Legacy (1998)

 

What Went Wrong with Legacy

by Kristin Battestella

I never expected to see the blink and you missed it 1998 UPN series Legacy again! The 1880s Kentucky horse family scandalous was preposterous then, and it remains tough to re-watch with guest of the week plots once barely passable for sporadic weekly television now glaring binge viewing problematic. Legacy shoots itself in the foot with modern intrusions, weak characterizations, and fly by night storytelling – rushing itself right off the air at only eighteen episodes.

Rather than period piece Americana wholesome like Little House on the Prairie or Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman; cool music, hip horse racing, sassy daughters, and pretty sons immediately set Legacy's erroneous attempt at style over substance in a very busy pilot with broken engagements, attempted steamy, and supposed interracial romance. Cutthroat racing rivals, leg breaking riding risks, pickpocket accusations, fires in the barn, and a little girl in peril deserving their own episodes instead happen in one scene each because every episode has to have a slow motion dressage event. Do gooder patriarch Brett Cullen (Falcon Crest) expects his farm to be the best yet his entire family are apparently embarrassing misfits with blighted crops, ranch rebuilds, and admonishing sibling rivalries resetting per hour. The rebel daughter contemplating art school and rejecting her debutante debut one day is teaching etiquette and protocol the next while the illiterate learning to read is mentioned twice amid gambling lessons that aren't learned between repeated horse scams. Legacy's lack of writing cohesion is a fascinating mix of disjointed filler, nothing burgers, and everything thrown at the screen. Bad investments and ill advised farm loans made so dire every week leave viewers wondering how the post-war Logan family has survived this long.

Debates with an estranged spinster aunt wishing to have the daughters educated in Boston are resolved immediately when Legacy could have used such meddling all season. Notions of those well to do Boston in-laws looking down on Kentucky horse breeders before and after the Civil War are never brought up again as Legacy burns through storylines with all forgiven quickness and going through the motions exposition. The loser in the back and forth elections is still somehow made a political deputy with an office where he solves people's farm problems a few times, and dad Ned is in a coma for a very special episode with Meatloaf music video flashbacks of his late wife. Not even a guest spot from Melissa Leo (Homicide: Life on the Street) can slow down the rapid fire dilemmas amid new hire housekeeper mistakes, riding lessons, school sessions, colts in training, and petitions for women to enter the all male jockey club. If you've seen one episode of Legacy, you've seen them all, and the poorly written double talk dialogue feigning sophistication, shirtless washing montages, and interracial love triangles so chaste they can't possibly be scandalous are terribly banal to binge today.

Legacy's lookalike, generic ensemble is glaringly superficial – brimming with chiseled chins, furrowed brows, squinting scowls, and pursed lips. Should be the star Cullen yells at the kids in contrived conflicts as high and mighty Ned chastises anyone who isn't. Hot head son Jeremy Garrett (Sweet Valley High) circles the drain in repeated horse strife and Grayson McCouch (As the World Turns) as eldest Sean fails at every business venture. Any awkward tomboy in a corset start for older daughter Lea Moreno (DAG) is dropped for multiple romances, and her kissing the adopted bad boy Ron Melendez (Children of the Corn III: Urban Harvest) is weird even if he isn't really her brother. Precocious youngest Sarah Rayne (Quest for Camelot) talks back far too much, and their mother dying in her childbirth is mentioned constantly like it's character development. Ten year old Lexi's mature horse exposition implies the character was intended to be an older tween, and Legacy's characters are perpetually underwritten with no growth, only stereotypes and faux sophistication. Instead of focusing on potential familial pairings like our dad teaching the adoptee to ride or sisters working together, Legacy relies on the rival boys with chips on their shoulders having blonde babes dalliances. The wealthy neighbor/his whiskey corrupt son/nasty farm manager caricatures vary as needed in an unnecessary revolving door of villains. Hammy carpet bagger-styled Lane Smith (My Cousin Vinny) disappears early, yet Lisa Sheridan (Invasion) is strung along all season with nothing to do but switch between brothers.

Sadly, recurring Steven Williams (21 Jump Street) as former slave Isaac is reduced to the Magical Negro trope – providing evidence or advice as needed with the safest, precious few mentions of his time during the Civil War with Ned. Sharon Leal (Boston Public) as Isaac's daughter Marita is likewise the sage listener to our poor little rich white girls' problems when not waiting with longing, pick me glances at the forbidden white son. A late episode finally gives these Black characters a separate storyline when a respectable Black lawyer woos Marita, yet somehow it's all about Sean – who got his kicks elsewhere all season despite professing Marita his undying love – being a jealous jerk in a drunk driving carriage accident! He says she is the only one he can talk to while she has to silently take the whispers of this barely there courtship ruining her reputation. Legacy probably had too many characters, and if a Black family's experiences in post-war Kentucky were not only not going to be treated equally with the titular family and are in fact never going to be addressed, then they shouldn't have been token shoehorned into a show that today is totally tone deaf.

Although the horses are always pretty, the slow motion racing montages featured almost every episode are heavy handed and over-edited with cutaways, up close hoof beats, and rearing making for poor, cut corners action. The bustles, bonnets, and costumes are Victorian basic, no one really looks like they belong in the nineteenth century, and the ladies hairstyles are far too modern. The masquerade ball in Legacy's hanging finale is also laughable with contemporary Halloween expensive medieval costumes perfect with their 1880s quickness. This is also the first time I've used FreeVee's skip credits option, tiring of the shirtless shots and a billing order that makes little sense compared to the familial relationships and actual screen time in the forty-five minute episodes. Modern pace and slang likewise take over in jarring conversations where no one has the same put on generic Southern accent. The uncomfortable, fake, old speaketh gentility romanticizes their mighty plantations before the war; smooth talking thank you kind sirs wax on those who haven't been land owners for three generations as lesser Kentuckians. By time they have Black people singing negro spirituals at the end of the season, it feels like appropriation, and the overplayed, intrusive contemporary New Age Celtic music makes one wonder why Legacy wasn't just about a farm family in modern Ireland. “Spirited Jig” is the caption every time the music swells – be it for slow motion who burned the barn ominous, boys will be boys rowdy slow motion, or longing glances slow motion slow motion. Thanks to all the playing dress up contemporary styling and said unnecessary slow motion, Legacy looks and sounds like exactly how not to do a period drama.

