Halloween 2014: October 16th

The Wolf House (2018)

La Casa Lobo

Many independent filmmakers have bemoaned the current state of getting funding for your projects. How the studios are all risk averse and nobody is willing to take a chance on anything potentially uncommercial. While I have no doubt that this is absolutely true, we also seem to be having right now a strong moment for strange stop-motion animated movies, the most painstaking and time-consuming of all types of animation. (Already itself a costly and arduous medium.) Within the last few years, we've had “Mad God,” “The House,” “The Old Man Movie,”  and “Oink,” all of which definitely fall on various degrees of the weirdness spectrum. Also residing on the far end of the strangeness meter is “The Wolf House,” a 2018 Chilean animated feature with such a dark and surreal tone that it's hard to classify it as anything but horror. The film was critically acclaimed and quickly developed passionate defenders within the artsier corners of the horror fandom. 

The film is presented, in-universe, as a propaganda production for Chile's notorious Colonia Dignidad, essentially a cult that also performed atrocities for the Pinochet regime. A young girl named Maria, after letting some pigs loose, flees the colony in fear of punishment. As she runs through the woods, she feels the presence of a predatory “wolf” always behind her. She soon arrives at an abandoned home. Inside, Maria finds she can manipulate the home and anything inside it into whatever she wants. She finds two pigs, adopts them as pets, and soon changes them into humanoid children that she names Ana and Pedro. They are happy there for some time, until a fire deforms both kids. Maria feels the influence of the “Wolf” always in the back of her mind and, slowly, it calls to her more and more...

The first thing anybody is going to notice about “The Wolf House” is its bizarre and spellbinding visual presentation. Directors Cristobal Leon and Joaquin Cocina built a life-sized replica of the house. The animation takes the form of stop-motion “paintings” slowly coming to life. Figures that resemble, at different points, papier-mâché, dolls, and stuffed animals represent the characters while often shifting in size and appearance. The film is presented as one continuous shot, sometimes from the perspective of Maria and sometimes from an omniscient observer. The result is a movie that is constantly shifting and moving, characters and setting manifesting before our very eyes in a myriad of forms. “The Wolf House” is, in other words, not quite like anything else visually, an incredibly ambitious presentation that exists in a realm all its own. This is using the medium of animation to truly create sights that could be done no other way. All the while, “The Wolf House” remains tactile in its appearance, using its mixed-medium techniques to create something that feels as if it emerged directly from the subconscious of a disturbed child's mind. 

While "The Wolf House" is most impressive as a one-of-a-kind visual experience, its story touches on interesting and disturbing themes. When María finds herself at the magical house, it feels like a metaphor for the freedom someone who grew up in a restrictive, controlling environment must feel once they are out. The pigs – animals she already feels a kinship with – both figuratively and literally become her children and a chance to start over. However, the programming she sustained as a child is difficult to escape. The "Wolf" often speaks to her, an insistent voice telling her things are imperfect and that she'll never be truly free. When the fire happens, the Wolf's influence becomes stronger over Maria. She remakes the kids into "perfect" blonde, Aryans who speak German and wear turn-of-the-century clothes. She reads Pedro a disturbing bedtime story about a dog that runs away from home and is brutally murdered for his actions, instilling in her own kids the same sort of lessons she was taught at the Colony. The pig-children take this to heart, wishing to never leave the house. They end up hiding things from their "mother" and lying to her, putting María in a similar role to the one she longed to escape. When the situation grows more desperate, that is when she calls out for the Wolf and accepts the control he has over her. Anybody with any degree of childhood trauma can relate to this, that the negative thoughts and codependency bred into you by an abusive or codependent parent are difficult to leave behind. As someone with OCD, the way "The Wolf House" portrays the insidious lingering effects of childhood abuse as an intrusive thought, something that intercedes as if from an outside force on your logical brain and is always lurking in the back of your mind, is especially effective.

