The Witch: Mining the Roots of American Horror for a Deliciously Disturbing Modern Masterpiece

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.

It has been 27 months since my last blog post. Life has gotten quite busy for ol' B-Sol, including writing gigs that pay actual money, and so the Vault has been collecting dust for quite some time. And yet, I am compelled to blow off that dust (for now, at least) and lift the lid on the Vault, thanks to a film which I can honestly say is the finest horror movie I have seen this decade thus far. Not only that, but one of the finest films of any kind that I have seen in some time. It is rare that a film like Robert Eggers' The Witch comes along, and I feel I must discuss it, in the most effective forum I have at my disposal.

As you may know, I enjoy horror movies. However, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that most horror movies are the cinematic equivalent of junk food (and I love junk food!). I love them all, but I especially cherish those that go beyond being fun horror experiences and enter the realm of being not just great horror cinema, but great cinema, period. Films like Let the Right One In, The Silence of the Lambs, The Shining, The Exorcist, Psycho, Frankenstein, etc. do more than make us jump out of our seat, and give us more than gross-outs and one-liners. They stand the test of time as pieces of art, put together by masters of the form. I believe that The Witch is one of these films, and will take its place among them. In fact, I haven't been this impressed with a horror film since Tomas Alfredson's aforementioned 2008 vampire coming-of-age fable.

I should mention that this is a review/discussion intended really for those who have already seen the film, so you spoilerphobic types should skidaddle at this point. There is much to talk about in this rich, marvelously constructed and directed motion picture, and some of it has to do with some important plot and character moments.

All the credit in the world goes to Eggers, a production and costume designer astonishingly making his feature film writing and directing debut with what feels like the work of a seasoned, insightful craftsman. He has thoroughly researched the life and beliefs of 17th century Puritan settlers not in a useless or masturbatory way, but all in the service of building a story that is like an Elizabethan-era folktale come to life. Having been fascinated with the topic myself in the past, I adored the way in which he captured that Puritan paranoia, as well as the fervent, fundamentalist Christianity that helped perpetuate a great deal of lunacy in early American times. It's like Cotton Mather's worst nightmare come to life.

One of the more fascinating things about the film is that it presents these terrible fears of witchcraft and Satanism not just as metaphors, but also as concrete realities. Yes, the film has a symbolic message about the dangers of unchecked patriarchy and religious hysteria, but make no mistake--in Eggers' world, the Devil and his magically powered minions are very much real. This is period drama, but it is also very much supernatural horror as well, and not ashamed of it.

Virtual unknown (not for long) Anya Taylor-Joy stars as Thomasin, the repressed teenage daughter of renegade fundamentalist preacher William, played by gravel-voiced veteran British actor Ralph Ineson. Thomasin longs deep down to be free of her drab and spartan life, especially after her father's extremist ways force even the Puritans to say, "Hey, this guy is kind of a looney tune," and banish the whole family from the community and into the terrifying, untamed New England wilderness. She longs for sweeter times at home in England, and seeks emotional escape through playfulness and imaginative flights of fancy.

And yet, she is rejected by her family. She is seen as a threat and burden by her mother Katherine, played with stern desperation by Kate Dickie, perhaps best known for her performance as the batty, breastfeeding Lysa Arryn on Game of Thrones. Her younger brother Caleb (breathtaking child actor Harvey Scrimshaw), at the very beginning of his sexual awakening in such a repressive environment, can't help but begin to view her in an erotic fashion. And her fiendishly precocious youngest siblings, the twins Mercy and Jonas, are terrified and outraged at the willfulness they see burgeoning inside her, labeling her a witch with the same childish zeal that undoubtedly led many innocent women to their deaths in Salem.

Thomasin is both tempted and horrified by the potential presence of Satanic forces in the woods near their homestead. Gradually but confidently, Eggers paints a picture of encroaching doom, as the family is preyed upon by this force and picked off, one by one. As with many horror films of the Satanic subgenre, there seems to be an implicit message that the Devil exists, but God does not--or at least if He does, He is far less directly manifest than His dark counterpart, preferring to have His followers stick it out for themselves rather than intervene directly. In typical Puritan distrust of the natural world, here the Lord of Darkness takes animal form, as a rabbit, a crow, and most memorably of all, in the form of the family's prize goat, Black Phillip, a creature who has enthusiasts of the film (including this one) singing his praises like so many black sabbath revelers.

There is moral ambiguity at play here which only adds to the richness of the experience. William's religious fervor and pride, coupled with his practical ineptness, has recklessly condemned his family to poverty and near-starvation. It is painful to watch these folks praying desperately to a God who simply does not seem to be listening, or to care, all while a cruel intelligence tears them apart. Clearly, part of Eggers' message is the futility of blind faith, and in fact the harmfulness of it. The family members turn against each other, and the Devil and his minions use each of their weaknesses against them: William's pride and stubbornness, Katherine's attachment to her children, Caleb's sexual curiosity, and even Thomasin's desire for freedom.

Chafing at the bonds of her father's faith, her future seemingly dictated by his choices, she embraces the darkness in the end, giving in to the frightening voice inside her that was pushing her toward it all along. And yet, in Eggers' world, this is not the black-and-white issue the Puritans themselves may have viewed it as. Forced to accept the inherent sinfulness of her nature as preached endlessly by her father, she could not even enjoy the acceptance and affection of family, but was constantly pushed away by parents and siblings she loved. Instead, she finds unconditional acceptance, and yes, freedom at last, in the silken, soothing tones of Black Phillip and the release and power offered to his followers. Moments after being compelled to murder her own mother in self-defense, she seems to heave a figurative sigh of relief, and her first instinctive actions are to literally let her hair down and remove the attire that had kept her physically and emotionally bound up. In the final moments of the film, she rises above everything, once again quite literally, and exults in complete and total joy. It is thrilling, cathartic, and terrifying, all at once.