Ironically, Legacy realizes that the family sticking together isn't as good a drama as the family divided in the second half of the season – dropping the lame teen steamy attempts and even most of the slow motion montages in favor of the older cast, killer widows, duels, and assault accusations. None of the kids have their own jobs and always run to dad for a loan, but Ned finally has something to do thanks to duplicitous women coming between father and sons and Gabrielle Fitzpatrick (Snowy River: The McGregor Saga) as a mysterious damsel in distress who looks like the late Mrs. Logan. Although the arguments, riding accidents, and deceit are still rushing toward the inevitably abrupt finale; schemers scheming together, doctored books, and foalings gone wrong make for what could have been potential. Rival horses enter the race, veterinarian conflicts arise, and sour tobacco company investments have consequences as the third to the last episode finally gets Legacy's tone right. Poison drinks, suspicion, blackmail saucy, and behind closed doors threats escalate once the ill-intentioned are in the house, and even the horses suffer amid rigged events, burned telegrams, and impostors. I don't think I bothered watching all of Legacy when it originally aired – if all the episodes were even shown. However, had the series hit the ground running with the intertwined heaviness of its last five episodes, Legacy may have survived another season. Instead, Legacy wasted most of its lone season on self-righteous plots, contemporary abs, contrived montages, and short sighted writing that understandably saw the series' cancellation.

Divisive 2020s Horror

 

Divisive 2020s Horror

by Kristin Battestella

This trio of recent scary movies caters to a specific contemporary viewer, and I'm late to the party in watching these horror movies that were not meant for me. This doesn't make them all terrible, just misrepresented and thus a split viewing experience.

Not Meant for My Age Group

Bodies Bodies Bodies – Interracial chicks necking, dominant declarations of love, cool music cues, and texting while driving to the hurricane party horrors open director Halina Reijn's (Instinct) 2022 satire from A24. Crisscrossing flirtations, warnings, nervous chitchat, and awkward facades pepper the poolside manor, matching robes, and champagne. Fake compliments, judgmental introductions, weird old dude Lee Pace (The Hobbit), and who didn't text their RSVP but shows up late anyway provide attitude. Supposed friends mock one for being sober amid the intoxicated revelry, and it's immediately apparent we would not like these people in real life. The drugged up dancing, videoing, and Pete Davidson (Saturday Night Live) punching people gets old fast, dragging the first half hour. Nobody really wants to be here, and this social circle doesn't actually seem like friends at all. Such oversharing frienemy exposure of personal details, sex, history, and relationships is part of the social commentary satire, certainly. However everyone is so unlikable that it interferes with enjoying the movie. A man declares “gaslighting” as an overused word while he yet gaslights, and the script lays on annoying bait words to make these insufferable people sound smarter than they are. Fortunately, things improve when they decide to play the titular game and actual deaths occur. Flashlights and point of view spotlights lead to the power going out for real, but the search for the generator or attempts to leave (while selfishly leaving those you claim to love behind) are abandoned because our hysterical chicks don't know what to do in an emergency. Red lights, neon glows, kitchen knives, thunder, and blood accent conflicts about Xanax, who's not respecting who's boundaries, or making everything about themselves. Arguments about whether a man they knew for a few weeks was a vet as in veteran or veterinarian also reveal how our lifelong friends don't really know or even like each other. Standoffs and backstabbing remove the ineffectual men early, and the old white rich demean the new Black wealthy as merely upper middle class. Everyone is a follower, feigning allegiance while claiming enabler triggers and para-social toxicity as the conversation goes round and round over who's lying, screwing behind who's back, in therapy, or rolling their eyes. It's no surprise when they snap, shoot each other, and insist the others made them do it before denying they fired at all. The realistic filming is well directed and not over edited with well done angles and attention to lighting schemes complimenting the confrontations. The cast does the emo seriousness well, but even at ninety-three minutes, the pointing fingers me me me round and round deflection becomes damn unbearable. Four credited writers seems like too many as the meta nuggets stray. The horror label is also misleading – this is a black comedy that isn't scary but rather a midnight chuckle you watch while you scroll through your phone.

This is a Comedy

Malignant – 1993 hospitals, electrical buzzing, and doctors resorting to the tranquilizer gun against bone cracking violence open this 2021 film that should have been clearly marketed as the parody it is. Edgy time wasting credits, overly ambitious music, and a silly script initially appear to be just another bad horror movie as we move to the present day with a stereotypical spooky old house, retro shabby style, too much fog, and an excessive nighttime blue gradient. Our pregnant nurse repeatedly sees blood from her head injury thanks to an abusive husband but does nothing about it. Shadow monster things attack before sirens, police, and two weeks later disjointed restarts take too long to tell what's happening. That may be part of the satire but it's too easy to tune out in the first half hour. There's noticeable attention to peephole visuals, sideways distortions, and overhead camera angles amid blenders that come on by themselves, boo crescendos, flickering street lamps, and dark figures that send our protagonist running through the house closing the curtains like that will stop all the horror. Cool cityscape transitions begat pointless Seattle Underground tour jokes about Nirvana – just in case that shot of the Space Needle wasn't enough. It's tough to tell what is an in scene bang or an ominous score boom, and more music cues come from a strategically placed old fashioned radio. The distorted killer voice and the monster's leaps are silly, and blood splatter hits the screen before morphing panoramic set spins and screams merge the point of view and crime scene. By this point it should be obvious that this is a deliberate parody as the psychic bond, sketch artist picture of a hairy monster, and trophy for surgery excellence turned murder weapon cannot be taken seriously. The angry Black woman cop, ditsy sister, and quirky, lovelorn coroner are typical female cliches on top of convenient photo evidence and easy deductions. It's not halfway thru the movie and the parasitic twist is as obvious as the Slivercup sign spoof. Not so hidden hidden jump drives and all in her head winks – it's a good thing her imaginary friend killer calls with what's what on mom, hypnosis, spooky flashbacks, and the home video scoop. Adoption secrets, abandoned hospitals, a man in the attic, and VHS a la found footage lead to preposterous fire escape leaps, a laughable puppet monster, medical inexplicable, nonsensical shootouts, and mental showdowns that ultimately wear too thin to sustain the lark. If you want straight, superior, self-aware horror stick with New Nightmare or Scream. However, it's bemusing that today's so-called prestige television shows are guilty of seriously presenting these exact same cliches, and Annabelle Wallis (The Tudors) sending up her previous bad horror movie roles ironically makes for one of her best performances. This would have been genius if it was labeled a comedy and came in under ninety minutes. Unfortunately, going into this expecting a decent horror movie puts it off on the wrong foot and the overlong playing at clever runs into the ground by repeating the repeated gags too many times. Honestly though, I can't believe anyone thought this was a real horror movie.

