Good exorcism movies are few and far between. Of course, there’s The Exorcist which, way back in 1973, set the bar so high that any similar film that followed was bound to suffer in comparison. Of the more recent possession flicks, only The Exorcism of Emily Rose has approached the overall quality of the The Exorcist—until now. Director Daniel Stamm’s The Last Exorcism, written by Huck Botko and Andrew Gurland (and, yes, produced by Eli Roth), is a well-made and compelling, if ultimately frustrating, addition to the exorcism subgenre.
The Last Exorcism starts by introducing us to Cotton Marcus (Patrick Fabian), an evangelical preacher who is leaving his faith behind. While as a pseudo-documentary horror film, the first obvious comparison is to The Blair Witch Project, The Last Exorcism actually recalls Marjoe, the 1972 Academy Award winning documentary about evangelist and showman Marjoe Gortner. Like Gortner, the fictional Cotton Marcus is allowing his last act to be filmed to reveal the evangelical art of the con. But where Gortner’s last hurrah was a revival tour, Marcus plans to lay bare the truth behind his specialty. You see, Marcus is an exorcist. And he’s a master of his craft. But his conscience has caught up to him, so he’s going to let everyone in on the tricks of the trade as a public service.
From a stack of requests, Marcus draws the case of Nell Sweetzer (Ashley Bell), a childlike 16-year-old from the backwoods of Louisiana. Nell’s father, Louis (Louis Herthum), is sure she’s possessed and Reverend Marcus is more than happy to assist, much to the dismay of Nell’s disquieting brother, Caleb (Caleb Landry Jones).
As played by Fabian, Marcus is a interesting and charismatic character. He doesn’t see himself as a fraud; he’s just a man providing a service—giving the people what they want. But he’s a good man who cares very much about his family and those he helps. In his care, no one gets hurt and, hey, some may be even be healed. Stamm has cast his film extremely well. Every role is filled with the right performer.
Beyond that, Stamm knows how to work the documentary gimmick just right, as well as invest his movie with a spooky “this could really happen” atmosphere. Especially commendable is the director’s commitment to using only practical effects. (In the age of CGI, it’s nice to see loyalty to the craft of “real” special effects.) All of these elements combine to make The Last Exorcism a persuasively scary flick…until the very end of the film.
Most movies fall apart in the third act. But The Last Exorcism falls apart in the third act of the third act. The requisite twist during the flick’s last few minutes completely destroys all the goodwill the film rightfully earns up to that point. Even then, I was willing to go with it—until the last shot, which totally destroys the movie’s whole premise, or mise-en-scène. It’s a real shame, because for about 85 of its 87 minutes, The Last Exorcism is a killer little film, which leads me to ask: What possessed the filmmakers to end their flick this way? To be sure, it’s a groan-inducing question, to which there can be only one groan-inducing answer: The devil made ‘em do it.
In my experience, anthology films are usually disappointing. In these movies, for every tale that succeeds, there are often two or three others that fail. Part of the problem is the format’s inherent limitations: It’s really hard to develop a compelling plot with interesting characters in 20 minutes. To try and do it three or four times in one flick is almost impossible. And to try to tie them all together in a clever way? Well, good luck. With their recent anthology Nightmare Alley, filmmakers Walter Ruether and Laurence Holloway have set a herculean task for themselves. Their micro-budget flick crams seven separate stories into one film. I guess it’s admirable to swing for the fences, but they have pretty much set themselves up to fail.
Filmed in what the DVD box proclaims to be “Grind-O-Scope” (which is actually just a filter that adds flaws to the picture à la Grindhouse), Nightmare Alley is a bunch of underdeveloped stories held together with a clunky framing device involving a Cryptkeeper-like host who introduces and comments on each story. While some of these tales have the germ of a promising idea, most are pretty generic, pointless fare. But a couple of them, “Meat” and “Closet Case,” have no real narrative at all and should have been cut from the flick. But, on the bright side, these two episodes do have something to offer. They provide an example of what’s wrong with the movie—and, trust me, it’s a common problem in these days of DIY digital movie making.
