Just one movie transitioning from its theatrical release to streaming platforms, but if you’re ready to brave Target (or want to add one more thing to your cart), loads of new DVD/BluRay options are out there. Here’s a quick walk through.
Click the film title to link to the complete review.
We spend a lot of time ripping on weak and lazy jump scares. But today we want to acknowledge that, when done well, jump scares can be an incredibly effective tool for a horror filmmaker.
Here are our 10 favorite jump scares from horror movies.
10. It Follows (2014): tall man at the door
This movie is a freak show of scares beginning to end, and the different images the demon takes throughout is forever terrifying and fascinating. But it was the tall man at the door that really got to us.
9. Les Diaboliques (1955): alive in the tub
First of all, this is a spoiler. But the film came out 65 years ago, so if you haven’t seen it by now (we even showed it once!), that’s on you, man. It’s a classic, and a classic scare.
8. The Ring (2002): I saw her face
Again, here is a film chocker block full of utterly fantastic creeps, all told a moment at a time. But it was that first one, when we see Samara’s first victim, that set the stage and made us jump out of our seats.
7. A Tale of Two Sisters (2003): under the sink
So much nuttiness, so many confusing ideas to keep track of, such a master class piece of atmosphere building in this film. You just are not expecting jump scares in this one. And yet, as one dinner party goes wrong…
6. Hereditary (2018): signpost
Tell us you saw this one coming and we will tell you that you are a liar.
5. Carrie (1976): Carrie White’s grave
Oh holy shit. You think Sue Snell has been through enough, what with missing out on prom and watching every friend she has die in a flaming blood bath. But you would think wrong.
4. Audition (1999): What’s in the bag?
Ring ring. Ring ring. The way Takashi Miike frames this scene, lovely Asami’s hair draped in front of her, her spine showing, that loud phone – you can’t take your eyes off her, waiting for her to rouse, to answer. You might not even notice that burlap sack…
3. Jaws (1975): Hey, it’s Bruce!
Jaws has two classic jump scares, and it was hard to pick. Remember when Hooper’s digging that tooth out of Ben Gardner’s boat and then, all the the sudden, a human head! Well, that would have been enough for most movies, but after waiting nearly 2/3 of the film to see that shark, Steven Spielberg introduces his lead with authority.
2. The Conjuring (2013): bureau
James Wan’s instant classic haunted house movie also boasts more than one strong contender for this list. That hand clapping scene, showcased in the trailer, was reason enough for us to buy our tickets. But the one that did the most damage starts with a sleep walker and ends with the best jump scare in the last twenty years.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOgC_YUyTYs
1. The Exorcist III: guy in the hall
There are so many utterly priceless moments in this underrated horror show: Patrick Ewing and Fabio as angels, Sam Jackson as a blind man, that terrifying confessional scene. But there is this one flash of white that is the reason everybody who sees this movie remembers it.
The Vast of Night wastes no time in transporting you to another world.
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.
Picture the small town of Cayuga, New Mexico in the 1950s. As the gymnasium stands are filling up for the night’s big high school basketball matchup, a smooth-talking radio DJ and a wholesome teen have stumbled onto something very, very big.
Fay Crocker (Sierra McCormick) is filling in for the local telephone operator as WOTW’s nighttime show with Everett “The Maverick” Sloan (Jake Horowitz) playing in the background. But a strange transmission is also coming through the radio, and Fay lets Everett know about it.
Everett opens the mic to ask if any of his “five listeners” can identify the sound, and Billy (Bruce Davis) calls in with a mighty big story to tell. Mabel (Gail Cronaur) has one, too, leading Everett and Fay off into the New Mexico night to search for answers.
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 McCormick and Horowitz leading a stellar ensemble, what could have been a generic sci-fi time filler becomes a smart parable with an eerie grip.
The Vast of Night is a film about listening. To each other, to the stars, to the ugly secrets of our past and to the great possibilities of our future.
