Speaking of the partners, the movie entirely hinges on the backs of Abbott and Wasikowska who have to sell their characters’ game of constantly (re)volving interpretative cat-and-mouse. The former exudes general anxiety with his nervous mannerisms and voice that threatens to go to an indescribably whisper at points as he tries gain control of the situation. His nervous energy is present in the way he breathes deeply and in how his eyes dart and move in confusion and worry as he tries to piece together what to do next. He’s a clump of paranoid trepidation that occasionally laughs and smiles as his submerged self slowly comes to the forefront. Meanwhile, the latter is imperceptible, switching from flirty to batshit crazy to seductive without missing a beat. It’s almost impossible to get a read on her as she coyly asks questions one moment and threatens to shock both Reed and the audience with some excessively gratuitously actions the next. The two of them play off each other in an off-putting romantic fashion that constantly feels like it will break apart into something far more terrifying or evolve into something more cutesy, as they circle one another.

Jackie( Mia Wasikowska) informs Reed( Christopher Abbott) that she’s “onto him”.

However, in spite of my praises, the movie does partially fall into the trap it critiques by making the references to the character’s respective traumas and reasons for action too obtuse. The joke about many gialli is that the killers’ motivations are threadbare and only present to help piece together the grandiose kill sequences. While I don’t think the movie fits that description, I can’t help but feel that it plays the characters’ traumas and desires too safe. In both of their cases, there’s a litany of clues that help piece together profiles that give a subtle glimpse behind the veil. For example, there are a plethora of moments where Reed’s anxiety, meticulous attention to detail and procedure, and the murder he’s committed to do are derailed and forced to adapt to the whim’s of his unpredictable victim leading to a variety of horrifying yet comedic scenes that’ll get us to ask why he’s acting in such a peculiar fashion but never go far enough as to give us information to answer them in a satisfying way. I think Pesce could’ve extracted more from these situations without giving up the comedy or ambiguity he was going for. Obviously the movie can’t reveal everything – that would ruin the fun and make the themes less precise. It’s just that the few reveals that do happen feel too surface level in spite of their sometimes surreal presentation. Slightly more information or exploration would help the audience fill in the elliptical scenes and provoke deeper and more nuanced questioning and analysis. As it is the movie is a lot of fun and is tightly put together, but I can’t help feeling it would be a more accessible homerun if it spent more time exploring the characters’ fractured pasts with a bit more depth in the vein of something like Audition.

As a result, this is a movie that I can’t recommend to every horror fan. If you like your movies more visceral than cerebral and are unfamiliar with gialli, a lot of what the movie does might come off as too strange or pretentious. There’s no clear answers to what really drives the movie’s duo and if you want those answers front and center you’ll end up feeling disappointed. Likewise, the subtle way the movie plays with the sub-genre can only be appreciated if you’re a fan of those movies. I first saw Piercing after watching Pesce’s debut, The Eyes of My Mother, a much darker and more universally palatable horror that really gets under your skin. Coming into this from that was a strange shift, because of how much more stylized and funny this movie turns out to be. After going on a huge gialli binge earlier this year (2020) comprised of watching all of Argento’s classics (Tenebrae, Deep Red, Opera) along with a healthy heaping of other fan favorites (Blood and Black Lace, The Red Queen Kills Seven Times, Don’t Torture a Duckling, and so on) I’ve come to love the sub-genre and all it’s trashy and classy components. Watching Piercing again with a knowledge and appreciation of what gialli are about and their respective elements makes me truly appreciate what Pesce is going for. For example, the score heavily samples/uses music from some of the aforementioned classics, and if you recognize the tracks, you appreciate what’s been curated and how it’s been used. For instance, Goblin’s (one of Argento’s most famous musical collaborators) heavy hitters are only used during important moments between Reed and Jackie. “Profondo Rosso” starts blaring as the movie uses a split-screen to chronicle the first time the two of them meet, using the more iconic and bombastic song to signify the importance of what’s happening. This music can enjoyed by someone who’s never seen gialli , but it takes on a new level of depth if you know where it’s coming from. So if you’re a gialli fan and enjoy movies that play with cerebral and surreal moments over more visceral and direct ones, this is the movie for you. If not, you might end up frustrated with the way the story unravels and proceeds.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Piercing is a darkly-comedic and intensely quizzical love letter to gialli that deconstructs the sub-genre from the inside out. By placing the audience on the side of an aspiring murderer who’s forced to contend with an equally strange and powerful potential victim, the movie creates an effective backdrop to explore trauma, sexuality, and communication in innovative and interesting ways. The visual design is filled with paintings and the soundscape goes from diegetic to non-diegetic constantly to induce a state of confusion in the viewer, forcing them to piece together what’s real and what’s fantasy. The score features classics from gialli like Deep Red and should get your head bopping even if you’re not familiar with the context or importance of the music. If you’re a gialli lover who enjoys cerebral movies that don’t give you all the answers, you’ll love what Pesce is doing with this wholly unique horror entry.
Rating	9.2/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2015, A, Black-Comedy, Comedy, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, slasher, Thriller, Year

Review: The Final Girls

December 1, 2020 The Critic 1 Comment

Director(s)	Todd Strauss-Schulson
Principal Cast	Taissa Farmiga as Max Malin Åkerman as Nancy / Amanda Alia Shawkat as Gertie Alexander Ludwig as Chris Nina Dobrev as Vicki Thomas Middleditch as Duncan Adam DeVine as Kurt Angela Trimbur as Tina Daniel Norris as Billy Murphy
Release Date	2015
Language(s)	English
Running Time	91 minutes

After losing her mother, Amanda, in a tragic accident, Max and a group of her friends go to a fan screening of the popular Camp Bloodbath, a Friday the 13th ripoff Amanda starred in decades before. However, during the screening things go awry and Max and her friends find themselves trapped in the world of the slasher movie with no explanation as to how they got there or how to get out. Faced with no other option, the group is forced to play along with the narrative to find a way back to the real world.

Now if the synopsis didn’t make it clear enough, this is a movie that’s a love letter to 80’s slasher movies, especially those from the Friday the 13th franchise. From Camp Bloodbath’s “KiKiKi MaMaMa”- based parody theme to the increasingly caricatured acting from the fictional movie’s cast, every trope you know and love is here and is ready to be celebrated. However, what sets the movie apart from other slasher comedies is the emotional center that serves as the movies main through line. The story opens on Max and Amanda and demonstrates just how much the mother-daughter duo depends on one another. The latter, having been typecast as sexy bimbo who gets killed due to her involvement with the slasher cult hit, is desperate to find a role that will let her be a real star, while the latter fawns over her mom while dealing with tasks like managing the bills. Watching Amanda dies it’s clear that Max’s world is shattered and Farmiga conveys her characters grief by going from bubbly and filled with life to desolate and lethargic. That’s why her journey into a movie where her mom was a star hits so hard – it’s her chance to reunite and deal with the trauma in a moving, albeit unconventional way.

On the right, Max (Taissa Farmiga) bonds with her mom, Amanda (Malin Åkerman), before the latter’s untimely death. Once she gets trapped in the world of Camp Bloodbath, she gets to bond with her mom’s breakout character, Nancy, who gives her a spiritual chance at bonding with her mom one more time. The relationship between these 2(3?) is the heart of the movie and gives it an unexpected emotional weight.

It’s this emotional center that elevates the usual slasher formula into something that gets you to cheer for the characters success because even the stock caricatures get an extra level of depth due to their humanizing connection to the actual actors. Max relating to her Amanda’s character Nancy reminds us that there’s an actor hiding behind every character that seeps and pervades through the representations we see on screen. This makes the clash between the “real” life characters – Max, Gertie, Chris, Vicky, and Duncan- and the movie’s characters – Nancy, Tina, Amanda, and co. – enthralling because they twist the perceptions we have of stock characters and gives them a chance to show us something more. It also injects the movie with a healthy dose of existential humor as the Bloodbath characters are forced to reckon with their fictional makeup in contrast to something more “real”, begging the question of what reality even is.

It’s this playing with reality that gives the movie its unique comedic angle, setting it apart from the sea of slasher comedies that have come to inundate the market post Scream. Duncan, the Camp Bloodbath super fan, acts like the Randy of the movie and explains the worlds tropes and plot mechanisms – there’s a final girl who happens to be a virgin, people die when they have sex, and so on – while giving the audience the perfect nerd to cheer alongside. He helps the group determine the rules of the movie-turned-reality so that they can break and manipulate them to figure out a way to get out. Max and co. realize near the start of the movie that they can’t leave the story without playing along in a comedic scene that shows the Camp Bloodbath staff driving by the characters every 92 minutes (the run-time of the in-universe movie). Waiting just introduces another playthrough, so they’re forced to take action.

The group is stuck in a loop where the movie plays back-to-back on loop, until they decide to make themselves part of the in-universe movie’s story.

As they become more familiar with the way slasher conventions work, they engage in some pretty ingenious mechanisms to bypass typical scenes to increase their chances of survival. On the flipside, some of their experiments don’t work out as well which introduce some bleak, yet hilarious moments that keep the audience constantly guessing as to what the next step is going to be. The result is a movie that plays along with our expectations while subverting them at every turn. The more you know about slashers, the more fun you end up having because the game becomes guessing how the trope will be subverted instead of witnessing the trope happening.

In an attempt to highlight this constantly changing perspective, the movie makes wonderful use of a constantly moving camera. There are quite a few arc shots (where the camera moves steadily in a circle) that highlight the absurdist nature of the movie’s narrative, reinforce the idea of the characters being stuck in loops of sorts, and constantly highlighting the juxtaposition of the story of Camp Bloodbath against the injunction of real life characters. One of my favorite moments in the movie involves a characters getting brutally killed after thinking they’re safe as the camera starts turning in a circle and zooming in highlighting just how wrong they actually were. The movement keeps us as disoriented as the characters and adds another layer of empathy as we realize that neither us or Max and co. know exactly what’s going on.

Complimenting this visual vertigo is the narrative whiplash that occurs as modern “real” people interact with outdated 80’s slasher stereotypes and dive beneath their personas. Homophobia and sexual objectification meet their modern match which allows the movie to lampshade its baser fun with bits of commentary. In one scene, Kurt, the prototypical jock/sex fiend, makes some bigoted jokes to Chris which are quickly shot down by the latter’s more open worldview, but the presence of a challenge to the retort forces Kurt to delve deeper (not that much) into what he actually thinks. Moments like these between the different intersections of characters allows the movie to relish in its homage while making comments on the side without ever coming off as too obnoxious or on the nose.

