Ti West’s X, on DVD

This is one of the few horror movies that makes Airbnb look like a good idea, because it leaves behind a digital paper-trail, should guests disappear. It also makes a good case for voting Libertarian, so a libertine, aspiring dirty-movie king like Wayne Gilroy wouldn’t have to shoot his skin flick in East Jesus, Texas, for reasons of economics and regulations. Alas, his hosts will be keenly interested in what he and his cast get up to in Ti West’s X, which releases today on DVD.

Maxine Minx is convinced she is a star and Gilroy’s Farmer’s Daughter will be the vehicle to launch her career. They will be filming in Howard and Pearl's rustic guest house, because it is so out-of-the-way. The script is exactly what you think it is, but Gilroy hired director-cameraman RJ Nichols to make it look better than the competition. Inevitably, there will be dissension in the group, making them easy pickings for Pearl, a horny old prune, who resents the casts youthfulness and erotic gratification. Alas, her loyal husband Howard can no longer satisfy her, but he can her dump bodies in the pond, for the alligator to feast on.

Yes, Ti West goes there, over and over. Obviously, there is a fair amount of sex, but it really portrays sex-addiction and -obsession as lethally destructive forces. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre influence is hard to miss, but the addition of the alligator leads to some of the film’s best scenes. West uses some striking overhead shots to tease viewers with its potential menace.

Despite the televangelist who appears to preach non-stop on local television 24-7-365, X does not play the card demonizing fundamentalist Christianity the way viewers might expect, at least not yet (the promised prequel could be a different story). Frankly, the first half is surprisingly restrained, but West skillfully builds the tension.

West is the sort of filmmaker who seems to run hot (In the Valley of Violence, The Sacrament, The Innkeepers) and cold (House of the Devil, The ABC’s of Death). Somehow, X manages to be half-and-half. Its richly textured 1970s tackiness nicely celebrates the history and style of early slashers. However, the smarminess of Pearl’s sexual jealousy gets tiresome. It is the kind of thing that gets a ruckus response at a midnight screening, but quickly loses its novelty during the course of a home viewing.

Still, Brittany Snow and Scott Mescudi have the right genre-appropriate attitude and energy, as Minx’s co-stars, Bobby-Lynne and Jackson Hole. James Gaylyn is also all kinds of cool as the Sheriff stepping through the gore during the in media res opening. However, the detachment of Mia Goth’s Minx (partly drug-induced) makes her a hard presumed “final girl” to root for.

Ti West’s In the Valley of Violence

Now its proximity to the Mexican border only gives it a comparative advantage in crime and exploitation. All the decent folk have long since left, but the stranger who rides into town is no choirboy. He is not looking for trouble, but it finds him nonetheless in Ti West’s In the Valley of Violence (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

His name is Paul, but he is the sort of gunslinger who often has no name. The Mexico-bound former cavalry man has deserted due to his mounting revulsion for the so-called “Indian campaigns.” We can tell by looking at him he was disgusted by the killing, precisely because he was so darned good at it. However, Gilly, the ringleader of the local Denton ne’er-do-wells is not so fast on the uptake. As the town Marshal’s deadbeat son, he can usually get away with his bullying behavior, but Paul is an entirely different sort of cat, just like his assertive dog Jumpy.

Like night follows day, Gilly challenges Paul when he reluctantly stops for supplies. Paul might have let things slide had the entitled thug not threatened his dog. When Paul duly shows him up, the chagrined marshal rather apologetically runs him out of town, to preserve public order. At that point, the deserter and the lawman would be fine letting matters stand, but not Gilly. Of course, he and his entourage lay a trap for Paul, but they only succeed in killing Jumpy. We know what that means—and so does West, who delivers Charles Bronson levels of vicarious payback.

Who knew Ethan Hawke had so much Eastwood in him? Granted, it is more of the tortured Josey Wales Eastwood, but it definitely still counts. He instantly projects a sense of a man well acquainted with death, while delivering West’s frequently droll dialogue with wry understatement. He also forges some terrific (albeit slightly problematic) ambiguous romantic chemistry with Taissa Farmiga, as Mary Anne the younger and more naïve of the two sisters operating the town’s high vacancy hotel.

Yet, the real scene stealer is none other than John Travolta, who gleefully gnaws the scenery even as his character struggles to be the voice of reason. Travolta been grinding out a spate of VOD-theatrical day-and-date B-movies, but Valley gives us reason to hope he might just have yet another comeback in him. As an extra added bonus for cult movie fans, West’s frequent co-conspirator Larry Fessenden does his thing playing one of Gilly’s ill-fated cronies.

