Basing a horror film around the “scariest movie ever made” premise is ambitious. Is it smart?
Well, it’s ambitious. Because at some point, you’re going to have to show at least a snippet of this deadly frightening flick your film is referencing, and your audience is already poised to dismiss the impact.
Remember the “killer” tape in the The Ring? We had to see it, and if it didn’t totally creep us out when we did, the entire movie would have crumbled. But that video WAS creepy as Hell, giving The Ring the anchor it needed to stand as one of the best PG-13 horror flicks ever made.
Shudder’s Warning: Do Not Play remembers The Ring/Ringu quite well, building a familiar mystery around some urban legendary long lost film footage.
Mi-Jung (Ye-ji Seo) is a “film festival prodigy” on a two week deadline from a big South Korean studio to come up with a great horror script or she’s out.
She needs inspiration!
Film students at the local university hip Mi-Jung to the legend of a graduation film from years earlier. They can’t remember the title, but it supposedly screened once, with repercussions so dramatic the film was rumored to be directed….by a ghost.
Mi-Jung asks for help in an online forum and is instantly met with an ominous demand to cease the inquiries, which only draws her deeper into the mystery.
Writer/director Kim Jin-won provides some nifty atmospherics in the early going, but little else to demand your attention. While Kim doesn’t rely on cheap jump scares (thank you), he pushes the unreliable narrator trope via enough “waking from a dream” sequences to quickly become tiresome.
But the blood and the body count pick up in act two, as the film adopts some Blair Witch tactics – and openly cops to it, which is nice. Mi-Jung finds herself deep inside the cursed production, and we’re left to sort out the psychological strands of her experience.
The film-within-a-film may never grasp the elusive Ring ambitions, but hang in past the setup and Warning delivers a competent mystery and some fun terror in the aisles.
We didn’t want to let Black History Month slip by without recognizing the best Black characters in horror. Obviously, this is actually a countdown and podcast we could have done at any time, but any particular excuse to talk about William Marshall must be taken!
Regardless of the (far too often proven) cliche that the token Black character in any horror film is simply the first victim, there are many amazing characters and actors worth celebrating in this list. The all time kickass Pam Grier stars as a voodoo practitioner in Scream Blacula Scream (1973), Morgan Freeman brings his characteristic gravitas to the role of mentor cop and general smartypants in Seven (1995). Wesley Snipes combined vampire and badass in the Blade trilogy, as did Grace Jones in Vamp (1986) – and these are just a few of the candidates we will not be mentioning.
Nope, instead we present you with the five best Black characters in horror.
5. Selena (Naomi Harris), 28 Days Later (2002)
When it outbreak comes – and you know it will – what you want on your team is a pharmacist (someone with some medical training) who is not afraid to use a machete. Naomi Harris was the brains and the backbone of the ragtag group of survivors in 28 Days Later. Without her, Cillian Murphy wouldn’t have made it.
The great Danny Boyle, working from a script by Alex Garland (who wrote and directed the magnificent Ex Machina last year), upended a lot of expectations, giving us tenderness in the form of the great Brendan Gleeson, and a vulnerability in the newly-acquainted-with-the-apocalypse Murphy, but the brains and the bravery are Selena’s. That isn’t to say the realities of gender inequality disappear during the apocalypse – Nope! But this is a really uncommon character in a horror film: a strong, Black female survivor.
4. Peter (Ken Foree), Dawn of the Dead (1978)
When George Romero returned to his zombie apocalypse in 1978 – nearly a decade after he’d rewritten the zombie code with Night of the Living Dead – he upped the ante in terms of onscreen gore, but there were some pieces of the formula he wasn’t ready to let go of.
Two members of SWAT join their newsman buddy and his producer girlfriend, take off in a helicopter, land at a mall, and set up house while that whole zombie thing blows over. Ken Foree and Scott Reiniger as the buddies from SWAT create the most effective moments, whether character-driven tension or zombie-driven action. While the leads were flat and bland, Foree not only delivers the film’s strongest performance, but Peter is the most compelling character and the one you’re least willing to see go.
