Considering that, to break even, I need to read approximately 200 pages of literature each day, I’m going to have to put these reviews on hold, or at least, annoyingly intermittent post rate for a while – probably until mid-October, when I’ll return with a vengeance.
Dogs.
A tried-and-tested device in horror is to take something perfectly mundane and transform it, through the course of the film, into something threatening or revolting. Hitchcock scared the hell out of everyone by taking a handful of everyday birds and turning them into a malign, predatory collective bent on tearing the protagonists to shreds. In theory, this formula should work for anything; terrifying as the paranormal is, the alienating effect portraying the normal in such a way can have a vicious lasting impression, of the hair-on-end variety.
This technique seems foolproof, but it has the potential to go seriously wrong, as, unfortunately, The Breed shows. It just wasn’t scary, not even slightly – which was a disappointment, because there was a huge buildup of relatively inconsequential teenage drama, which usually means that the director saved all the money for the second half, which in turn usually means a decent gore-fest. Yet, it wasn’t delivered! Why?
Because this film is about dogs. A group of teenagers go to a cabin in the woods, and get terrorised by dogs. Not wolves, dogs. A few ‘frightening’ scenes including these dogs are:
1.) Dogs chewing through the yacht rope to cut off the escape route.
2.) A dog paddling after one of the protagonists.
3.) A dog tugging at a guy’s leg.
In fact, 3.) was pretty much every ‘violent’ scene, because that’s the only weapon dogs really have at their disposal – and, as you’d expect, its fear factor is on par with Shaggy Dog or Hotel For Dogs. The overall effect of these crap scenes is to utterly fucking ruin the actually-quite-intruiging plot about some weird infection caught from being wounded by the beasts’ teeth. The infection, and Sara’s dark change in character was vaguely interesting, or at least, enough so to piss me off when it was ruined by fucking Clifford intervening and slobbering all over the nice script. I actually have a theory that the writers contrived this cool story about genetic mutation and experimentation conspiracy, but were subsequently trolled by a stoned director who insisted on Beethoven being incorporated into the script, or worse, that the cast were secretly furries and insisted on the canines being present as part of their contract.
I guess it doesn’t matter. The film sucked. Hitchcock made birds scary by demonstrating the slow, painful death by a thousand pecks and the malign stare of rank upon rank of black feathered fiends; in other words, he took the concept and developed it. Nicholas Mastandrea hot-dropped dogs onto the set and crossed his fingers. If you suffer from cynophobia, go ahead and scream your lungs out watching The Breed; if not, you’ll be wasting your time.
HNNNNGHHHH – 2/10
AUUUGHHHHH – 1/10
EEEEEEEEEEK – 1/10
(HNNNNGHHHH = how sickened I was, AUUUGHHHHH = how much I jumped in fright, EEEEEEEEEEEK = how likely I was to wet the bed for days after.)
Some people wake up in a dangerous cube, and get seriously messed up trying to get the fuck out.
I CAN FINALLY USE THE WORD ‘KAFKAESQUE‘ IN CONTEXT.
The Cube was Kafkaesque; it was so Kafkaesque that, short of the characters turning into vermin mid-way through and navigating layers of bureaucracy to get to the next stage of the puzzle, it could not have been more Kafkaesque.
kafkaesque kafkaesque kafkaesque kafkaesque
More seriously, The Cube is an hour and twenty-six minutes of unrelenting, claustrophobic exploration into a dark (and wholly unexplained) experiment or project that, as the title suggests, is basically a huge cuboid prison full of traps. Unlike Saw, though, the focus isn’t on the nasty devices themselves, though they’re gruesome enough, but the reaction of human rats caught in a maze – which is far, far more horrific than the cheap thrill of seeing people cut to pieces. The protagonists are cryptic and very real seeming, in the sense that they don’t fall into the crazy, caricatured desperate optimism/hopeless fatalism dichotomy that Saw forces its characters into. They have varied reactions to the different levels of the ‘game’.