Although The Sacrament was billed as a departure for West, the Jonestown-inspired found footage thriller was not really so far removed from the horror field. Granted, there is a spot of blood here and there in Valley, but it is a western through and through. Clearly, West has some affection for this genre too, at least as it was realized in Italian productions. He stages some nifty gun fights and pens some razor-sharp, attitude-drenched dialogue. It is a retro blast with uber-modern sensibility. Very highly recommended for a wide spectrum of genre fans, In a Valley of Violence opens this Friday (10/21) in New York, at the Village East.

The Sacrament: Ti West Tackles Jim Jones

Somehow, Hollywood was not especially interested in the close alliance Harvey Milk forged with the cult leader and duly appointed San Francisco Housing Commission Chairman Jim Jones, lest it spoil some perfectly sanitized hagiography. We will still have to wait for that part of the historical record to hit screens. However, genre auteur Ti West tackles the Jonestown legacy without whitewashing the Socialist ideology of its founder with his horrifying-but-not-really-horror The Sacrament (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

For all we know, we could be in Guyana. This undisclosed developing country is home to Eden Parrish, a socialist religious commune maintained by “Father” and his followers. One of them happens to be Caroline, the “troubled” sister of the well heeled Patrick, who happens to have several good friends at the Vice Media network. Sensing a good story, Sam and his cameraman Jake accompany Patrick to document his reunion and hopefully score an interview with Father. Of course, Caroline insists everything is totally fine, but she cannot wait to introduce her brother to some of the commune’s single women—thereby separating him from his Vice companions.

Soon Sam has his sit-down with Father, but it is a frustrating experience. Stymied by the John Goodman-esque cult leader’s slippery rhetoric and spellbinding cadences, the reporter is ready to admit defeat, until terrified cult members start secretly approaching him for help.

West faces an obvious challenge, since just about everyone, except apparently Gus Van Sant, knows exactly how Jonestown ended. On the other hand, knowledge of what is coming and the uncertainty of whether we really want to see it keeps the audience on pins and needles right from the start. Indeed, the scenes of Sam and Jake sneaking through the darkened compound are just extraordinarily tense.

Not exactly found footage, per se, The Sacrament is still shaped by the look of field reporting. Mercifully, the action is always clear and easy to follow, with little of the shaky cam distortion to be had, even when Jake is running for his life. The vibe of Eden Parrish is also so spot-on, one almost wonders if production designer Jade Healy had a captive crew of cultists to build it for real.

However, West’s ace in the hole is undeniably the ironically named Gene Jones (previously best known for No Country for Old Men), who delivers a massively chilling, truly Oscar-worthy performance as Father. Frankly, this could have been a take-it-to-a-new-level turn for A.J. Bowen, who is otherwise terrific as Sam, but when Jones throws down, he utterly overwhelms everything and everyone else on-screen.

Thanks to the mesmerizing Jones, The Sacrament vividly depicts how a strong, sociopathic personality can dominate weaker followers. It is a lean, tight thriller that feels uncomfortably true to history. Recommended for West’s fans and those fascinated by the psychological dynamics of cults, The Sacrament opens this Friday (6/6) in New York at the Cinema Village.

The ABCs of Death: the Horror of Inconsistency

It is more about Macguffins than McGuffey.  Twenty-six directors from around the world were invited to kill people off using successive letters of the alphabet.  The results vary.  Such is usually the case with anthology films, but even more so for producers Ant Timpson & Tim League’s The ABCs of Death (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York at the IFC Center.

The titles of each constituent film often act as macabre punch lines, capping off each bloody bit of business with a knowing wink.  Therefore, to refer to many films by name would often be spoilery.  Fortunately, they all come conveniently lettered for easy reference.  Nacho Vigalondo’s “A” is a perfect example of an ironic reveal.  While not nearly as inventive as Timecrimes or Extraterrestrial it offers some clever black comedy to kick things off.

There are some notable highlights, including Thomas Cappelen Malling’s “H,” which has to be one of the darnedest WWII films ever.  It also helps rehabilitate the old “Keep Calm, Carry On” slogan after the recent Amazon kerfuffle.  Noburo Iguchi’s “F” is an apocalyptic Yuri epic that should appeal to a wide range of fetishists.  Marcel Sarmiento earns major style points for the visually dynamic genre-warping “D.”  Perhaps the biggest twist is the one applied to old school exploitation in Jake West’s “S.”  While not exactly classic, Yûdai Yamaguchi plays the premise of Hara-Kiri for laughs, succeeding to an extent with “J.”