Oh my God, that voice! Yes, Candyman is a bad dude, but isn’t he kind of dreamy?
Like a vampire, the villain of Cabrini Green needed to be both repellant and seductive for this storyline to work, and Todd more than managed both. With those bees in his mouth and that hook for a hand, he is effortlessly terrifying. But it’s Todd’s presence, his somehow soothing promise of pain and eternity, that makes the seduction of grad school researcher Helen (Virginia Madsen) realistic.
Clive Barker wrote the original story, and the racial tensions that run through the film are both intentional and required. Madsen’s raspy-voiced heroine offers a perfect counterpoint to Todd, both of them a blend of intelligent and sultry that make them more parallel than opposite.
Todd would go on to love again in the Candyman sequel Farewell to the Flesh, as well as star or co-star in countless other horror films, but it was the first time you hear that voice in this film that sealed his fate as an iconic horror villain.
Did someone mention awesome voices and onscreen presence? The great William Marshall is the picture of grace and elegance as Mamuwalde, the prince turned vampire.
The film is a cheaply made Blaxploitation classic, with all that entails. For every grimace-inducing moment (bats on strings, homophobic humor) there’s a moment of true genius, almost exclusively because of Marshall’s command of the screen and the character.
Though he’s often hampered by FX as well as writing, the character remained true throughout the film, even to his death. It’s the kind of moment that could be brushed aside, in a low budget flick with a lot of plot holes and silly make up. But there’s more to Blacula than meets the eye.
Blacula is a tragic antihero and it’s all but impossible to root against him. Marshall brought more dignity to the role of vampire than any actor has, and the strength and respectability he imbues in the character were not just revolutionary at the time, but were so pivotal to that particular character that he has become a legendary character in the genre.
1. Ben (Duane Jones), Night of the Living Dead (1968)
Over the years, much has been made of director George Romero’s assertion that Duane Jones’s casting in Night of the Living Dead had nothing to do with his color; Romero simply gave the role to the best actor.
Maybe so – and certainly Jones’s performance alone has a great deal to do with the success of the film – but casting a Black male lead in this particular film at this particular juncture in American history is among the main reasons the film remains relevant and important today.
Jones plays Ben, the level-headed survivor holed up in a Pennsylvania farmhouse trying to wait out the zombipocalypse. Ben is the clear cut leader of this group of survivors, caring for the shell-shocked young white woman (Judith O’Dea), working in tandem with the young couple also hiding out, and engaging in a needless and ugly power struggle with that dick Mr. Cooper.
Jones’s performance is, as Romero points out, easily the strongest in the ensemble, and that work alone would have made the role and the film memorable. But it’s the kick to the gut documentary-style ending that not only marks the film’s sociological period, it is a horrifying reminder of all that has not changed in the world.
It’s taken four years, but Hong Sang-soo’s Yourself and Yours is finally screening internationally. The delightfully confusing love story uses inebriation and one well-placed mannequin to illustrate the giddy, identity-demolishing euphoria of love.
Young-soo (Kim Ju-hyuk) decides to believe his friends when
they tell him his girlfriend Minjung (Lee Yoo-Young) goes out drinking—and who
knows what else?—with other men.
But does she? I mean, it sure looks like she does, but maybe
it isn’t her? Or maybe it is her, but there’s some kind of explanation, like
mental illness? Or maybe it doesn’t matter, because the filmmaker is less
interested in who is (or isn’t) doing what to whom than he is in how others
react.
The film is a charming change of pace in at least a dozen
ways. Its intentional ambiguity works in its favor because it keeps you from
falling into the frustrating trap of seeing Yourself and Yours in the
same terms as some kind of American doppelganger erotic thriller noir, which is
certainly what the same story could have become.
Instead, the film delivers an entirely off-kilter sensation
(as, some would say, does love). Lee’s enigmatic performance is captivating—at
times tender, defensive and silly but always engaging. It’s hard to imagine the
film working with anyone else in this role because, thanks to her unshowy but
convincing portrayal, you are never absolutely certain what the hell is going
on.
