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therewillbeblus wrote: Fri Oct 25, 2019 3:15 am

colinr0380 wrote: Mon Oct 21, 2019 3:02 pm If you want another film in the same haunted house vein I would be quicker to recommend The Legend of Hell House, which fits neatly in between those films on the spectrum and while it does go explicitly supernaturally wacky, it is not quite to the extent of the Haunting remake and remains pretty creepy especially in its use of relentless time coded title cards breaking up the horror into discreet temporal chunks (and it is probably the originator of some of the images that Edgar Wright used for his Grindhouse "Don't" trailer!)

This was a lot of fun, thanks for the rec! I enjoyed the balance the film struck between the stereotypically serious, pompous British attitudes and complete off-the-walls zany camp in 70s psychedelia fashion. The title cards that break up the film almost serve as an in-joke to this type of horror as a series of creative horror scenes operating around a plot that matters less. The style becomes more intense as the film progresses and some (the dizzy spin that goes full dry cycle on us) is truly original and inspiring.

It is quite fun and I particularly like the late film cameo from Michael Gough where all he is called upon to do is simply to just sit in a chair without moving! Which makes him immediately scary, and a bit like a modern pharaoh walled up in the tomb of his mansion!

There is a lot of wry humour in the film, particularly that moment of the investigator with all of their faith in science having his sense of clinical detachment from belief in ghosts literally blow up in his face! Especially as it occurs after the horror and mystery has seemingly been solved - I think I mentioned it earlier in the thread but the Ring film does a very similar thing to Legend of Hell House with time codes in its final scenes of implicitly suggesting that the mystery has been uncovered and therefore the horror has been somehow 'solved' and 'tamed' because of that, only for the date marker to chillingly and relentlessly continue to appear, being the first darkly detached suggestion that nothing the characters have done to that point has actually stopped the clock on the horror as yet!

I haven’t seen Green Room, but if you’re looking for films that aren’t obviously in the genre but qualify as horror because they’re just so fucking terrifying, you can’t beat Balabanov’s Cargo 200. Even seeing Vlad Ivanov as the hero in The Whistlers all these years later is tainted by my reflex to run far away.

Yep

zedz wrote: Fri Oct 25, 2019 8:04 pm I haven’t seen Green Room, but if you’re looking for films that aren’t obviously in the genre but qualify as horror because they’re just so fucking terrifying, you can’t beat Balabanov’s Cargo 200. Even seeing Vlad Ivanov as the hero in The Whistlers all these years later is tainted by my reflex to run far away.

Sold!

Also, while it is not exactly a horror film, if you want to see Patrick Stewart doing the patriarch of a violent bunch of criminals thing in a much earlier film that is almost a dry run for his Green Room role (albeit playing a line dancing criminal tulip farmer rather than a skinhead!) I would recommend 1998's Dad Savage.

therewillbeblus wrote: Fri Oct 25, 2019 5:23 am Sadly it doesn’t domino! I’ll have to seek it elsewhere

I can’t in good conscience recommend spending very much money on it, but I’d definitely watch it again right now, which is more than I can for most of the films I’ve discussed in this thread. Here’s my writeup from a few years back

domino harvey wrote: Wed Jul 22, 2015 5:41 am Welcome to Planet Earth AKA Alien Avengers (Lev L Spiro 1997) I probably saw every installment of Roger Corman Presents when it first aired on Showtime, but this is one of the few I remembered and in a surprise twist, it held up pretty well on revisit. A parody of slumming and Republican values towards the lower classes, this broad horror comedy concerns a family of aliens who take the form of ultra-whitebread suburbanites, entrap lowlifes into enacting crimes, and then kill them in return for fun. The film's largely buoyed by George Wendt and the mom from Major Dad as the genial "Aww shucks" alien couple, both of whom embrace the absurdity of the premise with abandon. Shanna Reed as June Cleaver with a cleaver is especially good, kicking heads off and getting a lot of mileage out of saying the most horrible things while still smiling and being chipper. The film's not exactly subtle (any movie where Wendt tears off one thug's leg and then beats him to death with it while chastising that "None of this would have ever happened if you had behaved like a gentleman!" isn't aiming for nuance), but I enjoyed it in the spirit of the best works of Paul Bartel or John Waters.

Well, Cargo 200 was pretty terrifying all right. The slow burn of tension brewing in scenes where there was a lot said (political and religious arguments between strangers) and scenes where nothing was said (creepy stone faced man peering into the car and gradually retreating) were treated equally with distilled discomfort, until the midway point hits and no longer wishes to filter the horror. I never want to see this movie again, but I suppose that’s an intended effect. There was a lot to admire about the craft and at times docudrama form and tone, only heightening the disgust into more abrasive shades of realism.

