Ghosts
and Cults, Oh My!
By
Kristin Battestella
It's
phantoms, spirits, and things that go bump in the night versus masks,
torches, rituals, and chanting in these frights be they recent,
retro, foreign, or domestic chills.
Kill List – Financial arguments, unemployment, and stressed
parents shouting open British director Ben Wheatley's (High-Rise)
2011 slow burn while fade ins
and outs create a disconnected passage of time amid his mundane
routine, tearful phone calls in her native Swedish, and brief
playtime with their son. Clearly they are trying to keep it together
just for him, but recession talk and conversations about their
military past make dinner with friends more awkward. Despite some
wine, laughter, and music; tensions remain alongside bloody tissues,
mirrors, and creepy occult symbols. Foreboding rainbows, eerie skies,
and contracts signed in blood lead to fancy hotels, mysterious
clients, guns, and stacks of cash. This sardonic, violent lifestyle
is normal to our hit men – want a hot tub, put on a nice suit and
kill a few people to make money for your family! Things should be
looking up, but past mistakes, religious conflicts, and hits gone
wrong interfere with the fine dining, friendly chatter, stakeouts,
and casually executed executions. The deliberate pace may be slow to
some, however full moons, hallway zooms, and binocular views set off
the lying in wait preparations, silencers, and worship regalia.
Thumping body bags miss the dumpster and victims aren't surprised
their time has come, but off screen implications disturb both our
hardened hit men. They are the righteous torturers breaking knee caps
and bashing hands! Dead animals, blood splatter, off list hits, dirty
crimes, and graphic skull work are not for the faint of heart as the
kills become messy and out of control. Ominous women in white, blood
stains, infected cuts – this violence is going far beyond their
normal work but there's no getting out here. Nothing good can come
from this dreary potboiler as the kills increase from ironic to
curious and ultimately brutal in a final act providing throwback
shocks and a sense of realism straying into unreliability. Night gear
observations at a fancy estate begat torches, chanting, robes, and
masks. If you've seen enough cult horror, the ritual foreshadowing is
apparent, however there's a warped cleansing to the rain, drumbeats,
and sacrifice. Gunfire, tunnels, knife attacks, screams, and unknowns
make for gruesome turnabouts that bring the consequences home in a
silent, disturbing, grim end.
Ouija: Origin of Evil – 1967 hair flips, pastel colors, and cool
Cadillacs accent the seances, candles, and rumbling tables to open
this 2016 prequel from director Mike Flanagan (Oculus).
Shadows make themselves known as loved ones are told what they need
to hear – it's not a scam or a lie, for this widowed psychic mom
and her daughters provide closure with their showmanship thanks to
orange patinas, period glows, and whooshes that aren't in your face
shock booms. Bills are tight, their late daddy isn't talking to them,
and our teen daughter is rebelling with go go boots, groovy parties,
and the titular games. Relatable moments build the family dynamics
alongside palm readings and one of those newfangled boards for their
repertoire – complete with magnets under the table. Unfortunately,
the youngest plays with the board alone and now there's a new friend
in the house to help with homework and tell the ladies where to find
cash hidden behind the basement bricks. Now they are the ones having
spirits tell them what they need to hear, and the psychic child using
the board for paid readings adds to the abusive innuendo – the
spirit uses her hand to write, its voice tickles her throat, her
mouth is stretched and overtaken. The camera remains on the
characters as they look in the dark and ask who is there, building
atmosphere with peripheral glances and warped views through the
planchette eye before demons in the mirror, contortions, static on
the boob tube, and possessions. The letters written in another
language, channeling, debunking, buried evidence, and ghosts
recounting murder are much more interesting than the generic teen
scares of the first film. That said, the bathroom shocks, just a
dream gotchas, typical ghosts pretending to be someone else, war time
occult experiments, exorcising priests, and mental wards rush the
overlong third act. It's as if no one knew how to end this leading up
to the original Ouija when it
never had to be connected at all. Fortunately, rather than
preposterous time wasting panoramic awes, we can see the creepy
takeovers and choice zooms despite the increasingly dark picture.
Skulls, white out eyes, voice distortions, mouths sewn shut,
shackles, and knives leave adults at the whim of the possessed
youths, and this remains a spirited
piece with plenty of simmer.
