Ghosts and Cults, Oh My!

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.

Solo Lady Horrors!

Solo Lady Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

Old and recent, foreign or domestic – this viewing quartet is a healthy dose of solitary moms, virgins, co-eds, and tough ladies single-handedly facing the scares.

Goodnight Mommy – Lullabies and divine outdoor locations quickly turn ominous with dark caves, deep lakes, nearby cemeteries, and underground tombs accenting this 2014 Austrian psychological scare featuring twin boys and a mother under wraps. Despite the bunk beds, wise viewers will of course immediately wonder if there are really two sons – one always hides or jumps out while the other calls, and their mother only acknowledges one boy amid talk of an accident and a separation. Mirrors, windows, blurred portraits, and odd artwork embellish their cool mod home, and eerie visuals heighten the freaky surgery bandages, prying peering, twisted dreams, and creepy bugs. Close the blinds, no visitors, total quiet – the twins become increasingly suspicious when such strict recovery rules and more unusual behaviors don't compare to sing-a-longs and loving tapes made pre-surgery. Naturally, English audiences have to pay attention due to the German dialogue and subtitles, however viewers must also watch for silent moments and visual clues as this TV host mom's obsession with her surgery results increases and the boys' talking back turns into some rough encounters. The sons research videos online and find strange photos while hidden baby monitors and timer tick tocks up the suspense. Who's right? Who's overreacting? What if we could see things from the opposite point of view? They want proof she is their mother and contact the local priest, but these seemingly innocent boys play some gruesome games, too. The situation becomes more and more claustrophobic, becoming trapped indoors and locked in one room with homemade defenses and cringe-worthy torture done with something as simple as the magnify glass with sunlight trick. The audience is swayed with evidence one way before being presented with new unreliability, familial violence, and pyromaniac tendencies in a fiery topper. At times, this feels more like a sad drama than a horror movie and some elements might have needed a bit more clarification. However, the horrible stuff herein and debating on the what ifs lasts long after the viewing, and this is a fine isolated tale using slight of hand power of suggestion for its slow burn unraveling.

The House of the Devil – Creepy menus, cult statistics, and retro credits start this 2009 blu-ray featuring Jocelin Donahue (The Burrowers), Dee Wallace (The Howling), and Mary Woronov (Death Race 2000). Payphones, eighties rhythms, and old fashioned style add period flair alongside onscreen smoking, maps, feathered hair, and a big old cabinet television showing Night of the Living Dead. Even the giant Walkman and slightly corny music montage and dance about the house has a purpose in the narrative. Church bells, cemeteries, and an imminent eclipse lay the scary foundation, and rather than an opening scare fake-out, writer/director/editor Ti West (The Innkeepers) uses zooms and movement within the camera frame to create viewer intimacy, closing in from the chilly exterior and ominous windows as the suspicious phone calls lead to desperate babysitting jobs, desolate night drives, and a maze-like Victorian manor. Yes, our Samantha is at times very dumb and unaware she is in a horror movies thanks to plot holes a collaborator not wearing so many behind the scenes hats could have clarified. Mistakes and convenient contrivances in the somewhat tacked on final act also break the solitary point of view for the audience's benefit. However, that finale free for all with ritual candles, hooded robes, and a sudden twist ending is in the seventies splatter spirit, and the simmering, silent build happens naturally over the film. Instead of hollow thrills a minute, the viewer is allowed time to suspect the scary attic, theorize on suspicious photos, and listen for every noise – we know something is supposed to happen but not when. Though this kind of approach may seem boring to some, this innate alone trickle let's us appreciate the dark basement and the inopportune power outage for when the titular frights do happen. It's nice to have something different from the mainstream horror trite, too – not to mention an $8 pizza! 

