Halloween II - (film review)

          There seems to be an unwritten consensus that a Director’s (Unrated) Cut is ultimately better than the theatrical version.  This belief leads most movie-buying consumers to instinctively go for the UNRATED version as opposed to the THEATRICAL EDITION when choosing which DVD to buy.  I should know, I’m one such consumer.  However, this is myth.  Giving a director complete creative control over their film(s) does not always equate to a better version of the film.  I think there is something to be said for a group of individuals who collaborate over direction of a film, or what is to be included in it.  Of course, this also has it’s problems, so perhaps the winning formula is a mutual respect for a well-intentioned group effort.

            There are a number of ‘Director’s Cut’ that I loathe over the original theatrical versions: The Ring Two, Friday the 13^th (2009), and Jennifer’s Body, to name a few.  The added footage only detracts from the set pace of the film, and in some instances makes the movie much more absurd than they originally were.  Rob Zombie’s Halloween (and now, Halloween II) falls into this category.  I originally watched the version of Halloween that was floating online just prior to the theatrical release—a version that featured a number of different (and more effective elements).  The next version I watched was the over-bloated and supremely offensive ‘Director’s Cut’, which included a reprehensible rape scene, dimwitted teenage girl speak (which reflects Zombie’s massive disconnect from realistic dialogue) and a number of highlighted redneck absurdities.  I most recently decided to view the Theatrical edition to see if there was any salvaging to be had from a dialed down version of this unwieldy misstep.  To my surprise the disturbing rape scene was replaced by a much more viable police transport scene and the dimwitted dialogue was incredibly dialed down—the redneckness however, remained (but I have come to accept that a Rob Zombie film comes littered with these types of character tropes).  Halloween II (Director’s Cut) is another instance of ego come to destroy a rather good film.

            Zombie is becoming a much better filmmaker.  Either that, or I’m becoming much more tolerable to his unique style.  House of 1,000 Corpses is horrendous, I could not finish watching the film for I felt my life being sucked out of my eye sockets; The Devil’s Rejects was incredibly overrated and overacted with odd bits of interesting filmmaking dispersed throughout; and Halloween had about 40 minutes of incredibly disturbing horror executed with surprising authority—it is unfortunate that we have to sit through 40 minutes of tripe to get there.  Halloween II, the theatrical version, is Zombie’s best film yet and the progress shows.  The dialogue, although rough and amateurish, is at times better, the direction is a little more sharp, and the photography and visual representation of uncalculated chaotic rage is superb.

            This film is a good film for a number of reasons, and ultimately the good parts outweigh the numerous flaws (only in the theatrical version)—in many ways the flaws are more tolerable knowing that there are interesting aspects waiting just beyond the insufferable ones.  The most interesting aspects of this film involve how the main characters deal with the aftermath of being brutalized by a malevolent killer.  The atmosphere here is dark and Zombie understands that these characters cannot bounce back into normality so soon after such traumatic events, which is commonplace for continuing characterization in sequels of franchises.  What is most interesting here is the degree to which affect arises.  Laurie is completely messed up, seeking counseling and addicted to prescription medication, whereas Annie is more demure and solemn from the encounters with Myers.  One character has grown from the situation while the other has digressed—an interesting juxtaposition and avenue for these characters to take.

            The visual oppression of grainy film quality complimented by darks grey hues contribute to the overall feel of this film.  It is less scary and more sad, impressing upon us that this is the second time Myers has come down on the little town of Haddonfield.  The tragedy is thick in the air lending a kind of sophistication to the slasher genre that has never really been present in previous efforts.  In addition to this omniscient sense of doom, Myers’ character is interestingly augmented by visualizations of white and black representations of his mother and child-self.  These bizarre visualizations elevate the slasher genre into a territory not frequently navigated, if ever.

            The family in this film is the ultimate implosion of chaotic rage.  These are powerful motifs in the slasher genre (see Friday the 13^th), but are often executed with little depth or analysis into how this institution contributes to such potent emotions.  Here Zombie offers an explanation into the psyche that drives Michael Myers—something that was only briefly attempted in the vastly inferior Curse of Michael Myers.  The fantasy sequences here are visceral and raw, and the symbolism is quite apparent.  No doubt it is these very sequences that drove every critic and/or audience member to dismiss the film altogether, for such depth has no place in a fun slasher film, right? 

