BLACK CHRISTMAS (Review)

I’ve said this before.
Having never seen the original, I can come at this with a clean slate. And on that clean slate, I write…

Glen Morgan is a name I’ve kept an eye on since his days as an X-Files alum. From Mulder and Scully, he went on (along with his collaborative partner James Wong) to Millennium in its sophomore year, giving the show its best season in its three-year run.
Morgan then went on to script feature films which Wong would direct, starting with Final Destination (interesting and effective), and then on to the Jet Li starrer, The One (disappointing), and Final Destination 3 (dull and pointless).
During this time, Morgan also had his directorial debut with the remake of Willard (which I missed seeing).
As the films came and went though, it seemed Morgan was becoming less of an interesting storyteller and just a mild curiosity in my books.
At the tail end of last year, Morgan wrote and directed the remake of the 1974 slasher flick, Black Christmas, coming up with quite possibly the worst film he’s worked on to date (it’s a toss-up between this and Final Destination 3).

We’re trapped (along with a gaggle of annoying sorority b*tches) as psychotic killer Billy Lenz (Robert Mann) escapes from the loonybin and comes home for Christmas; as it turns out, the Delta Alpha Kappa sorority house happens to be Billy’s old home.
General mayhem and much eye-gouging and -yanking ensue as the film unfolds in its bizarrely perfunctory manner, with sections of Billy’s life told to us by different characters. (These flashbacks seem to have been directed by Tim Burton on a really bad day, while in the worst possible mood.)

The visual hi-jinx (an overabundance of skewed, extreme angles which, instead of building mood and tension, just get really annoying, really fast) does nothing to hide the flimsy plot and script, populated by spoiled little princesses who aren’t really characters, but Dead Meat Walking.
Not to sound misogynistic, but seriously, these are sorority sisters you can’t wait to see get iced by the mad killer. And speaking of ice, check out the death by icicle scene. Yeesh.

With a cast of ciphers that includes Party of Five’s Lacey Chabert and Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Michelle Trachtenberg, there is absolutely no one to sympathize or identify with. The only performer to actually register is long-time Morgan collaborator Kristen Cloke (who played Lara Means, a recurring character on Millennium’s second season, and appeared in Final Destination), as the estranged sister of one of the sorority girls, come to the house to look for her sibling.

Just squeezing past the 1 hour 20 minute mark by a hair, Black Christmas feels interminably long, and is the kind of sad excuse for a horror movie which makes you just want to climb into the screen and help the killer shut these damn girls up.
These are the kinds of movies right wing conservatives should worry about, the ones that are so badly made, they actually promote violent tendencies.
I’m not sure which is more horrendous, this, or the worst examples of pointless masochism that exist within the currently burgeoning sub-genre of torture porn. Believe me, watching Chabert, Trachtenberg, and company natter away about how Christmas and their families suck is sheer, effing torture.

Okay, it’s official. Earlier on I said worst film Glen Morgan ever worked on was a toss-up between Black Christmas and Final Destination 3.
Well, Final Destination 3 wasn’t really bad so much as it was pointless and redundant. Black Christmas however, is bad. It’s the kind of film that eventually killed the slasher movie, the kind of film that wasn’t about suspense or thrills, but about cheering on the killer as he dispatches the next pretty little airhead.
And perhaps its worst offense (in a long string of them) is that it doesn’t even have one sorority sister who emerges from the ordeal as the kick-a$$ Sidney Prescott. Instead, just when you hope one of them will rise to the occasion, they devolve into screaming, hysterical ninnies.
I think it’s safe to say even girls would be annoyed with this pack of hyenas.

So the next time you feel that the worst part about Christmas are the crowded malls, or the traffic, or hearing the same holiday songs over and over, or that dreaded family reunion, think again.
The worst part about Christmas is that it can spawn cinematic dreck like this.

SHEITAN (Review)

As if to forewarn the audience of the wild ride that is about to begin, a DJ at the Styxx Club asks if I am ready. Ignorant of all that is to come, I say, “Hell, yeah!”
Poor, stupid fool.

With Christmas Eve right around the corner, a group of clubbers finds trouble at the Styxx, where Bart (Olivier Bartelemy) gets a bottle broken on his head. Leaving the club behind, they travel to the country home of Eve (Roxane Mesquida), where they meet backwoods yokel and housekeeper Joseph (Vincent Cassel, one of France’s busiest actors, whose face I became familiar with from films like Christophe Gans’ Le Pacte des Loups—Brotherhood of the Wolf—and Les Rivieres Pourpres—The Crimson Rivers). It isn’t long before they meet some curiously inbred-looking villagers, and experience a number of unsettling situations.
What gradually becomes clear is that all is not right out here in the French countryside.