It’s also worth noting that Green Room and this couldn’t be more different, with that film pretty damn entertaining and fun regardless of the focus on realistic responses to stressors, it never sways from being a bonafide Movie- with a capital M, hitting genre beats of the thriller pretty expectedly to the midnight-movie variety.

Cargo 200 is based on William Faulkner’s Sanctuary, believe it or not.

Mr Sausage wrote: Sun Oct 27, 2019 3:50 am Cargo 200 is based on William Faulkner’s Sanctuary, believe it or not.

I read that some critics claimed the connection, but never any further evidence supporting the loose adaptation, which is not to say it’s any less true especially since I haven’t read the source material. Either way, a far cry from The Story of Temple Drake!

How much can we stretch the definition of horror? Does anything that counts as a ghost story count, e.g. Ugetsu or Rouge? I'm doubtful they'd count but they're both great films so I wouldn't want to leave them out if they did.

I tend to consider folk tales (or stories resembling folk tales) involving the supernatural as horror. So stuff like Ugetsu, Onibaba, Kuroneko, etc., I'd list as horror. Rouge and Ghost, not so much.

Mr Sausage wrote: Sun Oct 27, 2019 12:34 pm I tend to consider folk tales (or stories resembling folk tales) involving the supernatural as horror. So stuff like Ugetsu, Onibaba, Kuroneko, etc., I'd list as horror. Rouge and Ghost, not so much.

That's good, because I watched Onibaba yesterday and was planning on including it!

And I agree with Rouge - it is a ghost story but the tone is very different.

I don’t find horror movies scary, so intent or tone are unimportant for me when considering if it meets the metrics of the genre label. The presence of the supernatural is good enough for me, but keep in mind the Vote For It rule exists for a reason

If I were to submit a list, Ugetsu would surely top it, and it really struck me the last time I watched it that it does fundamentally function as a horror film, not just a sort of dramatized folktale. Scenes like Ohama's rape and Miyagi's murder elicit the same kinds of reflexive reactions, like being jolted or wincing in vicarious agony, from me as a violent horror film does. One important point, though, is that, instead of aligning the film's subjectivity in these moments with the points of view of the characters (which allows many horror films to inspire these strong sensations in the viewer) Mizoguchi remains at arm's length. It actually reminds me of the kind of dramatic irony you get in some slasher films, when they establish the killer's presence in advance so that the viewer can take a kind of sadistic glee in watching the soon-to-be victim walk right into their own gory demise.

However, in contrast to the sardonic humor you might find in a slasher film, Ugetsu manages to give an emotional motivation to its stylistic moves towards objectivity. That amazing moment in the preamble to the rape when the camera suddenly ascends to look down on the events from above has always struck me as though the filmmakers, horrified by what they are presenting, have to retreat into the guise of omniscience just in order to look at the scene from a safe perspective. Stepping into Ohama's shoes in this moment would be just too strong a taste of suffering and despair. So, in contrast to the flippant and nihilistic attitude of many slasher films, Mizoguchi uses the same kind of distance from his characters to foreground the challenges of empathy.

The House of the Devil

A rewatch only cemented why I adore this film so much. The 70s/80s grindhouse filmmaking makes it clear from the freeze-frame mustard yellow credits to subsequent ultra-grainy stock that West is creating a loving homage. However, it doesn’t take long for the film to reveal itself as its own distinct vision, and in many ways it bests the horror films that serve as its influences. The clarity of detail in West’s controlled style allows this film to be both technically savvy and restrained. He doesn’t overload the frame or any setpiece with too many ideas, but instead hones in on a few creative touches and applies them to the narrative and suspense beats from inspired works to signal a unique energy possible to be gently imposed, as if naturally discovered, in the familiar.

Tom Noonan and Mary Woronov are perfectly cast as the creepy couple who inquire for babysitting services and Jocelin Donahue can stand with the best of them as the semi-naive yet valiant heroine who we immediately latch onto as a worthy well-meaning and self-determined surrogate. I’ll admit that while the slow burn that lasts for most of the runtime is the most exciting demonstration of talent, I love the last act with a passion that most don’t seem to share. The movement from creepy-house suspense into pure chaotic horror is jarring to say the least, and never really allows the audience to acclimate to its cliff jump, but this feels like a tremendous strength to me and one that West uses wisely to bypass the continuity of escalating tonal shifts that would feel too expected and perhaps contrived, abandoning the promise of sticking to the safety of the genre’s skeleton. Instead he opts to master the impending dread for much longer than your average girl-in-a-house-horror (and keeps one’s interest for about 75 whole minutes in this simmering act, alone an impressive feat!), skips the middling scares only to go all-out with the descent into hell, by placing us there in an instant following a simple cut with no foreshadowing. The final shot has stayed with me for eight years and will continue to stay with me for many more.

