Amityville: The Awakening—Back to Long Island’s Most Infamous Address

At the end of Amityville 3-D, the evil house finally burns to the ground, yet somehow it was up and standing again in the next fourteen films in the franchise. Some were reboots and prequels, but others just ignored the slightly glaring continuity problem. The latest (though much delayed) entry has no need of retcons, because it takes place in a world where the DeFeo murders really happened in 1974 and the series of cash-in movies they spawned also very definitely exist. The latest teen resident will even watch the original 1979 movie with her new classmates at the fateful hour of 3:15 am. That turns out to be a bad idea in Franck Khalfoun’s Amityville: The Awakening, which is supposed to have some sort of release this weekend, despite its early promotional window of free streaming on Google Play.

Belle Walker’s family has just moved into 112 Ocean Avenue, because the price was right and it was conveniently near her catatonic brother’s doctor. That is correct, they have brought a possibly brain-dead vessel into a demonically-possessed house. What a super-good idea that is.

So yes, Awakening is basically the Amityville franchise mixed with the Ozploitation cult classic Patrick for an infusion of new blood. To be honest, it works better than any of us have a right to expect. Poor James Walker does indeed start showing signs of life, but in a series of admirably tense scenes, his sister determines there is something evil in there with him.

Even though Awakening is a Blumhouse production from a horror director with a bit of a critical reputation, the Weinsteins kept it languishing on the shelf. Seriously, what is so hard about marketing an Amityville Horror movie? Frankly, their habit of hiding films in the vault or frittering away their release (Suite Française on Lifetime?) is another reason the industry has so enjoyed their ongoing implosion.

Regardless, Awakening is probably one of the fresher Amityville films, since the original with Margot Kidder (helmed by Stuart Rosenberg, director of Cool Hand Luke). Khalfoun’s take is far from the scariest film you will see this holiday season, but he keeps it moving along nicely and the meta-references to the prior books and films are a rather clever tweaking of the franchise.

Academy Award nominee Jennifer Jason Leigh is surprisingly creepy as Walker’s ill-tempered mother, Joan. Bella Thorne carries the film well enough as Belle Walker, while nicely playing off Taylor Spreitler and Thomas Mann as her personal Monster Squad. Plus, genre regular Kurtwood Smith (Robocop, Agent Carter) does his thing as neurologist Dr. Milton.

As of now, the price is certainly right for Awakening, but it still deserved way better treatment than it received. Franck actually shows a subtle touch and measured restraint, which are not so apparent in Maniac, probably his best-known film so far. For a bit of a nostalgic guilty pleasure, you could do worse than streaming Amityville: The Awakening on Google Play (for free), until November 8^th. There is also a theatrical screening vaguely reported for October 28^th and the DVD releases on November 14^th.

NYC Horror ’17: 3

Even though I work in book publishing, I don’t know the proper etiquette for greeting fellow patients of a common shrink. That is how our unnamed man and woman initially came together, but their memories of the exact time-line differ significantly. Nonetheless, “He” is determined to give her the justice and closure she needs, by extracting a confession from her rapist. Getting the truth out of the man he calls “It” will be harder than he anticipated, but he will not fail due to a lack of effort in Lou Simon’s 3 (trailer here), which opens the 2017 New York City Horror Film Festival.

He was military trained as a medic, so is able to snatch It relatively easily and keep him alive after their interrogation sessions. Predictably, It protests his innocence, but She never wavers in her certainty. That is good enough for Him, even though He is a little unnerved by her insistence he was also a guest at that fateful party. He knows with absolute certainty they had not yet met, but he tries to dismiss it as a trick of the memory induced by extreme stress. Something about their conflicting memories nags at the back of his head, but a few amputations should help distract him.

All you who are faint of heart, why don’t you just exit this way now? 3 should not be dismissed as torture porn, but there is still very definitely torture. Yet, the stuff that will really unsettle the audience is all psychological in nature. Rather deceptively, Simon makes viewers think she has tipped her hand almost from the beginning, but she is really setting up later revelations to come.

Aniela McGuinness is terrific as She in a quiet, weirdly flaky, ominously manipulative kind of way. Don’t make a lot of assumptions about her. Likewise, Todd Bruno always conveys how badly damaged He is, even when he is committing problematic acts of brutality. Their chemistry together is both eerie and poignant, if such a combination is ever possible.

3 represents a big, big step up from Simon’s previous release, the disappointingly conventional and easily skippable All Girls Weekend. Although it is not as explicitly feminist, 3 dramatically addresses topics of sexuality and identity in ways that dovetail with the current national discussion. Recommended for hardy horror and payback thriller fans, 3 screens this Thursday (10/26) at the Cinepolis Chelsea, kicking off this year’s NYC Horror Film Festival.

Creep 2: The Return of America’s Talkiest Serial Killer

The serial killer now calling himself Aaron (in honor of a recent victim) has always been somewhat prone to New Agey Deepak Chopra psycho-babble. All that self-actualization talk makes his murders even scarier. Yet, it also leaves him weirdly prone to crises of confidence and inspiration, but he always remains extraordinarily dangerous and unpredictable. America’s talkiest serial killer commences a new game of cat-and-mouse in Patrick Brice’s Creep 2 (trailer here), a Blumhouse production, which releases today on VOD.

Unlike old, dead videographer Aaron, Sara came to the “Creep’s” house thinking she would be the one using him. Her thing was Encounters, a floundering web series, in which she would film meetings with various sad, strange men who had placed personal ads online. Aaron sounded like a loon, which would be good for business, but she has no idea how right she is.

