Why does the idea of the haunted house obsess mankind so? I'm not talking about ghosts. Everyone knows ghosts are such an enduring idea because they confront us with the concept of death while proving existence goes on after it. I'm referring specifically to the thought of a home, cursed by a malevolent presence. Maybe buildings and homes are objects so wrought with emotional association that the idea of never leaving it, even after we die, is appealing. Whatever the reason, haunted houses are at least as old as ancient Greece and the premise resonates deeply through the horror genre. Among the most respected haunted house stories is Shirley Jackson's “The Haunting of Hill House.” In 1963, Robert Wise turned the book into one of the most respected ghost movies of all time.
The most extraordinary thing about “The Haunting” is how it brings Hill House to life. We first see Hill House as a series of dark spires jaunting into the night sky. Long stretches of the film are devoted to merely observing the shadowy hallways of the building. It's observed later that the interior architecture of Hill House is slightly askew in every room, making the entire building off. However, it's unnecessary to point that out, as the audience can already feel something innately wrong in the building. As we learn Hill House's history in the opening scene, we see tragedy, madness, and despair play out in the darkened and twisted rooms. So much tragedy that the building itself eventually becomes a pulsating heart of insanity. Robert Wise's direction is intimate and expressionistic, drawing more attention to the disturbing world that is Hill House.
As a horror movie, “The Haunting” is characterized by two modes. There are long dialogue-driven scenes, the characters discussing the history of the building, the nature of its haunting, their own history, and whether or not the supernatural exists. While it's certainly interesting to listen to this, “The Haunting” works a lot better when it goes for the throat. There's a lot of fantastically scary scenes here. As Theo and Eleanor recline in their shared room, horrible noise pounds on the wall around them. Later, the patterns on the wall seem to stare at Eleanor as she hears more disturbing noises from inside the house. That scene ends on an especially chilling note. It all builds towards a moment of escalating suspense in the last act, based around a rickety spiral staircase. The direction here is surprisingly visceral, as the camera will often swoop and zoom in on faces and locations within the house.
The first time I saw “The Haunting,” it totally sucked me in. Upon this rewatch, on Blu-Ray, it didn't work for me quite as well. This time, I found the repeated use of voice-over narration to be distracting. Sometimes, the characters' actions come off as a little mean-spirited in a way that bugged me slightly. Still, there's no denying that “The Haunting” is one of the most effective ghost stories ever put to film, largely thanks to the brilliant production design and direction. Jackson's novel would also spawn a big, loud, and extremely dumb remake in 1999 and, more recently, a critically acclaimed Netflix series that I swear I'll get around to watching eventually. [8/10]
By the end of the last decade, America was finally ready for Jack Ketchum. Ketchum's intense and punishing novels – which frequently straddle the line between horror, splatterpunk, and true crime – had been shocking and compelling fans since the early eighties. However, after years of critical acclaim and cult popularity, paperbacks of his work started to crop up in big bookstore chains and even places like Wal-Mart, usually with a rave from Stephen King on the cover. Around the same time, and this is probably correlated, film adaptations of Ketchum's work started to be made. The first to be filmed was “The Lost.” I heard about the movie through my fandom of Lucky McKee. McKee – who would later work directly with Jack – produced the movie, which was directed by his buddy Chris Siverston. I scooped up the book while the movie was still in looking-for-distribution limbo and immediately became a fan of Mr. Ketchum's harsh but rewarding work.
The movie closely follows the novel, which was inspired by spree killer Charles Schmid. While out camping with his girlfriend Jennifer and their mutual friend Tim, would-be ladies man Ray Pye spies a pair of women on a trip together. He assumes them to be lesbians and, acting spontaneously, shoots both to death. He swears Jennifer and Tim to secrecy. Four years pass. While Ray was the prime suspect in the killings, he's never been arrested. Instead, he continues to pursue women, do drugs, and manipulate his friends. But it's only a matter of time before Ray snaps and kills again.