It helps that every single member of the star studded cast nails their performances, with special kudos given to the Camp Bloodbath members who are forced to play both a caricature and a deconstruction of those same stereotypes as they figure out their true metaphysical makeup. DeVine nails the contemptible player persona from the laid back and confident posturing to the arrogant smirk he keeps on his face. Meanwhile, Trimbur makes the slutty, sexy girl who typically dies first far more energetic and expressive than she has any right to be by injecting a manic ton of energy into contorting her body and facial muscles. Being the emotional center of the movie, both Farmiga and Ackerman bring a surprising amount of tenderness to the story, displaying a real sense of vulnerability with one another. There are moments in the third act that tug at the heartstrings because of how believable their real and fictional bond is built up and played out. In particular, Ackerman nails the fictional character realizing that they’re both real and not real with some expressions that exude fear and love simultaneously.

The only things holding the movie back are some less than stellar CGI elements along with some story moves that feel like they should’ve paid off in bigger and grander ways. The movie plays so well with sub-genre conventions that the presence of such overt and modern digital effects feels completely out of place.

One of the bad CGI renderings that threatens to distract the audience from the beauty of the movie. This scene of a car crash feels like a cut-scene from a PS2 game and feels out of place compared to the realism of what came before.

If these were a one-off occurrence it’d be fine, but these issues crop up enough during the run-time to feel like an issue. Given how clever the movie is with playing with sub-genre conventions, I was surprised that these moments weren’t rendered with cheesy and over-the-top practical effects to keep with the 80’s slasher energy. Adding to this is the soft rules approach the movie utilizes to keep the pace going. As I mentioned earlier, the tropes that are recognized are subverted in ways that aren’t expected which keeps an underlying sense of mystery and tension at bay, but because there are no clear and fast rules there are definitely some moments that just come off as odd. The movie can just explain them away as anomalies like everything else, but that comes off feeling lazy with how intricate other scenarios play out. If these moments were capitalized on and explained in the context of the story or breaking certain tropes, the movie would’ve felt more cohesive and tightly knit.

That being said, what we get is a heartfelt, clever, and truly funny movie that any slasher fan should give a watch. Every character feels distinct and interesting, despite the fact that some of them are walking caricatures, and watching their inevitable clashes among one another is constantly entertaining. Even though it’s comedic, the movie wants to be more than just funny and constantly combines its humor with epic visual compositions and narrative shifts that demonstrate just how much love went into the worldbuilding. The riffing and appreciation of sub-genre tropes plays well with the way they’re subverted and gives the movie a constant energy that should keep you invested from start to finish.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Final Girls shows that horror comedy very much has more room to explore in its ingenious design. The story of characters getting trapped in a slasher movie explores and relishes in genre conventions, while at the same time upending them to great effect. The effect is a dark absurdist comedy with an emotionally resonant center that keeps the otherwise fantastical elements feeling grounded, yet entertaining. Horror fans – slasher fans especially – should check this love letter to the sub-genre if they haven’t already. It’s sure to entertain and leave you wanting more.
Rating	9.1/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2014, A, Drama, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: A Dark Song

November 29, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Liam Gavin
Principal Cast	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

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2010s, 2018, A+, Art House, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: Luz

November 24, 2020 The Critic 2 Comments

Director(s)	Tilman Singer
Principal Cast	Luana Velis as Luz Jan Bluthardt as Dr. Rossini Julia Riedler as Nora Nadja Stübiger as Bertillon Johannes Benecke as Olarte Lilli Lorenz as Margarita
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	German, Spanish
Running Time	77 minutes

The movie opens on a receptionist who sits behind his desk and slowly does his work. A slow paced synth score plays in the background as if to set the tone. After a little bit, a young woman walks into the reception area, her shoulders drooping and her general appearance indicating a fatigue. She slowly meanders around the location and eventually comes to the vending machine at which point she decides to buy a drink. The score picks up and gains a serious energy as a siren noise penetrates the slow beat. The girl, Luz, walks towards the receptionist and aggressively asks him ,”Is this how you wanna live your life? Is this seriously what you want? ” He looks up at her and signals that he needs a moment. He looks up and indicates to her he’s ready to hear her at which point she repeats what she said before, this time her voice becoming distorted and terrifying. Her words echo and reverberate all around as the title card comes up.

Luz (Luana Velis) enters the reception area as if in a daze and confronts the receptionist after a 4 minute wait. The whole time the camera stays still letting the audience become immersed into the story’s world.

This is Tilman Singer’s Luz, a slow paced story that harkens back to Euro horrors of old in the vein of something like Zulawski’s Possession. It’s slow, methodical, and focused on immersing the audience in an ambiance more so than telling a straightforward story. The opening scene seems short in theory, but it plays out slowly over a period stretching a little longer than 4 minutes – an uninterrupted shot that gives the audience a chance to fully immerse themselves in what’s going to happen while giving away almost nothing of what’s going on. It’s eventually revealed that Luz has entered a police station and is immediately taken in for questioning due to her bruised appearance and strange behavior. Her interrogators include an authoritative chief named Bertillon, a translator going by Olarte, and Dr. Rossini, a hypnotist and psychologist of sorts.

Unbeknownst to them however, a supernatural force is also invested in Luz, albeit for different reasons, and intervenes in the ongoing interrogation. What does it want? Luz’s love and affection – a relationship between the corporeal and the demonic. Thus the stage is set for a movie that’s part police procedural as the law enforcement agents try and get to the bottom of the truth of what happened to Luz and part possession love story as the demonic entity tries to usurp the process and make Luz engage in communion with it. The interweaving of these storylines enables Singer to deconstruct the commonly held ideas about possession, as the spirit does not seem to harm Luz (as is common in possession based movies) but ,rather, tries to make the confused cab driver hers in an intimate sense. Given that the primary method the interrogators use to investigate the past is hypnotizing Luz and probing her innermost thoughts, the movie asks the question if possession is any different from the way we violate others by forcing expectations of proper behavior on them and punishing them for violations of the same. Is hypnosis done for the sake of finding the truth really better than having a body enveloped by some alternative power? Is submission to some kind of code, whether it be religious or legal, distinct from a supernatural exchange of power? By mixing the distinct storylines together, the movie seeks to investigate what the nature of communication, reception, agency really means.

Like the opening scene suggests, some lines are said by characters without a context by which to make sense of them. Luz’s outbursts at the receptionist feel odd because they indicate a sense of familiarity with the recipient. Why ask such invasive questions about someone if you know nothing about them? This idea bleeds naturally into both the intrusive nature of hypnosis and possession but also communication in general. When we speak we attempt to convey a certain meaning meant to elucidate our thoughts and feelings. However, there’s always a disjunct in what we mean to say and what we actually say. Freudian slips, misinterpretations, and the like plague everyday conversation revealing that communication isn’t as easy as it’s made out to be. We only have control over our words, but we have no control over how others perceive them. If I talk to a friend in public, it’s possible they misunderstand me. It’s also possible they understand me, but a random stranger walking by doesn’t understand me. The interpretative chain goes on and on as every utterance can take on a different meaning based on who’s listening and what information they have about the speaker and their respective circumstances. This is the heart of what the movie seeks to explore as sentences and phrases are constantly repeated by different characters in different ways in different contexts.

Words and phrases constantly echo and reverberate in strange and disorienting ways. The camera will go to a close-up of a character’s mouth and words will be heard, but the respective character’s mouth won’t move. Luz speaks in Spanish but her interrogators are German, so each of her lines is initially uttered with no subtitles confounding the viewer, until Olarte repeats her words a few seconds later creating another discrepancy between what we see and what we hear. When Luz goes under for hypnosis, she plays the role of multiple characters and speaks as though she’s multiple people creating a sense of confusion, as the translations on top of her rapid switching between different point of views becomes more difficult to break apart. At times sound fades out. At other times it gets much louder. Most of the while, there’s always an evocative synth score playing in the background adding to the auditory chaos. It’s affective audio mixing and gives the soundscape and impressionist feeling, almost as if the words matter less than the feelings behind them. It’s an experiment that could go disastrously poor, but instead gives full life to the themes and ideas inherent in the story by placing the audience in the middle of the communicative battleground where meaning is constantly being carved out.

Matching this chaotic sound design is immaculate set design and editing. The movie primarily takes places in one location, but with the way flashbacks and clever set pieces are used nothing ever feels stale. This is most evidenced during the hypnosis portions of the movie. The camera constantly shows the shift between where Luz is mentally and what her actual surroundings are like. As she re-enacts the cab driving accident that led her to come to the station, we see glimpses of the real situation coming through the fray. Lighting and camera shifts show the way her past forces itself into the present. In a beautiful demonstration of the way the two intermingle, the camera shows Luz’s passenger in the backseat of her “car” through a mirror, provided by the officers to help create a sense of immersion, while everything around her remains the same.

*Luz (Luana Velis)* “driving” under the hypnosis of Dr. Rossini (Jan Bluthardt). In the begginig the camera is positioned to show Luz looking the right with her face in the mirror. As the session progresses, the camera shifts perspective and shows Luz looking towards the left with her passenger Nora’s (Julia Riedler) reflection now taking up the mirror. The subtle transition marks the way Luz’s vision leaks into reality and demonstrates the shift in agencies she experiences.

As the session becomes more intense, the interrogation room becomes more and more misty eventually turning into to a thick impenetrable haze – a reflection of the miasma that surrounds the discourse being cultivated in the room. Set pieces from earlier flashbacks integrate themselves into the room, demonstrating that an effective script and smart set design is all that’s needed to create an truly immersive story. It helps that movie is shot on 16MM which gives every scene a truly gritty and rugged feeling tying all these moments together in an aesthetic fashion.

The strand holding all these elements together is the multifaceted performances given by the small, but highly talented, cast of actors. Luana Velis is the focus of the story and gives life to the enigmatic titular character. From her early and disturbing behavior to the way she becomes laid back and calm during the early stages of her hypnosis, she demonstrates a full range of emotions. Watching her pretend to drive her cab is a treat to see, because it demonstrates how subtle and precise movements are all that’s needed to convey an effective illusion. The way she bops her head to the imaginary radio in her car along with the way she breaks by slamming the pedals matches up so well with the accompanying driving sound effects. It’s hard to believe that she’s not actually hypnotized. Likewise Bluthardt and Riedler give wholly emphatic performances that demonstrate the duplicities of their respective characters. They have to switch and take on multiple different roles to sell central ideas in the movie, and they manage to do so in a way that’s genuinely unnerving. Bluthardt in particular manages to go to some dark and disturbing places with an ease that gets under the skin. I’d love to say more, but I don’t want to give too much away.

