Welcome to the film-related musings, complaints, and comments of Zack Clopton, an amateur film-critic, scholar, and screenwriter. Featured here are Director's Report Cards, essays, and other reviews. Enjoy!
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For “Viva Verdi!,” filmmaker Yvonne Russo and her team spent several years among the residents of Casa di Riposo per Musicisti. Also known as simply Casa Verdi, this is a rest home and retirement community for older opera singers and musicians. Founded in the late 1890s by Giuseppe Verdi, he designed it to be a “shelter for elderly singers who have not been favoured by fortune.” The work continues to this day, the neo-Gothic building giving the aged singers and musicians a place to live and also to teach the next generation. Russo's camera mostly focuses on a few reoccurring faces: Former singer Claudio Giombi, Japanese immigrant Chitose Matsumoto, the walker dependent Anthony Kaplen, and a few others as they go about their days. Despite their advanced ages, they all continue to sing or play.
"Viva Verdi!" is fairly standard in its construction for a documentary. Most of the film is made up of interviews with the residents of the home, cut together with photos and footage from across their long careers and personal lives. This supported by fly-on-the-wall recording of daily life in Casa Verdi, with occasional pauses to explain the building's history. While nothing groundbreaking, there is a lot of value in hearing people simply tell their stories. Giombi emerges as the film's main character, a boisterous and colorful man devoted to his wife and his art form. When he opens up a suitcase and retrieves photos from across his career, the candor and joy he expresses is something to see. Matsumoto's life story is also a fascinating one, a Japanese woman who fell in love with opera so totally that she happily moved to Italy to dedicate the rest of her life to the profession. I also greatly appreciate that the film highlights not only the star singers but also the musicians. A drummer, a violinist, and more get to tell their stories too.
Opera singing is, to me, one of those talents that might as well be a superpower. I genuinely do not know how the human body can produce such resonating, powerful sounds. The level of training required to make your lungs and larynx bend so extremely must be staggering. Imagine my surprise when I saw such reverberating melodies come out of the mouths of old men and women in "Viva Verdi!" A memorable moment sees a former opera singer apologizing for her voice breaking, when I'm impressed she was able to make those sounds at all. Most of the residents of Casa Verdi are in their eighties and nineties. We see one resident having her 103rd birthday. Despite their advanced ages, most of the individuals interviewed in the film seem quite energetic and spritely. The suggestion, it would seem to me, is that pursuing your passion and doing what you love is a good way to keep yourself feeling young, even as your body starts to fail you.
This, of course, is inevitable. We see Kaplen leaning on his walker and describing how he gets around a lot slower these days. One elderly man mourns his wife, who preceded him in death, and longs for the time they are reunited. "Viva Verdi!" ends, not exactly surprisingly, with epitaphs for several of the characters seen in the film. Despite the end being near for most of these men and women, the air around "Viva Verdi!" is not of solemnness but of celebration. Celebration of the lives of these artists and what they've accomplished, and still accomplish, and celebration of the music and art they all love. The nominated theme song is entitled "Sweet Dreams of Joy" and carries along that feeling of effervescent excitement and glee. That's what I see more of in this film than anything else.
I'll be honest with you, guys. I know almost nothing about opera. "Viva Verdi!" didn't exactly teach me much about the complexities of performing this style of singing, of the different types, genres, or placements in the theatre. Most of the historical segments focus on the history of Casa Verdi itself, describing the man who spearheaded its creation and his reasoning for doing so. This was based in a love for the people who performed his music and for the music itself. Which does not function exactly as a rebuttal to Chalamet's statement. We do see a younger generation learning this craft, meaning opera as an art form will continue. The film's overall obscurity and the advanced ages of its figures does suggest that the popularity of opera is dwindling. I don't know how to reverse the latter condition but the firmer has been somewhat resolved by "Viva Verdi's" producers. They quickly responded to its nomination by getting the doc on digital platforms as promptly as possible. Me and all the other Oscar Death Racers really appreciate that. [7/10]
It's a trend that mystifies me a bit. Occasionally, and often around award season time, an already successful documentary will be remade as a traditional narrative film. Why retell a true story that's already been told? I suppose documentaries don't have as much reach and fictionalizing events exposes more people to this tale. The more cynical part of my brain can't help but wonder if this is merely the work of big stars wanting a chance to enact an inspiring true story, one that has already been proven to be a winner. That certainly seems to be the case with "Song Sung Blue," the big budget remake of Greg Kohs' somewhat beloved 2008 documentary of the same name. The story of a Neil Diamond tribute band already seems like a niche topic for a doc. Must we also tell it with famous actors as the real people? Primed to be an awards contender last year, this "Song Sung Blue" received mildly positive but mostly unenthusiastic reviews from the critics. However, Kate Hudson did manage to sneak into the Best Actress category which is why I'm writing about it right now.
Recovering alcoholic and Vietnam veteran Mike Sardina is a car mechanic by trade. His passion, however, is music... Other people's music. He sometimes works as a celebrity impersonator and sings in tribute bands at fair grounds and bars. He's especially passionate about the music of Neil Diamond and has invented the on-stage persona of "Lightning" around Diamond's tunes. While at a show, he meets Claire Cartwright, a Patsy Cline impersonator. The two find themselves collaborating on interpretations of Diamond's music and, quickly enough, fall in love. They form the tribute act Lightning and Thunder. After a rocky start, they begin to have some success and even open for Pearl Jam at a 1995 concert. Life seems good before Claire is struck by a car in their front lawn, losing a leg. Recovery is difficult for her and she becomes addicted to painkillers. Mike loses his passion for performing without her and has repeating heart attacks. The troubles start to pile up but love, and catchy old pop songs, are hard to give up.
Like seemingly everyone in my age group, I've always regarded the music of Neil Diamond as a kitschy artifact of an earlier age. Diamond is easily mocked for his cheesy lyrics, tinny production, questionable fashion choices, and throaty vocals. At the same time, his big hits are hard to resist. The hooks are undeniable and the full-throated earnestness with which Diamond sings is charming. "Sweet Caroline" is indeed one of those songs that excite the white folks. Diamond exists in that cultural space between hopelessly hokey and widely beloved.