Supporting performances couldn’t be richer, whether the flatly
disgusted female friend, the “sorry I started this whole thing” buddy, the
nonchalant bartender or Minjung’s (or is it?) other smitten beaus. With limited
screen time and limitless commitment to the concept, the ensemble adds to the
confusion and the joy to be found throughout the film.
It may be Kim’s turn and the transformation of his character
that elevate Yourself and Yours above quirky love story to truly solid,
insightful art. His performance is quite beautiful, as is the film.
Though it carries the mantle of “inspired by true events,” Papicha works best on metaphorical levels. In her feature debut, director and co-writer Mounia Meddour profiles young women who lean on their friendships amid growing oppression in their homeland, skillfully revealing themes of identity and freedom in the process.
Lyna Khoudri is positively electric as Nedjma (aka “Papicha”), a university student in late 1990s Algeria. Her passion is fashion design, which is in sharp contrast to the extremists who demand that females cover up and submit to archaic methods of control.
As terrorists gain more leverage in the Algerian civil war and the dangers of resistance become more stark, Nedjma is determined to unite her fellow classmates in brave defiance. They will stage a forbidden fashion show, taking the fabric from their required haiks and reworking it for beautifully revealing new designs.
Meddour logically paces the growing passion for the show alongside the increasing threat from religious extremists. As the creeping march of oppression comes closer, Nedjma’s talent as a designer, and as an organizer, becomes an obvious (but effective) metaphor for the women struggling to retain any measure of control over their own bodies.
This layer of “defiant art” may bring to mind various other films – most recently And Then We Danced from last year – as will Meddour’s thoughtful treatment of female friendships under religious thumbs (The Magdalene Sisters). But even in the film’s most familiar moments, Khoudri’s wounded ferocity is always there to give Papicha it’s own sharply resonant edge.
The third act brings a sudden and unexpected tonal change, one that teeters on obscuring a loving and graceful narrative. But what you’ll ultimately take away from Papicha is how it finds intimacy in waves of social change, revealing moments of helpless joy in the fight against them.
Micro-budget horror movie The Deeper You Dig is co-written and co-directed by husband and wife John Adams and Toby Poser, who co-star alongside their daughter Zelda Adams. This is a story about an unusual family created by an unusual family.
The film centers on a close if unconventional mother/daughter duo (Poser and Adams the younger). The two make ends meet in a rugged mountain town by taking advantage of townies looking to hear their fortunes. But when her daughter goes missing, Ivy (Poser) reconnects with her long-forgotten abilities to determine what the police can’t.
Poser is particularly impressive, and what may be the most
intriguing thing about the way the film is written is how both Ivy and daughter
Echo are characterized. No cliché suits these two—each is carved out uniquely,
a blend of dissonant ideas that feel authentically human. Their undiscussed but
clearly present “outsider” nature only serves to underscore their emotional
need for each other, which gives the mystery resonance and adds a little
integrity to the supernatural elements as well.
Ivy’s relationship with new-in-town Kurt (John Adams) is
even more peculiar—rightly so. Adams the elder delivers a twisty, haunted
performance that’s the real heart of the film’s horror. His work is both
physical and emotional, with personality changes that never feel forced or
showy.
Not every performance is as strong as the central three, and
not every beat in the plot works. Certain moments feel pulled from TV
melodramas, and the film’s micro-budget is most felt whenever CGI is employed.
But The Deeper You Dig makes an excellent case for
seeking out low-budget indies. It’s creepy and satisfying. It explodes clichés,
keeps you guessing, and takes advantage of the clear trust among the actors to
create an unusual and compelling family dynamic.
Even with its handful of missteps, The Deeper You Dig clearly represents a group of filmmaking talent to keep an eye on.
I’m not sure which thrilled me more, that Elisabeth Moss was
set to portray the great Shirley Jackson, or that Josephine Decker was slated
to direct.