An Uneven Execution

No Exit – Familiar faces and diverse newcomers anchor this 2022 Hulu Original as phone calls from ill family and group therapy hogwash lead to escapes from rehab, a perilous blizzard, and a highway visitor center with no Wi-Fi for our stranded strangers. Hazardous white outs, whipping wipers, and blustery winds acerbate relapse temptations. However, dream fake outs and slow, redundant moments create unnecessary padding before we get to the discovery of a van in the parking lot with a bound victim in the back. Playing cards should be a great way to get to know everyone and suss out the kidnapper but time is again wasted on the rules of the game. Characters pointing out the bluffs denies viewers the chance to observe the poker faces and deduce clues regarding origins, military history, license plates, and destinations for ourselves. The suspect is also apparent, almost as if it's the audience that's being played, and the women's bathroom being under construction means there are tools that will obviously come in handy later. In the van close calls, food necessities, illness complications, footprints in the snow, and confiding in some but not others about what to do provide suspense. Unfortunately, adults sit inside and wonder if something is wrong as if this is taut, one location intense. Then others who never sit still roam outside without coats and fall down ravines to create unnecessary up a minute detours and stupid encounters because the script says so. The back and forth intercutting deflates any tension, and even the well lit interiors contrasting the tough to see dark snow scenes is harsh on the audience eye. This is based on a novel, and the left field twists and sudden flashbacks can be read but become entirely too convenient and poorly paced for a ninety minute horror movie. Past connections, financial revelations, Mace, cat-fishing, trafficking, gunshots, and nail guns get preposterous as the on and on mediocrity bends all logic. Bad guys with guns negotiate through a blockaded front rather than enter through the back construction exit? Cops don't radio the place is on fire upon arrival? Today this is a serviceable midwinter scary movie because viewers have been lulled into accepting the thrown at the screen flaws as entertaining, but the potential versus execution unravels here.

Goodbye Netflix and More Streamers

 

Getting Rid of Netflix and More Streamers

by Kristin Battestella

At the beginning of 2023, I took some Hot Takes on our Streaming Channels. Now, in another round of cost cutting and family viewing choice, we have finally said goodbye to Netflix and more thanks to rising prices and lack of content interest. Many households can't afford big streaming bucks anymore, and the saturated market makes it easy to bid adieu.

Going, Going, Gone

AMC + – This is a actually a decent service with potentially worthwhile programming across AMC, Shudder, IFC, BBC America, and Sundance. We pick it up every time there is an add on sale. However we always end up feeling guilty carrying it if we aren't actively watching or worse, forget about it and don't even notice when it expires. I also wonder how much their livestream channels on other free services eat into their subscriptions, for unless you are following their exclusives, this isn't an always must have streamer.

STARZ – Likewise, Starz is great as an add on sale for their back catalog of retro movies stemming from their Encore channels. Unfortunately, we don't watch much of their original programming – Dangerous Liaisons seemed decent but was canceled and disappeared. Rather than being an independent service, Starz seems to forget that they are best as a premium channel package licensing a lot of movies that aren't available elsewhere.

Disney + – Disney also shot itself in the foot by becoming its own service rather than partnering with an existing platform. We've seen everything vault we wanted to see. New Star Wars and Marvel shows don't appeal to us anymore. The price is getting higher despite the subscriber and content plateau. Even The Mouse realizes they over extended themselves by making series and sequels on in no exaggeration every IP ever, then canceled and disappeared many of them when no one watched. Disney should have made it's content a la carte Hubs on Hulu, and I'm sure there will be more shake ups between the two to come.

Paramount + with Showtime – Even with the lure of Star Trek originals, there's not enough for us to justify the rising costs here. Showtime alone was never worth the price, and their few horror exclusives aren't worth the extra pay point. For what should be a vast library of classic content, Paramount seems to have very little retro catalog material. Most of the shows they offer are available elsewhere – including the fellow CBS owned Pluto TV where Paramount+ is desperately advertising themselves nonstop. When we canceled, they did offer us two months free, but then I didn't even notice once it was gone.

FIOS Cable – We dropped most of our cable package years ago, but I completely forgot we didn't actually cut the cord because I don't know when I actually watched our cable last. It's a far cry from the decades of yore tying us to our television same bat time, same bat channel, yet streamers are trying to keep viewers via the same exclusivity. We were really only hanging on for local sports coverage, but the Flyers stunk last year and it was the first time I haven't watched them since they were only available on the radio in the eighties. Although I used to actively DVR shows and we'd need Max again for the TCM content, I've instead sought to sure up my physical media collection.

Netflix – After twenty years, we finally accepted there is no point in carrying the granddaddy of streaming as the price goes up and the quality of the content goes south. It feels like 95% originals I'm not watching pad their catalog – all meant to lookalike, autoplay, and chill. When there were only a handful of streamers, one could contently watch everything Netflix had to offer, but today it's impossible to keep up with everything thrown at the screen. I don't care about what is trending, most viewed, new, or popular, and retro content before the 1980s is all but nonexistent. With the DVD disc queue where one could find something unavailable elsewhere now a thing of the past, Netflix just doesn't have what we want to watch.

Keeping for Now

Prime Video – Amazon unfortunately has viewers over barrel. We won't get rid of Prime Video regardless of pricing or commercial changes because of other Prime and Amazon shopping benefits. We don't really watch any of their original content, and they already have their own ad bumpers before movies or between episodes despite the Prime commercial free claim compared to their FAST FreeVee. It's probably just a matter of time before there are no commercial free options altogether. Amazon's interface can be very frustrating and you really have to hunt for their quality content thanks to the clunky search options. However as a service it has enough catalog choices and add on options to keep us watching.

Britbox – We always have Britbox as a Prime add on subscription. We love the back catalog of British shows, and the price remains reasonably right. Having what we want to watch for the price of admission? Honestly, that's all we ask of a streamer.

Hulu – My husband watches Hulu original series and me their sitcom classics. We don't care about a lot of recent shows or reality crap and never used the ESPN option in our previous bundle, but we may return to the Hulu Live option in the future if those bum Flyers win some games. We like Hulu as a service with a quality catalog, some original perks, and customizable add on options. I only worry how Disney may run Hulu into the ground rather than realize they need this platform. There is more streaming content than consumers can ever watch, and sadly Hulu might not survive the ongoing industry upheavals.

