Starry Eyes (2014) Movie Thoughts

Now that is one angry screed..

Sarah has been dreaming and working hard in hopes of making it in the business of dreams. Like so many others living in the hills around the Hollywood sign, it is a guiding light that is both a purveyor of immense joy, and often sustained pain. Day job here, sudden audition there, it becomes a lifestyle to so many here, and yet for Sarah, things have been ringing difficult. Casting calls are beginning to interfere with her day job squealing and grinning for strangers at Tater Tots. Roommate and friends dream of films and roles that never seem to materialize. And then there's always the issue of the next month's rent. It's your classic story of this area. But today, a call has come from the once well-respected and enigmatic genre studio, Astraeus Pictures - and Sarah's luck may be brightening up..

But not without price.

Having heard strong word about Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer's indie horror satire, a part of me immediately second-hand resonated with the premise. Living in LA, this is something of a common ism among the beautiful young one comes across in artistic circles. Walk along Santa Monica Boulevard, and catch glimpses of glowing faces poised for stardom while surviving on budget meals, and couch surfing. Starry Eyes, while in no way a new tale, spins an often harrowing, and mostly heartbreaking portrait of a town that seems both youthfully idyllic, yet endlessly threatening. And it is quite lovely in how it balances borderline film school techniques with a crushing knowing hidden just beneath all the familiar Los Angeles trappings. It's a common situation which often engenders gossip of corruption, perversion, and often downright Faustian among peers which inevitably become myth to so many looking for decay hiding beneath the shimmer. Sarah's story is both familiar, and yet jarring in how it is executed as a clash between post-Ti West no budget horror, and classic late 1970s era creepfests.

But the true secret weapon of this familiar narrative is Alex Essoe, who grants us a vision of a person long in the quiet suffering who finally sees a sparkle on the horizon, no matter how sinister. Right from the first scenes, it is clear that Sarah has been barely grappling with an almost mechanistic lifestyle of rejection and disappointment. From verbally overtipping her hand during auditions, to ripping out her hair in frustration in the washroom, her world has been taking a toll. So when this possible big break in the form of a starring role for a studio long thought dormant, she finds herself willing to do just about anything to get the part. She inhabits and ultimately transforms from such disparate states of being throughout the film that it transcends much if the piece's written and directorial stiffness. Almost as if she leapt straight from the intent. This is a tough,  uncomfortable role, and she delves into it with a yearning akin to Sarah herself, which also includes a physical transformation that both repels and strangely moves.

Also noteworthy are the supporting roles which feature faces familiar and new who are well worth mention. Standing out amongst this impressive troupe are Maria Olsen as the unsettling casting director,  and Pat Healy, as Sarah's hopelessly trapped day gig boss. A role that could so easily have been a butt of jokes, becomes a nuanced reminder that Hollywood dreams can be a trap beyond wishes to be a film idol. Also noteworthy in selling this theme are Noah Segan and Fabianne Therese who play a would be film producer living out of his van, and she - his would-be star as they seem to live aimlessly without a film to actually shoot. They become the very thing that the film industry tends to decry and often demonize. The choice to make each option attractive and repellant is a potent one. The dreamers are beset on every corner, often forced to compromise in terrible, spiritually crippling ways in an environment that hints at the dusty, blood-spattered legacy of the death of the 1960s counterculture. A movement of cults and beliefs that has found itself entrenched so deep into the dream factory fabric, that it functions not unlike a drug to those unsuspecting. A monolithic machine, chugging along, fueled by broken hearts and longing for illusory solace.

That's right. In the desperation soaked world of Starry Eyes, all are shackled, and there is no relief to be had. It's an at-times amateurish feeling work that gets a lot of mileage out of retaliating at a system seemingly hellbent on making every human a mark, and simple human kindness into a leper-making plague. While the final product longs for a little more grace in its movements, this is a well executed scare tale that brings to light something far too many hate to consider regarding my home town, and what it still represents to so many. The final result is something both profoundly sad, and hard to shake.

It's an idiosyncratic little nightmare with more than a dose of truth ingrained deeply into its tattered, tear-stained 8 X 10.  