Preproduction is extremely important. Polish your script till it shines and previz your film. Storyboard it. Cut it in your head. The finished product will prove that the time was not wasted. The script for Nightmare Alley could’ve used several more drafts. Doing so might’ve allowed the filmmakers to find and develop a much better movie. It would’ve been wiser for the filmmakers to pick three of the strongest tales and then flesh them out into 25-minute pieces. Instead, we have seven 10-minute bits that never get the chance to go anywhere. Ruether seems to have a grasp of filmmaking basics, though they’re shaky at best. A few of the episodes have pretty good cinematography and direction—the camera placement is occasionally effective and there are some decent pickup shots—but more often than not, it’s just point and shoot. I don’t know how much preproduction was done, but I bet a little more planning would’ve resulted in an improved flick. Another valuable part of planning is the casting process. Most of the actors here are amateurish at best, although there are a couple of interesting performances sprinkled throughout—oddly, usually in supporting roles.
But there are some positives too. As I said, there are some good ideas here. With this kind of flick, the ghosts of EC Comics and Creepshow are never far away. The flick starts with a “Nightmare Alley” comic book whose horrific stories are visited on those who read them. That would’ve been a better framing device than the horror host, who has nothing of wit or interest to say. And one element of Nightmare Alley was truly impressive: the sound. Most of these independent, DIY horror flicks have spotty, atrocious sound, but Nightmare Alley has amazing sound throughout. That really helps—if the audience can’t hear the dialogue, there’s a good chance they’ll turn off the flick before the end. Nightmare Alley also had some pretty cool music on its soundtrack. Oh yeah, some of the gore effects rise to the level of serviceable. And there’s a sweet painting of Anton Szandor LaVey in one of the vignettes.
Every film is somebody’s baby and I respect that. It takes a lot to actually write, shoot and finish a film, so kudos to Ruether and company. But Nightmare Alley simply doesn’t work. Next time out, it would serve them well to remember that if it’s not on the page, it won’t show up onscreen.
Stacie Ponder, best known for her popular horror blog Final Girl, has been making short films for a while now. So when I heard she’d grabbed a video camera and disappeared into the desert to make a movie called Ludlow, I was interested, but not surprised. I’ve been acquainted with Ponder for a few years and she’s always doing off-the-wall things like that. I moved from interested to intrigued when I learned the star of her film would be actress Shannon Lark, Fangoria magazine’s first Spooksmodel and founder of horror collective The Chainsaw Mafia. I’d interviewed Lark previously and found her to be a smart, multi-talented and, yes, beautiful woman who was very much in charge of her own fate. Ponder and Lark, together again for the first time. I couldn’t wait to find out what were these two doyennes of darkness were doing out there in the Mojave Desert, but details were hard to come by.
I finally dug up a synopsis of the plot: “Oh…I don’t know…it would be in the desert…and you know, something would happen…and then…I don’t know…stabstabstab the end.” Admittedly, not much to go on, though absolute genius in its simplicity—but how would Ponder and Lark bring this vague idea to life? Well, a little more than a year later, we finally have the answer to that question. And it’s not what you’d expect.
All of Ponder’s past films have been wildly funny, but Ludlow is very serious business. When the stark, opening images flicker across the screen, it’s apparent this movie is completely different from anything she has done before. A broken young woman, Krista, drives alone through the desert, on the run from her troubled past. Checking into a rundown motel to await the arrival of her sister, Maddy (Elissa Dowling), the battered Krista’s only companions are a large stash of cheap vodka, a seemingly endless supply of anti-psychotics and her increasingly disturbing thoughts. As she sits alone, waiting and self-medicating, her grip on reality becomes tenuous at best. Soon, she can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. And, to Ponder and Lark’s credit, neither can we.