If you’re not familiar with Decker, give yourself the gift
of her 2014 minor miracle Thou Wast Mild and Lovely. Decker’s languid
style seduces you, keeps you from pulling away from her films’ underlying
tensions, darkness, sickness. She specializes in that headspace that mixes the
story as it is and the story as it’s told, which makes her a fitting guide for
Susan Scarf Merrell’s fictionalized account of this slice of Jackson’s life.
Which brings us to Moss, quickly ascending the ranks of “best actors of our generation” into the rarified air of “genius.” Moss has proven time and again that she can inhabit any character with a fearlessness that allows her to disappear and the character to emerge, fully human. Such is the case with the enigmatic, damaged and brilliant Jackson.
Shirley takes us into the period where the already
reclusive writer begins work on her novel Hangsaman.
This stretch of time coincides with the arrival of some help
for Jackson’s husband Stanley Hyman (Michael Stuhlbarg). The couple will be
opening their home to Stanley’s new teaching assistant (Logan Lerman), and his pregnant
wife, Rose (Odessa Young).
The film’s plot follows Jackson’s relationship with Rose,
which develops in tandem with her newest manuscript. The friendship unveils unkind
truths about power, sexual politics and other uglinesses that Jackson always
mined so formidably in her creepiest work.
Decker manipulates the pacing, melancholy and sensuality of
her tale beautifully, drawing a stirring performance from Young. But my god,
what she gets from Moss and Stuhlbarg.
To witness two such remarkable talents sparring like this,
aided by a biting script that offers them ample opportunity to wade into the
sickness and dysfunction of this marriage—it’s breathtaking.
The result is dark and unseemly, appropriately angry and gorgeously told—fitting tribute to the author.
Finally, someone truly understands what it’s like to be an
incredibly angry adolescent girl.
At the very least, Jonathan Milott and Cary Murnion’s film Becky
understands enough to be afraid of her.
The titular 13-year-old, played with convincing charisma by Lulu Wilson, is a handful for her widowed father (Joel McHale). Still, dad has decided this is the weekend to take Becky for a getaway with his girlfriend (Amanda Brugel), and her 5-year-old (Isaiah Rockcliffe). They head to the old vacation cabin for a big talk.
He soon finds that his 13-year-old may not be the scariest
thing on earth.
Or, you know what? Maybe she is.
Kevin James plays against type as a swastika-tatted up inmate, leader of a band of escapees. James may be hoping to catch the same mid-career fire Vince Vaughn has been fanning, mainly portraying the heavy in various indie thrillers. Early scenes play well, James cutting a solemnly menacing figure as he quietly organizes and orchestrates. But as the film wears on it becomes clear the actor can’t manage the sinister energy needed to really make an impression.
I’ll take this over Paul Blart, though.
Robert Maillet’s a lot of fun, though. At 6’10”, the one-time
wrestler dwarfs even the gangly McHale. He’s no master thespian, but his arc
creates a spectacular punctuation for Becky’s own transformation and his sheer
immensity brings a little needed anxiety to the film.
The writing team, which includes Lane and Ruckus Skye of the brilliant and as-of-yet undistributed Devil to Pay (originally titled Reckoning), cheats a little with this script. Backstories, motivations and mysteries—particularly as they articulate the villainous characters—feel less undefined than lazily obscured. Between that and James’s inability to truly sell the viciousness in his character, the family’s jeopardy lacks the intensity it needs for this film to truly impress.
Wilson does not. In her hands, Becky is a fascinating character, and it is with this character that the writing team and directors score the most points. The film is bloody, angry and, even for its fairly formulaic premise, unpredictable.
There are moments in Bruce McDonald’s head trip Dreamland
that are just bizarre fun, like that self-aware line delivered by Henry
Rollins. A lowlife gangster kingpin, his statement is as much a moment of
self-defense as it is a warning.
Rollins’s Hercules is one of many unseemly characters orbiting each other in this surreal, jazzy noir. Veteran character actor and welcome sight Stephen McHattie (Pontypool) plays dual roles: jazzman junkie and conflicted hitman.
