Grief is among the most punishing emotions. That may be why mainstream films handle it so poorly. But horror? Horror filmmakers don’t shy away from what hurts, which may be why grief is such a ripe subject for the genre.
Filmmaker and author Samantha Kolesnik joins us to discuss some of the best grief-stricken films in horror.
6. The Nightingale (2018)
A mother’s grief is something many filmmakers see as the pinnacle in pain, the one emotion almost unimaginable in scope and depth and anguish. That’s why brilliant filmmaker Jennifer Kent begins here, using this one moment of ultimate agony to punctuate an almost unwatchable scene of brutality, to tell a tale not of this mother and her grief, but of a nation—a world—crippled by the brutality and grief of a ruling white male culture.
What happens to Clare (Aisling Franciosi) at the hands of Leftenant Hawkins (Sam Claflin), the British officer to whom she is in service, is as brutal and horrifying as anything you’re likely to see onscreen. It’s the catalyst for a revenge picture, but The Nightingale is far more than just that.
Kent’s fury fuels her film, but does not overtake it. She never stoops to sentimentality or sloppy caricature. She doesn’t need to. Her clear-eyed take on this especially ugly slice of history finds more power in authenticity than in drama.
5. A Dark Song (2016)
Writer/director Liam Gavin also begins his story by dropping us breathless and drowning in a mother’s grief. Sophia (Catherine Walker) will do anything at all just to hear her 6-year-old son’s voice again. She will readily commit to whatever pain, discomfort or horror required of her by the occultist (Steve Oram) who will perform the ritual to make it happen.
Anything except the forgiveness ritual.
What Gavin and his small but committed cast create is a shattering but wonderful character study. Walker never stoops to sentimentality, which is likely what makes the climax of the film so heartbreaking and wonderful.
4. Don’t Look Now (1973)
Perhaps what makes Nicolas Roeg’s 1973 horror the most perfect pick for this list is that the film, which deals exclusively in grief, is most interested in how it impacts a father.
Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie deliver unerring authenticity as the parents trying to recover from the death of their daughter. Roeg plays with imagery and timelines to induce an almost tear-stained blurriness on the events as they transpire.
The heartbreak in the film lies in the guilt, fear of culpability, and inability to change what has happened or what will happen. Though the film’s twist may have been what made a splash in 1973, it’s the honesty in depicting grief that’s helped it remain relevant for nearly 50 years.
3. Hereditary (2018)
Grief and guilt color every somber, shadowy frame of writer/director Ari Aster’s unbelievably assured feature film debut, Hereditary.
With just a handful of mannerisms, one melodic clucking noise, and a few seemingly throwaway lines, Aster and his magnificent cast quickly establish what will become nuanced, layered human characters, all of them scarred and battered by family.
Art and life imitate each other to macabre degrees while family members strain to behave in the manner that feels human, seems connected, or might be normal. What is said and what stays hidden, what’s festering in the attic and in the unspoken tensions within the family, it’s all part of a horrific atmosphere meticulously crafted to unnerve you.
2. Midsommar (2019)
In Midsommar, we are as desperate to claw our way out of this soul-crushing grief as Dani (Florence Pugh). Mainly to avoid being alone, Dani insinuates herself into her anthropology student boyfriend Christian’s (Jack Reynor) trip to rural Sweden with his buds.
Little does she know they are all headed straight for a modern riff on The Wicker Man.
Like a Bergman inspired homage to bad breakups, this terror is deeply-rooted in the psyche, always taking less care to scare you than to keep you unsettled and on edge.
1.Antichrist (2009)
Lars von Trier’s foray into horror follows a couple down a deep and dark rabbit hole of grief. Von Trier’s films have often fixated on punishing viewers and female protagonists alike, but in this film the nameless woman (played fearlessly by Charlotte Gainsbourg) wields most of the punishment – whether upon her mate (Willem Dafoe) or herself.
Consumed by grief, a mother allows her husband—also grieving—to become her psychotherapist as they retreat to their isolated cabin deep in the woods where they will try to overcome the horror of losing their only child.
We can all agree on one thing: 2020 blows. It hasn’t been
great for movies, either, what with every major film being pushed back until at
least autumn. But, as is always the case, these challenges have created
opportunities for spunky little movies ready to come into our homes, where we
spend so very, very much time now, and help us make it through The Great Pause.
These are our favorite films of the first half of 2020.
