by Kristin Battestella
Literary
paranormals, writerly investigations, isolated forest frights, and
wooded vacations gone awry – nature time and being an author don't
bode well for the pen-wielding or the backpacking in these recent
scarefests.
The Eclipse – Widower
Ciarán
Hinds (Game of Thrones)
encounters a horror writer and ghosts in this surprisingly charming
2010 Irish tale. The accents or slang may be tough for some, however
candlelit receptions and picturesque churches add an ethereal
pleasantness to the town literary festival and talk of nearby haunted
places. Celtic chorales, seaside isolation, ruined abbeys,
graveyards, and rainstorms invoke an off-kilter, sleep with the
lights on, in limbo feeling where the creepy is possible amid the
real world bustle. Pretty greens and almost black and white visuals
echo the metaphorical light and dark schemes – our single father
lingers over pictures of his late wife while trying to mend his
relationship with his ailing, in a home father-in-law. Are the scary
dreams, voices in the night, and sleepwalking grief or something
more? Is it just wishful thinking when jumping to a paranormal
conclusion? Screams outside and unusual dog behaviors suggest
something is really afoot, but what? Conversations sharing childhood
ghost stories recall the supernatural as both terrifying and an
intriguing curiosity, creating tender but eerie moments as visions of
the dead and soon to be deceased mount. Are these premonitions or
attachment to past happenings? Do we go about our lives with unseen
spirits about all the time – or do we make up a ghostly connection
to feel better? There can be closure and even writing inspiration
with this mature blend of adult themes, but drunken bore and
miserable hack Aidan Quinn (Elementary)
adds
romantic conflict as a rival author. Here men are allowed to be weak
louses or have frank comfort in crying or sadness. There are several
dark, driving transition scenes, however these lead to character
revelations and dramatic plot builds. Such quiet and personal makes
it all the more scary when perilous apparitions do jar the
melancholy. Viewers can believe the spiritual line is blurred, and
we have to decide whether to let it be, move on, or despair our
dreams away. At times, the pace may seem slow or uneven – perhaps
this should have been either a straight drama or more overt horror.
Fortunately, the supernatural potential is heartfelt and realistic,
making for a hopeful, lovely little film.
Sinister
– Writer Ethan Hawke (Training
Day) researches a local
murder and missing child case in this 2012 supernatural thriller.
While the punk tween son, whiny little girl, and unwelcoming sheriff
are typical, old photos and authentic reel footage accent the testy
banter, marital strain, and tense family dynamics. Finances hinge on
this next book being a success, and their new house is realistically
modest – save for the hanging tree in the backyard, of course.
Ironically labeled Super 8 reels found in the attic feature pool
drownings, lawn mower mishaps, fiery bound and gagged victims, and
more murders through the decades and across the country. Who could be
committing and filming these crimes? Should our desperate author turn
over the snuff evidence or keep going deeper, drinking and obsessing
over this scoop? The pulsing music is unnecessary, as are extra
shocks, loud bangs, and breaks in character point of view just to
call attention to the jump scare for the audience's benefit. Power
outages and blackout scenes add to the ominous investigation, however
the picture is often too dark to see anything. Child attacks, night
terrors, creaking doors, and suspicious movements about the house add
better fears, and Hawke's performance keeps the viewer invested as
the fantastic possibilities slowly build over the first hour. Snakes
or scorpions indoors, eerie film figures, and fire burning away
critical frames match the parallel kid drawings and supernatural
incidents consuming the home. While meandering ancient information
and occult lessons via Skype feel ham-fisted, the frightening photos,
unexpected twists, and footage playing by itself seem more organic.
Our writer forces himself to watch the gruesome to solve the crime,
unaware or too fanatical in his research to see the surreal to which
he's subjected his family. Granted, some audiences will like the
paranormal turn while others may wish this stayed a straight
thriller. The nearer two hour time could have been tighter rather
than shoehorning in shock value try hards – triggers aside, the
killer footage won't be that shocking to desensitize viewers. Can
kids today even appreciate the whir of a film projector versus
digital laptop transfers? It's also surprising old notions on the
camera stealing the spirit or more recent smartphone instant videoing
isn't discussed. Fortunately, the in the can framing story is much
nicer than found footage gimmicks, and this is a fine puzzle where
the audience must pay attention to the rising paranormal
undercurrent. Despite some quibbles, this remains an entertaining
little piece. I mean, why would a Babylonian deity need to move into
the new millennium by filming his victims in the first place? Ancient
gods be waiting for the invention of Super 8, booyah!
