Halloween 2024: September 9th

In a Violent Nature (2024)

For the time being, Jason Voorhees remains buried in the cold, cold ground, defeated by a force far more insidious than a thousand final girls: Legal red tape. Even when the copyright entanglements surrounding ol' hockey head are sorted out, people still can't seem to make new projects about him. However, Victor Miller and Sean S. Cunningham hardly have a trademark on the concept of a big, ugly dude in a mask killing people in the woods. And so, a hero emerges to fill the Jason shaped hole in our collective horror fan hearts. Chris Nash, formerly of “ABCs of Death 2” bright spot “Z for Zygote,” brings us “In a Violent Nature.” The film puts a novel spin on the tried-and-true wooded murder-fest premise, by telling its familiar story largely from the perspective of the lumbering killer. This arthouse approach would divide viewers earlier this year.

Somewhere in the forest of Northern Ontario, a group of friends explore a collapsed fire tower. One of them, Troy, steals a small locket from the structure. Afterwards, the ground stirs and a man digs himself up from the site. The undead being in his tattered clothes wanders the woods, brutally killing anyone he comes across. Soon, he dons a vintage firefighter's mask and grabs a hook on a chain, continuing to pursue the partiers camping nearby. As he goes about his gruesome work, we learn some things about him. This is Johnny. He is the result of a curse that has lingered over these woods for half a century, linked to that locket and the lumber town that once stood here. He has killed before and he will kill again.

Among those that hated "In a Violent Nature," the most commonly voiced criticism has been that this is a movie largely composed of watching a guy walk around the woods. Indeed, there are many scenes devoted to Johnny tromping through the underbrush, the camera focusing on his back as he goes. It's a bit like playing one of those deconstructionist video games. "Walking Simulator 2k" or what have you. Still, I would say those accusing "In a Violent Nature" of being "slow cinema" are exaggerated a bit. This isn't the horror version of "Satantango." The walking scenes are meant to put us thoroughly in the head of this silent, forest-dwelling maniac. They are accompanied by more contemplative scenes, of Johnny looking in a mirror and reflecting on his childhood. Or gazing at a toy car with an expression that reads something like quiet glee. When you think about it, Jason Voorhees' life would be very lonely, dedicated to wandering the forest and watching his potential victims. The tedium of waiting for the perfect time to strike invokes something else, an existential loneliness, a sense of always being outside that bubble of warmth, friendship, and human interaction. "In A Violent Nature" explores what the "Friday the 13th" films have only been allowed to hint at before: That this killer has a soul, that he has thoughts and feelings. If not "just like the rest of us," then at least enough like us to recognize him as human. 

By forcing us to consider "Johnny" in an empathetic light, "In a Violent Nature" also contemplates what role such a being plays in this world. One of the earliest episodes involves Johnny coming across a dead animal, rotting away in a trap. This is paired later with a lengthy monologue, essentially the film's climax, that tells a rambling anecdote about a bear attack. The comparison between Johnny (and the cinematic archetypes he is a part of) and wild animals is clear. These things exist. They amble through the forest. They attack and kill. They are part of a natural cycle of death and decay, ultimately inscrutable and beyond human comprehension. And if Johnny is a bear, then "In a Violent Nature" is a twisted nature documentary, giving us a day in the life of a slasher. The lack of a musical score, which causes the excellent sound design to fill the void, and the frequent use of wide shots and long takes fits this mood as well. By placing such brutal executions among the stillness of nature, it makes Johnny and all the masked murderers before him an expected part of the ecosystem. You go into the woods, you risk getting killed by a bear or a Jason. That's what happens when you intrude on a realm not meant for you. 

As much as "In a Violent Nature" is about its Jason stand-in's status as a solitary outsider or an animal-like force of nature, Nash and his team also understands something fundamental about the "Friday the 13th" movies and all its imitators: These films are folklore. A key scene tells us Johnny's origins around a campfire, a moment present in almost all the eighties Jason movies. There are other references throughout to a lengthy history. The park ranger that confronts Johnny obliquely mentions how he's the latest in a generational line of park rangers to fight this killer, how this is not his first encounter with the monster. Johnny grabs his equivalent to the goalie mask – a Vajen-Bader style "smoke helmet" that looks like a cross between antique diving equipment and an executioner's hood – from a small museum dedicated to the park's history. The simple act that awakens the killer, the removal of a significant locket, further hints at past events. "In a Violent Nature" feels like one episode in a long series of them. It drops us into the middle of a myth that is still on-going, still evolving. Stories like this are as much a part of the natural world as the trees or beasts. 