With this movie, Ponder set up quite a challenge for herself—it’s difficult to make a compelling film with two characters, one location and one crew member. But Ponder pulls it off effortlessly. It would’ve been easy for her to misstep with material this dark and ambiguous, but her stunning visual sense and imaginative approach keep the movie moving forward steadily. The narrative she’s conceived is something of a funhouse mirror, and she translates the shattered psyche of her lead character quite effectively using a variety of video and editing techniques. The evocative score by James M. Barry plays a large role in her success, but Ponder’s ace in the hole is Ms. Lark.
As Krista, Lark is in every scene and onscreen almost every second, yet she remains eminently watchable throughout. She manages to make us care for Krista even as we grow to fear her, and that’s a nice trick to pull off. Her role demands she be vulnerable one minute and raving the next and Lark handles it with aplomb, making interesting choices and never once descending into the hammy histrionics these types of parts often elicit from lesser performers. Because of the all the blood and bruises and lack of vanity required, some might call Lark’s performance “brave,” but with her work here Lark has proven she’s a real actor, not just a “spooksmodel.” As Maddy, Elissa Dowling is successful in a tricky part, playing a role that’s more than it seems.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to reveal that I contributed a very small amount of money toward the completion of Ludlow and my name appears in the closing credits, along with many others who did the same. I spoke with Ponder about this before I received a screener, and we agreed that I would relay my true feelings and divulge any issues I have with the film. Accordingly, as much as I like Ludlow, I do have one consideration—the flick’s running time. At 65 minutes, it’s not quite what’s considered feature length, but I think it’s the perfect length for the material. Ponder could’ve added another 10 minutes, but that would be padding it, and I’d rather see a movie that’s a bit short than one that’s obviously been extended to make it run what’s considered the “correct” number of minutes. And in today’s video-on-demand culture, where people view movies on their computers and phones while answering email and surfing the web, who’s to say what’s the proper length of a feature? I believe that, as the internet becomes a more viable entertainment delivery system and theatrical runs become less of a factor, we’re going to see a shift away from 90-minute movies as a rule. The bottom line is, this is an accomplished film no matter its length.
Ludlow is a mesmerizing look at a woman’s journey into darkness, and it’s definitely not what I expected Ponder and Lark to deliver. Truthfully, I thought we’d get some kind of twisted buddy comedy, like a scary Thelma & Louise. Or maybe alien zombies. But with Ludlow, Ponder has proven she’s an artist with many colors and shades on her palette. I wonder what she’ll paint next—light or dark.
Over the years, Canada has produced some of the most interesting voices in horror. Bob Clark, David Cronenberg and John Fawcett are just some of the directors to emerge from the Great White North with singular voices and cool films. And with a forceful little flick called Dead Hooker in a Trunk, Vancouver-based filmmakers Jen and Sylvia Soska have pretty much grabbed the indie horror film community by the collar and demanded admission to this boys club. Word to the wise: If I were you, I wouldn’t argue with them. I’ve seen what they can do.
I first saw Dead Hooker in a Trunk a few months ago at a horror film fest. I’d never heard of the movie or its makers, but when I saw that title, I knew it was the one film I had to see that day. This is what I had to say at the time:
“Made by the Canadian twin filmmaking team Jen and Sylvia Soska, Dead Hooker tells the story of twin sisters who are complete opposites in every way, but learn they’re more alike than either would ever have believed. Yes, it’s the most disturbing feel-good movie I’ve ever seen. Funny, violent, gory, unsettling, gratuitous, excessive and kick-ass, the flick the Soska twins have delivered is the unlikely combination of utterly derivative and wholly original. At various points, I was amazed, amused, appalled, grossed out, disgusted, delighted, confused and restless—but I was never bored. The Soskas could have fixed the ‘restless’ issue by delivering a flick that was about 10 minutes shorter, I think. The film tells the story of four people that find the body of a hooker in their car trunk, and that is the highlight of their weekend. I left Dead Hooker in a Trunk with one main thought: It’s nice to know that women can make a film that is as bizarre and fucked up as anything made by a male. It also disproves the misconception that all Canadians are nice and normal. Way to go, ladies! Twisted Twins indeed.”