I'll admit to being an ignorant American though. I had no familiarity with the true story of Colonia Dignidad and Paul Schäfer before watching the movie. I assumed it to be a fictional framing device. I certainly picked up on how the dialogue in the film switches between Spanish and German, how Maria remakes her children into ideal Germans under the influence of the Wolf, and how that surely connects to the persistent rumors of Nazi war criminals hiding out in Chile and their influences on the local dictatorships. I know enough about cult psychology to immediately guess what kind of things happened at the Colony. (Namely, that all the horrible stuff the narrator denies happened most certainly did happen.) Reading up on the historical context makes it much, much worse though. "The Wolf House" tells a perverted fairy tale in which the role of the Big Bad Wolf is rewritten to be a benevolent protector, who promises to "watch over" all the little "piggies" that come to visit him at the Colony. Once you know that Schäfer did everything to give him access to children he could abuse, the effect of that line becomes utterly sickening. "The Wolf House," in universe, functions as propaganda for a cult and torture camp run by a pedophile, designed to indoctrinate its most vulnerable followers. This makes the film a statement on the power of indoctrination itself, how young minds are intentionally twisted to see their predators as their protectors and the cages that hold them in as their homes. This device makes the message – the intense feeling of betrayal and anger that radiates through every minute of the film – far more devastating than it would be in a traditional narrative. "The Wolf House" being structured in this way puts us, the viewer, inside the head of Schäfer's victims. It exposes us to the psychological conditioning they experienced every day. 

Colonia Dignidad still exists, by the way. Schäfer is dead, the camp has been renamed, and residents are allowed to come and go as they please. It operates as a tourist attraction now with a restaurant, something so obscene that it seems incomprehensible to me. As for "The Wolf House," I'd have to give the film the highest recommendation possible simply on account of its mind-melting visuals. The elaborate and bizarre animation, the absolute skill used to bring these images to life, is a fulfilment of the promise everything cinema can do. The movie also tells a deeply disturbing story, using layers of meta-fictional devices to expose us directly to the effects of living under a cult. If you don't know the historical context exactly, as I did on first viewing, the film still operates as an unsettling horror movie that will leave you feeling extremely unclean afterwards. It's a statement on Chilean history by Chilean artist, expressing ideas in bold and clever ways that must be seen to be believed. [9/10]

Terror is a Man (1959)

They've been making movies in the Philippines since the early days of the medium. I have no doubt that many classy and prestigious films have been made in this beautiful country. However, when we genre fans tend to think of Filipino movie making, what comes to mind is usually the trash. If you've seen a women-in-prison flick or a Rambo rip-off, odds are good it was at least shot on the islands, if not a totally Filipino production. They made a whole documentary about this! This is largely thanks to actor-turned-filmmaker Gerardo de Léon and his frequent collaborator, Eddie Romero. The two teamed up with American expat Kane W. Lynn in the late fifties to begin producing low-budget Filipino films for an international audience. Their first big hit was also the first horror movie made in the Philippines, a black-and-white Dr. Moreau riff entitled "Terror is a Man." The success of the film launched what became known as the Blood Island series and marked the Pacific Nation as a prime spot for productions in need of an exotic location on a tight budget. 

A sailor named William Fitzgerald survives a ship wreck and washes up on the shore of an obscure island. There, he is rescued by an eccentric scientist named Dr. Girard. The doctor has come to the island, with his beautiful wife Frances and assistant Walter, to conduct his research. The longer William stays at the doctor's abode, two things become apparent: Firstly, the mistreated Frances is very attracted to him and, most important, Dr. Girard is performing some ethically dubious experiments. The castaway soon discovers the horrible truth. That the doctor is attempting to turn a panther into a man, resulting in a half-formed monster that has a habit of escaping its cage and killing natives around the island. 

