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)

Saw VI - (film review)

           I have to admit that I like sequels.  I also like remakes, but that’s for another discussion.  The greater the amount of sequels a film has, the more intrigued I am to watch them—unless of course all the sequels are direct to DVD, and then I don’t seem to be as interested.  It almost seems as though direct-to-video sequels are not really real, as though they were produced for sheer entertainment value and really hold no bearing over the essence of the original film(s)—for instance, I’m sure if the filmmakers of The Grudge decided to release a theatrical sequel The Grudge 3 would be obsolete.  I particularly enjoy when sequels actually include the number of the installment in the title: (eg. Friday the 13^th part VII: The New Blood, A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master, Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers).  To release a high numbered sequel is quite audacious—a gamble to determine who will risk embarrassment by walking up to the ticket counter and ask: “One for Saw 6, please.”

The further along the franchise gets, the more intriguing it is to uncover how the storylines from each subsequent sequel are intertwined, unless of course the franchise decides to reboot itself, or ignore the ending of the previous film (ie. Halloween H20, Jason Goes to Hell, etc.).  In instances like these it feels as though the filmmakers and producers cheated the audience and fanbase who remained loyal.  This is definitely not how the interminable sequels of the Saw franchise operate.  Instead, the writers are determined to continuously link all the films as intricately as the possibly can—convoluting the dramatic tension in ways that confuse the audience enough to believe the film is in fact intelligent and clever.

As per my review of the Saw (series), the same holds true for this film.  It is the unmitigated will and intellect of Jigsaw’s master plans that reigns supreme.  However, in this 6^th installment, the ‘Jigsaw-as-morality-god’ is expanded to such a degree that the filmmakers attempt to manipulate the audience to side with Jigsaw who is ultimately pitted against the evil mongering monster President of the Umbrella Health Insurance company.  Of course I do not advocate sympathy for these corporate shells who spew policy in their Brooks Brothers suits, disaffected by those who require the most help.  (The injection of social conscience in the way of health care policy in the United States may seem aptly timed here, however I couldn’t help but continue to think: “Just move to Canada!”  But this is not the central point of the film, so moving on…).

The filmmakers continue to characterize Jigsaw as a rebellious champion making real decisions and affecting real change.  If people are faced with their own mortality, they will value their life more and not crave the drugs, cigarettes, and various other decidedly evil vices that they are addicted to.  Jigsaw claims to have a cure for complacent and destructive addiction—after all those who are addicted to physically harming substances are slowly killing themselves anyway, might as well just speed up the process.  Also, Jigsaw claims in many instances throughout the film that he despises murderers, and that he has never killed anyone, simply placed them in situations that required a varying degree of physical sacrifice to remain alive.  But is this true?  Even if in every instance there was a chance of escape, the sheer placement of the victim in such a situation is juridically and morally defined as murder or attempted murder.  Someone who breaks into your house and attacks you with a knife, cannot repeal his intentions by arguing that he is not a murderer simply because you may have bested him.  The intention is clear, regardless of how self-delusional you may be in rationalizing your actions as justifiable. 

Still, the responsibility of effective horror monsters is not to find plot holes in their own logic, however the writers could insert the odd character or two who manages to resist Jigsaw’s superbly pedantic and uninspired ideologies.  Even Jigsaw’s ex-wife, a social worker who has dedicated her life to help homeless drug addicts, is persuaded by his unfounded logic when he turns up with a completely rehabilitated Amanda—someone she had previously deemed as a ‘lost soul.’  He explains to his ex-wife that their addiction is not simple—but apparently their cure is.  He neglects to take into consideration the monumental social factors (race, sex, gender, institutionalized racism, systemic discrimination that leads to socioeconomic instability and inequity thus furthering potentials for sever mental health issues) that contribute to a person’s life.  The writers are hoping the audience is daft enough to believe a sentiment like ‘addiction is not simple’ by lazily brushing by this monumental claim without providing substantial theoretical evidence to support it.  Maybe they are hoping that Jigsaw’s self-determined conviction will be persuasive enough for people to believe him, or maybe they’re hoping the audience will ‘fill-in-the-blank.’

            Despite these catastrophic flaws the film is actually one of the better entries, with it’s attempt at dealing with social issues most films steer completely clear of—however pedantic the attempt is.  Ultimately, the most enjoyable aspect of the film (for me at least) is the fact that it’s the 6^th one, and it states so in the title.