This is the mode "Song Sung Blue" attempts to inhabit as well. It uses the inherent pathetic quality of the celebrity impersonator circuit as a source of easy laughs. Look at these dweebs, re-enacting glory days that aren't even their own, passably mimicking the dead and irrelevant famous for pennies at backwoods venues. The film is certainly not above using the dated fashion of Diamond's most famous periods as a punchline nor playing up the incongruity of seeing such an act in the snarky nineties. When Eddie Vedder invites Thunder and Lightning to open for Pearl Jam, it's clearly another grudge era act of irony. A declaration to the Gen X audience of "look at the lame shit your parents were into. Isn't it funny?"
At the same time... "Forever in Blue Jeans" kind of rocks, ya know? As much as "Song Sung Blue" is giggling at the thoroughly white beard antics of its heroes and the Lame Seventies aesthetics they love, the film is a mostly sincere celebration of Diamond's music. It features most of his big hits, the majority performed enthusiastically by Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson. Jackman, forced to be a superhero when all he really wants is to be an old time-y song and dance man, certainly displays a lot of chummy charm. He's excited to be here and he loves what he loves. Hudson adapts a silly Midwestern accent but, unlike Jackman's loopier performance, keeps the character from being a joke. The two have strong chemistry. There's an amicable sweetness to the scenes devoted to their kids – Ella Anderson and King Princess, both solid – interacting and becoming friends. When it's a loose comedy about these oddballs trying to go their own way and make their dreams into reality, “Song Sung Blue” is amicable.
This is before a major tonal change literally crashes into the film. A farcical scene of Mike being recorded while singing in just a big shirt and his underwear pans over to the outside of the house, where a car suddenly slams into Claire. What had been a light-hearted rom-com before this moment then becomes a very serious drama. Claire adapting to life with only one leg and slipping into pill addiction deflates Mike's joy. She has manic episodes, walking delusions of being on-stage, between sleeping all day or picking fights with her husband and kids. It is a little on the melodramatic side, all the more because of how abrupt a shift it is. This change also drains the movie of the upbeat energy it had up to this point, leading to a second half that feels like it never ends. Major events, such as Claire's daughter becoming pregnant, are relegated to quickly passed over subplots. While other story beats previously mentioned, like Mike's bum ticker, must be brought up until it can be resolved. All these grim notes are still occurring alongside all the silly set-dressings of the story, a tonal disconnect the film can't overcome.
“Song Sung Blue” is not technically a musical in the traditional sense. The characters only sing when they are practicing or performing. Nevertheless, the longer it goes on, the more it feels like a movie where the songs are the attraction. The climax, an on-stage rendition of “Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show,” feels especially extended. The film represents director Craig Brewer – previously of “Hustle & Flow,” “Black Snake Moan,” the “Footloose” remake – getting back to music-driven films after two Eddie Murphy vehicles. Perhaps he over-indulged himself. Jackman and Hudson have a good energy and that drives “Song Sung Blue” for a bit. Up until the big tonal shift, I was thinking that this was decent enough. That second half is a train wreck though. I am curious to check out the original documentary now, to see if it handles the ups and downs in the real lives of these people better than this adaptation does. [5/10]
(In an unlikely turn of events, the bloody vampire movie I reviewed last September has become the most nominated movie in Academy Award history. Please don't held it against me if I reuse my review I wrote last fall during this Oscars season, as my opinion is unlikely to have changed much since then.)
Perhaps I was the last movie nerd in the world to underestimate Ryan Coogler. Establishing himself in 2013 with ripped-from-the-headlines indie drama "Fruitvale Station," Coogler would bring that same level of grit and sincerity to franchise filmmaking with "Creed." "Black Panther" would launch him into the stratosphere but, I felt anyway, at the sacrifice of a lot of his more intimate style. This was truer still of the superhero blockbuster's inevitable sequel, which wasn't all that distinguishable from any other mid-tier Marvel movie. A lot of smaller directors have signed up for massive studio projects with the understanding that this will give them a blank check to fund their weird, personal efforts from now on, an agreement that is increasingly unfulfilled. It seemed like Coogler was going down this same path but, actually, I'm a wrong idiot who is wrong. Coogler came back with "Sinners," a personal, gritty, weird genre hybrid that became a big hit earlier this year. It's also the best new release I've seen in theaters in a while and looks unlikely to be dethroned as my favorite film of 2025. Here, let me ramble about it some more.
In Prohibition-era Mississippi, twins Elijah and Elias – nicknamed Smoke and Stack – return to their home town. Using money and booze stolen from the Chicago mob, they purchase an old sawmill with the intention of turning it into a juke joint. They recruit several locals to run it, including their cousin and aspiring bluesman Sammie, experienced musician Delta Slim, Smoke's ex-wife and Hoodoo practitioner Annie, and a pair of Chinese immigrant shop owners. The club attracts a crowd, including Stack's white passing ex-girlfriend Mary and Pearline, a singer Sammie takes a liking to. Sammie's soulful playing also draws the attention of Remmick, a white vampire recently chased into the area. Unable to enter the joint without an invitation, he begins to transform anyone who ventures outside into undead bloodsuckers. A tense standout ensues through the night that will change the lives of everyone involved.
“Sinners” is a movie of great texture and I mean that almost literally. Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw shot the film on 65mm, ensuring a depth to the film's look that seems much more difficult to achieve with digital technology. Every shot of the film is filled with details, from the extremely precise period costumes to the production design that makes every setting seem like a real, lived-in location. This sense of specificity extends all throughout “Sinners.” The characters' backstories and pasts are discussed naturally through dialogue, suggesting a whole world existed before the viewer sees the events of the film. Whether its the fate of Smoke and Annie's unborn child, the brothers' history as World War I veterans or time working with the mob, or the personal recollections of Mary or Delta Slim's lives, it all adds up to create a world that feels utterly fully formed. The film embraces the shared histories of blues music, the lives of the black community in the American south, how Hoodoo grew out of African mysticism, and a vampire mythology all its own. This pairs extremely well with the Mississippi setting, where everyone is always glistening with a layer of sweat and dirt.