This is a film without easy answers, that challenges our beliefs as great art should. Is Thomasin's character arc the ultimate expression of feminist independence, or a reinforcement of the very anti-feminist stereotypes promulgated by Puritans both then and now? From where I sit, Eggers seems to be using the reported accounts of witchcraft from those olden days to weave a very modern story that delivers a moral that probably would've been abhorrent to the religious thinkers of that time. It is about the rejection of a constrictive society for the liberty of hedonistic indulgence, and not necessarily as a bad thing. And it generates fear on a deep, primal level.

Cinematographer Jarin Blaschke and composer Mark Korven both contribute greatly to achieving Eggers' vision of inevitable gloom and despair. Blaschke's work is bleak and understated, recalling some of the best work of Kubrick lensman John Alcott. And Korven, best known for his work in documentaries, delivers a chilling, relentless aural onslaught that is part Philip Glass, part Gyorgy Ligeti.

Such work enhances some of the most disturbing imagery I've encountered in horror in a long time. Caleb's death scene, played with shocking maturity by young Scrimshaw, is something from which I fear the hairs on the back of my neck may never fully recover. Caleb's encounter with the witch in the woods, a moment that would make the Brothers Grimm proud. Katherine's breast-feeding scene (a Game of Thrones inside joke, perhaps?) makes the last scene of Paul Solet's Grace seem like Elmo's World. And the unexpected moment (for me, at least) when Black Phillip does indeed speak and the Devil reveals himself made me gasp in enthralled shock.

Horror often gets a bad rap for being a genre that seeks primarily to make us feel a basic human emotion, as if that were a negative in and of itself, something cheap or undesirable. It's very encouraging to find one that makes us feel in such an emotionally complex way, and also makes us think. The Witch is a powerful piece of film that represents the best that horror can be--less Eli Roth, and more Nathaniel Hawthorne. It's one that I'll certainly be revisiting many times in the years to come, and was more than worth the effort of delving back into The Vault of Horror one more time. If you haven't seen it, do so. If you have, see it again.

Oh yeah, and Hail Black Phillip.

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VIDEO REVIEW! My Son and I Take on PACIFIC RIM, Guillermo del Toro's 21st Century Kaiju Masterpiece!

Direct from Jack's Movie Town, the movie review blog of my son Skeleton Jack (a.k.a. Wee-Sol), I give to you this very special video review of the film that single-handedly saved the summer of 2013 for me...

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Retro Review: Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948)

“You don’t understand—in a half hour the moon will rise, and I’ll turn into a wolf…”

“You and 20 million other guys.”

There are the great horror films, and there are the great comedies. But great horror comedies? Films that work equally well as both, and can scare you and make you laugh in equal measure? Few and far between. Possibly the first really great one, and for many still the best, would be the 1948 timeless classic Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein. All these decades later, and it can still leave us in stitches, while delivering a healthy dose of authentic Universal monster madness. The fact that this movie even happened both was and is a gift to movie fans of all ages.

By 1948, both Abbott & Costello and the Universal monsters, two cash cow franchises for the legendary studio, were sort of on the ropes. Bud and Lou had made their name at the studio during the war years, but the act was starting to wear thin with audiences. As for Dracula, Frankenstein and the gang, they were far removed from their halcyon days of the 1930s and early ‘40s, having been reduced to flimsy team-up flicks for kids.

So what did the powers-that-be at Universal decide to do, but cross the two franchises, in one of the most inspired movie mashups ever conceived. Lon Chaney Jr. may have later condemned the film as the death knell of the classic monsters, but the hindsight of film history has revealed it as a beloved gem that, rather than tarnish the reputation of the monsters, has kept their legacy alive for generations.

In short, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein is the perfect “gateway movie” for getting children into horror. I should know; I used it in exactly that way for my own kids. It’s hilariously funny on a level that can be appreciated by people of all ages, and the creep factor is there in copious amounts, especially for young children not too familiar with horror in general. It causes chills and laughter in equal measure, as we watch Bud and Lou mix it up with some very scary individuals.

In the end, that’s what makes the movie work so well. Neither franchise is compromising its integrity. Abbott & Costello are doing what they do best, getting into ridiculous situations and doing the whole straight man/childish fat guy routine. In fact, this film is probably their funniest moment, in a movie career that spanned nearly two decades. As for the Universal monsters, they are playing themselves here. There’s no campy hamming-it-up going on. Although Bela Lugosi’s Dracula may feel a bit different than his 1931 interpretation, he is playing Dracula to the hilt—just as Glenn Strange is playing the Monster, and most impeccably, Lon Chaney Jr. is playing Larry Talbot. I defy you to find any difference between the Talbot here and in any of his previous appearances. There is no “winking at the camera” on the part of him, Lugosi or Strange.