Basically, they seem like real people in a cube. I guess, uhh, that was the point, because that’s what makes it so creepy. It’s KAFKAESQUE because the deeper Quentin leads the poor fuckers into the cube, the more arbitrary and insane it seems – which in turn creates total, brutal nihilism. The Cube makes you lose hope. It’s depressingly existential. At least with Saw there is the sense that if the characters overcome the lethal challenges, they’ll be set free, but this is not the case with this particular slice of nasty.
Watch The Cube if you want to experience a depressing, terrifying world of pointless endeavour and insanity. It’s awesome.
HNNNNGHHHH – 6/10
AUUUGHHHHH – 3/10
EEEEEEEEEEK – 8/10
(HNNNNGHHHH = how sickened I was, AUUUGHHHHH = how much I jumped in fright, EEEEEEEEEEEK = how likely I was to wet the bed for days after.)
Henry kills a bunch of people.
Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is likely to be an extremely difficult review to write, on account of it being an extremely difficult film – basically, just a fly-on-the-wall peek into the daily existence of a worringly desensitised and aggressive murderer, consciously without any sort of moral message or significant ‘plot’ outside of Henry, obviously the protagonist, moving from victim to victim with his close friend, Otis. There’s a sort of love interest with Otis’ sister, but nothing so drastic as to detract from the gratuitous violence present throughout. In fact, there is nothing really to distract an audience from it. It’s a series of frags: nothing more, nothing less.
That’s why it’s so good.
To qualify that statement, let’s have a chat about exploitation, and while we’re at it, debunk some of the hypocrisy of its critics. The traditional objection to films like the one I’m reviewing, its rampant cousins in the August Underground series and the more popular Hostel is that it’s violence-for-the-sake-of-violence, simulated torture/snuff to satisfy the darker tastes of a psychologically unsound audience looking for vicarious thrills in fiction. – with no merit as a film whatsoever.
I call bullshit.
Why is it acceptable for Sacha Baron Cohen to severely stretch the boundaries of ’decency’ in comedy (‘decency’ is a crappy word, so I use it only operatively) with Bruno and Borat, but it’s oh-so-totally-absolutely not to stretch the boundaries of disgust and revulsion in a horror film catering to a specific audience – people aren’t going to that film under false pretences, the title being somewhat ambiguous, unlike Bruno – with a specific type of experience on offer? Why are fans of Henry psychologically damaged for enjoying a semblance of sickening mutilation and termination, whilst fans of romances are absolutely normal for craving an artificial (and very much unreal) presentation of love and sexual encounter. ‘Exploitation’ is the very essence of film. If you enjoy an experience through the senses of a character, fine. I’ve yet to meet anyone with the authority or expertise to determine which fake and fictional sensations are appropriate.
So, with that said, Henry was a psychotic joyride, and because of that, I enjoyed every second of it. It’s not ‘scary’ in the traditional sense so much as it was grotesque; the brutal tableau of victims, worrying mentality of Henry himself (“It’s either them or us…”) and of course the ‘home invasion’ scene, in which the viewers themselves share in enjoying rape and torture like a goddamn family video, all contribute towards a very horrifying hour-or-so that leaves a dirty shit-streak on your mind. No joke. I felt filthy for enjoying it, and almost considered adopting some mock outrage.
Almost. Instead, I decided to blog about it truthfully, and, on that same thread of honesty, I’m telling you guys to watch this if you want to be shocked with some real horror. It’s not that long, so the gore doesn’t get tedious, and the characters are incredibly real and familiar for brutal serial killers. You’ll even find yourself cheering Henry and Otis on when they slam a T.V onto a guy’s head – and hell, if watching a guy getting bludgeoned with a television isn’t enough to make you watch it, I don’t know what I can do for the film.
HNNNNGHHHH – 8/10
AUUUGHHHHH – 3/10
EEEEEEEEEEK – 6/10
(HNNNNGHHHH = how sickened I was, AUUUGHHHHH = how much I jumped in fright, EEEEEEEEEEEK = how likely I was to wet the bed for days after.)
A group of teenagers seriously regret their choice of accommodation on a deserted highway. Bloodshed ensues.
I was massively surprised at the undiluted awesome that was Reeker!