Split
Decision
Cabin Fever – Dead animals,
buzzing flies, and rowdy coeds finally free of campus requirements
disrupt the golden forest, fallen leaves, and lakeside sunsets of
this 2002 scarefest along with too many pop cues, the obligatory
drive to the inevitable, and padding opening credits. I'm not really
a fan of writer and director Eli Roth (Hostel),
and it is tough to like this cliché group of characters who use
“gay” as an insult – a jerk in a ballcap, the horny couple, and
an innocent guy trying to take it to the next level with his girl
BFF. The sex and cozy cabin are intercut with humor and stupidity,
but the dock make out scenes feel derivative of older seventies and
eighties horror. Naturally, there are cell phones out of range,
vehicle mishaps, and typical arguments over how to handle the
contagiousness amid stalling flashbacks showing the campfire tales
being told as an excuse for pointless gore and a quick boo moment. An
assy appearance by Roth himself complete with pot lures our intrepid
group, too. Fortunately, sick locals, slaughtered pigs, errant
gunshots, a shady deputy on a bicycle, and a tainted water supply add
interest. Blood in bed and drastic divisions step things up halfway
through – crazy neighbors take matters into their own hands, and
it's fun when folks turn on each other or get what they deserve.
Who's infected? Who's next? This had a lot more potential, however
red dream inserts and slow motion dogs call attention to a try hard
aesthetic or become laughable. The dialogue is basic and not much
happens as these vignettes and strung together scenes fade in and out
– there's a lot of set up but no scary atmosphere. Gruesome body
parts and shootouts are thrown at the screen, leaving nothing but
distractions from the premise. Let's stumble upon a body torn in
half! Let's hit a deer! Let's find yet another group of drunk coeds
in the woods! Too many endings don't really go anywhere, with yet
more tacked on in the final fifteen minutes – hospitals, cops, new
infections, a town hoe down. This may have ushered in a new wave of
indie, R-rated horror for new millennium, but today it seems fairly
standard and amateur throwback in its haphazard. If that kind of
midnight movie splatter is all you are expecting, then this fits the
bill.
Skip
It!
Preservation
– Wrenn Schmidt (Boardwalk
Empire) leads
this 2014 cliché ridden
wilderness romp written and directed by Christopher Denham – whom I
loved on Manhattan. From
a driving montage over the opening credits and pretentious cell phone
love/hate to redneck jokes, redundant “Are we there yet?”
questions, and lots of alcohol mixed with firearms pride; this horror
of two brothers and one woman in the woods is going to be same old
same old. All you need are a dog and a gun for emergencies – unless
your wife isn't up for
the experience thanks to a strained marriage, band-aid pregnancy, and
a vegan excuse not mentioned until after
the deer is being strung up for dinner. The immediately problematic
script double talks with hollow quotes and cop out contradictions in
an attempted hipster cool, laying it on thick with nostalgia the
brothers repeat for the audience and protests from the missus
reluctant to go hunting – after we've already seen her enjoy
hunting. Viewers have no reason to like this trio, and pretty outdoor
photography quickly turns into unpleasant killing footage and dead
animal imagery hitting home the man kills for sport motifs. PTSD and
kill or be killed for survival adds to the derivative and
unbelievable turns. It's 100 degrees with no food or water yet a tiny
pregnant woman can rough it just fine barefoot with no map? The
conflict and creepy is lame – noises in the woods, unseen
observations, missing gear, deceptive directions, and X marks on
their foreheads suggest the real scares lie in the hidden killer
perspective. However, distant Peeping Tom camerawork and baiting the
unprepared yuppies can't compensate for the stupidity of hiding from
your attacker in a port a potty or the bored, text messaging kids on
bicycles who have nothing better to do but kill. Naturally, one needs
an inhaler, they have to get home or they'll be in trouble, and a
call from mom comes just in the nick of time! Meanwhile, our insipid
heroine uses a dozen flares for a smokescreen rather than blow up a
wrecked car as a mighty help signal – the turnabout
here comes far too easy and Eden
Lake did
this better. Why do people turn away from the killers and never make
sure the bad guys are dead?
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