My biggest issue with the movie is that in focusing so heavily on Velis, Bluthardt, and Riedler’s characters it loses the potential of Stübiger and Benecke’s characters. Both Bertillon and Olarte seem important from the beginning, but they’re slowly pushed to the sideline as the plot unravels, which feels like a shame given what they potentially offer to the story. The former is a powerful and assertive chief , while the latter is a more timid and religiously uptight translator. Given the thematic dynamic involving supernatural power, possession vs hypnosis, and communication it feels like they could have had a bigger role in fleshing out some of the ideas. For example, there’s one moment where a hypnotized Luz engages in some sacrilege and Olarte refuses to translate given his religious upbringing. Bertillon’s response is just to confusingly ask if her translator is serious about the refrain. This moment could’ve explored a power dynamic between legality and religion and the power of uttering something profane, but instead it’s brushed aside to get the focus back on Luz and Dr. Rossini. The movie is a crisp 77 minutes (a little under if you include the credits), so it’s not like its overly long and couldn’t fit in these moments. That being said, the story is so tight and well structured that these omissions don’t hurt as much as they make you wonder what could’ve been. It’s a strange thing to criticize a movie by saying “I love it, but I want more.” , but with how great the movie is I can’t help but wonder how much more staggering it could’ve been if it fleshed these ideas out more.

However, in spite of my praise, this is not a horror movie I would recommend to everyone. It’s slow, methodical, and very much in the old-school European art-house vein. This is a meditation on communication, power, and the way our attempts at reaching out to one another are always caught in a matrix of interpretation – a matrix that is only partially controlled by us. From the subdued, yet evocative visual style to the inspired soundscape, the movie imbues every painstakingly long scene with an ambiance that will completely hypnotize audience members who are willing to give themselves to the it.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Luz feels like a movie from a different age, one that’s more focused on making the audience feel something than giving a clear narrative with answers at every turn. The way it investigates communication is brilliant and makes effective use of both the possession and police procedural elements of its narrative. Combined with strong compositions, effective set pieces, and a brilliant sound design the movie oozes charisma and a creepy ambiance that old-school horror fans will love. Those viewers who are okay with a slower pace, less plot driven, and more mood drive story will find something special in Tilman’s deconstruction of the supernatural possession based genre.
Rating	9.7/10
Grade	A+

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2000s, 2006, A+, Black-Comedy, Comedy, Grade, Horror, Mockumentary, Review, review-movie, slasher, Thriller, Year

Review: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon

November 11, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Scott Glosserman
Principal Cast	Nathan Baesel as Leslie Vernon Angela Goethals as Taylor Robert Englund as Doc Halloran Kate Lang Johnson as Kelly Ben Pace as Doug Britain Spellings as Todd Scott Wilson as Eugene Bridgett Newton as Jamie
Release Date	2006
Language(s)	English
Running Time	92 minutes

The movie opens in typical slasher style – a POV shot of a teenager, Kelly, as she’s putting the garbage out. She feels someone looking at her before hearing the door behind her slam. She runs away, at which point the aspect ratio changes from a cinematic shot to one that you’d see on an old school television. The movie has transitioned from slasher movie to a TV news report as Taylor, the program’s host, narrates the terrors that slasher villain’s have wreaked on small towns all across America. She mentions the antagonists we all know and love – Jason Voorhees, Freddy Kreuger, and Michael Myers- before revealing that her crew and her are here to interview a new and upcoming serial killer who hopes to live up to the legends. His name is Leslie Vernon.

Taylor (Angela Goethals) standing in front of Leslie’s house, preparing for her interview with the serial killer hopeful.

The crew comprised of Taylor and her two cameramen, Doug and Todd, seek to understand Leslie’s methods – how will he do what he plans and what motivates him to commit such heinous acts. However, their first encounter with the titular antagonist is surprisingly comedic. Leslie doesn’t come out all twisted and ready to kill. Instead, he’s cordial and jovial, constantly joking around with the crew as he goes around and explains his training regimen and planned deed. The casual way he describes the way his family and himself were brutally murdered in the past (origin story) to the nonchalant way he shows the crew how to isolate a perfect group of teen victims, comprised of some virile go-getters (sexually promiscuous teens), slow movers (body count fodder), and a virgin survivor girl (final girl) induce a strange normalcy that lulls the crew and the audience with them into becoming comfortable with the whole display. He explains that his next target is the girl from the start, Kelly, and her friends. His hope is upon completing the massacre of the group, he’ll achieve a legendary status akin to his heroes.

Most of the movie follows this inverse slasher format. Leslie is interviewed in an almost talk show like format, sitting across from Taylor and answering questions about his occupation as though it’s akin to any other. Like any enthused film analyst, he eagerly reveals the tropes of the genre – red herrings, AHABs (think people like Captain Ahab from Moby Dick ), and the like- while also spending time delving into the Yonic and Phallic subtext behind a lot of the typical slasher set pieces – weapons being penis-shaped on purpose or closets representing a place of innocence due to their closeness to a Mother’s womb.

Taylor (Angela Goethals) interviewing Leslie (Nathan Baesel) as if they’re talking about an everyday matter on a TV talk show when in fact they’re discussing how the latter’s murderous intentions and ideas.

Given that Taylor and her crew are documenting his rise, the camera also switches from these documentary like explanations to a cinematic slasher style like the beginning shot taking the lessons Leslie has given the crew and us and demonstrating them to full effect. In many ways, the movie operates like a slasher dialect by breaking down each and every element and convention of the genre, having Leslie give a thematic explanation of the same, getting some pushback from Taylor and crew, and then bringing it all together in an actual demonstration of everything and bringing the process to a full circle. It’s clever, informative, and most importantly elevates the movie to a true horror comedy, not sacrificing horror for comedy or vice versa. They both feed into one another.

The first image shows Todd zooming in on Kelly’s (Kate Lang Johnson) “assets” in documentary fashion. His sexual focus is a direct reference to the way slasher movies play up the sexual proclivities of their characters, giving the audience a buffet of sexual images along with their violence. The immediate transition from documentary style to the enactment of the violence scheme in the second image, which shows Leslie (Nathan Baesel) getting ready to kill a librarian (Zelda Rubinstein ), showcasing the movies ability to flip from inquisition to action at a moments notice.

That’s the true genius of Behind the Mask – it never forgets that it’s trying to be scary. Setting up its plot in such a way helps gets the audience to identify with the camera crew while being on the side of Leslie. How can such a gregarious fellow be heinous? Even as he explains with his serial killer mentor, Eugene (Billy from Black Christmas) , that his role is to serve as a cultural evil in a fight against an eternal good, thereby making it crystal clear that he’s nefarious , we don’t believe it. Even when the movie reminds us of what a danger he is with the slasher type scenes where he brutally butchers innocent people after discussing their deaths’ purpose in relation to his master plan, we’re desensitized to it. The inversion of the slasher formula, having the villain be the protagonist , reveals the gambit the movie is going for – informing us of the level of evil we make ourselves complicit in to get entertainment. As if to drive this point home, as the murders get more intense Leslie slowly reveals just how menacing he really is, as his niceties with the crew peel away whenever they get too close to messing with his intricately laid out plain. Since Scream, no movie has so brazenly told the audience the rules of the horror world its characters inhabit, actively follow those rules to tremendous effect, and then reveal that everything its been telling you should have been taken more seriously. The only difference being Behind the Mask raises the stakes by directly placing us face to face with evil incarnate. It’s a gamble that could have failed spectacularly, but because of the level of commitment put in to create an immersive world and the clever pacing to keep the audience captivated, it pays off.

The reason this duplicity works despite being in plain sight is due to the actors and their respective abilities to flip the script at a moment’s notice. Baesel somehow channels both a warm friendship that makes him feel more similar to a buddy character from a sitcom while easily being able to transition to a psycho killer as though each personality fits into the other. There’s no incongruities at all. Never once did I think a flip was too sudden or out of place. He’s funny, charming, terrifying, and enigmatic all at the same time. Goethals is the perfect counterbalance to Baesel and plays naturally off him in every scene. As the reporter in charge of the strange project, she has the difficult job of both balancing a professional outlook to the subject matter while being unequally unnerved by it. Her ability to emote with gestures and facial reactions conveys the ambiguity she feels about what she’s doing. For example, when her character meets Eugene she goes from inquisitive to terrified and back all within a few moments. Not a beat is missed in conveying the discordant emotions. The natural progression of her relationship with Baesel feels authentic and gives the movie a genuine emotional touch that it has no right having. It makes the way the third act play out something to behold.

Now is the movie perfect? No. There are some slight logistical issues – like how a news team would even get in touch with someone who claims to be the next coming of Krueger or Myers, especially with no backup or protection. It’s a detail that the movie brushes off thematically, but it’s narrative implications become more odd as the story progresses . It never threatens to derail the story, but does stick out given how tightly knit the rest of the movies worldbuilding seems to be. My second issue has more to do with the framing behind the more traditional slasher scenes . Given how in- depth the subtextual and trope analysis is done earlier in the film, I expected a visual panache that would match it. I was expecting stylized kill-scenes a la Halloween or A Nightmare on Elm Street, but instead got something that feels basic compared to the intricacy of everything that came before it. That’s not to say the visual style isn’t impressive – the camera switching from a documentary style to a cinematic style definitely showcases how lighting and proper contrast turn a normal scene into something scary- rather, it just feels like a missed opportunity the movie could have gone for to really hit a homerun. I’m grateful that at the very least there’s no awful shaky cam or obfuscation of the kill scenes – everything is clearly on display- I just wanted more.

