Halloween 2024: October 19th

The White Reindeer (1952)

Valkoinen peura

In my review of “Good Manners,” I pointed out that werewolf legends exist all around the world. Nearly every culture has a legend about human beings becoming beastly animals and attacking their own, usually through a curse or witchcraft. That includes countries that perhaps don’t have the relationship with wolves that most of Europe and the Americas have. In the South Pacific, there are stories about were-sharks. In Africa, you encounter were-panther tales. Sometimes, rarely, these examples of myths on the were-fringe get the cinematic treatment too. Coming out Finland in 1952 is “The White Reindeer,” the feature debut of cinematographer Erik Blomberg. Yes, this is a movie about a human that changes into a vicious reindeer. Despite that specificity and apparent absurdity of that premise, “The White Reindeer” is neither a Christmas film nor a comedy. Instead, it’s one of the most acclaimed creature features to come out of Lapland. 

Amid the snowy villages of Lapland’s long-ago past, a beautiful young woman named Pirita competes in reindeer-pulled sled races. There, she meets a handsome man named Aslak, the two quickly falling in love. While they experience marital bliss at first, Aslak soon has to travel far away for his work. Lonely and fearful her husband won't be attracted to her anymore, Pirita seeks out the services of a shaman. He creates a love potion for her, entrusting her to sacrifice the first living thing she sees on an ancient altar. That turns out to be a beautiful white reindeer Aslak gave her as a gift. Something goes wrong during the ritual. Now, Pirita is cursed to become a white reindeer on full moons, seeking out men to seduce and murder. As more men in the village fall prey to this mysterious witch in their ranks, the hunters begin to seek out this predatory reindeer. It’s not long before Aslak begins to suspect his wife and this strange monster might be one and the same.

“The White Reindeer” never specifies what era of Finland it takes place during. One scene features a hunter with a bullet loaded rifle, suggesting it couldn’t be happening too far back in history. At the same time, the film seems to capture a truly far away and foreign time and place. The characters wear the traditional hats and furs of Laplanders, largely getting around on skis. The sleds, homes, and pets all seem a part of an older and strange customs. That’s before the elf-like shaman, his magical spells, and talks of cold iron appear. The huge vistas of the locations, always covered in pure white snow, suggests a location truly out of time. I have no doubt that these visuals are less alien to native Finns. However, “The White Reindeer” still does an excellent job of transporting its viewer to another world, a fairy tale space where older rituals and beliefs still persist in the face of modernism. 

Blomberg’s film begins with a long flashback set to a choral song, which establishes the idea that “The White Reindeer” is a part of an older institution. This goes hand-in-hand with an almost silent movie approach. You could probably follow the story for the most part when watched without subtitles. This also speaks to the power of the film’s images. “The White Reindeer” is packed full of moody, eerie images. When the shaman begins his spell, a strangely shaped stone dances around on a drum by itself. This is closely followed by Pirita performing the sacrifice before the altar, which is framed through the curls of discarded antlers. We never see the woman become a reindeer, nor any of the attacks on human beings. We only see the remains of clothes alone in the snow, hoof prints leading away from them, an uncanny sight. The shots of hunters glowering around a camp fire or Pirita flashing her fangs, on the verge of changing, tap into a classical well of gothic horror imagery. To learn that “The White Reindeer” was directed by a cinematographer is not surprising, as the film is full of indelible images.  

Among the film’s most striking reoccurring visuals is the shadows of a window casting a huge cross on the floor of Pirita and Aslak’s floor. A later scene concerns a wedding in a church, before an icon of Christ. In contrast to the story of folk magic and strange witchcraft, that makes it tempting to read “The White Reindeer” as a story about the Christianization of pagan Finland. However, the finale – when the white reindeer woman is struck down – plays more like tragedy than a victory over non-Christian forces. This suggests a deeper quality, that gets at fundamental human truths. Classic stories like this, of maidens becoming beasts and men lured away by beautiful killers, recalls myths of women being punished for their vanity or boys getting what they deserve for going off with strange ladies. Pirita and Aslak seem deeply in love though, their relationship playing as an ideal romance. Pirita’s motivation for seeing the shaman in the first place seems somewhat vague. When combined with the haunting ending, that makes “The White Reindeer” a myth about whether or not we can ever know our partners as deeply as we wish. That people always have secrets and desires that they keep from us.