Could
have been Better
Good Against Evil – Writer Dack Rambo (Dallas) and a
young Kim Cattrall (Sex and the City) battle devil worshippers
in this 1977 ABC ninety minute television movie written by Jimmy
Sangster (The Curse of Frankenstein). Of course the print and
sound are poor, but the atmospheric score, orange lighting, black
cats, and purple skylines set off the New York 1955 labor screams,
abducted baby, and freaky nurse in a Flying Nun wimple.
Sure, the delirium and distorted angles capitalize on similar
seventies devil seed pictures, but the dark hospital corridors and
perilous staircases create a sinister paranoia versus swanky parties,
candles, and demonic altars. The creepy persistence continues with
1977 San Francisco galleries, fashion design, cool vans, and hip
styles. Our grown up babe thinks this new idyllic romance with boat
rides and picnics is good luck from her guardian angel – she's won
scholarships and top New York contracts thanks to her mysterious
benefactors and it's all picturesque Golden Gate Bridge scenery and
young love sappy. Although horseback perils and growling cats reveal
the cut production corners on the action filming, there are doubts on
this drifter cum writer boyfriend with fortune telling booths, spying
photography, shrines, and pentagrams. This ingenue somehow knows she
is bad for men and they always end up suspiciously dead around her
amid caves, rituals, and cult leaders wanting immortality for her
promised virginity as the devil's bride. Priests, cemeteries, tolling
bells, and prayers lead to more mishaps as minions are punished for
their failures. Hypnosis and church assistance come too late as the
maiden quarry is absconded back to New Orleans in hopes of her
devilish consummation. And then, somehow the last half hours turns
into an Exorcist knockoff
with a possessed little girl and a terrified mom. It has nothing to
do with the previous hour's destined dame or her rescue from this
cult. Our writer and the exorcising priest team up thanks to
some silly wind gusts and evil meowing, and it's obvious that rather
than resolve the movie's premise, this had hopes for being a
righteous duo on the road horror series. While the spooky little
occult romance is okay for a late night marathon, it's lack of a
proper resolution hurts what could have been interesting.
One
to Skip
Winchester
– Hammering sounds, lantern light, staircases, tolling
bells, and dark corridors accent this 2018 tale of the famed mystery
mansion starring Helen Mirren (The Tempest) as
Sarah Winchester. Period patinas, maze like designs,
carriages, and cluttered libraries add mood, however creepy kid
warnings and opium stupors contribute to an unnecessary opening
twenty minutes. The Winchester company lawyer wants a doctor to
assess the titular widow's state of mind – an unwelcoming, typical
start with men hiring other men to outwit a woman in a superfluous
modern script that does everything but focus on the eponymous
subject. Jump scares and crescendos compromise subtle winds and
ghostly movements, and the bright picture and special effects editing
feel too contemporary. One and all talk about the construction
oddities, spiritualism, and the reclusive Widow Winchester's grief,
but it's too much telling instead of seeing her unreliability and the
potentially paranormal. Eerie sounds from the call pipe system are an
excuse for ill-advised exploring, dreams, and more disjointed
flashes. Quiet overhead scene transitions and meandering tours of the
house have no room to create atmosphere because there must be a back
and forth mirror fake out – it's a bathroom scare at the ye olde
wash stand! One can tell this was written and directed by men, for
even as a trio there are no checks or balance on how to tell a
women's horror story. We don't know her internal or external torment
over this spiritual construction as the creepy veils, automatic
writing, and supernaturally received architectural plans are too few
and far between, and the audience remains at arms length through the
keyhole rather than inside with the ghostly connections. Why isn't
the possessed kid with the potato sack on his head who's jumping off
the roof and shooting at the old lady removed from the house? Why
should the spirits leave her family alone when the Mrs. begs them to
when the script hasn't given them or us any reason to listen to her?
The backward perspective here puts viewers in a skeptical, debunking
mindset, leaving the picture with something to prove and audiences
looking for the fright around the corner – creating predictable
haunts rather than period simmer. Though capable of a one woman show,
Mirren is a mere macguffin as old newspapers, flashback splices, and
physical bullets bring down one disgruntled ghost as if that's
supposed to stop the silly whooshes, earthquake rattling, and
exaggerated construction destruction. Maybe the ghostly shocks and
turn of the century accents are fine for a spooky midnight movie.
However the historically diverging and problematic constructs here
shift a unique, one of a kind women's story in an amazing setting
into a pedestrian, nonsensical copycat horror movie about a man
facing his own ghosts. Good grief.
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