Honestly, the first act of “Sinners,” devoted entirely to introducing this cast of extremely well realized characters and the world they inhabit, could have gone on longer than it did. However, “Sinners” is also a hard-hitting monster movie/action flick mash-up. A sequence in which the established cast stand in a circle and eat garlic cloves in order to determine if any of them are vampires is clearly inspired by the blood test scene in “The Thing.” It's a logical homage, as “Sinners” captures that same Carpenter-style mixture of anticipation and catharsis. Once the vampires outside become a known factor to the humans inside, “Sinners” turns into a tense stand-off. The undead taunt and interrogate the people inside, attempting to draw them out. This is broken up with some expertly crafted action sequences, of brilliantly devised gun fights, extremely physical close-quarters fights, and lots of spurting blood. When the vampires do make it inside the juke joint, it results in one of the most exciting climax in recent history. And “Sinners” isn't afraid of its status as a low-down horror flick either. These bloodsuckers flash their fangs, have eyes that glint in the darkness, leap eerily through the air, and grow increasingly more grotesque looking as the film goes on.
By inserting its story into such a layered world, “Sinners” touches on about a dozen fascinating observations about America's racial history. Perhaps the most important idea present in the film is the power of music. Blues and black roots music is depicted as spiritually transcendent, melodies filled with so much emotion and power that they pierce spectral boundaries, time and space. This is fantastically depicted in a jaw-dropping sequence where Sammie's performance causes spectres from the past and present to appear throughout the juke joint. It's almost like a crash-course in the history of African-American music, its relevance as a spiritual and cultural force, all in one spellbinding scene. Coogler's film innately understands how music creates a ritual space and doesn't limit that power to any one culture or race. As wicked as the film's vampires are, they were once human too. Remmick is Irish, implied to be as old as the Roman invasion of the British isles. Him and his trope of vampires play bluegrass and dance jigs, equally driven into an almost religious frenzy by the sense of community created by this music. Their music is good too, the film acknowledging that all traditional folk music has the power to bring people together and create an otherworldly connection.
Music also represents an escape from the troubles of daily life, of which people of color in the thirties south had more than their share of. The undead creatures pressing down on the juke joint feels, at times, like a metaphor for the pressures of existing as a black person in a racist, white-dominated society. The extended epilogue of “Sinners” establishes that, for a brief moment, they all had a taste of true freedom. Throughout the rest of the film, the white vampires – chased by Native American hunters in their introduction and, later, explicitly aligned with the Klu Klux Klan – attempt to force their way into this space. Remmick uses a need for money, a necessity to exist in a capitalistic culture, to try and worm in. At a key moment, a white authority figure similarly attempts to temps Smoke with an offer of money. Throughout the film, the evils of white Americans are aligned with greed and money. Some have read “Sinners” as arguing for racial essentialism when it seems much more critical of the cash-driven systems of repression than anything else.
“Sinners” is an all-around work of infectious brilliance. The cast is excellent, lead by two extraordinary performances from Michael B. Jordan, who makes both brothers totally distinctive characters in their own right. Jack O'Connell and Miles Caton, as the villain and Sammie, should become stars based off this. Delroy Lindo, meanwhile, once again proves himself as one of Hollywood's most underappreciated character actors, turning Delta Slim into such a fully realized, funny, tragic character. After being a damn good ensemble piece and vampire thriller for most of its runtime, “Sinners” then turns into a bad-ass action film in its final act, featuring a shoot-out set piece for the ages. Nobody needs me to heap more praise on this one. Plenty of other folks have pinpointed it as the stand-out horror fusion of the year. On the big screen, it played out like a magnificent rush and proves just as thrilling, exciting, and touching upon re-watch. [9/10]
When it comes to the international perception of Chinese cinema, the filmmakers of Hong Kong tend to dominate the conversation. That's where all the “cool” stuff comes from, right? They've got the wuxia, the kung-fu movies, the heroic bloodshed, the types of films that tend to excite film nerds. Of course, mainland China has its own film industry, which has been growing in leaps and bounds in recent years. However, historically, horror has rarely been a popular genre on the mainland. Since 2008, depictions of ghosts and the supernatural have technically been banned by the government, making macabre stories much trickier to tell. There are exceptions though. If you go way back to 1937, you'll find “Song at Midnight.” It's often credited as the first Chinese horror movie, a local variant of “Phantom of the Opera” that is regarded as a classic film in its home country. It's been remade multiple times but, ya know me, I wanna go back to the beginning.
While Gaston Leroux's classic novel is an obvious influence, “Song at Midnight's” plot also contains elements of “Hunchback of Notre Dame,” “Cyrano de Bergerac,” and a random shout-out to “The Invisible Man.” The setting is an abandoned theater soon to be demolished. A traveling group of actors known as the Angel Theatre Trope arrive at the location, deciding to refurbish it enough for one last round of performances. Leading man Xiao'ou is having trouble with the lyrics of the opening song though. That is when an unseen voice from the shadows begins to coach him. He soon learns that this is the voice of Song Danping. A great stage actor and veteran of the Second Chinese Revolution, he would have his face horribly disfigured with acid by a rival. He claimed to be dead, a shock so horrible that it drove his lover, Xiaoxia, into muteness. Xiao'ou agrees to pose as Danping to assuage Xiaoxia's shattered mind. As a thank you, Danping gives him a revised version of one of his old plays. It proves to be a hit but attracts the attention of the owner of the theater, the same man responsible for scarring Danping's face.
As someone who has watched a decent number of old monster movies, I'm well aware that melodrama is a common feature in them. “Phantom of the Opera” is already a story about a love triangle, dark secrets, lost romance, and dramatic declarations. “Song at Midnight” – good pun in the title there – amplifies these elements considerably. This is the kind of story where, after Danping and Xiao'ou have known each other for months, the teacher suddenly learns that his student has a girlfriend. This breaks Danping's heart, who hoped that his apprentice would take his place as Xiaoxia's lover. The idea of a girl going mute after hearing of her beloved's death or said man keeping his fate a secret to spare her feelings are further examples of the kind of events that usually only happen in narratives such as these. The climax revolves around someone stepping into a room at just the right moment. It's all fairly contrived and overheated, the kind of storytelling you have to be prepared for.