When it premiered at Cannes, “The White Reindeer” would win an award in a special category for fairy tale-like motion pictures. (It also won one of the five Golden Globes for foreign language movies that year.) That makes it all too apparent that the filmmakers succeeded in their goal of putting an ancient folk tale to celluloid. While the term “folk horror” has been tossed around constantly in the last few years, “The White Reindeer” has to rank among the most transporting examples I’ve yet seen. The movie takes us to a far away land, telling a story rich with archetypal ideas and mythological figures. Visually stunning, deeply effecting in its emotions, and consistently eerie in its presentation, this is a classic horror story that any fan of the genre should seek out. If nothing else, you’re not likely to see another were-reindeer movie any time soon. [9/10]

Body Melt (1993)

While I'm sure Australia's indigenous population doesn't see it this way, the country has always loved adopting the public persona of a plucky underdog, a nation of rough-and-tumble but laid-back blokes that managed to survive in a desert continent full of killer animals. Australian genre cinema certainly reflects this image too, in the sense that what we call Ozploitation often has a scrappy, do-it-yourself feeling that reflects a blue collar but chaotic energy. The truth is far more varied than that, filmmakers of wildly divergent styles as Peter Weir and Brian Trenchard-Smith shipping out of the Aussie low budget genre scene. A lot of Australian horror flicks are still happy to play right into this perception of Straya as a slightly untamed and unpredictable place. This was true after the end of the wild and woolly seventies and eighties. 1993's "Body Melt" certainly has stiff competition but might win the title of the most slime packed and unhinged horror flick to sprout from the largest island nation in the world. 

A sexy hook-up ends with a man being injected with an exotic new drug. The next morning, he finds himself experiencing wild hallucinations before his body begins violently mutating. He has been drugged by an employee of Vimuville Corporation, which is about to test their new vitamin supplement in a nearby town. He races towards the idyllic suburb of Pebble Court, looking to warn the residents, but dies bizarrely first. A pair of detectives try to figure out what happened, getting on the trail of a Vimuville employee performing damage control. This strange journey takes him to a backwoods farm occupied by deformed weirdos – former test subjects – and a health spa run by the corporation, where families are already experiencing the freaky effects. Meanwhile, Vimuville's dangerous new substance begins to rampage through Pebble Court, soon reducing one resident after another to pulsating puddles of tumorous tissue in various grotesque ways. 

"Body Melt" comes to us from Philip Brophy and Rod Bishop, formerly of → ↑ →, an experimental electronic band/performance art group with a hard-to-Google name. Befitting that background, "Body Melt" is a motion picture with a driving energy that violently rejects all forms of the establishment. Frequently to a thumping electronic rock score, the film's camera often careens through the twisted bodies of its rapidly mutating characters as well as the corridors of their homes and towns. A similarly chaotic scene depicts a kid in roller blades going up and down a half-pike, before graphically face-planting from the top rail. This anarchic visual style pairs well with a plot that brutally tears down one target of corporate conformity after another. Pre-planned suburbs, the nuclear family, health fads, spa vacations, the pharmaceutical industry, horny teenagers, and a tendency by big corporations to value profits over people are all get summarily eviscerated. The final set piece of the film is one of the effected individuals puking all over the local police department, making the final statement on what "Body Melt" thinks of all forms of authority. 