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Grade: 70% (B-)

Orphan - (film review)

            There’s something wrong with Esther.  It is a very simple aphorism that deceptively screens the underlying psychosexuality of the film.  There’s something wrong with Esther.  In this, we may be able to also say that there is something wrong with John, Esther’s adopted father and husband to Kate.  However, before delving into the imbricating and intricate layers of this film, it is necessary to warn the reader that I will be discussing all aspects of Orphan, including the reveal of what precisely is wrong with Esther—so be forewarned if you would rather retain this mystery.

            This film is not an exercise in reality representation in film—art imitating life, etc.  The most obvious evidence of this surrealism is the simple fact that no one would earnestly make a film about the evils of adoption, or even foreign adoption.  So clearly there is something more intricate at work here.  This is reflected in the atmospheric thematic elements (including the above mentioned apothegm) that suggest to the audience something deeper, embedded within the superficial first layer of the film.  The opening title credit and the way in which it shifts from a monochromatic title to a disturbingly black-lit multi-coloured title is an indication of the profoundly entrenched dark substance the film exudes.

            Before Esther is even introduced, we meet Kate and John, an average couple entering the hospital so Kate may deliver her third child—this quickly turns sour as blood begins to pour out from her and it is reveled that her child is stillborn.  What is revealing in this scene is the placement of John, who fills the role of the doctor and father, and his detachment and lack of empathy towards Kate’s obvious distraught—this suggests an underlying dissonance between the couple, implying Kate’s distrust of John and John’s inability to relate to Kate.  Each character in this film is intertwined in such a way as to add another layer of intricacy not seen in any film, let alone a horror genre film.  Each relation be it Kate and John, Esther and John, Kate and Esther, Kate and Max, Esther and Max (I could literally go on), adds to the psychosexual tensions the film portrays.

            When Esther is introduced it is no coincidence that John is the first person to spot her and talk to her—for it is their eerily disturbing relationship that provides the film with its disquieting appeal.  We soon begin to understand that beneath Esther’s prim and proper exterior lies something darker, however it is not only Esther’s behaviour that is questionable.  Prior to Esther’s entry in the film, we get a glimpse at the sexually starved husband who is let down by his unwilling wife.  On the very first night Esther is there, Kate initiates oral stimulation which sparks Esther’s desires inciting her to interrupt the act with her little sister Max.  When they enter the parents’ bedroom, Esther insists: “I want to sleep next to Daddy”, causing John to shift position so as not to make any inappropriate gestures of fatherly love.  The second instance of sexual incitement comes days later when John begins to stimulate Kate in the kitchen—moments later, Esther catches them in their mutually consenting act.  It is at this precise moment that an audience member must ask: “Is this explicit display of sexuality appropriate in a child-centered horror film?”  Perhaps it is this confluent sexual undertone paralleling the central storyline that drives the underlying substance of the film?  It cannot be a coincidence that the budding sexual desire is not directly related to Esther’s presence in the house—the question is: why is this sexual desire resurging?

            Freud is infamous for the psychosexual development of little boys—labeling this process the Oedipus complex.  In direct contrast, little girls develop in a similar but more pathological manner.  Little girls’ psychosexual development is coined the Electra complex by Carl Jung and the Feminine Oedipus attitude by Freud.  Ultimately it implies a sexual attraction to the father and a direct practically murderous competition with the mother—this complicated and highly problematic psychological process is investigated largely by Nancy J. Chodorow in her book Femininities, Masculinities, Sexualities: Freud and Beyond.  This largely discredited, but somehow socially withholding psychological theory is the underpinning essence of the film—another example as to why the film cannot be taken as a literal interpretation of actual events, but rather a highly fictionalized narrative of the feminine Oedipus attitude brought to life.  The daughter, according to Freud, adorns her penis envy by desiring one in her—and her first interaction or knowledge of a penis is through her interaction with her father.  Another example of the underlying developmental sexuality occurs during the scene where Esther threatens Danny (the son) with cutting off his penis before he even knows what to do with it—these explicit references to sexuality and sexual impulses are not an accident.

