Movie Review

Movie Review – Häxan (1922)

This review is part of the A Play of Light and Shadow: Horror in Silent Cinema Series

**Movie Review – Häxan (1922)**

Danish filmmaker Benjamin Christensen received rave reviews for his 1916 film Blind Justice when it toured in America. While showing the film to prisoners at Sing Sing in Ossining, New York, one convict knifed another, deeply disturbing Christensen. When discussing the incident with famed prison reformer Thomas Mott Osborne during his brief but influential tenure as the warden, he was told that even the most career criminals possessed an emotional humanity that could be reached through the right methods. From this meeting, “Christensen began to think about how a belief in absolute evil caused mankind to dehumanize and persecute those with mental illness, deformity, and in poverty” (Steve Haberman, Silent Screams: The History of the Silent Horror Film, pg. 84).

In 1919, in a Berlin bookshop, Benjamin Christensen found a copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, the fifteenth-century treatise on witch persecution, and spent the next two years studying the history of witchcraft, determined to make an entirely new kind of film that would serve to explore the subject. The causal link between the historical Inquisition and inmate treatment in the modern world, being ignorance and inhumanity, was a pronounced and natural one. Häxan (1922), also known as Witchcraft Through the Ages, is certainly one of the most unconventional films of the silent era, and for a viewer today the experience will be a unique one. Really a horror-docudrama about witchcraft, the film is at turns academic, horrifying, hilarious, and ultimately sobering.

Christensen takes a rationalist’s approach to witchcraft. He first approached scholars to help him with his film, but the low culture stigma of cinema and the unsavory subject matter meant their refusal. Left to his own devices, the first part of the film is Christensen’s own semi-scholarly lecture complete with artwork, moving diagrams, and a kickass mechanical model of hell. He explains the views of the pre-scientific world and how they shaped people’s absurd ideas about witches. He states, “The belief in evil spirits, sorcery and witchcraft is the result of naïve notions about the mystery of the universe.” Based only upon this dry but nevertheless interesting opening, one might be forgiven for thinking this film will be dull, and they would be entirely, tragically wrong. While he does this presentation, he shows titillating and scandalous images from woodcuts and paintings, promising to show them to us with actors in due time. Christensen is a true showman who is building anticipation in his audience.

The second part is where the dramatic reenactments begin, and this is when the film gets trippy. Here Christensen shows us what medieval people believed was happening, not what truly was. The production quality is superb and is certainly some of the finest to be seen in the silent era. The attention to detail in the costumes, sets, lighting, and especially make-up is extraordinary, especially when Christensen himself enters the scene as the horny horned trickster Satan, with mottled skin and a darting tongue. Heavy with sexual overtones and libidinal metaphors – demons vigorously churn butter in obvious imitation of masturbation – the film features discreet but nevertheless tantalizing nudity and Christensen’s images continually fly in the face of accepted decency. As Steve Haberman writes, “the overall impression is of sex stripped of beauty and romance and made monstrously vile” (pg. 86). Häxan was the most expensive Swedish film up to that point and the effort shows. The quality of the make-up effects and props are not just surprising because of the era, but because they’re superior to most of what would come after for the next few generations. Additionally, there is even included an impressive stop-motion animation of a small demon tearing through a door.

The next part of the film is concerned with the realities of historical witch-hunts and how the infectious nature of accusations was inescapable and how they ruined countless lives. While Christensen employed horror imagery earlier, here he presents us with the true source of horror: ignorance and irrationality. Under the Inquisition the Church becomes a hell on Earth, complete with rotten-toothed, sadistic clergy and all the tortures the human mind can conjure. We see men of science accused of devilry and innocent women suffering for the lust they drive in men. Satan and witches are not horrifying, but the irrational mind frame which creates them is, and therefore “Christensen relates the Church to both ignorance and sadism, giving the impression that religion at its core is inseparable from evil” (Haberman, pg. 88). He mirrors the earlier scenes of demons with those of the clergy, visually driving home the view that they were essentially cut from the same blood-soaked ecclesiastical cloth. The sexual repression of the priests is displaced into deviance and perversion, and women – whose countenances so tempted them – are the objects of their unnatural release.

Finally, the film ends with an examination of modern medicine and offers some scientific explanations for the myths surrounding witches. Attention is especially paid to hysteria (in part what we would today call “conversion disorder”), which was seen as an exclusively female disorder from the nineteenth century until around the time this film was released, when Sigmund’s Freud’s theories were in vogue. Here Christensen is not only offering rational alternatives, but also criticizing the contemporary treatment of women and the less fortunate. He asks of his audience, “We no longer burn our old and poor. But do they not often suffer bitterly? And the little woman, whom we call hysterical, alone and unhappy, isn’t she still a riddle for us? Nowadays we detain the unhappy in a mental institution or – if she is wealthy – in a modern clinic.” He suggests that we haven’t moved as far as we think from the mindset that caused the witch-hunts and need some further self-examination to move forward, especially for the sake of women and those less fortunate who are still the victims of authority and misunderstanding. As Haberman notes, a theme of male apprehension regarding female independence crops up many times throughout the film, and each time it is a male authority figure, often through violent means, who suppresses:

“The final impression of Haxan is that women throughout history have been subjected to the control of men, sometimes mercifully, more often cruelly. Females are tempted and degraded by Satan, unfairly judged and punished by the Church, and diagnosed and shut away in clinics by modern doctors. The implication is that men fear the opposite sex and seek to control them. The final image in the film is a silhouette of the charred bodies of several accused witches bound to stakes after being burned alive: the ultimate method of male restraint and domination” (pg. 91).