Granted, it’s not the most articulate review, but it’s accurate. As we sat in the darkened theater and this steamroller of a film plowed over the audience, my companions and I were overwhelmed by the action onscreen. The auditorium filled with gasps and nervous giggles from people that kept peeking at each other with wide-eyed looks that said, “Did they just do that?” When the movie ended, there was a slight pause while everyone oriented themselves, then the room filled with raucous applause. I left the theater knowing I’d just seen something that was as much a statement of purpose as it was an entertainment.
A couple of weeks ago, I got the chance to view the flick again when I received a copy of the Soskas’ final cut of Dead Hooker in a Trunk. This provided a welcome opportunity to review a film that, while not perfect, does what it does so well that it’s hard to pinpoint what it could’ve done better.
Dead Hooker in a Trunk opens with a blast of live hardcore music that accompanies an accomplished tracking shot through a ratty bar. The camera weaves around the club like a cobra, introducing us to the denizens that will inhabit the flick and setting a frenzied pace that the Soskas are somehow able to sustain for as long as they choose—I phrase it that way because, although the flick is a nonstop race from start to finish, the filmmakers also know exactly when to ease up and let the film (and us) breathe. I should say that the first version I saw didn’t exhibit this sure grasp of pacing. With this new cut, the Soskas have both tightened it up and smoothed it out.
The Soska sisters have created an underground world full of people dealing with absurd, sometimes surreal situations that feel grounded in reality. None of the characters are developed more than necessary. They are mostly “types,” which is acknowledged by the fact that they don’t have proper names; in the credits, they’re referred to as the Junkie (Rikki Gagne), the Badass (Sylvia Soska), the Geek (Jen Soska) and the Goody Two-Shoes (CJ Wallis). But to be fair, there really isn’t time to develop them. Once Junkie and Badass find Hooker in their car trunk, the movie is off and running. It really only slows down once, for a touching scene of fellowship that would be sweet if not for the gore and death it contains…which brings us to another point. Exactly what type of movie is Dead Hooker in a Trunk anyway?
Because of all the carnage, the flick has been embraced by the horror community, but it’s not actually a horror movie. The Soskas have delivered a film that dips its toes into a lot of cinematic ponds. If I had to put it in a box, I’d call it a sexy, low-budget mumblecore crime thriller, wrapped in a gory exploitation flick and tied with a bow of black comedy. Because of this, some might say Dead Hooker in a Trunk doesn’t know what kind of movie it wants to be, but I think it knows exactly what it wants to be. And that’s what it is—an in-your-face, mondo-gonzo shot of adrenaline that’s all bad manners and punk rock attitude.
Although Dead Hooker in a Trunk serves as a calling card for the Soskas, it also introduces a couple of other major talents, namely CJ Wallis and Rikki Gagne. Gagne is a veteran stunt person who delivers a wonderful lead performance as Junkie. She actually makes you care about a character with few redeeming qualities. And while Wallis is quite funny as Goody Two-Shoes, his other contributions to the flick show him to be a ridiculously talented individual. Besides starring, he also worked on visual effects and served as cinematographer, editor and composer. He’s probably responsible for the smart and intuitive use of music throughout the film as well. Actually, every role, no matter how small, is filled with people with tons of experience. That’s Canada’s open secret—because so many Hollywood productions shoot there, its local film community is full of skilled performers and technicians. The Soskas seem to know them all.
In my first review of this flick, I said Jen and Sylvia Soska had made a film that’s utterly derivative and wholly original. And that’s true, but Dead Hooker in a Trunk is that rarest of creatures: a movie that manages to transcend its influences. Much like Quentin Tarantino, the Soskas have been able to combine familiar, disparate elements to create something new. And much like Tarantino did with his first film, they’ve set the bar pretty freaking high for themselves. I can’t wait to see what they come up with next, but I’m slightly concerned. I mean, how do you follow up a radcore debut like Dead Hooker in a Trunk? Only the Soska twins can answer that question. Ladies?
Horror chicks Michelle Tomlinson and Kimberly Amato are back with the second episode of their entertaining webseries, the first issue of the filmmaking orgy I wrote about HERE. Displaying a keen marketing savvy, McT & A have delivered a loving parody of the whole Twilight phenomenon, written by Amato, just in time for tomorrow’s release of The Twilight Saga: Eclipse.
