by
Kristin Battestella
This
quartet of seventies scares is full of evil kids, demented moms, and
twisted science. Because we can never have enough of such macabre
reproduction horrors...not!
The Brood – Mind and body horrors run rampant in this 1979
David Cronenberg (Shivers) allegory
starring an on form Oliver Reed (Burnt Offerings), sympathetic
dad Art Hindle (Black Christmas),
and a crazy “Mummies never hurt their children” Samantha Eggar
(The Collector). Harsh one on one psychological
exercises, intense therapy, heavy confrontations, and upsetting
family actions shape the believable anger and discomforting dialogue,
layering the icky delusions and abuse suspicious before the violent
attacks, blunt trauma, and blood spilled in what should be a safe
visit to grandma's ye olde kitchen. The cutaway editing and low angle
filming smartly disguises the unseen culprits while hissing,
gurgling, and screaming create a look away repulsion to delay the
creature reveal. Those are strong little suckers! Polaroids, old
toys, a natural look, and rustic colors counter the strung out
feelings, skeptical on edge, and simmering Howard Shore (The Lord
of the Rings) music while the repressed character drama balances
the metaphysical and fantastic conversations. What if we could
manifest all our ills on our body? This cultish “psychoplasmics”
takes the psychosomatic fears too far – the opposite extreme of
looking the other way alcoholism, perpetuating abuse, and festering
pains. Purple visuals set apart autopsies, mutant examinations, and
radical science, upping the would be laughable of those frumpy
seventies snowsuits with disturbing witnessing and child
helplessness. Although the source of titular critters becomes obvious
during the 92 minute uncut duration, the monstrous possibilities and
mental spiral remain a frightening what if with plenty of gruesome
projections for a twisted little horror finale.
Crimes of the Future – This
early 70 minute short film is featured on The Brood's
Criterion blu-ray edition alongside another 85 minutes worth of
cast and crew retrospectives, archive footage with Oliver Reed, and
Cronenberg interviews. Understandably, the bizarre
silence, slow comings and
goings, weird stillness, and sporadic voiceover all on a 1970
nil budget is not for everyone. Fortunately, the 1997 bleak concrete
and fallen industrialized affluence match the empty dystopian
isolation. A “rouge” cosmetics plaque has killed all the women,
and our androgynous, cleric clad in black unreliable narrator gives a
detached lab report on the increasing gender changes. Red nail polish
adorns men's sinistre
left hand only and one with painted toes is mugged and beaten – but
it's okay to consume the “chocolate” secreted by these special
men so long as there are no women. Such venereal disease references,
biological differences, and veiled statements on institutionalizing
homosexuals for “therapy” are quite ahead of their time, and it
would be intriguing to see Cronenberg do a fully scripted version
today. The sorting socks and underwear scenes reflect a perverted
ritual collection, but the near boring repetition detracts from a
disturbing barefoot and white gloved secret pedophile meeting.
Distorted sound schemes and the in limbo atmosphere create a lull
before the chaos, as these repressed, feminine men escalate toward
wicked violence, child trafficking, and disturbing sexual deviance
for their supposedly justified and clinical cure. It's an ironic
title, as it doesn't take a gender skewing apocalypse for this kind
of horror to happen. Yes, this is an out there picture with poor
pacing, structural flaws, and an upsetting real world horror finale –
making this worth a look for sociological studies and film
historians.
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