The performances are strong throughout the film, with special attention to be paid to Maren Pedersen, whose elderly Maria the Weaver is tortured by the Inquisition as the camera keeps upon her lined face, allowing our imaginations to fill in the rest of what’s happening to her. She was not a professional actress but a woman Christensen found who was selling flowers on the street. According to the director, Pederson told him that the Devil was real and that she saw him sitting by her bed at night. She is truly pitiable and her visage on film is striking, both when she’s hungrily slobbering on stew and when tears are running down her cheeks. These close-up shots of faces in agony, in particular, riled many censors and caused the film to be banned or recut in many countries.

Yet while there are aspects of horror and serious social commentary, Christensen still employs his own morbid sense of humor to liven the film. Many scenes are playful and tongue-in-cheek, especially when dealing with medieval beliefs, such as the witches lining up to kiss Satan’s ass. The scenes are lively and nightmarish and could easily be put to a modern heavy metal soundtrack. And where else can you see Satan pop out and gleefully club a nun on the head? The transitions are almost dreamlike, leaving the viewer to question whether they are witnessing hallucinations or reality. Nevertheless, when dealing with historical or contemporary reality Christensen stays his hand and presents it matter-of-factly so as to not diminish its effect. All the while he maintains a reassuring, almost conversational tone with the viewer, reminding them that despite the seeming chaos on screen, there is method to all the madness.

Chris Fujiwara, in an essay written for The Criterion Collection, bestows high praise on Christensen’s artistry:

“Under any title and with any modifications, Häxan endures because of Christensen’s tremendous skill with lighting, staging, and varying of shot scale. The word “painterly” comes to mind in watching Christensen’s ingeniously constructed shots, but it is inadequate to evoke the fascination the film exerts through its patterns of movement and its narrative disjunctions. Christensen is at once painter, historian, social critic, and a highly self-conscious filmmaker. His world comes alive as few attempts to recreate the past on film have.”

Many silent films, even in horror, can have a sense of innocence to them. But there is no innocence here. Christensen offers an intelligent yet entertaining adult fantasy filled with adult humor, yet it is all coupled with important contemplations and explanations. In every scene can be felt the deliberate touch of an eccentric, macabre genius. The film was well-received in Denmark and Sweden but was banned in countries like the United States for what was considered graphic depictions of torture, nudity, and sexual perversion. In France, Catholic organizations mobilized against the film because of its negative depictions of the Church.

While largely a critical success, the film’s experimental nature meant limited distribution and audience attendance, making the film a financial failure and putting a pause on Christensen’s career for two years. He had originally intended Häxan to be the first installment of a trilogy, with the other movies being The Saint and The Spirits, which would have further explored themes of suspicion towards Christian institutions and an objective approach to spiritual matters. For The Saint Christensen had planned to explore religious hysteria, and for The Spirits he wanted to assemble the world’s foremost mediums and hold a séance, hoping to capture an actual spiritual manifestation on film. Though a few scenes were shot for The Saint, neither film was finished.

In the late 1960s the film received new life from British exploitation filmmaker Anthony Balch who shortened the film and added a jazz soundtrack as well as a narrative by “beat” writer William S. Burroughs. The film became a unique “midnight movie” rediscovered by a generation who appreciated its dark humor and deliberate touches of insanity. It’s time today’s horror fans rediscovered it as well.

Christensen’s 1916 Blind Justice is my favorite pre-Caligari horror/thriller, and Häxan is unquestionably floating, like a witch rubbed with flying ointment, somewhere at the top of my list of favorite silent horror films, and manages to even bespell the eras beyond.

Grade: A+

July 23, 2016 4

Movie Review – Lights Out (2016)

**Movie Review – Lights Out (2016)**

In 2013 David F. Sandberg made a name for himself for his award-winning short horror entitled Lights Out, which starred his wife, Lotta Losten. The viral hit caught the eyes of producers James Wan (Saw, Insidious, The Conjuring) and Lawrence Grey and soon Sandberg was given the opportunity to direct his first feature film based upon his short.

Of the short film, Grey stated in an interview with Showbiz Junkies, “It’s this big genius universal idea. We all know it. We’re all afraid of the dark. We all know that feeling of, ‘I saw that thing out of the corner of my eye. Is that a tree? Is that my laundry? Or is it something more sinister than that?’ There was real craft to how he did it.”

In 2016’s Lights Out Sandberg reveals himself as an astute pupil to Wan, using great practical effects to conjure his dark-dwelling monster and never squandering the audience’s trust with reliance upon fake jump scares. The scares in the film are earned, well-paced, and at times, incredibly fun. While clichés are to be found – and most scares the viewer will see coming – most are easy to forgive because their execution is finely crafted. Eric Heisserer’s screenplay creates characters that have relationships that the audience can connect with, and the roles are well-acted, with Maria Bello as the emotionally disturbed mother especially bringing in a convincing performance. Even Alexander DiPersia, as the underwritten boyfriend, makes the most of his screen time.

Viewers will find a lot to enjoy and appreciate in Lights Out, however, it’s not without its shortcomings. While the characters are well-rounded and surprisingly resourceful, the mythology surrounding the supernatural threat is fairly weak and convoluted, and thrown upon the audience in an indolent info-dump. The film has a tendency to drop bread crumbs along the way, but in the end doesn’t explain or justify many of them. When the film deals with the present or explores its gimmick, it excels, but each time it ventures to explain the past or the supernatural, or make connections to them, it loses its way. This is unfortunate, as the movie had real potential to be a minor classic of the genre, on par with some of Wan’s better films.

Despite these flaws, Sandberg’s film is an impressive first entry. Its run time is only 81 minutes, and though I can’t help but feel like some pertinent scenes were left on the proverbial cutting room floor, or that other elements could have been fleshed out more, Lights Out remains an entertaining experience.