Classic horror fans will have to be patient with this one. The dilapidated old theater does make for a cool setting. When Xiao'ou is invited into Danping's lair, there's some very cool ambiance of spider webs and fog. The shots of the phantom's shadow cast huge on the wall are classical stuff. When Danping's deformed face is revealed, it represents the most blatantly horrific content in the film. That is a very strong scene, a slow zoom-in on the make-up, that still looks quite grotesque. The scenes of Danping wrapped up in bandages are always kind of cool. However, as far as phantoms go, this one is fairly benevolent. His intentions are ultimately good, he is genuinely only misunderstood, and he doesn't kill anyone until the very end of the movie. The phantom figure is not the story's villain at all, despite hiding out in a secret room in the theater. As far as movie “monsters” go, I think Song Danping would only count on a technicality.
The prints of “Song at Midnight” currently in circulation do not seem to be in the best condition. The version I watched is very dark and murky, with a few scenes difficult to decipher. Scratches, grain, and dust are present throughout. The sound quality is not great either. A couple of times the dialogue is sped up, as if everyone was suddenly voiced by the Chipmunks. It's entirely possible that I would've gotten more out of “Song at Midnight” if a clearer, restored print was available. Either way, I imagine the film will be of most interest to historians. As a “Phantom” fan, it is fascinating to see such a version of the story filtered through another culture's sensibility. At the same time, it is slow, extremely melodramatic, and greatly in need of a little more classic horror trappings. [6/10]
Through no intentional planning on my behalf, all of the film series I've been watching this October have featured little to no link between the movies. These are “franchises” in the truest sense, in which the name brand is the star. “Warlock” was about warlocks, “Watchers” was about watchers, and “House” was about houses. The haunted home that was a gateway to Roger Cobb's Vietnam War trauma and the wacky mansion full of alternate dimensions, ghost cowboys, and crystal skulls of the first two “House” movies had no connection, while “The Horror Show” was barely a haunted house movie at all. Seemingly to piss me off, the fourth “House” – sometimes seen with the subtle “The Repossession,” to match part two's equally punny “The Second Story” – bucks this trend. Kind of. Let's get into it.
Yes, “House IV” returns to the Cobb family, though it makes no mention of Roger's son Jimmy, his ex-wife Sandy, his career as a horror author, his history in the war, or the haunted house he previously resided in. Instead, the film sees Roger and his new wife Kelly, alongside their teenage daughter Laurel, debating what to do with the old family home. His brother, Burke, wants to sell it and develop the land. Roger insists the home stay in the family. Driving away from the mansion that night, there is a car wreck. Laurel is left paralyzed from the waist down and Roger is left a burnt skeleton. Kelly makes the hard decision to take her husband off life support and he passes. Now a widow with a daughter in a wheel chair, Kelly is still being pestered by Burke to sell the house. This is when weird stuff begins to happen around the home. Kelly discovers that the building sits atop an ancient Indian gateway to the spirit realm, which must be guarded. Burke begins to send enforcers from the Mafia, to which he owes money, in order to convince Kelly to change her mind.
Beyond the general concept of a haunted house, the first two “House” movies were connected by their weirdo creature effects. The films sought to bring the ghost movie idea into the eighties by packing the houses full of vividly created monsters. If nothing else, “The Repossession” continues this trend towards wacky, rubbery critters. Probably the high-light of the sequel, and the most “House”-like sequence, involves a pizza developing a singing human face, which Kelly attempts to dispose of. Another highlight has the mobsters suddenly becoming the insect and snake masks they wore earlier in the film, giving the movie an excuse to include a twitching, elaborate homage to “The Fly” in its last third. There's also a decent gag where the dog-shaped lamp Laurel is fond of transforms into an actual snarling Rottweiler, with a lampshade still attached to its head. It's clear that “House IV” doesn't have the budget of previous installments and uses its creature effects much more sparingly. However, these scenes are still the sequel's most memorable.
Unfortunately, such antics do not occupy most of the motion picture's runtime. Instead, “House IV” feels entirely too much like a maudlin family drama about trying to move on from loss. The focus is definitely on the mother/daughter relationship, Melissa Clayton being utterly wholesome and precious as Laurel. At times, when paired with the clownish henchman, the sequel feels a bit like a family-friendly TV movie. (Despite a scene where Kelly takes a shower, the camera lingering on Terri Treas' body-double as blood sprays from the shower head on her breasts.) The reoccurring scenes where Kelly is haunted by the memory of pulling the plug on Roger puts to fine a point on the theme of survivor's guilt. The repetitiveness of these flashbacks is more frustrating since the script, otherwise, isn't interested in exploring the depths of grief. Kelly and Laurel are sad about their husband/dad dying. They feel bad about it for a while and then they stop feeling bad. It should be a bit more complicated than that, don't you think?
It's hard to avoid the idea that “House IV's” creative team – the only directorial credit from Sean S. Cunningham's “DeepStar Six” writer Lewis Abernathy, working from a story by four people plus Jim Wynorski – only had a vague outline for a motion picture here. To fill it up, they incorporated some random ideas. Such as the evil half-brother being beholden to a short-staturesd mob boss, who has quite a lot of toxic waste to dispose of. That points towards some sort of environmental angle, which would've been trendy in 1992. Also trendy at the time was Native American mysticism. This element appears whenever Ned Romero's character is on-screen. However, the film doesn't seem aware of actual indigenous folklore, using this element as seasoning on an otherwise underdeveloped story. At least Romero's role isn't too patronizing or stereotypical, beyond the debatable merits of the “Wise Old Indian helping out the White Folks” trope.
“House IV” was released direct-to-video in January of 1992. Having watched a lot of early nineties, DTV sequels this month, I have found that the format could be a place where creative types were free to get a little loose, a little messy, to rewarding results. Video stores were also, sometimes, the last refuge for series that weren't quite popular enough for theatrical releases. Examples of films that the producers wanted to churn out for the sake of a quick buck without expending any real money or good ideas on it. “House IV” is, sadly, mostly the latter. It has one or two funny ideas and some alright make-up effects but it overwhelmed by a feeling of disinterest from those behind the scene. It's okay, we'll always have “The Second Story.” [5/10]
It is time for my yearly attempt to see if there are any decent episodes of the 2002 version of "The Twilight Zone." "Night Route" is about Malina, an English teacher who is engaged to Adam, a hunky and kind guy. While out walking her little white dog Vigo one night, she is nearly hit by an ominous black car. Afterwards, a bus stops on her street, the driver and riders looking at expectantly at her. Malina continues to see the bus, despite there being no route on her street. She starts to hallucinate that she's bleeding from the forehead. She can no longer remember how her and Adam met and he seems uncertain too. People she's never met before claim to know her. She begins to suspect a sinister and impossible seeming conclusion: That she died the night the black car nearly hit her and all of this is a dying fantasy.