It Follows (2014) Movie Thoughts

On what seems to be an ordinary suburban street, on what seems to be an ordinary dusk, a beautiful young girl bursts out of her otherwise peaceful looking home in a panic. Unnerving her father, and concerning the neighbors, the girl, half-dressed and still in heels makes a desperate break for anywhere but home. All the more disconcerting, there seems to be no one visibly chasing her. Despite our inability to see her pursuer, it is clear that something is horribly wrong, and that there seems to be no discernible form of escape. Culminating in what is easily one of the more unnerving openings in years, we are now in the throes of a bold new nightmare world in middle class Detroit as David Robert Mitchell takes us on an ultimate campfire tale in It Follows.

Practically borne out of the kind of anxiety-riddled mind that kids truly exhibit, It Follows is the story of smart and pretty teen, Jay who has haplessly dated the wrong guy. Having just lost her virginity to the mysterious Hugh(Jake Weary), she is then tuned in to the freakish news that she has now acquired something through the act. Hugh's admission that he has been running from this horrific specter that will now continue to torment her lest she pass it on to someone else via the same means. This unstoppable force can take the shape of just about anyone, but especially those she cares for, and it will not stop, until she is dead, leading to the chain reaction deaths of all previously afflicted. A diabolical die is cast as Jay, and her friends, and younger sister in tow struggle to find a way to undo the curse. But as encounters grow more and more desperate, Jay is now stricken with the choice as to heed the advice given, or seek further answers. In a gambit that eviscerates decades of horror cliche, it's either sex or death in a race against a nihilistic threat.

Mitchell's instinct for creating almost universal youth worlds takes on a dreamier dimension than his last piece, The Myth Of The American Sleepover. Where we now occupy a place that is even more deliberately ambiguous as old rotary dial television sets with rabbit ears share space with compact e-reader devices. Kid behavior and speech is refreshingly real, and adults are all but ignored. It Follows functions like a tale told between teens at a slumber party, with reams of texture abound, but salvation in the form of authority figures too remote to save anyone. It is also worth noting that the film takes place largely on location throughout all corners of Detroit, which makes for a unique marriage of the lovely, and apocalyptic as the harsh realities of the adult world begin to close in on Jay and friends. From a lake house, to the dilapidated neighborhoods south of the legendary 8 Mile, we are host to a youth that's on the brink. After all, what can the adults do but merely suggest away the harshness that lies beyond the borders?

But the real juice of the film comes from the cast who almost uniformly deliver. Especially a star-making performance by Maika Monroe, who's Jay captures the turns of awareness with occasionally heartbreaking ease. Also worthy of note are Leli Sepe, as her younger sis, Kelly, and Keir Gilchrist as Paul, a childhood friend with a lifelong crush. And as the terror escalates, what's especially refreshing is how up front everyone is regarding Jay's plight. They begin to regroup, plan, run, fight, and ultimately consider Jay's need to "give it away". The closeness of the core cast, and their dynamics while general in speech, have a cadence and gravity that grant It Follows an aura that is hard to shake long after the screen goes black. It's a tale that could happen just about anywhere, and at any time.

The wonder of the whole piece resides in just how deceptively simple it all feels. While the film could easily have taken a cheap route to scares, Mitchell and company go out of their way to scale matters down to the molecule, as shots linger, wide pans are untrustworthy, and no amount of daylight is safe. Accompanying the film's calculated aura, is a startling and quietly troubling score by the electronic outfit, Disasterpeace. While some may hear a little Carpenter influence here, there's something else happening that feels in tune with the nervousness that resides in all of us in a newly sunlit social universe. It dares us to dive headlong into the film's dreamlike rhythms as it dances on frayed young nerves. Some viewers may find themselves challenged by what is ostensibly a minimal approach, but for this reviewer, it grants room to allow even more unsettling thoughts as characters whom we easily grow to care about, find themselves desperate to try nearly anything to keep the monster at bay. Like an itch impossible to scratch, the threat is always there, always out to get you. Not interesting in running, because it has inevitability on its side.