The perfect blend of horror and comedy make this, for my money, one of the most downright fun movies ever made. There are so many unforgettable set pieces here—particularly the predicaments the hapless Lou constantly finds himself in; from accidentally sitting in the Monster’s lap, to the scene in Talbot’s hotel room with the fruit bowl. And of course, the scene most people remember from this movie, in which Lou first encounters Dracula at the House of Horrors, all the while trying breathlessly to explain it to an incredulous Bud. This is effortless, timeless comedy from two masters, and best of all, is so true to the material that you can honestly imagine that this is what would happen if Abbott & Costello were to encounter Frankenstein, Dracula and the Wolf Man.

Costello cracked up Strange so much during this
scene that it had to be shot numerous times.

We get Lugosi in his only other film appearance as Dracula after his first iconic turn in 1931. That alone is enough to recommend the film! We get an excellent score from Frank Skinner—so good, in fact, that it would be lifted outright for future A&C movie installments. We get a rip-roaring monster-laden finale that is the perfect payoff for all the insanity that has come before. And, at the risk of “spoiling” a 65-year-old movie, we get an unforgettable final-shot cameo by Vincent Price as the voice of the Invisible Man! What more can you possibly ask for?

Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein succeeded in redefining both franchises. Going forward, the A&C series continued trying to recapture the new formula. The series took on a decidedly fantastical slant that was very different from the releases of the early ‘40s, pairing the comedy duo up with other monsters and villains like the Mummy, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, and even “The Killer, Boris Karloff”. It may have been a gimmick, but it was a gimmick that kept the act going for nearly another decade. As for the Universal monsters themselves, this film became their last appearance for the studio. But it needs to be said that it also reinvented them for a whole new generation of young moviegoers, and helped give rise to the kitschy “Monster Kid” culture of the ‘50s, ‘60s and beyond, raising the studio’s creations to the level of pop culture gods.

Personally, the film brings me back to those lazy Sunday afternoons of my youth, spent with family, food and syndicated New York television. If you’re a fan of classic horror, I encourage you to check it out. Particularly, this movie is a joy to watch with young children. If you don’t have your own, go and steal someone else’s—it’s worth it. I screened it at one of my kids’ Halloween parties, and few sights in my memory will ever match the sight of a room full of initially skeptical 7-10 year olds, falling out of their seats with laughter and yelling at the screen in comic frustration. 

I’m so glad the world of Abbott & Costello and the Universal monsters crossed paths, and I enjoy revisiting it whenever I can. Give it a try, and I think you’ll be hooked as well.

And if you ever wanted to catch this gem on the big screen, then you’re in luck! I’ll be screening it on Thursday, December 27, as part of my BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU series at Bridgeport’s Bijou Theatre. I hope you’ll join me for BEDLAM AT THE BIJOU: Scared Silly, in which I’ll be pairing this movie up with another classic Universal-themed comedy, Young Frankenstein. Check out the Facebook page for more info, or the official Bijou website!

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Retro Review: Them! (1954)

Strangely enough, Warner Bros. didn't have very much confidence in this film--a prime example of the giant, radioactive monster craze of the 1950s that would go on to be their most successful picture of 1954. It would also become one of the classics of the so-called "silver age" of horror, and one of the most fun flicks a genre fan could possibly hope for.

It was supposed to be made in full color and 3-D--two of the very popular "gimmicks" used at the time with a lot of sci-fi and horror films. However, when the studio chickened out and cut the budget, it wound up in black and white and good ol' 2-D. You can still tell with many of the shots that the 3-D influence is there, and the title card of the movie is actually in color. But despite the short-sightedness of Warner's, who apparently didn't want to take a chance on a giant bug picture, Them! turned out to be just about as good as this subgenre got in the United States.

Warner's stalwart Gordon Douglas--a proficient thriller/western director who had cut his teeth with Our Gang and Laurel and Hardy at the Hal Roach Studio--here helms what may very well be his finest film. Genre favorite James Arness--a.k.a. the original Thing from another world--stars as government agent Robert Graham, on hand to investigate the strange goings on in the desert of New Mexico. But the most sympathetic performance of all comes from James Whitmore, a fine actor who made his one big mark on genre filmdom as doomed police sergeant Ben Peterson. And of course, we have Edmund Gwenn, best known as Kris Kringle in the original Miracle n 34th Street, as ant expert Dr. Harold Medford, the proverbial old scientist with the hot daughter, here played by Joan Weldon.

But let's be honest here--the real stars of Them! are the giant ants themselves. Long before the age of CGI, these massive monsters were created the old fashioned way, and the result is some of the finest creature work you're likely to see in this era. In fact, they might be the single most impressive mechanical monsters seen in American cinema prior to the rise of Stan Winston. And who could forget that unmistakable sound made by the giant ants as they approach--purportedly made using      
recordings of tree frogs? The ants in Them! are not only among the most impressive, but also the most downright frightening creations of the giant monster era of horror.

And that's certainly one of this movie's strong suits to be sure. Them! achieves what many 1950s creature features attempted to, but didn't always succeed at: it's actually very frightening. Perhaps this owes to the unique screenplay, which kicks off as a traditional police procedural whodunit and then verges off the road into the realm of horror. It doesn't fit the usual template, and although there's a fair share of light comedy and goofiness to be sure, it is also dead serious when it needs to be.

The world was preoccupied with the dangers of nuclear technology during this era, and it's no surprise that this film was released in America at the exact moment that Gojira was released in Japan. For whatever reason, someone got it into their heads that radiation would make things grow very large, and so we wound up with a rash of these giant-monster-on-the-loose epics. Think of it as Mother Nature getting her revenge against the arrogant human race for defiling her. It's a reckoning being visited on us by a natural order gone horribly awry. And what better emissaries for the natural world to send our way than cold, calculating, murderous, remorseless insects?