This episode, dubbed The Mis-Adventures of McT & A: The Twilight Spoof, takes a different approach than the first, which was totally improvised. Amato and Tomlinson portray two überfans of a Twilight-like series of movies. They apparently spend all their free time arguing the relative merits of Edward and Jacob…I mean, Josh and Landall, the Edward and Jacob analogues they worship. Their ongoing discussion is illustrated with tongue-in-cheek “dramatizations” that make their various points and lampoon the overblown acting endemic to the series being spoofed. McT & A are aided and abetted in their efforts by Joshua Benton and Landall Goolsby, playing…umm, Josh and Landall. Also on board is a hilarious Lisa Gershuny as the very over-the-top Bella counterpart.
So, if you think hunky werewolves and sparkly vampires are getting just a little too big for their teen idol britches, or even if you just love all things Twilight, watch the episode below or head on over to YouTube and check out The Mis-Adventures of McT & A: The Twilight Spoof. It might be just the thing to get you in the mood for the continuing mis-adventures of the Cullen clan. And I promise, Edward won’t mind if you laugh…just a little.
As the writer of screenplays like The Fugitive, Waterworld and Warlock, David Twohy has proven he knows his way around genre. As a writer/director of his own films, he’s been less successful. For every Pitch Black, there’s a The Chronicles of Riddick. He’s a bit exasperating, but he’s usually interesting. But with his latest flick, A Perfect Getaway (2009), Twohy gets everything right, and then some. Using our knowledge of film conventions against us, the flick slyly subverts all we know about the way thrillers work. Does Twohy play fair? Maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t. But the end result is so satisfying, it doesn’t matter. It’s just fun to watch him show off.
Writing about A Perfect Getaway is a bit maddening. Because the twists and turns are everything here, a frustrating level of vagueness is demanded. So bear with me. The film starts like your standard-issue genre romp. A newlywed couple goes to Hawaii for a honeymoon. Once there, they learn that another pair of honeymooners has been murdered by a man and woman. As our protagonists hike the secluded tropical paradise, they soon meet another couple that may or may not be the killers. The game is afoot. Along the way, there will be a few laughs, a few scares, some red herrings and a plot twist to close Act Two. We’ve seen this movie a thousand times and know exactly how it will play out. And Twohy knows we know, and this knowledge has allowed him to construct a movie unlike any we’ve seen. And make no mistake—this movie is constructed. Twohy lays the foundation and stacks all the bricks just so. Then he has the temerity to knock them all down and rebuild something even more interesting from the debris.
Part of the film’s success is due to its brilliant casting. To some degree, stars Steve Zahn, Milla Jovovich and Timothy Olyphant all play against type…until they don’t. The way this movie is written allows the actors to do a little of everything. But it also requires they do quite specific things to pull off the film’s central conceit—things that are difficult for any actor. To their credit, all the players are up to the challenge, with everyone involved modulating their performance skillfully. The success of A Perfect Getaway is absolutely the result of a team effort. Much of credit goes to the flick’s editor, Tracy Adams. But it’s Twohy’s hubris that’s to be admired most. The audacity of his writing here is matched by his complete confidence as a director, demonstrated by his use of several disparate filmmaking techniques and innate ability to keep this whole ambitious enterprise from getting away from him. He’s adept enough to hint at his plans, then actually come out and tell you what they are, then carry them out right in front of you without you knowing and finally turn everything around. Rare is the movie that tells you almost everything but still keeps you guessing.
Sure, we have to play along a bit. Some will accuse Twohy of cheating and being way too clever for his own good—and he is. But that’s not always a bad thing, especially in a thriller. In fact, sometimes, it’s the perfect getaway.
I’ve accepted the fact that Italian horror maestro Lucio Fulci and I have a strained relationship. It’s nothing personal. Although I appreciate his work, it rarely engages me emotionally. I know this makes me tragically uncool, but there it is. I’ve said it. Dario Argento and Mario Bava? I love those guys, but Fulci? We just don’t click. And that’s fine.
