HUSH (2016): A Must-Watch for Halloween

I’m not surprised many horror-floozies (myself, included) flock to the slasher sub-genre; whose habitual use of some-bloke-in-a-mask with an soft spot for pointy-things returning year after year for innumerable sequels would be the perfect metaphor to summarize the genre. They’re egregious, repetitive, and seem to exist only as a cathartic-release for the audience’s homicidal fantasies which my psychiatrist, Dr. Nilbog, says is perfectly normal and I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. That’s why last year I watched Neflix’s Hush, a horror film that was recommended to me by a heavily tattooed LA-producer whose poster had, what else, a dude in a mask. The movie, not the producer. Now I LOVE slasher movies with their silly screenplays, laughable acting, and comical ultraviolence, so you can imagine my surprise after I’d finished watching Hush, that I not only loved it to pieces but had almost totally forgotten that it didn’t have any of that rubbish. Hush is one of the most immersive cat-and-mouse thrillers I’ve ever had the pleasure of streaming, with a damn-near perfect (that’s right, I said it), perfect screenplay by Mike Flanagan (who directs), and Kate Siegel (who stars). Hush is an incredible, minimalist-slasher picture that’s actually a front for a brilliant character study of Siegel’s character: Maddie, a deaf (and mute) novelist living alone in a house in the woods when a masked man comes knocking on her window with a bloody knife in his hand. 

That’s really all you need to know about Hush’s story. I wouldn’t call it simple, by any means but if Hush was an Olsen Twin, it’d be the anorexic one. The plot is as bare-boned as an ossuary. All you need to know is that there’s a woman in a house and a bad man want’s in, that’s it. Hush’s “story” is more or less an excuse to have Kate Siegel and John Gallagher Jr (The Man) go head-to-toe in a cinematic game of 3D chess where survival’s the prize. Pretty standard stuff as far as slasher-stories go, but Hush’s real game changer comes from Siegel’s character, in which the script actually takes time to actually develop. Usually in films with a body count (greater than 2) the audience roots for the killer punishing teens in hedonistic scenes that showcase taboo wish-fulfillments (like pot-smoking, and premarital babymakin’) but Hush has replaced those scenes of “fun,” with in-depth character development so you’re in Maggie’s corner from frame 00:00:01. It should also be mentioned that Hush’s inclusion of a deaf protagonist makes for a pleasant “twist” to the genre. Now, this wouldn’t be the first horror flick to feature a differently-abled character (see: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th Part 2, & Don’t Breath), or even a differently-abled protagonist (see: Curse of Chucky & George A. Romero’s Monkeyshines) but thanks to Kate Siegel’s performance and the film’s cleaver sound design I was genuinely terrified for Siegel’s character. There are some genuinely chilling moments where the killer’s in-frame but only we, the viewer, can see him. Speaking of which, John Gallagher Jr’s positively phenomenal as, “The Man,” who brings more charisma and creepiness to his killer than the majority of big-screen, stone-cold, mongoloid killers. Kate Siegel is an inaudible firecracker of a protagonist whose resourceful, likable, humanely competent, and at no point screams her head off like a banshee practicing for their Anthrax cover-band. The editing’s also better than you’d except from a film with a budget of 1-million USDs, with poignant bits of cleverness peppered in to evoke shock, terror, and dread. And wouldn’t you know it, Mike Flanagan, even edited the bloody film himself. I really have no complaints or critiques, not a single plot-thread’s loose or out of place. Hush is staggeringly, tip-top.

This is that rare, once-in-a-blue-moon, horror flick that adopts an overused, and overexploited sub-genre but strives to make itself decent, enthralling, and scary. The slasher film (as a whole) has become a parody of itself in recent years, but Hush does away with all the unnecessary horror-movie “fluff” that makes for a “pure” genre feature. It has all the ingredients of a slasher movie but with the esteem of a serious drama made by clearly passionate artists who care for this passion project. I’m surprised not more people know about Hush as it’s by far one of the better serial killer thrillers the 21st century’s produced (so far) so do yourself a favor and stream it for Halloween. 

CAMERA GIRL, Chapter 4: Makeovers for the Dead

Chapter 4

Makeovers for the Dead

An abrasive flurry rolls over gravestones, poking out from the morgue's grey gardens like fingernails of a decaying, subterranean  titan. With a flick of her wrist Nora ignites the rag-fibers of Frank's last cigarette with an zippo prolonged from her coat pocket. The words: NO STEP ON SNEK, are written on the lighter's azure surface as well as a crude etching of an annoyed serpent sporting a V-shaped monobrow.

Nora takes a long, drawn-out drag. Her homunculi companion twiddles his latex thumbs.

“I’m a certified restoration artist,” he says, smiling like a toothless carnival ride operator. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Nora coughs. 

“You ever been to an open-casket service?”

“Not personally, but I know what you mean.”

Thanks, “Six Feet Under.” 

“Well,” Frank explained. “When most folks pass they appear notably different to the living. It’s subtle. Almost impossible to describe, but they catch it every time. The bereaved prefer sending their loved ones off looking the way they used too, peaceful, alive, and whatnot.”

Nora nods. 

The uncanny valley is a tempestuous force on mere mort-

COUGH! COUGH-

Shit that burns! 

“So the morgue pays you to do, what, exactly? Makeovers for the dead?”

“Necro-cosmetics, more-or-less. Depending on the COD. That means, 'cause-of-death.'

Nora already knows that. She's memorized many abbreviations. Frank continues.