            Despite the interesting avenues and directions Zombie decided to take this franchise into, there are some rough edges that detract from the overall enjoyment of the film, and most of them come from the supposed representations of reality.  The reactive responses between characters in dialogue are simply too unbelievable.  For instance, when Laurie is freaking out with her therapist, her therapist prompts: “Have you been doing your breathing exercises?”, to which Laurie responds: “Breathing exercises?!! Breathing exercises?!!...”, indicating to the audience that she does not know what these breathing exercises are and that they sounds ridiculous.  However, the way the therapist approaches the topic there is an implicit notion that the two have discussed breathing exercises in the past.  If this were the case, then ultimately Laurie’s response should have been: “No, they do nothing!” (or something to that effect).  This is but one minor example of a number of continuing dialogue problems in the film, luckily these portrayals of ‘reality’ do not detract from the fantastical elements.  Also, the character of Loomis is completely mishandled and annoying—whoever told Malcolm MacDowell he could act should be shot.  He is the WORST actor in this and the previous installment chewing the scenery and over-adlibbing way too often that it pulls the audience right out of the film.

            However, once again, the detrimental faults with this film can be (in my case) overlooked given the unique originality that Zombie drives this latest installment into a franchise that has been jump started more times than any other franchise (remember the Busta Rhymes entry?).  The faults are more prevalent in the Unrated version here then in the theatrical cut, so I urge those who have not seen it to rent or buy the theatrical version (as you will not be able to download it online)—absolute power corrupts absolutely.  The value of others involved who act as second or third editors to Zombie’s sometimes unwieldy films is priceless.
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GRADE: Theatrical Edition - 85% (A); Unrated Director's Cut - 78 (B+)

Top Ten of 2009

It’s nearing the end of 2009 and although there may be a few more releases, it may be safe to say that the best horror films have come and gone.  I love top ten lists, so below are a synopses of what I deem to be the best of 2009.

10. Friday the 13^th (2009)

Review is forthcoming.  This one is not a particularly good film, but it is an entry into one of my favourite horror franchises.  As much as I appreciate well-crafted horror films, I can appreciate a fun senseless slasher flick that conforms to all the typical stereotypes and genre tropes that have become clichéd.  This one is in the top ten simply for that reason.

9. Grace - 80% (A-)

In Grace, a mother/child relationship sees the desire to provide the child with absolutely everything it needs for nourishment and sustenance, at the cost of devouring the very life-blood of the mother.  Madeline insists on carrying her stillborn child to term and shortly thereafter manages to resuscitate it back to life through feeding it her blood.  It takes some time for Madeline to realize precisely what is happening here, but once it is clear, she becomes eerily disturbed at what she is required to do to provide her child with the means to live.  This disturbance however does not stop Madeline from actually following through with murder in order to obtain blood for her child to feed on.  The symbolic strength of the need for blood is a potent device that Solet uses to startling effect here.  Grace not only requires her mother to provide her own life for hers, but at times necessitates the need for others to offer their lives.  Grace is the monster in this film and an interesting monster at that.  Instead of tormenting her victims and killing them by force, she remains perfectly still and by the sheer fact of being a child and the social implications that surround how a child is to be loved and cared for, manages to reek havoc and mayhem through the actions of those who love her most.  Grace is easily defeatable, however the socially ingrained desire to conceive of and raise children in order to obtain the picture-perfect family dynamic is so potent and strong that Grace becomes the most dangerous and effective monster to date.  Everyone around her dies in effort to vie for who will take care of her most (even at the expense of their lives), while she remains perfectly still.

8. Paranormal Activity - 84% (A-)

What is the most salient aspect of this film is how personal it becomes.  The distance between audience member(s) and character/plot that is common amongst more traditional narrative films is quite apparent, one can always reassure oneself that ‘it is only a movie’, and that ‘these things don’t happen in real life.’  This film attempts to demolish that boundary between audience reality and the going-ons portrayed on the screen.  It really feels like you are watching actual footage of preternatural occurrences, and that those involved are psychologically damaged from their experiences with it.  This connection to the audience is real and formidable, it is what manages to hold the audience in its grasp and effectively trigger those psychological subconscious fears of sensations one suspects may be paranormal.  Even as I right this I can’t help but consider the possibility that those creaky noises I hear from my basement are the beginnings of someone or something making its way up to hover over me as I sleep.