The writers of 2002's "Twilight Zone" seemed determined that each episode must have a twist ending. Unfortunately, it seems they couldn't come up with a twist besides "what if this thing was actually another thing?" From the minute Malina is almost hit by the car, it's obvious what is happening here. She has visions of a head wound, not unlike what a fatal strike from a speeding vehicle would look like. One of her students reads Emily Dickinson's "Because I Could Not Stop for Death," with the creepy bus clearly being a modern update of the poem's deathly carriage. The "Dead All Along" ending is such a hacky trope that "Night Route" feels it can only use it by acknowledging how common it is. Malina herself recognizes what is happening and mentions "Jacob's Ladder" to her boyfriend. This does not stop "Night Route" from ending the exact way you expect it to. It does cause the episode to obnoxiously tagged on an additional twist, that Malina's dying dream is a vision of the life she could have led if she hadn't simply watch the world go by. See, like a bus passing through! We know this is the intended meaning of "Night Route" because the characters explain all of this right before the credits roll.
Since we all see the ending coming, "Night Route" becomes a mostly tedious experience of waiting for the twist to reveal itself. Ione Skye plays Malina and gives a flat, unconvincing performance. When paired with writing that blatantly draws attention to itself, you get the impression that nobody was much convinced this episode could be good. Forrest Whittaker seems sleepy and bored in the host segment too. Which I know is kind of his style but it contributes to "Night Route" being an underwhelming experience. The dog is pretty cute though. I liked the scene where he jumps up on the bus and looks at Malina, as if questioning what her deal is. [5/10]
Sometime in 1977, influential environmental activist Ira Einhorn murdered his ex-girlfriend, Holly Maddux. He kept her decomposing body, wrapped in plastic and shoved into a trunk, in his apartment for two years. Though questioned by police, Einhorn wouldn't emerge as a suspect until neighbors began to complain about the smell. During that time, Einhorn dated filmmaker Cecilia Condit, who was unable to sense the odor due to the medication she was on. After Einhorn fled to Europe, and before she made viral favorite “Possibly in Michigan,” Condit would sum up her feelings about the ordeal in “Beneath the Skin.” The eleven minute short recounts a stream-of-consciousness recollection of the events leading up to and following the murder along with Condit's complicated emotions surrounding having dated a notorious killer. This is accompanied by imagery of a woman lying in bed or swinging on a swing, photo projections upon sleeping faces, and rotting bodies.
“Beneath the Skin” occupies the artsy-fartsy end of the horror genre. It is a deeply personal reflection by a woman upon the fact that, no matter how honest and respectable her boyfriend may seem, that the odds he's going to kill her is never zero. The narration, recounted in a distinctively nasally voice, shares deeply personal thoughts and feelings on such an emotion. Much like Condit's “Possibly in Michigan,” there's a musical tone to the rambling, non-stop dialogue that eventually does burst into a song that feels improvised. The visuals are abstract and shadowy, fleeting images distorted and projected atop each other. Brief glimpses of rubber corpses exist alongside shaky hand-held footage of skulls and a woman pulled from her bed by an unseen force. When contrasted with the imagery of the same woman sleeping or playing on a swing, it draws attention to the free-floating sense of anxiety all women feel existing in a world made more for men than them.
The narration, one assumes, are Condit's personal reflections on the Einhorn case. Her words are equally humorous, coming off as almost dismissive of the murder that happened, while also slowly causing a chill to creep up your spine. Just taken as an audio-visual experience, “Beneath the Skin” gives the impression of your mother informing you of some traumatic, horrible event that happened to her as casually as she would would recall the evening's pot luck. Inevitably, the free-form narration eventually has Condit admit that she sometimes feels like it could have easily been her rotting in that closest, a chilling thought that is delivered with the same flippant relaxedness as the rest of the short. Weird and somewhat annoying, “Beneath the Skin” is nevertheless a fascinating peek into the mind of an artist and her brush with an unhinged killer. Einhorn, by the way, claimed the CIA murdered Maddux and framed him. He remained at-large for seventeen years before finally being caught, extradited back to the U.S., and dying in prison in 2020. Condit could not be reached for comment but we have “Beneath the Skin” to tell us how she felt. [7/10]
The cinema of India is fairly accessible in the west now. Most movie fans have at least a vague idea of what a Bollywood movie is like, thanks to cultural osmosis. Streaming has made many international titles available to anyone with an Internet connection. Slowly, Bollywood flicks are breaking into the American mainstream. Being the massive industry it is, there are lots of Hindi horror movies for me to choose for my Horror Around the World project. Last year, instead of choosing a movie rooted totally in Indian culture for my Halloween visit to Calcutta, I picked the Bollywood rip-off of "A Nightmare on Elm Street." Because I could not resist the lure of possibly seeing a Freddy Krueger knock-off sing and dance. He did not, much to my dismay. Surely, this year I will be more open-minded and watch a purely original Indian production? No, I'm watching the Bollywood rip-off of "Scream." Because I can not resist the lure of possibly seeing a Ghostface knock-off sing and dance. I'll do better next time but, for now, let's get into 2003's "Sssshhh..."
One night, Malini and her boyfriend are murdered by a knife-wielding, mask assailant at their college recreation center. A year later, her younger sister Mahek begins to receive threatening phone calls from someone claiming to be the killer. At her school, the same masked man murders one of her teachers. A bloody foot print is left behind at the scene and the police suspect Suraj, Mahek's new crush, might be a match. A friend of Mahek, Rocky, obviously has feelings for her and is jealous of Suraj. After being attacked in her home, she notices Suraj wearing the same watch as the masked man. He is arrested but Mahek is attacked again shortly awards. Suraj arrives to rescue her, alongside the police, who seemingly fatally wound the attacker. Feeling stressed, Mahek and her friends – including Suraj and Rocky – decide to take a vacation to Indonesia. After arriving at a secluded island, the killings begin again. It becomes apparent that the murderer is among them.