“Heart attacks and brain hemorrhages are a godsend for the industry but derma-surgery’s to be expected. More often then not someone gets into a rather nasty mishap and has to be put back together like a big, person-shaped jigsaw puzzle. 

Nora's mind played a clip from Clive Barker’s Hellraiser: The scene where Pinhead reassembles the mutilated face of Sean Chapman. 

“And how does one go about that?” She asks.

“Standard restoration materials such as wax, plaster, pliancremé, and hot-chocolate.” 

“Dead people and cocoa-what more could one ask for?”

“Sorry, that’s just mortician-diction. Hot-chocolate’s a powder used for shadowing. Great for nostrils, lips, chins, cleavage, any crevice, really. It looks just like cocoa but isn't edible. ”

“Good to know."

“Wanna know a trade secret?” Frank asked with gumminess in his gaze.

Taking a second puff, Nora nodded, hacking meekly like a chain smoking sugar glider.

“Spray-paint. Nothing sticks better. Nothing drys faster.”

The wind howls. Nora's brain cuts to an image of Bruce Willis' bald, phallic head.

“Fascinating. ” She says, digging in her balmacaan.

She removes a paper square, folded six times, hands it to Frank

“For the smoke." She explains. 

Frank gawks at the little quadrilateral like a Neanderthal offered a vibrator.

“What is it?” He asks.

“A scene. I wrote it. I don't cary cash but I prefer trades to charity.” 

A blank stare from Frank.

“You’ve seen the poetry-buskers downtown, right?” Nora asks.

“You’re mean the hipsters with the typewriters that hangout by the Varsity Theatre?” 

“Brennen and Sherease, yeah. Their poems go for a dollar, apiece. A scene's like a poem in that it's short, entertaining, and tells a story but with more words and is coherent.”

An eyebrow on Frank’s face lifts skeptically.

“What’s the scene about?” He asks.

“Why don’t you find out?” She answers, presenting the note with her paraffin  fingertips. 

A gloved hand extends with orange, outstretched fingers- 

The wind howls. 

Nora’s fingertips loosen and the note’s caught in a school of fumbling, sardonic leaves. The school floats past Frank for 6-meters before an obelisk, covered base to tip with rhubarb-red vines, stops the note dead in its tracks. Frank doesn't want to trek the semi-great distance, but chivalrious-deprivation can change a man. 

“I got it!” Frank grumbles with a pitiful jog. 

“By all means,” Nora replies.

It takes roughly 48-seconds for Frank to reach the monument, claiming the paper oblong. Pretending he’s not out of breath, Frank unfolds the square six times.

He sees an illustration of the Man in the Moon from Georges Méliès’ 1902 silent film, Le Voyage Dans La Lune, with a colossal dolphin penis lodged into it’s right eye socket. Beneath the doodle with flawless calligraphy is a quote.   

OF ALL THE WORDS OF MICE AND MEN, 

THE SADDEST ARE: IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

                             -K.V. 

“Anaïs?” Frank calls out in a confusion he hasn’t felt since puberty. 

A  cacophonous, metal RASP answers him. He sees the knobless, yellow hatch sealed. The concrete doorstop replaced with a smoldering, half-finished cigarette. 

Nora seems to have evaporated. 

JIGSAW (2017): Movie Review

I can remember a time when Saw was but a small, gore-horror b-movie with one terrifying premise: how much pain would you endure in order to save your life from and even more grizzly demise? Director James Wan and writer Leigh Whannell’s cinematic debut with Saw was an instant hit attributed to its unique take on the slasher genre and extreme Mortal Kombat-esque gore. It was a genuinely terrifying film, back in 2004 when I was 11, so much so that I refused to even watch the bloody thing until Saw V (2008) was in theaters. I’ll always remember it for being my first “R” rated movie I snuck into after buying a ticket for High School Musical 3: Senior Year. My 15 year old associate and I couldn’t have been any less scared. Instead we found ourselves punch drunk with gross-out body-horror effects and death that were gruesome yet comical. Naturally, once V was over we decided we had too watch them all, in order, that night; thank god for Blockbuster. For those unfamiliar, the Saw film franchise’s essentially a series of cinematic horror/thrill-rides with extreme ultraviolence set to the tone of a heavy metal concert. They’re fast-paced, brutal, and so over-the-top that you can’t help but laugh your ass off at its absurdity. And here we are in 2017, and a new addition has been made to Saw’s torture-porn repertoire with, Jigsaw.

Now even the most dire fans of Saw understand that the “plot” of any sequel (except for Saw II) is more or less just an excuse to show off new traps and gore effects. Jigsaw’s no exception. Jigsaw takes place ten years after the original Jigsaw killer’s death in Saw III but, (uh-oh) another Jigsaw copycat’s killing moray-gray characters using Jigsaw-inspired gadgets and ploys. The plot’s divided into two narratives: one focusing on the “game,” built for yet another motley crew of morally-gray sheep for the slaughter. And the other half involves a group of possible suspects trying to catch the game-master among them down. I wonder who it could be? The young cop, the jaded detective, the pathologist, the pathologist’s assistant with an obsession for Jigsaw memorabilia, or John Crammer the Jigsaw killer back from the dead? Here’s a hint; it’s not the cop. Basically this is just another Saw movie that ultimately boils down to a whodunnit-4-dummies with murder-machine interludes, but this time the game takes place in a barn! 