FAST – The guilt of paying for services with exclusives we aren't watching mainly stems from our watching the free ad supported services like Tubi, Pluto TV, FreeVee, and YouTube more. Although, we are watching The Roku Channel less thanks to their absolutely obnoxious self promotion commercial loops. It's bothersome being peppered with all ads hard selling the streamer itself or it's premium parent, rather than you know, dish soap or laundry detergent. The random algorithm timed ads on FreeVee can cut in mid-sentence, too. Each interface certainly has its problems, and pop up ads now adorn the screen even when you pause. However for free catalog content with plenty of new movies and old shows to keep us entertained, we don't mind short commercials with timed notifications counting down onscreen – it's soft marketing and a chance for a bathroom break. Hot diggity.

Physical Media – What do I do when I can't find what I want streaming? I pop in the DVD or Blu-ray or even in desperation, the VHS. The continued giveth and taketh expansion and excess greed of streaming platforms are only going to drive consumers back to alternative viewing means and personal media ownership.

Contemporary Mothers in Horror

 

Contemporary Mothers in Horror

by Kristin Battestella

There's a difference between depicting scared mothers and daughters facing horror versus just showing the horrors to the audience. Two international tales here placing characterization above scary visuals make for effective familial scares. Unfortunately, the over-stylized American production is more interested in making viewers jump then telling the household horrors.

Matriarch – Creepy creeks and murky swamps begat the concrete city, jogging, and minuscule peaches for Jemima Rooper (Hex) in this 2022 Hulu Original. The first finite sound we hear is the bulimic bitter over the toilet before alcohol and the Monday morning business suit barely hides the drug fueled hookups and unstable drinking alone. A bloody nose, smeared lipstick, an overdose collapse, and black ooze encroaching into the mouth make for a fine mix of realistic consequences and a reaching out from beyond death chilling. Awkward phone calls from her “evil narcissistic bitch” mother Kate Dickie (Prometheus) remind each why they're estranged, and the villagers are frank about never having liked Laura when she returns to her mother's redecorated home. All things pink Mom is looking fancy, too, and their painful history comes out in the shattered tea cups, crushed pills in the pancakes, and recollections of how she called Laura a pig and threatened to tape her mouth shut. One on one conversations layer the character drama while eerie moonlit silhouettes, bruises, and black goo on the pillow and in the panties keep the horror simmering beneath the surface. Mom tells her to drink her water and watches her sleep before dragging the unconscious Laura out to the greenhouse. Rather than some shocking revelation withheld from the viewer, the fountain of youth suspicious is upfront thanks to whispering neighbors, effigies tied to trees, and a spooky book with weird sex symbols. The supple beauty that a woman sacrifices for an ungrateful daughter interferes with the village quid pro quo, and the drunken old minister – part of the lone biracial family going against the spooky happenings – argues with the obsessed townsfolk over these misused old ways. Who's dying, why cancer takes one but not another, and parents gone willing versus those taken too soon anchor the twofer debates. Our daughter wonders if spirits of the deceased still in the black bog revived her while her increasingly adamant mother tries to hit Laura on the head with a plant. The mother nature life, death, worms imagery and earlier, corrupted goddess worship are shrewdly withheld until the finale as smeared, dirty goo and gory rituals reveal how this mother's milk that goes against nature cannot last. Greedy charlatans in any religion are the same – poisoning the hymns, kneeling, and communion with nudity, suckling, flesh, blood, and “squelching” closed captions. Those expecting American horror cliches will be disappointed at this slow burn. However the realistic contemporary characterizations and well paced throwback British folk horror herein deserve more audience attention.

Surrogate – Making sure there are no monsters in the closet opens this 2022 Australian parable. Of course the fun uncle jumps out from under the bed, and it's the best genuine jump scare I've seen in a long time. Unfortunately, our single mother nurse Kestie Morassi (Wolf Creek) helps a freaky retching lady in the car park, and now Natalie's the one in pain, vomiting, and bleeding in bed. Her daughter has to do a video for school on her family tree – an interesting new way to introduce mom, uncle, grandma, dog, cat. There's no dad but the emergency stirrups and bloody gauze point to not just a recent pregnancy but a delivery and family services caseworker Jane Badler (V) wants to know what Natalie has done with the newborn. Rather than wasting time on gory labor horrors, the dialogue gets to what's what. Our nine year old daughter Rose wants to sleep in mom's bed because a girl keeps pinching her and the caseworker spots the bruises – adding real world complications amid the supernatural without any stereotypical ghostly roars coming at the camera. Cutting away rather than showing preposterous action adds to the mystery, and realistic conversations anchor the fears that something else is in the house as their dog is poisoned and someone pushes Rose down the stairs. They spend a few nights with grandma, but more pet perils and ladder mishaps lead to eerie, quiet scares and a tearful funeral where our daughter hides under the tablecloth because “she came with us.” A psychic little girl at the playground interacts with their now phantom, invisible dog. She uses mirrors to see a spirit's true nature, and the audience waits for something to appear as the camera pans across our innocent medium and her flanking reflections. Ava asks our ghost if she will be friends or hurt her and make her look where she shouldn't, and the in camera tension is palpable– no extra shaky shocks or special effects laden filming required. We as audience voyeur have no choice but to see the clinging reflection that makes them scream. Viewers are left to notice her increasing gray hair without any scary emphasizing moment, and we see Natalie watching the news video of a missing girl instead of the footage playing for us. It's creepy how she knocks on the real mother's door feigning car trouble and casually snoops around before being caught in another natural jump scare. Inquiries on if she's a true crime podcaster add horror self-awareness as the foolish investigation realistically fails. Natalie returns to the research, deducing and using her nurse connections – leading to the morgue, an abandoned house, the dark basement, and graffiti answers. Our caseworker says Natalie needs help, but she knows that child services aren't the ones to help her now. Whether it was a low budget necessity or an old school choice, the ghostly hand reaching out and leaving deadly little fingerprints is simple, scary, and effective compared to today's invisible whooshes and womp womp crescendos. Well done foreshadowing recalls where we started as creepy resolutions and warnings to never turn your back on your child escalate to the sacrifices mothers make for their daughters once they promise to never leave them. Several times I thought I had this figured, and it's refreshing that I didn't.