Grade: C+

July 19, 2016 3

Movie Review – Annabelle (2014)

**Movie Review – Annabelle (2014)**

2013’s The Conjuring, directed by James Wan and based upon the claims of real-life paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren, was a massive hit. Wan’s smart direction elevated even the hokiest script elements and made even my personal distaste for the Warrens palatable. One of the most memorable images of the film was of the “possessed” doll, Annabelle. The real Annabelle is a Raggedy Anne doll that resides in a glass case in The Warren’s Occult Museum, but Wan decided to instead create a porcelain doll with a sinister smile and deathly pallor. I have an aunt at whose house I slept over many times when I was young, and I would often bed in a room filled with antique porcelain dolls, their ghostly pale faces staring at me in the moonlight. It’s likely due to my largely skeptical nature that I ever closed my eyes.

Of course, the inevitable Annabelle spinoff was expected, because… Hollywood. The film is directed by John R. Leonetti, who has only two other films to his directorial name, one of them being 1997’s Mortal Kombat: Annihilation, panned by critics and fans alike and often listed as among the worst sequels in history. While this leaves little promise for the viewer, what Leonetti has lacked in directorial craft he has made up for in talent as a cinematographer, bringing a wonderful mise en scène to multiple Wan films, including Insidious (2011) and The Conjuring.

Annabelle is a prequel to The Conjuring and follows a young married couple as they expect a baby. The doll is given by the husband to the wife and soon violent events transpire to attach a hippie demon to the doll. I’m not kidding. The script for the film is unfortunately lackluster and tends to meander. Also, right from the beginning it is inconsistent with The Conjuring despite recreating that earlier film’s opening scene with the nurses talking with the Warrens about the doll. In that scene, the film clearly displays on the bottom of the frame, “Annabelle Case – Year 1968”. Therefore, because we can count, we expect this prequel to take place either in that year or prior. But instead in Annabelle we see news footage of the Tate-Labianca murders by the Manson Family, which took place in August of 1969, and several months pass throughout the film which would put us safely into 1970, at least. This may seem like a minor quibble to most, but when basic chronology is ignored so blatantly is serves as an ill omen of what may come. There are other anachronistic elements, but I’m so anal as to list them all here. I don’t expect historical fidelity in films, despite my wishes to the contrary, though I do expect a franchise to follow its own timeline, especially when evoking the period is such a characteristic element. However, one plot hole which bothered me that I believe bares mention is that we are multiple times drawn to the fact that the couple can hear the people who live above their apartment, but we see many times, in many ways, that the couple lives on the top floor.

The beginning of the film makes several references to the societal changes of the 1960s, with mention of the neighbor’s daughter running off with “the hippies” and talk of keeping the door locked because “it’s a different world.” The Manson murders serve to further illustrate this. However, the cumulative effect, while perhaps unintentional, is to depict hippies in an exclusively negative light, as the only ones we see are of Manson’s ilk. Had these real life murders not been introduced, the movie may have in fact been improved, not to mention more chronologically sound. It may be in keeping with the contemporary fears of more conformist factions, but viewers having no knowledge of the peace movement or of the benign character of Woodstock could easily come away thinking 1960s counterculture was about murderous cultists out to destroy the lives of clean-cut, church-going, Barry Goldwater-loving Americans. With The Conjuring beautifying the Warrens, both their dubious paranormal claims and their staunchly Catholic approach, I can’t help but feel that the franchise is destined to be very politically and socially conservative, whether by inspiration from its source material or by design.

Annabelle Wallis does fine as the main protagonist, Mia Form, and the rest of the cast also are serviceable. Many nods are made to 1968’s Rosemary’s Baby, but the film forgets to surround their main girl with interesting characters and dynamic actors, which that classic film did so well, making the goings feel overly drawn out. As I watched I kept asking myself if this young couple has parents or friends, for their inclusion may have added a desperately needed dynamism to the story or presented further opportunities for scares while allowing the couple to not suspect the doll sooner without appearing overly dense. The ending of the film, too, is rather drab.

However, there are some impressive set pieces that Leonetti is able to orchestrate, particularly a well-paced home invasion early on in the film and a few effective jump scares, none of which are, thankfully, fake. Also, Wan returned to direct a tension-filled elevator scene. There also some less effective, and unintentionally funny, scares along the way, but they’re not so pervasive as to ruin the film.

Annabelle is, like a knockoff doll, a film of varying quality. There are some finely crafted pieces held together with cheap stitching and seams which continually show, ever threatening to come undone.

Grade: C

July 15, 2016 0

Horror’s “Worst” Films – Fire Maidens from Outer Space (1956)

This review is part of the Horror’s “Worst” Films: Tasteless Entertainment or Endurance Test? series.

Horror’s “Worst” Films – Fire Maidens from Outer Space (1956)

Fire Maidens from Outer Space (1956) is a sci-fi monster film that was UK produced but written and directed by American Cy Roth. In a film that makes even the worst original series Star Trek episodes look like Citizen Kane (1941), we follow a group of bored looking, chain smoking astronauts (even in the spaceship) as they land on the 13th moon of Jupiter only to discover the lost civilization of Atlantis. The meager society is made up of an old patriarch and a bevy of beautiful women who do seemingly endless dance routines when they’re not being plagued by a monster they call “the man with the head of a beast” – really, a guy in an unmoving fright mask and black jumpsuit with visible zippers down the back who comes around and yells “Rrraaaaaaagh!” And 1950s sexual politics abound as the girls are all man-hungry, man-hating, or helpless damsels (at least Robot Monster gave us a female character who was supposed to possess a brilliant scientific mind, even if we never saw it).

This could have been great campy fun were it not so soul-crushingly slow. The film is mostly padding – at one point we follow a secretary through a door, down stairs, having a conversation, then back up the stairs and through the door again. Maybe the editor fell asleep like I almost did. Not even the short skirts, nice legs, and arching backs can save it. With all the filler and a storyline that never seems to want to start, this one is unfortunately a test of endurance.