            As Kate begins to distrust Esther, which happens very early on in the film, another confluent subplot and subtheme arises: the dismissive patriarchal attitude towards the indelibly labeled ‘hysteria’ of femininity.  No one believes Kate as she begins to relay her understanding of Esther and the deeply rooted disturbance of her newly adopted child.  In other, less effective films, I would argue that this is a lazy narrative device that attempts to insert drama where drama is not necessary or relevant.  In the case of Orphan, the disbelief of Kate and subsequent lack of trust that both John and her psychiatrist have of her is indicative of the historically pathologized sexual female (Chodorow 1994).  It would almost detract from the film’s aim if her husband and psychiatrist did believe her.

            An alternative motivation for John to disbelieve Kate is his subconscious compliance to be seduced by Esther.  The suggestive scenes of father-daughter affection border inappropriateness (the scene where John chooses Esther over Kate to share in his conjugal bed comes to mind), and there must be something that underlies John’s complete disinclination to side with Kate in her accusation of Esther’s sinister attitude.  Something is there, and Orphan is careful to hint at it without complete explicitness (so as not to offend the masses in the way that Birth did).  It is not until Esther makes her intentions clear to John that John (just barely) refuses—for what else could he do in that instance?

            The rest of the film is a careful interactive struggle between mother and daughter as it relates to the Electra complex, with one glaring difference—Kate refuses to be victimized by the absurdity of historical psychiatric pathologization of femininity as ostensibly hysteria, and with every turn struggles against her confinement.  Near the end of the film she decides to give up on an aspirations of saving her marriage, considering that even after it is clear Esther started the fire, which almost cost Danny his life, John still refuses to admit her involvement.  Instead Kate declares her desire to protect her children and her willingness to do whatever it takes to ensure her continued mothering of them.

            Every plot device and thematic element is a deliberate, well-planned intricate layer in this film.  Nothing is accidental, and each interactive character relation is directly implicated to the overarching psychosexual narrative of the film.  The blood-related children work in tandem to prove Esther’s malevolence—they can’t go to their parents just yet, because of considerable threat from Esther herself and the obviousness that their father is too involved and enveloped by Esther to believe them.  Going to their mother may only further their parents’ separation, so they must prove Esther’s sinister action before divulging what she has done.  The film is also careful to offer a counter perspective to some of the more potentially offensive aspects: namely the foreign dark-haired child that ultimately proves to be evil.  Esther is definitely the ‘other’ in this film, however so is Max—the adorable biological daughter who is deaf.  Their relationship reflects their individual othered status, and the inclusion of a deaf biological child is a clear attempt to offset the foreign otherness of Esther—however thin this device may be, it definitely does not detract from the film but rather enhances its allure.

The film is not a direct Evil-Child subgenre horror film, because Esther is not an evil child.  The usage of typical horror movie devices and their subsequent retraction is how the film plays with its audience, further suggesting something more involved than immediate appearances.  The horror here is not from shocking reveals, but rather through the slow unraveling of disturbance of psychosexuality.  Esther is actually 33 years old (experiencing a hormonal disorder which simulates proportional dwarfism), and when this final revelation occurs it may seem automatically ludicrous—I know I felt a little let down when it happened.  However, upon subsequent viewings it becomes clear to me that there could be no other possible reasoning for Esther’s disquieting behaviour.  In this last plot point, every aspect that are previously hinted at are made explicit in such a visceral manner to suggest precisely how Esther became the way she is.  

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.

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Grade: 93% (A+)

Saw - (series review, parts 1 - 5)

            The major myth that continues to predicate subsequent reviews of the endless sequels in the Saw franchise is the notion that the original was quite a clever shocker that played with typical audience expectations.  Probably because no one EVER likes sequels (for some reason it is believed that original movies are sacred beings not deserving of the bastardization of sequel-izing), the bombardment of negative reviews plaguing the Saw franchise continue to obsess over how gosh darn clever the original film was.  This is definitely not the case, but before I discuss the issues plaguing the first two entries, I think it is necessary to outline certain caveats for proper engagement with this series.

            The films, beginning with the third entry, are structured more as a television series than as sequels in a franchise.  It’s interesting to think that if the Saw films were in fact a television series, they would be highly revered and successfully rated.  Instead, the medium of film and the protective relationship that critics seem to have with this format of storytelling does not lend itself as favourable towards the series.  Despite this unfortunate choice of medium, it is necessary to understand that the illogical pragmatism involving the construction of the highly convoluted traps is not what flags the most significant follies of the films.  It is the pedantic moral indignation attempting to pass itself off as this all-knowing righteousness that is the most unbelievable and aggravatingly annoying aspect of the film(s).