Sara assumes Aaron is full of it when he starts boasting of his many murders, but we know better. Nevertheless, she finds he preoccupation rather unsettling. He even shows her the last scene of the previous movie, but she still doesn’t believe he is the real deal. Of course, she will eventually learn better. She is in over her head, but Sara is tougher mentally than his typical victims. Plus, he might not be at the top of his game either—but there is always a good chance Aaron (formerly Josef) is playing her.

You have to give Brice and co-screenwriter Mark Duplass credit, because they basically keep the exact same formula (two strangers video-taping each other in a remote luxury home), but change-up the particulars substantially enough so that Creep 2 does not feel like a rerun of Creep 1. Obviously, the different gender dynamics play a significant role.

During the cringe-inducing Appropriate Behavior, Desiree Akhavan made us all feel like animals compelled to chew off a leg because we were caught in that bear-trap of a film. Happily, Creep 2 proves she can do more than American Pie sex jokes for Brooklyn hipsters. She convincingly portrays Sara as a smart, calculating, and deeply neurotic character, making her one of the most distinctive potential “final girls” of this year’s horror movie season.

Just as he did in the first film, Duplass gleefully chews the scenery, playing “Aaron’s” sinister gamesmanship to the hilt. Frankly, it is a shame Robin Williams never had the chance to dig into a darkly manic character like this. Whether it is real or feigned, Aaron’s bouts of depression give the second go-round an even darker texture. (It ought to prove how mainstream and pervasive depression is within society, when it even affects the psycho killer stalking you.) As an added bonus, indie filmmaker Caveh Zahedi (happily not yet assassinated after the boldly revealing The Sheik and I) appears briefly as a previous guest on Encounters.

As was also the case with the first film, Creep 2 is remarkably smoothly cut together by editor Christopher Conlon, especially assuming there was a good deal of improvising going on again. Yet, there are several departures from the first film specifically and horror movie conventions in general that leave us intrigued by what might lay in store for viewers in third prospective film of the projected trilogy. Recommended for fans of found footage and the original Creep, Creep 2 is now available on VOD platforms.

Wes Craven’s Summer of Fear

Lois Duncan’s YA horror novels are a perfect example of the cyclical nature of book publishing. They were big hits when originally published in the 1970s and they were so perfectly suited to the current boom in teen horror, her publisher reissued key backlist titles with modernized text. Duncan’s sales also benefited from the hit movie adaptation of I Know What You Did Last Summer and its sequels, I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, and Damn It, What You Did Two Summers Ago Still Pisses Me Off. However, horror auteur Wes Craven got first crack at Duncan’s oeuvre with the TV movie Summer of Fear (trailer here), which is now available on DVD and BluRay, from Doppelganger Releasing.

Before her orphaned cousin Julia Trent came to live with her family, Rachel Bryant lived a nearly idyllic life for an American teen. She got along freakishly well with her parents, had an attentive boyfriend, and was the odds-on-favorite to win the country club’s equestrian tournament. Strangely, her horse Sundance does not take to Trent when she arrives, for reasons Bryant will understand soon enough.

Before long, Trent steals away Bryant’s boyfriend and causes an accident that fatally breaks Sundance’s leg. How does she do that? Witchcraft. Bryant can see the remnants of it in the room they share, but proving it will be a trickier matter. She gets some sage advice from their neighbor, Prof. Jarvis, an expert in folklore’s darker manifestations, but that puts the kindly old man in Trent’s crosshairs.

It turns out witches cannot be photographed, much like vampires. Too bad they didn’t have cameras make during the time of the Salem Witch Trials, because they could have saved a lot of trouble. Bryant also might have made things easier for herself if she had bought a Polaroid instant camera, but whatever.

Summer of Fear has a reputation for being a diamond in the rough, because it combines the talents of Wes Craven, less than one year after The Hills Have Eyes, and Linda Blair playing Bryant five years after The Exorcist, in the first screen adaptation of Duncan’s work. Logic dictates it must be great, but it is really just a fairly typical TV movie.

Granted, the general level of performance is far superior to what you’d commonly find in that era’s movies-of-the-week. Blair is appealingly forceful, while Lee Purcell is eerily seductive and insidious as Trent. They also look somewhat similar, which makes it all creepier. Summer is additionally notable as the television debut of Fran “The Nanny” Drescher, who does indeed show quite promising energy and presence as Bryant’s bestie, nurse-in-training, Carolyn Baker.

Craven had the chops, so he managed to build to a reasonably tense climax, but the fact remains, Summer is never really scary, per se. Still, there is no question Summer of Fear is an interesting curio. You could even argue it holds historical significance. Mainly worth watching for retro nostalgia, Summer of Fear is now available for home viewing from Doppelganger Releasing.

Submitted by Sweden: The Square

According to the old saying, a conservative is a liberal who got mugged. Alas, that cannot be the case for experimental art curator like Christian. It is his job to be hip, trendy, multicultural, and morally relativist. Business is booming for Christian, but the loss of his smart phone is seriously destabilizing. To hasten its return, he might just shred the remaining tatters of the social contract in Rune Östlund’s The Square (trailer here), Sweden’s official foreign language Oscar submission, which opens this Friday in New York.

The Swedish monarchy has finally been done away with once and for all. Stockholm Palace now triumphantly houses the X-Royal Museum of Art. Where once royalty tread now sits heaps of ash and other such provocative exhibits, but their upcoming conceptual installation will be a tough sell, even by their standards. The titular Square is a specially demarcated zone in the museum’s grand plaza, where everyone within must treat each other with respect and extend a helping hand to each other. The museum’s millennial online marketers find this concept boring, so they will craft something spectacularly lurid for the social media campaign. This will come back to bite everyone, but initially Christian is more concerned about the theft of his phone and wallet.