July 10, 2016 1

Movie Review – Jug Face (2013)

**Movie Review – Jug Face (2013)**

Small-budget horror films are too often formulaic and predictable, save for a sacred few each year, and it’s therefore always welcome for an unconventional entry to defy one’s expectations. 2013’s Jug Face is one such movie, filmed in Tennessee and telling the story of a backwoods community that makes regular sacrifices to a pit in order to keep its favor. The next victim is revealed in visions to the simple-minded Dawai (Sean Bridgers) who enters a trance and creates a clay jug with their face upon it. A local teenage girl (Lauren Ashley Carter), pregnant from her brother, finds out she’s the next intended victim and hides the jug before anyone can see it, thus setting off a series of unfortunate events as the pit’s entity emerges to kill members of the community one-by-one until it is satiated with its desired target. Say what you will, but it’s certainly an original premise.

Writer-director Chad Crawford Kinkle manages to weave the unsavory hillbilly tropes of incest and moonshine into an entertaining plot. The result is off-beat and at times quirky, but it never devolves too far into farce, thus allowing us to in some degree sympathize with our central characters. Not everything works, such as the image of the ghost boy, and by the third act the story threatens to grow redundant, but the film is elevated by confident direction and a strong cast. Carter carries the central role well, but it is Bridgers who steals the show. For those who have seen these two actors in 2011’s The Woman, where their roles are very different, you can’t help but be amazed at their transformations here. The interactions between the two are some of the best scenes in the movie and give the film its heart.

Jug Face is a bit clunky in places, and the ending is unfortunately underwhelming, but it’s an imaginative tale that showcases genuine talent both on and off the screen.

Grade: C+

July 6, 2016 0

Movie Review – Warning Shadows (1923)

This review is part of the A Play of Light and Shadow: Horror in Silent Cinema Series

**Movie Review – Warning Shadows (1923)**

Warning Shadows (1923), known in German as Schatten – Eine nächtliche Halluzination (“Shadows – a Nocturnal Hallucination”), is a work which uses the characteristics of the German Expressionist movement as an interesting, and seemingly inevitable, tool for storytelling. Directed by American-born but German-raised Arthur Robison, the tale is about a flirtatious wife who adores the fawning attention she receives from four foppish dinner guests while her husband’s jealousy steadily brews. Into this mix an uninvited guest arrives, a disheveled and likely mad shadow-player who borrows the diners’ shadows to use with a kind of magic, revealing the tragic consequences that will come if they continue as they have been – a literal ‘foreshadow’. The shadow-player is performed by Alexander Granach, who played the memorable Renfield-type character in Nosferatu (1922) the year before, and again presents the screen with an eccentric, memorable performance.

That there are no inter-titles makes the narrative difficult to follow at times, and the film is experimental in many ways and uses Expressionistic elements in its approach. The costumes and hairstyles are exaggerated in the stylistic manner of the times and shadows are employed throughout the film as a way to expose a truth which light, ironically, hides. The shadows are used cleverly and add to the dream-like quality of the film.

However, there are times when the film seems to get too artistic for its own good, at the cost of storytelling. The narrative tends to ramble and the generalized acting can be a distraction, especially after eighty minutes of continually watching the husband’s anguished jealousy play painfully on his face. The sets, too, are surprisingly unremarkable.

Warning Shadows is a film which attempts something novel and unique. Silent films are themselves a play of light and shadows, and here the art form appears to appropriately comment upon itself. Unfortunately, the final product has not aged as well as some of its contemporaries.

Grade: C

July 1, 2016 0

Movie Review – Sightseers (2012)

Radio Newsreader:The police announced today that they’re pursuing a ginger-faced man and an angry woman in connection with inquiries.

2012’s Sightseers is directed by Ben Wheatley, who had previously directed the well-received Kill List (2011). Written by and starring Alice Lowe and Steve Oram, the two central characters originated as a dark comedic routine in which the actors would pretend to drive through the countryside, commenting on the scenery, and occasionally referencing the casual murders they had committed. Eventually they developed a film idea and after numerous rejections pitched the idea to Edgar Wright, who took on production of the project.

Lowe and Oram are so comfortable with their creations, Tina and Chris, that they embody them with an immediately convincing ease. The characters are so self-absorbed and obsessed with their own little world that they don’t empathize with anyone else. When someone from the outside disturbs their idyllic, self-righteous sensibility, they react homicidally. The humor is restrained and understated in a manner that’s very British, and which works perfectly for the tone of the film.

Sightseers is a well-balanced black comedy where the violence, even though placed in a humorous context, is unflinchingly brutal. It doesn’t let you forget that a life has been lost even as you laugh (uncomfortably) at the situation, and it’s this intelligent treatment of the characters’ actions and their journey that keeps the concept from growing stale. Wheatley makes you feel guilty, like an accomplice to their crimes, each time they murder and we again begin to follow them in their unglamorous, modernly British Bonnie and Clyde routine. As they drive deeper into the countryside they retreat more into their own little world, and civilization and our sympathies are gradually left behind.

Grade: B

June 27, 2016 1

Horror’s “Worst” Films – Robot Monster (1953)

This review is part of the Horror’s “Worst” Films: Tasteless Entertainment or Endurance Test? series.

Horror’s “Worst” Films – Robot Monster (1953)

In December of 1953 director Phil Tucker was staying at the Knickerbocker Hotel in Los Angeles. Despondent from a dispute with his film’s distributor, who was refusing to pay him, and unable to get work because he was saddled with the negative criticism his film had received, Tucker attempted suicide. Some reports say that he shot himself – and missed. He had sent an alarming suicide letter to a newspaper and, so the story goes, was saved when reporters and detectives found him unconscious in his hotel room. As Hollywood legends go, it can difficult to separate the fluff from the fact. Whatever the reasons or method, he lived on to make more films, but the specter of Robot Monster, which had been released the summer before in 3D, haunted his career.

