Offseason, on Shudder

Apparently, this small island community has brought New England-style weirdness to a Florida key. It would seem even cults built around Lovecraftian horror find the Florida economy more inviting. Marie Aldrich’s movie star mother made it clear she never wanted to return, not even to be buried. That is why the daughter was so shocked when her mother’s will stipulated she be laid to rest in the island’s cemetery. It also makes her especially annoyed when she is summoned to the tourist trap island, by the news her mother’s grave was desecrated. Of course, someone or something wants to lure her there in Mickey Keating’s Offseason, which premieres Friday on Shudder.

When Aldrich arrives with George Darrow, her close-to-being ex, the groundskeeper is nowhere to be found. The locals are not exactly friendly either. Darrow is understandably eager to leave the island before the drawbridge closes (or rather opens) for the duration of the offseason. However, a strange force keeps steering them into dead-ends.

Keating is very definitely an up-and-down filmmaker, but Offseason might his most successful film yet, in terms of crafting mood and atmosphere, even more so than Psychopaths and Darling. It is also probably his most polished film, so far.

There is definitely a lot of Shadow Over Innsmouth vibes going on. The flashbacks are mostly padding, but the film definitely mines the tight little island setting for maximum impact. Production designer Sabrena Allen-Biron notably contributes some memorably eerie analog sets and trappings that really give the film a distinctive look and texture.

Tribeca ’17: Psychopaths

They are sort of like the supernatural slasher version of sleeper cells. Convicted serial killer Henry Earl Starkweather claims his infernal soul has possessed hundreds of ordinary people, whom he has allowed to continue their everyday lives. However, his execution seems like the perfect opportunity to flip his own switch and let loose bloody chaos. Turns out old Henry Earl wasn’t kidding. He duly unleashes a night of terror in Mickey Keating’s Psychopaths, which premiered at the 2017 Tribeca Film Festival.

Between the most idiosyncratic narrator since Sam Elliott’s Stranger in The Big Lebowski and Starkweather’s eerie gloating final interview, we learn the psycho’s spawn are indeed wreaking havoc, but a scarred contract killer wearing a plastic Archie mask is hunting the predators. Apparently, he has a personal grudge against Starkweather, so he is hellbent on cleansing the earth of his seed.

Keating focuses on four or five of these proxy killers. Presumably, the established “Midnight Strangler” is not one of them, because he has the misfortune of picking up Blondie, a stripper under Starkweather’s sway. There is also a corrupt cop out there adding to the body count, but the most distinctive killer has to be Alice, who fancies herself a glamorous tragedy queen from a 1950s Douglas Sirk film.

In terms of vibe and mise en scène, Psychopaths is Keating's most accomplished film yet, even surpassing the distinctive Darling. Visually it is absolutely arresting and some of the horror-action sequences are pretty mind-blowing. It is also a huge plus having the great Larry Fessenden periodically pop up to make heavy pronouncements as Starkweather. The problem is Psychopaths ends rather suddenly and inconclusively, like a film shoot that ran out of money. The only character arc Keating brings to a conclusion is Alice’s, which he wraps up rather unsatisfyingly.

Still, it would be wasteful of genre fans to focus on Psychopaths shortcomings instead of its merits. Keating induces such a dreamlike state throughout the film, viewers will literally stumble out on wobbly legs. It is a strange, raggedy film, but it has sinister potency. Perhaps Keating left so many psycho-puppets unaccounted for, because he intends to return to this world. If so, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. Recommended for horror fans disinclined towards pedantry or tidiness, Psychopaths will definitely haunt the festival circuit after premiering at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Mickey Keating’s Darling

No question about it, the most dangerous gig in genre cinema is house-sitting. Take for instance this tony brownstone townhouse in Lower Manhattan. The last caretaker committed suicide, plunging head first off the balcony. It has given the stately home a bit of a reputation. However, the new house-sitter might be carrying her on bad vibes as baggage in Mickey Keating’s Darling (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Do not worry about anything you might have heard, her lady-who-lunches boss tells her, before leaving for the season. “Madame” thinks she is lucky to get “Darling” at so short notice, but there might be a reason the skittish young woman was so super-available. At least, she is not likely to throw loud parties. We soon see she is much more inclined to go quietly crazy instead.

Like the Dakota in Rosemary’s Baby (a clear touchstone for Keating), there seems to be something palpably off about this building. The mysterious appearance of an upside-down cross pendant and a heavy looking Latin invocation scratched near the head of Darling’s bed certainly raise our suspicions. The mysterious locked room would seem to be a clincher. However, we should question the validity of everything we see through her POV.

Darling wears its Repulsion influences on its sleeve, but the extra, added demonic elements, a la Rosemary, keep viewers completely off balance and thoroughly creeped out. We are keenly aware both the caretaker and the property have big, messy backstories, but we only get suggestive glimpses of either. Mac Fisken’s severely stylish black-and-white cinematography puts us in the right mind space, making the surroundings look beautiful in an icily hostile kind of way.

Lauren Ashley Carter must have the widest eyes in the business, eclipsing even Amanda Seyfried, but that is perfect for Darling. One minute we think we are looking into the doey eyes of an innocent naïf, but seconds later we are squirming under the piercing stare of a likely psychopath—except maybe not. Somehow, Carter and Keating manage to maintain the uncertainty nearly the entire film (an admittedly brief seventy-eight minutes). Likewise, Brian Morvant is ambiguously destabilizing but always eerily effective in context as either her tormentor or victim. Of course, as a Glass Eye Pix production, there is also a Larry Fessenden cameo to look forward to.

Although the protagonist rarely steps outside of the sinister building, Darling is still a very New York film, sharing a kinship with documentaries like The Wolf Pack. A lot of weird stuff goes on in close proximity to us here, but behind closed doors. Indeed, there is nothing really forcing her to stay, yet she does anyway. After unloading both barrels into Keating’s Carnage Park, it is nice to be able to call out Darling’s considerable merits. (Seriously, Pat Healy’s character is still deeply offensive.) Highly accomplished and deeply unsettling, in the right way, Darling is definitely recommended for discerning horror fans when it opens this Friday (4/1) in New York, at the Village East.