Approaching the slasher concept as a nature documentary results in one of two approaches to the violence throughout the film. There are multiple God Eye views of Johnny offing his victims. The result can't help but be chilling, contextualizing the brutal death of innocent people as another manifestation of nature's utter indifference to human life. It makes us complacent in that cruelty too, having us watch patiently as Johnny dismembers a guy with a snail-paced log splitter or pulls a swimmer under Not-Crystal Lake. However, sometimes "In a Violent Nature" gets down in the guts of the matter too, in the earthy rot of these crimes. Such as a show-stopping special effects scene that has Johnny truly testing a yoga girl's flexibility. While there is certainly a degree of puerile shock value to these kill scenes, I think this is different from "Terrifier" or a hundred other hyper-gory slasher flicks. The goal isn't only to make us flinch or ooh-and-aww at the novel special effects. An attempt is being made to depict this violence as part of the natural world, to have us ponder on humanity's place in the food chain. 

The only problem with that approach is that most of Johnny's victims are deeply unsympathetic. They are frequently obnoxious to each other and speak mostly in overly vulgar, elaborate insults. Since the movie progresses from the killer's perspective, we never get much of a grip on any of these people's lives. Maybe the victims are so annoying because we're seeing them as Johnny sees them, as extensions of the bullies that tortured him as a boy. Or maybe they are simply phone-obsessed zoomers. I don't know. Despite this flaw, "In a Violent Nature" is still the first time someone has done something truly new with the slasher concept since at least "Behind the Mask." But can you imagine if this was an actual "Friday the 13th" movie? Fan boys would be so pissed and then everyone would acknowledge it as a masterpiece twenty years later. Nash getting to apply this treatment to the symbols and trademarks of an iconic franchise would've been something. Taken as a standalone film, "In a Violent Nature" remains a relentlessly bold reinvention of familiar territory. [9/10]

The Trap (1922)

It's not easy being a fan of Lon Chaney the Elder. Many of his films are a century old at this point. Despite being perhaps the most iconic son of the silent age – I don't think there's any other actor of that generation getting action figures made of them in 2024 – a good chunk of his filmography remains lost. If you're really into Chaney for his horror and horror adjacent roles, it's worse. Discounting a dusty print miraculously turning up in a private collection somewhere, classic monster nerds will forever be teased by "London After Midnight" and "A Blind Bargain" remaining lost to the ages. Pictures like "Road to Mandalay" and "Thunder" survive only as fragments, giving us a frustrating taste of what once was and is now no more. And so we must overturn every fossil in Chaney's career, looking for something that might appeal to our macabre sensibilities. Let's give "The Trap," a one-hundred-and-two year old melodrama, a try this September. 

"The Trap" takes us to that most nightmarish of locations: Canada. Chaney plays Gaspard, an illiterate but kind-hearted trapper. The future is bright for Gaspard. He's inherited a mine shaft and hopes to propose to his sweetheart, Thalie. A greedy prospector named Benson provides papers that prove Gaspard doesn't own the mine. He then seduces and marries Thalie. This betrayal drives Gaspard mad and he spends the next six years plotting his revenge. He destroys the mine in an avalanche. He engineers a bar room brawl that gets Benson thrown in prison for attempted murder. The final phase of his scheme involves kidnaping Benson's child and luring the man into an elaborate death trap. Can the love of an adorable moppet and a sweet school teacher reawaken Gaspard's latent good nature? 

"The Trap" is notable as one of the few writing credits of legendary producer Irving Thalberg. Thalberg co-wrote the script with Chaney, Lucien Hubbard, and George C. Hull. Talented men all but their narrative here falls short. "The Trap" resists none of the overheated theatricality we associate with silent melodramas. The emotions throughout operate at the highest of levels. Gaspard begins as the purest of innocents before turning, on a dime, into a wickedly scheming villain. The story's themes, of betrayal and redemption via the power of love, are as broad as possible. A minute with Benson's sickeningly sick son is enough to switch Gaspard back to an utter sweetheart. The plot is full of unlikely events that only make sense in world where everyone leaps to the most overwrought reactions possible. "The Trap" operates in such a heightened reality that many of its characters are reduced to archetypes. Gaspard is literally called "The Good" in the early scenes. Benson's son is only known as The Boy, the woman who takes pity on Gaspard and romances him anew is simply The Teacher. When paired with some verbose title cards, it makes "The Trap" exactly the kind of hokey melodrama that would be widely mocked decades later.  