Okay, I’ll explain. The Fog had briefly turned me off anything that could possibly be interpreted as ‘formulaic’ horror; that is, to say, that anything that follows an archetypal, ‘typical to the genre’ plot such as ‘old town with a dark secret’ or, as put me off, ‘historical grievance is avenged by restless spirits’. This isn’t something that happens to me often – like I said, I’m a Buffy fan – but in this case, The Fog just disappointed me so much that I started watching Reeker with an unfairly biased mindset, because the T.V listing described… some teenagers getting stranded on the highway and hunted down by a monster.
Yeah. I know.
HOWEVER, I WAS WRONG!
What Reeker is not, is what I just called ‘formulaic’ – because what it is, is fresh, innovative and scary. Yes, the premise is a bit tired, as the kids get stranded on the way to some sort of music festival where sex is apparently some sort of civil right, and are forced to sleep in and around the creepiest abandoned roadside motel in the state, but this doesn’t matter, because Reeker had jarring and winceworthy gore, vicious suspense, and most importantly, it added new and ironic twists to the ‘script’. ‘Trip’, the trademark horror movie jackass character (ordinarily the one who dies first) develops into an oddly courageous man, given the circumstances, and, very contrary to the thread in horror, the ‘strongest’ character is female. Gretchen is from Johannesburg, which apparently makes her hard-as-nails, which is fine by me, because the crappy roles these kind of movies give to women can get wearing.
The best innovation, though, was, for sure, the blind guy. I gave a shit about Jack’s safety in the film because, unlike many horror characters, he had depth and a backstory that wasn’t told for the sake of it. So, when he was drawn into the sort of confrontations with the ‘reeker’ only someone without sight could experience (watch them and see!) I was genuinely disturbed. That’s right: I felt sympathy for one of the protagonists.
Now, twists on the strand aside, there was another reason why everyone ought to watch Reeker, and that’s because the ending is excellent, another weakness of most horror films. It’s a mindfuck on par with Sixth Sense or Jacob’s Ladder, and if you don’t see it coming (I didn’t, but then again I’m dopey as hell when it comes to these things; I was fooled by The Village) you’ll find it profound and thoughtful enough, like Martyrs, to talk about, or at least watch again to see what you missed.
My only problem with Reeker is that the ending is, without spoiling anything, moderately positive, which means that there was no lasting brand of terror to scorch into my poor abused subconscious, but that could just be my taste and that means I am right and this film is not as good because of it, totally, wholeheartedly, unequivically.
HNNNNGHHHH – 7/10
AUUUGHHHHH – 6/10
EEEEEEEEEEK – 4/10
(HNNNNGHHHH = how sickened I was, AUUUGHHHHH = how much I jumped in fright, EEEEEEEEEEEK = how likely I was to wet the bed for days after.)
scar3dycat here.
As predicted, we’ve come under a lot of fire – perhaps understandably. I’m going to address some criticisms The Kap’n and I have encountered so far:
1.) “If I/we can not independently verify what is said, we must find it all suspect. I am in no way calling you a lier or hoaxer. But, without proof, how are we supposed to take you as anything else???seriously!!!”
Right. Independently verifying a source from inside the DPRK is extremely difficult. The country is closed off. It would have been pointless, and probably intimidating, to ask ‘X‘ for proof of their identity. It’s not as if North Korean citizens can timestamp photos for us.
2.) “But they mentioned ‘accidental’ audio broadcasts that he stopped after the second one. (So we know it’s not radio) Later in the story, they also mention that ‘X’ must have had temporary internet access. Too many clues for not being able to disclose.”
I think the fact that I posted the conversation word for word, clearly with typographical errors shows that the medium for the contact was internet, and not radio. We didn’t try to hide that. What we are obscuring is the exact time and exact platform we used as a medium, again, to protect ‘X’.
We’ll make no apologies for that. If protecting ‘X’ means losing a little internet credibility, fine.
3.) “The guy ends the ‘chat’ like a casual conversation. If you have access to someone in DPRK you’re going to tell them ‘i’m tired’ and let them hang up? Whatever.”
Okay. I wholeheartedly agree that this is quite a blow to the credibility of our experience. Here is the defence given by The Kap’n:
‘I was honestly, genuinely falling asleep. It was incredibly late in my timezone, and I’d been up all day – as much as you could say I was wasting an opportunity, I genuinely couldn’t carry on any longer. It’s not like I’m some kind of professional.’