Yet, there are considerably more misfires and head-scratchers than minor masterworks in ABC.  Jorge Michel Grau’s “I” is a short, nasty bit of cruelty.  Ti West’s slight “M” might be the biggest disappointment, covering similar ground as several other letters, but with far less plot or characterization.  Yet, the film saves the worst for last with Yoshihiro Nishimura’s “Z,” an incomprehensible mess, aside from the irredeemably offensive misuse of 9-11 imagery. 

At least many of the worse entries are also the shortest.  Here’s the speed-dating run-down on all twenty six:

Nacho Vigalondo’s A: Amusing but gimmicky.  Grade: B

Adrián García Bogliano’s B: Connects with childhood fear more than any other entry—B

Ernesto Díaz Espinoza’s C: Like a so-so installment of a cable horror anthology show—C

Marcel Sarmiento’s D: Ambitiously expressionistic—A minus

Angela Bettis’ E: Relatively funny creepy crawler black comedy—B minus

Noburo Iguchi’s F: Entertainingly over the top—A minus

Andrew Traucki’s G: Utterly forgettable—C minus

Thomas Cappelen Malling’s H: Hugely inventive—A

Jorge Michel Grau’s I: Vicious and depressing—F

Yûdai Yamaguchi’s J: Unabashed slapstick—B minus

Anders Morgenthaler’s K: One of several tales revolving around toilets—C minus

Timo Tjahjanto’s L: Sick but surprising, like a the horror movie version of Eyes Wide Shut—C plus

Ti West’s M: The complete waste of a perfectly good letter—F

Banjong Pisanthanakun’s N: An effectively dark little O. Henry-esque story—B plus

Bruno Forzani & Hélène Cattet’s O: Sexually explicit films ought to be more memorable—C minus

Simon Rumley’s P: More social realism than genre, but featuring strong performances—B minus

Adam Wingard & Simon Barrett’s Q: The first and funnier self-referential hipster entries—B minus

Srdjan Spasojevic’s R: Strong set-up, weak payoff—B minus

Jake West’s S:  One of the alphabet’s best—A

Lee Hardcastle’s T:  Unfortunately, you can probably guess what T stands for—C

Ben Wheatley’s U: Promising but leaves viewers wishing for a more fully developed story—B

Kaare Andrews’ V: Respectable foray into dystopian science fiction—B

Jon Schepp’s W:  Self-referential, but with less bite and narrative cohesion—D minus

Xavier Gens’ X: Disturbing and somewhat derivative, but well executed—C plus

Jason Eisener’s Y: An unpleasant dud by any conceivable standard—F

Yoshihiro Nishimura’s Z: Unwatchable, incomprehensible, and insulting—F

Altogether that roughly averages to about a C.  To repeat the obvious, anthology films are always considerably mixed bags.  Unfortunately, the low points of ABC are truly bottom scrapers many viewers will probably wish they could unsee.  Recommended only for true diehard horror fans, The ABCs of Death opens tomorrow (3/8) in New York at the IFC Center.

Ti West’s Innkeepers

Two soon to be laid-off hotel employees have watched far too much Syfy Channel “reality” programming. On the Yankee Pedlar Inn’s final weekend of operation, they are determined to do some serious ghost chasing. Of course, that means they are asking for trouble in Ti West’s The Innkeepers (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Having worked many late shifts, Claire and Luke have seen some mildly spooky stuff. About to be unemployed, they consider the Yankee Pedlar their ticket to some sort of tabloid payday. He has even set up their website, featuring the tragic history of the hotel and videos of mysteriously closing doors and the like. Still, they need something more conclusive and this is obviously the time to get it. They have only one or two guests left, including Leanne Rease-Jones, a former sitcom star in town for a motivational speaking gig. She also happens to be a medium.

Evidently, West and the crew of House of the Devil (his previous retro 1980’s horror outing) stayed at the Yankee Pedlar in Torrington, Connecticut, experiencing enough weirdness during the shoot to inspire their return trip. One hesitates to compare it to a classic like The Shining, but viewers can just feel something is similarly off between its walls. Without question, Innkeepers has a very strong sense of place, which directly contributes to the mood of foreboding.

To its credit, the real life Yankee Pedlar has been quite sporting about it all, allowing West to film entirely on location there, subsequently hosting the premiere party, and even disclosing it all up front on their website. Perhaps they are hoping for some of the Stanley Hotel’s Shining business.