Somewhat ironically, Christian was pick-pocketed while he thought he was being a good Samaritan, protecting a random woman on the street from her supposedly abusive boyfriend. His ego was stoked in the moment, but clearly it was all a scam. However, Christian uses GPS to track his phone to a nearby low-income housing project. At the instigation of an immigrant security guard, the curator writes a threatening accusatory letter demanding his property be dropped off at a local convenience store, which he hand delivers to every mailbox in the building. This too will cause tremendous problems in the long run, but in the short run, it does indeed prompt the return of his stolen items.

Holy cats, if ever there was a cinematic statement that defied easy classification, it would be The Square. Frankly, the sum of its parts is greater than its whole—in spades. There are individual scenes that are already firmly ensconced in cinema history, yet they are almost entirely disconnected from the over-riding narrative. Östlund unleashes more biting social satire than the last five seasons of late night television combined in one soon-to-be notorious scene featuring Dominic West as a visiting artist, whose on-stage interview is repeatedly disrupted by a man with Tourette Syndrome. It is a real squirmer, precisely because Östlund directly challenges viewers to wonder what they might do in such a situation.

Then there is Terry Notary, an actor known for portraying simians for motion-capture special effects, playing a primate-inspired performance artist doing his act during the museum’s gala. He vividly and shockingly reveals how thin and fragile the boundary is between polite human behavior and animal savagery.

There is no question Östlund should have ended the film with Notary’s jaw-dropping turn, but the film just keeps going and going. In fact, this is rather a cheat, because Östlund basically wishes away the repercussions that surely should have resulted from Notary’s bedlam. Nevertheless, he spends an interminable amount of time in various stairwells playing out Christian’s final, small-ball moral dilemma in what must be one of the most egregiously anti-climactic third acts ever.

Still, there is no denying the sexually potent but wildly uncomfortable chemistry forged by Claes Bang and Elisabeth Moss as Christian and Anne, the American journalist who interviews the curator and shares a hugely awkward one-stand with him. She also seems to be sharing a flat on roughly equal footing with a chimpanzee, which the understated Moss makes look almost natural.

Östlund skewers art world pretensions with laser-like accuracy and frequently undercuts hypocritical white liberal political correctness. Yet, Östlund is clearly so uncomfortable with the implications of his satire, he insists on imposing a lesson in compassion on poor emasculated Christian. That is a two-fold mistake, because it blunts the film’s acidic edge and further draws out the overlong narrative. Less would have been more, but the parts that work are unforgettable. The Square is recommended, warts and all, because there is stuff in there that is too good to miss when it opens this Friday (10/27) in New York, at the IFC Center and the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Daughter of the Nile

The heroine of the long-running manga series Crest of the Royal Family is a lot like the British nurse in the Outlander franchise, but she traveled back to ancient Egypt. Young Lin Hsiao-yang both identifies with her and fantasizes of being her. However, she is very definitely stuck in the present day of mid-1980s Taipei in Hou Hsiao-hsien’s unfairly overlooked (including by Hou himself) Daughter of the Nile (trailer here), which returns to theaters for its 30^th anniversary, freshly restored in 4K.

Sadly, Lin’s eldest brother died sometime before the film commences, but his loss is constantly felt throughout the narrative. He was the only family member who could keep their middle sibling Lin Hsiao-fang in line. Brother Fang was always a thief and a gambler, but he was good to their mother during her fatal struggle with cancer and also looks out for his little sisters reasonably well. His gangster-gigolo friend Ah-sang is a different story, but Sister Yang falls for him anyway.

For a while, Ah-sang expatriates to America, but it was apparently a bad experience. Lin’s brother paid for the return ticket, but neither speaks of it in any great detail. Ah-sang comes home just as the gang appears poised for success, having opened an upscale restaurant as a semi-front. Yet, Ah-sang’s erratic nature and Hsiao-fang’s increasingly compulsive gambling threaten everyone’s future.

It is strange Nile became the red-headed step-child of Hou’s filmography, because it feels like a perfectly representative example of his style. He would touch on somewhat similar themes in Millennium Mambo, but it would be particularly interesting to watch this film in dialogue with Edward Yang’s A Brighter Summer Day. Both films follow disadvantaged high school students relegated to the night sessions of over-crowded facilities, as they engage it varying degrees of crime. Although the political situation was much more relaxed in the 1980s than the late 1950s, a reckless accusation could still lead to dire consequences.

Poor Taiwanese pop star Lin Yang got a bad rap for her lead performance as Lin Hsiao-yang. Her work is tightly controlled and so restrained she can hardly breathe, but that makes her character so terribly human. Ultimately, it is quite a poignant portrayal. Hou regular Jack Kao is also terrific as the charismatic but self-defeating Hsiao-fang. Yet, Li Tan-lu steals so many scenes as their grandfather, he continued on to play several more grandpas in subsequent Hou films and served as the subject of his bio-pic, The Puppetmaster.

Even in Taipei, the eighties looked like the eighties. In fact, it is a very 1980s kind of story, focusing on several young people struggling to make good while holding together some semblance of a family. This was the Hou film that almost got away, but fortunately it has been restored and given a second chance to resonate with viewers. Highly recommended, Daughter of the Nile opens this Friday (10/27) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.

PFF ’17: The Invisible Guest

Cell phones and the internet have undercut some of the traditional elements of mysteries and thrillers, but a locked room is still a locked room. Adrián Doria would know. He came to while locked in a hotel room with the dead body of his former mistress. That was super awkward. Nevertheless, the former rising star of Spanish industry might beat the wrap with the help of his expert trial consultant. However, he will have to tell her the full ugly truth in Oriol Paulo’s The Invisible Guest (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Philadelphia Film Festival.