That being said, Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is definitely a movie that earns its stripes. Very rarely do horror comedies so deftly weave both the terrifying and comedic elements so well, and the way the movie navigates between both modes through its mockumentary to cinematic story approach is refreshing and gives the movie a unique identity in a sea of horror deconstruction movies. Not since Scream has there been this much creativity in breaking down and executing horror, and if that’s not high praise I don’t know what is. The way the movie moves through a dialect- segmenting elements of the genre, explaining them, going through a discussion of them, and demonstrating them in their full form- makes it required watching for any slasher fan.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is the rare breed of movie that manages to elicit laughter at the same as time as it sends shivers down your spine The mockumentary style feature on an up-and-coming serial killer, Leslie Vernon, feels like fun and games as he casually discusses his murderous plans all while explaining slasher tropes, themes, and metaphoric imagery. However, it quickly becomes serious as the documentary style shooting is traded for a more cinematic traditional slasher style that puts Leslie’s explanations to good use. The inversion of the slasher formula along with the movie’s clever and well planned out documentary/cinematic shuffle helps to deliver a movie that genre fans should not miss out on.
Rating	9.6/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2018, A+, Art House, Drama, Grade, Horror, Musical, mystery, psychological, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Film Review: Climax – 2018

November 10, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Gaspar Noé
Principal Cast	Sofia Boutella as Selva Romain Guillermic as David Souheila Yacoub as Lou Kiddy Smile as Daddy Claude Gajan Maull as Emmanuelle Thea Carla Schøtt as Psyché
Release Date	2018
Language(s)	French, English
Running Time	96 minutes

A woman crawls in the snow leaving bloody markings wherever her body moves. The camera follows her ragged, desperate movement and swirls around her as her body imprints a set of bloody snow angels into the previously white and pure backdrop. The camera slowly pans down passing over a tree, a torrent of branches unfolding in a rhizomatic pattern – an mazelike structure with infinite openings and endings.

The camera moves from the first image to the next in a nice and steady pan down, highlighting that the bloody snow-angel making figure can be interpreted in a plethora of ways, as diverse as the rhizomatic branches of the tree.

Words pop up on the screen informing us the movie is dedicated to “makers who are no longer with us” before indicating that the movie is based on a real event that happened in France, during the winter of 1996. The text “existence is a fleeting illusion” pops up on the screen for a split second, its appearance as fleeting as the message it provides. Then the credits start to play. These first 3 minutes of Gaspar Noé’s climax tell the story of the entire movie while revealing absolutely nothing about what’s to come. A brief impression – violence, beauty, movement, text, beginning, ending, climax – that informs that audience that they are in fact watching a movie, not an illusion of reality.

The postmodern bent continues as the movie cuts to an old fashioned television set , one that you’d see back in ’96, surrounded by a collection of Noé’s favorite books and movies. Titles like Zulawski’s Possession and Argento’s Suspiria are present, letting you know the auteur’s influences and future direction. The screen shows the audition tapes of dancers who are trying out for a troupe. They’re questioned by two off screen presences, one of whom is Noé himself – a director who quite literally places himself in the movie, reminding us that the director’s voice is as part of the movie as anyone else.

Psyché (Thea Carla Schøtt) gives her interview on the TV screen surrounded by Noé’s favorite books and movies on both sides. Media within media – this is postmodern filmmaking that informs the audience that they’re watching a movie and the director is very much involved in it.

The dancers are asked a series of questions involving their relationship to dance, the meaning of what they do, what experiences they’ve had, what they look forward to, and so on. Each dancer only talks for a few moments, giving the audience a brief impression of them and their interests, as their answers reveal the importance of dance as a method of experiencing life and joy – a survival mechanism that lets the body transform into something else. They talk about drugs, sex, sexuality, and the way those elements permeate the dance scene turning the discussion and interview into one about dance as an assemblage – a mechanization of multiple moving parts interacting with the desire of the dancers. Like the tree shown in the introduction, dancing is a rhizome that’s infinitely malleable.

As if to demonstrate this thought the movie cuts from the interviews to a beautifully choregraphed dance sequence that showcases the talent of the dancers. Energetic music pulses through the background setting the stage for the wonderous number that’s about to commence. The camera glides and dips around from multiple different angles without ever cutting, reflecting the way bodies move in an constant ebb and flow among and within each other. Multiple bodies coalesce into a singular entity showcasing the transformative power of dance as a way to break down ones barriers. Finally the group breaks and the pseudo-protagonist of our movie, Selva, proclaims “God is with us”, indicating that the creativity and beauty of the dance piece is a form of spiritual praxis.

These two stills from the fantastic dance sequence show the body as an assemblage as each individual gives way and comes together to create a moving, writhing entity that feels entirely whole. The camera deftly navigates the dance troupe showcasing them from multiple angles to highlight this idea of difference in and out of sameness.

Now that the main piece is done, the dancers mingle about one another celebrating their achievement with a festive and joyous party. They drink sangria from the punch bowl and engage in celebration at their accomplishments. The camera follows members of the party (primarily Selva) as everyone interacts with one another. The movie takes the time to cut between different characters conversing with one another, giving the audience a chance to let their impressions of the characters from earlier fill out and grow. There’s an impromptu nature to the dialogue which gives it an earnest realness and helps serve as a contrast to the more extreme intrusions the movie has forced/will force upon us. After a while, the movie cuts to a long individual dance montage, where the dancers show themselves off as their peers crowd around them in a circle cheering whoever is dancing on. This will be the last reprieve before the terror of the movie sets in. At the end of the dance, the credits play again- another beginning, another ending, another climax.

The movie births a new scene that comprises the brunt of the run time and zooms in on a cup of sangria being taken from a pitcher. The focus on the drink is important, because unknown to the characters, the sangria is spiked with LSD and turns the peaceful and energetic party into a chaotic hellscape.

The sangria is a player in the process , helping each dancer lose their mask to reveal another self within. The camera showcases it’s a key agent in the depravity that unfolds.

Characters start to lose any and all inhibitions as they become increasingly prone to acting on emotion as opposed to any semblance of reason. They realize something is wrong and a group of them desperately try and figure out who spiked the sangria. The ensuing witch hunt is horrifying to watch, as characters are brutalized by mob style accusations and judgements. Meanwhile, other characters drift off in the background, some of them dancing as though the events occurring in other portions of the dance hall are of no importance to them while others wander aimlessly, struggling to keep an internal coherence.

All the while the neon colors bursting through every shot become threatening as opposed to comforting, highlighting the chaos of the setting. The dance music which previously felt so upbeat and energizing transforms into a pulsating terror, not because the songs or their tempo themselves change, but because the situation they’re playing in is so radically different. At one point, Sofia Boutella channels her inner Isabelle Adjani and performs her own rendition of the infamous Possession subway scene – one of the instances of Noé’s earlier winks to the audience coming to life in his own movie.

Selva (Sofia Boutella) channels Isabelle Adjani in this homage to Possession by Andrzej Żuławski. The chaotic way she throws her body around fits with the energy and mood of the movie once the sangria hits and also serves as a nice callback to the opening audition scene.

As her character struggles to find footing in the topsy-turvy environment, the camera suddenly turns upside down. The dancers who looked so majestic earlier turn into hellish figures, evoking images of gargoyles and other creatures of the night. A heaven turned into hell.

Bodies seem like demonic entities when filmed upside down and dancing, fully lost in a rhythm and energy that assaults the senses. The world is as upside down as everyone feels and the embrace of chaos transforms the dancers.

The story of Climax is the story of the Earth – a place of beauty and wonder that goes through bouts of chaos. The dancers represent the different facets of humanity – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the sublime. Their introductions at the beginning of the movies are their representations of themselves – a persona they inhabit and may genuinely believe is indicative of who they are. Dancing is their method of engagement, a way of living among and with each other. It can be beautiful and a sight to see or horrifying and something the eyes want to avert away from. The dancers’ deterioration is not so much a comment on drugs as it is on the hidden desires that lay buried beneath the masks we place. For some of us those desires are ugly, violent, and brutal. For others they’re beautiful, quiet, and loving. Noé ensures this message is clear by ensuring that some of the characters do not partake in the sangria. Their behavior matching those of their peers reflects that these transformations in personality are not substance based, but rather another side, a birth of a new self marked by the death of some other self. The movie even tells us this directly. Near the start of the movie the words “birth is a unique opportunity” pop on the screen. Near the end of the movie the words” death is an extraordinary experience” show up. Life and death- two sides of the same coin – an interplay everything and everybody constantly goes through because stability is fleeting.

The image on the right says “Birth is a unique opportunity” , while the image on the left says “Death is an extraordinary experience” albeit upside down. Slides with expressions constantly interrupt the movie like this to offer some poetic aphorism before disappearing and letting the narrative run its course. Each is individually stylized to bring home the point of the message being presented.

The constant interruptions of sections of the movie by either the words or by the presence of new credits tells the audience that every act should be seen as the birth of a new story. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end with its own respective climax. As the movie demonstrates near the end of its runtime, the scene we see at the start of the movie is really the end- a story that starts with a climax and ends with a climax. For what is a climax? A culmination and development of a thread into something spectacular. But if everything lives and dies, if every moment is the birth of something new and the death of what came before, then every second is a climax of its own sort. This is the beauty of the movie – it demonstrates this idea in every way possible, from the structure of the story to the way scenes play out. It’s all a climax and as such it’s all open to the possibility of creativity and/or chaos.

Dance is the vehicle by which the movie explores this idea and Noé uses his impeccable technical skill to translate this idea into an experience. One does not walk away from Climax without going through some intense feelings, whether those feelings are of excitement at the beauty and creative explosion present or disgust and misery at the pain that’s on display. The focus on the movement of the dancers and the constant and energetic soundtrack makes the movie a feast for the eyes and ears. There’s always something visually interesting happening on screen, even if it terrifying. The neon color palette is breathtaking and drips through every single frame.

The color palette shifts from neon blues to greens to reds without ever feeling boring or played out. This is Noé paying homage to *Suspiria* and using its evocative color scheme to his advantage. Along with the way bodies move, the color keeps every shot visually arresting.

The incredibly long takes keeps the experience continuous, never giving the audience a moment to breathe or think. This is experiential filmmaking at its finest. I can totally understand people who dislike this movie and see it as a series of random events and dialogue that seemingly proceeds in a haphazard manner. Likewise, I can understand people who hate the movie because of how miserable it ends up feeling. It goes to some dark and disturbing places. But to me, that’s life. It’s a random scattered set of experiences with some semblance of order that is then constantly interpreted by us as we move along its path. There’s good and bad and everything in between. This is a movie that captures that essence and makes everything from the structure of the movie to the narrative proper reflect that feeling.