Robot Monster is a no-budget children’s sci-fi tale about an alien named Ro-Man who has wiped out humanity save for a family who have found a way to hide from him. Ro-Man is a monster that looks as if a kid made him by going through stuff in his closet. He’s essentially a guy in a home-made gorilla suit with a fish-bowl shaped helmet with TV antennae sticking out. His communication device, which he uses to contact his superior on his home world, is a bubble machine. The movie was filmed in four days entirely outdoors.

The film is clearly geared towards kids – we even see sci-fi pulp magazines in the closing credits – though it’s unlikely to win their hearts or even keep their interest for more than a millisecond. We should remember that both sci-fi and horror were seen strictly as kids’ stuff in the 1950s, which is why so little of it is what modern audiences would consider serious horror entertainment.

Despite the film’s shortcomings it managed to showcase two actors of note. George Nader went on to win a Golden Globe the following year (not, of course, for Robot Monster). The film was also the last for actress Selena Royle. She had had an active career with MGM until two years prior when she was brought before the House Committee on Un-American Activities where she had refused to name names. Stigmatized as a Communist sympathizer, her career was virtually over, even though she successfully cleared her name.

The movie is bad, certainly, but it retains a modicum of child-like charm. Even Stephen King has a soft spot for it, for he agrees with the review from The Castle of Frankenstein which generously states that though the movie is “certainly among the finest terrible movies ever made” and is “one of the most laughable of the poverty row quickies… the pic does make some scatterbrained sense when viewed as a child’s eye monster fantasy” (Danse Macabre, pg. 213). The movie even has some similarities to Invaders from Mars, released just a few months earlier.

Robot Monster is innocent enough to be inoffensive in its failures as a legitimate film, and that’s why it’s tasteless entertainment. Believe it or not, there are far worse movies to come…

June 22, 2016 3

Movie Review – Berberian Sound Studio (2012)

**Movie Review – Berberian Sound Studio (2012)**

2012’s Berberian Sound Studio, written and directed by Peter Strickland, is set upon a fantastic premise: in the 1970s a reserved British sound engineer named Gilderoy, played by Tobey Jones, travels to Italy to work on a film called The Equestrian Vortex, which he mistakenly assumes is about horses. He soon discovers that he has been hired to oversee the sound design for a giallo horror film, and as the film’s Foley work progresses the boundary between reality and cinema begin to blur. Giallo fans will undoubtedly find a lot to appreciate in the many homages found throughout.

Strickland strips cinema down to its bare mechanics as we see Gilderoy create the noises for the soundtrack. We never see the film he is working on, but come to know it only through narration, written notes, voice actresses, and the sound effects which Gilderoy is crafting. Italian cinema is a perfect vehicle for this type of story given its penchant for post-synching sound (sometimes poorly so as anyone who has seen many films from this era can attest). Italy’s reasons for leaving sound to post-production stem from post-war woes, as the cameras and equipment available were of poor quality and troublesomely noisy. Though sound studios were available, they were not sound-proofed. Yet another reason for dubbing is sex appeal – by separating an actor from his/her voice directors could cast them on appearance alone. Finally, Italy rarely subtitles foreign films, and dubbing foreign movies, coupled with post-synching their domestic work, has maintained a self-sustaining sound industry.

It is in this unfamiliar world that Gilderoy finds himself, ignorant of the language, customs, and genre in which he is now working. We sense his isolation, never leaving the confines of the artificial sound studio. Strickland frames his shots beautifully and the sound design is, as would be expected, terrific.

Nevertheless, despite these very strong aspects of the film there were elements that simply did not gel with me. Strickland relies heavily upon symbolism, such as rotting food to show Gilderoy’s deteriorating sanity or a spider who he lets stay in his home as a nod to his acceptance of his current station, but the signals are repeated so often that they verge on redundancy. Ultimately, the film gets so caught up in its own symbolism that it forgets to tell an interesting story, and what’s there is stretched incredibly thin. At the halfway point I realized with a sinking feeling that hardly anything had actually happened. It’s like taking a beautiful scenic ride by driving in circles – eventually you want there to be a destination. We get a continuous buildup of tension that gets lost in an overly self-indulgent third act and an ambiguous, sudden, and unsatisfactory ending. Yes, one can dig to find meaning in the ending, but if there was an emotional connection to be felt I was numbed to it.

I’ve never been a film student, and my cinema literacy is self-taught and centered upon historical analysis and genuine appreciation of the craft, and I emphatically claim no expertise. My understanding of the technical aspects of filmmaking is shallow, and I fully admit that there may be more present in the film to those more well-versed than me that will allow them to connect with the film. But for this humble viewer, after all the promise of a great premise, Berberian Sound Studio became overly self-indulgent and did not deliver on its potential.

Grade: C

June 18, 2016 0

Movie Review – Waxworks (1924)

This review is part of the A Play of Light and Shadow: Horror in Silent Cinema Series

**Movie Review – Waxworks (1924)**

The German film Waxworks (1924) is commonly classified as a fantasy-horror, though more accurately it is an anthology film with horror elements coming into play only in the latter half. Written by Henrik Galeen, the structure clearly takes inspiration from 1919’s Eerie Tales, even having two of the actors playing multiple roles, and from Fritz Lang’s Destiny (1921). The framing story involves a wax exhibition at a fair that hires a young writer to create fantastic stories about their figures, which include Huran al Raschid, Ivan the Terrible, and Jack the Ripper.

