Category: Trauma Au Courant

While I was reading up on the SHIRLEY TEMPLE fantasy flick THE BLUE BIRD, I found that consensus held that its financial failure was due to the fact that audiences could not stomach seeing SHIRLEY in an "unsympathetic" role.

We'll get to ROB ZOMBIE's DIRECTOR CUT of HALLOWEEN II in a moment but first I'd like to know what's so darn unsympathetic about SHIRLEY's character Mytyl in THE BLUE BIRD…

Let me break down Mytyl's "bratty" behavior for you; when the film opens we find her putting forth great effort into capturing a bird and then finally succeeding. On the way home with her prize some girl who claims to be ill suggests that Mytyl hand it over it to her, and Myty rightfully declines. Later, Mytyl comes across a mansion where folks are living it up at a Christmas party. She points out that those who have to work the event are having zero fun.

Once home, Mytyl accesses her surroundings and feels great dissatisfaction She demands to know why her digs are so cheap when others are living high on the hog. Mytyl refuses to be placated with the old "others have it worse then you so shut up " spiel. The girl can't help it, she wants more.

That's about it, the rest of the movie she's helping strangers find their lost belongings, yodeling for people's entertainment and playing therapist to a bunch of unborn children. She even hands over the bird to the sick girl eventually, so really why the hell is she so darn "unsympathetic"?

Is it because she expressed her unhappiness and dissatisfaction? Is it because she voiced her discontent? Is it because she had the audacity to stop tap-dancing for other peoples benefit and wonder what's in it for her? Audiences want Mytyl (and SHIRLEY really) to shut up and tow the line; they want those dimples to shine.

All of this was on my mind when I sat down to revisit Haddonfield with the director's cut of H2. Now, I defended the theatrical cut for its schlocky, rough around the edges grindhouse charm and general off kilter bizarreness but I'm now prepared to unabashedly call the director's cut one of my favorite films of last year. It quite simply fascinates the hell out of me. Is Michael Myers wearing a hoodie in this? Do they show his face? You know what? I couldn't care less about that guy at this point. I'm intrigued, enamored and obsessed with this cut of the film because Laurie Strode takes off her own mask here and reveals her rage. Is she sympathetic? Does she yodel and tap dance for the audience? The time for keeping up a polite front is over. Laurie Strode is seriously fucked up and whether you like her or not is beside the point.

I realize that the director's cut of H2 will not alter the opinion of those who hated the theatrical cut, but my point is that the very best parts of this movie were extracted from that version in order to make Laurie more…here's that word again "sympathetic."

Obviously this is NOT the same Laurie we met in 1978, but let's say for a moment that she is, and for over 30 years this character has behaved for the audience. She has taken it on the chin, acted the hero and came back for more. Let's say that Laurie Strode in any incarnation is the ultimate embodiment of every horror victim, let's say she represents every screamer there ever was…

Now she wants to tell you what it's like to live in fear. Now she wants to tell you how maddening it is that she's expected to go back to normal. She wants to reveal that she can't even stand to look at her best friend's face because it is a constant reminder of her pain. She's pissed off, she's angry, confused, and she's brimming over with self-loathing. She wants to hurt herself and she wants to hurt the ones who stand by her. These feelings are impossible to neatly box away. The past constantly bleeds into the present. Hallucinations parade through the waking day. She identifies with her attacker, who else on earth could possibly understand the fury brewing inside her?

All of the above is consistent with the symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder but what the hell is it doing in a slasher sequel? Wouldn't we rather see Laurie transformed into a warrior? Why isn't she MACGYVER-ing traps or sleuthing through microfilms? How about an archery training montage?

Apparently audiences don't want to see Laurie's pain and even if they could withstand the repulsiveness of her vulnerability you can't possibly expect them to accept the ugliness of her guilt and the stench of her anger. …that's just silly. If horror movies, particularly slasher films are built to thrill teenagers then why the hell is this one such a boner killer?

H2, unlike just about every horror sequel I can think of, actually stops and asks Laurie how she's doing. Laurie answers honestly but it's not what we want to hear. How unsympathetic, what a selfish victim to not hide away her anguish.

Sure big bro Mike stomping on a head is alarming but the real horror in this movie comes from the idea that the old idiom about "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" only works if you're seven feet tall. The sad reality for Laurie is that the "whatever" that didn't kill her only made her suffering (and med dosage) stronger. She's a 19 year old who lost her parents, several friends, got the tar beat out of her and ultimately had to shoot a guy in the face to save her own hide; when's she gonna get her act together?