None of the movie would be possible without the cult of personalities presented by the actors, most of whom have never acted before this. Obviously Boutella is excellent and serves as a kind of character anchor the audience follows to help keep them from getting too lost in the chaotic world Noé creates. Anyone who can do Adjani’s chaotic acting from Possession justice deserves kudos and Boutella nails it. But she’s an actor. It’s no surprise that she can act well. What is surprising is a large majority of the primarily dancer cast is able to keep up with her energy and ability to flip a switch the moment shit hits the fan. The cast is huge, but every single member of it exudes their own unique set of traits that makes them all interesting to follow in their own right. Maull nails a constant anxiety and fear that makes her character seem jumpy and unconfident. Schøtt brings an apathy and an off-kilter vibe that makes Psyché feel like a force of nature more than an actual person. Smile brings a sense of comfort and authority to his aptly named character, Daddy. I could go on and on, but the point is every actor brings something new to the mix giving Climax a surprising amount of depth. In fact, every time I watch the movie I focus on another one of the characters and follow whatever they’re doing when the movie pans to them. Are they embracing creativity or chaos ? How are they acting compared to their previous interview and/or conversations from the earlier acts of the movie? Because of how much time is spent letting the actors breathe life into their characters, you can come away from movie having gotten a plethora of different “narratives”, showcasing the themes mentioned above.

The genius of Climax is despite being unabashedly artistic, experimental, in your face, and provocative it still manages to have time to answer the mystery of who spiked the sangria – saving the reveal for the very last moment of the movie. Based on all previous information, the reveal is poetic and gives the movie a neo-giallo kind of feeling behind all the music and dance. There’s a “masked” killer (the mask being the persona the killer use) whose plans end up causing tremendous amounts of violence, characters desperately try to figure out who the character is with no real success, and the movie ends on the killer’s reveal without ever giving away their motivations, leaving that interpretation up the audience. Having a narrative that ends with an actual answer on top of doing everything else in between is testament to Noé’s strength as an auteur. He doesn’t forget to deal with the main plot despite seemingly not being all at that interested in it.

Now while I think of Climax as an audio-visual poem that uses its dancers as different stanzas in a tale about life, I don’t think the movie is for everyone. I do think those who dislike Noé’s earlier works might find something interesting in this. However, I don’t think those who like a conventional narrative will enjoy this. There is a story. There is a buildup. There is a conclusion. But the movie is more focused on feeling like an experience than giving you a coherent tale. It’s very much inspired by the French New Wave (the movie even tells the audience in one of its text/phrase cutaways that it’s a French film and it’s proud of it) and doesn’t hesitate to let the audience know that this is a movie. It intentionally wants to get a rise out of you. Noé is a provocateur and wants you to feel uneasy and miserable. A lot of people call this movie an exercise in style as opposed to substance and while I disagree as evidenced by my adoration above, I can understand that point of view if you’re coming into it expecting a well-structured story with a clear plot. If you’re someone who enjoys art house proclivities and want an experience that ferociously comes at your sense this is the movie for you. If not, go watch something else. The world is open to infinite possibilities. Go and embrace whatever suits your fancy.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Climax is an audio-visual experience that demonstrates that style can absolutely be substance. It’s a cinematic poem that explores the multiplicity of life in both its creative splendor and its ability to fall into depravity. The narrative eschews tradition in favor of embracing its themes in every way possible from slides of words that interrupt the action to constantly playing a different version of the credits at interesting points in the movie. All of this is done in service of demonstrating that life is a constant process of birth and death- an infinite series of climaxes where anything can happen. The dance sequences are mesmerizing and the music is hypnotic. The depravity is heartbreaking and revolting without ever losing its sense of beauty. Shots are draped in neon colors and constant movement which makes every moment visually arresting. The story of a dance troupe falling into disarray after drinking spiked sangria is only a small portion of the movie despite “being” the main narrative. To get the full experience, you have to be willing to take a leap of faith into Noé’s rhizomatic world.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2017, A, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: The Ritual

November 9, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	David Bruckner
Principal Cast	Rafe Spall as Luke Arsher Ali as Phil Robert James-Collier as Hutch Sam Troughton as Dom Paul Reid as Robert
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English
Running Time	94 minutes

A group of 5 friends – Luke, Phil, Hutch, Dom, and Robert- meet in a bar to plan their next vacation with one another. Like any group of mates from college they’ve obviously outgrown their younger tendencies and struggle to determine a good location. As each of them suggests a possible spot another rejects it for some contrived reason. The group session ends with no decision and Luke, the loner of the group who seems most caught up in his past life, decides he wants to buy another bottle of booze from a convenience store. His mates, who have responsibilities now, don’t particularly want to come with him, but eventually Robert acquiesces and joins along. Unfortunately, the store they visit is being robbed by some violent cretins. Luke, with his bottle in hand, runs and hides. Robert isn’t as lucky and ends up losing his life as he’s brutally sliced apart while Luke watches in the background, petrified and unable to move. The movie cuts to Luke waking up in Sweden as his friends and him have decided to go on a hiking trip – Robert’s suggestion from that night so many months ago – to honor their late friend’s legacy.

From the outset, Luke is positioned apart from his 3 other friends. It doesn’t need to be said, but the elephant in the room is clear – he survived and did nothing as Robert died inside. The movie makes this clear in its composition, keeping Luke at an arms length from his mates, reminding the audience there’s a wound there that hasn’t been addressed.

As the group wakes to give their respects to Robert, Luke (Rafe Spall) is the first one up and he positions himself immediately away from the rest of his mates. The first image is a recurrent composition the movie employs to showcase just how fractured the group is due to the tensions between him and the other members. The second image highlights the way the rest of Luke’s friends position themselves in relation to him. The first one out of the tent is Hutch (Robert James-Collier), followed by Phil (Arsher Ali), finally followed by Dom (Sam Troughton). This sequencing of the friends is also something the movie frequently employs to make Luke’s subsequent emotional journey more coherent, while giving the audience a good view of the group’s dynamic.

After making a toast to Robert, the four friends track back on the mountainous path that seems to engulf them. The camera showcases just how small they really are in this wide area, yet to be tamed by “modern” civilization. As they continue, Dom trips and hurts his leg. Given that he’s the member of the group who most misses Robert and positions himself furthest from Luke at all times, this external injury seems to match the internal struggle he faces in getting over the issue and forgiving his friend. Needless to say, his injury derails the groups plans and they decide to cut through an ominous, foreboding forest to get back to their lodge faster. As Luke and Hutch canvas the area, the camera demonstrates just how distant the lodge looks as it seems to be overwhelmed by the forest surrounding it from all angles – civilization covered by the mysterious and natural – a sign of things to come.

The group makes their way through the forest. An eerie string based composition starts to play, starting off low and slowly becoming more threatening. It cuts out and we can hear the twigs snap in an utter silence. The wind blows, a gust against the ears. This soundscape is the forest speaking – a natural language that’s incomprehensible to human ears in easy to define terms, but that generates an emotional sensation – that of fear. The group happens upon a gutted animal, ceremoniously hung from the trees. A hunter perhaps. But as the characters ask, what kind of hunter would be able to enact such a feat, let alone go ahead with it. Desperate to get the macabre imagery out of their heads, they continue until the night falls. A heavy rain covers the group, incentivizing them to stay the night in an abandoned cabin straight out of the Evil Dead. They explore the relic from the past and find a host of disturbing religious paraphernalia. Combined with the gutted animal, the images provide too much for the group who have no choice but to ignore and get to sleep.

Luke awakes to a bright lit pouring into the cabin. He tries to wake his friends but they refuse to wake up. He goes outside and suddenly he’s transported back to the convenience store where his friend passed. He’s forced to relive the trauma – to experience his mistake and sense of shame once again before waking and realizing it was just a dream. He runs back to the cabin and realizes like him, every one of his friends has experienced some kind of night time terror – a dance with the dark vestiges of their minds, the forest, or perhaps both. The group falls into an emotional disarray as the members are desperate to get over the instance and leave the menacing forest. Unfortunately for them, it’s not going to be so easy.

This is The Ritual, a meditation on friendship, grief, dissolution, and masculinity. From the pub scene at the beginning to the trek the group makes into the forest, it’s clear that the friend group is at a crossroads of sorts. While most of the members have seemingly grown up and become “adults” so to say, Luke is trapped in his “glory days”. His friends have partners and kids. Meanwhile he has his booze. The death of Robert is the camel that breaks the back of the friendship – forcing the party to confront one another over issues that have been ignored in lieu of maintaining a camaraderie. While civilization gave them avenues to forget and taper over the issue, the raw affective intensity of the forest, free from the bounds of society, give them a chance to get those emotions out in play. Their frustrations at being lost in the forest bleed into their original frustrations – Luke’s inability to save their friend.

As a man, it’s expected that Luke should’ve mustered some courage and fight for his friend. His friends might not outright say it, but they all believe it to some effect. This is constantly reflected in the blocking of the characters in position to Luke. When he’s not apart from the others, he’s always placed closest to Hutch, then Phil, ending with Dom – a reflection of the different levels of grief, acceptance, and culpability his friends feel about him and Rob’s death. The group has ignored the emotional wounds between them in an attempt to pretend everything is okay – another sign of a failed masculine overcoding that can’t reckon with the situation. Being bros somehow translates to not showing emotions, not accepting a place for weakness and vulnerability. This point is repeated by the shared dream sequence. Despite each member of the group having gone through something harrowing at night, experiencing psychologically painful visions, they refuse to talk about. Hutch even exclaims he doesn’t want to psychoanalyze because there are real issues at stake – as though the emotional damage the group feels is not real. The group of “friends” would rather beat the piss out of each other than genuinely talk to each other, a violent reaction as opposed to a vulnerable discussion. It’s a value statement that reflects the way emotional sensibilities are pushed aside by civility. It’s no coincidence that the group is forced to deal with their emotions once they’re outside of the bounds of the same.