Recently, I realized that I’ve never seen The Beyond (akaE tu vivrai nel terrore! L’aldilà), considered by many to be his masterwork. Of course! Maybe if I experienced this beloved piece of Euro horror, the doors to the Fulci Admiration Society would open wide and beckon to me. Then it would all make sense—all the canine terror and eyeball violence. So, I watched The Beyond, waiting for the epiphany I knew was coming…and you know what? Nothing really happened. But, gosh, isn’t that the way life works?
Like most of Fulci’s films, The Beyond has had a troubled past. Released in Europe in 1981, it didn’t hop the pond until 1983. Part two of the so-called Gates of Hell trilogy, The Beyond arrived in America retitled Seven Doors of Death. It was severely edited for the U.S. market due to Fulci’s patented over-the-top gore—melting faces and eye gouging abound. The scant plot is almost beside the point. A woman named Liza (Katherine MacColl) inherits a dilapidated Louisiana hotel, apparently near New Orleans, which just happens to house one of the seven doors of death, through which spirits of the dead pass to visit our world. As soon as Liza begins renovations, a plumber named Joe dies. Later, Liza meets Emily (Sarah Keller), a young blind girl with milky eyes and a seeing-eye dog named Dickie. Emily warns her to cease and desist in her attempts to reopen the hotel. Soon, the local pathologist, Dr. John McCabe (David Warbeck), gets involved and demands a rational explanation for all the Fulci strangeness. Spoiler: He doesn’t get one. What he does get is a shootout with zombies and a free trip to the other side of death’s door.
Granted, while I’ve told you what happens, what’s more important is the way it all happens—it’s the telling, not the tale. After the basic plot is in place, The Beyond begins to resemble a gore flick directed by Ingmar Bergman. Random events happen with seemingly little connection to other random events. The flick is quite surrealistic and dreamy, with lots of evocative imagery. Also, Fulci makes nice use of New Orleans’ atmosphere but, sadly, all the impressionism and ambiance never manages to gather and build to a satisfying emotional payoff. But that’s the way I feel about all Fulci flicks, so your mileage may vary. The one thing that did work for me was the last half hour of the film. That’s when the action picks up and the zombie shootout occurs. Sure, there is the occasional appearance of the living dead throughout the film’s first hour, but in the last thirty minutes, events occur which put our heroes in the midst of a whole freakin’ throng of zombies. And my research gives me a clue as to why.
Apparently, the German distributor that owned the rights to the movie wanted a zombie flick, not a haunted house flick. So Fulci rewrote the end of the film to pump up the (zombie) volume. I really hate that I liked the part of the film that Fulci probably thinks of as a terrible compromise, but there it is—again, tragically uncool. Though perhaps it happened this way: After the discussion with his distributor, Fulci realized that, hey, they were right. Maybe what The Beyond actually needed was a kickass last act to balance out all the self-indulgence (i.e., decadent macabre Italian poetry) of the first hour.
At least, I’d like to think that’s the way it happened. But, yeah, probably not. Anyway, I’ll leave you now with a few stray thoughts—some of my notes that didn’t find their way into my review but might still have value.
I don’t know their backstory, but Joe the plumber and Martha the maid deserve their own movie to explain the glance they share when they meet at the film’s start.
I dig the tinny ‘80s jazz fusion/atonal piano score.
Dickie isn’t such a good dog after all.
The dubbing is actually pretty good here. And the voice actors aren’t as ridiculous as usual.
That grue looks like a cherry slushie.
It’s never really a zombie flick until they gather in groups and shamble slowly. These are some bored-looking zombies though.
Dude, you know you have to shoot them in the head…with your magically reloading pistol.
Horror Movie Rule #114: When a person is immobilized with his mouth open and is then attacked by big, hairy spiders (which happens more than you’d think), said spiders will inevitably crawl into the open mouth. See similar Rule #115 pertaining to snakes.