The sets of each tale are of course stylistic in the German Romantic sense, such as was seen in 1920’s The Golem: How He Came into the World. Their interesting construction is largely due to director Paul Leni’s early struggles as an avant garde artist and as a working set designer. In 1924 he explained his approach to the German film magazine Kinematograph:

“If the designer merely imitated photography to construct sets, the film would remain faceless and impersonal. There has to be the possibility of bringing out an object’s essential attributes so as to give the image style and color…

This is particularly necessary for films set wholly in a world of unreality. For my film Waxworks I have tried to create sets so stylized that they evince no idea of reality. My fairground is sketched in with an utter renunciation of detail. All it seeks to engender is an indescribable fluidity of light, moving shapes, shadows, lines and curves. It is not extreme reality that the camera perceives, but the reality of inner events, which is more profound, effective and moving than what we see through everyday eyes, and I equally believe that the cinema can produce this truth, heightened effectively.

I may perhaps cite the example of Caligari and The Golem, in which Hans Poelzig created a town’s image. I cannot stress too strongly how important it is for a designer to shun the world seen every day and to attain its true sinews…

It will be seen that a designer must not construct ‘fine’ sets. He must penetrate the surface of things and reach their heart. He must create mood (Stimmung) even though he has to safeguard his independence with regard to the object seen merely through everyday eyes. It is this which makes him an artist. Otherwise I can see no reason why he should not be replaced by an adroit apprentice carpenter.”

In addition to memorable sets, the film contains some notable actors of German horror cinema. The first tale stars Emil Jannings, looking far more rotund than he did in Eyes of the Mummy Ma (1918) six years earlier, playing the 8th century Caliph. The story is light and the ending is actually quite entertaining and funny, with Jannings playing the role with a joking glee, and it reportedly inspired Douglas Fairbanks to make Thief of Bagdad (1924) the same year. The humorous nature of the episode is an indication that the terror-film cycle that began with the deadly seriousness of Caligari and continued with Nosferatu was now coming to an end (S.S. Prawer, Cailagri’s Children: The Film as Tale of Terror, 42).

Conrad Veidt and Werner Krauss, who both played major roles in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), also appear. Veidt plays Ivan the Terrible, being appropriately malicious and menacing, especially as he claps his hands to force a grieving wedding party to dance and to drink while the father of the bride lies dead on the banquet hall’s steps. Steve Haberman aptly describes the effectiveness of Veidt’s performance, recognizing that “the part could have been played as merely a leering sadist, but Veidt constantly emphasizes the almost childlike fear Ivan suffers of those around him, even in his own palace. Though he is the Czar, he seems like a wicked little boy among grown-ups, staring at them with wide, guilty eyes, waiting for one of them to punish him” (Silent Screams: The History of the Silent Horror Film, 62).

Krauss, who had played the titular Caligari, inhabits a fairly small role as Jack the Ripper, who the film combines with the Victorian urban legend of Spring-heeled Jack in a dream sequence reminiscent of the painted sets of Caligari, a manic disorientation created by a maze of double exposures. Through this sequence “Leni created the closest equivalent to a nightmare that the cinema had yet presented” (Haberman 63).

The writer is played by William Dieterle, who would also appear in F.W. Murnau’s Faust (1926). A fourth segment, based upon Rinaldo Rinaldini, had been written but cut due to budget constraints, and Dieterle would have played that role. In the mid-1930s, as Nazi policy and aggression mounted, Dieterle immigrated to the United States and became an American citizen in 1937. He would go on to a long and successful Hollywood career.

The wax exhibit owner’s daughter, and the main love interest of the stories’ various protagonists, is played by Russian-born Olga Belajeff, born in 1900, who had a strong career until the advent of talkies.

Director Paul Leni would accept an invitation in 1927 by Carl Laemmle, a founder of Universal movie studios, to come to America and direct. His debut American film would be the horror-comedy The Cat and the Canary (1927), which would have a profound influence on subsequent haunted house movies released by Universal over the coming decades. In 1928 he again teamed up with Conrad Veidt to direct him in one of his finest performances as the title character in The Man Who Laughs, the film that inspired Bob Kane to create The Joker. Sadly, Leni would die the following year of sepsis.

Waxworks doesn’t offer anything new to the genre but what it does, it does well. It’s a fine piece of entertainment and a showcase for some of horror’s most influential designers and recognized masters of German Expressionist acting.

Grade: B-

June 12, 2016 3

Movie Review – Hush (2016)

**Movie Review – Hush (2016)**

Director Mike Flanagan quickly gained a reputation for solid genre contributions with 2011’s Absentia and 2014’s Oculus, the latter especially with which I was particularly impressed. Therefore it was with considerable anticipation that I awaited his 2016 release, Hush. The film is co-written by and stars Flanagan’s wife, Kate Siegel, who plays Maddie, a deaf author who lost her hearing after a bout of bacterial meningitis when she was a teen. Maddie lives alone in a wooded area and it isn’t long before a masked psychopath is taunting her and biding his time before he’ll enter her home to kill her.

The cast does well, especially Siegel. The script is tight and Flanagan does great at creating tension, utilizing the relatively small location. I’ve always been partial to cat-and-mouse stories where opponents must try to outwit each other, and Hush displays this in exciting ways with both Maddie and her stalker having to use their brains to overcome a faster, stronger enemy. Also, while not a gory film, the violence, when it occurs, is effectively shocking. The result is a tension-filled single location drama which thankfully forgoes the normally predictable jump scares, and follows in the tradition of 1967’s Wait Until Dark and 1971’s See No Evil, which followed blind protagonists. What Hush adds to this company is our ability to see various scenarios play out in Maddie’s mind as she weighs her options, sometimes purposefully misleading the viewer to believe that things have gone terribly awry before pulling back to Maddie’s actual present state.