With that being said, Jigsaw’s pretty fun as a cheesy trap-room horror show. Like every other film Saw begot, Tobin Bell returns as John Kramer and is undoubtably the best part of the movie. His screen time’s minimal but Bell’s cold demure once again produces a standout performance of a psychopath who believes, without a shadow of a doubt, in his own twisted philosophy on the agony of breaking physical/personal limitations as a means for spiritual growth (especially if it involves removing something anatomical). It was also a nice addition to make the victims characters at least somewhat intelligent by making them them work together from the get go. Don’t get me wrong, no ones in this film’s exactly the “sharpest knife in the crayon box,” but at least nobody makes overtly dumb decisions for the sake of plot connivence. There are, unfortunately, issues in Jigsaw one must endure to get to the actual gore. For one, and this may come as a surprise to you but the gore is surprisingly light-and by my standards which Saw helped create!  With the exception of one or two stellar traps this may be the tamest film in the franchise since Saw II. I’m not sure if this was an intentional choice by the filmmakers as a means to ease new audiences into the fandom but as someone who owns every Saw movie on disc, I was expecting a little more. I also wasn’t sold on the barn as a “game” board; every other Saw films has there “game” in grimy industrial hellhole that creates the horrifying atmosphere of waking up in a hostile, unfamiliar place where you’re forced to fight for your life. I respect the attempt to try something “new” but a barn with studio lightening isn’t all that intimidating. I also found the screenplay to be especially weak with how much the writers clearly borrowed from earlier films. The new characters felt like clones of dead characters from the old movies and there are more than a couple rehashes of all-to-familiar Saw tropes and clichés, which I will list here:

Petty criminals, cops, detectives, someone coerced to begin a “game,” medical workers, voice recordings of John Cramer made before he died, Billy the Puppet, the reverse bear-trap mask, a room full of random Jigsaw machines, swat guys, syringes, acid-IN-syringes, metal head-coverings, loosing a limb, a trick-gun, a John Cramer flashback, apprentices, security cameras, someone wearing a pig-mask and cloak, knocking out a character with a needle, a double-cross, retconning, a character forced to put themselves in their own trap, a “twist” at the end, and gore. 

As a whole Jigsaw doesn’t add anything too new or original but is a fun addition to the Saw movie family. The traps are fun, the effects are entertaining, and there’s enough nostalgic easter eggs floating around for fans to catch. I do wish the final product would’ve taken more creative chances but that doesn't seem to be Jigsaw’s goal. I get the feeling Jigsaw was made to be the Force Awakens for the series. It’s a sequel that feels like a soft reboot to reintroduce new audiences to a hibernated film property but in the end Jigsaw makes for an enjoyable Saw reunion-special that’ll satisfy your fictitious bloodlust which is sometimes all that you want for a theatric experience on Halloween. 

CAMERA GIRL, Chapter 3: The Humpless Hunchback

Chapter 3

(the) Humpless Hunchback

With a cacophonous metal RASP, the knobless, yellow hatch swings open. A figure wearing a respirator and bib-overalls (covered in a chaotic mishmash of colors and splats similar to one of Jackson Pollock’s easels) steps out. He bends over and collects a two-foot chunk of busted concrete from off the ground and wedges it between the door and its threshold, propping it open. 

This naturally grabs Nora’s attention. 

He looks as if he’s mutilated a clown. 

The colorful apparition removes his respirator and reveals his visage. His cheeks are gaunt, dark circles under the eyes, skin-speckled like a boxturtle’s carapace. A thirty-eight year old underfed beneficiary of the deceased with Quasimodo undertones.

He could be a model for a NOT-EVEN-ONCE poster for methamphetamines. 

The figure procures a pack of Virginia Slims from one of his many denim pockets and smacks the bottom like its done something naughty. A white tube of impending cancer pokes out. He sighs and shoves the fag into the crusted folds of his pursed lips. 

“Fuck. Me. Tender.” He mumbles to himself. 

Judging from the stubble and rheum in his eyes Nora can see that it’s been a long night for him, as well. She rips out a page from her composition’s spine, folds it six times and pockets the square. Then she hops off the plinth and makes for the bumpkin.

“Hey!” Nora shouts. 

Had Quasi not clocked-in at just before 2:00 am he might’ve shouted something terse and obscene and snap into a Dolph Lundgren, karate-stance; but sleep deprivation can change a man. Quasi flinched like a malfunctioning Chuck-E-Cheese animatronic and promptly fell on his ass (as one typically does when a gigantic porcelain-doll materializes out of the nightmare fog to yell at you).

“Um…hi?” He mustered, picking himself up.

Nora, stands at arms-length and ever so slightly puffs out her chest.  Up close she can see that his gloved hands are caked with some marigold compound. She can also smell his pungent, antiseptic-musk. 

Could be embalming fluid. Could be AXE body spray.

“Can I get me a cig?” Nora asks. 

Pause from Quasi’s end. 

His eyelids beat indefatigably, trying to sharpen focus. A little light bulb goes off in his bumpkin head. This girl is real. And young. And quizzically alluring. Quasi wants to say something sagacious.

“I’m Frank!” He blurts out. 

Without missing a beat Nora raises her hand to the fool. 

“Good morning Frank, I’m Anaïs.”

Frank accepts her hand. The two exchange an awkward, ephemeral shake.

“Ok Anaïs, what brings you to this dreary place so early? Services aren’t starting for at least another hour.”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I know I’m early, just trying to kill time. May I have a cigarette, please?” 

Frank doesn’t like sharing. A common symptom of OCS (only child syndrome) especially at 6:34 am on a Friday. 

“Your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” He grumbles. 

“No. They haven't, and I doubt they ever will.” Nora retorts, “I’ve been an orphan since 2 o’clock this morning.” 