Even more intriguing (to me) than Laurie's down hill dementia-dive are the dynamics of her tumultuous relationship with best bud Annie Bracket (DANIELLE HARRIS), which was lightly skimmed over in the theatrical, or as I like to call it "mall" version. I get why they dropped this stuff for the Friday night crowd, dialogue and drama is teen boy kryptonite but it's the beating heart of the movie and it makes Annie's ultimate fate that much more devastating. In other words, with the added addition of roughly 15 minutes of extra footage, I'm not feeling very guilty about this guilty pleasure anymore.

ZOMBIE has a talent for falling between barstools; too violent for this crowd, too dime store pretentious for that one. It just so happens I enjoy that no man's land. I wouldn't disagree that Z's trash-attack approach was an unnecessary crutch but that doesn't change the fact that he makes a genuine point of grafting frequently shirked emotional levels on to the slasher template. It's actually pretty amazing to observe MARGOT KIDDER star of the inaugural slasher BLACK CHRISTMAS attempting to coach Laurie on how to function post assailment and getting a face full of "fuck you" in return.

With his long hair and fuzzy face you'd think hobo Mike was a stand in for the director but I think he's just a decoy. ZOMBIE is really doppelgang-banging neo-Strode. Look at them, two defensive, discordant peas in a pod, up against the wall with something to express that nobody wants to hear. Remember kids, opinions are like assholes, the more you expose your own, the less friends you have.

O.K, I'm rambling here. What was my point? Oh, yeah HALLOWEEN 2: THE DIRECTOR's CUT and THE BLUE BIRD (1940) are the perfect double feature! They both have petulant protagonists, specifically colored animal symbolism and a ghostly fairy lady leading the way. Don't believe me? Well, I'm half past give a shit. I'm sure ROB, Laurie and Mytle understand.

Just when I thought I was too jaded to appreciate the sub-genre of faux-reality horror, in slinks the not very creepy sounding but very creepy indeed, LAKE MUNGO. My little MUNGO is such a well-crafted film that its unauthentic nature becomes absolutely irrelevant. Seriously, this is one of the best documentaries I have ever seen, who cares if it's not real? Who needs "real" anyway? Art has been cleaning up reality's mess since the beginning of time. Feel free to quote me on this; art is reality's janitor. Why am I talking about art? Because that's what this MUNGO film is, that's why.

I blame part of my abhorrence towards PARANORMAL ACTIVITY on envious outrage. How dare that film dispense creep-cookies to everyone who stood in line except me? I like to get spooked too ya' know. Well, PARANORMAL ACTIVITY, I don't need you or your stinkin' creep-cookies, I found a less shaky fake-y with characters deeper than a Petri dish, a story that took more than five minutes to conjure and egads, something to say besides "boo!" and yea, it deigned to feed even little old me some delicious creep-cookies. In fact, it pretty much shoveled creep cookies down my throat and I liked it…I liked it! I liked it like Carrie White's mama likes whiskey breath.

LAKE MUNGO takes the mockumentary approach (think CURSE OF THE BLAIR WITCH rather than THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT) while telling the tale of the Palmer family (DAVID LYNCH fans, that surname is no accident!) who have lost their daughter to a drowning in the lake of the film's title. Through interviews and the presentation of assorted memorabilia we get an intimate front row seat as the family's surviving members concurrently fight to accept their loss, speculate that her spirit may still remain and discover ugly truths about the deceased. MUNGO goes back and forth suggesting that the supernatural may or may not be involved but it hardly matters, as the Palmers are truly haunted in every other aspect. In fact, the film's coda seems to be, "You don't have to make this crap up…look around you!"

This is the type of rare horror film that actually has the cajones mas grandes to look death in the eye. Whatever unseen entity may be shadowing the Palmers, the family has much more profound things to express to it than, "Get off my lawn!" When we are made privy through diary entries to the dead daughter's precognition that something is getting closer and that she may be circling life's drain, the atmosphere literally floods with existential dread. Ultimately, first time director JOEL ANDERSON understands that a picture is worth a thousand words and we are shown one image near the film's close that is such a doozy that all thousand of those words is "Yikes!"