Apparently, Doria and his former lover Laura Vidal were lured to the hotel, by someone blackmailing them with evidence of the first killing. Okay, Doria will have to back-up a little for the benefit of his witness prepper, Virginia Goodman and the audience. Most likely, all his troubles started on the drive back from his final assignation with Vidal. Swerving to avoid a deer, they fatally run another motorist off the road instead. Since, he was dead anyway, they just disposed of the car and body.

Oh, but of course, it couldn’t be so simple. There was maybe, possibly a witness or two. Plus, as a supreme irony, Vidal found herself face-to-face with the young soon-to-be-missing-under-mysterious-circumstances man’s parents, when his retired engineer father volunteered to fix her stalled auto.

Paulo clearly enjoys springing surprises and dropping shoes on the audience. Yet, in this case he starts with a pretty twisty premise, in that the exculpatory circumstances of Doria’s prospective testimony might be just as damning. Presumably, that is why he needs a good trial consultant.

The first half-hour of Guest is rather glum, but once it has all its pieces set up, it is jolly entertaining to watch Paulo gleefully knock them over. He has a lot of tricks of his sleeve, some of which will make guffaw with disbelief, but it is still great fun watching him try to pull them off. You just have to go with it and enjoy getting played.

Anna Wagener is just terrific as Goodman. Smart and righteous in a good way, she makes her a trial consultant worthy of Agatha Christie. Likewise, José Coronado seethes with quiet power and dignity as the outraged father, Tomás Garrido. Bárbara Lennie is also quite remarkable giving Vidal, the presumptive femme fatale, subtly different shadings with each successive flashback. Mario Casas is a bit of a blank slate as Doria, but anyone would be passive while getting the lectury third degree from Goodman.

Yes, the truth is indeed slippery in Guest, but human nature is a rock-solid constant. Paulo cranks up the tension and generally aims to please genre fans. The result is a film that should be a prime candidate for an English language remake, but it just wouldn’t be as good with over-exposed Hollywood thesps in the lead roles. Enthusiastically recommended, The Invisible Guest screens tomorrow (10/23) and Thursday (10/26) during this year’s Philadelphia Film Festival.

Lanthimos’ The Killing of a Sacred Deer

Cincinnati is a very livable city, but it will probably never live down the shame from giving the world Jerry Springer. In contrast, a prominent cardio surgeon will be given the chance to repent for his sins through a wicked three-way Sophie’s Choice. The situation is highly surreal, but emotions are scrupulously held in check during Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Killing of a Sacred Deer (trailer here), which is now playing in New York.

Dr. Steven Murphy has it all: a thriving practice, a lovely ophthalmologist wife, a daughter he adores, and a son he is okay with. He is also giving back by spending time mentoring Martin, a disadvantaged teenager—except there might be something more sinister to their relationship. Nonetheless, he introduces Martin to his family, all of whom find the moody lad inexplicably charming—especially his daughter Kim.

Inevitably, Martin starts taking liberties, even attempting to fix Murphy up with his single mother. The doctor tardily tries to re-establish boundaries, but by this time the resentful teen has gained a strange hold over the Murphy family, especially Kim. Unfortunately for them all, Martin blames the Martin patriarch for the death of his father—and not without some justification. More to the point, Martin also seems to have some mystical unexplained power that will force Steven Murphy to become an active accomplice in his own karmic retribution.

Within Lanthimos’ maddening filmography, Sacred Deer is a conspicuously frustrating film. If you were blown away by The Lobster, but detested his Greek Freak films, like Dogtooth and Alps, you will find Sacred Deer sits uneasily between those two poles. Lanthimos manages to wring high tragedy out of his fantastical premise, but getting there is a bumpy ride. Problematically, it features the same extreme expressive reserve that distinguished The Lobster, but it was better suited to that dystopian universe and its absurdist rules everyone accepted at face value. In contrast, Deer is essentially set in our world. It is just viewed from acute angles.

As a result, we have to sit through a lot of mumbling and shrugging, before Lanthimos finally kicks it into gear. Yet, somehow the film mostly comes together during the chilling climax—or maybe almost, but not quite. Either way, it is a close call.

Colin Farrell similarly feels like he is repeating himself from The Lobster, but while his prior sad sack character always seemed to be screaming under his blandly nebbish exterior, Dr. Murphy really comes across as a shallow jerk, who is quiet because he doesn’t have anything to say. Likewise, Nicole Kidman seems to be recycling previous ice queen roles in films like Eyes Wide Shut, Strangerland, and, Heaven help us, Trespass. Frankly, Barry Keoghan’s sullen mouth-breathing makes it hard to believe Doc Murphy would ever bring Martin within one hundred yards of his family. At least, Alicia Silverstone hits some poignant notes while playing against time as Martin’s Mother—wow, Cher from Clueless playing a widowed mom.

Even though we are still wrestling with our misgivings, we would re-watch Sacred Deer five times than sit through just the first fifteen minutes of Alps again. Granted, this is a highly idiosyncratic film, but the ways in which Lanthimos makes it conform to the aesthetics of The Lobster actually work against it. Earning a deeply mixed review, The Killing of a Sacred Deer is still the sort of weirdness cult film fans need to see to keep current. Use your own judgment. It is now playing in New York, at the Regal Union Square downtown and the AMC Loews Lincoln Square uptown.

Culture Vulture: Dalida

She was part Édith Piaf, part Juliette Gréco, part disco diva, and part black widow. Under her stage name, the French-naturalized Egyptian-Italian Iolanda Cristina Gigliotti, a.k.a. Dalida, became one of the top-selling recording artists in European history, but her personal life was relentlessly tragic. Lisa Azuelos, the daughter her Gigliotti’s contemporary, Marie Laforêt, gives her subject the glossy and gossipy big-screen bio-treatment in Dalida (trailer here), which screens as part of Laemmle’s Culture Vulture series this Monday and Tuesday.