Frank sucks his teeth, and forks over the pack with a mental eye-roll. One cigarette remains. Nora accepts it with just the faintest tinge of glee glistening in her hazel eyes.  

CAMERA GIRL, Chapter 2: (the) Merryhill Morgue

Chapter 2

(the) Merryhill Morgue

The Merryhill Morgue is the densest corral of mortal remains in all of Merryhill, Virginia, possessing the most active crematorium in the county. From wealthy rakehells to John-or-Jane Does, all are entitled to a crypt, urn, or plot of their choosing; should they have the foresight and coin. 

The grounds are acrid and ashen so Nora’s sits atop a concrete plinth adjacent to the dumpster, besides the service parking lot, behind the mortuary. Embedded in the morgue’s rear wall of exposed brick and lichen, is a rectangular slab of tuscany-yellow steel. A door without a handle. On the outside, at least.

A flutter of sardonic leaves tumble along a cool jet stream of new fall air, audibly passable for a moaning bedlam. Nora doesn’t shiver. Nora doesn't seem to notice even the most tempestuous acts of nature whilst in her Tim Burton balmacaan. Worn 182.7-days out of the year, 6-years running.  

Just to be clear, Nora isn’t hip, goth, or punk. Just another anomalous, twenty-something with skin pale as hoarfrost. Nora has a pension for Faustian hand-me-downs and the occasional occult paperback. Nora sees herself as a brown M&M in a fishbowl of Skittles. 

Nora comes across as “off-putting” to most who encounter her. Usually one conversation is all that's required. A middle-school guidance counselor once attributed this to an, “enlarged imagination with a disposition for violence.” Nora’s learned to accept not everyone's fascinated by atavistic methods of execution, scrimshawing, or expecting the Spanish Inquisition. 

Nora's not psychotic (not yet anyway), but by no means conventional. That’s just how she likes it. 

Nora’s pencil swishes to-and-fro like a baton of the world’s most spastic maestro. She ponders over what logistical monkeyshines her cyclopean murderer is capable of with those sinister prosthetics. 

Ripping, tearing, gouging, trepanning-the list goes on. 

Anything but slashing-too clichéd. 
She silently contemplates.

CAMERA GIRL, Chapter 1: "Hooks"

CAMERA GIRL

Chapter 1
"Hooks"

“If you lack the appetite for the macabre, gruesome, and strange then I don’t know what else to tell you, it’s just going to get worse.”  

                                                                                                - C. B. Pockets

Picture a razor-sharp boline moon in a starless sky, and over the whispering howls of the autumn night’s breeze you detect the faintest a-sharp of a bloodcurdling scream. Beneath the moon’s lustrous horns is a dirt road sandwiched between forests of cacodaemoniacal flora. A woman runs on it. Pale, waiflike, and barefoot. Partially covered by a tattered, ivory taffeta. Partially soaked in freshly drawn blood. She’s the one screaming, in case you couldn’t tell. 

She moves like a drunken angel. She doesn’t seem to feel the rocks scraping the soles of her feet. Her father calls her Cathy. Her sister calls her Cat. Her face’s a twisted mask of loathsome, iridescent rosacea. A dilapidated pickup coasting around 15-mph blares its raucous horn, flickers its high-beams. A tempest of blinding jaundice-light floods across her backside, casting her in a celestial strobe-light effect. Her scream gains an octave and both legs lock in place as if by some vampiric spell. 

Sobbing now, she turns and sees through the vehicle’s shattered windshield and is reminded of the man now seated in the driver’s seat; his blood-soaked dungarees, that decaying eye, stumps of old, mossy teeth. His head is bald as a stone with a tattoo across his brow that reads: KILLROY WAS HERE. 

Gripping the wheel is the cold steel of his triple-tip hook hand, sharpened for murder—

Nora Foster grimaces at her notepad and doesn't like what she's writing. Erasing now. Her go-to response for underwhelming fantasy. Twirling her lime-green mechanical pencil 180-degrees in her hand like a drummer, she reunites its graphite-tip to the college rule pulp. Nora has the tendency to mutter to whilst scribbling.

“Hands,” she whispers. 
Hook-hands, she writes. 

BLADE RUNNER 2049: Review

Blade Runner 2049 is director Denis Villeneuve’s 2017 sequel to Ridley Scott’s 1982 science fiction noir, Blade Runner. Based on the 1968 Philip K. Dick’s novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Scott’s initial Blade Runner adaptation was by no means a box office hit but its unique aesthetic and philosophical quandaries surrounding consciousness and singularity cemented itself as a cult classic to be staunchly revered by cinema buffs and ultra-nerds. I can certainly understand the appeal of the original Blade Runner; its visuals are still impressive by today’s standards and deserves credit for spawning the whole neon-techno-city-in-the-rain “look” that every show/film/anime HAS to cram into their grandiose sci-fi dystopian epic. Wish I could give similar praise for its script, though. I rewatched the original before going to see 2049 and I’m still not 100% certain about what exactly happens or how female jackets with football-length shoulder pads will come back in fashion come 2019, but it’s still a entertaining work of cinema with meaningful questions about artificial intelligence. I didn’t know what to expect for 2049 but somehow director Denis Villeneuve’s managed to craft a sequel that not only matches the original “look,” but surpasses Blade Runner with a superior story and cinematography. This is by far one of the best science fiction features I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing on the big screen; leaving me physically exhausted but cognitively enraptured. 