Hush is impressive, though it does fall victim to some heavy-handed foreshadowing that ultimately takes away some of the ending’s satisfaction. The film is so economical that anything introduced is essentially guaranteed to play a part later, but there are so few of these introductions that it becomes a waiting game for when certain elements will inevitably come into play. Thus the shock is absorbed too readily and the surprises become few, especially in the final moments. Nevertheless, Hush continues to reveal that Flanagan is a filmmaker worth keeping a keen eye upon, and I am still excited to see what comes next.

Grade: B-

June 8, 2016 0

Movie Review – The Hands of Orlac (1924)

This review is part of the A Play of Light and Shadow: Horror in Silent Cinema Series

**Movie Review – The Hands of Orlac (1924)**

After the triumphant contribution to both horror and cinema that was The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), director Robert Wiene followed with the poorly received, utterly forgettable Genuine (1920). In 1924, however, he returned to the genre once again with his Caligari star, Conrad Veidt, in the crime-horror The Hands of Orlac. The story is adapted from Maurice Renard’s body-horror novel of the same name, and tells of a pianist, Paul Orlac (Veidt), who loses his hands in a train wreck and has them replaced with transplants from a man recently executed for murder. Orlac begins to feel as though the homicidal impulses are affecting his soul and mind, and soon larger mysteries and even murder are crashing down upon Orlac and his loyal, devoted wife.

It was one of the first movies to deal with the concept of hands having a will of their own. Successful surgical transplants were still several decades into the future, so the story straddles the line into science-fiction. Once again the notion of amputees looms large as still-fresh memories of the Great War inform the fears of the 1920s audience.

Unlike Wiene’s two previous horror entries, the sets in this Austrian production are mostly natural, with only slight Expressionist-inspired exaggerations and motifs. Wiene’s approach, particularly when compared to his Expressionist works, is conservative and reminiscent of American studio films. The worldly twist, inspired by late 18^th century English Gothic novels which dispelled the seemingly supernatural with rationalism, reinforces this feeling, and is alone what keeps the movie from reaching the heights of Caligari in its final act.

The lighting is minimal, often employed like spotlights piercing the darkness, exposing the characters, and the sets are mostly bare but perfectly serviceable. The one exception is the realistic train wreckage with the smashed cars piled in the smoke, revealed with the flash of illuminating search lights.

Veidt, as always, is perfectly suited for the role. His portrayal of a man losing control of his body and will is convincing, hypnotic, and at times unexpectedly graceful. In a 1927 interview with Paul Ickes Veidt described his process, and from any other actor it might sound like pretentious boasting, but no one who has seen Veidt perform could doubt his sincerity:

“For days or even weeks before filming I withdraw into myself, contemplate my navel, as it were, concentrating on a kind of infection of the soul. And soon I discover how the character I have to portray grows in me, how I am transformed into it. The intensity of the process almost frightens me. Before long I find, even before the cameras begin to turn, that in my daily life I move, talk, look and behave differently. The inner Conrad Veidt has become the other person whom I have to portray, or rather into whom my self has changed by autosuggestion. This state could best be described as one of being ‘possessed’” (as quoted by Steve Haberman, Silent Screams: The History of the Silent Horror Film, 66).

I sometimes watch silent films on mute because I find the scores distracting, especially when they do not coincide well with the scenes, but Paul Mercer’s 2008 score, which accompanied the copy I watched, fits the film perfectly, accentuating the unsettling mood.

While it is an impressive artistic achievement, Orlac can move sluggishly at times. Nevertheless, Robert Wiene proves that Caligari was not a fluke. The film was well received upon its release, though some censors opposed certain aspects, including law enforcement authorities who worried that scenes in the film taught the public how to outsmart the police. The novel’s author, Maurice Renard, was thoroughly satisfied, and said that, “The cinematographic adaptation of Orlac’s Hands gratifies my wishes. I was never understood so passionately nor interpreted with such power.” Orlac arrived in the U.S. in 1928 minus a reel, which probably accounts for the mixed response it received here, and it was remade as an American film in 1935 as Mad Love by Karl Freund, starring Peter Lorre.

Wiene would not return to horror again, instead making comedies and dramas, but his mark on the genre, first with Caligari and finally with Orlac, is immortal.

Grade: B

June 4, 2016 3

Movie Review – Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead (2006)

**Movie Review – Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead (2006)**

Ever since 1984’s The Toxic Avenger, Troma has had an environmentalist and anti-corporatist bent. Beginning in the mid-90s, it also began to embrace animal rights. These causes come together in what is perhaps Lloyd Kaufman’s magnum opus, 2006’s Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead. An activist film at heart, decrying the inhumanity of animal abuse and the detrimental health effects of fast food, as well as the way corporations can manipulate activist efforts or disregard human decency for profit, if the internet is to be believed the title even made MSN’s “Top Civil Rights Films of All Time” in 2011 aside such inspirational classics as Stand and Deliver (1988) (for the record, I’ve been unable to find this list on MSN).

Of course, this is still a Troma film, meaning Poultrygeist is still a raunchy sexploitation schlock-fest oozing with gore, gross-out toilet humor, gratuitous nudity, and transparently amateurish acting. It’s also a musical, at least in its first half. The plot, if one wants to be so kind, follows Arbie, who takes a job at a new fried chicken restaurant that was built on an Indian burial ground. He’s trying to win back his ex-girlfriend, Wendy, who’s become bi-sexual and with her new girlfriend has joined a group of protesters called “CLAM” (Collegiate Lesbians Against Mega-Conglomerations) who are picketing the restaurant. Eventually vengeful chicken spirits begin possessing employees and patrons alike, creating an absurd siege narrative drenched in all manner of bodily fluids.

