Maligned 21st Century Horrors

 

Maligned 21st Century Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

Some of these bottom barrel contemporary horrors are not so bad with understandable faults. Others here in, however, are rightfully maligned and avoided.

Didn't Hate It!

Shadow Puppets – Black screens, heavy breathing, and thumps on the wall get right to the waking up screaming, padded white rooms, and eight trapped strangers in this 2007 intriguing if familiar isolation horror from writer and director Michael Winnick (Disquiet) starring Jolene Blalock (Enterprise), James Marsters (Buffy), and Tony Todd (Candyman). Wedding rings are missing from bruised fingers and their identities are unknown, but there's growling at the door, flickering lights, creepy orange tunnels, and industrial hazards. Although it's cold in their underwear, and some fearful, screaming acting is hammy; our unnerved amnesiacs admit this is weird – complaining about their attire and laughing over the naked woman in the swimming pool. Most are scared but others are casual about the ominous stairs, retro machinery, prison gates, beeping monitors, and damaged equipment because they are going to die anyway. Although knowledge and skills are intact, some look for the scientific explanation while others seek weapons. What good is a gun against mists and shadows? Impalement and injuries mount as the lights go out and they are helpless in the dark. Retro phone ringing they can't find and blood smears on the wall but no bodies escalate the finger pointing. Paperwork and computers provide their information, jobs, and connections; however the details on the machinery meant to wipe memories doesn't add up with the number of patients. Is someone suspect among them? The taut isolation is well paced with straight jackets and prisoners chained in a cell deepening the mystery. If they shut off the power to open the electromagnetic door, the lights will be out as well – necessitating a divide and conquer escape plan amid turnabouts in the dark and pool perils. Identity twists and questions on the comatose mind, body, and soul make viewers wonder why there is a monster at all rather than this being about the people betraying each other, for our shadow is merely taking the opportunities presented one by one. The audience may find certain effects hokey the more we see the shadows, but there are no panoramic awe spins or roars at the camera. Much of this is similar to Winnick's Disquiet indeed, and Blalock seems like she's still playing T'Pol when figuring out what's what. Some dialogue is totally laughable, but at least they find their clothes and one flashlight to thwart the monster. The talkative reveal provides some explanation if you don't think about it too much, and this does go on too long in the finale – degrading in to running from the shadow set pieces before a convenient sun rise makes you think how you would have ended it differently. Fortunately, this was better that I expected for a fun late night viewing.

Budget Clearly an Issue

The Ghosts of Borley Rectory – At eighty-three minutes, this 2021 investigative haunt doesn't have three minutes of opening credits to spare, however I appreciate the vintage black and white cast photographs setting the thirties mood. Although the period styles are fine, the generic music advertises this is low budget fare – as do the stilted dialogue, wooden jolly goods, and exaggerated pip pip cheerios. Paranormal investigator Harry Price has rented the eponymous estate, yet those budget constraints mean we don't see the hear tell gadgetry or cameras set up to prove our haunting. Fortunately, it's spooky as we follow the young assistant going from room to room with nothing but a lantern and a notebook. Sure, rattling objects, old rosaries, and eerie trees are cheap; but we're waiting for something to go bump in the night along with the frightened scientists. Vicar Julian Sands (Tale of a Vampire) must tell his god-fearing parishioners that the deceased move on, but his wife demands he disclose the horrors they've encountered. Local officials question the lack of credible evidence from prior experiments, and arguments on seeking to debunk versus proving paranormal activity lead to flashback witness testimony and warnings that something else is in the room. Feeling cold spots and hysterical screaming become inadvertently humorous, but a bemusing psychic and hokey séance turn eerie when the scared medium asks the unseen ancient energy its name. Neighbors claim there have been wild bells and lights at the rectory when of course there have been none, and the weakest assistant is singled out with phantom tapping and flinging books. Ghostly appearances are shrewd when we see them – a silent hand touching the arm or leaving maggots in the food – but the chilling scenes cut away to people talking and talking some more. Even our disappointed investigators say they aren't getting anywhere as weeks go by before Price steps up their tactics with flour sprinkled for ghostly touches and a surprisingly late preparations montage now that it's suddenly the final week of the six month rental. Bloody nuns, croaking voices, creaking ghost movements, and a spirit stepping into the frame and shushing people are freaky enough, yet this inexplicably ditches any slow burn build for a time jump and redundant speeches. Flashbacks telling us what happened pad the runtime and change the investigation from proving the haunting to freeing the nun's spirit. Every ghostly encounter ends with a person waking up (some even with double false wake ups), negating if there was any progress in the stereotypical self-sacrifice of it all. There's no resolution to the freaky goblin in the mirror saying but wait, there's more – only a few black and white reels about a fire six months after they leave and four minutes of closing credits. Financial constraints meaning there is no big shock and awe is okay; I like the idea of seeing as little as possible. Unfortunately this needed a tight structure to balance the choice creepy moments and talkative heavy lifting. There should have been more Julian Sands, too. Even if you can take the low budget make do fun here, it's all a lot of late night nothing. Watch The Banishing instead.