The fact that ants were chosen as the monsters in question certainly went a long way to making this a unique film of its kind--after all, this was at a time when the concept of giant radioactive creatures was still relatively new. The idea was originally brought to Warner Bros. in the form of a treatment by George Worthing Yates, who obviously had a great head for the genre, given that he had done the same for Sinbad the Sailor in 1947, and would later contribute stories and/or screenplays for the likes of It Came from Beneath the Sea, Earth vs. The Flying Saucers, The Amazing Colossal Man, Earth vs. The Spider and King Kong vs. Godzilla. After being filtered through TV writers Russell Hughes and Ted Sherdeman, Yates concept was polished into a jewel. 

Although later very often imitated, Them! was one of the seminal entries in its subgenre, and set a standard that many later films would try to emulate, with various degrees of success. It had the perfect balance of special effects spectacle and grim terror, telling a social parable while also not being too heavy or morose. After all, this was still 1950s America, lest we forget.

Warners may have been doubtful of the success of Them!, but there can be no question that in the end, that doubt was unfounded. The horror movie genre was sort of on the ropes coming out of World War II, but this film is one of several, including the likes of Creature from the Black Lagoon, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms and House of Wax, that helped put it back on the map and create another memorable era for fans of cinematic terrors.

If you're a fan of Them!, or better yet, if you've never seen it before, I invite you to come down to The Bijou Theatre in Bridgeport, Connecticut this Thursday night, September 27, when I'll be hosting a screening of the film, alongside its Japanese counterpart Gojira, in a little teamup I'm calling "Nuclear Nightmares". It's all part of Bedlam at the Bijou, a three-month-long series celebrating the fifth anniversary of The Vault of Horror. Join me, won't you?

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Prometheus: A '70s Art Rock Album Cover Come to Life

It's been the most talked-about genre film event of the year. Ridley Scott returned to the scene in a big way this month with Prometheus, the sort-of prequel thingy to his 1979 magnum opus Alien. And since it's release, the web has been abuzz with everyone and their Mother (heh, get it?) trying to dissect, analyze and explain the movie. Well, I'm not here to do that today (although I do have no shortage of theories by any means...) No, rather, I decided to do something rather novel, which you may not have been seeing nearly as much of.

I'm going to review the movie.

Is Prometheus a great science fiction film? Yes, it is. It is also a pretty damn terrifying horror film, as well--two things its predecessor also was. Scott is in full form here, returning to play in the universe he first lured us into some 33 years ago. And while many were puzzled by the narrative detour he took, I for one really enjoyed how the film tangentially ties into the Alien mythos, while also being detached enough to completely stand on its own, as a very strong work of horror sci-fi.

I admired the guts it took for Ridley Scott to make an intelligent, thoughtful piece of sci-fi in the year 2012, when science fiction has come to be almost synonymous with action--such a far cry from its pre-Star Wars form. I also admired the guts it took for Scott--as well as screenwriters Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof--to make a movie that doesn't feel the need to explain everything. And I don't just mean in a lazy way, as if they honestly don't know which way they're going (a la Lost or Heroes, for example), but rather, it's very clear that Scott and company know exactly how everything fits together--they're just leaving a lot of it for us to sort through. Which we've all been doing ad nauseum for the past few weeks.

Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?

And while it may be a bit cynical to craft a film which can only be explained by its inevitable sequels, I for one will be sure to be on line to see them. In many ways, Scott seems to have taken his lead from Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Also a film in which humanity ventures into space to meet an alien intelligence instrumental in its own development, 2001 asked more questions than it had the definitive answers too. And much like Prometheus, it also looked great doing it. Plus, Guy Pearce as the elderly Weyland is a dead ringer for the aged Keir Dullea, and the resident android happens to be named David--the same name as Dullea's character in 2001.

Speaking of David, it is Michael Fassbender's enthralling portrayal of this character that steals the show. What would a movie in the Alien universe be without a captivating android, and just like Ian Holm and Lance Henriksen before him, Fassbender (looking astonishingly like a young Laurence Olivier) is the standout of a solid ensemble cast. At times sinister, at others sympathetic, yet strangely vain and Pinnocchio-like in his interest in human culture, David epitomizes the film itself: complex, with no easy answers.

Also worth noting is the lovely Noomi Rapace, who, in the role of Elizabeth Shaw, is a very worthy successor to Sigourney Weaver in the strong-female-lead department. Her "childbirth" scene is easily the most intense in the entire film. The always engaging Idris Elba is in top form as the captain of the Prometheus--the Tom Skerritt role, if you will, albeit far more decisive and effective a leader than Skerritt's Dallas ever was.

Also like 2001, Prometheus is a true feast for the senses. The production design work by Arthur Max, whose past credits include the likes of Gladiator and Seven, take the original designs of H.R. Giger that inspired the whole Alien mythos in the first place, and translate them effortlessly into this tangential narrative. Yet all the while, Giger's heavy influence is there. This is even true of the very humanoid Engineers (a.k.a. Space Jockeys) who are, as their xenomorph predecessors were, like Giger illustrations literally come to life. Amazing work here by costume designer Janty Yates and a crack makeup design team.