More than an allegory for sexually transmitted diseases, and more involved than a treatise on morality, this is a piece that will likely reward the willing in thoughtful and unexpected ways. Like a shadow of expectation, or a biological yearning no one asked for, the affliction serves as a conduit between our animal selves, and the shame we impose upon ourselves for being as such. One cannot truly run away from their inherited humanity. And fewer things are scarier than the perpetual inability to reconcile with our own primal natures. Simply put, It Follows not only serves as a great little piece of existential terror, it is also an engrossing reminder of that most terrifying of times; youth.

Impulse Explorations: YOU'RE NEXT (2011)

 After years of peeking into the more highly spotlighted corners of the horror film universities, seeking new voices who would carry on the legacy of a great few others, I can say with great confidence that the works of Adam Wingard tend to leave me dry. If he were a filmmaker who's voice wished to usher in a new era of slasher thrills with a new twist, it could certainly do with a little more sense of gravity than a cursory love of an idea.As it is, You're Next plays a lot like a junior college final with cinema grade visuals.


Driving into the Missouri mountains to visit his well-off parents and family, Crispian (A.J. Bowen), along with his former student-turned girlfriend, Erin (Shami Vinson) unwittingly arrive as bloody murder hits the vicinity. Isolated from much of civilization, the immediately dysfunctional gathering is quietly being stalked by a group of masked killers hard set on killing everyone in attendance. But upon the moment that the party has turned fight for survival, it become clear that there is more than meets the eye with these armed fiends(and that Erin is no ordinary fiance). Attempting to subvert the "home invasion" subgenre ala The Strangers, or even Inside, Wingard's You're Next, flounders about, never finding itself out of first gear.


The film plays out like the blueprint for a family drama satire that never figures out how to make the humor sing. One can witness the intent, but the script by Simon Barett, never sees a way to play on the dynamics between Crispian's family members as his partner haplessly witnesses. So it eventually gives up, and expects the audience to just go with the blood as if it were the only attraction worth attention. There is a definite love for the visceral on display. But without the characters complimenting the premise, it all feels more like an exercise in sadism where it could have easily been blackly comic. Fellow genre cineastes, Joe Swanberg, and Ti West, do what they can, hamming it up in supporting roles that border on thud-inducing. Not to mention Upstream Color's Amy Seimetz, and  horror veteran, Barbara Crampton come off a little undercooked. We have a potential for ensemble that is never milked to any satisfying effect. Again, we get the idea of a film, but aside from the expected gore, there's little else holding matters together.


Making matters even more bland, as good as Vinson is here, there's never any doubt as to how everything is going to play out. It also plays heavily into an almost survivalist fetishism that feels like the main reason for the film's existence. As the killers close in on the remaining family members in the estate, all we get are the expected knock down drag-outs, and  Home Alone-esque setups.While it could make for an interesting action character, it's hardly a source of depth for what could have been much more. Which again plays into the films of Wingard, who seems to carry some very rudimentary ideas for gender roles. There is an almost frat boy worldview being conveyed that never allows the characters to forge anywhere beyond simple, and often distasteful types. While that might make for definable heroes and cannon fodder, it does very little to make them compelling. When sarcastic horror comedies like the original April Fool's Day(1986), is a better example of this kind of story, it's time to worry.


Considering the decades-plus of cinematic bloodletting, one would think that someone would be informed that we would need more than this. Oh, we do, Wingard. We really do.

V/H/S (2012) Movie Review

A rowdy group of thugs, high on videotaping their small town exploits land themselves a shady, but simple enough gig: Break and enter into an abandoned house in hopes of retrieving a single VHS cassette. What it contains, what the value is, none of them know, all that matters is the payoff. So when the house in question doesn't seem to be abandoned, and the guys have clearly wandered into something profoundly horrific, we are there to witness not only their fates, but those of others captured forever in their recorded hubris. Having pretty much seen the most convincing examples of the "found footage" approach to horror film, perhaps it was more than time to catapult the genre into pure spectacle mode. After the approach has already graced other realms of the fantastic in recent years (Chronicle, Cloverfield), so perhaps it was a mere matter of time before the fantastical infiltrated the horror world. No longer content with implications of terror outside, or around the frame of vision, this at-times ballsy anthology featuring directors Adam Wingard, David Bruckner, Ti West, Glenn McQuaid, Joe Swanberg, & Radio Silence dares to go ahead by merging both technical limitation and popcorn silly, and what results is a mixed, yet impression-making bag.