Now, if it’s one thing the French can do, it’s to serve up some pretty disturbing, effed-up horror movies. From Alexandre Aja’s Haute Tension to Fabrice Du Welz’s Calvaire, I have come to be very wary of France; if these films are anything to go by, France is one country I am never stepping foot in.*
Sheitan follows in that fine, anti-tourism vein.

Though it is a variation of the young pretty things-in-peril fright flick, Sheitan succeeds in making the idea of being stalked by some mad cannibalistic killer with a chainsaw seem like a Disney movie. Recent Hollywood offerings like The Hitcher or House of Wax or the Texas Chainsaw movies? Wussy.
And Sheitan isn’t in the Hostel or Saw mode, either; what some industry observers have come to term as “torture porn.” Sheitan takes the horror beyond the visceral, getting underneath your skin without the fixation on the blood and gore.

Kim Chapiron (who also directed both Cassel and Bartelemy in his short film La Barbichette) sets up a situation that is truly disturbing, painting a world seething with insanity and chaos, a world where God is deaf and blind. And although this is the general aetheistic attitude the average horror film cops anyway, there is actually a crucial dining table discussion in Sheitan which serves as a cornerstone of the film’s portrayal of an indifferent deity.

And can we really blame Him? After all, we watch a group of youngsters (some of them espousing a deep faith in their chosen god) cheat and steal and have wanton sex. General horniness, in fact, seems to be the major motivational factor which drives them, which muddles their judgment, making them easier prey.
Two telling points towards the film’s end bolster the God-in-absentia idea: the direct plea which goes unanswered, and the end result of the perhaps one true selfless act in the entire movie. (And keep in mind, this is happening just as Christmas comes around, a temporal setting incidentally shared by Calvaire.)

If there is any suprahuman force active in Sheitan, it’s the one the film is named for. Note though that there is no actual physical presence of the demonic or the supernatural which appears onscreen, no rotating heads or pea soup vomit. (Unless you consider Cassel wearing a set of fake bad teeth—and other head gear—demonic.) There are, however, motifs: from the Styxx Club, to a dog called “Cerberus,” to a tale told by Joseph, to a ghastly birth on Christmas. (Also, please note Joseph’s wife’s name…)

Sheitan is a cinematic experience that is by turns absurd and unsettling, and is the sort of movie that stays with you in a way that the majority of Hollywood’s horror doesn’t. There are some images that will sear themselves indelibly on your mind’s eye, so be warned. (The family portrait at film’s end is one of the most disturbing images in the entire movie.)

So if your idea of horror is the watered-down Hollywood PG-13 variety, or the measured quiet creep of long-haired female contortionist ghosts, you’d best be advised to stay as far away from Sheitan as you can. If you are, however, open to the experience of being unsettled by your horror, then Christmas dinner with Sheitan could be just the ticket.

* And Belgium too, as Calvaire is a Belgian horror movie. (Not France, yes, but it is right next to France, so… Let’s change that to “I am never stepping foot in France and its surrounding areas.”)

ABOMINABLE (Review)

Since I was anticipating a number of SCIFI Channel shows and mini-series currently in the works, I decided to check out one of their past offerings, Ryan Schifrin’s Abominable, to give me a better idea of how they handled their productions, and this is what it had to offer.

After a brief prologue where a couple has their dog slaughtered by a shadowy creature which emerges from the woods, we join Preston Rogers (Matt McCoy), a wheelchair-bound man recovering from the death of his wife six months ago in a climbing accident (a mishap which also left him paralyzed from the waist down). As part of his therapy, Preston is brought back to the mountain home he shared with his wife, the scene of the tragedy (the aptly named “Suicide Rock”) in plain view.
Reluctant and uncertain, Preston communicates his hesitancy to Otis (Christien Tinsley), the terribly irresponsible orderly in whose care he is left for the weekend. Otis, of course, does not listen.

Shortly after Preston’s arrival, a group of five female friends natter their way into the house across the way, and things kick into gear. With the Rear Window gambit firmly in place (terrible things happen as a crippled man watches, helpless to stop them), Preston is the horrified witness no one wants to believe. (Otis thinks Preston is being hysterical, the girls think he’s a perv with binoculars, and the cops think he’s some prankster.) Of course, the fact that he claims there’s a monster outside doesn’t really help his case any.