So is it scary? Does it work as a horror film? I can certainly say that it's the most frightening "Alien" film since the original, and it's no wonder why. Ridley Scott brings the same "haunted house in space" sensibility he brought to his 1979 masterpiece, and it pays off once again. The man is a master of generating thick atmosphere and an overall sense of weirdness, and his aim is further aided by the very talented Dariusz Wolski of Pirates of the Caribbean fame behind the camera.

Just as Alien did, so does Prometheus work well as both a horror and science fiction film--although this one might be tilted more in favor of sci-fi, whereas Alien was more horror-centric. One doesn't get much really intelligent sci-fi in theaters these days, and I usually jump on it when it's out there, much as I did with Moon some years ago. This is a film that isn't afraid to think big thoughts and ask big questions about the nature of man, the nature of life, and the nature of the universe. That's what great science fiction has always been about, going back to the classic days of pulps like Amazing Stories and Astounding. I enjoyed the way it delves into the whole alien astronaut concept of the origin of life on Earth. It's just as much Chariots of the Gods as it is 2001.

And for the record, I applaud the studio's decision to go with Lindelof's notion of taking the script in a different direction from being a pure Alien prequel. It works better for it. Let's face it, the xenomorphs have been overexposed thanks to those god-awful Alien/Predator flicks, and it was wise to put them into the background. By turning it into a completely different story that happens to take place in the Alien "universe", the filmmakers allowed the picture to work completely on its own terms. It tells its own story, and you absolutely do not need to have seen any of the Alien films to appreciate it on its own. The fact that it still contains teasing elements of prequel-ness is just acidic icing on the cake.

It's a very thought-provoking film--some might even say frustrating. But it is a great pleasure to watch, and represents genre filmmaking at its best, as far as I'm concerned. Does it leave you hanging in a big way? Yes. Does it provide you with nice, pat, satisfactory answers? No. But what else would you expect from the guy who gave us Blade Runner?

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Hammer Is Back--With The Woman in Black

Some years back in 2007, I got wind that the once-mighty Hammer Film Productions was returning to action after decades of dormancy. However, I was somewhat let down when I looked into the matter and found that their first release would be a thoroughly modern affair called Beyond the Rave, and that the newly revived studio was looking to break away from its classic period roots and focus on contemporary horror. Which is sort of like if the Hal Roach Studio was revived to make American Pie sequels.

And so, after a couple of such modern thrillers, and even involvement in the well-made yet wrong-headed American remake of Let the Right One In, imagine my thrill to find that Hammer was at last truly returning--that is, going back to what it does best: Producing atmospheric British period horror. In the grand tradition of the studio that gave us Horror of Dracula, The Gorgon, Paranoiac, The Hound of the Baskervilles and countless others comes James Watkins' The Woman in Black, starring Daniel "Don't Call Me Harry" Radcliffe.

Folks, *this* is the true return of Hammer. This is what we've been waiting for. And just like that, we have a film that will very likely be in the running for the best horror film of 2012. Who would've imagined that a well-made, carefully shot gothic haunted house film with minimal gore and largely psychological scares could ever get made in this day and age of torture porn, quick cuts, gratuitous grue and lame post-post-modern slasher nonsense? Having just seen it, I'd put The Woman in Black right up there with such classics of the subgenre as The Haunting and The Uninvited.

Last Tuesday evening, joined by the lovely Captain Cruella, I decided it was time to go and see this film that I heard so much about. I also made the possibly imprudent decision of taking along my little Vaultlings Zombelina and Skeleton Jack. Sure, they had school the next day, and spent most of the night scared witless in bed. But that's what comes with the territory when you're the spawn of the Vault Keeper, people. At their age, I was shivering in bed after seeing Hammer's Lust for a Vampire on WWOR Channel 9, so I suppose the whole affair lends a certain comforting air of continuity. Anyway, they got over it the next day, and we all had a hell of a time howling, shaking and yelping in our theater seats at every chilling moment.

Yes, there are jump scares, which I'm really not much of a fan of. It seems that is an inescapable de rigeur element of the modern-day fright flick, sadly. Nevertheless, jump scares aside, this is one bone-rattling, good-old-fashioned blood-curdling ghost chiller, and just what the horror genre needed right now. British-born Watkins, whose previous effort was the vastly different torture thriller Eden Lake, sure knows how to build terror and craft an atmosphere of growing dread. If you love a good ghost story and you're a little jaded at the inability of most horror pictures' to genuinely get under your skin, then this one is for you.

Based on a 1970s novel by Susan Hill which had previously been successfully turned into both a TV movie and a touring stage production, The Woman in Black tells the tale of a mysterious abandoned mansion on a tiny island off the coast of Britain, apparently haunted by a malicious female spirit which targets innocent children. Radcliffe does a solid job portraying the poor solicitor who is assigned the unenviable task of closing up the estate, all while slowly discovering the house's evil history and the nature of the supernatural presence within.

X-Men: First Class and Kick-Ass screenwriter Jane Goldman takes a break from superheroes to give us a script that effectively holds the viewer's attention while not resorting to short-attention-span theater and silly gimmicks. It's a slow burn, but so worth the ride. There are not a lot of fireworks until we head toward the final act, but I was so engrossed watching everything carefully unfold that I didn't mind one bit. Imagine, shots that last more than five seconds! This is a welcome return to measured horror film-making.

Radcliffe does well in his first big-boy role, but the one who really steals the show here is the always-excellent Ciaran Hinds as the skeptical local who befriends Radcliffe but refuses to believe there is anything going bump in the night in that old dark house--despite the fact that the titular specter is possibly responsible for his own young son's demise. As all great actors do, Hinds makes the most of a simply written character to give us a textured, understated, anchor of a performance.