As mentioned, V/H/S's anthology format is wrapped together by the main frame narrative called Tape 56, where the search for a valuable VHS cassette in a darkened home bears not only the collection of eerie tapes featured throughout, but possibly someone watching the watchers. Wingard's entry is both daring in its premise of having such unlikeable guys be the focal point of the action. Early on, we are witness to their depravity as they cause immense property damage, and even assault women in public in hopes of creating sellable "reality porn". Immediately, we are introduced to what will become a major theme of the entire film; the alpha male is a scourge, and is conversely self-destructive. The frame narrative of the piece comes into play when the supposedly empty house seems to be host to a dead man in a living room that doesn't seem comfy staying dead. And all the while, one of the guys is tasked with seeking out the prized tape. And since most are not particularly well-labeled, the thief opts to play through each tape in the living room, thereby showing us the ensuing shorts that make up the film's running time. Much of it is classic dark rooms, threatening corners, and everything else one might expect from such a premise. And as we come to the end of each short, we return back to the living room, often with the tension quietly mounting upon the guys as it becomes very clear that they aren't alone. What it brings to the fray, little in the way of new, save for some seriously unsavory leads. There is enough psychological play to make it interesting, but in all Tape 56 works as little more than an easy to digest framing device.

The first found tape on the pile is "Amateur Night", directed by David Bruckner, a short that takes the previously established themes of alpha-male jerkassery, and captured results of their boundary-violating by way of three city pals, out for a night on the town in hopes of making a sex video via the weaker friend wearing webcam-fitted glasses. Right away we are exposed to a trio that is easily the worst the American collegiate system could offer, stopping by a noisy bar in hopes of picking up a few random women to take to a hotel room for the night. It isn't long until something resembling success comes in the form of two women. One if which is classically drunk, and almost to the point of passing out. And then there's Lily, a quiet, sober, and VERY strange young lady. And as the short takes us out of the overall noise of the bar, and into the streets, heading to "home base", is becomes incredibly clear that something simply isn't completely right about the girl who seemingly has her eyes singularly on the cam-glasses-wearing Clint. This all comes to a head once the group arrive at the hotel room, and the friends attempt to close escrow--then things go horrendously wrong. Now right away, the theme established in the previous footage is amplified by way of these main characters here, and while there are some truly memorable images here, this is perhaps where I state that a large part of what made verite horror work for me in the past was in how it didn't tip its hand to far by showing us the fantastical in full frame. And throughout Amateur Night's build up, there seemed to be some hope that we'd witness something a little more grounded, but what we get by the end is so giddily preposterous, that it changes the timbre of where these films had been going, but just throws caution to the wind, and just goes for it. While it does take a certain amount of guts to do so, it's an aim that won't work with all tastes. For what it's worth, Bruckner's goals are made pretty clear. If only there was more to offer..

Next comes Ti West (House Of The Devil), and his entry, Second Honeymoon, which follows a handcam carrying couple traveling the deserts of the american southwest, only to discover that they might be in the process of being followed. Now this almost wholly stylistic about-face from the previous two is worth considering as West is no stranger from applying a slow-burn structure to his tales. It's so seemingly ordinary in it's milieu and in the performances, that it feels culled together for a completely different film. The closeness, and unique characteristics of Stephanie (Sophia Takal) and Sam (mumblecore favorite, Joe Swanberg)  take center stage as the whole piece feels authentic enough to detail even their more unflattering sides as things develop. The trip feels relatively fine, and even the horror element plays at it slowly and methodically. And yet, upon closer inspection, the themes resurface in a most unexpected manner.  One thing West is adept at, is finding the scariest things in the most mundane of circumstances. It's bad enough that the couple seem to be going through some mildly simmering difficulties, but when there's a stranger outside your door, West and his tiny cast figure out ways to milk what has yet to be done with the horror verite style, apply the horror of the everyday. The end result is both shocking, and mildly frustrating. But a might more interesting when all is said and done.

