Halloween 2019: October 16th

May (2002)

I'm not sure where I first heard about “May,” if it was online or in Fangoria. At the time, the qualities that would define horror in the new decade were just beginning to take shape, and I was on the look-out for anything that sounded fresh and new. “May” sounded interesting and, with my still relatively new Netflix membership, I ordered the DVD by-mail not long afterwards. I certainly wasn't prepared for the immediate emotional effect Lucky McKee's film would have on me. It immediately became the indie-horror flick I ranked all other indie horror flicks against. I inflicted the movie on many friends and girlfriends, many of whom failed to see the humor and grace in the story and were only grossed out by it. Slowly but surely, it became one of my favorite movies. I haven't reviewed “May” since the early days of the blog and I thought it was pass time for me to re-group my thoughts on a film that now ranks among my all-timers

May Canady is born with a lazy eye to a perfectionist mother. Friendless due to her condition, mom gives her Suzie, a porcelain doll who can never be removed from her glass case. May grows into a lonely, socially awkward 28 year old woman, working as a vet technician. Her lazy eye corrected by contacts, May begins to pursue her romantic obsessions. Such as Adam, a film-bro with handsome hands that May fixates on. Or Polly, a lesbian co-worker who constantly comes on to May. Neither relationship works out. As she suffers heartbreak after heartbreak, May's obsessions with finding perfect parts and making a friend slips into madness and murder.

“May” is probably the most accurate portrayal of the anxious mindset that I've ever seen. There's so many scenes here that I relate to on a personal level. May lives her life in a constant state of unease. She will nervously smile or glance in someone's direction, hoping that is enough to catch their eye, but ends up either ignored or rejected. She takes these minor interactions as huge, bruising blows. After her first semi-successful encounter with Adam, May stands in an elevator, recreating the event in her mind, acting out the next time in her head. More than anything else, perfectionism haunts May. Before calling Adam, she'll run through what she plans to say on the phone. As she switches a word or mis-speaks, she physically flinches, hating that she can do something this simple correctly. Hating that she can't be normal. The constant barrage of pestering thoughts, of hateful feelings, are represent by the crackling sound of the cracking glass of Suzie's case, which May has to shout out sometimes. Suzie is a symbol of perfection, untouchable and unmoving, that always haunts May.

Yet more than anything else, “May” is a movie defined by longing and loneliness. Because of her years of isolation, May has created a fantasy world she lives in, where she play-acts normal human interaction with her dolls. Where Suzie is constant companion whose penetrative glance – with two perfect blue eyes, it must be said – she both cherishes and resents. Her attempts to break out of that fantasy world and meet the people she longs for are difficult, to say the least. A key scene has her rubbing her face against Adam's outstretched hand while he sleeps, a simple fantasy of wanting to be touched, to be caressed. To be accepted. May's fantasies are humble. She repeats that the only thing she really wants is a friend. Yet May has been on her own so long that she hardly knows the first thing about being with other people. At best, her social interactions are destined to be awkward. At worst, they are disastrous.

May is ultimately a sensitive soul. Angela Bettis plays her as frequently child-like, fragile and jittering, posing in a play-act way with Suzie. Even if you aren't a similarly awkward weirdo like me, you probably feel the need to protect her. But “May” will run its titular character through the gamut of pain before it's over. The people May attaches herself to are not sensitive like her. Adam fetishizes quirkiness, a horror fan-boy who likes to think he's “weird.” But when he encounters someone genuinely weird like May, he's eventually put off and soon reveals himself as a philandering asshole guy. Polly, meanwhile, treats sex and romance like a game. She seduces May because she's bored and, despite her social awkwardness, the girl is attractive. When May catches Polly with another woman, she is stunned into silence. “May” puts us on its protagonist's side, portraying the people around her as insensitive to her unique needs and wants.

Maybe this doesn't sound like much of a horror movie but just wait. Director Lucky McKee's film is built upon the piercing of the flesh, of bloody and cut skin. May often wounds herself out of boredom, playing with a scalpel or cracking her hand on Suzie's case. Her job fills her head with surgical images of cut open bellies, sutures and stitches. McKee's film inevitably lurches towards graphic gore. Yet the splattery effects are secondarily disturbing to the tone of unnerving tension McKee engineers with shifting hallucinatory images and a sound design that gets under your skin. These two elements combine in a moment when a class of blind kids meets a floor covered with shattered glass. The physical pain of stabbed palms combine with the psychological pain May feels in that moment, her world shattering apart too.