Most Bollywood remakes of international productions are, it is safe to say, more loosely inspired by their source material than directly based on it. However, you get the impression that the team who made “Sssshhh...” actually did see “Scream.” I'm guessing cellular and wireless phones were not yet in wide use in Shimla in 2003, so that element is downplayed. This also means that Ghostface's primary M.O – quizzing his victims on horror movie trivia – is entirely absent. The Edvard Munch inspired mask has been replaced with a yellow/red/blue-on-white clown mask. However, there are more parallels here to Wes Craven's original than expected. There's a stalking scene in a school bathroom. This killer is similarly vulnerable as Ghostface, getting whacked around by its victims while no less doggedly pursuing them. The nature of the murderer's identity and their motive – revisiting the sins of the parent on the child – are similar as well. The moment where a love interest appears outside the heroine's house only to be immediately fingered as her attacker is a direct quote. Director Pavan S. Kaul and writer Arshad Ali Syed might have seen another late nineties slasher flick too. Since “Sssshhh...” has a standard Bollywood runtime of nearly three hours, there's room for an extended third act where the characters arrive on an exotic island for a vacation, only to find a mostly abandoned resort and the killer waiting for them. Kind of like in “I Still Know What You Did Last Summer.” It makes you feel like you're watching a “Scream” knock-off directly followed by its own sequel.
While watching “Mahakaal” last year, I got the impression that the directors were much more interested in the nails-on-a-chalkboard comic relief, schmaltzy romance, and extremely culturally specific pop culture parodies than they were in making a scary horror movie. “Sssshhh...” provides almost the opposite feeling. Even when taken apart from its Hollywood inspiration, “Sssshhh...” functions as a decent slasher flick in its own right. Switching the opening to a rec center with a game room and swimming pool allows for a unique setting to create suspense. The color palette is bright and varied, almost giallo-esque at times. There's an intentional sense of exaggerated reality in many scenes. Such as an underwater attack in the second half, that feels otherworldly in its artificiality. A sequence set on a waterway in the foggy mountains or the first attack in Mahek's home do manage to generate some intensity and atmosphere. While the gore is mild compared to “Scream,” it's still there. A knife to an eye through a pair of glasses or blood splattered on a paint canvas suggests some thought went into making these kill scenes artistically delivered.
“Sssshhh...” is still very much a Bollywood production. Meaning that, yes, there are several musical numbers. As was the case with “Mahakaal,” the horror movie element and musical elements never quite interact. Disappointingly, no, this means the Ghostface stand-in neither sings nor dances. The songs are about topics like longing for love, trying to impress a girl you like, having fun while on vacation, or getting all sweaty and sexy in an Indonesian night club. While none of the songs struck me as especially catchy, they are more bearable than in “Mahakaal.” That's far from the only bizarre tonal swerves. The fight scenes are as theatrically choreographed as the dance scenes. Bollywood Ghostface, with his ability to survive being set on fire, shot, and leaping through a window, makes his American counterpart look like a wimp. The story involving a love triangle, Mahek torn between Suraj and Rocky, provides lots of romantic intrigue, comical teasing from her friends, and melodramatic declarations about tragic pasts. Thankfully, the truly broad comedic touches are mostly limited to only a few scenes, like a moment involving an overly persistent map salesman.
From my admittedly limited exposure, the feeling arises that South-East Asian audiences go to the movies looking more for a full meal, a sampling of many different types of cinematic treats, than a more concentrated dose of one specific thing or another. What these crowds don't seem to want is any particularly deep character drama, at least from the little bit I've seen. The characters in “Sssshhh...” are simple, to the point of archetypal. Most of Mahek's friends are interchangeable. Her hang-ups – an absentee father, the death of her sister, choosing between two guys – are treated at maximum volume. At the same time, the conflicts are simple. It's all about wanting to be noticed by the girl you love or trying to atone for the past. The performances are similarly larger than life. Despite its 168 minute runtime, nobody outside of Mahek and her immediate suitors get much development. Most of the characters never emerge as especially defined, making some of the death scenes later on much less effective.
I definitely need to take in more films from India before I truly get used to the tonal shifts and particular types of excesses that define a lot of motion pictures from that region. However, “Sssshhh...” is a bit more in my wheel house. It follows some recognizable patterns from American genre cinema while also doing its own, extremely Bollywood-centric thing in a number of ways. I'll also say that, despite being so long, it's also fairly effortlessly paced. There's a lot of stuff happening in this movie, that's for sure. Horror fans who have no patience for musical numbers or romantic melodrama should probably avoid “Sssshhh...” but I found it to blend many different ingredients in a mostly satisfying way. The film was seemingly not popular in India, denying us Bollywood remakes of “Urban Legend” and “Cherry Falls,” sadly. Maybe if they had the Ghostface knock-off dance, it would've been different. Nevertheless, I did enjoy this. [7/10]
“Witchboard” was given a limited theatrical release on the very last day of 1986. The film did well enough at the box office that its distributor expanded the release by the following spring. Ultimately, the movie made over seven million, a good return on a low budget flick but hardly a blockbuster. Still, this was the eighties, horror was big business, and the video market was expanding. It took four years but “Witchboard” would finally spawn a sequel in 1992, fulfilling the promise of every semi-successful eighties horror film and becoming a franchise. (Despite it taking until the nineties for that to come to pass.) Kevin S. Tenney would return to both write and direct, now a far more experienced filmmaker with four more features – including another cult classic, “Night of the Demons” – under his belt. Sometimes subtitled “The Devil's Doorway,” “Witchboard 2” doesn't seem to have a fraction of the fans as the original but I've never caught up with the rest of the "Witchboard" movies, so this October is the time.