10. Capone
You’ve seen Capone on film: films about him, films containing
him, films about gangsters reminiscent of him. A lot of these movies have been
great – some of them classic. But you have never seen Alphonse Capone the
way writer/director Josh Trank sees him.
Wisely, Trank realized Tom Hardy
would be able to translate his vision.
The film focuses on the final year of the
infamous mobster’s life—the adult diapers and dementia year. Hardy finds
the faulty humanity in this character. His depiction of Capone’s confusion is
unerringly human, and in his hands Trank’s macabre humor never feels like
mockery.
Trank’s loose narrative is less concerned with
the scheming, criss-crossing and backstabbing from underlings trying to find
the money than it is with Capone’s deterioration, and that’s what makes this
film so gloriously odd. No doubt some viewers will be disappointed—those who
tuned in to see Hardy play a badass at the top of his game. My guess is that
the reason one of the finest actors working today was drawn to Capone was the
opportunity to do something just this unexpected.
9. The Lodge
Several Fiala and Veronika Franz follow up
their creepy Goodnight Mommy with this “white death” horror that sees a
future stepmom having a tough time getting to know the kids during a weeklong,
snowbound cabin retreat. Riley Keough is riding an impressive run of
performances and her work here is slippery and wonderful. As the unwanted new
member in the family, she’s sympathetic but also brittle.
Jaeden Martell, a kid who has yet
to deliver a less than impressive turn, is the human heartbeat at the center of
the mystery in the cabin. His tenderness gives the film a quiet, pleading
tragedy. Whether he’s comforting his grieving little sister or begging Grace
(Keough) to come in from the snow, his performance aches and you ache with him.
There’s no denying the mounting dread the filmmakers create, and
the three central performances are uniquely effective. Thanks to the actors’
commitment and the filmmakers’ skill in atmospheric horror, the movie grips
you, makes you cold and uncomfortable, and ends with a memorable slap.
8. Why Don’t You Just Die!
Given that 75% of writer/director Kirill Sokolov’s Why Don’t You Just Die! takes place
in a single apartment—one room of that apartment, really—you might be surprised
to learn that it’s an action film.
It’s pretty heavy on the action,
actually, amplified by inspired framing, kinetic cinematography, sometimes
hilarious but always eye-popping choreography, and blood. Just a ton of blood.
With a spare script, visual wonder and energy to burn, Why Don’t You Just Die! promises
to snatch your attention like a duffle bag of cash and hang on until exactly
enough blood is spilled.
That’s a lot.
7. The True History of the Kelly Gang
Planting its flag unapologetically at the
corner of accuracy and myth, The True History of the Kelly
Gang reintroduces a legendary 1870s folk hero through
consistently bold and compelling strokes.
Director Justin Kurzel and screenwriter Shaun
Grant – the duo behind the true crime shocker The Snowtown Murders nine
years ago – go bigger this time, trading spare intimacy for a tableau of grand
visual and narrative ideas.
With a direct nod to the moment when “the myth
is more profitable than the man,” Kurzel spins an irresistible yarn that
manages to balance the worship of its hero with some condemnation for his sins.
And as the road to Kelly’s guns-blazing capture unfurls, the film incorporates
elements of both a tense crime thriller and a Nightingale-esqe
reminder of savage colonialism.
6. Capital in the 21st Century
New Zealand filmmaker Justin Pemberton has
assembled an array of scholars and historians (including Thomas Piketty, author
of the source book) for a 103-minute presentation that is so informative,
measured and concise it should earn you college credits.
There are graphs, illustrations and pop culture
snippets from film and television that Pemberton weaves throughout the lecture
material to attract the eye and boost the film’s overall entertainment value.
But make no mistake, his mission is about breaking down the 400 years of
history that explain the social and economic precipice we’re teetering on right
now.
And while some of the lessons are not new (i.e.
we need a strong middle class) the context here is so vivid and relevant many
observations may land with an echo of “eureka!” inside your head.
5. Never Rarely Sometimes Always
With her 2013 debut It Felt Like Love, Eliza
Hittman brought a refreshing honesty to the teen drama. At its core, Never Rarely Sometimes Always could be seen as
Hittman’s kindred sequel to her first feature, as two friends (Talia Ryder and
a stunning Sidney Flanagan) navigate a cold, sometimes cruel world that lies
just beyond the hopeful romanticism of first love.
