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.