Horror movies almost always implode down the stretch, so the real measure of their merit is the quality of the set-up. Indeed, West sets the scene quite effectively, creating an eerie backstory and vividly establishing the hotel’s ominous idiosyncrasies. However, it is the bantering, bickering chemistry of the two leads that really make the film hum. Whereas House of the Devil was a throwback to the no-frills Satanic B-movies of the eighties, Innkeepers is more akin to the hip, smart-alecky horror movies of the mid 1990’s, like Wes Craven’s Scream.

Sara Paxton and Pat Healy are genuinely funny zinging each other, and, by genre standards, they are quite convincing when dealing with the business end of the haunting. While clearly much has transpired since Top Gun, Kelly McGillis steps into the Zelda Rubinstein role credibly enough. However, it all seems to end rather suddenly and a bit prematurely (though that might also be spun as a positive sign).

While it was not necessarily the case with Devil, West clearly remembered horror movies are supposed to be fun throughout the production of Innkeepers. Clever and atmospheric, it is one of the better scary movies of the season, easily recommended for genre fans when it opens this Friday (2/3) in New York at the Village East.

Sundance ’12: V/H/S

Pretty soon, VHS tapes will be nothing more than odd curios. A group of lowlife thugs is out to steal one that is particularly collectible. Supposedly, they will know it when they see it. If that sounds ominous, it should, because they are about to stumble across some deeply disturbing found videos in the anthology horror film V/H/S, which has generated monster viral buzz at the 2012 Sundance Film Festival.

Adam Wingard’s framing device characters are an ugly lot, who enjoy videotaping their violent crimes. Upon breaking into their target home, they find the owner long dead amid a pile of sketchy looking VHS tapes. Each one they screen tells a twisted tale.

David Bruckner’s opening Amateur Night follows a trio of unenlightened young men as they set out the bed drunk women and record their conquests through the geeky one’s spy camera. They somehow bring two women back to their hotel room, but one promptly passes out and the other is a bit twitchy. While we have a good idea where this is headed from the outset, Hannah Fierman’s penetrating eyes are spooky as all get out. As the mystery woman, she is simultaneously alluring and unnerving.

It is road trip time in Ti (House of the Devil) West’s Second Honeymoon, duly documented by the vacationing couple on their camcorder. Unfortunately, they are having trouble shaking this strange vagrant woman. While it might be the most traditional in its approach, West’s contribution arguably boasts the film’s single freakiest scene.

However, the best chapter is easily Glenn McQuaid’s Tuesday the 17th, which gives the horny teens in the woods subgenre a wicked twist. Whatever it is out there stalking them, it has a distorting power over the camera, greatly affecting our perceptions of events, which makes what goes down quite nerve-racking. Within the horror genre, it is light-years away from McQuaid’s strangely underappreciated I Sell the Dead.

Perhaps the weakest link is Joe “Mumblecore” Swanberg’s The Strange Thing That Happened to Emily When She Was Younger, which purports to be the recorded Skype chats between a woman with a haunted apartment and her long distance boyfriend—on a moldy old VHS tape. Really? Digital to analog, how did that work exactly? Maybe similar objections could be raised regarding Amateur Night’s spy glasses, but it is not so glaringly anachronistic. Still, there is definitely some weird stuff happening in the corner of the screen.

It is back to old fashioned camcorders for the youtube tag-team Radio Silence’s 10/31/98, a story of carousing youth looking for a Halloween party and finding a house full of evil instead. The quartet clearly understands how to milk tension out of empty hallways and unsettling knick-knacks, before letting loose complete chaos.

Regardless of the hype surrounding audience members passing out and getting nauseous during a screening at Sundance, this is a legitimately scary movie, exponentially more frightening than the Blair Witch Project. Frankly, shaky cams work better for horror than any other genre. It is always what we don’t see that scares us, so those what-the-hack-was-that moments are quite effective (whereas they are simply annoying in action films). However, the reliance on the hand-held found footage motif levels out the filmmakers’ differences of style, providing the film with a largely consistent look, aside from Swanberg’s internet ringer.

This is easily the scariest film in years. It can be bloody and it depicts some casual cruelty in the introduction that is not a lot of fun to watch, but once Bruckner’s story builds up some steam, V/H/S really buries its hooks into viewers. Recommended for bold genre fans not suffering from altitude sickness, it screens again this Saturday (1/28) during this year’s Sundance in Park City.