NRSA shows
Hittman in full command of her blunt truth-telling, demanding we accept this
reality of women fighting to control their own bodies amid constant waves of
marginalization.
Just three films in, Hittman has established
herself as a filmmaker of few words, intimate details and searing
perspective. NRSW is a sensitive portrayal
of female friendship and courage, equal parts understated and confrontational
as it speaks truths that remain commonly ignored.
4. The Vast of Night
Opening with vintage Rod Serling welcoming us
to “Paradox Theatre,” director Andrew Patterson unveils an incredibly polished
debut, one that’s full of meticulous craftsmanship, effective pacing and
wonderfully engaging storytelling.
Peterson’s commitment to production
and sound design results in a totally immersive experience. The period details
– from costumes to recording equipment – are more than just historically
correct. Paired with the rapid-fire, comfortably lived-in dialog from
screenwriters James Montague and Craig W. Sanger, they create a throwback
setting that charms without the tell of undue effort.
Peterson also flexes confidently
behind the camera, moving from extended tracks to slow pans to quiet stills,
all in service of the film’s wondrous tone. With Sierra McCormick and Jake Horowitz
leading a stellar ensemble, what could have been a generic sci-fi time filler
becomes a smart parable with an eerie grip.
3. Swallow
Putting a relevant twist on the classic
“horrific mother” trope, writer/director Carlo Mirabella-Davis uses the rare
eating disorder pica to anchor his exploration of gender dynamics and, in
particular, control.
Where Mirabella-Davis’s talent for building tension and framing scenes drive the narrative, it’s Bennett’s performance that elevates this work. Serving as executive producer as well as star, Haley Bennett transforms over the course of the film.
When things finally burst, director and star
shake off the traditional storytelling, the Yellow Wallpaper or Awakening or even Safe.
The filmmaker’s vision and imagery come full circle with a bold conclusion
worthy of Bennett’s performance.
2. Shirley
Director Josephine 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 Shirley Jackson’s life.
Decker manipulates the pacing,
melancholy and sensuality of her tale beautifully, drawing a stirring
performance from Young. But my god, what she gets from Elisabeth Moss and Michael
Stuhlbarg.
Moss and Stuhlbarg play Shirley
Jackson and her husband, Stanley Hyman. 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.
1. Da 5 Bloods
A heist movie on the surface, Da
5 Bloods is clearly about a great deal more than making it rich. Writer/director
Spike Lee has a lot to say about how those in power tell us what we want to
hear so we will do what they want us to do.
As is always the case with Lee’s
films, even the most overtly political, deeply felt performances give the
message meaning. The entire cast is excellent, but Delroy Lindo is
transcendent.
Lindo’s never given a bad performance in his 45
years on screen. As commanding a presence as ever at 68 playing Paul, Lindo
again blends vulnerability into every action, whether funny, menacing or
melancholy. His MAGA hat-wearing, self-loathing, dangerously conflicted
character gives Lee’s themes a pulse. This may finally be the performance to
get Lindo the Oscar he’s deserved for ages.
It should surprise no one that Lee’s latest
happens to hit the exact nerve that throbs so loudly and painfully right now,
given that he’s been telling this exact story in minor variations for 30+
years.
Imagine being so successful at something that it bores you.
After decades in the music business, millions of records sold, 16 Grammy awards, scores of nominations, and multiple careers launched, improved or saved, that’s where legendary producer David Foster found himself.
His new passion is Broadway, where he hopes to launch a hit musical and maybe even check off the the T in EGOT (with a Tony award). This career shift has seemingly inspired Foster to look back, talking at length to director Barry Avrich for David Foster: Off the Record.
With an introductory promise to Avrich to “be over your shoulder the whole f-ing way,” Foster is very definitely on the record. The ego is healthy but understandable, and some frank self-assessment helps Foster come off as a complex, demanding, uniquely talented charmer who can be a bit of a Richard.
His perfect pitch was revealed during a self-described “perfect childhood” in Victoria, B.C., and by the time he was a young man was out-earning his parents through a variety of music gigs. After a year in London, he landed in L.A., became one-hit wonderful with Skylark (“Wildflower”) in ’72, caught the ear of Streisand in a recording session, and the rocket ride began.
Obviously, the man’s got some great stories. What Avrich has is a great editor in Eugene Weis, and together they set the perfect pace for a film about a guy who admits to only feeling comfortable in the fast lane.
