Halloween 2021: October 22nd

Saint Maud (2019)

Love 'em or hate 'em, A24 is the hippest studio around and has carved out an interesting niche for itself in the horror genre. Films like “Hereditary,” “The Witch,” “Midsommar,” “The Lighthouse,” and “It Comes at Night” have come to define a specific type of modern horror. These films tend to thrive on a low-key atmosphere of unsettling dread, before delivering burst of high-octane scares or surrealism. Inevitably, they're all about “trauma” or “grief” or some such thing. Regardless of how you feel about that, A24 reliably puts out about one buzzed-about horror film every year. 2020's release was supposed to be “Saint Maud” but we all know how last year went. The film, still critically acclaimed, was eventually released this year through odd avenues. Because Halloween is the time of year I tend to catch up with this stuff, here we are now.

Following a traumatic loss of a patient, nurse Katie changes her identity to Maud, a fanatically devoted Roman Catholic. She provides at-home palliative care to Amanda, a former dancer with terminal lymphoma. Maud frequently has religious visions and feels the presence of God in a physical sense. Upon learning Amanda is an atheist, and that she's terrified at the oblivion of death, Maud takes it upon herself to save Amanda's soul. When this does not go exactly as she hopes, Maud sinks deeper and deeper into her religious fantasies... And her fixation with Amanda soon turns deadly. 

There's a sequence early on in “Saint Maud,” where the titular character feels the presence of the Lord and collapses to the ground. Her body twitches, her mouth gaps open, and she seems to feel a sublime sensation all throughout. Shortly afterwards, she attempts to share this same feeling with Amanda, a woman whose sexual preference seems to extend primarily to other women. The scene of the two of them basking in the Lord's love feels rather suggestive. All throughout “Saint Maud,” its protagonist is pulled between the lowly, lusty concerns of the flesh and what she feels is her higher calling. Yet it's more accurate to say that she has replaced sexual ecstasy with religious awe. Is this the story of a fanatic feeling an attraction to a person of the same gender, and only being able to justify that attraction as a quest to bring her to God? Well, that certainly seems to be one of the things happening here. 

Because, befitting a film that has already been labeled “elevated horror,” “Saint Maud” is about a lot of things. Maud, like everybody, is searching for meaning in her life. The film takes its time revealing this information but having a patient die on her clearly shook “Katie” to her core. She didn't digest this trauma so much as burying it, by creating the persona of the hyper-religious Maud. We see her “relapse” back into Katie, getting drink and seeking easy sex in a bar. This is a person who took being “born again” very literally... But haven't we all wanted to start over sometimes? To leave the mistakes of the past behind and forge a new identity, free of personal baggage? Through this lens, “Saint Maud” isn't about the oft-mentioned topic of trauma so much as it is the bizarre way the film's protagonist goes about grappling with failure and sexuality and all the other difficulties of the world. 

Taking us into Maud's weird and twisted world is Swedish/Welsh actress Morfydd Clark. This is one of those performances where the line between actor and character becomes imperceptible. Clark is completely committed, body and soul, in bringing this complex character to life. During her depressive episodes, Maud lives in squalor, Clark spending at least one scene in filthy looking underwear. Yet the actress never shows any vanity, allowing Maud's singular vision of her world to persist. She's stiff, tightly-wound, reacting to small talk with oversized horror. No matter how strange or embellished Maud's beliefs may be, you do come to understand and relate to her. Clark  twitches, screams, levitates, and does everything she can to bring Maud's state of religious mania to life. 

Like so much “elevated horror,” “Saint Maud” straddles the line between eerie drama and full-on horror for most of its run time. Throughout most of its run time, most of the film's horrific content is isolated strictly to Maud's visions. Such as a sexual encounter soon turning into a recollection of a bloody medical accident. By the time she's floating into the air, seeing a funnel cloud in the sky, and hearing God speaking to her as a distorted growl, it's clear that she's slipped entirely into insanity. The finale of the film bends towards full-blown demonic horror, Director Rose Glass even attempts to emulate some of Ari Aster's high-impact horror and does a decent job of it. Even if this is probably not a traditional horror picture, it certainly got me to flinch and grimace more than once throughout its run time. 