And then comes the much talked-about Glen McQuaid entry, Tuesday The 17th..Havoc strikes a quartet of college kids on a trip to the woods, led by secretive friend, Wendy (Norma C. Quinones). And again, the kids are largely an obnoxious bunch, but with the obnoxious pumped to almost irritating levels as they are led deeper into the woods, with half-breathed words such as "you're all going to die out here" via Wendy, who has mentioned having been out here before and survived a tragedy years prior. Obviously here with an agenda, her and her new friends are then stalked by a savage killer entity, unseen by the human eye..but strangely visible via a camera's viewfinder! Easily, the short's creative masterstroke, what is easily the weakest written and acted entry of the series, is also host to one of the most unique horror concepts in recent memory. A villain that can only visually be manifested by way of video distortion is an incredibly unique and effectively creepy one. It's all too bad that the schlock level is so high in its tribute to 1980s stalk n slash that it never lives beyond the novelty. Film school level silliness ensues, buoyed by one really cool idea. And once again, the themes established ring loud and clear here.

And just  when it felt like V/H/S had relegated itself into an uneven collection filled with forced themes, and mostly missed opportunities, in flies Joe Swanberg's The Sick Thing That Happened To Emily When She Was Younger. This incredible short make using the video chat software, Skype details the chatting sessions between Emily(Helen Rogers) and her new doctor boyfriend, James(Daniel Kaufman) while he is out of state. He has come into Emily's life as she has been suffering what seem to be increasingly terrifying hauntings within and around her city apartment. In hopes of proving this to James, she continues to call him to be present whenever the disturbances return, to often mixed findings. With the hauntings becoming more severe, and her behavior becoming increasingly destructive, matters reach a head that is on multiple levels gut twisting and deeply eerie. The largest revelation is that of Rogers' performance that painfully encapsulates one's descent into the mind's most troubled recesses, and all of it completely out of her reach to control it. Unsatisfied with what has been previously done with the style, Emily is a brilliant exercise in misdirection, character development, and truly dark notions. Completely well-executed, acted, and directed within an inch of micro genius, this is the shining surprise of V/H/S's collection.

Lastly, we have director collective, Radio Silence's 10/31/98, which details the hidden cam experience of four LA friends out in costume, headed for a Halloween party in a seemingly abandoned house which is host to all manner of freakish occurences. Easily one of the more straight-forward entries, this final piece lightens up on the "bros are horrible" a little, and delivers a simple, yet spooky little funhouse. And while it doesn't offer up much of anything in regards to character, let alone story, it does have a great deal of fun in coming up with ways to allow the foggy VHS color degradation to become a unique way to see some of the house's spectral beings in bizarre and visceral imagery. Strangely, this feels more like a fantastical, more FX-laden rendition of the spanish outbreak horror, REC, with just a little more humor injected. After the grim inscrutability of Emily, this seems like an appropo choice to round out the series, yet it all feels familiar. And while there is a lot of successful dating achieved in making this indeed look like a video made in the late 1990s, the angry spirits haunting the place fit well in line with years of hokey CG-laden horror films of the last decade. Fun, albeit tame.


So when the finale comes around, and all of these guys have been rightly punshed for their transgressions, does it feel like V/H/S comes together as a cohesive whole? Not particularly. While there are some great ideas and two good to great installments, the rest is more a success in how modern horror fans are capable of making good in a new film landscape. Having been produced by some of the guys behind the horror fansite, Bloody Disgusting, this is a fun, but uneven first outing with some real gems stuck amongst an interesting rabble. With the Paranormal Activity movies leading the charge as the de-facto series to top in the verite horror sweepstakes, V/H/S is more like an experiment in the future of an accidental genre. And if the goal is going full bore toward jumping the found footage shark, it's at least 70% there.

Curious to know more? The film is currently available on Netflix, here.