And speaking of the future, Andrew Patterson has a bright one.
Mara (Tallie Medel) and Jo (Norma Kuhling) make an odd couple, or so says Mara’s one-time dinner date who remembers the pair of best friends from high school. Mara’s quiet, no-fuss. And Jo?
“She’s cutting.”
In fact, Mara and Jo resemble any number of very real relationships, those that maneuver childhood and the dramatic complexities of adolescence to settle into something adult that may not be sustainable.
Jo is flashy, passionate, needy. Mara is level-headed and
supportive. Dan Sallitt’s understated character study Fourteen picks up
their relationship somewhere into adulthood and follows it from Mara’s point of
view with a detached but caring comment on how life, responsibility and
surrender finally look.
Matter-of-fact performances eliminate any hint of melodrama
as Fourteen wades through a series of the duo’s scenarios across about a
decade. The performers’ delivery and the director’s style undercut any
artifice, nearly every scene focused exclusively on a conversation, most of
which feel improvisational.
It offers a loose but relentless progression, a regrettable
erosion focused on growing up and growing apart, caring for each other and
caring for yourself.
Sallitt rarely focuses squarely on big moments. Jo’s breakdowns and histrionics remain almost entirely off screen, and what we see is Mara’s inevitable response as well as quietly significant moments: the first dinner with a new boyfriend, a trip back home for a timely visit.
The progression of time told in haircuts and apartments is handled more gracefully in Fourteen than what you might expect, but again, Sallitt’s style is not showy. More than the visual backdrop to mark a new era, it’s Medel and Kuhling’s recognizable reacquaintance, first halting then quickly entrenched in familiar patterns: this is who we are.
Medel’s performance, aided by her enormous eyes, is deceptively
compelling. As the friend less likely to draw notice (she mentions at one point
that, in Jo’s presence, she sometimes feels as if she’s not even there), she’s
comfortable in the background. At the same time, Mara is clearly and constantly
observing, making a mental note, internally balancing what’s best for Jo versus
what’s best for herself.
Kuhling is a bit weaker, her believable amalgamation of tics
in early scenes do not translate well to her climactic breakdown, which at
times feels like a student actor’s workshop.
It’s a minor flaw, though, in a film that feels quietly courageous in its interest in one of life’s great heartbreaks.
Very little in life brings me joy quite like a decent creature feature. Even the silly ones where a big, boil-riddled muppet winds up slathering pus leakage all over Korean mountain people in the 1500s.
Especially those.
Hun Jong-ho’s new import takes us back to 1506, a time when
the king is beset by troubles: his disloyal prime minister, a plague across the
land. That is a lot for one man to handle, and an even larger load once his
most loyal guard, Yoon Gyeom (Kim Myong-min), abandons him to save a little
girl’s life.
Fast forward a decade or so and strife still divides the
nation, but that strife has a new name: Monstrum.
But is that monster really there? Or is it all just a
figment of mass hysteria planted by a conniving prime minister? The sleuthing
sets up a clever-enough through line and the deception creates space for plenty
of gory action sequences.
Jong-ho’s story, which he penned along with Byeon Jeong-uk
and Heo-dam, offers a relatively simple “the people have the power” narrative
elevated by some nice set pieces and a handful of choice performances.
Myong-min cuts a properly heroic figure: quiet, savvy, handy
in a fight. Kim In-kwan makes the perfect sidekick, his comedic moments (though
often anachronistic) offer welcome moments of levity.
With K-pop’s Lee Hye-ri (of the band Girl Day), Jong-ho
delivers a little 16th century girl power via one spunky adolescent who’s
smart, capable, irreverent and fearless. (Another anachronism? Probably, but
again, it’s a movie with a giant, pus-dripping puppet. You came looking for
realism?)
And hey, who’s that handsome young man beguiled by Hye-ri’s
badassedness? It’s Parasite’s
Choi Woo-sik, charming as ever.
