Fessenden’s Blackout

Charley Barrett wants to be the righteous amateur investigator fighting the evil real estate developer, like in China Town, or thousands of other movies. Instead, he is a werewolf, like Larry Talbot in The Wolf Man. Heck, he even lives in Talbot Falls. Since cleaning up, he no longer gets blackout drunk, but he still has no memory of full moon nights. A serial killer has been stalking Talbot Falls and Barrett knows he is the beast in Larry Fessenden’s Blackout, which releases today on VOD.

Even though his old man was Hammond’s lawyer, Barrett has long crusaded against the local real estate tycoon. To make things even more awkward, he was dating Hammond’s daughter, Sharon. He cleaned himself for her, only to break things off for her protection when he became a lycanthrope. Compounding Barrett’s guilt, Hammond has been accusing an innocent immigrant of his werewolf murders, to demonize the local Mexican community. Yes, Blackout is really that in-your-face didactic.

Blackout starts slow and craters towards the end, but it has some decent werewolf stuff in its bloody mid-sectiont. Much to Barrett’s horror, he learns it is not just the full moon that transforms him. The moon is also sufficiently luminous to do the trick on the nights before and after. Of course, he seeks a tragic but necessarily final solution like Lon Chaney Jr. in the Universal Monster movies, but his plan crumbles into a comedy of horrors.

Horror genre diva Barbara Crampton looks half her age in her all too brief scene as Kate, an attorney advising Barrett. However, horror dabbler Joe Swanberg is largely wasted as Sharon’s bland new boyfriend. Yet, arguably the most memorable “cameo” comes from the late William Hurt, lead actor Alex Hurt’s real-life father, who is pictured in photos of Barrett’s deceased dad.

Delpy’s The Countess

Her notorious beauty regimen still inspires horror films to this day. This is not necessarily one of them, even though it tells the story of Elizabeth Bathory. Director, screenwriter, and star Julie Delpy tries to give the Bathory story a feminist spin, but since she still bathes on the blood of virgins, it is not so persuasive. Regardless, Bathory definitely gets the benefit of modern revisionism in Delpy’s The Countess, which screens Tuesday as part of the Film Fantastique: Lust and Blood series at the New York FIAF.

Erzsebet Bathory was betrothed at birth to Count Ferenc Nasady, whom she never really cares for, but since he is away most of the time fighting the Turks, the arrangement largely suits her. She spends much of her time with Anna Darvulia, her alchemical advisor and sometimes lesbian lover. After Nasady’s untimely death (perhaps poisoned by the king, who was much in the Count’s debt), Bathory is pursued by the powerful Count Gyorgy Thurzo, but she prefers the romantic company of his son Istvan (the future rector of University of Wittenberg, the one in Germany).

Thanks to the Count Thurzo’s machinations, Bathory unfairly believes her lover has spurned her. This sends her spiraling into madness, marked by a toxic vanity. Blaming her wrinkles for her misery, she happens upon a macabre solution after beating an unfortunate servant (thanks to the splatter). The subsequent horrors she commits will make her a legend. They also make her vulnerable to Count Thurzo’s power play.

Istvan Thruzo’s “history is written by the victors” wrap-around narration suggests the entire Bathory legend might be a fabrication, but the murders and bloodlettings Delpy depicts graphically suggest otherwise. Surely, a feminist re-telling of Bathory tale must sympathize first and foremost with her young, virginal victim, whose peasant-status made them easy prey for the Countess, right? Right? (Just like feminists should be screaming in outrage at the way Hamas viciously weaponized sexual violence against innocent Israeli women and children? Right? Right??)

Yet, except for the Thurzo’s voiceovers, there is little that inspires sympathy for Bathory. In fact, it is an intriguing performance by Delpy, precisely because it is so cold-blooded, so to speak. Frankly, this film would have worked better if it leaned into the horror of her mass-murder more forcefully. Arguably, Delpy mismatched her great performance of merciless villainy with a contemporary pseudo-feminist, anti-establishment screenplay. Ironically, by embracing this perspective, she does herself a great disservice as a thesp.

Indie Road Trip: The Yellow Handkerchief

Brett Hanson weathered the storm of Katrina from the relative safety of his prison cell. Released after six years, he tentatively faces his new life, unsure if his wife will take him back, or whether she even should. Hoping to stay out of trouble on the trip home, he logically hitches a ride with two troubled teenagers in Udayan Prasad’s The Yellow Handkerchief (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Hanson is not really a violent man. He just seems to be his own worst natural disaster. Unfortunately, he is a repeat offender, who was probably fortunate to have made parole. He was definitely lucky to have won over his wife May, considering how rocky their courtship was, as the audience sees in multiple flashbacks. Though not entirely comfortable in the role, he acts as an unlikely de facto chaperon for his traveling companions, while ruminating on all his past mistakes.

Gordy is a squirrely kid, who is on the road because his family does not want to deal with him (and it’s hard to blame them). Martine is a popular high school student, who heads south in the hopes that her absentee parents will eventually notice she is missing. While Hanson closely guards his own secrets, she feels an instinctive connection with the world weary ex-con.

What could have easily degenerated into a parade of indie road movie clichés is truly elevated by William Hurt’s powerful but admirably understated performance. True to his character’s strong, silent reserve, he still clearly conveys the lifetime’s worth of pain and regret Hanson carries around with him. Likewise, Maria Bello projects the right vulnerability and hardscrabble dignity as May. Kristen Stewart, a tweener superstar from the Twilight films, is actually a pleasant surprise, giving a mature and complex performance as the needy Martine. However, Eddie Redmayne’s Gordy is annoying beyond any reasonable credibility. Whenever he is on screen, you would think Yellow is an extended commercial for Ritalin.

Adapting Pete Hamill’s early 1970’s short story to post-Katrina Louisiana, Prasad capitalizes on the Pelican State’s atmospheric environment, but never really embraces the distinctive local music (Cajun, Zydeco, jazz, blues, swampy R&B), opting instead for a conventionally cinematic soundtrack. Sensitively lensed by cinematographer Chris Menges, it all looks right, but sounds kind of dull.

As the odd trio speeds down towards the Gulf Coast, Yellow hurtles towards an unapologetically emotional payoff. Yes, it is absolutely manipulative, but it works thanks to the grit and honesty of Hurt’s performance, which could even be considered Oscar worthy, if it were not in an indie movie released in the month of February. He makes the film what it is—ultimately a modest, nice little film about human frailty. It opens tomorrow in New York at the City Cinemas 1-2-3 and the Regal Union Square.

(Photo Credit: Eric Lee / Samuel Goldwyn Films)