Movie Review: Kichiku Dai Enkai (1997)

                                    

                                           There are those occasional impulses that lead one to explore some of the lesser regarded tenets of human nature. And it likely can be said that there are certain films often lumped in with the often maligned (often deservedly so) horror genre, that are less exercises in mere scares, but more brutal examinations of our more incomprehensibly destructive behaviors. In recent years, it has come in the forms of either our often shallow torture-centric output, or even in France's little horror wave. Films that almost revel in some kind of past-the-threshold manner, nearly stripping away seemingly every last taboo in the name of shock. But how often does it all come from a place as raw & ghastly as Kazuyoshi Kumakiri's 1997 festival favorite, Kichiku Dai Enkai? Having seen it only once years before, I felt it strangely calling me back to give it perhaps another look to see how its effects may have subsided in a post-SAW, post- MARTYRS world. Which isn't to say that this film even ranks amongst those as cinematic kin. In fact, I'm still not sure where to peg the film as it seems to be a product of an amalgam of factors. Being made by third-year university student, Kumakiri, the film has the distinction of being released as the embers of Aum Shinrikyo were continuing to cool down, and Japan's intense post-Bubble navel gazing was at an all-time high, while a horror boom the likes few had ever seen was just waiting in the hall. Even now, an intense display of violent emotions set amidst the student uprisings that befell much of the country in the 1970s seems like a bizarre choice, lest it be considered a form of protest.

But as it is, it's a mystery how many were up in arms over the film as some kind of blood-spattered tirade against Leftist political leanings during that era. There's far too much evidence (or lack thereof) to suggest that the creative choices visualized here were meant as satirical target.

So how to describe this film? We are first off, introduced to the confident and charismatic Aizawa, a young political leader who is now serving time in jail for his group's often violent actions and protests. The crime he is in for specifically is never mentioned, but he has now bid goodbye to cellmate Fujawara who has just been released, giving him instructions to meet the rest of his gang of radicals in the city, as well as to meet with the group's current leader in his stead -his girlfriend, Masami (Sumiko Mikami).

And off the bat, we see that the Aizawa-less group is in near anarchy with criminal activity on the rise, and the mostly male crew at the sexualized mercy of the promiscuous, and clearly unstable Masami. Whether it be robbing the local post office, or smuggling in weapons, it seems that her controls are of the most base level, and are on the verge of collapse as it is clear that certain members are unhappy with affairs as they are. And with Aizawa nearing release, it seems as if the group may finally experience the order, and activity it once exhibited in the film's opening footage. However, as loyalties begin to waver, and Masami's methods become less and less sound, it is clear that no real agenda exists, except for casual sex with troubles members in the means to allay their doubts, and late night parties.

So when Aizawa is found to have committed suicide in his cell, the remaining tethers to rational begin to tighten and snap once erstwhile member, Yamane admits to wishing to join another group after reporting Masami to the police. It is here that the film's slow first half suddenly descends into unrivaled madness, as Masami and her all-too-willing crew allay vengeance upon Yamane, and anyone else Masami sees fit to hurt deep within the nearby forests. And this is where the film's clearly no-budget trappings, camerawork, soundtrack, acting, and editing truly show their teeth. With the camera leading the viewer into an often schizophrenic verite haze, we are privy to some pretty grotesque acts that may even make some of the more gore-leaning viewers cringe.

And again, none of this works without Mikami's performance as the ever crumbling substitute leader. She plays the whole role as if on a fiery ledge, never aware of just how far she will go until it's all too late. The character is in no way sympathetic, and yet, it implies years of systematic trauma that it becomes frightening just to contemplate what led to her disposition. The majority of the film's performances are relatively flat, and yet the cast clearly is giving its all, as if this is that one-time dream shot of a project. Sometimes subjecting themselves, and each other to some truly horrific acts that have to be seen to be fully believed. Also worthy of note are the at-times impressive gore effects that perhaps feel even more potent now than ever. With no access to CG-blood, or anything of the like, the film's ugliness is tactile, and unflinching. And even then, the film seems to be a vision of apocalypse, a vision of habit & base impulse gone amok, with even basic humanity slipping away at the seams, until nothing remains.

The sheer energy of the direction makes this feel exhausting to imagine the hell cast and crew went through just to get the film in a can. So when some folks complain that the film never gets around to explaining the doomed political group's platforms, or their ideologies, I'd have to say that despite the clearly amateurish production, the film's internal dynamic seems less interested in this, and moreso into how groups like this stay together, despite the nothing happening. Which is perhaps what Kumakiri was truly targeting. Systems of leadership, one-upmanship, and order based on mere habit. Which would explain the drawn out, and dare I say it, explosive finale. The young director seemed to have it in for keeping matters as they are "simply because". Kichiku is a bare knuckles demand for real reasons, and a warning to those just letting it be.