Skip It

Umma – Mom Sandra Oh (Grey's Anatomy) does the best she can in this 2022 supernatural tale with time wasting credits eating into the eighty-three minute runtime and disjointed montages showing the happy beekeeping, no electricity life on the farm. Flashes of past electrical torture have relegated old lamps and microwaves to the cellar, leaving only candles during the storms when something ghostly might be sitting in the chair. The nighttime blue saturation, however, is too difficult to see, even deliberately obtuse for the viewer. Rather than really meeting our family in conversation, the forced exposition is cryptic for the sake of it with confusing character motivations. Our clingy daughter is secretly inquiring about going away to college, and Mom has denied teaching her about their Korean heritage because of her claimed allergy to electronics. She's upset when a car approaches – we know because up close cuts to ominous objects and fist clenches hit the audience over the head. Her uncle has brought her recently deceased abusive mother's ashes, but the bumps in the night and past painful pleas were already there before the tainted effigies. The isolated house setting is almost immediately broken with redundant exposition as the handyman arrives to sell their honey online and our daughter rides her bike to his general store so they can again talk about honey and meet his visiting niece. Such outside points of view asking if she really thought her daughter was going to stay there forever are unnecessary, and voiceover echoes repeat dialogue we heard moments before – underestimating viewers while trying to distract us with eerie slow motion and ominous crescendos. We don't need more electrical torture flashes and echoes at every encounter, either. The titular apparitions are just fake outs for the audience, and the overemphasis on beekeeping, honey, and not even actually liking bees never factors into the horror. More incidental spooky vignettes happen just so our mother can tell her daughter nothing is wrong, yet she tells the white man handyman her suspicions while our daughter snoops anyway. It's impossible to tell what is actually part of the story or just a spooky effect, making for an extremely frustrating viewing. By time the daughter demands to be told, her mother just repeats everything the uncle said as if there is no story to the past abuse and her lying all this time. Our daughter turns on the electricity once she realizes her friend had a smartphone that never bothered her mother, but mom insists she doesn't believe in all their cultural robes, ceremonies, and superstitions yet reacts weirdly just as an excuse for more ghostly echoes and eerie zooms. I was ready to tune out in the first half hour and started fast forwarding over the invisible whooshes through the crops before the angry spirit is somehow easily quelled in the final fifteen minutes. The fears of growing old alone and becoming our parents and the strain of the solitary rural living would have been horror metaphors enough without anything ghostly at all. Unfortunately, this does a disservice to the intriguing Korean motifs because it's more interested in being a stereotypical scary movie.

Evil Cats! 😼

Evil Cats. MeowMeowMeow!

By Kristin Battestella

Our cats are avid television watchers, and the sounds and visuals of this feline horror trio amused them as much as me.

The Cat Creature – Amulets, mummies, an empty sarcophagus, and black cats combine for a Val Lewton-esque mood in this 1973 ABC TV movie written by Robert Bloch (The House That Dripped Blood) starring Meredith Baxter (The Invasion of Carol Enders). Retro cars and cool California villas provide hieroglyphics, Egyptian motifs, and eerie crescendos as lawyers assessing the deceased's creepy manor survey kooky antiques and looted collections. Though slow to start, the subdued palette invokes a black and white feeling that highlights the golden statuary and colorful artifacts. Spiral stairs, flashlights, shadows, and feline silhouettes are well done alongside glowing eyes, mesmerized victims, meowing, and hooting owls. A shady “sorcerer's shop” procures creepy skulls and masks, but the ominous Miss Black proprietor has already crossed paths with this crusty police lieutenant and knows to turn away our stolen talisman. The ingenue walking home alone at night, however, encounters kitten deceptions, hisses, and screams. The cops call in archaeology professor David Hedison (Live and Let Die) to assess the missing mummy bones, scratched out Bast symbols, jewel thieves, and human sacrifices said to give eternal life and transformative cat powers. Flirtations lead to an affinity for Egyptology – but not for the alley cats accumulating at the door. Disbelievers mock the Book of Toth mysticism and the coroner's hair evidence claiming a domestic cat is responsible for draining the blood of the victims, but our professor theorizes on why disparate cultures all have shape-shifting folklore and warns of Ancient Egyptians knowing more of the supernatural and science than we can fathom. The amulet clues, grounded investigation, and eerie explanations don't talk down to the audience. Certainly the solution is obvious before the finale, but the creepy guest stars, stylish witchy vibes, and tarot cards make for a fun time with well paced deaths, thefts, and twists. We know there's an evil cat in the room when the lights go out, and the spooky climax does a little with a lot. This was better than I expected thanks to a mature, even sympathetic approach and dedicated throwback horror atmosphere.

Two Evil Eyes – George A. Romero (Creepshow) and Dario Argento (Phenomena) tackle two contemporary Poe adaptations in this 1990 Italian co-production featuring Adrienne Barbeau (The Fog), Harvey Keitel (The Piano), John Amos (The Beastmaster), and more familiar faces. Lawyers are reluctant to accept the iffy signature of our eponymous hospice husband granting his former flight attendant wife cash access in Romero's “The Facts in the Case of Mr. Valdemar” but she has the cigarettes, big eighties sunglasses, and shoulder pads to get her way. There's a tinge of guilt, however, as her doctor lover enjoys keeping Valdemar in a state of subconscious hypnosis – attached to metronomes and monitors in a suggestive, aware state. The eerie Tudor manor and Old World wrought iron spiral stairs contrast the beeping machinery; arguments over the morbid stasis and moments of painful clarity disrupt the distrustful dalliances. Technicalities about the thievery and the timing on the paperwork versus the flatlining equipment begat the rush to preserve the cadaver in the freezer – with the food! Mixing pills, booze, and self-hypnosis where no one else can wake you lead to backstabbings over the cash, hastily dug graves, and moaning from inside said freezer. The not so deceased croaks of souls from beyond the grave as storms, gunshots, splatter, and restless spirits give the police a gory resolution. The cops in Argento's “The Black Cat,” however, are gagging at the nude body cut in half while our photographer snaps away to capture the swinging pendulum. Unfortunately, the titular stray taken in by his girlfriend interferes in the red dark room process. Scratching and hissing jars with her classical music, and she warn him cats remember their past persecutions and medieval injustices. The uncooperative four legged model dislikes the rough portrait poses and goes “missing” while drinking and violence conjure a hazy dream from the middle ages with bonfires, singsong rituals, and strung up victims. Chases, cleavers, lookalike cats, noose symbols, and fatalities mount as the demented artiste's disturbing photography book hits the shelves. Hellish bars, catholic touches, and living in sin judgments add to the sociopathic suggestions. Police inquire if he tortured the cat for his art and neighbors knock on the door over the meowing, pick axes, and stench behind the wall. Although this feels a little long or unevenly paced and superfluous rather than taut when deviating from the cat comeuppance, the intense finale brings the prophetic feline justice to the forefront for fans of cast, crew, and Poe.