The Kap’n, understandably (he keeps weird hours) was exhausted by this point. As he says, he is not a professional – and nor am I. We were speaking to each other on the phone at the same time, and we were both utterly dumbfounded. We had no fucking idea what to do. At all.
I wish The Kap’n had stayed, and I certainly wish he had found out more. But we had three things to take into consideration:
a.) Every question we asked could have been putting ‘X’ at risk. As you can see, The Kap’n only asked this late. We should have thought sooner, but we were too excited as we realised this was the real deal. As such, I believe the Kap’n was wary, as well as, as said, exhausted.
b.) This wasn’t just for us. As you can read, ‘X’ began asking questions about the world outside. It was important that we gave ‘X’ answers. We’re talking about a totally closed off nation. This may be the only glimpse of the West ‘X’ gets.
c.) There may be contact with ‘X’ again – a slim chance, I know, but entirely possible if it happened once. We didn’t want to scare ‘X’ with a ceaseless interrogation.
In any case, what happened, happened. We probably didn’t ask enough and The Kap’n went to bed. Although, surely, if we were hoaxing, we’d have a dramatic ending? Or make it seem like we were pros? The conversation, as many have pointed out, reads like amateur work. That’s because it is.
There’s no criticism above that a hoaxer couldn’t have dealt with either. Obviously, as I’m part of this, I’m not objective, but the fact that it is so untidy, and seemingly inconsistent in places, is evidence of its validity? A hoaxer would make it altogether more… readable, I guess.
3.) “if you are not a professional as you stated above that is actually going to DO something with this information, you have put this guy’s life in danger. And for what? So you can post it on your blog? Because you were curious?”
Remember that ‘X’ got in contact with us. It was a surprise. We didn’t purposefully try to put a North Korean’s life in danger. Also, the fact that ‘X’ was using this medium anyway pretty much guarantees punishment by the State if found out. All I can hope is that our conversation doesn’t worsen the sanction.
As to what we want to achieve, The Kap’n puts it nicely:
“The contact was accidental and abrupt. Originally, we didn’t think it was real. It soon became apparent (to us at least) that it probably was.
Since the contact happened, we’ve been trying our best to get in contact with the relevant authorities to attempt to do something. This is not solely just to publish on a blog – the blog was a stop-gap measure in the meantime intended to raise awareness. “
I’ll add the following: we’re doing what we can. ‘X’ wanted to tell us about life in the DPRK. As such, we’re giving people a glimpse of what a brainwashed, downtrodden population really thinks about their regime. Moreover, we have utterly ridden the post of anything that could possibly incriminate ‘X’. In short, we’ve done our utmost to promote their safety and message.
We don’t know where this is going to go, nor are we totally, unequivocally certain that this is real. We believe fervently that it is, because of reasons we’re not divulging and the ones we have, and there seems to be no reason for it to be false. We wanted to tell whoever we could, and that is what’s going to be done.
scar3dycat out.
Forgive the lack of reviews over the last few days. Something considerably more important to write about came up, and the post is going up now. Check it out.
I recieved two DVDs in the post yesterday. One was Gone With The Wind and the other was Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer.
WHICH ONE WILL BE REVIEWED HERE?
ONLY TIME WILL TELL!
Everything is just peachy for the citizens of Antonio Bay until a dastardly fog comes to ruin their fun in all sorts of nasty ways.
The Fog was a terrible horror film.
I phrase the above very specifically, because it wasn’t actually a bad movie, where ‘bad movie’ is defined as an intolerably aggravating experience that makes you want to shove nails into your eyes. No, the acting wasn’t spectacular, but it was solid enough to act as a platform for an ever-twisting plotline that was intruiging enough to keep me interested. That may be down to me being a Buffy: the Vampire Slayer fanboy, though, as that show strongly conditioned me to appreciate fully the somewhat stereotyped ‘historical skeletons-in-the-closet terrorising community’s ancestors‘ storyline. Everyone else might find it boring, though, as it doesn’t allow for suprise endings. The protagonists either resolve the dark transgression of the past, or they don’t. I won’t tell you which happens here, but you’ll see it coming, trust me.