7. The Children - 86% (A)

It seems to me that Shankland decided to pen a scenario whereby the “my-child-is-the-most-important-thing-in-my-world-and-yours” syndrome is tested and exploited.  The only character willing to believe the violent manipulation and severity of the children’s behaviours is the teenage daughter.  She does not have children of her own and she has matured enough to comprehend the internalizing manipulation of children in ways that objectively discerns proper bratty behaviour—and so, she becomes the film’s heroine.  Although it may be difficult for the mother Elaine, to harm a child and give them much needed discipline (as Miska argues in his review), she later manages to decipher the difference between ill-intended violent childlike behaviour over the life and consideration of her teenage daughter, Casey (who may not be as socially ‘innocent’ but still deserving of respect).  She drives over her younger daughter to save Casey—so ultimately Elaine has learned to step outside of the socially accepted role of ‘child-comes-first’ to manage the situation properly, giving every party involved consideration and respect.

6. Trick 'r Treat - 87% (A)

After the film had finished, I was drawn back less by the imbricated storylines and dialogue that helped accent the film, and more by the atmospheric presence it holds.  The continuous presence of jack-o-lanterns, twilight yellows (from either candles or from the eerily disturbing Halloween sun), delight in costuming, and the wonderful entity of Sam (the childlike figure who plagues each story, wearing a custom fitted burlap sack over his suspiciously enlarged head).  What writer/director Michael Dougherty managed to pull off with the character of Sam, is a pre-iconic figure that encapsulates the childlike fear and attraction to evil and dread that comes with the fascination of Halloween.  The film is littered with this sensation, much like how a Christmas film incorporates all the seemingly traditional Euro-North American associations with that particular holiday.  So this is why the film is scary.  It’s not because something terrifying happens in the film (of which some do, but nothing to overwhelm the senses of fear).  It is because long after the film is done, you begin to remember when you were a child and could not pragmatically reason your way out of a fear spiral that you begin to recall that sensation.  How you felt trying to relish in the fun of Halloween: getting and consuming candy, dressing up as your favourite (anti-)hero, and watching scary movies.  Always knowing that in the back of your mind, there was something more dark and sinister about what is happening, what Halloween is really about, and the fear that on this day, you should not tempt the fate of your mortality.

5. Halloween II

Review is forthcoming.  Not a typical slasher film, infused with intricate character analysis and bizarre visual representation of vacuous evil.  This film was systematically panned by critics who probably expected to be disappointed from its onset, because God-forbid anyone dare to bear their mark on the sanctimonious shrine that is the original Halloween.  Rob Zombie’s take on the series is effective in making it the most unlike Halloween film in the long line of Halloween films, which by its 9^th installment, is a welcome change of pace.

4. The House of the Devil - 88% (A)

Despite the slow burn execution, there are a few moments of unexpected shock and horror, occurring so quickly that the slow pace shortly afterwards is welcomed to ease the audience back into a film that just scared the crap out of them.  However, I would be remiss to label the occurrences in the film ‘horror’, but rather unrelenting and lingering disturbance, which drives the viewer to internalize his/her dread, lingering long after the scene or movie has completed—much in the same way that Paranormal Activity does.  In addition to the film’s merit within the horror genre, it is overall, a superbly executed film, warranting an analysis beyond the paradigmatic lens that hinders most reviews of horror movies.  The dread is real, the isolation exquisite, and the malignant malevolence of the heroine’s attackers and their intentions with her, are horrific.  The satanic-worshipping subgenre of horror has had an iffy track-record, however given this brilliant inclusion I wouldn’t be surprised if more Devil-infested films were on the roster in the near future.

3. Jennifer's Body - 89% (A)

The film is an interesting display of the female body and how the female body is central to larger, more complex, interpersonal relationships—how it serves to signify sexual meaning and understanding within prevailing patriarchal heteronormativity.  In a recent correspondence with Marla Newborn, or Fangoria Magazine, it came to my attention that even the casting of the film plays an intricate role to its complex nature—the societal lusting after Megan Fox is inverted by Megan Fox’s portrayal of Jennifer: a seemingly bisexual demonic beast that devours the male who dares to objectify her, and shows compassion only to females.  It is their objectification that nourishes Megan/Jennifer, another complex contradiction of the film and its confusing portrayal of sexual dread.  The male gaze sustains Jennifer’s superficial needs, but it is femininity and female relations that motivate her actions.

