I'm, by no means, a religious man. In my experience, karmic retribution rarely exist. However, I do find it interesting that the majority of cultures here on planet Earth have some conception of the idea of Hell. Judeo-Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Islamic, Zoroastrianism, the ancient Greeks: All are united by the idea that, if you misbehave in life, you will go to a place of infernal suffering and torment in the afterlife. Maybe this is simply the human mind applying its version of logic onto a chaotic universe. That those that evade justice in life will face punishment afterwards, that kings and beggars will all be judged equally. That's an appealing thought on every continent. The superstitious part of my brain, however, has trouble dismissing the coincidence of people and cultures, never interacting and separated by vast distances, all coming to the same conclusion. Maybe Jung was on to something with all that collective unconscious talk... Or maybe Hell does exist. Either way, eternal damnation has inspired cinematic visions all around the world. One example came out of Türkiye in 2015, when filmmaker Can Evrenol expanded his short "Baskin" into a feature film. My exposure to Turkish cinema doesn't extend past a few Cüneyt Arkın movies so I figured this would be as good a place as any to start with Turkish horror.
As a young boy, Arda had haunting dreams, the spirits of his friends and parents visiting him shortly after their deaths. He was adopted by "Boss" Remzi, a police officer who raised Arda to become a cop too. As an adult, Arda is the most timid member of a group of rowdy, boisterous officers. After eating at a restaurant, where the bawdiest cop gets into a fight with a waiter, back-up is called for in the Inceagac region, home to many strange legends. The driver of the police van sees someone in the road, striking them before driving off a bridge. The cops drag themselves out of the river and continue on food, coming to an abandoned police station from the Ottoman era. Inside, they discover a strange, demonic cult seemingly trying to manifest Hell here on Earth. Arda and Remzi, who have both seen ghosts their whole lives, capture the attention of the deprived leader of the gruesome gang.
"Baskin" isn't effective only because it tosses some fucked-up gore around while replicating an ambiance of depravity. All throughout, the script makes references to dreams. We often get peeks into Arda's visions, the most effective of which occurs after the car crash when he's plucked out of the water by a giant pair of hands. The entire last third of the film involves the leader of the cult – played by an actor with very distinctive facial features – enacting an elaborate sacrifice with the captured men. All the while, he makes vague statements about the nature of Hell and the purpose of his actions. The film never gives us a complete idea of what is going on here. We know as much as the characters do, who have stumbled into the middle of an otherworldly ritual. When combined with the emphasis on dreams – which eventually comes together in the last act – "Baskin" does a good job of invoking an atmosphere of cosmic horror. Something with implications beyond our understanding is going on here. We are only getting a small glimpse at a far bigger picture, one that we wouldn't be able to grasp even if we did see all of it. The cult's leader's body is tattooed with key holes and locks, pairing with him making references to opening the door. This moves the idea of Hell away from something karmic and religious into the realm of the metaphysical. Hell being a place that coexists alongside our own world, accessible through dreams and rituals, is a lot scarier to me than it being the bad place bad people go to when they die. Perhaps we are all mere pawns in a vast cosmic plan that we have to jab our own eyes out to get a fleeting look at.
In other words, "Baskin" is fuckin' brutal, man. It presents a distressing image of otherworldly horror, with enough creativity to be unpredictable and enough messed-up cruelty to unnerve. While the synth soundtrack and lighting gives the impression of one of the many eighties throwbacks the horror scene is littered with, "Baskin" combines its influences into something clever and original. Can Evrenol has made a few more films since this one and I'll have to see if I can track those down too. "Baskin" plays like a splatterpunk short story put to film and, if that description isn't off-putting to you, than it's probably the kind of crazy shit you'll enjoy too. Only somewhat indistinct characters and a slightly repetitive last act keep this from being a perfectly grim expedition into perdition. [8/10]
One of the first things you hear when you start writing is "Write what you know." The same adage applies to filmmaking, which is why there are so many movies about making movies. The horror genre is no different and the contrast between gruesome things happening on stage and gruesome things happening in reality has existed since the medium's inception. This was surely one source of inspiration for Larry Cohen when conceiving of 1984's "Special Effects." The film tosses the persistent itch that movie violence and real violence have some link into a blender with a number of other ingredients: The spectacular flame-outs beloved seventies auteurs Michael Cimino and Peter Bogdanovich suffered early in the decade; the grisly murder of Dorothy Straton and subsequent film adaptation of it; classic Hitcockian tropes and, presumably, Brian DePalma bringing them into the neon-tinged, cocaine dusted decade. Released a month after the similarly themed "Body Double," "Special Effects" remains largely overlooked within Cohen's career.