Taking place 30 years after the events of Blade Runner, 2049 stars Ryan Gosling and his body-by-Zeus ass as “K,” a LAPD cop, a replicant, and the film’s titular Blade Runner; who tracks down bioengineered runaways and “retires” them with bullets. Without spoiling the rest of the story, the plot hits all the same “beats” as the original 1982 film. K gets sent out on a mission to “retire” yet another self-prolonged replicant that kickstarts an elegiac journey in a corrupted technology-addicted world much like our own that leads to dark truths and self-discovery. In line with its detective-noir genre 2049’s chock full of twists, turns, and dead ends that K must endure as he gradually make sense of his “life” in a world that resents and needs him; all leading up to a strong cautionary tale of what can happen when an all-powerful system of incredulous technocrats reigns supreme over an irreverent society of working class ditizens forced to fight amongst themselves while the powers at be continue to grow in unchecked wealth and power. Also Harrison Ford’s in it and is implied to be the father of the robo-messiah or something, I’m not exactly sure. 

There’s a-LOT of information to process in this 2 hour and 44 minute picture but that’s how I like my hard, ultra-meditative science fiction movies with blurred lines of morality that toe the line between saudade and pretentious; like so many other philosophical sci-fi films audiences  either love (to an almost obsessive degree) or hate, (to an almost psychotic degree). But if you’re cut from the same cloth as I and would go out of your way to see Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey in 70mm for the umpteenth time, then I’m positive you’ll enjoy Blade Runner 2049. If, however, you prefer your science fiction lacking in the brains department but action-packed and “fun,” then stick to the new Star Wars sequels and Green Lantern. This is by far the most visually-captivating work of modern cinema I’ve seen since George Miller’s 2015 opus, Mad Max: Fury Road. Roget Deakins mouth-watering cinematography is beyond opulent with a wide array of ambitious settings and set pieces that not only sync with the look of Blade Runner’s retro-future aesthetic but gives so much depth to the world of 2049. This, hybridized with director Denis Villeneuve’s use of visual storytelling makes for a spectacular ballad of technological spiritually. Ryan Gosling’s performance as K is subtle but evocative; managing to convey thoughts and “emotions” with little to no dialogue. Ana de Armas as Gosling’s holographic lover Joi was also beautifully haunting and was one of the strongest characters of the entire film. I’ve never seen an on-screen relationship between an android and a hologram before but their chemistry was so unique and “human” that it not only spoke volumes for their characters but also called to attention the social prejudices of their world. 

The effects were flawless with an appropriate blend of digital and analog technology that gave the film a more “realistic” tone than most other effects-crazed sci-fi blockbusters that are shot primarily on green-screen. Hans Zimmer’s sound design deserves props for crafting the appropriately cacophonous atmosphere for 2049’s commercially acrid civilization. Jared Leto as the blind technocrat Niander Wallace was MUCH better than his portrayal of the Joker in David Ayer’s 2016 afterbirth, Suicide Squad. Oh yeah, and Harrison Ford, the original Blade Runner, is back and he’s fine, I think? I mean, he’s given a whole lot more to do than his Han Solo counterpart in The Force Awakens, but I can never tell if he’s playing a grumpy character who doesn’t want to be there or is legitimately just a grumpy actor who wants to finish up his scenes so he can go back to flying his planes. 

I should also confess that even though I enjoyed 2049 there were more than a few scenes that confused me and I can’t tell if the fault was on me or the film. As I said before, there’s a lot of information you’re expected to absorb and not all of its explicit so you may get caught off guard if you’re not paying attention. I also think there might have been one-too many call backs to the original film. They don’t detract from the main plot but for a film that’s almost three hours long, every little moment adds up. To the film’s credit, however, it takes the themes and ambiguities of Scott’s 1982 neo-noir and expands upon them in such a way that the original’s improved upon it; making for a duology that’s, as a whole, a stronger work of food-for-thought entertainment when viewed in succession. This is one of the rare occasions where the symbiotic relationship between two movies is so strong and crucial for each other that you essentially need one to understand the other and vise-versa. As a whole, Blade Runner 2049 is one stellar looking thought experiment on what it means to be “human,” that’s perfect for new audiences and fans of the old. I’d highly recommend seeing it in on the largest screen available after a quick viewing of the original; though be sure to give yourself several hours to recuperate afterwards. You’ll need it. 

Re-watch Review: OVER THE GARDEN WALL

In the world of entertainment, holiday-specials can be as timeless as the holidays that inspire them, but there’s only one calendar celebration for all things creepy, kooky, mysterious, and spooky: Halloween! Like many Americans living in the 21st century, my understanding of history surrounding the 31st of October has been bogged down by centuries of consumerism and late night monster movie marathons. I know there was a time when Hallowe’en was something more than just an excuse to throw one’s costumed child out into the streets to nag strangers for candy, but that’s what it has become. This is all the more prevalent in most American halloween specials like, It’s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown (1966), The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993), and Trick R Treat (2007); while these classics certainly capture the aesthetic and “rituals” of the holiday they, like many others, are woefully divorced from the true “spirit” of All Hallow’s Eve. But praise be to the Great Pumpkin, himself, for there IS such a special that exists that not only “gets” the Halloween spirit but fully encompasses the zeitgeist of its Americana origins and thy name is: Over the Garden Wall (2014). 