            Upon re-watching some of these films, I attempted to reconcile my contempt for this particular fault.  Perhaps the films are actually clever ways of restructuring typical slasher methods in horror films—Freddy and Jason (although not intentionally, but through joyful reclamation of the films and their self-worth) thrive on supposedly corrupt teenagers fornicating or indulging in drug use.  Maybe Jigsaw is a modern slasher who instead of relying on typical and trite horror movie monster methods, has discovered a new way to pit victim against victim disguised as lessons in morality and the value of life?  Maybe the audience is supposed to be enraged by Jigsaw’s methods and black and white modes of moral analyses.  If this were the case, and the filmmakers intend to pit the audience against Jigsaw, instead of sympathizing and understanding his moral indignation for his specifically chosen and incredibly accessible subjects, I believe the films would be far better received.  Is the intention that we view these films and find ourselves feeling incredulous towards the sadism perpetrated upon people who struggle with day to day problems and obsessions—people who understand the long complicated process of dealing with their problems instead of forcing some quick ‘Dr. Phil’-esque solution.

            I don’t believe this is the intention of the films, either directly or indirectly.  If it were, perhaps we would be graced with likeable characters, or even one (just one) moral adversary who recognizes the monumental flaws in Jigsaw’s logic rendering him fallible and human.  Freddy, Michael Myers, and Jason use their brute force to assert their dominance over the victims of each subsequent film, whereas Jigsaw uses his ‘superior’ intellect to trap people and force them to ‘reconcile’ (or rather further traumatize) salient life situations.  He entraps his subjects, enticing them to ‘play a game’, whereby they must face particular issues they may have chosen to ignore, issues that either harm themselves or others in their lives, and once they begin the sadistic play they find themselves befuddled and betwixt by Jigsaw’s wit at placing them in indescribable puzzles.  The lack of suspension of my disbelief does not come at the physical improbability and lack of engineering talent to construct such elaborate and convoluted traps—especially given the questionable sanity of those involved in constructing them—but rather at the inability to find someone(!) to outwit Jigsaw, or at least call him on his self-righteous judgments.

            All the characters in each film are amazed and tongue-tied when dealing with Jigsaw’s trite simplification of so many complicated life processes, that one begins to wonder if Jigsaw is right.  But he isn’t!  The reason I know this is because with each scenario I imagine some high school classroom discussion around the problems of society and the procrastination of action in today’s complex world.  Those discussions are important first steps at understanding the variety of imbricating layers imbedded in each social complication, however the discussion and/or solution (if one exists) does not end with the supposed answers that may derive from such uneducated and inexperienced musings on life.  Jigsaw believes it does, and this is the main problem that drags a rather interesting series down to the level of sub-par mediocrity. 

            The first film is the most accountable for this convoluted pedantic judgmental righteousness, if not for the sheer underestimation of a mother’s instinctive nature to exert control over a traumatic situation that is severely affecting her child.  The scene in which Monica Potter’s character stands idly by, inevitably waiting for something (anything) to distract her and grant access of the murder weapon back into the hands of her captor (a captor who has been torturing her and her child repeatedly), is the most blatant and anti-feminist disrespect of character narrative and plot plausibility I have ever witnessed in a film.  I may be a little dramatic here, but friends of mine will attest that whenever the subject of the first Saw film is mentioned, I emphatically express my disgust for how Monica Potter’s character was written to behave.

            The second film was just boring, and felt hugely out of place in the franchise’s themes—probably because it was intended to be a separate film, and was later reworked to serve as a sequel to the original.  It isn’t until the third film that the series gains some leverage (as little as that may be) in managing to carry the weight of a significant horror franchise that works beyond its initial intentions as a simple cash grab.  In the third film we are introduced to the first, and possibly the only likeable and semi-intelligent character in all of the films many sequels—Lynn.  It is also the only film that isn’t plagued with the ludicrous and typical ‘cop’ character, that (I’m sorry) has no right being in a serious horror genre film.  The inclusion of a detective only serves to denigrate a horror film down to thriller/suspense status—and any detective inevitably lessens the degree of connection the audience may have to the protagonist.  The films that follow beyond the third continue the trend that that sequel sets up, thankfully.  However, despite its best efforts, Saw and its successors, only manage to reach the complexity and significance of a Catholic high school debate team.