Following an enormous box office flop, director Christopher Neville has been kicked off his latest film. He returns in shame to New York, passing the time covertly filming people having sex at the wild parties he throws. Andrea is a teenage mother who has fled her small town life for dreams of stardom. She's currently stripping in the big city. That's where her husband and father of her child, Keefe, tracks her down. After an argument, Andrea runs away from Keefe to Neville's place. When she discovers Neville is recording their intimate encounter, he snaps and strangles her to death on-camera. The disgraced filmmaker concocts an elaborate stunt to frame the girl's husband for the murder and resurrect his career. He's going to make a low budget movie about the killing, starring Keefe as himself, as the investigation is unfolding. The team tracks down Elaine Bernstein, a woman who looks a lot like Andrea, further complicating the situation. Especially when Neville starts to kill again...
This swirl of fake-real and fake-fake events is the strongest idea "Special Effects" has. It is present in a number of key scenes. Such as when Keefe shows Andrea a home movie of their kid or when the director records the reenactment of the love/murder scene that kicks off the plot. Unfortunately, "Special Effects" can never quite cohere these intriguing ideas into a focused whole. The script never decides who its protagonist is. Andrea is the focus of the first half, before the "Psycho" switch of Christopher Neville, the murderous villain, seeming to slip into the main role. However, Keefe and Elaine are presumably the story's heroes and much of the narrative follows them as well. Leaping back and forth between these four prevents any of them from becoming clearly defined characters. Both Keefe and Elaine seem pushed along by the plot, not the other way around, leading to a movie that gets more muddled as it winds down towards a frenzied last act.
I'm usually a proponent of a cheesy synth soundtrack, especially in a sweaty eighties thriller like this. However, "Special Effects" has a soundtrack that clicks, chirps, bloops, and hums over every scene to the point of distraction. When combined with a script that never quite builds up to the fever pitch it's clearly aiming for, "Special Effects" proves to be a frustrating watch. However, it is an interesting failure that contains a number of intriguing ideas, some strong performances and fun dialogue, and a few stand-out scenes. This is probably a case of Larry Cohen forging ahead with not enough time and money, as he always did, to fully realize what he was going for. It's not an undiscovered pulp gem like "The Ambulance" was. However, "Special Effects" still distinctively belongs to its filmmaker. [6/10]
Aside from Rod Serling himself, the writer most associated with "The Twilight Zone" is probably Richard Matheson. This connection would continue with the 1985 revival of the program, with the episode "Button, Button." The segment concerns Norma and Arthur Lewis, an unhappy and financially struggling couple. One day, an unexpected package appears on their apartment stoop. Inside is a plain wooden box, topped with a red button contained within a glass dome. The next day, a man calling himself Mr. Stewart arrives. He informs Norma about what the device does: If the button is pressed, the couple shall receive 200,000 dollars in untaxed cash. Simultaneously, someone they don't know shall die. The Lewises debate the ethics of such a proposition, Arthur being against it but Norma weighing the options. She ultimately does press the button, Mr. Stewart returning the next day with the promised money and a stipulation he didn't mention the first time.
Matheson wrote the script for "Button, Button" under the pseudonym "Logan Swanson," suggesting he wasn't pleased with the finished product. The episode still follows the rule of economy in storytelling that makes so much of Matheson's work linger in the mind. Within the opening minutes of "Button, Button," we've learned everything we need to know about these people. Lewis works unsuccessfully on the family car, Norma forced to walk from the store to their dingy, cramped apartment. Arthur stutters, establishing a scattered focus, while Norma chain-smokes and gripes, suggesting the frustration she feels with her husband and this life. Little details throughout the episode, like the mindless chatter of a TV or the grease caked under Arthur's fingernails, reveals so much about these people and their world. They are struggling, they are deeply unhappy, they are hungry for solutions to their problems.