2. Drag Me to Hell - 89% (A)

Drag Me to Hell exposes the individuation of the bureaucratic system and the personal agency of those subjects who comprise it.  The rules of bureaucracy are determined and enforced by people who have every ability to make exceptions and special circumstantial decisions.  Instead, the invisible and omnipresent watchful eye of economic growth lingers over each individual within the bureaucratic system, causing them to self-internalize their own governance—disallowing room for exception or ethical decisions that may slightly inconvenience one for massive benefits to others.

1. Orphan - 93% (A+)

With intricate overlapping layers of substance, and boasting some of the best performances this side of the horror genre, Orphan is a well-calculated venture into the world of psychosexuality and the often ignored sexual development of children—and the potentials for this going awry.  There may be something wrong with Esther, but there is very little wrong with this film.

In case you are wondering why one of your favourite horror films of this year isn’t on my list, below are a variety of films I have not seen (most are straight-to-DVD).  If it’s not listed below, or in the top ten above, that means I’ve seen it and didn’t care too much for it.  Unseen:

-          Acolytes

-          Alien Raiders

-          Amusement

-          Blood: The Last Vampire

-          Boogeyman 3

-          Book of Blood

-          Blood Creek

-          Carriers

-          The Cell 2

-          Cold Prey

-          The Collector

-          Dead Snow

-          Donkey Punch

-          Eden Log

-          Feast III: The Happy Finish

-          Home Movie

-          Homecoming

-          Mutant Chronicles

-          Nature’s Grave

-          Outlander

-          Prey

-          [REC] 2

-          Skeleton Crew

-          Surveillance

-          Thirst

-          Vinyan

-          Whiteout

-          Zombieland

The Fourth Kind - (film review)

            The first review I read of this film was by Pat Jankiewicz from Fangoria.  I was aghast at   how amateurish the review was, relegating interesting horror filmmaking techniques as a ‘gimmick’.  If you’ve read that review I should clarify some details—the split screen does not play constantly throughout.  It’s used here as a dramatic narrative device that although still directs the audience in what to focus attention on, manages to effectively push boundaries of reality-based footage from the reenactment.

            Perhaps what this reviewer (and many like him/her, ‘Pat’ is quite ambiguous and I do not want to make any assumptions) finds most abhorrent is the tried and tested annoyance of claimants that this film (and many like it) are based on or a representation of a true story.  There is an obsession with the truth—both in the production and marketing of the film and in the audience’s desire to unearth the actuality of the narrative unfolding before them onscreen.  If the film strays too far from tangible facts and representation, then somehow the film becomes veritably annulled.  It’s existence becomes unnecessary, and any merit the film claimed to have had prior to the resolved fallibility of its conveyance is abolished.

I have to admit that I tried extensively to research Dr. Abigail Tyler and her research through various online archival sites and legitimate academic psychiatric journals (through my university access), and have come up with nothing.  Most sites point to the research conducted as commencing at the same time the film began its marketing campaign.  The Alaskan Psychiatry Journal that boasts original research by Dr. Tyler is not a real academic journal.  It is unquestionably suspicious as to why the producers have gone to such massive lengths to convince the audience of its archival authenticity.  Other films that claim “based on a true story” make no such efforts—The Haunting in Connecticut, The Amityville Horror, and The Exorcism of Emily Rose have all managed to back up the actual ‘true’ stories they are based on, regardless of how fictionalized the accounts have become in the reframing narrative.  However, the reality of the situation is that proper archived footage of a man killing his family, or a therapy session of hypnosis to recount an abduction resulting in the paralysis of the patient, would never be released for major theatrical distribution, so it is not surprising that there are no documented cases that resemble the ones in The Fourth Kind.