The film looks great, thanks in part to some exceptional
costuming but mainly to cinematographer Kim Dong-Yeon’s capable maneuvering
through interiors and exteriors, false backdrops and lushly wooded hills.
Monstrum is no masterpiece—go in expecting The Host and come out disappointed. But for creature feature fun and just a touch of flatulence humor, Monstrum delivers.
In 1994, rookie producer Mark Bozek sat down with New York Times fashion and street photographer, Bill Cunningham. The casual chat about an award Cunningham was receiving was supposed to only be a quick 10-minute in and out.
The interview didn’t end until the tape in Bozek’s camera ran out.
Twenty-five years after conducting this interview, Bozek makes his feature documentary debut with The Times of Bill Cunningham. Less a look or critique of the New York fashion scene, Bozek’s interest is sharply focused on the unassuming Cunningham.
Bozek uses the ample footage at his disposal to let Cunningham share his thoughts and insights about his life and career. Cunningham’s almost child-like zeal for his work comes across as both disarming and curious all at once. From his beyond-modest “apartment” in the old Carnegie Hall Studios building, to his uniquely un-chic wardrobe consisting mainly of hand-me-downs, Cunningham wasn’t your typical New York fashion figure.
As the layers peel back more and more, Bezok is able to capture and celebrate Cunningham’s genuine kindness — whether that be his enthusiasm for catching people “as they are” on the street, or the financial support he showed a friend who was fighting a losing battle with the AIDS virus.
Peppered throughout the film are many of Cunningham’s photos. The juxtaposition of these wonderful photographs with his animated interview makes for an appreciative experience. Many of these photos were splashed across Cunningham’s weekly spread in the New York Times. A few gems, however, were never published during Cunningham’s storied career.
Sparse narration by Sarah Jessica Parker (Sex and the City) provides needed connective tissue and context. It’s one thing to take Cunningham’s word for it, but highlighting his accomplishments in the broader fashion world is a poignant statement on how important he was to the fashion industry and to New York City itself.
Documentaries focused on one individual aren’t new. Specific filmmakers, politicians, and athletes have all received this treatment. What’s so different, and enthralling about The Times of Bill Cunningham is how much Cunningham gets to speak for himself. It’s an honest, unfiltered look at a man that did what he loved — and did it well.
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.
There are moments, especially early in the film, where Hardy
and Trank seem to be conjuring Vito Corleone (Hardy has always carried the same
dangerous charisma of Brando, anyway). But it doesn’t take long before the role
defines itself as something we truly have not seen before.
The film focuses on the final year of the infamous mobster’s
life—the adult diapers and dementia year. He’s served his prison term for tax
evasion, the syphilis he contracted in his youth has taken its toll on his mind
and body, and his money is quickly evaporating.
Maybe he’s hidden $10 million somewhere. Maybe he’s just
nuts.
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.
There is a grotesque humor underlying many of these scenes. Trank doesn’t ask you to sympathize with this notorious villain, nor does he revel in his decrepitude. But he definitely explores it, and that’s a brave decision. Many a mobster film fanatic will be annoyed by this glimpse into the post-badass years, but defying expectations is something Capone does early and often.
If Trank doesn’t trade in sympathy, we can still expect
Hardy to generate empathy. As is characteristic of every performance in his
career, Tom 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.
Linda Cardellini flexes more in the role of Capone’s wife Mae than she has in her many other turns as put-upon spouse. She’s a great sparring partner for Hardy, and their volatile but ultimately tender relationship creates a needed grounding for a film so busy with the shadowy unreality of a diseased mind.
Because of the borderline surreal nature of a film told from
the point of view of a man in the throes of dementia, it’s often tough to suss
out the reality of the events onscreen. This generally works, but there are
certainly moments—generally those inserted to give us stepping stones of a
plot–that seem stiffly ill placed.
Thankfully, Hardy’s there to command your attention. 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.