Usually the biggest hurdle for a film that portends to be real to jump is the acting, nothing bursts the reality bubble faster than an over enthusiastic ad libber and plot progressing behavior that simply doesn't ring true. MUNGO's cast skates by these issues with ease, nobody is less than authentic and ma and pa Palmer are pretty damn astounding in their shell-shocked lethargy. Now, to be honest there are several pieces to the overall puzzle that do not fit in as smoothly as the rest, but by the time the credits roll the overall sensation it leaves you with overpowers any quibbles. I don't want to curse this movie with too much praise but if you're looking for a highly original ghost tale and you appreciate your scares whispered in your ear quietly rather than dumped in your lap like a plate of spaghetti this is for you.

LAKE MUNGO has been selected as part of this year's AFTER DARK HORRORFEST and I recommend you go see it if you can. Being that it deals with accepting tragic loss rather than posturing and preserving one's haul, I doubt it will find as wide an audience as PARANORMAL ACTIVITY did; but yeah, I'm saying that it's a far superior, vastly more satisfying film. You may not feel an affinity with all of the sorrow and grief on display, but isn't it the biggest creep-cookie of all to know that inevitably someday you will?

Regardless of the sparkling buzz, I have been avoiding THE BURROWERS. Yes, I'm shallow, the DVD case turned me off and I feared it was going to be some dusty, sepia-toned worm-run-amuck movie (although come to think of it, that doesn't sound so bad.) What finally piqued my curiosity was learning that it spawned from the mind of J.T. PETTY who made the compact, claustrophobic and marvelously against the grain MIMIC 3: THE SENTINEL. (Add that fact to the film's current hand reach availability on Fearnet and my being semi-voluntarily confined to an ALF snuggie and you have yourself a sealed deal.)

Hooray for my noodle limp resolve, THE BURROWERS is worm free, my new crush JOCELIN DONAHUE (THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL) is in the first scene (though not much more), and rather than being crusty and dusty, it's a beautifully shot film that answers that question nobody ever asked, " What if TERRENCE MALICK directed ALIEN?"

Now before you slip on your Sketchers and run to the video store, I mean mailbox, I mean computer or remote (if you should also have Fearnet) let me warn you that this movie paces itself much like a classic western so it requires a certain amount of patience. This means no squirmy monster dessert until you've eaten all your peas! The peas here are pretty tasty and fortifying though, you might just like them.

When a frontier family disappears in the dead of night it's reckoned by all that it must be the work of Indians. A search party is formed that includes a young Irish immigrant named Fergus (likable MIMIC 3 star KARL GEARY) whose heart belongs to one of the missing. As the group of men ventures further into the wild they discover that their assumptions are way off and that something sinister is UNDER foot.

As if creatures that poison and then bury their victims underground only to chomp on their "soft bits" later were not bad enough, our rag tag cavalry is plagued with willful ignorance, covert agendas and a douche-y guy who purposely mistranslates the native tongue to suit his own needs. Yep, a bit more effort in the communication department may have saved some lives here folks, that and a smidge of respect for the land. See, the "burrowers" used to dine on buffalo but with no more buffalo around eating humans is their only recourse. Don't judge, desperation can make you eat anything; how else can you explain airplane food? (ba-dum-bump!)

THE BURROWERS slowly unspools the suspense, like the aforementioned ALIEN it mischievously plays with darkness and shadow to keep the viewer on edge. There's also a rather compelling drama here about a group of men playing king of the hill to their own detriment. It even ultimately touches upon accepting loss and the fact that some things just can't be made right again thanks to the larger powers at play. It also stars the one and only CLANCY BROWN, maybe I should have mentioned that in the first place.

I'm on board for any horror movie (or psychological thriller) that takes place on a boat. Tell me that the movie in question is directed and written by CHRISTOPHER SMITH, the guy responsible for both the too often miscounted CREEP and the gruesomely hilarious SEVERANCE, and I'm that much more excited. I'm not sure I understood everything that took place in TRIANGLE and yes, there were moments where I found the film, due to its construction, to be teetering toward tedium but what do you know, it's quite a hard film to shake out of your head.

TRIANGLE introduces us to Jess (MELISSA GEORGE) a young mother of an autistic boy who accepts the offer to take a boat trip with a potential new beau and his buddies. Soon, an ominous storm kicks the crap out of said boat and the survivors are forced to take refuge in a seemingly abandoned ocean liner where the only R&R encountered is "run" and "repeat"(thanks to a masked assailant with a gun.) Sounds simple, but trust me it's not. If there's anything more complex then the ocean liner's maze of corridors, it's what's going on in Jess's fractured psyche. Girl brought baggage.