In many ways, "Terror is a Man" is about what you'd expect for a monster movie shot in a foreign country in the late fifties. Its story is derivative. Aside from the obvious inspiration of Welles, the script clearly draws from "Frankenstein," "Creature from the Black Lagoon," and "The Most Dangerous Game." Befitting a horror flick made nearly at the dawn of a new decade, it's gorier and sexier than many of the creature features that proceeded it. The panther man is vivisected on-screen, some throats are ripped out, and Greta Thyssen wears a succession of tighter outfits. Despite this salacious edge, "Terror is a Man" is also more character driven than you might expect. A surprising amount of time is taken with the relationship between Fitzgerald and Frances, the film actually devoting quite a few scenes to their growing attraction and eventual chemistry. More time is also spent developing mad Dr. Girard's desire to speed up evolution and Walter's growing discontent than is usually allowed in films such as these. This is both good and bad. It's nice that everyone is a little more fleshed-out than they needed to be. On the other hand, it does give "Terror is a Man" a rather slow pace, the plot moving in starts and stops until finally getting moving in the last half-hour. It's easy to imagine a slightly less ambitious version of the film that also gets to the point a little faster. 

However, de Léon and his team do make the film look good. "Terror is a Man" clearly had a limited budget, the cast kept small and most of the story taking place in only a few locations. Despite that, the film is quite atmospheric at times. There's a very cool POV shot early on from the monster, the branches from the trees swinging back and forth in the camera's face. The black and white cinematography produces some striking use of shadows, usually when the monster is lurking around the doctor's lair. The monster is kept off-screen for a long time, the audience's first glimpse of it occurring in a fittingly nightmarish scene where William sneaks down stairs and sees a bit of the bizarre surgery the doctor is getting up to. The non-horror scenes look equally good, such as the moment where the hero is invited into the maiden's bedroom, her slowly beckoning towards the doorway. It's not quite the heaving bosoms of Hammer but still quite daring for 1959. 

Frances being the only white woman on the island makes her an object of desire for almost every male in the film. Including the monster. That's the other most interesting thing about "Terror is a Man." Its beastie is surprisingly sympathetic. As in "Island of Lost Souls," the doctor performs his invasive surgeries on the panther without the aid of anesthesia. The monster is largely wrapped in bandages, which was probably a cost-saving measure. (Though the cat-like face of the creature does look quite fearsome.) However, this effect also furthers the impression that the panther-man is in constant pain. That's furthered by the cruelty the doctor and his assistant heap on the beast. Frances is the only person who is kind to it, leading to the all-too expected climatic image of the monster carrying the maiden in his arms. The panther-man kills some random, innocent bystanders too. However, Dr. Girard is clearly presented as the story's villain, the monster's half-formed and murderous state more a result of the man's hubris than any immoral nature on the creature's behalf. I guess that's what the title means. The mad scientist eventually being destroyed by his own creation is standard practice but "Terror is a Man" didn't have to give its bugbear a soul at all, so the extra effort is appreciated. 

Gerardo de Léon, Eddie Romero, and Kane Lynn would make three more monster movies in the Philippines later in the sixties, each in color and bloodier and more salacious than the one before it. While "Terror is a Man" is usually included as part of this Blood Island series – to the point that it was retitled "Blood Creature" on VHS – there's no indication here that the island is called that. Funnily enough, despite his association overseas with tawdry fare like this and "Women in Cages," Gerardo de Léon is actually regarded as one of the great names in Filipino cinema. He's the most awarded director by the country's equivalent to the Academy and was given the title of National Artist for Film in 1982. Those skills are definitely on-display in "Terror is a Man" to some degree, especially in its moody visuals. I do wish the movie was a little less slow but I'll still give this one a recommendation to monster fans who haven't caught up with it yet. [6/10]

Black Mirror: Playtest

With the second episode of its third season, “Black Mirror” would reflect on augmented reality. It follows Cooper, who has set out on a worldwide tour after his father died of Alzheimer's disease. Mostly as a way to avoid difficult conversations with his mother. While in London, he hooks up with tech journalist Sonja. After his credit card gets hacked, she encourages him to answer a job listing from SaitoGemu. That's a company known for their horror games. Cooper signs up for it, arriving in a sterile white room, and allowing himself to be injected with a high-tech implant. His brain becomes the augmented reality machine itself, seeing graphics he can interact with right in front of him. He's soon driven to a spooky mansion to enhance the experience, where the game system starts to mine his memories and fears for horrifying graphics. Cooper is left wondering what is real and what's part of the game as his evening grows more frighteningly real. 