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Saw - grade: 53% (D-)
Saw II - grade: 50% (D-)
Saw III - grade: 75% (B)
Saw IV - grade: 70% (B-)
Saw V - grade: 68% (C+)

Paranormal Activity - (film review)

            I don’t believe it is a necessary requirement for a horror film to actually be scary to be effective.  As in any genre film, there is no specific end goal other than to relay a particular narrative through a specific style.  Only horror films are charged with this cross to bear—critical reviews of horror films always harp on whether the film succeeds in scaring its audience.  This ‘scare’ factor, like most critics themselves, is highly susceptible and intensely personal and subjective.  For a film to truly scare someone is differentiated from one person to the next, hence the birth of this blog—to discuss horror films without getting stuck in the all too common criticism of whether it is scary or not.  The actuality of a film being scary is a side-effect of the atmospheric direction and/or the narrative itself, not the purpose (despite the intentions of the filmmakers).

            If a film succeeds in scaring its audience, which is getting more and more difficult as more and more audiences are becoming immune and desensitized to horror film narratives, it can come at a rather high cost.  Inevitably, in most cases, the initial scare factor of a film quickly dwindles upon subsequent viewings, and one can easily determine clichéd devices used to acquire such scares—such is the case with films like The Blair Witch Project, Halloween, The Ring, and Friday the 13th.  Fortunately for some of those films, the narrative, direction and action is strong enough to entice interest on a level beyond the initial scare tactic.  Ultimately, a film requires a few more viewings to determine whether the film is truly a good movie in addition to being frightening. 

            This is the case with Paranormal Activity, a film I found to be disturbingly frightening, whereupon the remainder of the day seemed to have this omniscient presence of gloom and depression.  A number of times I have turned to my fiancée to exclaim: “That movie really disturbed me.”  He continued to recall the events in his previous condominium, explaining how he had felt a presence enter his house, close the front door, walk up the steps and make an indented impression on his bed.  The film manages to relish on that undeniable fear that there is something beyond what we see, something potentially harmful, rare, and excruciatingly terrifying—that fear that as we find our way around our houses in the dark, if we dare look up we’ll see it, the shadowy figure we’ve been trying to convince ourselves doesn’t exist.

            The technological devices used to drive the film’s narrative forward is a key factor to the success of the film itself.  Had this been a traditionally cinematic venture, I doubt the usage of bangs, bumps and door slams would have resonated in the way they actually do here.  In fact, what becomes so effective in the way that this film unfolds is the hand-held home-movie feel.  Because the audience is only privy to the information filmed, we are restricted to Micah and Katie’s house, never venturing outside it, never being able to temporarily quell our fears.  We become engrossed by the couple’s interactions with each other and discover, as they do, the happenings of the possession.  Fortunately, the dialogue and acting here is miles better than The Blair Witch Project, which is the significant folly of that film.

            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.
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Grade: 84% (A-)

The Stepfather (1987) - (film review); The Stepfather (2009) - (film review)