            One has to ask themselves if the deception the film subjects its viewers to, actually lessens the experience of the movie?  I would argue that it doesn’t.  Although the central ‘gimmick’ of the film is to recount actual events that have been conveniently documented by video or audio footage, the most intriguing element in The Fourth Kind is the narrative structure and symbiosis of ‘reality’ and reenactment and how it manages to traipse through its boundaries—where does art imitation end and life begin?  It seems as though the film is relying on its believability in order to keep the thematic reality/reenactment lines blurred, for if it was discovered that the footage is actually a hoax this argument would be moot.  Which raises another interesting notion: the susceptibility of audience’s naivety in direct contrast with their skepticism for anything attempting to be ‘based on a true story’.  This is evidenced in the monumental backlash that films Paranormal Activity and The Blair Witch Project have received, two films which have graciously admitted to the unrealness of it all.

            This film decidedly and pointedly moves through interviewed footage with Director Osunsanmi from Chapman Univeristy—of which Osunsanmi is a film alum and Dr. Abigail Tyler is nowhere to be found in the universities list of faculty members—and reenactments by Milla Jovovich and Elias Koteas.  The presentation and structure of the film as reenactment and the collision of reality and the fourth wall is a clever way in which this film taps into the alien subgenre of science fiction.  Most narratives of this kind strive on truth, and the inclusion of the audience.  The structure here goes beyond simple narrative devices, and instead attempts to insert poignant split-screen techniques with actor/character self-realization.  The fact that the film addresses itself as a film can be seen to serve the narrative structure of the story as well as heightening the assertion of its truth claims.  Its central thesis interpretively fluctuates between two positions: the blur between dramatization and reality (as mentioned above) and/or the heightened disturbance of being witness to actual events.  Both are viable, and both are intriguing.  However, given the debunked ‘reality’ of this film, one must consider a third option: the desire to represent a fictionalized ‘truth’ and the subsequent manipulation of audience susceptibility this entails.  It seems that lately there is nothing more infuriating than the manipulation of big-studio filmmaking—a number of reivewers and horror fans cannot stress enough the infuriation from being blatantly lied to, as if filmmakers have mandated an oath of truth to which they are obliged to uphold.

            It’s a shame that what mires The Fourth Kind most is the actuality of its claims, because at the epoch of the film is a rather disturbing and unsettling notion—the possibility and probability of initial sparks of religion and spirituality being based upon alien life-forms, and the subsequent underbelly of how this notion derails contentions of God and an afterlife.  Muddled into this conception of extraterrestrials as supreme beings is the drive the film has in ‘fooling’ the audience into its reality—because a work of fiction can be dismissed as just being fiction, but translations of ancient Sumerian documented in actual footage is far more difficult to ignore.  The reality of fearing nothing beyond our carnal existence with only a void entity who has none of the compassion and empathetic warmth of the god religion has concocted for us to ingest, can be quite disturbing, especially for those who rely and depend on something more—to be stripped of faith is not an easy pill to swallow.

            However, this film can be understood as a metaphorical manifestation of the shredding away of faith and the inevitable anger which results.  The very essence of fiction as truth and the underhanded manipulation necessary to pull off such a stunt is relatable to the uncertainty of religion and faith—however, more people believe in it than they do in this film.


ADDENDUM: The Fourth Kind portends to draw conclusions of disappearances listed here.  There have been considerable infuriated backlashes reported here, as well as a law-suit against Universal Pictures reported here.
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Grade: 80% (A-)

The Box - (film review)