Anyway, back to the vicious and brutal conclusion I teased you with at the beginning of this review: The Fog is not scary. I didn’t find it even slightly creepy, and as I’m a scaredy cat (hence the name!), that’s a significant diss, fo’ sho’. There was one scene that made me jump a little, and that was when Clark Nick Castle surprises his creeped-out girlfriend on the beach.
That being said, when combined with the SCHWEEK sound we horror-fans know and love, anything can provoke a “WHOA!” reaction. If Elmo appeared behind Elizabeth with that shrill noise and a sudden camera-shift, I’d respond in exactly the same way.
So, in the absence of shocks, we turn to sick thrills, or exploitation, of which there was none. Nothing gruesome happened! The most nauseating shot was of a man with partial leprosy, and whilst I know leprosy is far from fun and games, it stopped being genuinely horrific about 1500AD. There was no lasting image to upset me, because the ending is sort of happy and uplifting, too – and no, that isn’t a spoiler, because MOST FILMS END HAPPILY. Just not, err, horror films.
The only reason the Radio Times called it ‘horror’ was because it wasn’t nice enough to be anything else.
Don’t bother watching this.
HNNNNGHHHH - 1/10
AUUUGHHHHH - 2/10
EEEEEEEEEEK - 1/10
(HNNNNGHHHH = how sickened I was, AUUUGHHHHH = how much I jumped in fright, EEEEEEEEEEEK = how likely I was to wet the bed for days after.)
Psychoschizobitch escapes from her kidnappers, and takes revenge. Her trusted friend finds out why she was imprisoned the hard way.
Wow. Just, wow. I’m going to start with the few negative things I can force myself to say about Martyrs so I don’t end on the clichéd ‘well, this needed work, but YEAH AWESOME’. I’d rather just end on AWESOME.
Guess I gave the game away there. Never mind!
So, let’s talk about what sucked – starting with the dialogue. It wasn’t great; in fact, it was wearing, even annoying in places. Admittedly, I was watching a dub, so perhaps the nuances of the French language didn’t translate, but I suspect the ‘touching’ connection between the two girls was every bit as bland and expected in any language. Moreover, the actual torture scenes were unfairly boring. Minor character #12 gets a mask nailed into her head, yet our beloved heroine only gets a slapping? Fuck off, and give me something to sink my teeth into.
Whoa! That was more vitriolic than I intended. Perhaps I didn’t like Martyrs as much as I thought I did…
…nah, it was awesome, and what’s more, I know why:
1. In the way that only horror flicks can, the plot forcibly wrenched itself into a new, more alarming shape. That kept me guessing.
2. The soundtrack was spooky!
3. The (albeit bland – grr!) torture led up to a visceral and profound climax that raised interesting questions.
I’ll focus on ‘3‘, and take great pleasure in doing so. Horror movies are an amazing platform to launch any sort of metaphysical idea, essentially because they, by definition, portray the very limits of human experience – in this sense the borders of terror, nausea and chaos. In the same way ‘romantic’ films (I use that abused word tentatively) give a ‘message’ on what love is – Bridget Jones’ Diary tells women to go for the nice guy, whilst Notting Hill makes a point on the endurance of love across social barriers – horror movies give us a ‘message’ on the nature of humans. Martyrs shows us that when we’re at our most wretched, and broken, we are capable of witnessing miraculous things.
On a less spiritual note, I recommend this horror film for watching with a partner. There are enough jumps to make it a good film for dates (you’ll be in each other’s arms in the first fifteen minutes if you’re anything like me), and the ending, as I said, is ‘deep’ enough to provoke discussion for conversation.
Have fun. ; )
HNNNNGHHHH - 4/10
AUUUGHHHHH - 8/10
EEEEEEEEEEK - 5/10
(HNNNNGHHHH = how sickened I was, AUUUGHHHHH = how much I jumped in fright, EEEEEEEEEEEK = how likely I was to wet the bed for days after.)
The Kap'n
scar3dycat
The Malthusianist
dakanagarretson