Much has been made of this being Rose Glass' feature directional debut. (This makes it a good double feature with “Censor,” another 2021 U.K. horror release about a woman slipping into madness and fantasies, that's also a woman director's first feature.) Glass certainly makes an impression here, even if the film's gloomy, overcast visuals are hardly groundbreaking. She's clearly a talent to watch, as is Morfydd Clark. The circumstances of the last two years kept “Saint Maud” from being among the year's most buzzed about horror releases but it's still pretty damn good, a creepy ride into one person's personal version of Heaven and Hell. [8/10]

The House That Screamed (1969)

La residencia

Among the many nerdy obsessions and collections I harbor, my latest favorite may very well be my movie poster collection. I've always loved poster art and had many reproductions over the years. Once I started to buy original theatrical one-sheets, I officially became addicted. They're just so fucking cool, you guys. The oldest one-sheet I have, and definitely one of my favorites, is for “The House That Screamed.” I hope it doesn't disappoint anyone to read that I sometimes buy a movie poster just because it looks cool. I own quite a few poster from films I've never actually seen. “The House That Screamed” definitely falls into that category, even though I know the movie has a minor reputation as a classic. I hope to watch all the films I own posters for in the near future and this seems like a good one to start with.

Teresa arrives at a school for girls in the French countryside. Most of the students seem to have difficult personalities or troubled backgrounds. The school is ruled over by the strict Señora Fourneau, a harsh disciplinarian who punished disobedient girls with whippings or isolation. Fourneau also keeps her teenage son, Luis, locked up in a private room in the school, forbidding him from interacting with any of the girls. This doesn't stop Luis from spying on most of the students and forming a relationship with Teresa. As girls begin to disappear, stabbed with shards of glass, Teresa plots an escape from the school.

I have heard “The House That Screamed” described as a giallo, even though it's Spanish  and not Italian. Released the same year as “The Bird with Crystal Plumage,' the film that really popularized the giallo style, Narciso Ibáñez Serrador' film does not slot easily into the genre. It has murder, investigation, and eroticism but not quite in the mixture you expect. In fact, “The House That Screamed” is not easily categorized in many ways. Throughout most of its run time, it has no defined protagonist. The story leaps between Teresa, Fourneau, and the other girls at the school. As the story develops, it's certainly mysterious but not exactly thrilling or horrifying. The pace is definitely slow. Yet, as I watched “The House That Screamed,” I eventually realized I had been sucked into it. I couldn't quite figure out where this was going and that compelled me.

My lifetime of watching exploitation movies has taught me that all-girl schools are a breeding ground for depravity. “The House That Screamed” touches on this topic too, though not quite in the way you expect. Both the staff and student body where corsets and form-fitting gowns, which seems to visualize how tightly wounded everyone is. Fourneau and her closest associate flagellate the girls that misbehave. Before hand, they forcibly disrobe the girl and, afterwards, Fourneau kisses the cuts on her back. That's... pretty sexual, ya know. So is the multiple scenes of the girls, in their underwear, lounging around in the sleeping quarters. Luis sneaking around the school, trying to catch a glimpse at the girls his mother refuses him access to, is but one way the movie visualizes the sexual repression within this location. As is a lengthy scene where the girls shower in their nightgowns. Luis and his mom definitely have a dysfunctional relationship, as she constantly reminds him that no woman is good enough for him, that no girl will take care of him the way she does. Repressing their normal sex drive has caused all these characters to get weird.

Eventually, a grim tension does form inside “The House That Screamed.” A sequence where a girl attempts to climb out a window, while a door slowly opens behind her and an ominous shadow is cast on the wall, is successfully drawn-out. What's most surprising about the film is the unexpectedly artful way it handles its murder scenes. As the first stabbing occurs, the camera work becomes slow and abstract, while an angelic melody plays on the soundtrack. The second death cuts to a freeze-frame just as the attacker strikes, denying us the catharsis of a gory slashed throat. The third death we only see the aftermath of. It all leads towards an ending so lurid and grim that I don't think anyone could guess the exact details of it. I dare not say more, for fear of spoiling it.