There’s lots of talk about what is and isn’t horror. Usually, the discussion centers on films like Psycho or Silence of the Lambs, or even entire genres like slasher or giallo flicks. While it’s generally agreed these all fall under the umbrella of horror, it can be argued that they don’t. But there are also films out there that are definitely not categorized as horror, but are so dark—either in spirit or deed—that I think they could fit comfortably under that same very scary umbrella. Usually these movies are called dramas or thrillers or mysteries, or anything else the studio marketing department can think of. You know, anything but “horror,” because horror gets no respect. (Don’t get me started.) So, in honor of these misfiled flicks, I want to welcome you to a new semi-occasional, random, intermittent, sporadic feature here at Slammed & Damned: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Horror. In this series, we’ll shine a light into the dark corners of the film world and get acquainted with these horrific gems.
I can’t think of a better film to kick off with than Stuck, the under-appreciated 2007 “thriller” directed by Stuart Gordon and written by John Strysik. It’s no surprise that Gordon is involved with a movie like this, which deals with the always entertaining combination of human nature, self-preservation and very bad decision making. With a career that has included interpreting the works of David Mamet, Edgar Allan Poe and H. P. Lovecraft for stage, screen and television, Gordon is obviously quite comfortable on the dark side of the street. Hell, he pretty much lives there, and god bless him for it. As a director, Gordon is somewhat twisted. He has both an unerring eye and an old-fashioned sensibility, but he never misses a chance to infuse his projects with a grim, sardonic sense of humor. He’s perhaps best known for his wonderful 1985 Lovecraft adaptation, Re-Animator, but an even darker and, dare I say, better Gordon flick is Edmond (definitely a candidate for this series), based on one of David Mamet’s more controversial plays.
Any writer will tell you the real world is the best inspiration for horror and, accordingly, Stuck is loosely inspired by actual horrible events. The film dramatizes the story of Chante Mallard, a woman who hit a homeless man with her car in 2001 and then drove home, parked in her garage with the poor man still lodged in her windshield, and left him to die.
Mena Suvari stars as Brandi Boski, a caretaker at a nursing home who is a genuinely good person. She truly cares about the elderly people in her charge and really goes the extra mile to help them. Sure, she’s likes to party hard in her off hours—but, hey, who doesn’t? She has a boyfriend, Rashid (a very good Russell Hornsby), who is a genuinely nice guy. Sure, he’s a low-level drug dealer and has a weakness for other women, but he’s there for Brandi when she runs into Tom Bardo (Stephen Rea). And I mean literally runs in to him. Tom is a nice guy as well. Sure, he’s down on his luck and without a home at the moment, but he’s a former professional who’s trying hard to find work. But he’s at that age when it’s easy to get fired and harder to get hired.
Dramatically, the character of Tom serves as the complicating incident, but Rea does all he can with his role—even though he spends most of the flick stuck in a car windshield. The movie is a showcase for Suvari, and she kills it. Suvari’s Brandi is easy to root for and identify with, even when she’s acting selfishly and horrifically. Suvari is skilled enough to make even the most monstrous actions understandable, as is Hornsby. One of Gordon’s strong points is casting and he excels here. Even the smallest roles are filled perfectly.
So, if you’re ever tired of sparkly vampires, boring werewolves or rebooted slashers (and who isn’t?), but you still need to get that darkness of the soul that only genuine horror can provide, I recommend you check out Gordon’s gory Stuck. It’s so good that I can’t believe it’s not horror.
Jeremiah Kipp has toiled long and hard on the New York scene, assisting noted artists such as Alan Rowe Kelly and Larry Fessenden with their films. While he usually acts as assistant or second unit director, he occasionally writes and directs his own flicks. His latest short film, Contact, proves Kipp has learned his lessons well and is more than ready to break out and make his own films full time.
At first glance, Contact seems to be a movie decrying drugs, but I think that’s a lazy description. There’s definitely a story being told and drugs are involved, but the flick is more a tone poem or meditation than an anti-drug rant. Largely dialogue free and shot in moody black and white, the film communicates atmosphere and experience very well. But atmosphere and experience are subjective, and so is Contact. After ingesting a substance that seems to be hallucinogenic in nature, the main character journeys inside herself and doesn’t like what she finds. Yes, her trip is bad but, looked at a certain way, it seems the drug actually allows the right path to open. You have to go through hell to get to heaven.