Weis supercuts interview footage to create lively “conversations” between Foster and his colleagues, while Avrich lingers on Foster when he listens hard to one of his creations (such as Celine Dion’s “All By Myself”), drinking it in and relishing the effect.
Even if you don’t love all the tunes (and it’s clear members of Chicago aren’t exactly big fans of Foster’s bombastic 80’s ballads that rescued their career), it’s hard to resist the engaging nature of the storytelling. And they just keep coming, from crashing a party at Streisand’s and fighting over The Bodyguard soundtrack to saving a broadway star’s life by almost killing him and helping launch reality TV.
But while most of the film is gracefully laced with Foster’s honest introspection on his multiple failed marriages and concerns about being a good father, the final act wavers with a more glossy, choreographed concentration on his personal life.
Avrich recovers with a parting nod to Foster’s new focus on Broadway, the unconquered quest in the city he doesn’t enjoy. But hey, at least he’s not bored.
Thanks to what’s on the record in Off The Record, you won’t be, either.
Films concerning the US’s two decade war in Afghanistan have
not managed to find much of an audience. I’m not sure Summer 2020—the year we welcomed
meth gators as a needed distraction from our own personal hell—will improve
those odds.
And yet, director Rod Lurie’s The Outpost bravely
ventures to the streaming environment this week to remind us that a solid,
understated war movie can still thrill.
The ensemble piece features Caleb Landry Jones and Scott
Eastwood as two sides of a coin. Eastwood’s Staff Sgt. Clint (that’s right)
Romesha is a born leader with quiet dignity, grit and a mind for strategy. Cynical
of the Army’s “frat boy” culture, Jones’s Staff Sgt. Ty Carter doesn’t quite fit
in.
Where doesn’t he fit in? A sitting duck army outpost situated
at the basin of surrounding mountains where Taliban forces travel, watch and
shoot.
Screenwriter Eric Johnson’s bread and butter has been teaming with Paul Tamasy to create the cinematic presentation of a true story. They nearly won an Oscar for Johnson’s first foray into feature length screenplays, David O’ Russell’s powerful The Fighter (with Scott Silver).
The duo join forces again, this time adapting Jake Tapper’s
investigative book concerning one extraordinary battle in our war in Afghanistan.
Understatement works in the film’s favor, Lurie favoring overlapping dialog and naturalistic settings to bombast and a leading score. In fact, much of the film plays without a score, a refreshing change that gives The Outpost a grittier, more realistic feel that serves it well. Because truth be told, a true tale that delivers this amount of sheer will, courage, perseverance and spirit is undermined by flapping flags and swelling strings. Lurie’s restraint says, “This is really what happened. Can you effing believe that?!”
That’s not to say The Outpost eliminates every cowboy moment. Indeed, this may be the first role in which Eastwood makes the most of his famous last name, clearly channeling his father in a performance punctuated by controlled, hushed rage and squinting blue eyes.
But Caleb Landry Jones, as remarkable and versatile actor as
you will find, is the broken soul of this film. Jones does “haunted” in a way
that makes every other performance feel like a performance.
Together Lurie, his writers and his cast sidestep clichés, delivering instead a clear-eyed look at bravery, failure, and the cost of war.
A deadly curse passed from house to house. A demon that can change identities at will. A young girl possessed, and desperate parents begging experts to investigate. A priest, wracked with guilt, seeking exorcism help from an older mentor. Deadly dopplegangers.
As a patchwork repackaging of several classic horror themes, South Korean Shudder original Metamorphosis (Byeonshin) works better than you might expect. Despite familiar tropes and convenient plot turns, director Hong-seon Kim scores with creepy atmospherics, sympathetic family strife and intermittent flashes of gore.
Gang-goo (Dong-il Sung) can’t believe the deal he got on the new house for his family. No other bids, imagine that! Shortly after move-in, though, the trouble starts with a very noisy neighbor and his alarming tastes in interior design.
But confronting him only brings evil closer to home, and soon Gang-goo, his wife and three daughters are facing increasing threats from each other. Or so they believe.
Turns out Gang-goo’s brother Joong-su (Sung-Woo Bae) is a priest with a tragic past, and he may be the family’s only hope to escape the demonic force that has gripped them.
Director Kim seems unfazed by the script’s lack of originality or moments of contrivance, confident in his ability to find new frights in well-traveled neighborhoods. For the most part, he does, even managing to touch a nerve that resonates beyond the horror genre itself.