The production of Poultrygeist was itself an adventure, and behind-the-scenes footage was compiled into a feature-length documentary entitled, Poultry in Motion: Truth is Stranger than Chicken (2008), which I highly recommend as a companion piece to the film. A lesson in guerilla filmmaking, a large portion of the movie was financed directly out of Kaufman’s pocket. More than seventy inexperienced volunteers came together to help make the movie, sleeping in an abandoned church and enduring long, grueling hours. Special effects props malfunctioned, tempers erupted, and all the while Kaufman is seen being an energetic sixty-year-old with unending stamina who, were it not for his thirty years of experience making no-budget schlock, is perhaps the only guy who could have pulled it all off.

In past Kaufman films, such as 1999’s Terror Firmer, I appreciated the message but grew tired of the method. The jokes didn’t work for me – it was all (mostly human) waste and not enough wit. However, Poultrygeist is genuinely funny, if just as crude, and much smarter. It begins with a manic energy that never lets up, infusing its jokes with biting satire, and unlike many other Troma films the running time feels like it goes by quickly and smoothly. The pacing is perfect for what is needed. Surprisingly, the songs were catchy and the lyrics, though replete with juvenile humor, were actually entertaining and had me cracking up. They also allow the audience a breather from the barrage of constant sight gags, giving us a welcome lull with which to regain our focus and be ready for the next onslaught (a technique I wish more Troma films employed). Kate Graham, who plays Wendy, is adorable and a joy to watch, even when clothed.

As with all Troma films, they’re not for everyone. As I said in my review of The Toxic Avenger, often times they’re not for me. If you’re not one to find a zombie-finger-butt-plug gag funny – and I understand if you aren’t – it might be best to steer clear. As for myself, I thoroughly, and I fully admit surprisingly, enjoyed Poultrygeist. It’s the strongest Troma film I’ve seen and the one I see myself returning to at some point in the future.

Grade: B-

May 26, 2016 0

Movie Review – The Headless Horseman (1922)

This review is part of the A Play of Light and Shadow: Horror in Silent Cinema Series

**Movie Review – The Headless Horseman (1922)**

The Headless Horseman (1922) is a fairly light and straightforward adaption of Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” (1820), mixing in some comedic elements from Will Rogers, who plays against type as the stern and arrogant Ichabod Crane. Rogers, who sometimes wrote his own inter-titles, likely wrote some of the jokes in this film as well.

Filmed in the Hudson Valley region and around Tarrytown, NY, the location of Irving’s tale, the film tries to stay true to the setting and landscape, though these locations ultimately add little to the experience. Of historic interest, this was the first feature to be shot on the more expensive panchromatic black-and-white film, which was an advancement on the orthochromatic stock as blue skies and blue eyes no longer became a stark pale white nor red lipstick turn black (though those unintended effects arguably contribute to the haunting quality of many silent horror films).

The film is competent and of a watchable, workmanlike quality, but offers nothing particularly remarkable. The role of Katrina Van Tassel was played by Lois Meredith in her last major on-screen appearance.

Will Rogers was already popular at the time as a cowboy, humorist, social commentator, syndicated newspaper columnist, and of course, Hollywood actor. Part Native American, Rogers was often called “Oklahoma’s Favorite Son” and would make fifty films during the silent era. However, it was after “talkies” that his signature voice, coupled with his home-spun wisdom and everyman-humor, made him the prime political wit and most beloved actor of the era. He was a loyal Democrat and an outspoken supporter of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal. Tragically, in 1935 Rogers would die in a plane crash in Alaska after taking off with famed aviator Wiley Post, who was the first to fly solo around the world. Engine failure caused the plane to plummet into a lake, killing both men instantly.

Grade: C-

May 25, 2016 0

Movie Review – Hell (2011)

**Movie Review – Hell (2011)**

Something is wrong with the sun. Solar flares have intensified, heating the planet and licking the surface clean of its water. The population has dwindled to the unlucky few who scavenge for food and water. They wander the post-apocalyptic landscape remaining ever-cautious of any other person they come across. The bright lighting exposes the audience to the searing sun and appealing cinematography keeps the viewer staring at the screen. The cast, too, is strong in their roles. Aptly named, 2011’s Hell (which is German for “bright”) sets up a promising premise for a bleak, survivalist horror film.

Unfortunately, Tim Fehlbaum’s directorial debut gives up on its premise halfway through the film and becomes a cannibal-family horror film the likes of which we’ve seen many times before, from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) to France’s Frontier(s) (2007). Hell actually plays like a tamer, more reserved version of the latter film. The sun is, ironically, left on the back burner, and the film grows increasingly predictable as it goes on. Also, we never really get to know our characters in a deeper sense.

Additionally, there are some odd artistic choices and some missed opportunities. Nena’s infectious anti-war protest song “99 Luftballons” recurs in the film, but it’s unclear to what end. Both the film and the song deal with a post-apocalyptic world, but Nena’s lyrics are about the specifically man-made disaster of nuclear annihilation and the folly of the Cold War, not an unexplainable natural occurrence. Perhaps the end of life as we know it is the only link, but if so, it’s a weak one that brings up more questions than answers.

As an aside, as I watched I couldn’t help but wish there had been a vampire motif to be found: we have people who burn in the sun and therefore can’t go out in the day, traveling instead at night, and who resort to cannibalism to survive. Had there been more emphasis on blood as opposed to flesh we could have seen a world embracing vampiric habits by necessity, and a more explicit nod to this might have made the script more interesting. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to watch that movie in my head.

Hell quickly loses originality, but it remains a well-executed, well-acted film that’s still enjoyable. Its lack of inventiveness makes it forgettable, but its competence nevertheless makes the experience of viewing it wholly worthwhile.

Grade: C

May 22, 2016 0