Paige has recently broken up with her boyfriend, a cop named Mitch. She has rented a studio apartment and decided to pursue her dream of becoming an artist. While moving in, with some help from the landlord with a wandering eye and his extremely eccentric wife, Paige stumbles upon a ouija board. Without thinking much of it, she begins to mess with the occultic item. A spirit referring to itself as “Susan” begins to contact her. It inspires Paige's artwork and helps her out at her accounting day job. At the same time, this “Susan” drops hints of her own past, claiming to be the spirit of a murdered woman. Paige befriends Russell, a photographer who also lives in the apartment, and he claims Susan was a woman who lived upstairs. And that she's still alive. He also warns her to stop using the board. Paige persists and three things become clear: Susan was very much murdered. Her ghostly spirit is beginning to possess Paige, making the innocent girl act more scandalously. And this same supernatural force is seeking bloody revenge on the other tenets of the building.
"Witchboard 2" is one of those sequels without any direct connection to the original. So much for Malfeitor seemingly being set up as the Freddy or Jason of this series. Instead, it is linked by more-or-less the same thing happening to a totally different set of people. Much like part one's Linda, Paige begins using the ouija board by herself, unaware of the danger inherent in the act. She slowly falls into "progressive entrapment" from a malevolent spirit, while poltergeist activity claims the lives of those around her in apparent accident. There's a mystery around the identity of the spectre and nightmares in which the female lead wanders around in a slinky nightgown. However, "The Devil's Doorway" does shake things up by centering the woman being possessed in the story. Paige is our main character and we experience the benefits and changes evident in a ghost inhabiting your body. Unlike the strictly evil entity in the original "Witchboard," Paige relates to Susan as a victim of violence. It almost creates a feminist subtext, in that the clingy asshole cop ex-boyfriend, the handsy "nice guy" photographer upstairs, and the pervy landlord all have their eye on Paige. All of them wish to "possess" her too. Of course, that is undermined considerably by an ending that makes ghostly Susan into a full-on villain, removes Paige from the narrative, and turns Mitch into a rescuing hero. (The planchette does not spell out ACAB, it would seem.) Not to mention Ami Dolenz being constantly leered at by the camera in a succession of revealing outfits, an apparent compromise between the production company wanting the female lead to get naked and Dolenz' unwillingness to do nudity. Still, it is interesting.
You can tell watching “The Evil Dead” must have been a eureka moment for Kevin Tenney. He imitated the point-of-view shots from a nebulous evil force in the first “Witchboard” and “Night of the Demons.” It returns here, the camera assuming the perspective of some unseen spirit as it whooshes around the apartment building. In general, there's a certain Raimi-esque wackiness to the visual direction here. The build-up to a car crash includes a genuinely impressive shot of the camera passing through the back of the vehicle and back out through the front. When the crash happens, the chaos is ramped way the fuck up. All the death scenes in “Witchboard 2” have that nicely over-the-top quality to them. When someone gets taken out by a rogue wrecking ball, not unlike something in one of the shittier “Omen” sequels, the resulting explosion is bigger – and way funnier – than I was expecting. If nothing else, Tenney certainly understood the principal about sequels needing to be bigger than the original. The final act involves a dive through a window, a stuntman dangling off a swinging fire escape, some clever use of shadows, and a visual quote from “The Shining.” All signs that the director was having fun making this one.
Another element the sequel happily expands on from the first movie is a supporting cast full of bizarre characters. Last time, we had a juggling detective and a goofball medium. This time, we get a hippy lady so burnt out that she seems genuinely unaware that the sixties are over and also misheard the lyrics to 70s A.M. pop songs. She's paired with an overly gregarious, slightly creepy husband. There's also a single scene appearance from an extremely Jewish occult expert, a moment of blatant exposition made much more entertaining and memorable by that choice. I don't know if “The Devil's Doorway” has anything as memorable as the homoerotic tension between Jim and Brandon in the last one. However, Ami Dolanz does make for a compelling lead. She made this film between “Ticks” and “Pumpkinhead II,” making her the Scream Queen Supreme of early nineties direct-to-video schlock-horror that punches way above their weight class. She nicely balances being both a girl-next-door sweet heart who seems naive and overly trusting about the ways of the world, while also projecting an evident sexiness that makes you understand why every guy in the film is after her. She's a likable enough lead that you find yourself caring about her otherwise routine work place drama that occupies a few moments.
“Witchboard 2” naturally lacks some of the freshness of the original. While the first film was able to turn a simple board game and a wooden planchette into ominous symbol, the sequel can't invest the title object with that much dread. It also doesn't have the moody locations too, generally feeling a lot smaller scale in terms of scope. Nevertheless, this is easily an above average bit of comfort horror junk food. It's a lot smarter, funnier, more creative, and better acted than a four years later sequel to “Witchboard,” during the doldrum days of the nineties, needed to be. These kind of medium budget sequels to medium proof eighties cult classics, essentially made for the video store audience, were not well respected in their day, were not respected during their day. In our age of streaming slop, follow-ups like this, “Night of the Demons 2,” the “Sleepaway Camp” sequels, and another flick I'll be reviewing in a few days seem positively charming. They no doubt succeed because of lowered expectations but “Witchboard 2” proves that creativity could still be on-display in venues such as these. [7/10]
The second episode of “Alien: Earth” presents one of my primary problems with serialized storytelling in television and especially during the streaming era. Every body wants to make movies that are eight hours long and broken into parts, instead of letting the television format do the things that it is good at. “Mr. October” sees “Alien: Earth” splitting time between several subplots, which is all too often the fate of programs like this. Wendy and her unit of hybrid cyborg children have been deployed to New Siam. She quickly lets it slip that her brother, Joe, is the medic of the team sent inside the crashed building. That same set of Prodigy corporation paid soldiers soon encounter the alien life form responsible for these events. Wendy eventually gets reunited with her brother, who quickly learns who she is. The android who was aboard the crashed ship is still attempting to contain the Xenomorph. The other members of the “Lost Boys” uncover some unrelated alien life forms, which they capture for their trillionaire corporate overlord. Meanwhile, he bickers with the owner of the Yutani organization over ownership of the extraterrestrial prize within the ship.