Look beyond the inverted crosses, walls dripping blood and one unsurprising twist, and you’ll see Metamorphosis carrying a layer of horror-loving metaphor. We hurt each other in so many ways, and can be easily convinced that hurt is justified, or even divine.
There’s a devil in some of the details here, but the big picture is worthy.
Actors getting lost in a role can become the stuff of
legends, or the butt of jokes—as Olivier’s advice allegedly went to Dustin
Hoffman, “Why don’t you just try acting?” In The Truth, director Hirokazu
Kore-eda takes one of film’s most iconic actresses and sets to demolishing the
notion that an artist could ever separate who they are from what they have to
say.
The film is Kore-eda’s first foray outside of Japan, and a worthy follow-up to his masterful 2018 drama Shoplifters. The drama, also written by Kore-eda, has a lighter touch in The Truth, but it’s no less arresting thanks to a brilliant self-referential performance from Catherine Deneuve.
Deneuve plays Fabienne, an idol of French cinema now at a point in her life when she’s ready to look back on her storied career. Fabienne’s daughter Lumir (Juliette Binoche) has brought along her family from America to pay Fabienne a visit. When Lumir gets an early look at Fabienne’s memoir, she lashes out at the wide gulf between Fabienne the myth and Fabienne the mother, the one who pursued her art to the detriment of everything else in her life.
One family’s drama becomes a delightful interrogation of
memory and art. And as if the unreliable memoir weren’t enough to drive the
point home, Fabienne is also currently filming a new movie against an
up-and-coming actress playing her younger version.
The film’s quirky sci-fi twist forces Fabienne to face her
younger self, and the grande dame of French cinema isn’t quite ready to relinquish
her fading star power to what she sees as a poor imitation of her own youthful
rise to celebrity.
Kore-eda blurs the lines even further by referencing Deneuve’s
breakout years, specifically Belle de Jour, with posters and costumes
dotting Fabienne’s house and still exerting a powerful hold on her sense of
self-worth. (Ethan Hawke’s understated turn as Lumir’s bohemian husband Hank
also feels like an alternate universe version of Jesse from the Before trilogy…
but that might also just be Hawke’s natural “these are my ‘just chilling in
France’ vibes.” Either way, the man is living his best life.)
The result is a family drama that manages to humanize the dysfunction without fully absolving anyone. Fabienne might be a legend, but she’s still only human. Living an entire life unmoored, unable to process anything in the moment without layers of artifice to mediate any real emotion, seems like it should be punishment enough.
Some of the best moments during Jon Stewart’s years on The Daily Show happened when his guest was some smug politician who had not done their homework.
Because Jon always did his, and the squirming politico would realize pretty quickly that Jon could throw some heaters. This funnyman was whip smart, too, and pretty handy with the b.s. detector.
It should come as little surprise, then, that Irresistible, Stewart’s second feature as writer/director, employs some purposeful, intelligent comedy as it sets about skewering today’s ridiculous political climate.
Daily Show vet Steve Carell is Democratic strategist Gary Zimmer. Stinging badly from the 2016 election, he’s inspired by a YouTube video of a former Marine hero dressing down the city council in tiny Deerlacken, WI.
Zimmer decides right then that Col. Jack Hastings (Chris Cooper) and his “redder kind of blue” appeal could be the centerpiece of a new nationwide project to expand the Democratic base. And it all begins with getting Hastings elected Mayor of Deerlacken.
This does not go unnoticed on the other side. Once GOP strategist Faith Brewster (Rose Byrne) and her crew come to town, the Mayor’s race in Deerlacken starts carrying some pretty high stakes – including one hilarious sexual side bet between the two opposing operatives.
After an impressively dramatic filmmaking debut with 2014’s Rosewater, Stewart returns to the satirical stomping grounds where he became a respected (and, to some, reviled ) voice that drove many worthwhile conversations.
Though the bite of this screenplay may be a bit softer, his narrative approach betrays a long game that trades the sharper knives for the chance at a wider reach. Because the cure for what’s infecting American politics is not going to spread through niche marketing.
Sure, you could call that a sellout, and for the first two acts of this movie you might be right. The “all politics is local” premise is certainly not new, nor are many of the talking points. But thanks to the two veteran leads, those points are just funnier.