Hush – Writer and director Mike Flanagan (Oculus, Absentia) and his wife, co-writer, and star Kate Siegel place our deaf-mute author in a pleasant forest cabin for some writing, relaxation, and terror in this 2016 eighty minute Netflix original. Comfort cooking noise fades and unheard laptop tones switch to wild kitchen alarms – immediately establishing the common sounds taken for granted alongside subtitled Sign Language, feeling vibrations for sound, and hearing an author voice in your head brainstorms. Friends speak while they sign, breaking up the quiet for the viewer, and we must pay attention to writing onscreen such as book jackets and manuscript text. Understandably, phone technology and Facetime calls are important, but an over-reliance on gadgets in horror can be tiring and soon dated with wi-fi switches, lost connections, and cut power. Fortunately, the intimate home makes the audience accustomed to the hearing challenges before adding the muffled silence, unseen scares, unheard screams, and instant cyberstalking. Through windows or foreground focus and background action, we have the full perspective when the protagonist doesn't. It is however a mistake to reveal the crossbow and Bowie knife wielding stalker so completely. We don't need to know the sociopath motivation nor should the viewer feel for the killer or care if he has any personality, and removing his mask just creates limp assholery. The frightening unknown with footstep vibrations, hands at the window, and approaching shadows creates a better siege, and the mystery of who and why is lost in the contrived lulls and stupid mistakes while Maddie waits around for his taunts instead of fighting back. Why not set something on fire, smoke signal authorities? Having her inner monologue address the situation and the pros or cons in each course of action is also better than breaking Maddie's point of view and using fake out possibilities. Although it's a pity millennial viewers wouldn't watch something that was all silent, the long periods with no dialogue, sound effects, and score crescendos do just fine in accenting these unique dynamics. While not perfect, this tale has enough thriller tense and innate woman alone in peril – and thus proves exactly why I must know where all the windows, entrances, and exits are in a given location and never sit with my back to any of them!

A Virgin Among the Living Dead – Various versions of this 1971 French/Spanish co-production exist thanks to re-releases of Jesus Franco's (The Awful Doctor Orloff) edition and added zombie footage from director Jean Rollin (Fascination). The trying to be poetic narration is unnecessary, the subtitles are off, and the dubbing is out of sync with the serious close ups. A dockside tense and snotty hotel warnings don't bode well for the boobies and little white panties revealing an obvious brown carpet not matching the blonde drapes, either. Askew angles, empty rooms, and creepy statues make this secluded villa Old World eerie – kind of like the mid-century Gothic look my parents' house had when I was a kid with big, foreboding lamps, tall, arched mirrors, and The Man with the Golden Helmet above an orange settee. Yes, I now realize this probably explains a lot about my interest in horror. (That and being forced to wear pink and bows but that is another story.) A happy nature stroll can't compete with demented music and deathbed vigils, and townsfolk suggestions to run, abandoned chapels, and prayer recitations are ignored in favor of this freaky family's casual views on death. Distorted camerawork accentuates weird eyes, facial oddities, and ritual pursuits as flies and buzzing sounds increase. From voyeuristic geezers and bats on the bed to a giant dildo on the floor and a blind chick getting her seventies bush trimmed by another girl sucking on her bloody boob – it's time to get out of Dodge. Unfortunately, the inconsistent characters and forgetful, stalling plot are very thin with potential psychic connections unclear and a running in circles, going nowhere fast pace. Intercut zooms while everyone squints over the reading of the will feels Charlie Brown wah-wah, and nothing comes of possible sexual awakenings, suicides, and daughters paying for sins of the father themes. There were no zombies in the version I saw – I'm not even sure which version it was. However, the muddled onscreen reflects the messy behind the scenes intrusions, and the overall result is not as good as it could have been. Fortunately, this isn't super bad, and Franco enthusiasts will find many bemusing aspects alongside the saucy violence and undead foretellings.

Contemporary Low Budget Horrors

Contemporary Low Budget Horror

by Kristin Battestella

Cheap thrills and by necessity cut corner fears don't have to be so bad, right? Here are two positive low budget horrors from the post Y2K era – and a few pay for what you get bad scares.

Absentia – This 2011 Kickstarter funded thriller from writer/director/editor Mike Flanagan (Oculus) starts with a missing husband, death declarations, and a pregnant wife seven years after said disappearance. Simple credits get right to the sadness – a cold start with an unknown cast providing natural performances despite the awkward situations and guilty paperwork. There are no stick built, plastic surgery laden, naked hot bodies so often found in today's scares here! No one wants to talk about past drug use or the unexplained pregnancy, but honest dialogue and sisterly conversations reveal a lot. Do we tell scary stories to explain what we cannot or do we think positive to delude and comfort? Quick flash montages speculate on the possibilities – amnesia, secret agents, alien abduction, drug trips, just running away from it all. How does one keep it together or move forward without knowing for sure? Creepy dreams, eerie tunnels, and bizarre homeless men negate the understated outdoor photography, realistic apartments, and simple setting while would be sunshine, religious recovery, mediation hopes, and police dynamics give way to the underlying sinister. The spooky seems innocuous initially, even misleading, however the intercutting between the lady leads builds as apparitions, objects moving back and forth, burglaries, and bugs intensify the real world traumas, anger, and off screen upsetting. The by necessity minimal visuals and unseen terrors are well done in tandem with genuine reactions, suggestive subtext, grief, sound effects, and lingering evidence. The simmer and supernatural twists do falter somewhat in the final half hour – the paranormal may feel unevenly tacked on after the mostly realistic tone but viewers expecting more full on horror will also be disappointed. Fortunately, the paired down personal amid the torment remains strong, and this quiet thriller does what it sets out to do with just the right amount of dread.