But just like most of the Hammer gems, the film's greatest power is derived from the way the actors are filmed and the surroundings in which they're placed. Gorgeously shot by the edgy Tim Maurice-Jones, the film makes the most of its setting, so that the Welsh landscape and most importantly the house become characters in themselves. And although the excessive use of digital filters can be a bit off-putting at first, in the end I felt it helped add to the otherworldliness--lending a cold, washed-out aura to the characters and their world. Not to mention that the actual Woman in Black herself is one truly frightening creation, and the crew at London effects house Union VFX deserves kudos for her creation and the many other scares they helped generate.


And although we're talking slow build here, it all pays off in a haunted extravaganza at the very end, which finds our protagonist trapped alone in the house, face-to-face with the evil that lurks there. This is a kind of horror that we rarely see in the cinema anymore, and to be honest, even some of the great Hammer efforts of days gone by lacked the budget to pull this kind of stuff off as well. The hair danced on the back of my neck, a knot took shape in my stomach, and I'm not ashamed to say at one point I clutched my ten-year-old daughter and uttered a mild blasphemy that caused her to spiral into a serious fit of the giggles. In short, the movie did its job.

For fans of classic horror who also enjoy the contemporary stuff and sit and wait for those really special ones to come along, this is one of those. The Woman in Black is a genuinely creepy, well-written, evocatively shot horror film. It kept my kids up through the night, and don't be surprised if it does the same to you. I'm proud to say that about five years after the actual studio revived itself--at long last, Hammer Films is truly back.

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Love Stalker: If David Lynch Made a Rom-Com...

I've been well-acquainted with the raw talent of micro-budget filmmaker Matt Glasson since I reviewed his 2007 featurette The Family Tie. I titled that review "If Dali Made a Revenge Flick"--a response to the absurdist lens through which Glasson and co-director Scott Greene interpreted the classic '70s exploitation subgenre. This time out, I was struck by another bold and jarring juxtaposition. Only now, I was viewing a much more polished product, and most importantly of all, a feature-length film.

Love Stalker is the feature directing, writing and acting debut of Glasson, who has the kind of presence one can easily imagine being put to use at some point on a much grander stage. For now, until someone with some serious scratch wakes up and realizes what he's capable of, I'll be content to watch him do his thing with movies like this for as long as he chooses.

Although the film may not really be horror by any stretch of the imagination, I'm giving it a pass and reviewing it here because of the surprising manner in which it disturbed me, and because of the psychological terrain it explores. Glasson and co-director/screenwriter Bowls MacLean have done something quite daring here in deconstructing the modern romantic comedy to expose its sinister, discomforting underbelly. They have also endeavored to demonstrate exactly how someone becomes a stalker, which I found to be the film's most fascinating conceit.

Pete, our main character, is what modern parlance would label a "player"--a 30-something hipster whose sole purpose for existing seems to be to bed as many women as possible. Until he meets Stephanie (played by the lovely Rachel Chapman) and falls in love, only to have his love spurned once she discovers his amorous past. This leads Pete down a dark path, as he attempts to "win her back" using methods he's observed in popular romantic comedies.

From a structural standpoint, this is where the film achieves eminent watchability. What starts out as a light-hearted Swingers-esque romp in which Pete and his schlemazal buddy Tony joke their way through singles life in St. Louis jarringly shifts gears to become an unsettling examination of existential desperation and loss. Along the way, it makes some pretty biting commentary on the entire rom-com subgenre it seeks to both lampoon and dissect.

While the chemistry of the ensemble cast may not achieve the levels of a Swingers or an Office Space, it nevertheless is a cut above what one would expect from such a low-budget, first-time feature. Glasson does a fine job of making Pete a layered, wounded character who is at the same time charismatic and likeable despite his creepy transformation. We get to know him as a person, and can thus totally understand how and why he chooses such an irrational course of action. The one blemish of note is derived from a puzzling, dreamlike scene in which Pete is grilled by two ambiguous undercover cops in his apartment--it's sloppily paced, clumsily acted, and worst of all, unnecessary. But thankfully, it is a minor exception in an otherwise well-built motion picture.

The cinematography of Bart Elfrink and Joshua Lassing is also worth mentioning. It does a fine job of both showcasing the city of St. Louis that acts as a backdrop to the proceedings, as well as assisting in the portrayal of Pete's descent into madness. For example, there's a scene in which Pete hides out in Stephanie's bedroom closet while she makes love to another man that is easily the centerpiece of the picture, with its eery focus on a single sliver of light cast across Pete's face in the dark.

In the end, the movie deconstructs its subject matter so thoroughly that we're not even sure where reality ends and fantasy begins. Who was the real stalker--jilted player Pete or cold and calculating relationship blogger Stephanie? I was even tempted to ask the question of whether or not Stephanie ever even existed in the first place.

But I'll leave you to decide that. I recommend heading over to the official Love Stalker website to learn more about the film, including how to get your hands on it for either private or public screening. I'm not one to blindly support independent cinema regardless of quality. I support good cinema--and that's what this is.

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Retro Review: The Evil of Frankenstein (1964)

I pride myself on being a great fan, admirer and aficionado of Hammer horror--in a lot of ways superior to Universal, if I may be so bold (although that's a debate for a future post). Ever since I was a child, I've been entranced by the technicolor blood, buxom wenches, uproarious scores and quaint period designs of the Hammer classics. And yet, one which I had never before seen was Freddy Francis' The Evil of Frankenstein, a 1964 chestnut which was the third of six films made in Hammer's Frankenstein series.