The long build-up devoted to May's breakdown is the most absorbing parts of the film. Watching an actress as skilled as Bettis go through these steps, getting drawn into May's sad and broken world, is deeply compelling. In the last act, “May” becomes a slasher film of sorts, May enacting her revenge on those that have wronged her. (And sometimes some people unlucky enough to get in her path.) The bloody killings are certainly fantastically directed and beautifully orchestrated, McKee showing the previously mentioned debt he owes to Argento. May even assumes a persona of sorts as she goes about her killing, become emotionally attached. In its final moments, as May assembles her Frankensteinian perfect friend, McKee's film returns to more personal images. In the final beguiling moments, May accepts her own imperfection and the film ends on a beautifully sad moment of dream-like connection, of judgment-free love.

I could probably find another one hundred things to say about “May.” I haven't even touched upon the movie's endearingly goofy humor, its wonderfully atmospheric Halloween setting, the fantastic indie-rock soundtrack by Jayne Barnes Luckitt. McKee litters his film with meaningful symbols – a cat, an ashtray, sewing machines and cigarette boxes – that further reflect May's obsessions and loves. Bettis leads a fantastic cast, including a pre-fame Anna Farris as the highly suggestive Polly. Though its won many rave reviews over the years, “May” is still criminally underseen. McKee's powerful and beautifully assembled motion picture is one I will continue to return over and over again in the years to come. [10/10]

The Cremator (1969)
Spalovač Mrtvol

Non-English European cinema of the fifties and sixties is a blind spot for me. I'll admit, I'm not horribly familiar with the French New Wave or the films of the Italian Neo-Realism movement. I've only seen two Ingmar Bergman movies. Yet I'm definitely curious about classic art movies from overseas, especially when they veer more towards the macabre side of things. 1969's “The Cremator” hails from then-Czechoslovakia. I had never heard of the movie before it was released on DVD by Dark Sky Films in 2009. I read about that release in Fangoria, thought the film sounded interesting, and the title stuck with me. And now, ten years later, I'm finally getting around to actually watching the film.

As the 1930s close, Czechoslovakia is undergoing many changes. The Nazi Party has come to power in Germany and it's exerting its influence on the neighboring country. At first, Karel Kopfrikringl is not concerned with politics. He loves his wife Lakme and adores his son and daughter, Milli and Zina. He runs the crematorium at the local funeral home and is deeply proud of his work. He thinks of burning bodies to ash as bringing human souls closer to heaven, of removing their worldly concerns. The leader of the local Nazi chapter begins to seduce Karel to his ideology, causing the family man slip even further into madness.

At first, “The Cremator” presents Karel as a good man. He's a dedicated worker and a loving husband. He's tolerant of a morphine addict. He doesn't even drink or smoke. When the Nazi officer asks him about his German blood, Karel clarifies that this is a Czech household. As the film progresses, we learn more about Karel. He visits a brothel about once a month. It's this thirst for sex that first tempts him to join the local Nazi Chapter, invited into an exclusive casino. From there, he's offered more power, more control. Karel goes from considering himself Czech to considering himself German. He goes from being friendly with his Jewish neighbors to considering them with suspicion. When it's pointed out that his wife is half-Jewish, he bends towards even more depraved acts.

And that's how good men become evil. “The Cremator” clearly isn't just about one man sliding into true wickedness. It was made by Czech filmmakers, for whom the horrors of World War II were not an especially distant memory. Director Juraj Herz and his team probably saw firsthand how Nazisim took root in their country. In its final moments, the film becomes more and more disturbing as we realize the significance of Karel's work. Soon, he's drafted by the Nazis to work on a special project involving cremation. My stomach sank as the film moved towards this revelation. (The film notably presents Nazisim as about white supremacy and nothing else, which is refreshingly direct.) “The Cremator” is a disturbing watch for this reason alone, for the way it weaves real life history into a story of personal madness.

Yet this is also a hallucinatory horror movie. From its opening minutes, the film unfolds like a strange dream. Herz' direction involves close-ups on faces. The black-and-white photography feels otherworldly. The interiors of the rooms look still and chilly as mausoleums. As Karel shows the crematorium to an apprentice, the camera peers up through the trap doors and around the corners. A boxing match is similarly framed. Unexpected angles are often utilized to increase the nightmarish atmosphere. A long sequence involving a trip to a wax works, where the wax models are portrayed by actors, is especially surreal. As Karel's obsession with cremation, with purifying the world in fire, grows more unhinged, the direction grows more experimental. We see faces fall downward into the darkness, framed against Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights. It's absolutely impossible to take your eyes off “The Cremator,” the visual approach feeling singularly strange and compelling. (There's also a degree of absurd comedy, such as the squeeism wife that is at seemingly every social function in the film.)