            During the onset of the marketing campaign for this film, a friend and I were returning home on the subway (from a shopping extravaganza, no less!) where a movie poster came upon us.  This sparked my friend to remark:  “That looks so stupid!  Someone brings them a box and tells them if they push it, they’ll get a million dollars and someone in the world will die.  How ridiculous!”  I answered: “Well, there’s more to it than that.  You can reduce any film to a singularity.  The Descent is about five girls going spelunking and encounter horrible freakish mutants.”  (He loves The Descent).
            In the first twenty minutes of the film, I knew I was right—there is more to this film than just the proposition of pushing a button, which kills someone (you don’t know) and rewards you with a million dollars.  However, at times it seems like there is needlessly more.  The premise itself is an intriguing one, however filmmaker Richard Kelly (of Donnie Darko and Southland Tales) is not satiated with the simplicity of the thematic elements and the complexities through which it can stir great debate.  There is definitely more to it.  The first hour of the film is seamless, menacingly ominous, and suspenseful.  Frank Langella is perfectly eerie as the stranger who entices the couple with this wonderful narrative contemplation—push the button, kill someone, and make a million dollars.  Even the explanation of the button device itself, and the metaphorical trappings through which its construction and structure manage to litter itself upon the social world (we live our entire lives in some kind of box) is compelling.  James Marsden and Cameron Diaz are a perfect Virginian 1976 couple who seem to be ‘targeted’ by this person in a manner that suggests if they don’t push the button there are some other serious consequences.
            However, upon the inception of the second hour, the slow paced, needlessly convoluted storyline allows the audience to pick away at the film in a way that was probably never intended.  Brad Miska at  Bloody-Disgusting claims that one should not be distracted at the films unintentional plot holes instead urges the viewer to not “ask questions and don’t try and put two and two together; just accept it for what it is” (Miska 2009).  Unfortunately Miska, the very essence of your request would lead practically every movie to be a brilliant one—it is the very ability of the viewer to ‘put two and two together’ that pressures the filmmaker(s) to circumspect the narrative devices he/she is inculcating the audience with.  I managed to put two and two together and ultimately the result is not as satisfying as the anticipation of the film, for I (and my partner) had very high hopes for this film—we opted to see it instead of The Fourth Kind this afternoon based simply on its engaging storyline.
            The most disturbing thematic element of the film comes from the fact that the ‘test subjects’ are always a heterosexual couple with one child, and the wife is always the one to press the button while the husband looks on suspiciously.  The very notion of Pandora’s Box being opened by the female spouse harkens back to historical biblical sexism and the original sin.  The period of the film is 1976, so perhaps this temporal location instills some dire significance to the destruction of the nuclear family and the emergence of the female head of household.  It does not.  There is no mention of the significance of the wife to push the button, in fact, it almost suggests that the experiment is only viable if the wife pushes the button, for the ramifications of this action subsequent to the pushing of the button imply that certain marital dynamics be in place for the drama to unfold as it does.  Gender, and the Eve-complex, are conveniently ignored in this film, an aspect that (if you’ve read previous reviews of films) I cannot abide by.
            The Box instead focuses on the obvious theme: the consequential actions of succumbing to one’s own personal wants and desires over the well-being of the social cohesive whole.  It is an interesting theme, however laced in the 70s and reeking of heterosexist anti-feminist elements, it loses some of its appeal.  If for instance, Mr. Steward relished in the destruction of marital bliss by infusing his own warped chaotic sense of ironic justice into the fold, this glaring flaw would be overlooked.  In that instance, the destruction and implosion of the marital nuclear bliss would be the point of the film—exposing the structure and institution for what it is and can be and the boxed in confinements it upholds.  However, in The Box what propels the film forward is the clinical callousness of the experiments and the how these kinds of qualitative analyses can misinterpret or completely ignore the personal factors involved, and clearly not properly elucidated, in the decision and subsequent regret of one’s actions.  Norma (Diaz) is truly regretful for what she’s done, and surprises Mr. Steward with empathetic compassion where he expected pity.  This is a truly remarkable current in the film, it is unfortunate that it is muddled by a stylistic technique that purports to be more complex and profound then it needs to be.
            Once The Box settles into the viewer, two or three hours after the films ending, it becomes clear all the various elemental fragments inter-dispersed throughout and its linearity.  If only the story were told in this manner (and a half-hour were cut from it), The Box would be monumentally more successful than it supposes it is.  Its intriguing subject manner and superb pace and cinematography are subsequently undercut by its demand for self-importance pretentiousness.  Ultimately The Box is not a bad film by any means.  Instead it suffers from its own refusal of gripping simplicity in favour of gratuitous convolution.  Its own inept ignorance over the implications of a 70s setting with a central heterosexual couple is too staggering to be ignored, and its subtle grace over the presented ‘horrid’ deformities, is troubling when considering the advances in disability studies.  In all fairness, the film does address this deformation in a rather unexpected and well-intentioned manner.
            I really want to like The Box more than I do, and perhaps upon repeated viewings I may serendipitously bask in undiscovered subtlety and significance where I did not find it before.  Or my friend may be right—there isn’t much more to this film than I first thought.
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Grade: 79% (B+)

The House of the Devil - (film review)

            Certain horror films play on fast paced action to offset the vast lacuna of substantial dialogue and creative editing, and for the most part this tried and tested horror filmmaking tactic seems to work.  Occasionally, there are films that opt instead to hold on camera angles that are shot a few steps back, stay focused on the reaction of a character who is being threatened, or concentrate less on the intention to scare and more on the desire to convey an emotion.  Such is how The House of the Devil plays.

