Bleak
but Decent Chillers
by
Kristin Battestella
Though
less than perfect, this recent movie trio provides bitter frights,
unexplained angst, and heaps of despair to match the contemporary
plagues, Victorian black widows, and Lovecraftian gore.
It Comes at Night –
Gas masks, bodies in the wheel barrow, and backyard executions open
this 2017 thriller as rough and bearded Joel Edgerton (Loving)
does what he has to do for his wife and son. It's excellent to see an
interracial family front and center – horror needs to stop being
blonde babes all the time – but we know things won't bode well for
the family dog! The lone lantern light and shadows traveling through
the expansive but boarded up log cabin add a certain sadness to match
the sans electricity, long dark hallways, plastic sheeting, and one
red door to enter or exit. Pictures of good times line the walls –
the days before this unexplained plague necessitated rifles, the
defending of one's castle, and shoot first ask questions later
mentalities. What do you do when another family of three is in need
of food and shelter? Flashlights, outdoor sweeps, and night time
blues aide the tense family protection amid gory dream scares, body
horror, and tied up intruders. Interrogations provide talk of
precious water, sickness in the city, going off the grid, and trading
for supplies. Men can understand these desperate measures when seeing
to their families, but can they trust each other? A family conference
votes to welcome the new trio in their secure homestead, yet the
skeptical, suspicious, on guard feelings remain thanks to the
desolate roads, car crashes, and gunshots outside. There are rules to
the home, too: they eat together, always travel in pairs, and never
go out at night. The families bond over chores and even laugh when
reminiscing about desserts or liquor, but barking, noises in the
woods, and sleepwalking encounters keep everyone on edge. Testy
accusations lead to separations and putting others at risk to save
one's own family. No one here is a bad person, but such extreme
situations make good people do terrible things. This claustrophobic
parable remains tense and doesn't overstay its welcome – but it
didn't need the extra horrors or double dream fake outs as the social
examination scares and siege stress are enough. Although the
unexplained elements continue the debate after the picture ends, it
also seems like important staples go unclarified. Were they sick all
along? Is there something supernatural at work or not? Some audiences
may find the lack of answers a waste, but the subdued chills and
bleak statements remain intriguing.
My Cousin Rachel
– Rachel Weisz (The
Constant Gardener),
Holliday Grainger (The
Borgias),
Ian Glen (Game
of Thrones), and
Simon Russell Beale (The
Hollow Crown)
begin this 2017 Daphne du Maurier mystery with happy strolls on the
beach and fun bachelor times be it lovely greenery, carriages in the
snow, or reading by the fire. The epistle narration gives a hear tell
on the titular marriage via secret letters recounting illness and a
wife forbidding correspondence before final, unfortunate news leaves
the estates to heir Sam Claflin (The
Hunger Games)
on his next birthday – not the unseen widow said to be so strong
and passionate. She's a suspicious enigma for the first twenty
minutes before a cross cut conversation introduces the charismatic
storyteller, where the audience isn't sure who is more uncomfortable
or telling the truth despite the captivation. Divine mourning gowns,
black satin, and lace veils add to the half-Italian allure amid more
period accessories, libraries, old fashioned farming, candles, and
top hats. Between would be scandalous horseback rides, church
whispers, and awkward tea times, our once vengeful youth is smitten
by Rachel's progressive charm. Interesting conversations on
femininity break Victorian taboos, for childbirth is the only thing a
man knows about a woman and if she has a foreign remedy she must be a
witch. Is Rachel wrapping her wealthy cousin around her finger? Can
she when he is forbidding her work giving Italian lessons? Rachel is
dependent on his allowance, and at times they both seem to be
recreating the late benefactor and husband between them – the
awkward new master wearing the dead man's clothes and she the woman
he didn’t think he needed. Such romance and heirloom Christmas
gifts could be healing for them both, but viewers except the other
gothic shoe to drop amid holiday generosity, seasonal feasts, and
group songs. Overdrafts at the bank, raised allowances, a history of
previous lovers and duels – Rachel puts on her finest grieving
widow pity with a child lost and an unsigned will that would leave
her everything. Is she orchestrating a careful seduction or is he a
foolishly infatuated puppy despite clauses about remarriage or who
predeceases whom? The ominous nib etching on the parchment leads to
cliffside shocks, birthday saucy, blundered engagements, drunken
visions, and poisonous plants. The suspicions turn with new illnesses
and financial dependence, as Rachel goes out on the town and says
what she does is nobody's business. After all, why can’t she have a
life of her own if the estate is now hers? Why should her
independence be defined by a man’s piece of paper? We relate to
Rachel, but she can only cry wolf and fall back on her sob story so
many times... While this isn't as creepy as it could be – audiences
expecting horror will find the pace slow – the drama and mood are
well done amid the wrong conclusions and written revelations. Were
the suspicions warranted? The finale may not be satisfactory to some,
but the unanswered questions and ultimate doubt remain fitting.
The Void
– Orange fire light, blue police sirens, and yellow hospital
patinas accent the screams, gunshots, and fiery executions in this
2016 gruesome – in spite of the opening credits interrupting the
radio chatter, hooded figures, and bodies in the road. The cop with
daddy issues, his ex the nurse – split over losing a baby, of
course – the complaining intern, and the pregnant girl in the
waiting room are also cliché, cranky, and too sardonic, which
unevenly balances the scares and the snark. Loud music notes are
unnecessary thanks to a unique enough setting with an increasingly
bleak mood as a nurses stab patients in the eye or peel off their
flesh. Fainting, vomiting, handcuffed patients, and state patrolmen
create shrewd exposition as questions on what's happening or how many
people and where they are set the scene as landlines go down and
dispatch remains unresponsive. Cult figures surround the hospital,
power's out, and there's blood everywhere. Who's in charge? Where can
they go when a hospital should be the safest place to be? The tense
is good, but the go for supplies attempt, runs to a car, creepy
hospital basement, and cryptic phone calls that don't explain
anything become typical. Jerks withhold information because they can,
it takes far too long to ask the obvious questions, and the mute
character is useless while cult leaders waste time talking vague on
fetus swaps and life beyond death trades. Though the esoteric goes on
a bit much with outer space, pyramid subtext, and triangle symbolism
as it tries to be something deeper, the tropes tossed at the screen
become more Aliens
meets
Silent Hill
instead
of truly fresh Lovecraft spins. It's easy to forget about several
characters amid the confusing slasher and siege splices, and the
repeatedly reiterated medical meets undead cult muddles the otherwise
fine and entertaining blood, body horror, tentacle monstrosities and
creepy crawlies transformations.
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