For the Gigliottis, music was the family business. Her beloved father was first violinist at the Cairo Opera, until he was warped and broken by his time in an Allied internment camp. Immigrating to France to pursue some kind of show business career, Dalida won a fateful radio talent contest in front of the network director, Lucien Morisse, and legendary record executive Eddie Barclay. Both men would play instrumental roles guiding her early career. Morisse also married her, but it would be a short-lived union.

Dalida the film opens in media res, following her first, unsuccessful attempt to take her own life, following the suicide of her younger Italian lover. He will not be the last man in her life to opt for his final out-chorus. In fact, the darkly poetic notion that Dalida and death were constant companions is a recurring motif throughout the film. You might think she had met her match when she started a romance with Richard Chanfray, a magician and TV personality, who claimed to be the 700-year-old Count de Saint-Germain, but don’t count on it.

Sveva Alviti is a strong likeness of Dalida and she manages to project class and dignity amid all the lurid melodrama. It is actually a very physical performance, with her looking frightfully skinny during the singer’s regular bouts of anorexia. Many of the music tracks actually feature the subject herself, but Alviti still has considerable stage presence and dance moves.

Reportedly, Morisse’s daughter has taken issue with the way Azuelos and her co-screenwriter Orlando (Dalida’s brother) depicted her father, but Jean-Paul Rouve’s performance is rather complex and forgivingly human. For what it’s worth, as Barclay, Vincent Perez hardly looks like himself, but it is definitely a larkier role to play.

If you dig French pop, then Azuelos’s film will be a great deal of guilty, dishy fun. Even if you don’t, it will lead to a considerable appreciation for Dalida’s talents. Not many stars can truthfully claim they worked with Egyptian auteur Youssef Chahine and Saturday Night Fever choreographer Lester Wilson, aside from her. Recommended as a whirlwind musical tour of mid-Twentieth Century France rather than high art, Dalida screens this coming Monday night (10/23) and Tuesday afternoon (10/24), as part of Laemmle’s Culture Vulture film series--with a VOD release due on 12/5.

1922: More Stephen King on Netflix

It seems like 98% of Stephen King’s fiction is set in Maine, but hardcore fans will recognize the semi-fictional town of Hemingford Home, Nebraska. The dustbowl burg played a tangential role in The Stand and It, but it was the primary setting of one short story and one novella. The latter joins Big Driver and A Good Marriage as the third of the four novellas published together in Full Dark, No Stars to be adapted for the screen. The Nebraska plains are indeed bad lands in Zak Hilditch’s 1922 (trailer here), which premieres today on Netflix.

Wilfred James was born to work the land, but his dissatisfied wife Arlette, not so much. Ironically, she is the one who inherits one hundred prime acres from her father, but she intends to sell out to a pork agribusiness and open a dress shop in the sinful metropolis of Omaha. Of course, she intends to take their fourteen-year-old son Henry (or Hank, depending on which parent is calling him) with her. It also stands to figure the pig processing plant would render Wilf’s eighty acres unfarmable. Hence, he rather resents her for these plans, but most of all, he just hates her for being her.

James has murder in his heart, but he lures Hank into his plan, using some nefarious bait. The shrewdly observant farmer recognizes his son is head over heels for Shannon Cotterie, who probably is the girl next door, but that still a decent hike’s distance. Mean old Arlettte speaks of her in course, dismissive terms and her scheme would obviously separate the smitten teens, so she is going to die. Unfortunately, the actually killing is much messier than anyone expected. Then the rats start feasting on her corpse stashed in their abandoned well. No matter how hard he tries, James cannot eradicate the infestation. In fact, the rats become progressively more aggressive.

1922 is not the scariest King adaptation ever, but it ranks highly in terms of atmosphere and sense of place. This American Gothic tale wouldn’t be as convincing if it were set on a hardscrabble Down East maple syrup farm. It boasts a potent sense of loneliness and disconnection from human society. There are some chilling moments, but generally, 1922 is more akin to really strong Twilight Zone and E.C. Comics stories. Yet, there are plenty of genre elements, including ghosts, swarming rats, in media res confessions, Freudian misogyny, and cows living in the farm house.

Thomas Jane is really terrific growling and sighing as the haunted (literally) Wilf James. He is chillingly manipulative in the early scenes, yet it is shocking to see him laid so low by karma in the third act. Jane also makes a convincing case for the lead role if anyone is looking to produce the Tom Waits story. The counterbalancing Molly Parker is wonderfully tart and nasty as Arlette. Plus, the ever-reliable Neal McDonough puts the exclamation point on the film as Cotterie’s well-to-do father.

Netflix really seems to get how Stephen King should be done. Instead of bloated tent-poles, they are acquiring lean and mean adaptations from interesting filmmakers, like Hilditch, whose These Final Hours is one of the most distinctive end-of-the-world films in the last five years. Like Gerald’s Game, it features a first-class cast that well suits the material, but probably lacks the sort of Q-scores Hollywood would put its faith in. Highly recommended, 1922 starts streaming today on Netflix.