The never-wrong oracles at IMDb trivia inform me that "Body Melt" was originally planned as an anthology. If true, this would certainly explain the disorganized structure of the script. The film doesn't truly have a main character. The perspective shifts constantly between a diverse cast. The sex-craved teens seem to be the protagonists until they are brutally killed by the rednecks. What about the guy who repeatedly has hallucinations of a woman with a scarred face? Or the Everyman repairman with a pregnant wife? A less busy movie probably would have built the story around the family vacationing at Vimuville's hotel or the cops on the trail of the murderous corporate "cleaner." Not to mention some of the weirdo workers at the company, such as the roided-out guys who speak with the voices of young boys. Instead, "Body Melt" decides to follow all these story threads, hyper actively switching between them on whims. An anthology would have allowed each set-up a little more breathing room. Then again, perhaps that matches the break-neck frenetic quality the entire movie operates with. "Body Melt" tears apart every social institution it can get its slimy tentacles into. Why not rip up the traditional story structure as well? 

Not that individual characters or plot are all that important to a movie such as "Body Melt." As in its most obvious inspiration, "Street Trash," the loose plot is mostly a delivery system for a series of outrageous, creatively demented special effects sequences. In that regard, "Body Melt" might top previous melt movie hallmarks. The truly grotesque mutations are impressively twisted. Animated globs of snot, fountains of projectile vomit, and splintering flesh occur as often as possible. Squishy tentacles squirm out of people's nose, erections expand until they burst, a pregnant belly explodes open, and a placenta comes to life and attacks. As the title promises, plenty of people melt on-screen too. While "Body Melt" is no doubt a gross-out fest determined to turn viewers' stomachs with as many hideous special effects as possible, there's definitely a satirical edge to these nasty displays. The film's elaborate body horror represents a full-on revolution against the physical perfection perpetuated by popular culture and mainstream normalcy. The falling out eyeballs and emulsifying torsos are as much a joyous rejection of nineties conformity as it is an impressive flexing of latex, rubber, and ooze.

In classic punk rock fashion, "Body Melt" screws around plenty too. The entire subplot devoted to the inbred backwoods freaks or a surreal hallucination in which a female spirit has a collection of rib bones she's stolen from past conquests are as much sick jokes as they are expressions of any point. "Body Melt" definitely belongs as much to the Troma tradition as Cronenberg's. As scattershot as the story is, I found myself enjoying the film's chaotic parade of gory madness. I mean, anybody who appreciates eighties and nineties special effects kind of has to love this one at least a little bit. Unsurprisingly, "Body Melt" has garnered a cult following of its own, among gore hounds and weird movie buffs. Maybe not the smoothest ride, the film is nevertheless an exhilarating and delightfully disgusting experience. [7/10]

Creeped Out: Cat Food

British, kid-friendly series "Creeped Out" is, in my experience, uneven but still a lot better done than most attempts to reinvent "The Twilight Zone" formula for the primary school demographic. "Cat Food" is about Stu, a sneaky kid who cheats at games and fakes being sick, so he can stay home from school. Sitting in his room, he notices the old lady across the street getting a large delivery of cat food... That she lifts with ease. He next sees Mrs. McMurtle remove a false wall in her garage, bathe in the cat food, and seemingly turn into a monster. He desperately attempts to convince his mom of what he's seen but, instead, she invites Mrs. McMurtle over to babysit Stu. That's when the old woman reveals her true nature. She is a creature called a Keokeoken, a shapeshifter that challenges children to games and then steals their bodies and assumes their identities when she wins. 

Horror stories often operate as moral lessons and, unsurprisingly, kid-friendly horror media does this far more. "Cat Food" is obviously designed to discourage children from deceiving people. Stu is quite the juvenile hustler. In addition to cheating at games and lying to his mom, he also sneaks into his principal dad's office and copies the answers to tests, which he sells to kids around school. It's clear where this is going from the moment Mrs. McMurtle challenges him to a game. The boy rips off the monster and thinks he's gotten away with it, only to learn that his grift has consequences. While his mom doesn't seem to be aware that her son is a pint-sized fraudster, there's an element of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" here. Mom doesn't believe the outlandish story about the little old lady next door being a monster and this comes back to punish the boy, his lying ways sealing his fate. 