"Playtest" would premiere a mere three months after "Pokemon GO" came out and made augmented reality the hot fad in tech for a while. The idea of a gaming system projecting elaborate hallucinations right in front of your eyeballs is merely one symptom of the larger point the episode is making. From its first scene, we see Cooper looking at his phone, dismissing calls from his mom. He plays a video game minutes before a plane lands. His trip around the world is captured in photos and videos he records. While sitting in an English pub and looking at a happy couple, he browses a dating app. When he meets up with Sonja, their conversations swirl around gaming and technology. He finds out his card has been hacked via his phone and, later, applies for this new job through another app. Technology already surrounds Cooper before he allows a complex digital device to be injected right into his brain. It's infiltrated every aspect of our lives. While seated in the gothic mansion, he wonders aloud how people amused themselves before the invention of computers. Our complete dependence on technology in the modern age has opened us up to all sorts of new horror. Which is, I suppose, the thesis of every episode of "Black Mirror." It's especially potent in "Playtest" however, where someone willingly allows a tech company to access the innermost aspects of his own mind. 

"Black Mirror's" focus on technology has always made it, obviously, a show that sought the cutting edge in horror. It was never going to do an episode about a haunted house. Except that's exactly what "Playtest" is. Gothic horror trappings are still common in video games, with this episode's setting clearly paying homage to the many dusty, Victorian mansions of the "Resident Evil" series. Much like those games, a creaky setting is combined with high-octane freaky monsters, such as a giant spider with a human face. Cooper is savvy enough to comment on an incoming jump scare, after he opens a pantry that blocks half the screen. "Playtest" gently mocks such a classic horror set-ups in the name of a reclaiming them. By the last act, the episode is managing to mind quite a lot of tension from the classic set-up of an ominous door the protagonist is too afraid to open. 

"Black Mirror" being the kind of show that is very clever, sometimes to the put of aggravation, "Playtest" certainly doesn't stop there. Gothic trappings aside, this is primarily an hour of psychological horror. Much of the tension is derived from the audience not knowing how much of what Cooper is experiencing is real. This question becomes especially pertinent as the threats he encounters become more surreal. "Playtest" is full of foreshadowing, various levels of reality interacting, and a few twists. However, the script invests you enough in Cooper and his problems, that these narrative swerves feel less like rug pulls and more like natural evolution of the story's themes. The rotting of the mind, loosing grip on reality, and doubting everything around ideas naturally built into the story.

While "Black Mirror's" social commentary and attempts at multi-layered scripts can veer towards the didactic or annoying, "Playtest" remains on the right side of that. (Though the final scene comes right against that level.) It helps that Wyatt Russell, as Cooper, has an affable, surfer dude charm in his early scenes that eventually moves towards a more pathetic, vulnerable state. He also has good chemistry from Hannah John-Kamen, giving more weight to their casual interactions. Director Dan Trachtenberg shows the same utterly sincere approach to the horror elements here that elevated "10 Cloverfield Lane" and "Prey." A steady hand like that, which doesn't back away from pulp elements without looking down on them or sacrificing a sense of intelligence, is probably what "Black Mirror" needed all the time. [8/10]

Skinflicker (1972)

Most would assume that “The Blair Witch Project” was the first found footage horror movie. Genre buffs are likely to point at influential predecessors like “Cannibal Holocaust” or “Man Bites Dog.” If you're really interested in the style, maybe you've heard of obscurities like “The McPherson Tape” or “Psychic Vision: Jaganrei.” Truthfully, the format is older than that, being born with 1960s experiments like “The Connection” and “David Holzman's Diary.” As far as I can tell, the first movie to specifically combine the premise of footage being recorded in-universe and then presented to the viewer in our universe along with deliberately horrifying images is “Skinflicker,” a forty-two minute long short made in England from 1972.