SMITH smuggles on some familiar asides (including an eerie encounter with a room marked 237 courtesy of THE SHINING), but there are several eye burning visuals that are as fresh as they come. Without ruining anything (you'll notice I did not include the film's trailer here; it's a exercise in T.M.I.), I'll tell ya, one shot, which involves one of the films victims crawling through a mass of past victims, is a real brain-rattling stunner. SMITH can be a bit of a magpie, collecting usable bits from past films but he admirably twists them into forms you have not encountered before more times than not. The whole bright, blanched look of the film is a welcome respite from the usual gritty grunge.

Since I don't want to speak too much of the trippy, ROD SERLING would be proud course TRIANGLE ends up taking, let us talk a moment about MELISSA GEORGE who you might remember from 2005's AMITYVILLE HORROR and 30 DAYS OF NIGHT. I admit that my first thought upon seeing her on screen was "Oh, RADHA MITCHELL must have been too busy that day." But damn if GEORGE doesn't deliver one of the best performances in a horror movie I've seen all year. She takes a difficult character, one that's almost frustratingly obtuse and somehow you don't want to leave her side. In many instances her facial expressions are all the audience has to go on and director SMITH uses them to his advantage repeatedly. Whatever TRIANGLE's faults (it does have its lax moments) it showcases an absolutely winning marriage between director and star.

One shouldn't be too surprised that ALEX & DAVID PASTOR's melancholy road movie CARRIERS didn't exactly become a theatrical sensation during its very limited run a few months back. Unlike star CHRIS PINE's other summer vehicle STAR TREK, the apocalyptic CARRIERS hardly offers itself to be promoted on collect them all Burger King glasses. Although it does take a moment to partake in the mandatory end of the world "hooray, we can do anything we want!" frolic scene (our survivors have fun smashing windows by hitting golf balls into them) CARRIERS is more interested in the down side of the end of the world. It's a reverse ZOMBIELAND with zero zombies.

Speaking of Burger King I'm the type who will throw my Whopper in the trash if someone sneezes within a 50 foot radius of it so the basic fear of contagion that drives CARRIERS is not wasted on me. There are some tense squirmy moments for all you fellow hypochondriacs out there, but delivering jolty shocks of paranoia is a side dish to the real meat and potatoes served. Don't hold your breath for the usual end of the world fetishized destruction either, the brothers PASTOR persuasively relay the idea that human relationships are far more fascinating than explosions. This is a movie that has some serious respect for its characters.

PIPER PERABO is a long way from COYOTE UGLY, her bond with PINE, rife with knowing jabs of mutual understanding convinces the viewer of its authenticity early on. They are two of four survivors we get to know intimately. (CHRISTOPHER MELONI tags along for a while too, as a heartbreakingly distraught father.) These are real people who sometimes come off as far less than heroic, but the situations that they find themselves in will have you wondering if doing the "right" thing is always the smart thing. This is a world where human compassion may mean death and where betraying those close to you may be your only means of survival. Ultimately though, comprehension of the high stakes involved does little to weaken the wretchedness of watching once allies abandoned when the virus tags them "it."

With its PG-13 rating and reluctance to beat its chest, CARRIERS could be mistaken for a timid film but truly, it's atypically aggressive when it comes to avoiding moral shortcuts. Rather than paint a false universe where love is the be-all cure-all, it repeatedly confronts the moment in time where one must turn their back on others in order to move forward. Who needs fireworks, Burger King glasses or even a successful theatrical run? CARRIERS proves that it's sometimes more absorbing to watch the world end with a whimper rather than a bang.

INK is a glaringly original, "Fake it ‘till you make it" shoestring budgeted indie that audaciously envisions itself as a grand scale, epic fantasy. If you take a leap of faith and hold tight to its coat tails, it will show you a fascinating parallel universe the likes of which you've never seen; if you are rigidly resistant to its unapologetic non Hollywood esthetic and sometimes woeful dependence on community theater acting skills, you're likely to be kicked to the curb and left empty handed. This is a movie that fittingly feels built to detect and separate the stubbornly cynical naysayers from the hopeful dreamers in its audience.