“The House That Screamed” was partially funded by the Spanish government, in an attempt to produce a movie that would be commercially successful and popular aboard. This outraged some Spanish cultural critics at the time but the plans seems to have worked. “The House That Screamed” played all over the world and was popular in Germany, Italy, and America. In the U.S., it was distributed by the schlock-masters at A.I.P., who gave it that awesome title. (The original title is generally translated as “The Boarding School,” a rather boring and literal title.) Serrador would go on to make one more classic of Spanish horror, with “Who Can Kill a Child?” While I don't know if I'd call “The House That Screamed” a masterpiece or anything, its perversity and directorial style makes it certainly memorable. [7/10]

Two Sentence Horror Stories: Hide

The horror anthology show has made its way back to the regular network television in recent years. “Two Sentence Horror Stories” has been airing on the CW since 2019, with the first round of episodes airing on the network's website and some of the segments being short films that were acquired. “Hide,” from the second season, seems to be among the show's best regarded episode. It follows Araceli, a Latina housekeeper (and undocumented immigrant) that works for a wealthy suburban couple. She has bonded with the couple's daughter, Gracie, who seems to be on the spectrum and is fixated on Hide and Seek. While alone with the girl and the husband's bedridden father, a pair of home invaders in masks break in. They are determined to play a murderous game with Araceli. Her and Gracie are soon hiding for their lives.

I suspect “Two Sentence Horror Stories” draws from similarly brief tales that circulate online. Befitting that inspiration, and the show's brief twenty minute runtime, it gets right to the point. Within minutes, it's established that Araceli is undocumented and that Gracie has special needs. We already know what is at risk by the time the killers make themselves known. That allows the episode to generate a surprising amount of tension, in-between a child that can't comprehend how much danger she's in and the clearly ruthless attackers are. It also helps that Araceli, a single mom doing her best to take care of kids that are both her's and other people's, is a character we can immediately root for. The sequences devoted to her hiding from, an eventually outsmarting, the intruders are properly tense and thrilling.

This economic storytelling is also apparent in the villains. We know nothing about the two invaders, other than they appear to be young and female. Yet the way they choose their targets and the means of execution – via a cootie catcher – says a lot about their juvenile motivation. (They also wear brightly colored hoodies and clear plastic masks with make-up drawn on them, a likely nod to “Alice Sweet Alice.” And I can appreciate that.) The episode does such a good idea of establishing the villains' motivation and the expository news story shown near the end is totally unnecessary. “Hide” is all the more chilling for its final seconds, which show that Araceli and her kids have to hide in their own home as well. In other words, “Hide” is pretty dang good and I'm curious to catch more of “Two Sentence Horror Stories.” [7/10]

A Child's Voice (1978)

The English isles have a long history of spooky ghost stories, in oral tradition, print, and visual medias. The BBC has been producing critically acclaimed ghost story specials since the sixties. Often mistaken for one of these specials is obscure Irish short film “A Child's Voice.” It follows Ainsley Rupert Macreadie, a radio presenter popular for the ghostly and macabre stories he tells on the air. His latest story is about a young boy, a magician's assistant, who predicts his own death before falling victim to it. As he begins to tell the tale over the radio, Macreadie is disturbed at night by mysterious phone calls from a strange little boy. The boy warns him not to tell this story. As Macredie persists, so do the calls... And he's soon faced with the consequences of his actions.

“A Child's Voice” is one of those spooky stories that is all about foreboding. Early on, it tells us everything that's going to happen. Macredie's story is clearly going to predict his own situation. As soon as the ominous phone calls start, we know he's going to ignore the warning and risk destruction. This is clearly a story about a haughty man being brought down to size by his own actions. Yet there is something to be said for the creepy energy this set-up creates. The ghostly phone calls go completely unexplained and we can only guess at why Macreadie is targeted by this spirit. That ambiguity is what makes “A Child's Voice” successfully spooky. 

Veteran Irish character actor T.P. Mckenna stars as Maccreadie. He brings the right level of conceited brashness to the role, while still allowing the character to be sympathetic when the haunting begins. The short includes an omniscient narrator, which furthers the feeling that this is a tale being told around a campfire. There's not much information on this one but it seems it was considered lost for many years. The only copy in circulation is recorded off TV. The quality is dark and blurry, with many tracking lines. Somehow, this presentation sort of works for such an old-fashioned style of story. It's a creaky, old, obscure story and benefits from a creaky, old, obscure telling. [7/10]