The Uncanny – Eccentric writer Peter Cushing (Curse of Frankenstein) warns Montreal publisher Ray Milland (The Premature Burial) of felines run amok in this eighty-eight minute 1977 anthology. The expose he's written on cats has him looking over his shoulder at every rattling trash can, meow, and black cat at the gate before side eyeing a fluffy, pampered cat named Sugar. The cat cinematography is well filmed with zooms, pet points of view, up close eyes, and purring as our First London 1912 Tale looks the antiqued, lace part. The lady of the manor's cats are everywhere, and she intends to leave everything to her pride. The greedy maid, however, is caught stealing the will – leading to disturbing smotherings, death throes, screams, and hissing. The kitty siege begats swats, scratches, and blood as the feline assembly and our trapped maid each grow hungry. The reactions, animal action, quick cuts, and frenetic attacks are very well done indeed considering there are seemingly dozens of cats accented by cries, howls, chirps, and trills. A recently orphaned girl and her black cat named Wellington move in with her snooty relatives in the contemporary Quebec Tale Two, but her snobby, jealous, violent cousin blames Wellington for spills and mishaps so her parents will get rid of him. Our charge insists that cats can talk – it just takes a long time to understand them. Fortunately, she has kept her deceased mother's books on the occult and uses the pentagrams and spells for a slightly humorous, if tiny, but chilling turnabout. Donald Pleasence's (Prince of Darkness) Thirties Hollywood Third Story blurs on set and behind the camera as a real pendulum in scene slices one half of our off screen couple amid medieval torches, racks, and iron maidens. It's dismissed as a props mistake as production resumes with our late wife's younger, lookalike understudy, but the deceased's cat objects to the mistress taking over the Art Deco manor, furs, and roadsters. Once they flush her kittens (!), our vengeful mother creates real danger on Dungeon of Horror. They try to trap her in terrible ways complete with all the cat got your tongue puns, however the farce can't outwit the justified feline. Although this humorous third tale should have been first and the more macabre Edwardian tale last, self-aware winks know not to take the subject matter too seriously without interfering in the effective unease. The soon to be Grand Moff Tarkin insists cats are devils in disguise making sure we behave, yet these ironic stories show the terrors of what cats might do only in reaction to cruel people deserving of such consequences.

22 Reasons Why I'm not Excited for New Television Shows

 

22 Reasons Why I'm not Excited for New Television Shows

by Kristin Battestella

Allow me this poetic list, a haiku if you will, of why I am increasingly un-enthusastic about new TV show announcements – even pre-strikes when such buzz was more likely to come to fruition.

Why are we treating storytelling like dead stock, disposable consumption?

Why should I trust the prestige of (HBO) Max now?

All Netflix shows lookalike.

Million dollar sci-fi and fantasy epics on Amazon and Apple have no buzz.

What's the point of watching a show that ends on a cliffhanger but got canceled?

Quality, prestige shows are on underseen, obscure platforms.

Series I enjoy don't get the viewer notice or award recognition they deserve.

Writers, actors, and crew aren't properly compensated for their work.

Some shows I am excited about never end up airing in North America.

Properties are announced on a platform I don't have.

Properties are announced and forgotten by time they actually air.

Properties that would intrigue me are announced and never actually get developed at all.

I forget about the shows that might have intrigued me anyway.

Shows are canceled by one streamer and shopped to another but nothing comes of it.

It's not worth paying for a every streamer for their original series.

If a streamer is unhappy with a show, they will erase it from existence.

Who knows where streamers will be in the 6 months or year it takes to produce a show?

Streamers sell off shows to FAST services as random livestream content.

Streaming series often never come to physical media.

Often the first time one hears about a show is when it's canceled.

It's tough to be excited about a show when you find out about it after it's canceled.

There's no way to ever catch up when there is just too much TV already.

Middling 60s Capers

 

Middling 60s Capers

by Kristin Battestella

Despite name stars and decent production values, this trio of black and white mysteries from the sixties is surprisingly middle of the road. Rather than cinematic flair, each feels more like an overlong anthology entry. Ouch, but pity. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Cash on Demand – Carols, snow, and holiday atmosphere at the bank two days before Christmas set the scene for this 1961 black and white Hammer heist. Bowler hat wearing banker Peter Cushing wants the office to be dignified not festive, and he won't donate to the Christmas party fund. He's not there to ingratiate himself with subordinates and demands efficiency – threatening to see his manager never works in the financial sector again over an innocuous $10 mistake. The employees object to his embezzlement suspicions, but unexpected insurance investigator Andre Morell (Watson to Cushing's Holmes in Hammer's The Hound of Baskervilles) knows all about the tension among the bank personnel. The con artist has done his homework on the holiday deposits, and frantic phone calls lead to kidnapping and blackmail schemes to open the vault. Our insurance impostor recounts the signals and briefcases for the exchange with such menace, but there's no need for brutality – heists can be smooth and sociable while he's sipping tea with his feet up on the desk. On the ball Cushing descends to weak and pleading, emasculated and disrespected in the tense one on ones. This is, however, a very slow, talkative piece with all outside action told rather than seen. The two room bank setting is fine taut, but the previous teleplay source is apparent, the camerawork too plain, and incidental bank minutiae clutters what should be clever theft ploys. Window washers and honking fire trucks passing better create a few startles as the staff nonchalantly lets this thief into the vault unaware. Money bags, spinning locks, and filling luggage with loot lead to flashing light bulb alerts, fiddling with the keys, and thirty second alarm resets. Follow ups with the insurance company and fifteen minute phone check ins are well done when the actual heist happens, and our smooth talker intends to walk right out with a cool $100K. Crisscrossed signals, panic, nervous police bluffs, handcuffs – it takes a crime for crusty Cushing to unravel and unite with his staff to best the ruse and realize people are more important than money. This eighty minute version seems long or unevenly paced with superfluous employees and wasted time on obvious yet muddled slip ups in the rushed resolution. Fortunately, the bank balance turnabouts make for an unusual holiday morality tale for fans of the cast.

Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace – A dead body washes up beneath London Bridge as Terence Fisher directs Christopher Lee (also both of the Hammer The Hound of Baskervilles) in this international 1962 production loosely based upon Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Valley of Fear. Already the set up is superfluous with pretentious kids, a meddling housekeeper, and a simple sounding board Watson who needs Holmes to spell out clues with shadow puppets. The story is repetitive and disjointed with no point of view – deliberately trying to be obtuse with a Sherlock in disguise yet expecting the audience to be Holmes well versed. If you don't know Moriarty is our nemesis, Holmes looks obsessed for accusing a respected academic of murder. He disappears without informing Watson, whose unnecessary comic relief makes one wonder which scenes are important if at all while ominous moments implicate Moriarty just because the plot says so. Egyptology thefts, country estates, affairs, shootings – most of the Doyle nuggets happen off screen while we watch anonymous scuffles at the pub. Coming or going over clues and phone calls again follow the plot rather than real deduction, and we're supposed to like Holmes mocking the incompetent Scotland Yard because the anachronistic swanky jazz more fitting for a fifties noir than the late Victorian setting tells us so. While this looks the cluttered 221B Baker Street part, the crimes feel more like three murder vignettes and the auctions, sewer stakeouts, and car heists are meandering and confusing. Holmes can break into Moriarty's lair and mess with the mummies just because he's Holmes. How does his mailing himself the necklace that he stole from Moriarty prove that Moriarty stole it in the first place? It's easy to zone out on the lookalike ensemble's exposition away from Holmes, for the one on one secrets, alibis, and villainous tête-à-têtes are more interesting once we get Holmes in his deerstalker and stylish plaid cape. Lee provides the commanding wit and haughty air. His clever mannerisms change with each obvious mustache or eye patch disguise. We'll see Lee as Holmes again, however the lack of his own booming voice thanks to unfortunate dubbing practices contributes to the overall meh here. This is not an introductory eighty odd minutes but more like the second in a series where the audience is supposed to know the literature already. Though annoying for Holmes completists, this is really only for the Doyle devoted and Lee connoisseurs.

Stop Me Before I Kill – Swanky cars and jazz on the radio leads to shattered windshields and a ruined wedding day in this 1960 black and white Hammer noir directed by Val Guest (The Quartermass Xperiment) from the novel The Full Treatment. Months after the accident, our former race car driver still suffers mentally – unable to get behind the wheel and panicking on the highway. Although their relationship is feisty and his wife is supportive, his mood swings begat controlling compulsions, bruises, and stranglings amid the kisses. Intriguing visuals, up close zooms, shadowed faces, and cigarette mannerisms accent some very compelling segments alongside lux locales and continental suave disrupted by the hectic headlights, wheel clutching, honking horns, and peeling tires. Our husband is suspicious of the double talking psychiatrist they meet on the Riviera; dinner parties invoke further anxiety and aggression while the Mrs. makes the pleasantries. Friends tell him this lack of confidence is all in his mind and he admits he's behaving like a child, for a real man would seek help before harming his wife. Not being able to hold her without wanting to strangle her, newlyweds sleeping separately, and solo skinny dipping provide a whiff of then-scandalous as the through the binoculars viewpoint and dominance from above camera angles add to the audience voyeurism. We wonder what will set him off next, and his reluctance with our cheeky psychiatrist leads to angry, outwitting psychoanalysis as doctor and patient each contemplate how she should be killed and the gruesome dismemberment to follow once the bloody deed is done. Unfortunately, suspenseful breakthroughs are drawn out to the point of deflation with little regression therapy progress – the speedometer, her crucifix, and who was to blame for the accident are straightforward rather than shocking. The bloody bathroom with the appearance of a crime is obviously a fix, yet he's suddenly ready to race the Grand Prix again? Wife Diane Cilento's (Tom Jones) absence in latter half of the film shows until Riviera lookalikes, vehicular twists, deceptions, guns, and garrotes escalate. This should be much more chilling than it is, but the audience always knows what's what and there's not enough charisma or intensity to overcome the overlong, divided focus between the domestic jeopardy and the ulterior psychiatry.

Recent Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horrors

 

Recent Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

Jonathan Rhys Meyers has been a fine actor with some excellent films and series in his filmography. Although he continues to work consistently, his well documented personal troubles have sent him to making mostly direct to streaming, low budget fare. Some of these are decent, others...not so much. Here is a quartet of recent horror thrillers featuring JRM's élan – if not much else thanks to the usual one and the same writer/director culprits with no second eye to polish these parables.

Dangerous Game: The Legacy Murders – Yes, this 2022 title is clearly intended for franchise potential with billionaire mogul Jon Voight (Midnight Cowboy) summoning his estranged family to the luxury manor for what turns into a murder mystery fight to the death. Certainly, the premise is familiar; the prologue and opening credits with fun house horrors and newspaper clippings are cliché. Papa Jon wants to cement his legacy, and the snobbish progeny arrive via helicopters and boats to their private island. Crabby banter and seeding dialogue establish who's money it is, who isn't speaking to their sister, and how Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) put dad out of the company to save the big business. New girlfriends are nervous but wives and teen grandkids egg on the arguments. They are, however, all rightfully impressed with the old school gothic house's fine stone, wrought iron, woodwork, and chandeliers. Unfortunately, the drunken bonding is hampered by bad cat omens and the mysterious arrival of our titular gift complete with gory crime scene photos and suspicious case files. A distorted voice over the intercom demands they play the game, but the family points fingers over who's behind this sick joke until alarms, red lighting, automatic shutters, and locked gates further insist they play the laid out and ready co-op board. The house's control room bears a warning sign not to enter, but the explosive consequences didn't need such hokey, modern, bad special effects. The mechanical voice is also hackneyed and unnecessary when there are enough personality and problem solving within the familial confrontations. There's no landline or medical supplies, so they must use the fireplace to cauterize wounds between debating who is at fault. Some attempt to play the game, studying the vintage photos and cryptext puzzles while others explore the house amid crackling electricity, wheelchair perils, and gas chambers. Blueprints, secret passages, and Roman numerals lead to hidden journals, serial killers, booby traps in the floor, a mad scientist laboratory, carved bodies, and threats to be cooked alive. Increasing boiling and vomit at the gory sights subtly anchor the who is in on it or knows what family skeletons debates better than fake fiery effects. Breaking from the house for dog chases, perilous wells, shootouts, and eyeballs loses any taut as the cast somehow plays it seriously despite the increasingly preposterous turns and extremely over the top guts and gore. The canned voice and murder flashbacks are for the audience not the family, but this doesn't seem meant to be taken seriously. Every stupid twist becomes so damn goofy that I can't really hate the ludicrous laugh at the screen results.