Lon Chaney was a master of the silent screen and managed to weave heartrending gold out of melodramatic dross like this before. Surely he makes "The Trap" worth seeing? Well, kind of. To emphasize Gaspard's status as a naïve naïf, all of his dialogue is written in a ridiculous, typo-strewn French accent. When the heartbreak arrives, Chaney immediately switches gears into over-the-top villainy. The change happens before our eyes in one held shot, Chaney twisting his face and flailing his arms as Gaspard the Good becomes Gaspard the Wicked. Similarly, when interacting with Benson's kid, Chaney swings back to a clownish wide grin and visible guffaws. It is, to say the least, unsubtle. When dealing with material as overwrought as this, Chaney still has his moments of serenity. As Gaspard finally accepts that Benson has the life he wanted so much, Chaney shows his heart breaking on his face with a sad, resigned glance aside. Nobody could generate pathos with a turn of the head or a furrow of the brow like Chaney. 

The final act of "The Trap," when Gaspard's vengeful scheme reaches its peak, is when the film finally nudges into horror. Gaspard captures a starving wolf. He rigs up an elaborate series of pullies, trap doors, and swinging locks that will stick Benson in a pit with the ravenous animal. I couldn't help but be reminded of the convoluted death traps engineered in the "Saw" franchise, making Chaney the Jigsaw of the Harding administration. Very scary! Of course, "The Trap" being the kind of movie it is, there's a last minute change-of-heart and bloody murder is dramatically averted. Still, these climatic scenes – especially the shots of the little boy crying behind a barred gate or Benson cowering from the wolf – are the parts of "The Trap" that will most interest classic horror fans. Gaspard's madness and the grandness of his revenge does put this one on the marginal edges of the genre. 

By the way, lurking undetected among some school kids, is the cinematic debut of Lon Chaney Jr., marking this as the sole time Creighton shared the screen with his dad. If it had been made later in the twenties or early thirties, when American filmgoers had developed a taste for the macabre, I'm sure "The Trap" would be a darker, grislier story. This one really could have used Chaney sporting one of his trademark deformities or some extra pizzazz in its titular mantrap. Imagine how much better this would've been if Ol' Lon had a scarred face and a club foot, if there was a pendulum in that pit alongside the wolf. Instead, we'll have to be satisfied with a corny melodrama one step removed from "Penelope Pitstop" territory. Kino Lorber did put out this golden oldie on Blu-Ray last year, in a cleaned-up restoration. Surely this is the best "The Trap" has looked in the last one hundred years, making up for years of scratchy, overly dark, public domain prints. Until "London After Midnight" or "The Miracle Man" turns up in a forgotten attic somewhere, we Chaney fans will have to be satisfied with scraps such as these. [5/10]

Alfred Hitchcock Presents: The Right Kind of House

While “Man from the South” is often regarded as the best episode of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents,” the title of second-best episode is much more up for grabs. However, sorting the series by highest viewer rating on IMDb, points towards “The Right Kind of House.” Mr. Waterbury drives into the small town of Ivy Corners. He is looking to buy a house and has his eyes on a run-down, secluded one. The real estate agents warn him that the old woman who lives there, Mrs. Grimes, is asking for a ridiculously high price. Waterbury goes to ask her anyway. The old woman proceeds to explain why her asking price is so high. The story involves her son, a sudden return home, a little black bag, and an unsolved murder. 

“The Right Kind of House” is based on a short story by Henry Slesar but it could have easily been based on a stage play. The majority of the episode is devoted to two people, Mr. Waterbury and Mrs. Grimes, sitting and talking in her living room. The story relies entirely on these two actors and, luckily, they give strong performance. Jeanette Nolan makes Grimes a woman who is unwavering in her convictions. Her folksy, relaxed voice gives a calming, anecdotal feeling to the tale she tells. Robert Emhardt as Waterbury is outwardly cordial while suggesting something unseemly about the guy. Watching these two talk slowly reveals the information we need to figure out what's actually going on here. The viewer will realize the truth a minute before the characters do but watching all the pieces move into place is so very satisfying. This is a simple game of dominos, each piece setting up the next one, but the chain reaction is quite pleasing. 