As a director, Schifrin is capable, delivering some sequences of suspense that actually work. He also gives us one of those unlikely heroes in Preston, a grieving widower stuck to a wheelchair. He’s not Bruce Willis or Tom Cruise, but he’s resourceful enough in a pinch. (Though why he doesn’t send more than just two text messages to the poor girls is anybody’s guess.)

Sadly, some of the bits of Abominable that don’t work are those moments when we actually see the monster in all its hairy glory. It seems as if ‘Squatch either had a stroke, or one too many Botox injections, as his facial muscles are not terribly mobile. And you know you’re in a spot of trouble when you’re making a monster movie and you can’t really show too much of your monster lest the audience see how fakey it really is. (A director like Spielberg can get away with it—and he did, in Jaws—but Schifrin is certainly no Spielberg.)

Much of the novelty of Abominable comes from the appearances of genre icons like Re-Animator’s Jeffrey Combs (initially unrecognizable as the gas station convenience store clerk), Lance Henriksen (Aliens and TV’s Millennium), and Dee Wallace Stone (The Howling and E.T. Oh, and Cujo, too), though their screen times are minimal at best.

Still, warts and all, Abominable is (contrary to its title) actually watchable, though certainly not a masterpiece; I just hope that the SCIFI Channel has gotten better with their productions.

Parting shot: Ryan Schifrin is the son of noted film composer, Lalo Schifrin (perhaps best known for penning the Mission: Impossible theme), and Ryan was smart enough to get daddy to score Abominable. Nepot.

Parting shot 2: Christien Tinsley, who plays Otis, is a noted make-up and prosthetics artist who’s worked with Hollywood biggies like Russell Crowe, Matt Damon, and Vin Diesel (four times! Vinnie must love the guy). He’s also the man responsible for the prosthetic tattoo transfers for The Passion of the Christ. On a sadder note, he’s also the creature effects coordinator on Abominable. (I guess `Squatch was a difficult diva to work with…)

THE HITCHER (Review)

Having never seen the original, I can come at this with a clean slate. And on that clean slate, I write…

Horror movies being the home away from home for today’s teen TV show stars, One Tree Hill’s Sophia Bush (who also appeared in the lame horror-video-game-come-to-life film, Stay Alive) finds herself terrorized by Boromir himself, Sean Bean, in Dave Meyers’ remake of The Hitcher.
Along with her boyfriend, Jim (Zachary Knighton), Bush’s Grace is hounded by a deranged psychopath the couple crosses paths with on a drive through the deserts of New Mexico.

Grace’s penchant for long bathroom breaks (conveniently established within minutes of the film’s opening) becomes the unlikely reason for all the terror these college kids are about to endure.
Sadly though, once the terror begins there isn’t much tension to keep the audience captivated, and, as if to pour salt on that already gaping wound, Bean is totally wasted in this production. Normally, he’s able to bring a palpable presence to the characters he plays, regardless of screen time. In The Hitcher though, despite playing the title role, Bean does not register at all; there isn’t really much for him to do except run around and make Grace and Jim’s lives a living hell.

Not even Nine Inch Nails (whose music plays during Bean’s most improbable stunt in the entire film) can save this dud. It’s the kind of movie where the characters can actually have a shower together while a maniac incessantly stalks them.

It’s also one of those bizarrely feminist horror films where the men are ultimately impotent when the chips are down, and the heroine does a last-second Ripley (or a Sarah Connor, take your pick of sci-fi pin up girl) and kicks stalker a$$ with knife or chainsaw or gun (or whatever weapon is readily available). However, beyond her baby’s bladder, we don’t know much more about Grace as an individual for us to fully appreciate the change she undergoes. For all the audience knows, she was a closet Ramboette to begin with.

After directing Eddie Griffin in Foolish, Dave Meyers made a name for himself in the music video world, and his work should be familiar to most of today’s youth through his clips for Britney Spears (“Lucky”), Missy Elliott (“Get Ur Freak On”), and Creed (“My Sacrifice” and “With Arms Wide Open”), to name a few. Now Meyers becomes the latest in a long line of music video directors making the difficult transition to the big screen.

But directing a 3 and a half minute video is one thing. Helming a feature film on the other hand, is a whole different ball game in an entirely different league, a ball game Meyers doesn’t seem to know how to play very well. (Having never seen Foolish, I can’t really say whether the feature film has always been his Waterloo.)