Housebound – This 2014 New Zealand import isn't as financially strapped as our other terrors, but this horror comedy does have plenty of old fashioned basement trappings, ominous neighbors, potential paranormal activity, unexplained voices, and one eerie abode with a bad history. Accents and place names might be tough for some and viewers have seen this type of isolated or laid up and monitored scary previously. Fortunately, the titular punishment leads to some new crazy versus supernatural spins along with lovely outdoor photography, old time radios, dated computers, dial up modems, tape recorders, Polaroids, and gasp corded phones. Shrewd exposition – calling into a paranormal radio show to tell an encounter – compliments the quick newspaper research, and a well designed lighting scheme with noir smoke, darkness, solitary lamps, and an aged, golden patina adds atmosphere. Is this merely clutter, leftover antiques, attic access, creaking doors, or something sinister? Clueless parents may seem annoying to start, but we come around to our bad girl with a 'tude emo lead as the activity escalates. Though there are a few jump scares, this is not akin to today's paranormal reality series or shock and awe shenanigans. The comedy is not gross out, laugh out loud either, but rather a generational quirky, kooky household objects, and battling bemusements – old toys are both creepy yet humorous. Disbelieving authorities, surprising movements, and other unexpected interference keep the eponymous limits from becoming stagnant as more pieces are added to the mystery. This puzzle is not in your face horror, but the majorly upticked final half hour puts everything perfectly on its ear and will have the audience holding its breath. And let me reiterate, there is no, repeat, no reason for a forthcoming stateside remake!

Two to Avoid

The Dead of Night – Slow, time wasting opening credits don't bode well for this overlong 84 minutes, nor do the too old looking 2004 teens, very poor acting, shit dialogue and too bright, low budget lighting. There's no attempt to create any kind of atmosphere – I hate today's digital, over saturated visual schemes, sure, but this home movie style and bad music has to go! Excessive herky-jerky camerawork, unnecessary zooms, up close strobe, and editing from Mom and Dad's studio in the basement aren't arty designs, just messy. The would be nice suspense of an asylum breakout looses steam when everything inexplicably restarts with fake high school bully drama. From crazies and zombie cemeteries to monsters and The Faculty takeovers, the random plots – yes plural, as in there are so many thrown at the screen – are certainly rip offs, but of course room is made for cheap nudity, supposed clique social statements, and pointless to and fro scenes while the purpose of the piece remains absent. The night time cemetery filming is okay, but the raw high school football game footage is the best thing here compared to some seriously pathetic monster make up, nonsensical running around, and ridiculous twists leaving nothing tied together. Are the geeks getting zombie revenge? It's convenient then that unexplained monsters arrive to kill the gang instead. What does either have to do with the hospital escape? Whatever the heck was happening, I stopped caring pretty fast. Yes, viewers can't expect much value from this kind of dollar bin horror. However, poor production value and pinching pennies film making doesn't mean you crap all over your story – I mean, in the end, it's the only thing you have.

The Greenskeeper – Well, cliché music and trying to be cool poolside golf resort credits introduce folks waving at the camera eighties style and tell us we're in for some 2002 hokey! Bikinis and brief, bad sex can't overcome the bitchy acting here, and all the comedic delivery falls flat thanks to ignorant gay jokes, redundant F bombs, and obnoxious drug use. The homophobic punchlines, overcompensation on manhood stereotypes, idiotic adults, and assy yuppies are not funny – nor is the embarrassingly cliché limp wristed cop. The sunscreen on the nose at night lifeguard and the jerky headband and ponytail pro...just no. But hey, despite playmate connections, at least the majority of the people here aren't uber thin hotties. The plot should have stayed with the traumatized lead and his fears over the eponymous urban legend instead of wasting time on forced camera strobes, inserted scary flashes, and too many do nothing montages – mowing the golf course montage, naughty at the pool montage, even a party line talking on the phone montage. Have a drinking game for every time someone walks passed the club sign! The deaths would be unique golf accessories and yard tool fun, but they are most often filmed as comedic with our killer zooming away in a golf cart. The murders are also too few and far between until the latter half when the straight horror finally kicks in – but not before the Scooby Doo ending. Horror and Comedy are already difficult to mesh right, and with no budget to spare, the odds are not in favor of the all over the place here. Instead of doing something straightforward, too many tropes, social statements, and self referential parody are being played at once – and the writing, direction, and performers are not up to the task. Maybe this goofy premise deserves a proper treatment. However, it looks like this movie was made 25 years too late, and it doesn't have any of that retro so bad its good.