One needs to exact retribution on the other, you see, but
maybe redemption of sorts could be arranged for both of them?
From one flesh-peddling nightclub to the highfalutin debauchery of a palace, McDonald’s fever dream offers consistently weird moments, each loosely connected to the next, all meandering toward a wild climax. Dreamland is a nutty drug trip of an underbelly film.
McHattie’s fun, especially as the anesthetized trumpet player. The other McHattie is having a tough time learning that you can’t rely on a junkie.
Both Rollins and Juliette Lewis are clearly enjoying themselves—Lewis, in particular, relishing every moment of over-the-top decadence and weirdness. Belgian character actress Stéphane Bissot impresses most as the sole voice of reason in the entire film. She’s deadpan hilarious.
Not that Dreamland is a comedy. Not that it isn’t,
either. It’s a tough film to characterize.
McDonald hit his artistic high water mark in 2008 with the inspired lunacy of Pontypool. For Dreamland he teams again with writer Tony Burgess, and together they dive back into themes of sanity, reality and jazz. But Dreamland lacks the fidelity of vision and the internal logic that made Pontypool simultaneously hilarious and terrifying.
Dreamland occasionally feels like a cheat. Worse still, it too often feels predictable when its every breath is meant to be just the opposite.
Still, there’s more than enough carnage and madness packed into this 90 minutes to keep you gawking.
For a documentary with the subtitle “Who’s Pushing Hate?,” you would think that HomoSayWhat, Craig Bettendorf’s brief survey of homophobia in America from the mid-20th century up to the nationwide legalization of same-sex marriage, would be a long list of people to choose from.
Bettendorf’s sprint through half a century of history is a helpful primer on major events in the gay rights movement. And while the film is heavy on narration and light on interviews that might contextualize the history—the longest interview segment is a casual chat with Bettendorf’s colleagues—they make the most of contemporary news footage and interviews to produce plenty of jaw-dropping moments.
Far too often, though, the film serves as just that: a
whirlwind introduction to the top hits and the reminder that “this sure was
bad, but things are getting better.” And to be fair, Bettendorf and his crew couldn’t
have known that Pride Month this year would coincide with some of the largest
protests against injustice in this country’s history.
But it’s hard to reckon with the film’s contention that progress is a clockwork inevitability even within the relatively rapid success of the gay rights movement. So while gay marriage gets its due, the Stonewall Riots that birthed modern Pride events are conspicuously absent. As is the very current and not at all settled fight for transgender equality. (Trans activists are almost entirely absent from the film’s history, which could be a decision to let them tell their own story. But it’s a puzzling omission for a movie that paints history in such broad strokes. And finds the time for an entire cable news monologue from Keith Olbermann.)
The most generous way to think of the film’s version of
events is like a high school textbook: the chronology opens up windows to so
many deeper stories you can look up if you’re interested. But given how
profound and moving the subject is, the documentary’s point of view seems to go
out of its way to avoid sounding too radical. And that leads to some very weird
territory, like spending more time on C. Everett Koop than Larry Kramer.
As superficial as the historical treatment is, Bettendorf’s
earnestness goes a long way to keeping the narration sprightly. But the choices
are so idiosyncratic and linger on so much near history that it’s hard to
figure out exactly who the audience for this retelling even is. For a film that
sets out to dig into the history of homophobia and how it shaped American
society, there’s an awful lot of time on the 2000s-era culture war with very
little interrogation of what mission accomplished looks like today.
In a way it’s quaint to look back on a time when hatred felt like it had to keep a veneer of civility and logic when arguing among the political class. Those days are gone though, and those backslapping opponents have been replaced with a new group that doesn’t have much use for masks. It’s ironic that there are plenty of events and figures to look back on who raised hell to see justice done, wielding righteous certainty along with bricks, rocks, and whatever it took. That might offer some comfort at this moment. But you won’t learn about it here.