Carell’s default manner is perfect for the quietly condescending Zimmer, an elitist who confuses nobility with blind ambition, and somehow thinks he has a shot with the Col’s much younger daughter (Mackenzie Davis).
The real treat, though, is seeing Byrne finally dig into another role worthy of her comedy pedigree. With the right material, Byrne is a comedic MVP, as she reminds anyone who’s forgotten that fact by making Brewster one hilarious, shameless, priceless piece of work.
Stewart may be known for his progressive leanings, but both the left and the right are in his sights here, along with unchecked political cash and obsessive pundits complicit in fostering the fear and shame game.
Easy targets? Sure. But if you don’t think Stewart’s smart enough to know that, than you never saw him blindside a back-slapping incumbent on late night TV.
Irresistible caters to your expectations just long enough to make you think you knew where it was going all along. The unassuming way the film upends those expectations might seem overly convenient, but it feels right, as if Stewart is practicing what he is taking care not to preach. And that’s just what might make it hard for mainstream America to resist.
I may not be ready for my close up, but I’m finally ready for my movie poster quote. Check it out:
My Spy is the best huge-former-wrestler-stars-with-little-kid movie I have ever seen.
Or, if it helps: “My Spy is the best…movie I have ever seen.” I’m flexible, just remember it’s Wolf, no “e” at the end.
There must be a page somewhere in the wrestler handbook that says the transition from mat to marquee must include some generic whale out of water antics with a precocious wee one. The Hulkster, Rock and Cena all paid their dues with insufferable projects, now it’s your turn Dave Bautista.
What the? This is pretty entertaining.
Bautista is JJ, a former special forces hero trying to make the transition to CIA operative. His ride is not smooth, so he and a wannabe partner (Kristen Schaal) are assigned to boring surveillance duty.
They set up in a Chicago apartment down the hall from Kate (Parisa Fitz-Henley) and her lonely 9 year-old daughter Sophie (Chloe Coleman). The ladies have some bad-niks in the family who the Feds are hoping will make contact, because arms trading, plutonium, stolen flash drive, the usual.
The point is, Sophie sniffs out the neighboring spys in a matter of minutes, gets them on video, and uses the footage to blackmail JJ into being her friend.
Do you think Sophie’s hot mom will warm up to him, too?
Yes, it is predictable, drags in spots and is assembled from parts of plenty of other films. But director Peter Segal (Tommy Boy, Get Smart) and screenwriters Erich and Jon Hoeber (RED, The Meg) find some solid self-aware laughs poking holes in plenty of film tropes, from action scenes and tough guy catch phrases to over-the-top gay neighbors (Devere Rogers and Noah Danby, classic) and the very idea of little kid sidekicks.
Guardians of the Galaxy proved Bautista has charisma and comic timing. My Spy lets him flash a little self-deprecating charm, and a sweet chemistry with his pint-sized partner. Coleman (Big Little Lies) brings plenty of cuteness, but also a vulnerable layer that goes a long way toward keeping the eye-rolling at bay.
And anyone who saw Mr. Nanny, Tooth Fairy or Playing with Fire will appreciate that. I know I did.
It’s hard to do zombies well anymore. Mainly, you have to either
come up with an entirely novel concept or hope that the bloody mayhem works in
your favor.
In Yummy, the concept is only marginally original,
but the bloody mayhem is more than on target. Co-writer/director Lars Damoiseaux
assaults your gag reflex with a viscous mess of a horror flick. Blood and
entrails, of course, but expect a pretty inspired use of pus, liquid body fat,
tendons and other tissues and goos.
It makes for some slick surfaces, I tell you what! Plus some
unexpected little monsters keep things interesting and fun.
Set inside a cut-rate Eastern European cosmetic surgery
clinic, the film follows a mother, daughter and her boyfriend into a very bad
decision. Mom (Annick Christiaens) is after a series of nips and tucks; daughter
Alison (Maaike Neuville) wants breast reduction; boyfriend Michael (Bart
Hollanders) is just a good dude willing to drive everyone even though he’s
afraid of blood.
Here is a ripe premise for horror. Mom is a Cronenberg-esque vehicle for body horror as well as vanity shaming. Alison provides comedic possibilities (no one in the clinic can begin to understand her point of view). Hemophobic Michael offers the clear hero’s arc. (Or he’ll simply die of shock by the gooey second reel.)