It's included on Universal's Hammer box set, which I've had for a number of years now and also includes such gems as The Curse of the Werewolf and Kiss of the Vampire. Yet, this particular one I had never seen before, although I had always wanted to. And over the Thanksgiving weekend, I finally took the opportunity. Although not the best of the Hammer series, and certainly not the best Frankenstein-inspired motion picture, I'm glad I took the time.

One of the reasons I had always been drawn to seeing this film is that it was a bit of a departure from the rest of the studio's Frankenstein franchise. Starting with The Curse of Frankenstein in 1957, Hammer had made it a point to reinvent the classic monster series, without relying on the elements that had made the Universal entries of the 1930s and 1940s so iconic. However, although part of the reason for this was undoubtedly creative innovation, another part was also legal necessity, as Hammer could not infringe upon Universal's intellectual property.

That changed with The Evil of Frankenstein, however. Whereas the previous two films, Curse of and Revenge of, had been distributed in the United States by Warner Bros. and Columbia Pictures, respectively, the third entry was actually picked up for distribution by Universal Studios itself, which meant that for the first time, Hammer had carte blanche to rely upon the devices used previously in Universal's own Frankenstein series. And so, the classic Jack Pierce monster design could be used, and the recognizable laboratory sets could be duplicated.

While an interesting notion, the result is a mixed bag. It's fascinating to see Hammer take a crack at the Universal approach, but in the end, what made Hammer's efforts so memorable is that the studio always strove to make its own mark rather than ape someone else's work. As it is, old reliable Hammer makeup man Roy Ashton is just not in his element trying to tread in the footsteps of Jack Pierce. What we get here is a second-rate copy of the traditional Boris Karloff square-headed, platform-shoe wearing Creature, here played by legendary New Zealand wrestler Kiwi Kingston, whose zombie-like performance can only conjure up a fraction of the pathos even Glenn Strange put forth in the Universal days, let alone Karloff. Similarly, Hammer art director Don Mingaye's sets are lush and intriguing as always, but are only doing what Charles D. Hall's revolutionary work did for Universal some thirty years prior.

The plot follows the trail of Dr. Frankenstein and his assistant Hans, as they attempt to put their financial situation back on track so the doctor can return to his life's work of reanimating the dead. When he returns to his ancestral home in the village of Karlstaad, he inexplicably discovers his original creation buried in ice underneath his property. Equally inexplicable is the fact that the Creature now looks nothing like the Christopher Lee version from the original, and instead suddenly resembles the Creature of the Universal Frankenstein series. The origin of the Creature is also retold in flashback, once again retconned to more resemble the Colin Clive/Boris Karloff origin sequence of the 1931 film. It's worth noting, however, that this is the only Hammer Frankenstein film other than the original to feature the actual Frankenstein monster--but it's also obvious that this was only done to take advantage of the license granted the studio by Universal.

Still, as with any Hammer production, there is a lot to recommend the film. Peter Cushing is excellent as always as the good Dr. Frankenstein, and I'll submit that his interpretation is probably the most textured, complex and compelling of anyone who has ever tackled the role. The great Peter Woodthorpe, known to many as the voice of Gollum in both the landmark BBC Lord of the Rings radio adaptation as well as the Ralph Bakshi animated version, is a delight as the alcoholic, unscrupulous carnival hypnotist Prof. Zoltan, the film's lead heavy. Studio head Anthony Hinds, writing as he typically did under the pen name John Elder, turns in a taut script that is up to snuff with his work on such favorites as The Brides of Dracula, Night Creatures and The Reptile.

The picture probably could have benefited from the directorial leadership of Hammer standby Terence Fisher, who was set to helm the film before being injured in a car accident. In his place, the project as handed over to his cameraman Freddy Francis. Francis had previously directed minor Hammer faves Paranoiac and Nightmare, and was far from a tested commodity when he took on The Evil of Frankenstein. He would go on to direct other minor Hammer pictures, with his most notable work being Dracula Has Risen from the Grave, and his best known film would have to be Amicus Pictures' 1973 adaptation of Tales from the Crypt.

As a die-hard Hammer fan, I will always welcome the chance to curl up on a dark night with one of their evocative, atmospheric and intense films, no matter if its one of their very best or a lesser-known effort. There's no doubt the original Curse of Frankenstein is the high watermark of Hammer horror, and The Evil of Frankenstein is but a shadow of that film. An enjoyable shadow, but a shadow nonetheless. Hammer still put out a horror flick well worth seeing, but the bottom line is that the studio made its name by charting its own course in horror, not following someone else's lead. The Evil of Frankenstein is an interesting experiment, if an ill-advised one.

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Want to Know What I Thought of The Human Centipede II?

If the answer to the question posed by this post's title is "Yes," then I suggest you head over to KT Grant's excellent blog, Babbling About Books and More, where I've reviewed the controversial sequel by Tom Six. I reviewed the original one there last year, and so I was more than happy to oblige Ms. Grant with a follow-up review of the second one, especially after having interviewed Six and his star Laurence Harvey a few weeks back. Here's a sample:

A year and a half ago, I spoke out as a defender of a film I thought was being unfairly judged right out of the gate. That film was Tom Six’s The Human Centipede, and it was alternately being bashed by the mainstream for being too revolting, and by the hardcore horror freaks for being not revolting enough. The movie that I saw was a slick, well-made psychological horror flick being wrongly marketed as a gross-out piece of torture porn. I felt those dismissing it as too over-the-top simply hadn’t seen the picture, and was saddened by those who only seemed to be upset about not seeing enough ass-to-mouth contact.