Killing Gunther: Don’t Stop with Him

When you think about it, hitmen are really serial killers who get paid for it. Nevertheless, the movie business likes to romanticize them. This is shaping up to be a bumper year for hitmen comedies. If you want to watch something smart and challenging, check out Kills on Wheels. If you’re in the mood for something dumb but funny, the surprise hit Hitman’s Bodyguard is probably still around. It looks like collaboration between Preston Sturges and Noel Coward compared to Taran Killam’s dumb but excruciatingly unfunny Killing Gunther (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Blake is a whiny, self-absorbed hitman, who is determined to leap-frog to the top of his industry by taking out the long-reigning top dog, Robert Bendik, a.k.a. Gunther. To do so, he recruits a team of top professionals, including Donnie the demolitions expert, Sanaa the femme fatale sniper, a pair of creepy Russian siblings, and Yong, a useless poisoner. They try to set up Gunther with a phony contract, but he still has the drop on them. Inevitably, the hunters become the hunted. We will see the tables turn mockumentary-style, thanks to the documentary crews the two rival hitmen have convinced at gunpoint to capture their shenanigans.

Right now, you’re probably wondering who is Taran Killam? In the short run, the answer is one of those blandly disposable former SNL cast-members. Judging from this film, the long-term answer is he’s nobody. As Blake, Killam is just an offensively boring man-child. If he gave you the choice of documenting his every move on camera or a bullet to the head, you would probably say: “double tap me now.” However, if you want unrepentant shtick than brother, does Arnold Schwarzenegger ever deliver. It is down-right depressing watching his gas-bag gags involving country & western crooning and lederhosen.

As Sanaa, Hannah Simone is about the only cast-member who shows any dignity and screen presence during the film. Yet, Killam cannot resist undercutting her with awkward jokes involving her fanatically over-protective Iranian father Rahmat. Cobie Smulders doesn’t get much chance to exercise her comedy chops as Lisa McCalla, the ex-girlfriend of both Blake and Gunther, but that also means she gets through the movie relatively unscathed (watch her work in the weirdly underappreciated Slammin’ Salmon instead).

After fifteen minutes, you’ll want to take a contract out on this movie. Gunther causes genuine pain and we are not talking about ribs that are sore from laughing. However, it should lead to an upward critical reappraisal of Hitman’s Bodyguard, a mere two months after its initial release. Just plain sad, Killing Gunther opens today (10/20) in New York, at the Village East.

Leatherface: The Latest Texas Chainsaw Origin Story

Old horror franchises never die—they just get the Hell rebooted out of them. It is time to go back to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre well yet again. This time, we get the origin story of the nastiest and most sadistic of the clan. If you are wondering how this squares with Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, released way back in 2006, I’m afraid you are on your own when it comes to questions of canonical continuity. The title character is still a fresh-faced kid, but he will change during the course of Alexandre Bustillo & Julien Maury’s Leatherface (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

The knuckle-dragging Sawyer family regularly gets away with murder, but killing the daughter of Texas Ranger Hal Hartman is pushing the envelope, even for them. Believing in a Roy Moore Biblical kind of justice, Hartman whisks away Jed Sawyer, the youngest of the brood, using a dubious order of protection. Actually, a legitimate case could be made Jed needs protecting, if he were not dumped into a nightmarish bedlam style looney bin.

About a decade or so later, young Jed is now known by his alias, whatever that might be. Murderous matriarch Verna Sawyer is still desperate to regain custody, but Hartman and the hospital director continue to stymie her. However, Jed will soon be leaving as one of a small group of escaping inmates who take the decent, well-intentioned Nurse Lizzy hostage. Seth M. Sherwood’s screenplay wants to keep us guessing as to which one will become Leatherface, but it is pretty easy to guess on the basis of relative screen time.

With the late Tobe Hooper only credited as an executive producer, Leatherface the movie has just one thing going for it—Stephen Dorff going all in as Hartman. When he is yelling and glaring and chewing the scenery, the movie actually starts to generate a little bit of fun. Still, it is frustrating to see his character make the same dumb horror movie mistakes. Seriously, he is a Texas Ranger. When stalking murderous backcountry folk, he should shoot first and keep shooting. Talking can wait.

Independent Spirit Award winner Lilli Taylor looks weirdly out of place as Verna Sawyer, but she does her best to snarl and hiss, Vanessa Grasse is way too shy and retiring to make us believe she could be a “final girl,” but we can’t help feeling for her. Everyone else is basically a caricature, a cliché, or an idiot with dubious motivation.

Although there are far fewer chainsaws in Leatherface than most Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise installments, this is still a very brutal movie. Yet, it fails at what is supposedly its primary mission. None of the bloody mayhem we see convincingly explains how Jed the ward of the state becomes the savage Leatherface. Frankly, the transition is abrupt and baffling. Not recommended, Leatherface opens today (10/20) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

Never Here, Produced by Pang Ho-Cheung

Miranda Fall’s latest exhibition is so creepy, it is hailed as a work of genius by the art press. Basically, when she found a poor schmuck’s phone, she proceeded to spy on him and utterly invade his personal space. Naturally, she is rather taken aback when the exposed Arthur Anderton reacts with outrage. Doesn’t he understand privacy is out of fashion? Fall finds the shoe is on the other foot when a mystery man starts stalking her, but the situation really gets complicated when she stalks him right back in Camille Thoman’s Never Here (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Her opening was an unalloyed triumph for Fall, except for Anderton’s grouchiness. Then the chaos starts. While spending the night in her flat, Fall’s married gallerist lover Paul Stark sees an assault from her window. When he refuses to call the police, she does so in his place, much like Steve Guttenberg in Curtis Hanson’s Bedroom Window. Predictably, Fall soon finds herself floundering through line-ups, relying on Stark’s vague description. Of course, she cannot risk fingering the wrong person, but she gets serious vibes from one of the suspects, so she starts following him. Maybe he is following her too, or perhaps it is Anderton or maybe even someone else.

In the small world department, it turns out the cop assigned to the case is a former college boyfriend and the victim is the journalist who just wrote up a fawning profile of Fall. Both start to doubt her slippery account of that fateful evening. We might have our doubts too. Fall definitely has the potential to turn out to be one of those “unreliable narrator” types.