Created by Patrick McHale and produced by Cartoon Network, Over the Garden Wall, is a 10-part animated miniseries showcasing the adventures of two young brothers, Wirt (played by Lord Of The Rings star Elijah Wood) and Greg (Collin Dean). The series begins with the brothers lost in a strange and capricious forest called “The Unknown,” that’s home to many mysteries along with an monster known only as, “The Beast.” Along the way Wirt and Greg come across a wide array of colorful characters that seem inspired by the art of Arnold Lobel (Frog & Toad), Beatrix Potter (Peter Rabbit), and Edward Gorey (The Gashlycrumb Tinies) acting as proverbial angels and demons the brothers must confront, defeat, or help in order to find their way back home. Each 22-minute chapter of this animated odyssey is rife with life lessons and morals that are craftily hidden in plain sight by an incandescent script brought to life by mesmerizing magical-realism and mellifluous folk music. Challenging and/or too-close-to-home subjects are elegantly addressed in ways that never deviate from the plot and always feel inline with the character’s and their motivations. The result is an enriching experience that “tricks” the audience into confronting such topics as: trust, bravery, identity, sovereignty, forgiveness, responsibility, love, and of course, death. Over The Garden Wall is an absolute treasure of storytelling and animation that’s greater than the sum of its brilliant parts.

Elijah Wood as Wirt (left) & Collin Dean as Greg (right)

I’ve viewed OTGW at least half a dozen times by now and my admiration for the series has doubled with each additional viewing. There are simply too many things to enjoy that it’d be madness to try and list them all in a single sitting. At first you’ll become entranced by the ethereal visuals but then the dialogue sucker-punches you with the juxtaposing (yet equally entertaining) banter between our young protagonists; whose camaraderie is the heart and soul of the story. There’s so much characterization given to Wirt and Greg that you not only emphasize with them effortlessly but can also understand their motives, actions, and reactions. To put it simply, everything that occurs in OTGW “makes sense,” which is saying something in a 110-minute long cartoon with talking animals, witches, and mix tapes. But an animated character’s only as good as their voice talent, fortunately the cast is excellent in their roles. Wood’s melodramatic loquaciousness makes for a ridiculously serious and awkward teenager in Wirt; think high-school Dante Alighieri. Dean’s positively delightful and as the ridiculously ridiculous younger brother, Greg, who has the voice of a Peanut’s character with the jubilant energy of Steamboat Willie. Melanie Lynskey’s adorably authoritative as the bluebird Beatrice, Christopher Lloyd chews the scenery wonderfully as the misgiven Woodsman, and Samuel Ramey’s delectably dark and imposing as The Beast. 

I honestly can’t find anything negative to say about this flawless, marquise-cut of sphalerite that is OTGW. Well, there may be a few kind of scary scenes that might be a bit much for really young viewers. Nothing ever goes too far into nightmare-fuel territory but at times it can come close. However, this is a Halloween special, so one has to expect a certain amount of spookiness so long as it’s fun, handled well, and has a happy ending; which it does. It’s almost hard to believe that each episode’s based on an actual circle of Dante’s Inferno, with surprisingly child-friendly attention to detail. In fact, there’s a tremendous amount of references to classic myths and stories regarding the afterlife, which shows just how much effort the series creator’s put into this modern cyclorama of a playful dark fairy tale. Though OTGW was released by a television studio whose prime demographic is targeted at children, its reverence for mature themes told through implication and visual-suggestion makes for a complex narrative that younger audiences can understand (without being traumatized) and older audiences will find engaging (and possibly eye-watering). In fact, it’s because of these themes and allusions to death that captures the real “spirit” of the holiday OTGW surrounds itself with. After all, Halloween in many regards can be seen as a celebration of change where fall transforms into winter, scary becomes fun, and death becomes a topic far from taboo. Over The Garden Wall is an ethereal, knee-slapping, special that’s so perfect in its design and connection to the holiday that it’ll make you want to watch it again and again; as well as force your friends and family to watch it year after year until it’s tradition. 

Re-watch Review: CABIN IN THE WOODS (2012)

I remember when Cabin In The Woods was first released in theaters in the spring of 2012. It’d been a while since I’d seen something scary on the big screen and BloodyDisgusting.com had just given it four-and-a-half skulls (out of five) and called it, “a blood soaked instant classic.” This was the first I’d heard of it and couldn’t remember having ever seen any promotional material. Naturally, I had to go see this “new” modern masterpiece and so I bought my ticket without having even the slightest idea for what I was about to watch. As it so happens, Cabin In The Woods turned out to be for horror what Nickelodeon’s Rango (2011) was for the western; a self-aware meta-comedy stacked to the gills with tropes, themes, and references from the classics that made the genre(s) famous. 

Written (allegedly) in three days by Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard (who also directed), Cabin In The Woods wastes no time revealing its premise; what if Wes Craven’s Scream (1996) was given The Truman Show (1998) treatment but with zombies, demons, and vengeful Lovecraftian elder-gods. The film follows five spry college kids off to spend a relaxing weekend at, where else, a cabin in the woods. Lo and behold the early 20-somethings are unwittingly cast as cliched archetypes for a ritualistic sacrifice closely resembling a 1980’s B-slasher movie where they’re both the stars and victims. Richard Jenkins and Bradley Whitford play the unrepentant stage-managers of the show, Hadley and Sitterson; who, through a NASA-inspired control station manipulate the conditions encompassing the cabin, actors, and monsters in order to produce, what else, a horror movie. 