The setting of the story constantly reflects this internal struggle, making it something we see and hear. As I’ve mentioned the score (which sounds similar in feeling to that of The Witch) and the crisp sound mixing give the forest a genuine sense of agency. Every branch being crushed, every gust of wind that feels like a spectral entity speaking, every random sound of movement gives the forest a voice. The music which starts off low becomes more boisterous and ceremonial sounding, ritualistic as the movie title suggests. It’s an unnerving soundscape that works at ratcheting up the tension while giving the movie’s emotional undercurrent a palpable measure. This is exemplified the most in the ending song of choice, which I won’t spoil, but will say succinctly ties the movie up beautifully. At a visual level, the camera constantly positions the group in the midst of long and looming trees, with ominous branches moving out like sets of hands literally threatening to come out and grab them at any time. There are multiple shots of just the scraggly and wicked looking branches, which look like they could poke an eye out if not careful. It’s an effective reminder of the way the emotional turmoil the group is facing risks swallowing them entirely, the weight of their emotions actively covering up and encroaching the spaces the characters place themselves in.

The forest threatens to overwhelm the group and represents their emotionally fragmented and tumultuous state. The first image in the first row showcases just how small they are in the grander scheme of the forest (the use of the tree to guide the audience’s eye is great). The second image in the first row one of the many shots of the ominous looking branches that seem like hands ready to grab the group. They radiate an malicious intent. The image in the second row is a demonstration of the beautiful way the trees are used to block the characters apart from one another. It represents the way their inability to deal with their issues literally separates them from one another.

Effective mood and atmosphere – this is how the movie manages to completely enrapture the audience in the terror its characters face. The fact that the story starts with Robert’s violent death sets the tone for everything that’s to come – it sets an expectation that this is a story motivated by loss, whether that be loss of a friendship, loss of identity, or loss of loved ones. The move to the forest and the effective utilization of familiar horror tropes -creepy cabin in the woods, runic carvings on trees, unnerving dream sequences, and undecipherable movement throughout the forest- helps the audience get familiar with the story with little effort. Instead of getting lost on the minutia , we’re razor focused on the story of the characters. That’s not to say that these tropes are used just as an easy tool to easy the storytelling – they’re all motivated by the storytelling and a compelling art direction that fully rears its head in the third act.

At the heart of the story is the group of friends themselves. The actors portraying each of these characters does a bang up job at selling the nature of their friendship. From the way the characters banter to the way they emote with one another, it’s clear that they’re a group of all friends who have a host of shared memories and a reluctance to engage in any serious emotional dialogue. As someone who’s had/has many of the same friend groups, I could literally place my own friends in the characters places. They’re relatable, down to Earth, and genuinely human. Because the movie spends so much time getting the audience focused on them as opposed to random story details, we end up caring when things start happening to them as opposed to questioning why those things are happening. Not one of the characters feels one note (even if some feel less developed than others). In fact, they’re so realistic that even their joking banter in the face of some truly heinous phenomena feels natural and gives the movie a levity that doesn’t upend the eerie tension that builds through the runtime at a steady pace. This is effective horror film-making.

The issues with the movie have more do with the movie’s focus on Luke as the primary vehicle the audience gets to experience trauma and overcoming it. As I mentioned, each of the characters has their own take on Robert’s death and Luke’s decision-making during that event, but we only ever really get to hear one persons opinion and part of another. For a movie that’s about breaking open a civilized masculinity in favor of emotional openness, it would have been nice to see the nuance in perspective from the group to get a fuller and more rounded picture. Likewise, this is reflected in the fact that the only dream sequences we see are Luke’s. The other characters hint at what they saw, but getting to see their visions and their relation to them would open up the possibility for a genuine deconstruction of the way over-masculinity manifests. The movie ends up using every character outside of Luke to help him transition from emotionally stunted to open, denying them a unique chance to grow and making them more like benchmarks for the protagonist to gauge character progression. Sure, the run time of the movie might have been another 10-15 minutes if they all got their unique arcs/development, but in the context of what the movie was trying to achieve I think that would’ve been fine. There are definitely moments in the movie , especially in the 3rd act, which could have been trimmed out to make time for these moments.

Speaking of the 3rd act, while I genuinely enjoyed the way it reveals the “secrets” of the forest and the mystery surrounding the groups journey, it comes off a bit jarring compared to the intensity of the previous two acts. The attempts at giving explanations to the mystery feel like they either should have been expanded on or given in a more cryptic fashion to match with the exceptional and breathtaking scenes that end up occurring.

That being said, these complaints should not detract from the bigger picture. The Ritual is a stunning movie that has an important message about overcoming trauma – both at an individual and social level. The way the cinematography and audio work externalize the characters internal struggles is masterful and keeps the stories themes front and center even if we’re not aware that’s what’s happening. Acting is great all around and really helps sell some of the emotional gut punches the movie has waiting for us. Definitely a movie you want to see with a group of friends, especially if you can see your mates in the characters present.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Ritual is an ambitious piece of horror filmmaking that attempts to analyze and breakdown masculinity, friendship, trauma and their relations to one another in a palatable and non-preachy way. The story starts with a brutal death and carries the emotional weight of that event through the run-time, forcing the characters and the audience to engage in a dialogue about forgiving oneself and finding the strength to connect to our rawer, more emotional sides. The technical aspects of the movie are stunning from the unnerving score to the masterful art design. If you’re looking for a creepy movie to watch with the boys, look no further.
Rating	9.1/10
Grade	A

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2010s, 2014, A, Grade, Horror, mystery, Review, review-movie, supernatural, Thriller, Year

Review: The Autopsy of Jane Doe

November 7, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	André Øvredal
Principal Cast	Emile Hirsch as Austin Brian Cox as Tommy Olwen Kelly as Jane Doe Ophelia Lovibond as Emma Michael McElhatton as Sheriff Burke
Release Date	2014
Language(s)	English
Running Time	86 minutes

The title sequence opens up on words slowly being revealed under layers of dirt. As each member of the movie is revealed, their name and role is blown away by the wind until finally the title of the movie shows for a brief few seconds.

The title card is slowly unearthed from the dirt like a secret hidden away and waiting to be uncovered. An signal of things to come.

The camera cuts to an outside view of a house- fuzzy and upside down. As the shot slowly reorients itself to look normal the movie cuts to outside of the house, changing from a point of view shot to an establishing shot. This is a hint of things to come- an agency that has just been unearthed that remains in the background – disrupting the objectivity of what is to occur.

Sherrif Burke enters the house – the scene of a crime that he and his crew can’t seem to figure out. As the camera slowly moves throughout the abode, revealing the badly damaged and bloodied corpses all around, it eventually ends up in the basement where Burke discovers a clean and unsullied female corpse, preserved under a layer of dirt. Compared to the mutilated bodies aboveground, this Jane Doe has absolutely no sign of external injury. Baffled by the strange discovery, Burke moves the body town to the Tilden funeral home, eager to get a cause of death by the morning.

The bodies found upstairs are bloodied and bruised, as though violently beaten and mangled. Meanwhile, Jane Doe’s body on left image is preserved in almost pristine condition, with the dirt encasing her like a protective shield. The way her body is covered in dirt ties in directly to the way the title card appears from underneath the ground.

The movie cuts to the funeral home which is run by Tommy, an older and emotionally jaded man, and his younger and more optimistic son, Austin. Before showcasing the father-son duo at work, the camera establishes the setting for the audience, weaving through the mazelike hallway. This home for the dead zigs and zags with very little room to maneuver around. There’s only one way up and out of the underground dwelling – an elevator that whirs with power as it moves. The camera constantly showcases a curved mirror on the corner of one of the hallways, which gives a reflection that seems to only give impressions of what it sees. Eventually the camera settles on Tommy and Austin performing an autopsy on a badly burned body, as the radio plays in the background giving their morbid work a moreupbeat soundtrack. The latter is goaded into giving his own assessment before being corrected by his father, who reminds him their job is not to figure out why a cadaver is there but instead to figure out how it got to the position its in. It’s clear there’s an disconnect between the two as Tommy injects a sympathy into his work for the deceased as opposed to his father who rationally approaches the work, determined to get to the bottom of each as. As he reminds his son afterwards, every body has a secret. Some are just better at hiding them than others. These words gain a haunting resonance as the movie continues, becoming the thematic thread that ties the relevant sub-plots together. It is just as they finish up with the corpse at their table, that Burke shows up at their location with Jane Doe.

As Austin is just about to leave for the night to go on a date with his partner, Emma, he feels a sense of guilt at leaving his father alone to deal with a fresh new corpse and postpones his rendezvous in order to help his dad out. As evidence by his playful pleading with Emma, this is commonplace behavior, as Austin feels the need to take care of his father after the loss of his mother. He ventures back down to the autopsy room and takes his place with Tommy, eager to finish the nights work and get to more pleasant activities. They begin the autopsy with gusto, intrigued by the unmarred body that is somehow dead. As they perform their procedural tests, the camera cuts to Jane Doe, imbuing with her with a strange sense of agency despite her appearance. During the procedure, the radio the Tildens have on continues to blare their upbeat and positive music.

However, the music quickly changes to “Open Up Your Heart (And Let the Sunshine In)” when Tommy gets to ready to perform invasive procedures on the body.

Almost as if to signal the presence of an unseen agent turning the radio signal, the camera zooms in to the speaker portion emphasizing the ominous nature of the otherwise cheery song which randomly seems to appear.

As the song continues, the movie once again cuts to Jane Doe, as though she has something to do with the random occurrence. The odd choice of song becomes especially eerie in contrast to the brutal precision by which her body is torn apart. The Tildens are baffled by a series of impossible discoveries- injuries on the inside of the body that would be impossible to inflict onto someone without some reflection on the outside only scratch at the surface of the rabbit hole they go down. The deeper they prod, the stranger circumstances at the funeral home seem to get. The radio constantly switches to either to “Open Up Your Heart (And Let the Sunshine In)” or a news report that indicates that there’s a massive amount of flooding happening, a strange juxtaposition between sunshine and dampening rainfall to match with the strange contrast between the pristine condition of Jane’s body versus her brutal internal injuries. The whole time, the camera lingers on Jane’s gaze, which penetrates the audience as if she’s watching and controlling the situation around her. If Tommy’s statement about secrets is correct, then what nefarious truth is being hidden by a body whose presence can force a radio to play a song about sunshine whenever her cadaver is further ripped apart.

Matching the strange occurrences happening within the autopsy room are the eerie sounds of bells and movements outside in the hallways. Early on Tommy reveals that in the past, bodies had bells tied around their ankles so that mistaken comatose people could ring and indicate they were alive as opposed to dead. As things ramp up, these noises become more and more prominent, prompting some intense investigation scenes which constantly amp up the tension. Images are reflected on the curved mirror, never clear enough for us or the character’s to get a good view of who or what is roaming through the halls. This interplay – Jane’s face staring at the camera, the radio switching from happy song to eerie news story, reflections in the mirror, creepy noises abound, and the autopsy proper- keeps the movie flowing at a steady pace all while keeping the audiences creeped out. There’s never a moment for us to breathe a sigh of relief. That’s what I call effective horror filmmaking.