If it wasn't apparent, I hate plotting like this. It doesn't allow the storytelling to grow organically or progress in a smoothly paced manner. Instead, it creates this herky-jerky back-and-forth as we jump between various plot threads, all of which are happening simultaneously. “Mr. October” focuses a lot of attention on developing Wendy and her relationship to Joe. The climatic moment of the episode, when the two are reunited and any doubt in his mind is removed that this robot girl truly is his resurrected little sister, is sweet. Some sense of actual emotion is invested in that scene. Sydney Chandler and Alex Lawther have some decent chemistry in that moment. However, these scenes have to occur as the characters make their way through a ruined building infested with hostile alien life forms. (Which continues the same sinking feeling I got from “Alien: Romulus,” that video games are influencing this franchise too much these days.) The episode ends on a big dramatic cliffhanger, that stops the emotional momentum of the story until it can be picked up again. Momentum that was already being interrupted as we cut between all the other collections of characters doing stuff in this episode.
I remain uncertain about Wendy and Joe as characters. This episode reveals that Wendy's unique properties as a hybrid human consciousness in a robot body gives her a litany of special abilities. In the past, revealed during another pacing de-railing flashback, we learn she communicated to Joe through a corporate office computer he was communicating with once. Later, while inside the building, she can seemingly sense the presence of the Xenomorph before the others can. I'm not sure how any of this is possible outside of pure magic. Ya know, in crappy comic books and fan fiction, characters are often given special powers in place of actual depth. In general, the story of a dying twelve year old suddenly having her brain transported into a super-advanced robot body – while still thinking and acting like a kid – feels a bit on the precious side. When paired with the maudlin emotion of her reaching out to a brother who thought she was dead, it all feels a bit weepy. Sentimental is something I don't think “Alien” should ever be.
“Alien: Earth” also seems committed to bringing the series' conception of the near future into something more akin to what we think of “cyberpunk.” This has always been an element of “Alien,” massive corporations putting technological gain above basic human rights. The planet and solar system being chopped between mega-corps or cold and totally automated systems making decisions about human life in a hyper-industrial future are logical extensions of what “Alien” presented. “Mr. October” takes it a bit further, by having a digital billboard for vapid, consumerist pleasures play on repeated in the background of all the urban destruction. The scenes devoted to the boy genius trillionaire leader of Prodigy, who is literally named “Boy Kavalier,” make it clear that he's a super-rich and utterly ego-driven idiot that believes himself superior to 99.9% of all human life. Another moment has a group of rich partiers, dressed up like French libertines, continuing to revel, completely unaware of the disaster playing out around them. Yes, I agree that billionaires are immoral, capitalism is evil, and that the glorification of wealth and those who have it is a denigration of the human soul. Also, it might be getting to the point that simply portraying these ideas can't count as meaningful insight anymore. Especially not in a franchise that's owned by an actual mega-corps, that utilizes I.P. from their library as reference points within the story.
All of these issues aside, the question remains of whether or not “Alien: Earth” functions as a horror show. There's a scene involving a seemingly dead, rotting cat revived by whatever the secondary monster is that I liked. It feels distinctly more like something out of “Bride of Re-Animator” but it was cool. A lot of the editing remains weird and jerky in a way that bugs me. Most evidently in the scene where Joe leaps away from the Xenomorph. However, I'll admit that this hour is most effective when focused on the slithery, slimy alien lurking in the background or chasing after some fleshy, easily torn apart humans. The other alien life forms glimpsed so far, that look like oversized geoducks, have not fired my imagination as of this writing. Most of my complaints here probably boil down to me being a grumpy old man who hates everything but “Alien: Earth” still has a ways to go to win me over. [6/10]
The last few episodes of “Monsters,” the horror focused follow-up to “Tales from the Darkside,” that I've watched have been quite good. That trend continues with “A Bond of Silk.” It follows Nash and Portia, a pair of newly-weds from the sticks. They have arrived in the big city for their honeymoon, spending the night in a hotel room recommended at a bargain by one of Nash's friends. Upon arriving, Portia immediately notices something odd. The closest already has clothes in it. Nash, undeterred, looks into the bedroom to see an enormous spider-web in place of a bed. He assumes it to be some kind of kinky role play at first until he becomes stuck to the threads. The couple begin to suspect that they've been lured into a trap and are now prey for an enormous spider. Nash dismisses this at crazy talk but his new bride is right. A giant-sized, eight-legged man-eater crawls into the room soon enough.
“A Bond of Silk” is a potent little slice of nightmare logic with a simple moral and an execution befitting an eighties horror flick. The how and why of this scenario is unimportant. We don't know why there's a giant spider in this hotel. Nor do we know how some hayseed's friends are connected to it. The important part is the premise itself. Through nefarious means, some unsuspecting individuals have arrived in a massive spider's web. That part works in favor of a television show's budget, limiting the entire episode to two sets. It also plays out like a bad dream, seemingly ordinary events quickly growing bizarre and unsettling.
From there, the concept plays out logically enough. Figuring out how this scenario came to be is not helpful to our heroes. They only need to figure out how to get out. Nash remains fixated on how implausible this trap is. His wife – a teacher, with a student who just did a report on spiders, hence her relevant knowledge – is focused on getting them out. That allows the tension to quickly escalate, Portia trying to navigate the web and free her husband. When the lights go out and the spider makes its appearance, that's when things get very tense. The entire last third of “A Bond of Silk” is a rush towards escape, the suspense rising high and fast as people barely escape from the spindly grasp of this creepy crawler. The climax is an amusing sick joke that blows up a common sight – squishing a bug – to super-sized proportions. It's a thunder jolt of an ending, “A Bond of Silk” ending immediately afterwards.
Through it all, an easily understood message to reiterate: if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. That reflects on the couple's marriage as well. Nash's desire for a cheap honeymoon is what got him and Portia in this disturbing scenario in the first place. He leaps into the web like an idiot and then panics. She operates with a calm head throughout, logically considering what might be happening. In other words, these two were never going to work out. Their approaches to life were totally antithetical to each other. Marc McClure is a pitch-perfect yokel while Lydia Cornell displays an immediate intelligence and strength as Portia. The direction is a bit flat and the lighting is overly dark. From what we see of the stop-motion spider, it looks cool as hell. Clearly, the shadowy visuals were probably a deliberate move to cover-up any seams in the special effects. “A Bond of Silk” shows “Monsters” operating at a brutally effective pace. [8/10]