For the rest of the review, check out Babbling About Books.

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Retro Review: It Came from Outer Space (1953)

The Second World War had been won. America seemed to be driving off into the proverbial sunset, leaving its Depression worries far behind and emerging as a shiny, happy world power. And yet, underneath that perfect Brill Cream surface, there was just as much turmoil as ever--only now it was buried down deep where no one could see. Eisenhower-era America was a very paranoid, nervous place, but to really understand and perceive that, you had to look in the place where the nation's zeitgeist so very often resided--the movies.

In particular, as they did in so many other periods in our history, genre films best epitomized the mood of the times. In the wake of World War II and the dawn of the Atomic Age, the public was inundated with a plethora of sci-fi based horror cinema. No longer were we being terrorized by fantastical and mythological figures out of folklore--rather, this time around, the dangers came from science, whether that meant man-made or from beyond the stars. The devastating powers of science unleashed were made known to us that fateful day in August 1945, when the city of Hiroshima, Japan was reduced to rubble in a flash.

Add to this the all-encompassing fears engendered in us by the burgeoning Cold War, with the whole nation caught up in a panic of potential Red infiltration, and you have a perfect storm of sorts, which would result in a golden age of science-fiction horror. Technology could not be trusted; the strange, the unknown, the outsider, could not be trusted. It was a time of rabid paranoia, and filmmakers were more than happy to step up and take advantage.

Filmmakers like New Haven's own Jack Arnold, who took his first step into the genre arena in 1953 with the 3-D groundbreaker It Came from Outer Space. At the vanguard of Universal Studios' horror renaissance of the early 1950s, Arnold would go on to direct both Creature from the Black Lagoon and its sequel, Revenge of the Creature, as well as the acclaimed 1957 adaptation of Richard Matheson's The Incredible Shrinking Man. But he set the tone with this, his initial foray into sci-fi horror, and one of the seminal pictures of its kind.

Arnold's screenwriter was Harry Essex, the same man who would deliver the script to Creature from the Black Lagoon to him the following year. Arnold also had as his star the earnest and intense Richard Carlson, who also starred in Creature, as well. And although that latter film gets all the press when it comes to Universal in the 1950s, it's entirely possible that this is the better film.

Playing on those inescapable Cold War fears, It Came from Outer Space tells the tale of an amateur stargazer (Carlson) who stumbles upon a crashed spacecraft in the Arizona desert and soon becomes the only one aware of the threat once the craft is totally covered in rubble. No one in his small town believes him, and it only gets worse when he begins to see his friends and neighbors being taken over by the inscrutable alien influence of which only he and his put-upon girlfriend (played by the doe-eyed Barbara Rush) are fully aware.

It's a classic formula, and one that delivers in spades. Part of the 3-D craze of the early 1950s that also gave us the likes of House of Wax (vying for audiences in the summer of 1953) and Creature the following summer, It Came from Outer Space is engagingly shot by Clifford Stine, who would go on to shoot such epics as Spartacus and Patton. Yes, the 3-D effects are often forced and contrived, as is so much of the 3-D of that era, but it's a testament to the forethought of both Arnold and Stine that the movie works just as well in 2-D.

Carlson and Rush give us performances typical of genre B-movies of this era, but it isn't for greating acting that audiences flocked to films such as this. We also get familiar character actors like Charles Warren as the incredulous sheriff, Joe Sawyer as a philosophical telephone technician and Russell Johnson, a.k.a. The Professor from Gilligan's Island, as his assistant and the first one to be co-opted by the aliens.

And speaking of aliens, my what a gruesome and glorious creature design we get here. The story goes that the original design for the aliens was rejected and would later be used for the Metaluna mutant of This Island Earth two years later. No matter, because the one-eyed, slime-caked, snail-like behemoths created by Milicent Patrick (designer of the the Gill-Man), are far more terrifying. These aliens would have to be among the most memorable of 1950s science fiction cinema, including the unique point-of-view photography that accompanied their scenes, executed by encasing the camera in a clear rubber bubble.

The plot, conceptualized by Ray Bradbury, is innovative for its time, portraying the aliens as misunderstood by a mistrusting and primitive human populace--it's the kind of progressive sci-fi thinking that would later give rise to the likes of Star Trek and other such thoughtful, hopeful, utopian sci-fi entertainment. The movie also has so much of what we've come to expect from genre pictures of the 1950s--an exasperated, dire protagonist; a constantly screaming leading lady; and of course, lots of lots of theremin, played by the legendary master of the instrument, Samuel Hoffman.

Captain Cruella and I recently had the pleasure of hosting this film as part of The Avon Theatre's Cult Classics series, and despite the poorly reproduced 3-D, it was an experience I very much enjoyed. It Came from Outer Space is something of a time capsule--a summation of a very paradoxical time in our history, mixing optimism and hysteria, delivering thrills and chills while also making us stop and think. Universal of the 1950s may have been a shadow of what it was in the 1930s, but this picture is still a whole lot of fun, and proves that the studio could still be counted on to deliver a rollicking good monster movie. Amongst the massive sci-fi horror movement that took the decade of Elvis and Lucy by storm, it is one of the best.

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