Disquiet – Car accidents and narrations about choices give away the metaphors going into this eighty minute 2023 hospital thriller starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Rather than some grandiose opening family perfection and wild vehicular stunts, however; we get right to the gurney, hectic doctors, beeping equipment, bandages, and fear. There's little dialogue to start beyond unanswered calls for help as time is taken on the discomfort – pulling out tubes, gagging blood, no phone signals, and once bedridden now suddenly virile patients attacking others. Clattering hospital trays lead to scalpels, scissors, violent stabbings, and missing bodies as our victim asks WTF is happening. Even if the premise is obvious, the man alone paranoia and confined elevator perils invoke that out of our element hospital feeling. Sirens and accident flashes add to the delirium, but it's a mistake to cut away from this taut, isolated start to meet another patient awake during her plastic surgery. Demonic looking babes are holding her down when our Sam enters wielding an IV pole, but it's better when he follows the screams rather than the audience meeting new patients away from his perspective. Those demon babes were also barely needed once and flashing back to them for no reason looks tacky and feels amateur. Sudden staff who give clues or warnings and then turn monstrous are better chills, and memories of Sam's wife parallel the creepy encounters. Gunshots and random hospital noises remain startling while crackling bulbs and ominous purple lighting create immediate darkness and disappearances. Red elevator buttons, white skylights in the stairwell, dark windows, and smokey floors below add atmosphere while the maze-like floors, bricked shut doors, and empty nursery with baby cries acerbate the repeating wounds and dead that won't stay dead. Our trapped wonder if they were drugged, dead, in a shared nightmare, a zombie apocalypse, or figments of their imaginations. Sam is a decent leader diffusing situations and getting everyone to work together, but a doctor in red named Lilith and a man in a wheelchair named Virgil debate the hospital maps, going to the roof for a signal, or going down to the lobby exit. This devil or angel on the shoulder purgatory is apparent – as are revelations about Sam's previous texting and driving, will never happen again fooling around, and selfish state of mind. This is a cerebral characterization not an all out escape the hospital horror, but the preachy, trite allegories get repetitive with montages of what we already knew and previously saw padding to meet the runtime. Instead of staying in Sam's point of view as the in film logic demands, we erroneously break away from the primary motivations and mistakes learned with flashbacks of the other characters. Rather than trust Meyers' capability, the story hits the audience on the head with yet more montages impeding the race to the roof inevitable. Although the ambiguous imperfections are frustrating and run out of steam; the unreliable simplicity, detailed performance, and positive choices made make for an entertaining midnight movie.

Split Decision

The Survivalist – I could do without a 2021 movie being post-apocalyptic due to COVID, but amateur radio broadcasts set the scenario amid bleak aerial shots, fallen infrastructure, and quarantine chaos as miraculous survivor John Malkovich (Shadow of the Vampire) pursues an immune girl to former FBI agent turned doomsday prepper JRM's isolated ranch. The back and forth start is unnecessary, but flashbacks of our Ben remembering his dad Julian Sands (Tale of the Vampire) ground the solitude. The audience sympathizes with Ben as he takes care of the girl and recalls cleaning up his dad's gambling debts that almost cost them their land. Their arguments about who had to work or who turned his back on the family could have been its own turbulent father/son drama filled with regrets and tough love – complete with fascinating role reversals and relatable performances from the responsible Meyers and late too soon Sands. The drama is better than the apocalypse try hard with weak devotees allegedly cured by the resurrected Aaron desperate to stay in his favor. They threaten Ben's fortifications, but all of their dialogue should have been given to the much more charismatic Malkovich. He won't take no for an answer and does seem to have a mystical obsession with the girl, for he has been ordained to save the world. One on one standoffs let the leads handle the who's outnumbered and bullets are precious tension. Wounds, empty handguns, out of breath runs between buildings – Ben was actually a mere mapmaker agent not some expert hero, and he is fed up with the barn confrontations, battles in his home, and being forced to kill in self-defense. Rather than have Aaron's menacing speeches following Ben at every encounter, Malkovich is erroneously reduced to sitting back while the inferior lackeys do the dirty work. Not a lot happens because of the divided focus between the man alone regrets and the would be raid action, and this picture seems changed from a drama to an action movie with the who's infected or a COVID carrier bookends generally being a non-factor. Instead of this uneven tone, a linear telling would have made more impact: all the tough love family flashbacks with worsening television and radio updates, the isolation preparation, then the girl appearing in the barn, and ultimately deluded messianic Malkovich knocking on the door. Ben gives each fanatical chance after chance – he didn't want to do any of this and finally snaps upon realizing it's all been for someone else's lies and consequences. Though watchable for the cast with interesting dramatic possibilities, the rushed virus connections fall back on generic weaknesses instead of maximizing the ensemble's potential for more.

Skip It

Hide and Seek – Joe Pantoliano (Memento) joins wealthy businessman JRM in this 2021 American remake of an Asian film complete with the obligatory creepy little kid. Our swanky, pretentious family even has matching outfits, but our dad Noah doesn't like the spilled syrup at breakfast and vehemently scrubs a mark on his cuff. Cleaning ladies come to their immaculate penthouse, too, but they have nothing to do. The rich scenes and high rise windows are well lit; however the downtrodden architecture, poor slums, and empty Art Deco pool scheduled for demolition are not. An interview with a crusty reporter shrewdly spills the family dirt about his cast out brother, and Noah looks for him amid the abandoned trash, creepy bums, crazy old ladies, and poor people just trying to survive. He doesn't want to touch anything in his brother's filthy apartment, and the angry neighbors are not forthcoming to the rich white guy asking questions. Decoy open doors force viewers to pay attention to what may be hiding in the dark, and Noah studies the vintage blueprints for secret closets and apartment connections. Bloody bathtubs, suicide notes, similar graffiti, flashlights, dirty waters, and distorted bathroom moments are well edited eerie. Holes in the sheet rock mar their once pristine penthouse; creepy noises in the walls and clanking pipes suggest someone else is at home. A stranger banging to be let in and a hand reaching in the mail slot provide our breach of home fears as the kids hide in the closet and footsteps roam the apartment. Unfortunately, today we would be immediately suspicious of someone who never takes off his motorcycle helmet. Building security saves the day but then there's no explanation how others evade the cameras and evidence that aren't used until convenient. Nightmare flashes of our crazy brother are laughable, and this can't decide if it's a stereotypical horror movie or just a straight thriller. One wonders if the story should have focused on either the upscale family fear or stayed in the dilapidated mystery rather than going back and forth between them. Noah's compulsive cleanliness is also dropped instead of escalating as his unwashed explorations increase. The resolution unravels in the final act with montages, deceased and lookalike confusion, and questions about what anybody really had to do with anything. Though somewhat surprising, the killer reveal feels racist, as if crazy poor minority folk are coming to steal your penthouse – squatting uptown fresh groceries and all. Meyers is believable as the family man under pressure and while decent entertainment up until the end, the contrived finale leaves viewers feeling like our time has been wasted. Pity.