The obvious-on-its-face simplicity of this set-up is evident in how catchy the premise of this story is. "Button Button" essentially asks you the same question it asks of its characters: Well, would you press it? The exact nature of the experiment remains unexplained. Mr. Stewart's black-suited presentation, fedora included, suggests an extra-governmental agent. His particular method of speech – he calls what is an empty and simply adorned box a "button unit" – feels extraterrestrial. (Both of these elements bringing the Men in Black of ufology lore to mind.) The bargain he offers, meanwhile, is purely Luciferin. Norma is repeatedly informed that the person who will die from her pressing the button will be someone she doesn't know, seemingly freeing her from personal responsibility. She argues that people die every day, while Arthur counters that every death means something to someone. The (rather evident in advance) twist shows Matheson's opinion on the matter: No action occurs without an equal, opposite reaction. Everything we do has consequences. You should always make every choice with a careful consideration of the effect of your actions. Still, it remains a tempting offer that can't help but give you pause. Yeah, I'd like 200,000 dollars in pure cash dropped into my lap too. It would help a lot. Is the far off effect of this action worth it? One wonders.
The philosophical subtext of the premise is rich. Is "Button, Button" a depiction of life in a country where every gain a person makes comes at the expense of someone else? Is it a fable-like expression of how everyone makes a cage of their own actions, how our fates are decided by what we do? (Matheson's story, with its very different ending, states the tale is about how possible it is to truly "know" anybody.) The range of the narrative is hampered somewhat by the mannered presentation. The performances are exaggerated. Mare Winngham constantly sneers from under her flint-like eyebrows and bangs. Brad Davis is similarly overdone, with his twitches and gestures. The musical score is ponderous, emphasizing every moment with an overdone theatrical note. Despite that, "Button, Button" still works. Peter Medak directs with a sinister hand, bathing Stewart in shadows and presenting the objects of the scenario from dramatic angles. As melodramatic as the parts are, the whole remains compelling. It's no wonder that Richard Kelly would expand the story into a feature twenty-three years later, though "The Box" would miss the very important need to keep things simple and junk up the premise with Kelly's trademark convoluted bullshit. Stick with "The Twilight Zone" version. [7/10]
That stock sitcom plot of easily-achieved memory loss is riffed on during "Amnesia in the Addams Family." After signing a million dollar insurance policy on his life for Morticia, Gomez conks himself on the head while exercising with his "Indian clubs." The Addams patriarch then experiences amnesia, not knowing who he is or recognizing his family. Moreover, Gomez is now disgusted and frightened by the habits of his family and their unusual style. After the condition doesn't improve on its own – Morticia and everyone else having to tolerate behavior that is quite distressing from Gomez – the family becomes more proactive. They decide another blow to the skull will reverse things, though every member of the family makes this decision without informing each other. Shenanigans ensue.
The idea of someone getting hit on the noggin and forgetting everything, only to have their memory restored by a similar bonk, is such a well-worn premise. I think nearly every sitcom has at least commented on this so-called "Easy Amnesia." "Amnesia in the Addams Family" has me considering the ramifications of such an idea though. A simple whack to the forehead doesn't simply cause Gomez Addams to forget everything. His entire personality changes. He finds Morticia's black dress unpleasant, isn't entranced by her foreign language pet names for him. The sight of Lurch horrifies him, as does the unique ways the Addams relax and play. He's now focused on business and traditionally pleasing aesthetics. This suggests that our personalities aren't innate. That we are cumulations of our life experiences, not "born that way." Moreover, the idea presented is that there is a default setting in the human brain, a reset switch that only takes a strong enough jostle to flip, and that the Addams' way of life goes against it as much as possible. Which really makes you wonder what happened to Gomez and everyone else in the household to make them the way they are. Not to mention challenging the subversive assertion that normalcy is what we make it that seemingly the entire series is built on.
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