Thoman is obviously deeply steeped in Antonioni’s Blow-Up: an ostensive mystery set in the hipster art world that becomes increasingly ambiguous and hallucinatory. Regrettably, but probably predictably, Thoman falls short of that lofty target. Too often, Never Here feels like it is being obscure for obscurity’s sake, rather than as part of a grand vision. There is the possibility Fall is nuts, or maybe it is just us, but the movie itself isn’t crazy enough. Fearing commitment, it never stops playing the is-she-or-isn’t-she game, without ever over-extending itself in either direction.

Still, Mireille Enos has an intriguing screen presence that mostly works in the context of the film. However, the most memorable turn comes from the late Sam Shepard as Stark, whose surprising complexities and human messiness will be revealed over time. Nina Arianda also has some interesting moments as the unfortunate journalist.

Cinematographer Sebastian Winterø gives the film an ominously beautiful look that suits its Lynchian and Hitchcockian influences. Nonetheless, we cannot help wondering what the film could have been like if it had been helmed by producer Pang Ho-cheung, especially given the madness of his HK slasher Dream Home (there is a film that had no problems committing). Frustrating and ultimately disappointing, Never Here is only for hardcore fans of Robbe-Grillet novels and sinister-looking art films, when it opens tomorrow (10/20) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Kills on Wheels: Hungary Delivers Plenty of Attitude, but No Cliches

Working as a hired killer is a heck of a way to build up self-worth, but at least the wheelchair-bound Zoli has finally found something that engages him. He suffers from a progressive curvature of the spine that will eventually kill him without corrective surgery, but his refuses to accept his absentee father’s guilt money. Perhaps he and his roommate Barba will be able to fund the procedure themselves when they start assisting Rupaszov, a professional killer recently paralyzed from the waist down. Nobody sees them coming, except maybe Rupaszov’s double-crossing client in Attila Till’s Kills on Wheels (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Zoli’s mother tries to sugarcoat it, but he knows his father walked out soon after he was born to avoid dealing with him. Like a Dostoevskian character, he would rather implode on his own terms rather than take scraps from the table of the well-to-do father he has never met. However, there could be an alternative, thanks to the arrival of Janos Rupaszov at their assisted living facility.

Before his injury, Rupszov was a fireman, but he now works as an assassin for Rados, a Serbian gangster out to eliminate an entire rival gang, man by man. Initially, Rupaszov cuts through them at a blistering clip. After all, nobody considers a man in a wheelchair to be any kind of threat, so guards are down around him. Of course, as the hits get more complicated, he needs a handful of assistants like Zoli and Barba, who happen to be equally invisible to the man on the street. Aside from the semi-autobiographic but highly exaggerated comic book Zoli’s is writing with Barba, his work with Rupaszov is about the only thing that will get him to stop moping around their room.

Throughout Kills, Till walks a fine line with the agility of a Flying Wallenda. He definitely delivers the edgy, dark humor the very premise promises, but the film never feels exploitative. In fact, Till’s screenplay sneaks up on viewers emotionally coldcocking them in the third act. Hungary isn’t exactly the most progressive nation on Earth these days, which might heighten some viewers’ wariness. Yet, Till has probably produced the year’s smartest, most sophisticated film about comparative abilities. Frankly, Hollywood and Western Europe do not have the gumption to make such an honest, in-your-face film, so it is up to the couldn’t-give-a-damn Orban-era Hungary to blast away our self-serving clichés.

Drawing from their real-life experiences, Zoltán Fenyvesi and Ádám Fekete play Zoli and Barba like complicated characters rather than symbols. Indeed, they are completely and utterly believable teenagers: ill-mannered, uncouth, and generally preoccupied with girls. As Rupaszov, Szabolcs Thuróczy’s magnetic screen presence compliments them nicely. On the other side of the coin, Dusán Vitanovics is entertainingly sinister as the absolutely, positively irredeemable Rados.

There is no cheap sentiment in Kills, but Till still manages to earn a little the hard way. That might sabotage the ending for hardcore cynics out there, but they can’t fault the gutsy build-up. Recommended more for people who don’t think they’ll like it rather than those who do, Kills on Wheels opens tomorrow (10/20) in New York, at the Village East.

Margaret Mead ’17: Almost Heaven

The only thing that frightens seventeen-year-old Ying Ling more than ghosts is China’s sky-high teen unemployment rates. For the sake of her family, she will do her best to soldier through the mortician training program at an enormous factory-like mortuary over one hundred miles from her home. However, she will also make friends and start asserting her independence in Carol Salter’s observational documentary Almost Heaven (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

We never learn how Ying Ling manages to hire on with the Mingyang Mountain Funeral Home, but she is clearly uncomfortable with the nature of the work. However, she often gets timely assistance from a fellow trainee with slightly more experience. For now, they are platonic friends, but the potential for a more romantic relationship is as plain as the nose on the corpse they are grooming.

Ying Ling is a good kid, who struggles with loneliness, but also starts to develop a clear sense of herself. Not to be spoilery, but the ending implies she will get some happiness out of life which is a genuine relief. She is indeed the sort of guileless documentary subject we might otherwise worry about.

In fact, watching Almost Heaven makes us suspect Salter maybe had a more Wisemanesque film originally in mind, but let the charismatic Ying Ling assert control of the film. Yet, she is arguably quite representative of a wide swath of the Chinese population. She and her family face some serious but not dire challenges. She might just be more resilient than most.

Salter could do far worse than periodically revisit Ying Ling in the Michael Apted tradition. Almost Heaven even ends at a perfect transition point to start the next doc, rather than waiting seven years. Regardless, it certainly puts an acutely human face on Chinese unemployment and the increasingly migratory way of life for the Mainland’s working class and even lower middle class. Highly recommended, Almost Heaven screens this Sunday (10/22), as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival at the American Museum of Natural History.