And once that climatic rampage begins, you have other questions. “The Lost” is clearly a movie about toxic masculinity. Ray is serially full of shit. He crams crumpled up beer cans into his boots to make himself look taller. He attributes the resulting funny walk to a mafia-related injury, obviously a nonsensical story. He draws on a beauty mark and talks about a band we never actually see him play in. He lords over his friends and women especially. When his dominance is questioned, he responds with anger and violence. And he saves the worst of that for the females in his life. A series of romantic rejections, especially from a girl he failed to perform sexually with, is what spurns the climatic tidal wave of violence. The last third of the film has him abducting the women he feels have wronged him, subjecting them to a barrage of abusive language before killing most of them in sudden, gory ways. It's an intense sequence, the violence growing bloodier and more intense as further innocents are drawn into it. Senter's performance gets more unhinged, as Pye supplements his madness with cocaine. “The Lost” ends in a hail of gun fire, blood, and demented screaming.
The book, by the way, didn't have this problem so much. Ketchum's “The Lost” was a more effective snapshot of a true crime, capturing a specific era and fleshing out the victims more. (The book is explicitly set in the late sixties and early seventies. The film's setting is much more vague, as the phones are all cordless.) Despite its flaws, “The Lost's” intensity nearly launched Chris Sivertson to bigger, better things. The end credits promised his next movie to be “Hippy,” an acid trip-motivated slasher flick. Instead, Siverston made “I Know Who Killed Me” next which basically undid any of the good will from his first feature. And now, re-watching “The Lost” in 2019, when sexist rampages by incels are everyday news, the film plays much more differently. [6/10]
Here it is you guys, the very last episode of 'Tales from the Cryptkeeper.” “Competitive Spirit” follows a middle school ski team, who are traveling into the snowy mountains for a competition. Vincent is determined to win and will do anything to give himself an advantage. He attempts to psyche his friends out with a ghost story. According to Vincent's tale, a mountain climber once left his friend to die in order to become the first person to reach the summit. Now the spirit of that friend still roams the mountains, seeking revenge on anyone who gets in his way. It's just a bullshit story, designed to scare the others, but Vincent himself soon comes face-to-face with this icy ghost.
I don't have too much to say about 'Competitive Spirit.” It's really dumb that Vincent's own ghost story illustrates the episode's moral – there are more important things than winning – when he himself seems unaware of that lesson. That the ghost wears lederhosen and still carries an ice axe is a funny visual gag. There's one genuinely clever touch to the story. The ghost can control other beings made of ice and snow, so the snowmen glimpsed throughout the episode become his servants. If this wasn't such a cheaply animated, obviously written kid's show, the sequence of Vincent being stalked through the snow by the ghost might've been a little intense. But, once again, “Tales from the Cryptkeeper” committing so totally to teaching its viewer a lesson drains it of much suspense. [5/10]
A few years back, I reviewed all of the “Critters” movies. Despite having a small fan-following, it was widely assumed that “Critters 4” would always be the end of the series. It's not like the world was calling out for more “Gremlins” rip-offs in 2019. Yet, strangely, forces have been conspiring to resurrect the Crites for quite some time. In 2014, Warner Brothers had a stake in Direct-TV's streaming service. Looking through their library of titles, they somehow touched upon “Critters” as an I.P. that could be exploited by this new network. The team behind “Zombeavers” would produce “Critters: A New Beige,” a mini-series made up of eight ten minute long shorts. However, Direct-TV's digital platform would go belly-up before “A New Binge” could air, leaving the mini-series' fate in doubt. Finally, earlier this year, Shudder would rescue “A New Binge” so it could be enjoyed by whoever the weirdos who still remember the “Critters” movies are.
The first episode of “A New Binge,” “No Eating,” introduces us to a motley team of Crites. They are assigned a mission to Earth to uncover a Crite that disappeared there years before. They are pursued by a pair of shape-shifting bounty hunters, who get shot down and land in the Australian outback. The critters are instructed not to eat anyone while on Earth but quickly loose control, devouring the animals inside a vet's office. The aftermath of their gory snack is discovered by a trio of high school students: The nerdy Christopher, his crush Dana, and their friend Charlie.
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