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-)

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+)

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+)

Trick 'r Treat - (film review)

            Tonight I finally got to experience the film Trick ‘r Treat.  In 2005 (or 2006, I can’t remember), the trailer piqued my interest as I watched it flash by my television screen.  For years afterwards I anticipated this film in the back of my mind, every so often remembering that it was out there…lurking…waiting.  Keeping in spirit with this blog I will attempt to tackle this film in a way that may be a retreading of reviews past, but hopefully address some thoughts and arguments that are not.

Before I hash into the details of the film I enjoyed, I will say that the film is less a horror film, and more of a Halloween film.  Think of it in terms of the difference between a Christmas film, as opposed to a family feel-good movie.  The aptly named Trick ‘r Treat becomes an exercise in recapturing a childhood holiday essence.  It is not entirely scary as a viewing experience, but what I did notice was that the ominous feeling of dread, which lingers long after I removed the blu-ray from my hardware device, was more powerful than the horror depicted onscreen.

Which brings me to the central angle I approach this film with: atmosphere and the psychological underpinnings of the experience of Halloween, specifically.  There is a difference between the suspense of being alone at night (with strange noises coming from outside and inside your house) at any given time of the year, and the emotions that are conjured, like demons, that forebode your inevitable mortality on Halloween night.  In this case, this film manages to surpass genre classics such as the Halloween series.  Halloween, in those films, is a prop, a backdrop through which a serial killer’s massacre is set against.  In Trick ‘r Treat Halloween is the essence through which the films plotlines and actions derive.

When I was a kid, Halloween would be the only time of the year when everything felt a little scarier, when the promise of death was just a little bit closer, and the fear that Hell lurked beyond your passing was just a little more evident.  The rest of the year, you could tell yourself that you are a good person, and that the tiny indiscretions that plague your seemingly well-intentioned Christian conscience will not lead you to an afterlife of torment and macabre.  Of course, this would only really apply to those who had grown up Christian.  Those from a variety of other religions have equally disturbing omniscience that they must deal with, I’m sure.

So 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.

            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.
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Grade: 87% (A)