            When I first discovered this film it was from an iPod Touch application that sporadically mistakes new releases for older films—for the duration of the release of Halloween II this app believed it was made in 1981 and starred Jamie Lee Curtis and Donald Pleasance.  I was intrigued enough to watch the trailer of The House of the Devil, and upon ingesting it I was fervid to watch this remarkably enticing film.  I actually believed it was a film from the 80s and thus accessible enough to either download (no, I don’t do that!), or available to rent at my local specialty video rental store—hell, I was even willing to buy a copy because in these days if you are willing to shell out close to $25 for you and a partner to watch a film in the theaters, it almost seems justifiable to spend an extra $5 to purchase and own it on DVD.  Upon researching the film I realized that it is a film made in 2008 and currently showing at the Tribeca Film Festival.

            I finally had an opportunity to view the film tonight, and unfortunately for those living in Canada, it won’t be until February that you’ll be able to properly (read: legally) watch it.  The pace of the film borders a slow burn, however in light of the subject matter the pace is perfect, any faster and the unintentional ‘silly’ factor would have set in.  Also, its intended to be a film of the early 80s, not an homage to films in the 80s.  I can’t remember films from that era that were this taught, well-paced, aptly directed, and exceptionally executed, which may be its unintended flaw—as realistic as it aims to be, it is ultimately better than a majority of films from that period.

            There is very little in the way of current social significance in the content of the film, instead what we see are the horror tropes that festered in the early 80s/late 70s which have inscribed in audiences the typicality of horror films from there on in—the exploitation of teenage girls at the hands of creepy elderly individuals whose malicious intent it is to violate them.  These tropes have been established early on, prior to the 80s, and have managed to become staples of horror fare.  They have been analyzed by a plethora of film theorists who explain the ‘last girl’ phenomenon as a psychosomatic visualization of internalized sexual desires.  The girl(s) is violated through satanic rituals as a metaphorical representation of her internal psychosexual desires—she fights against her captors in the same way that she fights against her sexual urges.  All of this holds true for The House of the Devil, however, where those films may exploit the internal psychosexual desires of the girls by having them threatened while being nude, or stripped during their attack, this film maintains a more classy respectable representation of its female heroine.

            In addition to the successful stylistic and narrative devices used to great effect in The House of the Devil, its most successful feat is the omniscient sense of dread that looms with every shot and in every corner.  In a review by Michael Gingold of Fangoria, he states that “even the introductory scenes on campus carry an eerie sense of isolation” (Gingold 2009).  This isolation, astutely acknowledged by Gingold, exudes a subtle, practically unnoticeable degree of omniscient oppression upon the viewer—there’s a clarity that something monumentally profound and irreversible is about to happen (this may be obvious given the film’s title, however the severity of what is to come is nevertheless offset by its revelations).  There is never a doubt that the film will end badly, but given the likeableness of the film’s two unsuspecting lead characters, one hopes for some exit, some kind of potential escape, even if it is apparent that there will be none.

            Despite the slow burn execution, there are a few moments of unexpected shock and horror, occurring so quickly that the slow pace shortly afterwards is welcomed to ease the audience back into a film that just scared the crap out of them.  However, I would be remiss to label the occurrences in the film ‘horror’, but rather unrelenting and lingering disturbance, which drives the viewer to internalize his/her dread, lingering long after the scene or movie has completed—much in the same way that Paranormal Activity does.

            In addition to the film’s merit within the horror genre, it is overall, a superbly executed film, warranting an analysis beyond the paradigmatic lens that hinders most reviews of horror movies.  The dread is real, the isolation exquisite, and the malignant malevolence of the heroine’s attackers and their intentions with her, are horrific.  The satanic-worshipping subgenre of horror has had an iffy track-record, however given this brilliant inclusion I wouldn’t be surprised if more Devil-infested films were on the roster in the near future.
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Grade: 88% (A)