There is nothing here that actually gets the audience involved and invested in the action onscreen. It’s just an hour and a half of Bush and Knighton running (and driving) around New Mexico while being chased by Bean (and the cops!).
And while The Hitcher manages to evade the gore-soaked territory of films like Wolf Creek and Haute Tension, it doesn’t replace the lack of grue with any excitement either. (Despite a needless plot flip, Alexandre Aja’s Haute Tension is actually an excellent example of a film with both the gore of an in-your-face, grindhouse horror flick, and the taut, razor-edged suspense of an A-grade thriller.)

The Hitcher (like the recent Turistas, which is sort of like Hostel without the gore or the excitement) is yet another bland entry in the annals of modern horror cinema.

One important thing to note in this sad and sorry mess is that The Hitcher is the latest of Platinum Dunes’ remakes which doesn’t hit the mark at all. Dunes—which has director Michael Bay as its backbone—has been responsible for the recent Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake and its prequel, as well as the remake of The Amityville Horror.

Now, it’s forgivable when a remake isn’t quite as good as the original, when said original is a classic, as is the case with Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But even when there’s a lot of room for improvement, as with The Amityville Horror, Bay and company still manage to bungle it somehow. The Hitcher is just another nail in this particular coffin.

It’s sad though that there are still more remakes slated to emerge from Platinum Dunes’ gates, including one of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (blasphemy, I tell you!).

But, despite all of my issues with it, to be perfectly fair to Bush, Bay, Meyers, and company, I did learn something from The Hitcher: if you’re driving down a lonely desert road, and have the urge to help a stranger in distress, DON’T.

Oh, and one more thing: learn to control your bladder.

Gwoemul (The Host)
A review by David Hontiveros

Having already made their presence known on the global cinema map with films like Ji-woon Kim‘s Janghwa, Hongryeon (A Tale of Two Sisters) and Chan-wook Park‘s Oldboy, Korea now gives us Joon-ho Bong‘s Gwoemul (The Host), a rollicking creature feature that puts to shame a whole gaggle of Hollywood’s most recent offerings in the genre.

Following the most unlikely of celluloid heroes, the dysfunctional Park family (made up of patriarch Hie-bong, his offspring, deadbeat Gang-du, unemployed graduate Nam-il, competitive archer Nam-joo, and Gang-du’s daughter Hyun-seo), Gwoemul kicks off with a brief prologue six years in the past, as a perfunctory (possible) explanation for the creature’s existence, before kicking into high gear with the initial attack, which sets up the central event that serves as the engine the film’s narrative runs on.

Having the Parks as the film’s main protagonists effectively puts the lie to the Hollywood adage that creature features need heroes who are either scientists or soldiers to work. (During the initial attack, we in fact are introduced to US soldier Donald—played by David Joseph Anselmo—who can’t help but pitch in and piss off the rampaging monster; you just know where that’s gonna end up…)

And of course, for a great creature feature, you need a great creature, and Gwoemul has definitely got that. Done in CG by San Francisco-based The Orphanage, Gwoemul’s beastie is convincing, particularly in the initial attack, in which the camera doesn’t really stand still, making the monster all the more real since it seems to be just another element in motion that just happened to be picked up by the lens, as opposed to some wide-angle Panavision shot displaying glorious SFX which blare, “Look at me! Look at me! I’m a CGI construct that cost an obscene amount of dollars to put on the screen! Look at meeee!”

There’s a certain stripped-down efficiency to Gwoemul that helps it tremendously, and even allows for some quiet little character moments amidst all the running about. And this, being a Korean movie, naturally displays moments of comedy (and with the Park family centerstage, there’s a fair amount of those to be had), though thankfully, the humor never devolves into goofy slapstick, as sometimes happens in Korean cinema. (Even Chan-wook Park‘s contribution to Saam gaang yi, “Cut,” had absolutely painful moments of crude humor that crippled an otherwise intense film experience.)

With just the right amount of suspense, humor, horror, and drama, Gwoemul is an entertaining 2 hour ride that is already being gobbled up by the Hollywood machine. (News has already broken of an impending English-language remake.) Despite some minor imperfections—notably a plot thread that doesn’t really go anywhere— Gwoemul is the best creature feature I’ve seen in quite some time. (Try and see it so you have a point of comparison once the glammed-up Hollywood version is unleashed upon us…)

Parting shot: Interestingly enough, the next film of Kang-ho Song (who plays Gang-du) is Bakjwi, its English title, Evil Live, which is the title of the movie-within-the-(short)-movie in “Cut.” Bakjwi is being directed by Chan-wook Park , and has been described as a “modern-day vampire story” (as we saw in “Cut”).

Parting shot2: Du-na Bae (who plays Nam-joo) can also be seen as Eun-suh in Dong-bin Kim’s Ring Virus, the Korean remake of Ringu.