With Contact, Kipp has constructed a film that’s very interesting, if for no other reason than the extraordinary promise it shows. He’s ably abetted by Dominick Sivilli’s lush cinematography and Zoë Daelman Chlanda’s wrenching portrayal of the lead character. They’ve worked together often, and the chemistry shows. They definitely should continue their partnership if it will lead to more films like this. Bigger and better things await.
Nominally, Kipp works in the horror genre, but you know that the best horror is always about something else, and this flick is no different. Part domestic drama, part freak-out, Contact is a walk on the dark side that will linger in memory long after you’ve seen it. Find out for yourself HERE.
Devi Snively is a sly filmmaker of considerable skill and talent, but she knows she’s standing on the shoulders of giants. For the film fan, her flicks are often a game of spot the shot. While watching her work, I’ve picked up clever nods to several filmmakers, including David Lynch, Tobe Hooper and even Alejandro Jodorowsky. But when I watched trippin’, Snively’s first feature film, the movie I found myself thinking of was Dirty Dancing. I know that sounds strange, but stay with me here.
In my recent piece on her short films, I talk about Snively’s use of recurring themes and her identifiable cinematic sensibilities. I like to think I can recognize her style when I see it. But trippin’ is different enough from her previous films to make me realize that, much like the rebellious Baby in Dirty Dancing, Devi cannot be put in a corner and forgotten about—and trippin’ is no different. Just when you think you have this movie figured out, it takes a left turn and you remember, “Oh yeah, that Devi is twisted.”
Now, trippin’ is allegedly actually, really, truly inspired by actual, real, true events. I don’t know if I believe it, but supposedly Snively was out at a bar one night and met a dude with a gnarly scar on his leg. The story behind the scar was so cool that Snively decided then and there that she had to film it—that film is trippin’. A bunch of stoner friends go into the woods to stay at an isolated cabin. Of course, trouble follows. It’s all pretty familiar territory at first. You know, sex, drugs, rock and roll. But slowly, events start to twist back upon themselves. Then, you suddenly realize trippin’ is not at all the flick you thought it was. And, yes, there’s a puppet.
Snively refers to trippin’ as “the garage band of films” and that’s an apt description. She and Team Deviant made the moviea couple of years ago for almost no money. To give you an idea of the budget, her 15-minute film Death in Charge cost twice as much as this feature-length picture. And though the seams do show on occasion, trippin’ is a good-looking flick overall, with some beautiful shots. It was filmed over a period of 16 days, and much of the shooting schedule involved cold, uncomfortable nights spent tromping around the woods. The performances of its ensemble cast are a bit inconsistent, but the end result is extremely impressive considering the conditions they were dealing with.
trippin’ is more than the inane, generic fright fests it riffs on. It’s smart, dark and cunning—much like its writer/director. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you know what Snively will do next, because she’ll most likely surprise you. And in this era of film by committee, that’s an important ability to possess. Let’s pray she uses her power for good.
Good exorcism movies are few and far between. Of course, there’s The Exorcist which, way back in 1973, set the bar so high that any similar film that followed was bound to suffer in comparison. Of the more recent possession flicks, only The Exorcism of Emily Rose has approached the overall quality of the The Exorcist—until now. Director Daniel Stamm’s The Last Exorcism, written by Huck Botko and Andrew Gurland (and, yes, produced by Eli Roth), is a well-made and compelling, if ultimately frustrating, addition to the exorcism subgenre.
As played by Fabian, Marcus is a interesting and charismatic character. He doesn’t see himself as a fraud; he’s just a man providing a service—giving the people what they want. But he’s a good man who cares very much about his family and those he helps. In his care, no one gets hurt and, hey, some may be even be healed. Stamm has cast his film extremely well. Every role is filled with the right performer.