That's partly because director Don Taylor – who, aside from a prolific television career, also made some notable genre films – creates an atmospheric environment. The flashback to the murder of Grimes' son is show only from a distance. We see the shadows of the confrontation on the floor and the body fall into a doorway. The present scenes, meanwhile, focus largely on the faces of the performers, adding to the intimate feeling of this conversation. When the twist comes, that takes on a tense new approach as well. There's some comic relief scenes in the early scenes, devoted to the laid-back secretary in the real estate office. Hitchcock's introduction is a sardonic ramble about building homes on the moon. Neither of these (rather amusing) scenes distract from “The Right Kind of House” being a smoothly executed mousetrap of a story. [8/10]

Chucky: Final Destination 

Season three of "Chucky" ends with a bang. "Final Destination" has Jake being injected with a drug that induces death. He heads to the spirit realm, occupied by Chucky's victims and the many different personas of Charles Lee Ray, in hopes of convincing the most innocent and pure part of Ray's psyche to sacrifice himself and destroy his soul forever. Instead, the teens end up providing Chucky with a path back to the land of the living. Meanwhile, Winston Pryce's devious plans for the White House reach their fiery climax and Jennifer Tilly/Tiffany Valentine performs a last-minute escape from the executioner's chamber. It all ends up at the home of Wendell Wilkins, the reclusive inventor of the Good Guy Dolls. 

Season three of "Chucky" has really felt like a tribute to Brad Dourif's skills as an actor and the history of the franchise. Jake arriving in the spirit realm, which takes the form of a surreal version of the White House. He confronts the spirit of his homophobic father, allowing Devon Sawa to reappear on this show again. Most importantly, every version of Chucky that has appeared on this show returns. Dourif, in the flesh, hams it up in that strangely grounded, charming way of his. Charles Lee Ray argues with a younger version of himself, played once again by Fiona Dourif, in a fantastically profane debate. Seeing father and daughter play off each other like this is so much fun. This lengthy trip to the other side concludes with a nutty homage to "2001: A Space Odyssey" that is so delightfully unexpected. Whatever qualms I've had with this show over the years, it's been worth it to see Dourif inhabit so many parts while still playing this iconic villains he's brought to life for thirty-six years. If this is truly going to be his final on-screen appearance as an actor, it's a good one. 

While the "Child's Play" franchise has had its moments of grim horror, this season proves once again that gonzo camp is what it excels at. Tilly/Tiffany's escape from prison accelerates into a riot, with multiple extended shoots-out and splattering squibs. Powered by a throbbing synth score and some surprisingly slick visuals, it's a hilariously entertaining sequence. Proving that this show and franchise can do almost anything at this point, the White House storyline concludes like an eighties action movie. There's massive pyrotechnics, a rumble between hero and villain, and the cathartic death of a bad guy. Hard to believe that a movie about a killer Cabbage Patch Doll eventually lead to this. Somehow, "Chucky" pulls it off. 

There's plenty of twists and turns in this finale. Zachary Arthur gets to show his versatility as an actor, as Jake has a tearful reunion and undergoes some changes. That is when the episode threatens to eat it's own tail. However, I can't be mad at "Final Destination," as its last act manages to be more bonkers than the rest of the episode. John Waters returns to the series as Wendell Wilkins, doing a lip-curling Vincent Price impersonation. These final scenes deepens the lore surrounding the Good Guy Dolls, in a way that's quite satisfying, while providing some colorful cinematography and set design. It also resets the "Chucky" franchise back to something like a status quo. That would probably be disappointing, if everyone involved – from the writers on down to the cast and crew – weren't clearly having so much fun. This show, and the films it spawned from, are committed to constantly surprising the audience by following its own wackadoo muse. 

In other words: "Chucky: Season Three" has been the best yet. The extraneous subplots common to serials like this, that dragged down the previous two seasons, were infected with the franchise's trademark humor and willingness to go nuts. I actually found myself caring about the First Family by the end here. Mostly, it's been the show's willingness to embrace its wildest impulses that produced such a thrilling, funny, relentlessly entertaining set of episodes. Chucky confronted his mortality in a surprising touching way. The series delved into the spiritual side of its universe creatively. The cast had a great time, especially Tilly and Dourif. All while providing us with the most gruesomely elaborate gore the series has seen. While Syfy has dragged its feet on if a fourth season is happening or not, Don Manchini has already promised us more "Chucky" one way or another. God willing, the future will finally take the killer doll into outer space... If Manchini can keep things as demented and utterly amusing as this season was, I see no reason why Chucky can't keep on killing for years to come. If Brad Dourif shuffles off to see Damballah in real life – he is 74 years old, after all – I think Fiona can inherit the character at this point. Season Three was all about confronting death and finding the renewed energy to keep going, clearly a mission statement for Manchini and his murderous plastic friend. [Final Destination: 8/10 / Chucky: Season Three: 8/10]