The moral is heavy-handed, as morals in children's programming usually are. That the story encompasses monsters and elaborate fraud seems to sully the simplicity of that message. Still, I did find some elements about "Cat Food" to enjoy. The story, essentially, updates long held folkloric archetypes into the modern age. Mrs. McMurtle is clearly a witch type. She stirs the cat food in a bathtub, like a cauldron. Her association with felines and nature as an older woman fits this as well. The stipulation that she can only take over a child's body if they agree to it willingly, usually via losing at a game, also recalls ancient stories about fairies and demons. (The Keokeoken is a name invented for this show but it was probably inspired by the Cat-sith of Scottish legend, an upright cat monster that steals souls and is sometimes a witch in disguise.) The old woman flatly explaining all of this to Stu is a bit cumbersome. It's also somewhat disappointing that we never actually see the witch change into her true monstrous form. I guess, even in 2017, BBC genre shows still had the kinds of budgets that forced them to imply more than they could show. 

I imagine only an extremely young child would find "Cat Food" scary. Some of Stu's Kevin McCallister-like antics cast an overly broad mood, dampening any sense of horror. Margaret Jackman does what she can to imbue the soft spoken woman with some intimidating power but a little old lady still doesn't make for much of a villain. Having said that, there is a decidedly unwholesome element in the subtext here. An adult manipulating a child into doing something they don't want to do, but convincing them it's their fault, brings a number of distressing topics to mind. As does McNulty ingratiating herself to Stu's mom to get closer to the boy for her own nefarious ends. While "Cat Food" is clearly telling kids not to be sneaky, lying little bastards, maybe the moral of "friendly faces aren't always what they appear" would be more valuable. This uncomfortable subtext provides some tension to what is a decent half-hour of kids' television that probably could've been a lot more. [6/10]

Sleepwalker (1984)

Released the same year as “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” Saxon Logan’s “Sleepwalker” presents a different take on the world of the waking and the dreaming crossing over in horrific ways. The film follows a quartet of characters: Brother and sister Alex and Marion live in an isolated home in the British countryside. There, Alex does his quiet, solitary work as a translator while Marion has reoccurring nightmares and takes every chance she can to castrate her brother’s ego. They are visited by acquaintances, Richard and Angela. After a window in their kitchen mysteriously explodes, the four go out to eat at a fancy restaurant. There, the political and social divides between them are revealed through petty bickering. Richard and Angela are invited to stay the night, the former being seduced by Marion. However, as the sun goes down, the line between reality and dreams begin to blur.

Logan’s “Sleepwalker” is not a movie that is easy to like. From its opening minutes, strife and discord is established between its characters. Alex is antisocial and withdrawn. Marion is cold and cutting. Angela seems to be largely empty-headed. Richard, meanwhile, is a vicious capitalist who never misses a chance to look down on anyone he deems beneath him. Minutes after sitting down for dinner, the man makes a barrage of disgustingly homophobic comments. This proceeds a tense conversation where the man establishes himself as fine with slave labor, in contrast to Alex being more left leaning politically. The sniping, arguing, and passive-aggression continues after they return home. In other words, everyone in this movie is hateful to each other, with none of the characters emerging as especially sympathetic. It’s clear that Logan – a protégée of Lindsay Anderson – has crafted a vicious act of social commentary here. The film presents eighties Thatcherism at its most ugly and exaggerated, the class wars playing out through verbal sparing. 

At first, anyway. In its opening minutes, “Sleepwalker” gives us peeks at Angela’s disconcerting nightmares. These scenes play out in moody blues and purples, as we get flashes of violence and violation. That sets up a dreamy sense early on, which continues during similarly phantasmic scenes of the window exploding or Richard and Marion’s nighttime visitation. The visuals get trippier as the fifty minute film moves towards a bloody last act. In these scenes, “Sleepwalker” becomes almost a slasher movie of sorts, displaying some creatively framed and gory executions. When paired with a slithering synth score, the result is a nasty but effectively upsetting work of eighties horror. This one isn’t for everyone but, if you get into its mean-spirited headspace, you might enjoy it too. [7/10]