            When David Harris’ stepson’s girlfriend repeatedly refers to him as Mr. Harris, he insists: “Call me David.”  But, he doesn’t mean it.  The most salient aspect of both the original and remake of The Stepfather is the degree through which patriarchal rule and desire for control is represented and manifested in the central character.  Both Terry O’Quinn and Dylan Walsh’s performances of David Harris/Jerry Blake (respectively) insist on friendly bonding, coinciding with the moral and ethical family values and the hierarchy of such.  So, when Mr. Harris insists, “call me David,” he doesn’t really mean it.  This invitation of familiarity is made out of social obligation, but ultimately comes across as insincere.  It is this insincerity that drives the title character to action.  Everything he does or attempts to accomplish is predicated on exterior illusion and the ability of this illusion to translate to internal reality for David/Jerry.
             I was a minor fan of the original The Stepfather, having thought the film was rather campy, at times silly, and ultimately dated in typical 80s fashion.  This time stamp however is not necessarily a bad thing, for there are many 80s horror films that are more effective simply using the 80s colloquial techniques.  Upon re-watching this film, in anticipation of viewing the quite intriguing looking remake, it dawned on me the exact angle and social fortitude the film attempted to grapple with—and quite effectively at that.  It is the dying breed of neoconservative patriarchy influenced by religion and its familial values of the nuclear family.  Jerry is the incarnate manifestation of these principles forever seeking the ‘perfect’ family—normalized and heterosexualized by indoctrinating socializing family roles and functions.  Unfortunately for Jerry (and most unfortunately for any family he preys upon), he never manages to find this ‘perfect’ family—mainly because this ‘perfect’ (read: average) family doesn’t exist, except in the ideologies of traditional Judeo-Christian republican extremists.
              Stephanie, the stepdaughter in the original film, is this new budding feminist who strives to connect with her mother and ‘platonic’ female companion.  Stephanie’s heterosexuality is questionable in the film, especially if one chooses to interpret the film through a queer theoretical paradigmatic lens.  Stephanie is never heterosexualized, except in the final few moments of the film where audience’s gaze is directed to her nubile 16-year-old naked body.  This scene is in stark contrast to Jerry’s nude scene right at the beginning of the film.  Here we see the opposing forces in the gendered nudity and all of the social implications that are read onto these bodies.  Jerry’s male penetrating body fresh from killing his entire family, to Stephanie’s virginal teenage femininity, ready to be penetrated.  What happens instead is a struggle between the omniscience of patriarchy and the resistance of femininity and matriarchy.  Throughout the film, both mother and daughter put up with the hokey, occasionally silly speeches Jerry ‘performs’ on family and its significance.  This significance is never flushed out, it is never critically examined.  No one questions why family is so important, and what precisely family offers other than the reification of ruling patriarchal/heterosexual gender roles.  The original film is an all-out struggle of ideologies facing off.  Stephanie rises up against her patriarchal figure and his empty promises of familial bliss to redefine her own sense of gender and sexuality.  The unfortunate thing for Stephanie is that this is never entirely possible, so the slaughtering of Jerry (a misstep to place the mother-figure as responsible for this action than the clear heroine, Stephanie), is ultimately done in vain.  Perhaps the singularity of Jerry’s ideals is demolished, but his social influence lives on in many neoconservative extremists.
           In the 2009 version of The Stepfather, the homage is displaced and misses the central saliency of the original—this is not to say that it is without its own merits, just not as strong as the original.  In reading reviews of both the original and remake of The Stepfather on Fangoria and Bloody Disgusting, it becomes clear that many viewers focus on the psychoses of the title character and not the social ideologies he represents, thus inverting the film from a taught social commentary into a personal account of one man’s inner psychotic turmoil.  In doing this the reviewers strip the film from what drives the action.  The initial intention may have inadvertently intended to scare the audience with the creepiness of the central character, however the film(s) has amassed to something more grand than this simple personal account of one man’s struggle to aspire to the American Dream.  Unfortunately (for us), the remake is predicated on this pedantic interpretation.  The film’s intention is to expand upon the personal psychosis of the central character.  This is why Stephanie is turned into Michael, a troubled teen (who is incredibly well-behaved except for a few minor outbursts of personal opinion at the dinner table) who must learn to step in line and fly right. 
           Converting the direct conflicting character to the stepfather from a daughter to a son has some massive social implications, all of which lose the pertinence of feminist thought.  There are many underlying aspects driving this gender change—the need to appeal to young teen girls, and if the emphasis is placed on the central character’s psychosis, then it does not matter the gender or age of the conflicting character.  Instead of being treated to a cathartic uprising of feminist ideals against patriarchal rule, we are subjected to traditional patriarchy’s temporary crumble to new, more ideologically (and dare I say liberal) patriarchy—a patriarchy none the less.  It is more a struggle between men, each fighting to lay control over the household.  I am less drawn to this theme as the nucleus of the film.  However, having said that, I do believe this new remake masters more of the overarching reach of the patriarchal hand and its ability to silence and convince those that do not adhere to its principle values.  The performance of Walsh as the central character is more effective and subtle than the overt campiness of O’Quinn’s memorable 80s portrayal—both men do fine jobs for very different reasons and to very different effect.  What I am drawn to with the remake is the taught and suspenseful direction that the story deserves.  The narrative structure of both films calls for a more psychotic frenetic touch that is more evident in the 2009 version than the 1987 one.  Both films are flawed and both films are quite poignant, both for extremely different reasons—if only a keen director and screenwriter could more astutely adapt the most arrestive aspects of each, we would be left with a social canon.  Instead we have two films lacking in particular areas requiring viewers to draw from sections of each—more so from the 1987 version than 2009.

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The Stepfather (1987) - grade: 83% (A-)

The Stepfather (2009) - grade: 78% (B+)