When I was just a wee sprout, my Granny felt the need to inform me that when I was having a good dream an angel was sitting on my bed and telling me a story (so far so good) but when I was having a bad dream, a demon was doing the honors. Turns out it's not a very soothing idea to wake up from a bad dream as a child believing that a demon was just in your room, but INK reveals that it does make for a compelling starting point of a movie. Little Emma (QUINN HUNCHAR) not only wakes to find such a demon still lurking, but is also kidnapped by him and drug into a creepily beautiful netherworld.

Emma has been stolen by "Ink," a troll like creature stuck in a spiritual limbo who plans to use her as a bargaining chip to join the ranks of the dark side. Not so into his plan is Liev (JESSICA DUFFY) a good guy, guardian angel type who vows to save her. That's my simplified take anyway; the movie itself offers an impressively dense mythology involving Incubi, storytellers, pathfinders and other dream world denizens that I can't get into here because it's borderline TOLKIEN. Really, INK feels like an adaptation of a decades long comic book that you never heard of. Those susceptible to fetishizing sci-fi/fantasy minutia get your pens out and plan multiple viewings.

Although INK's whole backyard stage production of LABYRINTH vibe would be enough to recruit me as a fan, the fact is (and I have to tread softly here as to not ruin anything) it's ultimately damn profound. Unlike the many cult films it's bound to be compared to, what's at stake in this universe is nothing less momentous than the human soul. Don't be surprised if you are left contemplating just how far life's indignities have veered you off course from who you once were.

Writer, director and composer JAMIN WINANS is apparently fearless. If there are any limitations to low budget filmmaking he either didn't get the memo or refuses to acknowledge it. If he was ever an underage drinker, I'm sure he was never carded, so convincing is he that he deserves to walk among the big kids. I don't have any money, but if I did I'd be investing it all in his next film. It's not every day you witness straw spun into gold.

Like all great things INK is too unusual to be loved unanimously, but something tells me that the depth of the passion it's sure to inspire in some is all the acceptance it needs.

Note: Special thanks to reader Chris for telling me about INK!

God bless PONTYPOOL. I've been thinking lately about what a slobbering dope I am for eye candy. I can't help it, I'm a visual person. Is it shiny? Does it sparkle? I can overlook many a flaw in a film as long as it gives my retinas a hootchie-coochie dance. PONTYPOOL, though handsomely shot in a bare bones way, would be equally effective to a blind man (and was, in actuality, simultaneously produced as a radio show.) It enters your ear like that crazy worm from WRATH OF KHAN and it burrows into your brain like a corkscrew. Audiophiles listen closely, have I got a film for you.

Adapted by TONY BURGESS from his novel, PONTYPOOL CHANGES EVERYTHING and directed by BRUCE McDONALD (HARD CORE LOGO and the now suddenly interesting to me, TRACEY FRAGMENTS), PONTYPOOL is scholar smart, stoner weird and ten times more interesting than most of the porridge you've been served this year. A brain diddler from beginning to end, there are moments as soul chilling as a schizoid audio hallucination and some that are as jet black funny as a funeral parlor giggle fit. You may think you've seen it all as far as horror films go, but have you heard it all?

Pitch perfect STEPHEN McHATTIE stars as gruff Pontypool, Canada radio personality Grant Mazzy, whose normal broadcast is interrupted by reports of mad herds of people behaving ostensibly as zombies. Slowly it is unfolded that a virus is using language as a host and infecting anyone who hears certain key words, particularly words of endearment. Once infected the individual, out of frustration of not being able to express themselves, eventually comes to the conclusion that the only solution is to chew through the mouth of an uninfected person. Oh, and if a victim is not found, they vomit blood and die. Have you ever heard of anything like this before? Me neither.

Inspired a bit by H.G. WELLS' famous WAR OF THE WORLDS broadcast, a lot of the action here takes place in the audience's noggin. BE WARNED not all of you are going to dig this approach. If you had a disappointing experience with say, WILLIAM FRIEDKIN's BUG (which was based on a stage play), you may want to avoid this one. Personally, I was head over heels with this movie's adoration of semantics. Words are dissected and blown apart, poetry is made into garbage and garbage into poetry, meaning is ripped to shreds and communication is enemy and savior. Some call this a zombie movie but no, that word, like so many others, is wrong.

Thank you PONTYPOOL for gifting me an original horror experience. At times I thought I was watching the silliest, most preposterous joke and at other times I thought you were talking directly to me and that I might get infected myself. Either I'm going crazy or you PONTYPOOL are a genius. I can't tell you which because I don't know what either word means anymore.