“The Cremator” stars Rudolf Hrušínský, who was primarily known for comedic performances before this movie. Hrušínský, who resembles Peter Lorre, holds this disturbing motion picture together. He narrates most of the film, his calm words explaining his particular philosophy about the world to us. Hrušínský seems extremely controlled and studied throughout most of the movie. As his words and ideas grow stranger, Hrušínský gets more wide-eyed. By the end, he seems to reach a religious awe as he talks about his goals and beliefs. Rudolf's climatic rant about what he has planned for the world is an awe inspiring display of concentrated acting.

“The Cremator” was Czechoslovakia's submission for Best Foreign Language Film at the 1970 Academy Awards. It wasn't nominated somehow. (Costa-Gravas' “Z” was the winner that year.) The film was banned by the newly Soviet government shortly after its release, not being seen again until after the fall of Czech Communism in 1989. Since then, its reputation has grown, with some considering it the greatest Czech movie ever made. I'm guessing it was largely unknown in America until that 2009 DVD release. I'm glad I gave this one a shot though. Not a traditional horror movie by any means, “The Cremator” is nevertheless a highly disturbing and powerful cinematic experience. [9/10]

Tales from the Cryptkeeper: Unpopular Mechanics

Here's another episode of “Tales from the Cryptkeeper” where the moral lesson is diluted by the main character being such an asshole. “Unpopular Mechanics” follows Randall, a young inventor with a destructive streak. For a science contest, he creates a remote control that can take control of any electronic device, though it immediately makes it fall apart. This does not impress the judge of the contest, nor his robot sidekick. Randall ignores his warnings and procedes to go on a rampage, wrecking objects all throughout his town. Eventually, the machines all around him get sick of his bullshit and decide to take revenge.

Once again, by making its moral so literal, “Tales from the Crpytkeeper” ends up imparting a very strange lesson to children. I think the episode wanted young people to learn that you should respect other people's property and not just randomly, wantonly destroy things. Instead, the lesson ends up being “machines have literal souls and feelings and will take revenge if you disrespect them.” Bizarre. Anyway, this is a stupid episode. A high school teacher having his own personal robot friend is an extraordinary feat that's considered very unimpressive, it seems. Randall is a total prick. I imagine this episode was probably inspired by Sid in “Toy Story,” as Randall cobbles together is own bizarre hybrid toys. The climax, which plays like a kiddie version of “Maximum Overdrive,” could've been interesting if the kid wasn't such a tool and the animation wasn't so bad. Typical of season three of “Tales from the Cryptkeeper.” [4/10]

Forever Knight: Blood Money

IMDb lists a different air order for season two of “Forever Knight” than the sequence its presented in the DVD box set. So instead of ending the season on the apocalyptic “A More Permanent Hell,” we wrap up our watch of “Forever Knight: Season Two” with a pretty normal episode. In “Blood Money,” we discover Nick Knight is rich. During his days as a murderous vampire, he stole a chest full of Spanish treasure. Upon his virtuous awakening, he used the gold to create a charitable foundation. And now the financial investor that helped Nick set that up has been murdered, his car exploding. The man's son, an alcoholic partier who recently opened a night club, is quickly assumed to be responsible. Nick and Schanke investigate and uncover a deeper criminal involvement.

Like I said, “Blood Money” is a pretty standard episode. Schanke has his goofy comic relief subplot, which involves him wanting to win the lottery. The flashbacks prove more compelling, as we get to see Geraint Wyn-Davies – who directed this episode – play swashbuckler a little bit. There's a cute scene where we meet another vampire who is very invested in his garden. The highlight of the episode involves Nick fighting a goon on the flashing dance floor of the night club. Colm Feore is memorably sleazy as the episode's villain, a weaselly gangster named Walken. [6/10]

I was really hoping, as season two ended, “Forever Knight” would bring some of its plot points – Nick and Natalie getting closer together, his occasional dalliances with Jenette, LaCroix's growing begrudging respect towards his off-spring – to a head. Of course, this is an episodic cop show. So serialized plot points are not too much of a concern. Watching my way through this season has been a bit of a slog at times. While I enjoy the characters and the actors, I wish the episode-to-episode stories were a little more compelling. Too often, “Forever Knight” isn't really a horror show. It's just a cop show where the protagonist happens to be a vampire. But, hey, I've only got one more season left so I'll definitely be finishing up watching and reviewing it next season.