And no, it’s not incredibly novel—zombie movies so rarely
are. But it’s smart, witty and fun. Damoiseaux accomplishes much with his
budget. Practical effects are great, performances are delightful, and nothing
beats a little well placed Stooges. (The band, not the knuckleheads.)
Yummy represents Damoiseaux’s feature debut as
director and writer, but he’s garnered attention and awards for years with his
work in shorts. Award winning co-writer Eveline Hagenbeek (Rokjesdag)
channels her affinity for conversational comedy into a script that may follow a
familiar structure but delivers a believable, funny edge that the game ensemble
takes advantage of.
Their collaboration is no masterpiece, but it is a lot of sloppy fun.
A poetry of dread – that’s what the best in this business can conjure with the right framing, movement, stillness. Whether it’s Dick Pope creating that just-off feel of bucolic 1950s Idaho for The Reflecting Skin or Owen Roizman forever narrowing the screen, our gaze and our options in The Exorcist, the cinematographer is horror’s true master. Mike Giolakis kept us looking around us and behind us to see where the monster might be in It Follows. John Alcott (The Shining), Chung-hoon Chung (The Handmaiden) and Mo-gae Lee (A Tale of Two Sisters) haunted and mesmerized us with color, movement and atmosphere. Has anybody done it better?
Here are our nominees for the best cinematography in horror.
5. Kwaidan (1964) – Yoshio Miyajima
Gorgeous. If you’re looking for something theatrical, a true marriage between cinematography and set design, Masaki Kobayashi’s Oscar nominee Kwaidan delivers the goods.
Yoshi Miyajima lenses four different ghost stories, each almost entirely shot on highly decorated sound stages, and what he captures is the feeling of make believe that gives each story the sense that it is being told, being embellished for your spooky enjoyment.
Each story is given its own look, its own personality. It’s bold and memorable filmmaking, and an absolute sight to behold.
4. Antichrist (2009) – Anthony Dod Mantle
Whether it’s the utter poetry of the opening tragedy, the claustrophobic dread of the middle section, or the lurking menace of the final reels, Antichrist is an absolute treasure trove of emotional manipulation.
At times, Anthony Dod Mantle’s cinematography feels at odds with the actual content on the screen—particularly in Act 1. But mining for beauty in pain is one of many ways director Lars von Trier succeeds in surprising and horrifying with this film.
Mantle finds a terrifying beauty in ugly thing von Trier throws at you, and the end result is a mesmerizing and brutal work.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4U5rdi9w-U&t=20s
3. Nosferatu (1922) – Fritz Arno Wagner
We needed to pay our respects to some of the earliest and most memorable work in cinema. Why F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu? Because nearly 100 years later, there are still images that haunt your dreams.
Fritz Arno Wagner (who also lensed Fritz Lang’s glorious M) capitalizes on the unseemly, vermin-like look of Count Orlock (Max Schreck, genius) with creeping silhouettes, lurking shadows, and camera angles that emphasized his hideousness.
Whether it’s the shocking rise from the coffin, the shadow on the staircase, or the image of the sole survivor of the ship recently decimated by “the plague,” Murnau and Wagner’s images are as evocative today as they were in ’22.
2. The Lighthouse (2019) – Jarin Blaschke
The atmosphere is thick and brisk as sea fog, immersing you early with Oscar nominee Jarin Blasche’s chilly black and white cinematography and a Damian Volpe sound design echoing of loss and one persistent, ominous foghorn.
Director/co-writer Robert Eggers follows The Witch, his incandescent 2015 feature debut, with another painstakingly crafted, moody period piece. The Lighthouse strands you, along with two wickies, on the unforgiving island home of one lonely 1890s New England lighthouse.
Salty sea dog Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe) keeps the light, mind ye. He also handles among the most impressive briny soliloquies delivered on screen in a lifetime. Joining him as second is one Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson)—aimless, prone to self-abuse, disinclined to appreciate a man’s cooking.
1. Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) – Guillermo Navarro
In 2006, Guillermo Del Toro’s masterpiece may have somehow been overlooked as Oscar’s Best Foreign Language Film, but at least the Academy had the common sense to notice Guillermo Navarro’s cinematography.
He manages to create an atmosphere equally imaginative and bitterly realistic, something befitting a child’s logic. Like a fairy tale, the screen blends the magical beauty of good and evil. His vision is as hypnotic as it needs to be, as childlike as we need it to be. It’s beautiful, innocent and utterly heartbreaking.