This will place high on my own list, likely in the top 10, for two main reasons. First, the expertise of craft here serves to construct a simple and familiar narrative with humility and comprehension, as well as initiate a reconstruction that breaks a few important rules, thereby proposing a new idea altogether without sacrificing respect for the blueprints. Rarely is a film, especially a horror film that often thrives on intensity by way of hubris to become distinct amongst the rubble, able to hold a deep sense of modesty while taking bold risks simultaneously; but this one delivers in spades.

The second reason is the specific way that this work functions as horror for the senses beyond the genre framework. I feel like I’m mostly alone here in my admiration for the last twenty minutes, but this film quickens by heart-rate faster than perhaps any other, partially because it’s done at an unexpected moment after having acclimated to its steady rhythm, though it’s so relentless in the blend of overbearing imagery (after holding back) and the sick implications of the plotting that one can hardly catch their brain up to speed due to the sensory overload. By the time we reach the credits, everything sinks in and the cognitive catches up as the physiological slows down, meeting in the middle at the emotional, which is finally allowed to be accessed and disturbed itself, forbidding any chance at homeostasis.

From my scientific poll of one, you are def alone. I admired the House of the Devil's sustained tension a lot more before I saw the Blackcoat's Daughter do it 100X better and then completely obliterate West's film by actually having a good ending. I think the House of the Devil is all wind up and no pitch by design, so you kind of have to give it some rope for the disappointing finale, but I wouldn't go so far as to defend that finish-- it would have been better to have no release at all than a climax so ridiculous and out of step with the rest of the film

The Blackcoat’s Daughter is far more ambitious a film, and absolutely uses the “sustained tension” to fulfill its terrifying aims and then some, much better than The House of the Devil. Still, the West film has an effortless feel to its simplicity and I admire his crisp eye for making the mundane consistently interesting for an ultraextended act, as well as the willingness and confidence in his ability to do so. To me they couldn’t be more different, with Perkins’ aiming for something less modest or interested in attaching itself to its roots than appearances initially suggest, as its clearly aware of them (hardly a criticism).

I see how the finish of West’s doesn’t work for most -it is completely out of left field and embodies the definition of uneven cinema- but by this point West has demonstrated such a keen understanding for how this kind of film functions, as well as a self-effacing baseline of control, that I choose to accept his choice to change the rules of the game. Even if it is messy it’s a scary mess, and makes me realize how safe I felt within the comfortable boarders of the previous acts before he threw Twin Peaks creatures and all at me as if to create a Texas Chainsaw aggressive climax as an alarm clock from a more digestible tone. I feel like it’s earned despite its inherent ridiculousness in spoiling the vibe, and extra horrifying because of the jump across the pool of expected systematic desensitization to straight up flooding.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter is the better film, but The House of the Devil is its own kind of unique assembly of copy and originality, or comfort and unexpected disruption, like a really well written love letter that suddenly asks to see other people at the end (or begins to describe the plotting of a satanic cult with deformed witch dwarves).

The Blackcoat's Daughter-Oz Perkins 2015

It's rare that a movie gets universal praise on this forum and I'm not going to be the one to stop it-this is a great movie. There was a small moment that stuck out to me that hasn't been discussed and while it's not essential to the story in any way it brought home how assured Perkins direction is. The moment I'm referring to is

Spoiler

when Shipka is stabbing the two women in the hallway. Whatever she was actually sticking the knife into caused it to get stuck enough that she had to put some effort into removing it, giving it a slight twist before plunging it back in. Again and again this happens and it not only underscored how brutal the violence is but added something intangible to the realism factor that put the scene over the top. It's a small, unimportant moment as I said but how many rookie directors would pay attention to a detail like that? It's even more to Perkins' credit that all the murders here actually touch a nerve. After witnessing God knows how many meaningless slasher killings that barely elicit a shrug the violence here is is just as sad as Shipka/Roberts' character. And what a character it is, Kat put me in mind of Travis Bickle, another horribly damaged and lonely person killing in the hopes of attaining some level of connection. Kat's backstory is hinted at with those brief flashbacks of abuse and while it may not excuse her actions I can't think of a murderer I've ever felt more empathy for.

So much is so right here. As others have noted, Perkins lets the movie breathe. He has the wisdom to let it unfold at its own pace; nothing feels forced or shoehorned in after the fact. That level of confidence in the material can be elusive to newer directors but he worked with what he had and cast some exceptional actors to bring the screenplay to life. That's over simplifying things of course and every director does the same thing, or at least tries to, but Perkins makes it look effortless here. I'm looking forward to I Am The Pretty Thing... and anything he does afterwards.

The desolation of everyone's surroundings, immediate or otherwise, is captured beautifully. So much so that places like the restaurant and motel-places that should offer comfort feel more like outposts in some ice age, wasteland version of the American northeast. The weather plays a big role here. It's feels like this is the winter that the planet won't rebound from. It's more than just a stark landscape that offers no respite, the freeze is so hopelessly deep that spring will not only never arrive, it's going to drain the life-force of anyone who dares to venture out into it. Encroaching dread and never-ending isolation are just outside the window.