Skip It

The Small Hand – A Ghost Story – Scottish graveyards, creepy woods, and ominous garden paths set off this 2019 tale based on the titular novel as our antique book dealer hears child laughter alongside the rustling leaves and humming woman by the pond. Although I appreciate the lack of in your face boo shocks amid the scenic water perils, suspicious reflections in the window, and spooky encounters; there's a lot of driving to and fro with no idea what's happening almost a half hour into the picture. Rather than beginning with the creepy real estate inquiry – that he only wants to buy so he can live next door to his married paramour – this is very slow to start. Time is wasted on minutiae while dropping blink and you miss it important newspaper clippings, photos, and mentions of having visiting the house and gardens as kids. They tour the manor and then tour the manor some more but nothing comes of the weird stains on the ceiling, fire damage, or video of the tour. The waterbed is likewise just an excuse for some ghostly movements and an eerie dream that doesn't show anything. Despite a low budget production, the mystery and atmosphere have potential with not so innocent little ghosts knocking at the door and perilous falls down the stairs. Freaky mirrors and orange candle glows accent the ghostly women singing, shouting, and carrying pictures of dead sons. Unfortunately the illicit romance doesn't seem like that passionate a love story if they barely even kiss. The Mrs. enjoys the sneaking around only to aggravate her husband – telling her lover to invest in this tremendous undertaking when no romantic impetus for buying the manor would have been better. Our book dealer becomes even more unlikable when he is willing to risk his brother's mental health by asking him about the history of this new love shack. Living with the supernatural acerbating his past metaphors should have been the main plot, and the you-can-read-this-but-not-watch-it weak screenplay is apparent. The tension is not cinematic, deflating with too many characters and detours instead of building spooky momentum with the bloody bathtubs and chilling strangulation. Rather than state of mind versus escalating supernatural, the ghosts just seem to be messing with him, delaying the story being told before rushing important details, affair dialogue, and hectic fatal encounters with too dark to see action and sudden crescendos. More driving scenes begat a highway fake out, and a brief exorcism leads to childhood selves battling ghostly little shits with remote control cars, and the invisible fighting becomes humorous. The suppressed memories of past saucy, violence, and drowning are obvious to the viewer yet our passive protagonist is unaware what's haunting him – even bringing his brother and pregnant sister-in-law to the house because not enough people have died already. Carrying rolled up blueprints and new, puckering wallpaper implies he's been working on the house the entire time, yet all we ever see him do is ask questions of others instead of getting answers from the ghost himself. Flashbacks spell everything out before a holiday sacrifice that does nothing to appease the spirits. This is neither a midnight movie full of scares nor a casual mystery, so not knowing its audience and the poor pacing leave viewers wonder what the point was.

WTF did I just watch?

Tentacles – Desperate packing in a dim lit house and pleas for time apart open this Into the Dark Blumhouse/Hulu Original before time wasting credits, modern ballads, desert driving, burying cash, and open houses. There are a lot of cliches and none of this makes sense so far thanks to incidental dialogue, interior panning, distorted up close angles, and cameras peering around corners that don't reveal much about our nondescript white girl or the drunken photographer who's doing a photo essay on gentrification, lol. He's inherited his parents' big house and offers its renovation to this girl who refuses to share her background? The flirtations and furrowed brows over their mutual adulting is hard are weak. Having sex at an open house comes off trashy, and every scene makes things worse with deflections, cutaways, bangs, screams, and booms. Now she is a house flipping expert ready to paint, tear up carpets, and salvage the vintage fixtures – but also knows how to kill and where to dump the bodies, too! He wants to photograph her “seam” abdomen scar, but she feigns fearfulness amid black water in the bathtub and high pitched ringing in his ears. Nothing here is compelling, and a building a dark room montage followed by a comically sped up and blurred sex montage leads to months passing and a melodramatic proposal. We've seen no love, just unnecessary masturbation, bad sex, and poorly disguised mermaid/siren/succubus duplicity. Black out eyes, skin suits, BJs, and alluring powers of persuasion drag on alongside meetings between the used and abused dude bros – who think all women are lookalike bitches who corrupt, drain the life from a man, move on, and ruin him. Renovation revelations throw which chick is which questions into the mix, and the attempted commentary on codependency or mixed messages on reverse empowerment metaphors with women taking over men's bodies and stealing their ideas do not come across thanks to doppelganger stabbings and morphing into one another. The yawn-worthy final battles with not so clever twists just keep going on and on, and all I could do was keep checking the time because this is absolutely the wrong way to do sex and horror.