This is a movie about assumptions and the way we play into into them willingly and/or unknowingly. These assumptions are based on information that’s available to us and the way it matches up with the presuppositions we have about the world around, which lead us to to radically different interpretations of the same event. At the level of the main story Tommy’s interpretations of Jane’s condition are based on his rationalistic and procedural interpretation of the way bodies react to physical stimuli. He’s obsessed with explaining how an unblemished body on the outside can host such disgusting injuries within. Meanwhile Austin’s interpretation is based on trying to place Jane within a context that explains why this even happened to her. As Tommy noted earlier, if everyone has secrets and those secrets are hidden, then how do these interpretations find a finality? They’re based on what an agent wants us to know about them which might radically differ from what we “should” know about them. This struggle to discover Jane’s truth bleeds over to the Tildens’ struggle to understand one another and their own shared trauma, tying the supernatural investigation to an emotional center we can relate to. The plot points build on and contrasts one another in a dialect of interpretation that really hits home the importance of not taking anything for granted.

If there’s an issue with the film’s story structure, it has more to do when certain emotional moments are revealed as opposed to the reveals themselves. There’s obviously a tension and emotional bond between the father-son duo that’s constantly hinted and teased at. There’s a reason Tommy is doting on his dad and a reason his dad is so focused on his work and unable to open up. Up to the second act, this secretive bond is slowly prodded open, revealing the heart of what’s going on. However, the movie ramps the pace of the reveal up unexpectedly and jarringly in the third act, as it comes directly after another unrelated emotionally jarring incident involving the two characters. Compared to the slow and effective pacing up to then, the simultaneous gut punch loses efficacy because there’s not enough time for the characters or us to process the importance of what’s being said. Substantively, the revelation is fantastic – it ties into the themes of the story and compliments the final reveals related to Jane Doe. The issue is it structurally feels haphazard which removes a lot of the heft it could have packed.

However, despite this slight misstep there is still an emotional resonance the movie manages to tap into due the acting power of its main duo. Brian Cox’s may portray a cold and unopen father for most of the movie, but he constantly makes it apparent he cares for Hirsch’s character through the way he smiles at his son’s growth in the autopsy craft or through his concern for his son’s health as things get dicer in the story. Watching him make the decisions he does in the third act tug at heartstrings and feel earned despite the rushed emotional reveal I talked about earlier. He shows a genuine care in his eyes that makes you realize in spite of his stoicism, he possesses a deep love for his last remaining family. Meanwhile, Hirsch perfectly encapsulates the role of a son who’s desperate to help his father, but unable to find a way how. He shows a stubbornness in his demeanor that makes sense given the way he’s “bossed” around on the job but never lets that collapse into a frustration. Their performances naturally compliment one another and their believable relationship is what gives the movie’s ending as much power as it has.

That being said, the star of the movie is Olwen Kelly, who manages to terrify the audience despite never moving an inch from the operating table she’s placed on. It would have been easy to go for a dummy. It is a movie about performing an autopsy on a dead body. However, Øvredal’s decision to go with a live actor is what makes the cuts to Kelly’s face so unnerving. The reason she feels alive – the reason a cadaver feels like it has a genuine agency in the events of the movie – is because the camera is on an actress and not some synthetic stand-in. Despite being naked, Øvredal’s camera never exploits the actor and constantly positions her in a way that makes her the center of the room. Even when her breasts are exposed on frame, they’re never the focal point. It’s always her gaze – a pair of cloudy eyes that are impossible to read but seemingly rip into the soul of the audience. There are no “sexy” shots. It’s all about respect, and as a result Kelly manages to give a lifeless, immobile character a sense of power and presence without ever moving a muscle. That’s good filmmaking and a testament to the importance of acting in the most subtle ways.

From left to right: Tommy (Brian Cox), Jane Doe (Olwen Kelly), and Austin (Emile Hirsch). Despite being in the nude, Kelly’s body is never sexualized and is treated with respect which in turns gives her character, Jane, a presence that feels equal to the Tildens who are performing the autopsy. Shots similar to this fill the movie with Kelly being made the focal point without the movie ever feeling exploitative. Even during an action which could be made sexual, like photographing, the camera shows a more neutral view. This is classy filmmaking that serves a purpose.

Does the movie nail every punch it throws? No. But when the journey is as unsettling and powerful as this one turns out to be, that’s a minor complaint. If you’re looking for a supernatural flick that’s willing to subvert your expectations in ways that are earned as opposed to cheap or are just looking for a movie that gets under your skin, look no further. The secrets hidden beneath the surface of The Autopsy of Jane Doe are worth digging into.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	The Autopsy of Jane Doe is a supernatural thriller that proves tight execution and meaningful camera work are all that’s necessary to unnerve and creep out audiences. The story of a father-son duo desperate to figure out the secrets of a deceased Jane Doe invites the audience to think critically about secrets and whether or not we can ever really know someone as well as we think we do. There’s an emotional heft, disturbing visual scares, and an constant sense that something’s wrong. Plus, Olwen Kelly manages to give an unmoving corpse a sense of agency and character. That should be reason enough for any genre fan to check this one out.
Rating	9.3/10
Grade	A

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1920s, A+, Fantasy, Grade, Horror, mystery, psychological, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

November 5, 2020 The Critic Leave a comment

Director(s)	Robert Wiene
Principal Cast	Werner Krauss as Dr. Caligari Conrad Veidt as Cesare Friedrich Fehér as Francis Lil Dagover as Jane Hans Heinz v. Twardowski as Alan
Release Date	1920
Language(s)	Silent
Running Time	67 minutes

Jagged structures. Paths that go down when they appear to go up. Unnatural shadows painted along surfaces to confuse perception. The constant use of close-ups and iris shots to reinforce that every scene is a certain point of view. Wiene’s seminal work of German Expressionism, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is a tale that makes use of every method possible to reinforce the nature of subjectivity – the underlying deception hidden beneath the truth of everyday beliefs. From the masterful mise-en-scene to the way scenes transition to one anther, the story constantly reminds us that no character should be trusted as an arbiter of the truth, but rather as merely a malleable perspective on it.

The story starts off with a young man, Francis, talking to an elderly gentlemen about the madness he and his fiancé, Jane, faced at the hands of the nefarious Dr. Caligari. From the start of the movie, it’s made apparent this is a story, a certain point of view about a collection of events. This is a framing device done right, as the camera moves from the “normal” world to the crooked and sharp shadow world of Francis’s past, a reflection that this is a story told from a certain perspective.

Brilliant compositional work. There are moving pieces in the foreground and background which give the jagged and highly stylized cityscape a real sense of vitality.

This tale opens on a fair happening in the jagged city, a fair that a certain Dr. Caligari has come to in hopes of exhibiting a somnambulist (sleepwalker) to the public. As an excited crowd draws near to his tent, he opens up his titular cabinet and presents Cesare, a man who he claims has been sleeping since for the past 23 years, the moment of his birth. Dr. Caligari invites the crowd to ask Cesare questions, assuring them that the eternal sleeper can answer their inquiries without fail. Without missing a beat, Francis’s friend, Alan, asks, “When will I die?” Cesare, responds with an intense ferocity in his eyes, “At dawn”. Obviously perturbed at the ominous pronouncement, Alan and Francis leave Caligari’s tent with the former trying to comfort the latter. As they walk through the distorted cityscape, they run into Jane whose bright smile livens the both of them up. Unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end as dawn slowly approaches and Alan is woken by a unseen figure ready to impale him with a knife. The gruesome power struggle is not shown directly, but is rather displayed on the wall through the shadows of the two fighting one another. The depiction of the murder in this way conceals the identity of the true assailant, but also calls into question real purpose behind the murder. Shadows can be deceptive and in a city that has painted shadows everywhere to reinforce the idea that truth can be hidden and obfuscated, a battle between shadows can also be read as a battle between selves , between a hidden truth that refuses to let itself be seen.

Masterful use of shadows to highlight the dual nature of the killer and his victim along with concealing the mystery. The precise way the shadows move and are blocked by the jagged edges surrounding them makes the moment of unseen violence disturbing.

Upset at his friends untimely demise and concerned with the accuracy of Cesare’s prediction, Francis attempts to investigate Caligari and his so called sleepwalker. Unfortunately for him a stream of new revelations, deceptive appearances, and rampant uncertainties plague his journey to find the truth. People attempt to take advantage of the violence to plan their own nefarious schemes. Others maintain appearances to convince Francis that what he thinks he sees is not really what he’s seeing at all. All the while, the killer continues on their path, acting like a murder machine hellbent on fulfilling some agenda. As their identity is eventually revealed and a true chase starts to get to the bottom of the mystery, the threads of the story become even more refracted, breaking under constant reinterpretation by the principle characters. The city’s architecture shines through in these moments, as at one point the killer kidnaps Jane instead of killing her and leads the town on a wild goose chase. As it looks like the killer is going up stairs, it’s revealed that the stairs actually go down instead. A perceptual snafu that reinforces the idea that nothing is what it appears to be, even the killer themselves when their identity is finally discovered.

During this entire narration, the movie constantly uses closeups of characters along with iris lens shots to highlight that certain actions and interpretations stem from a subjectivity. Multiple scenes open up with only a minute portion of the scene being show, revealing a certain picture, that then becomes more clear as the entire scene comes into view. The repetition of this along with the clear close-ups constantly leads us to reconsider who’s story we’re following along and why exactly they’re telling it the way they are.

On the left is an image of a town women bearing witness to a certain event, unseen from anyone else’s eye. On the right is Jane (Lil Dagover) trying to get to the bottom of Alan’s mysterious death. Both demonstrate the use of the iris lens that Weine makes prominent use of to reinforce how every decision and idea is predicated on a point of view which can change as new information or ideas reveal themselves, filling the frame of reference so to speak.