Richard Jenkins as Sitterson 

Seldom do horror films ever reach high levels of praise over time and and even more seldom do horror-parodies ever reach such status; but with 92% on Rotten Tomatoes and a 72-rating on Metacritic it’s obvious that the film has resonated enough with cinephiles and horror-junkies to create a modern cult classic. This should come as no surprise for the only other noteworthy horror-parody property of the last two decades has been the Scary Movie, movies whose greatest accomplishment was lowering the bar. In all seriousness though, Cabin In The Woods is bloody well written with the narrative functioning on a duel-perspective level; half the runtime focuses on the college kids and the cabin while the other half focuses on the Hadley and Sitterson pulling the proverbial strings of this gruesome human-puppet show. This is a brilliant excuse for the characters to point out the tired old tropes and cliches synonymous with horror films, while offering astute explanations that speaks volumes on the horror community and industry that peddles such escapism. The dialogue’s wonderful and has loads of that good ol’ fashion Joss Whedon banter that shows up in everything the man touches. There’s hardly any boring or dull talking scenes in a film that’s more chatty than most films with a family of pain-worshiping redneck zombies. Drew Goddard’s directing is perfect for the horror fanboy/fangirl that dwells inside us all by paying close attention to detail on all the horror references without ever making it feel forced. At no point to the references detract from the narrative which shows a considerable amount of restart on Goddard’s part but his direction really shines in the third act where all semblance of sanity is cut out and drowned in gallons of blood and rhubarb-red chunks. I won’t ruin the act for those who still haven’t seen it but it should be mentioned that the MVPs of the production are the team members of the art department responsible for the film’s army of nightmare creatures. Also, it’d be a damn shame not to address Fran Kranz’s performance as Marty, the residual stoner of the cast, who knocks it out of the park as the hyper aware fool whose always the funniest person in the room and by far has the best line in the movie; “I kinda dismembered that guy with a trowel.”

"I kinda dismembered that guy with a trowel."

Reverently, Cabin the the Woods is a deep and punctilious well of horror movie knowledge the actual “horror scenes” of the first and second acts can seem a little shallow. The “behind the scenes,” scenes are piquantly executed with the poise and silliness of Woody Allen’s, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex: But Were Afraid to Ask (1972). The “horror” surrounding the cabin, on the other hand, looks and feels watered down and sterile. I know that the film’s thesis is on the conventions of cliched American horror movies but by pointing out and  mocking said cliches the audience is still forced to endure them. It also doesn’t help that the way in which these scenes are presented are done so in the same manner as most modern horror films; digitally polished and lacking teeth. A key trait of most horror classics, (including the ones alluded too in Cabin), is the look of brummagem film that’s gritty and haphazardly edited by one rich only in passion. There’s a charm that comes easy with handmade-looking horror and can help evoke a sordid, realistic tone to combat the strange and bizarre. A problem I have with many big-budget modern horror movies is that they look too clean and perfect. This can make an otherwise fear-inducing scene feel bland or obtuse. Cabin In The Woods, while clearly knowledgable in cinema’s history of horror, looks too polished-to-perfection at times. This makes for more than a few scenes where the action/subjects are more “cool to look at,” then “scary” by any means. It would have been nice to see a more pronounced contrast of the film quality between the “horror” and the “comedy” scenes, but that’s just my two-cents. 

Flaws, aside, Cabin In The Woods is a marvelous conjoined twin of a feature where one sibling’s a guile comedian and the other just saw 2003’s remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and attests that it’s “more scarier than the original.” Still its heart is in the right place so I can’t be too cross with it. This is an emporium of violence, creativity, and commentary that’ll make casual audiences feel smart even if the final product’s just as terrifying as the Robot Chicken sketch that parodies it. Cabin In The Woods is currently available on Netflix and Amazon Prime so check it out this Halloween season. 

MOVIE REVIEW: Cult of Chucky (2017)

The Child’s Play filmology is, in my opinion, the baseline for most people’s understanding of the “killer-doll” sub genre of the American slasher movie. The infamous murder puppet, Chucky, voiced by Lord of the Rings star Brad Dourif, has become a horror-icon among the ranks of Jason, Leatherface, and Frankenstein. Cult of Chucky (2017) the seventh addition of a franchise 29 years in the making; all centered around a two-foot redheaded children’s toy possessed by the soul of a serial killer with an erudition for cutlery and voodoo magic.

In this installment of writer/director Don Mancini’s evil doll ballad, the plot is a direct continuation of the previous direct-to-video hit, Curse of Chucky (2013). Brad Dourif (Chucky), is joined again by his daughter Fiona Dourif who plays Nina: the paraplegic protagonist of Curse, reprising her role as a Jamie Lee Curtis-type à la Halloween II (1981). Nina’s declared responsible for the murders of the last movie and is shipped off to an insane asylum. These horror sequels really do write themselves, don't they Mancini? In all honesty, though, the asylum setting is fitting for a living doll grindhouse feature. After all, the most terrifying aspect of the original Child’s Play (1988) is in the design of its slasher, Chucky. Something that’s key in successful horror films is the victim’s vulnerability and having characters face a fatal threat that’s so ridiculous nobody would ever believe them about it (like a stabby cabbage patch kid) is a brilliant way to force them to face the monster on their own. This in turn makes it easier for Chucky to murder the cast one-by-one in whichever grizzly creative fashion he sees fit. The One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest setting syncs beautifully with the Child’s Play horror formula where the institution becomes an inescapable fortress with no hope for escape.
The use of psychiatric ward orderlies, doctors, and patients as side characters/victims gives Chucky a whole new set of toys to play with. Actual psychological disorders are introduced and explored that really sets the tone for an experience where everyone’s collective insanity builds into a Rube Goldberg machine of madness, gore, and quick-witted dark humor. The writing for these kinds of films are typically passible but the script for Curse has taken it up a notch with progressive undertones and self-aware meta jokes that makes up for most of the Dourif’s dialogue. At first these two choices may come across as an attempt to modernize the Childs Play cinematic universe but Mancini’s no novice to horror; at one point in the film a Nurse named Carlos (played by Zak Santiago) tries to relates to Nina by mentioning his husband with MS. Little anecdotes like these give Cult an unrequested tone of acceptance, which is pleasant to see in a modern film and makes for the gruesome murders even more heart-wrenching to witness. I actually cannot remember the last time I watched a movie with a body count and genuinely hoped for some character’s survival. Brad Dourif’s excellent as always lending his voice to the plastic dwarf that made him famous in video rental stores all across America; whose delivery of the doll’s profane commentary is hilariously existential: after a gorgeously obsequious murder Chucky looks upon his work and earnestly retorts, “sometimes I scare even myself.” The murder scenes are also spectacular and gruesome, respectably. Fiona Dourif and Adam Hurtig (Multiple Malcolm) were lovely in their rolls and while the rest of the performances were solid; nothing to incredible but the acting you’d expect from these independent splatter features.
Cult of Chucky isn’t without its flaws The cinematography can be a bit uninspired at times and the film’s reliance on jump-scares becomes more obnoxious than the majority of