I'll echo all the richly deserved praise the three leads have gotten especially Shipka. Among the numerous excellent choices she makes (and as has been noted in this thread) are her slightly askew line readings: twice she tells her roommate that "she smells pretty" and the second of those times she delivers the line in a manner that would freeze Lake Erie. I'll also salute the great James Remar for his work here. His character is the force of goodness in the film and his intentions are honorable despite his shrewish wife. But in his own way he's suffering as much as Kat. Perhaps as an older man he's better equipped to deal with that level of depression but it's taken its toll nevertheless. In Remar's performance melancholy is just under the skin and has seemingly drained the color from his eyes.

Amer (Cattet & Forzani)
This honestly reminded me of Valerie and Her Week of Wonders and Svankmajer more than any Giallo. Their love of Argento is probably a red herring for their actual interests with this film. Hell, the middle section is often something more like Daisies then anything I've seen from Italy. This isn't only for who the protagonist is, but the way her experiences, particularly with noise, are magnified so as to be completely horrifying. I guess Amer is best described as a therapy session where the reality is the subjective and mutated memories of our lead.

Narrative wise the film is shocking simple with not much happening. That works though since some of the most powerful moments in life, but especially for a child, are from a frame spun out into a reel. Without looking around too long I imagine a lot of the talk surrounding the film is on it's gorgeous aesthetic, but to me it is, to its own benefit, all subservient to a much more interesting thematic question. The extras mention Marker and Desplechin as major influences and that seems right. As with them Amer takes a fracture between mind and body as its key to exploring human relations. Maybe the mother and corpse and what not don't interact with Ana in a traditional way, but those physical and psychological interactions breed a sense of relationship which is so frightening because it is so dispossessed. This also explains why the film gets less and less fantastical as it goes on.

Though she's seemingly more mentally unbalanced in the later portions memory is a more solid thing and less prone to manipulations. Structurally the film is required to tone down as it drives closer to the present. I can understand why for some this necessity might be unsatisfying, but given how sold I am on the narrative conceit the slip to an identifiable world makes the movie better. It's a bit like how in La jetee the present day scenes of the future lack the emotional heft of the present past.

Kill List (Wheatley)
A Wickerman knock-off essentially though it doesn't have anything to hold you on with before the pagan shenanigans start jumping around. The characterization is pretty bland with the central drama being ineptly communicated so that the film is more like a worse Osterman Weekend for much of its run time.

Pulse (Kurosawa)
Another case where I disagree with the taxonomy of a film. Due to the ghosts with tech connection it would be, and appears to be the case historically, to connect this to The Ring and its ilk, but in tone and intention it reminded my much more of Suicide Club. Like that the act of horror here isn't really resulting from the mechanism which is more a Macguffin to get us to a certain point, but rather this idea that our ability to socialize is dying resulting in a sort of mass suicide (the Canadian film Pontypool is probably the best realization of this idea I've seen). The ghosts aren't terribly horrifying and regularly just seem to be there. What's instead made me afraid is the way characters sink into themselves because they have no comfort. As one character says death is just as lonely as life. Eventually, it seems, that Tokyo, the most densely compacted city in the world, just dies with our two protagonists rendered such just because there's no one else.

While the third act gets an impressive mood I didn't find this as accomplished as its thematic cousins and even of its narrative relatives I thought One Missed Call showed more chutzpah with the premise.

Which thematic cousins would those be, knives? I'm always looking to expand my to-see list.

I was just thinking of the two films, Suicide Club and Pontypool, I mentioned earlier. I'm sure there are other films, but those two overwhelmed my experience with Pulse. Though the first few chapters of the comic Angel Sanctuary are weirdly similar as well.

knives wrote: Thu Oct 31, 2019 8:31 pmWhile the third act gets an impressive mood I didn't find this as accomplished as its thematic cousins and even of its narrative relatives I thought One Missed Call showed more chutzpah with the premise.

One Missed Call certainly features the more amusing setpiece death scenes, such as the empty lift shaft one (that ranks up there with other lift horror scenes in Poltergeist III and Damien: Omen II); the freshly disembodied hand clutching the mobile pressing out the digits to message the next in line to die; and particularly the central, extremely satirically amusing, televised exorcism variety show turned live snuff transmission. Though I did find that this made its shift into the, standard for Japanese ghost films, melancholy-romantic ending (rather than the more Western tradition of ramping up the action even more for the climax) all the more jarring!

Oh, it was exactly the televised scene I was thinking of. That's as perverse as the ghost being murdered in that one Bella Thorne movie only the forum likes.