The acting on display lets this dialectic play out to its full potential, as each actor conveys a plethora of discernible emotions through their faces and body language. Krauss’s Caligari is absolutely revolting in certain scenes, giving a sneer and sense of malice that absolutely leaps off the screen and gives reason to question him constantly. Meanwhile Veidt somehow gives a convincing portrayal of a man who’s constantly asleep, whose personality is completely kept under a kind of ideological mask that overpowers the subjectivity within. Dagover makes Jane seem serene and playful at first but quickly transforms into someone experiencing a genuine emotional devastation when she learns of Alan’s untimely demise. Finally, Fehér, the leading man, goes through the whole gamut of human emotion – cheerful with his friends, devastated upon the loss of one, desperate to figure out the reason behind the suffering, eager to bring those responsible down, and so on.

This may be a silent movie, but it feels so radical in so many ways that you can’t help but fall in love with what the piece manages to accomplish, both from a narrative and technical perspective. This is a story from the 1920’s that somehow manages to tell a tale of subjectivity in every way possible from the use of a framing device to the depth of the actors emotional conflicts. The city’s construction is iconic (and ever present in the aesthetic design of so many movies even now) and makes you appreciate just how much work and artistic vision went into creating the pointed and imprecise architecture. The buildings and streets genuinely feel like they’re alive, as the camera utilizes constant movement in the background and foreground along with the scenery to create an illusion of depth and (un)reality. At one point, Caligari is literally bombarded with words that appear on the screen all around him as though they’re real entities threatening to destroy his world. It’s a truly spectacular sight to see that’ll make you question how Wiene managed to achieve all of this almost a century ago.

Dr. Caligari (Werner Krauss) surrounded by words that seemingly assault him from all around, as these textual signals become part of the world’s fabric. A fantastic representation of the way ideology manifests and becomes something real that influences the way we act and move about in the world.

If you’re someone who’s not sold on watching silent movies give this one a shot. At under 90 minutes, it’s not a huge time investment compared to the possible upside. The sumptuous visual feast will give you more than enough to admire, while the multilayered plot and brilliant use of point of view will give you more than enough to think about. Who knows? You might find your perspective shifting.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	One doesn’t have to look far to see the influence of Weine’s seminal masterwork, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. From the pronounced use of shadows to the highly stylized cityscape this is a movie that defined the aesthetics for genres to come. It’s an absolute masterclass in mise-en-scene and the way the narrative constantly upends itself and reinforces that everything is just an interpretation from a certain point of view is truly poetic. This is a movie that takes subjectivity and ideology seriously and reinforces those ideas in every way from the formal construction of the movie to the story itself. I know silent films aren’t the most popular, but if you have 67 minutes to spare this one might change your perspective.
Rating	10/10
Grade	A+

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2010s, 2017, B+, found footage, Grade, Horror, psychological, Review, review-movie, Thriller, Year

Review: Creep 2

November 4, 2020 The Critic 1 Comment

Director(s)	Patrick Brice
Principal Cast	Mark Duplass as Aaron Desiree Akhavan as Sara Karan Soni as Dave Patrick Brice as Old Aaron
Release Date	2017
Language(s)	English
Running Time	80 minutes

Creep 2 starts after the events of Creep, with Mark Duplass’s character, now going by Aaron comforting his soon to be killed newly-made friend, Dave after the latter receives a baby Peachfuzz doll with a camera inside of it. After playing with his food for a short bit, Aaron kills Dave , but his face reflects a genuine state of sadness instead of elation at the completion of the bloody task. After the title card shows up , the movie cuts to Sara, an aspiring YouTuber, who meets with strangers on Craigslist and similar sites in an attempt to capture some interesting footage of potential weirdos. Clips from her episodes are shown and demonstrate that she’s interacted with a slew of lonely, alienated, and strange persons who all seem to convince her that strangers are harmless by and large. One of her early “clients” even shows her his baby Jaws shark figure with such elation that you’d think it was Aaron talking about Peachfuzz, setting up her future calm discussion with Aaron quite well.

One of the Sara’s (Desiree Akhavan) initial subjects on her web series Encounters talks about his Jaws 2 shark figure with the same fondness that Aaron gives to Peachfuzz.

With her online show, Encounters, not doing so well with the viewers (a point I think any content creator can relate to, myself included), she decides to respond to an strange and spooky request by Aaron against her better judgement in an attempt to give her channel the boost it needs. Once she gets to his place to inquire into the nature of the new job, she’s met with pure honesty from Aaron who describes himself as a serial killer. He slowly goes through his craft and the way it brought him joy before revealing that he’s recently run into a creative strut and wants to create a new and moving work. He takes inspiration from Francis Ford Coppola who he claims said, “I have not made an original film since The Conversation in 1974. I’m not sure I am capable of it, but I really wanna keep trying.” This statement by his cinematic hero breathes a new life into his creativity and like Coppola, he seeks to create something distinctly him in spite of his imaginative decline- a documentary.

In a lot of ways the movie reminds me of Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, another movie that involves a serial killer getting a documentary made about his activities. But unlike that movie where every member of the documentary crew is aware of what the titular serial killer, Leslie, is capable of, Sara doesn’t take Aaron’s statements seriously. Sara and Aaron’s initial conversation is played 100% straight on the part of Aaron whose candid discussion of the macabre is 1 part funny and 2 parts terrifying. He discusses finding victims and ripping open their bodies as though its a task analogous to praying- it’s a normalized experience for him that used to give him a spiritual catharsis. Meanwhile, Sara responds calmly and normally, unperturbed by the absurdity of what her new client tells her. Her previous encounters have jaded her to the possibility that any of these conversations could be real, so she takes them as part of a delusion of sorts and just rolls with whatever Aaron says, eventually accepting Aaron’s request to film a documentary on his life to capture the essence of a true serial killer.

It’s a clever set up that solves a lot of the issues from the first movie – namely that Old Aaron had very little character depth by himself and only shined when interacting with Aaron (formerly Josef). Sara is a character that serves as a great foil to Aaron- both are creators, both are struggling to find meaning in their work, and both are hiding the real intentions behind what they’re asking of the other. The movie recognizes this and spends a decent amount of time on just Sara, giving the audience a reason to care about her and her deliberation process to understand her increasingly dangerous decisions. Meanwhile, the movie constantly plays with Aaron’s personality and history, giving him ample opportunity to provide a series of facts that may or may not be true. The name of the movie becomes trying to figure out who Aaron really is. What is his backstory actually about? Why does he do what he does? What is his actual end goal?

This characterization is where the movie shines because the presence of an equally strong agent in the form of Sara means Aaron has to change up his behavior and reveal more about himself. He doesn’t get to dictate every step of the plan because she pushes back and refuses to play his game the way he wants. Akhavan matches Duplass’s energy, move for move, never letting any of his eccentric movements or facial expressions unnerve her. She is a an absolute unit – stoic and unwilling to budge, exhibiting her desire to get the footage with facial expressions that exhibit a calmness to her body language which exudes control. Likewise Duplass turns up his manic energy from the original movie and acts like an absolute madlad , doubling down on his attempts at random jump scares and going so far as to scream maniacally at birds that threaten his frame composition.

Aaron (Mark Duplass) trying to get the perfect composition for his backstory reveal with the water meant to symbolize a Christ like connection. His arms are up to where he wishes the water would be and his frustration only increases as malicious bird screeches interrupt his every word.

Watching the two of them adapt to one another to gain an upper hand is enthralling, but the specter of disaster constantly looms in the background , because we as an audience do know what Aaron is capable of. We know he’s a murderer who’s can slit a throat at the ready. The movie reminds us of as much at the very start of it and then reminds us again with his eerie description of the joys he found in murdering. As a result watching Sara delve deeper into the game provides genuine tension – one, because we don’t know what Aaron is actually after and when he’s going to go for a kill and two, because Sara’s attempts to prod Aaron’s character further for her web show do irritate him and bring out genuine bursts of anger that make you think he’s going to off her on the spot.

In light of what we know about Aaron from the first movie, this second movie does a good job at fleshing out possible motivations and his profile overall. It’s a continuation of his character study and the amount of clues the movie gives about his motivations is present in every single detail. From the way he renames himself to his past victim, to the way he his initial victim in the movie reminds us of his victim in the first movie, to his obsession with framing shots in the documentary to reflect certain themes, the movie constantly gives the audience a treasure trove of clues to flesh out Aaron’s profile. One of my favorite moments happens in his initial job pitch to Sara, where he implies that the two of them need to see each other in the nude to do away with any strange power imbalances between them. As he strips down and she films him, you can see everything (genitals included). However, when she calls his bluff, strips down, and gives him the camera to film, he focuses on moving the camera and zooming in on just her face. It’s a small subtle moment that highlights what he may actually be after, but the movie is packed with moments like these so it’s definitely a fun one to think about.

On the left *Sara’s (Desiree Akhavan)* framing keeps Aaron’s (Mark Duplass) full body in view. When he drops the towel his entire frame is shown, genitals included. On the right is Aaron’s framing of Sara’s nude body. He zooms in and focuses on her face center frame, highlighting the difference in his motivations and desires. What those are is up to the audience to figure out.

Unfortunately, the upgrades to the character dynamics and exploration of their relationship comes at the cost of an ending that feels rushed and unsatisfying. One of the biggest strengths of the first movie is how the ending wrapped everything up succinctly and got under the skin by implying that the whole film had been filmed by Aaron, while confirming that he’s done the same many times. This ending does not feel nearly as neat and leaves the audience with a lot more questions than answers. The last few minutes make it certain that there is going to be a sequel, so I can only hope that a future Creep 3 makes well on the character study done here, but as someone who thinks movies should be as self contained as possible (sequel baiting annoys me on balance) the ending definitely feels like a let down. Does it mar my enjoyment of the amazing character interaction work done for the majority of the movie’s running time? No. But it does feel like a let down given how great everything before it was.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Creep 2 solves most of the issues from the previous installment by giving the titular serial killer a powerful partner to play off against, who simultaneously serves as a foil to him while being a potential victim. The story of a serial killer actively exposing himself to create a documentary to relocate a creative drive sounds funny (and it is), but the movie constantly interrupts these comedic moments with a genuine sense of dread. Though the ending doesn’t quite land as well as I want it too, everything that came before it is exemplary. There’s a lot to chew on here as the movie invites the audience to really try and figure out what makes Aaron tick, without ever revealing its full hand. Taken in consideration with the original movie, this is a great character study into an enigma turned serial killer. I can only hope the next installment in the franchise gives us more to think about and hopefully some actual answers.
Rating	8.9/10
Grade	B+

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