The Fortress: The Winter of Joseon’s Discontent

It was a lot like a Korean Valley Forge when King Injo retreated to the Namhansanseong mountain fortress during the winter of 1636, but it did not end so well for the Joseon Kingdom. They were indeed times that tried men souls, but they were made exponentially worse by the corruption and arrogant sense of entitlement held by senior members of the royal court. At least that is the revisionist perspective offered by Hwang Dong-hyuk’s The Fortress (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

History has not been kind to King Injo, for good reason. Even during the early days of the encampment, Kim Sang-hun finds himself cleaning up resentments caused by the court’s stingy, high-handed behavior. Morale will only continue to plummet as hunger and record low temperatures take its toll on the beleaguered troops.

Strategically, Kim is diametrically opposed to the peace overtures reluctantly advocated by Choi Myung-kil, a senior official who has few friends at court, yet still enjoys the King’s confidence. Nevertheless, the two foes often find themselves allied together, arguing for better conditions for the King’s soldiers, over their colleagues’ petty objections.  Having seen the enemy camp, Choi knows they are badly outnumbered. News of the impending arrival of Nurhaci, the Qing Khan himself further raises the stakes. However, Kim’s desperate plan to save the kingdom has a puncher’s chance of working, but he will only trust Seo Nal-soi, a common-born blacksmith pressed into army service, as his messenger.

It is hard to believe this gritty, downbeat adaptation of Kim Hoon’s historical novel came from Hwang, the man who brought the world the Miss Granny franchise.  This is a cynically class-conscious film that explicitly argues the dithering king and his nonproductive court of leeches only have themselves to blame for their spectacular humiliation. Yet, apparently, there is a robust domestic market for such sentiments, because The Fortress set new attendance records for the Chuseok (“Korean Thanksgiving”) holiday.

It is also a bit surprising to find international action superstar Lee Byung-hun playing the peacenik Choi. However, he is certainly an intriguing character, who is resigned to his anticipated infamy, if it secures the King’s survival. Lee projects the necessary graveness and gravity, but he still can’t compete with the steely gravitas of Kim Yoon-seok’s Kim Sang-hun, looking at least ten years older than the thesp really is—and they are a hard ten years.

Hwang stages some impressive battle scenes that viewers have to admire, even though he telegraphs the bitter end from the earliest stages. As result, Fortress has the vibe of high classical tragedy, with every short-sighted decision bringing King Injo closer to his downfall. The atmosphere of stately woe is further enhanced by the score penned by the legendary Ryuichi Sakamoto (The Revenant, The Last Emperor, etc.). It is an impressive film in nearly every respect, but the maddening inevitability of it all will have viewer pulling out their hair, which is probably exactly what Hwang was going for. Recommended for fans of historical epics, The Fortress opens this Friday (10/20) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

Recent Spanish Cinema ’17: The Invisible Guardian

The Basajaun is sort of like a Basque Bigfoot, but it has more positive connotations, as a fabled protector of the forests. Naming a serial killer after it is culturally insensitive, like a “Kokopelli Killer” would be in the American Southwest, but what does the media care? Maybe, just maybe, there is a Basajaun tangentially involved in Amaia Salazar’s case, but it is her own family who will really complicate the investigation in Fernando González Molina’s The Invisible Guardian (trailer here), which screens during the Recent Spanish Cinema series in Los Angeles.

Salazar is from Navarre, but she has been gone so long many now consider her an outsider. She had her reasons for leaving, including profiling training with the FBI in Quantico. That is why she has returned. As the lead investigator on a serial killer case, Salazar quickly determines their suspect may have been active over seven years earlier. For some reason, the killer temporarily went dormant, but the monster has re-awakened and refined its M.O. The “Basajaun Killer” now strategically places a local pastry on the victims’ bodies. Rather awkwardly, the txantxigorras are very much like the ones baked in Salazar’s family bakery, now managed by her estranged sister Flora.

The case really hits close to home when Salazar’s ineffectual, anti-social brother-in-law through her other sister attempts suicide, under dubious conditions. She manages to clear him of formal suspicion, but in doing so, she sticks her neck out. Weird things bordering on the uncanny seem to be afoot and her flashbacks to the abuse she suffered as a child unnerve her even further. At least she can count on back-up from Johan Etxaide, an honest local copper and the wise counsel of her fortune telling grandmother and her FBI mentor now assigned to New Orleans.

Guardian is probably best classified as a thriller, but at times it knocks on horror’s door. This is a massively moody and atmospheric film that makes the most of Navarre’s narrow, ancient streets and the dark and murky surrounding forests. Molina keeps the tension cranked up, periodically flirting with supernatural elements to kick it up even higher. A midnight tarot reading? Sock it to us.

As the emotionally scarred but assertive and proactive Salazar, Marta Etura makes a rock-solid, sympathetic and believable sleuth-protagonist. Itziar Aizpuru is also terrific as her granny, Tía Engrasi, especially in their slightly spooky scenes together. Colin McFarlane adds some coolness in his all-too-brief scenes as the sage FBI instructor. However, Guardian is really distinguished by intangibles, like vibe, tactile “feel,” and general mise-en-scene.

Guardian is the kind of film that grabs viewers immediately and pulls them through quickly. It might not do much to boost Navarre tourism, even though Molina makes the most of the regional locales. It also makes us curious to see what he might do if he went all in on a proper horror movie. Enthusiastically recommended for fans of serial killer thrillers, The Invisible Guardian screens this Friday (10/20) as part of Recent Spanish Cinema at the Egyptian Theatre in LA.