“Skinflicker” is presented in the context of being a confiscated document, shown to law enforcement for the purpose of training. The film follows three blue collar political revolutionaries – Wilf, a teacher; Susan, a nurse; and Henry, a gardener – who have recruited a pornographer to record their manifesto and kidnapping of a member of British parliament. The trio intends to capture the minister, confront him with the common acts of cruelty that have radicalized each of them, and then execute him on-camera. Georgie, the cameraman, doesn't believe they'll go that far but he's soon proven wrong, the three would-be rebels totally committed to their plan. The subsequent footage that follows shows the three interrogating the politician, torturing him, and the inevitable confrontation with police. 

“Skinflicker” strikes me as a film about conflict. Not only about class conflict but about conflict within the medium itself. While the three revolutionaries are nothing but sincere in their dedication to their high-minded ideas, the cameraman shoots stag reels for a living. He wears a mask, while the others show their face. When the gang drags the minister out of their trunk, wrapped up in bandages, Georgie starts to nervously crack jokes about mummy movies. As it becomes more and more clear what the three plan to do, the cameraman is increasingly horrified by their actions, until he becomes a victim of the rebels himself. The chasm is clear: One group sees film as a platform to carry powerful messages, literally as a way to document their acts of violent revolution. The other party, meanwhile, sees film as a crass commercial product, a way to record things that can be sold for a profit and easily discarded. You see this clearly in the way the cameraman tells jokes while dispassionately recording a dense political monologue being read. When the leader of the trio asks the man if he understands why they are doing this, he grumbles out “for a laugh” before changing his mind to “vengeance.” Those who see filmmaking simply as a way to turn a quick buck can't understand those that have higher aspirations for the format. 

The film's political content more-or-less speaks for itself. It is endlessly fascinating to me that director Tony Bicat and writer Howard Brenton – the film arose out of their equally politically inflammatory Portable Theatre Company – make their violent revolutionaries common folks. They were not radicalized by political theory but, instead, political reality. The scene where they each give their story to the captured minister is quite stirring. The teacher describes a child with bad glasses who was written off by the system and the nurse discusses how she's groped and abused by the old men she cares for. Once the representative, the only person in the room with any actual political power, is strung up, he makes excuses, slowly begging for his life. The statement is by no means subtle. The film seems to suggest some ambiguity over how far these three push things. A child is injured, if not outright killed, during the kidnapping. The brutality of what they put the minister through is clearly meant to disgust and repel us. Still, I don't think there's any doubt about where the filmmakers' sympathy lies. That the government framing of the film directly contradicts what the trio say, disregarding their clear political motives and saying what they did was a senseless act of violence, shows that they are being mislabeled and misconstrued so as not to threaten the status quo. 

As a piece of proto-found footage, “Skinflicker” startlingly predicts many of the trademarks of the subgenre. Visually, this is a grubby piece of guerilla filmmaking, that takes full advantage of the gritty, black-and-white 16mm most of “Skinflicker” was shot on. The primary location is an industrial garage of some sort, four brick walls that are caked with filth. Tedium, like a long unbroken shot of a car ride or Henry threatening to stomp on the politician's false teeth, stands alongside the raw violence. The performances are powerfully close to reality. Henry Woolf is especially unhinged as the manic Henry, who bursts into dramatic monologues before showing how uncompromising he can be. The elongated violence is what pushes “Skinflicker” into the realm of horror, though the whole short leaves the viewer with an unclean feeling. A thousand faux-snuff movies would follow in “Skinflicker's” wake but few of them would capture the genuine sense of anger and grittiness it invokes. [9/10]