Chucky’s one-liners. There are also a few too many references to the film’s predecessors. At first it was cute but later felt like it was stroking its own ego. It also doesn’t help that there are poignant plot holes that will nag you if you pay too close attention. I also would have liked to see more of Alex Vincent’s character, Andy, but I feel like they’re saving him for the next sequel because like the psycho plushy itself this franchise will never, ever, die.

All in all, Cult of Chucky’s issues, while far from invisible, are hardly a major problem for the film’s overall experience. It’s an upscale B-movie made straight to DVD and video streaming services; just the kind of flick to put on for a drunken Halloween party with some buddies. The humor and deaths should keep the horror junkies happy and the pronoun respect the film has for its own continuity will win over any fans of the franchise already. There’s enough new material to give this installment a unique look and feel from the last features. I won’t spoil anything but be assured that the third act is bonkers in all the right ways and has a twist straight out of Lovecraft’s The Thing on the Doorstep. If you’re looking for a modern midnight monster movie that bares its demented teeth and makes you smile along with it then check out Cult of Chucky on home video or Netflix. 

Theatre Review: A Midsummer Night's Dream (2017)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream Review:

Davis Shakespeare Ensemble, Davis CA, 2017

G. Bruno Fischer

“Shakespeare on Wheels: Humor and Thrills”

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, one of Shakespeare’s most well-known and often performed comedies, portrays the events surrounding the marriage of Thesus (played by Tim Gaffaney), the Duke of Athens, to Hippolyta (Andrea J. Love), the former queen of the Amazons. These events include the misadventures of four young Athenian lovers and a band of amateur actors who are manipulated by the fairies of the forest. 

Davis Shakespeare Ensemble’s 2017 rendition of, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” is an electric bullet-train of a comedy that’s guaranteed to thrill proud Aggies and hardcore Shakespeare fans alike. Director Rob Salas’s vision of Shakespeare’s classic farce has incorporated enough creative liberties to give the show it’s own identity while remaining faithful to the source material. The plot and dialogue is 100% classic while the setting and visuals have been given an upgrade; taking inspiration from the more colorful aspects of present-day Davis.  

This includes nonverbal shout-outs to iconic local business, thrift shop style costume design, and the half-a-million bicycles zipping and zapping across the stage with impeccable coordination and choreography. The addition of bikes alone would’ve made for a unique interpretation, but the inclusion of cellphones, pantomime improvisation, and a brilliant Telenovela-like take on a traditional Shakespearian character turns this performance into an animal of its own design.

The fast, snappy pacing of the actors and dialogue make for a quick-witted series of screwball exchanges. The cohesiveness of the actors was obvious and eliminated any predictable Shakespeare moments or tropes. It’s clear that the cast understood their roles and knew their lines like scripture, but it was the little moments in-between the dialogue when the characters truly shined. Morsel-sized bits of improv provided an immersive human element to an otherworldly display of true love and magic. 

Lysander (Sam Jones) and Demetrius (Kevin Gish) were especially fun to watch when sharing, or rather competing, on stage. Seeing Jones and Gish duking it out with rhymes was just as thrilling as their slapstick sparing, sparking a gut-busting rivalry worthy of any Bugs Bunny & Daffy Duck cartoon. Other standout performances came from the talent behind Puck (Kyle Stoner), Titania/Hipolita (Andrea J. Love), and Snug (Philomena Block) who played their parts with punctilious grace and rapt comedic timing. But by far the MVP of the night was John R. Lewis’s portrayal of the delightfully bombastic Nick Bottom who was so thoroughly hilarious I could feel the tears running down my leg. 

There might have been one or two skateboard tricks too many in an otherwise electrifying “Shakespeare on wheels” production. I also was slightly disappointed in Bottom’s transformation. The most famous headdress of classic theatre was given a makeover to fit in with DSE’s contemporary Davis mise-en-scene so it “fits” the tone of the production. But in a show with psychedelic hipster-fairies the grand reveal felt a wee bit underwhelming. I won’t spoil it, but I will say that Lewis still dazzled through it like a glitter bomb in a diamond mine. 

What originally made for a light but clever comedy about fairies harassing youths has blossomed into a turbo-charged side-splitter for modern audiences. It’s an eclectic production that effortlessly switches back and forth between smart and silly like a perfect pendulum making for one of the most entertaining adaptations of Shakespeare I’ve seen in years. Go see it.