The October Country

That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.

--Ray Bradbury 

Happy October, everyone.

Nothing like a little S&M for Halloween...

Target is selling the American Horror Story Rubber Man costume. Because that's not weird at all. 

"One Size Fits Most"!

Review: SINISTER

SINISTER
2012
Directed by Scott Derrickson


It's so hard to get horror right.

"Horror" is subjective. What scares one person won't always scare another. But there is a basic structure and format to good, effective horror that when it's done right, it can send chills up the spine of even the most cynical of fans.

SINISTER is the horror film to beat this year. The year isn't over yet, but I'll go out on a limb and say that SINISTER is the scariest film of 2012. The film is brought to us by producer Jason Blum, who also produces the PARANORMAL ACTIVITY films and INSIDIOUS. He's pretty much got this thing down to a science at this point. He's even opening his own haunted house in California.

SINISTER, however, is on another level though. The PA films, and INSIDIOUS, while both containing scares, also have a level of fun silliness to them. They're like haunted houses at carnivals. You get a good scare or two, then you walk out laughing.

SINISTER isn't interested in giving you a chuckle. It wants you to leave the theater shaken. And it succeeds.

The story is about true crime writer Ellison, played by Ethan Hawke. Ten years ago he had a big hit with his true crime book "Kentucky Blood." However, ever since then, he's been chasing glory. His other books have failed, and one book even ended up helping a real killer go free.

Ellison desperately wants to recapture his fame and fortune, and he thinks he knows just how to do it. He moves his wife and children into a new house, and not just any house. As we see at the beginning of the film, in chilling detail, the house was the scene of a murder. A family was hung from a tree in the yard, and their daughter went missing. The crime was never solved.

Ellison doesn't tell his family they just moved into a murder house. He knows his wife Tracy (Juliet Rylance) will freak out--and rightfully so. So he keeps everyone in the dark as he goes about trying to solve the mystery.

However, the first night in the house, Ellison finds a box marked HOME MOVIES in the attic. The box contains film canisters as well as a Super 8 projector. He sets up a theater in his office and watches.

To his horror he discovers the films contain not only the murders of the family that lived in his house, but several other murders spread across the years. He does some digging and discovers that all the murders are similar in that they involve families killed, and one of the children missing.

This should be enough to freak anyone out, but Ellison also begins hearing strange bumps in the night. His son begins experiencing intense night terrors. His daughter draws pictures of dead girls. Scorpions, snakes and a mean looking dog invade his property. And then he notices a strange, ghoulish figure appearing in the snuff films. With the help of a local professor (played by Vincent D'Onofrio, who literally Skype's his performance in), he believes this figure might be an ancient deity named Bagul; a nasty monster who eats the souls of children.

There's a lot more going on here, but to tell you would spoil the fun. And by fun I mean dread and terror.

SINISTER is relentless in its goal to scare you. There are moments of levity here and there, but for the most part, SINISTER wants to make you uncomfortable. From its weird, jarring and haunting score to the brutal snuff films Ellison watches almost nightly, SINISTER takes hold of your nerves and pulls them in every direction possible.

Hawke does a great job carrying the film. His character, when you get right down to it, is kind of an asshole, but Hawke makes him likable and believable. His family could've been a bit more fleshed out, especially his wife, who spends most of the film either chastising Ellison or the children. But these are minor flaws and come nowhere close to derailing the story, as the film is really about Ellison and his own personal descent into terror and doubt.

Director Scott Derrickson, who has had a very spotty film career up till now, does his best work ever here. He's able to fill every angle, every shot with almost overwhelming dread. There's nothing outwardly scary about the house Ellison and his family move into, but with impenetrable darkness and shadows lurking at night, Derrickson is able to convey real unrest and unease.

The script, by Derrickson and C. Robert Cargill, is filled to the brim with creepy ideas. The writers know exactly what scares people, and they throw everything they can think of right at the audience.

SINISTER will be released wide on October 12th. It's a perfect movie for Halloween season. It's the type of horror movie that sticks with you; that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you watch it.

It's the type of horror movie that haunts you long after you've gone home from the theater, gotten into bed, and turned off all the lights.

SINISTER

Going to an advanced screening of SINISTER tonight. I'll be sure to review it after I see it. Hope it scares the BEJESUS out of me.

We're Not Telling !!

Review: V/H/S

V/H/S

2012. Directed by: Adam Wingard, David Bruckner, Ti West, Glenn McQuaid, Joe Swanberg, Radio Silence

The horror anthology film has always been a favorite of mine. And, unlike a lot of horror fans, I don’t mind the “found footage” genre of horror films. V/H/S combines both of these things and tries to breathe new life into both.

V/H/S has a fairly simply plotline: a group of Jackass-type thieves break into a spooky house to find a videotape. Instead, they find a dead old man and SEVERAL videotapes. One by one, our bumbling thieves watch a tape, each one revealing a different scary story.

Like most anthology films, it’s hit or miss. Despite being a fan of this particular subgenre, I don’t think I’ve seen a single anthology film where I’ve liked all of the stories told. So let’s break this baby down by its segments.

TAPE 56

Adam Wingard’s TAPE 56 acts as the wrap-around story—the way we get to the mini-stories within. While it has a nice atmosphere, and some really subtle, creepy moments, it’s one of the weaker entries. I’m not sure the movie even needed a wrap-around story, and as it is, TAPE 56 doesn’t really do much else than set up the premise. Which tape are our thieves looking for? Why does this old (presumably dead) man have all these VHS tapes? Who is the mysterious person who hired our thieves? Why does the ring-leader have a mustache that makes him look like a 70’s porn star? None of these questions are answered. I don’t have a problem with ambiguity, but the open-ended nature of TAPE 56 leaves a lot to be desired.

AMATEUR NIGHT

David Bruckner’s AMATEUR NIGHT is our first “tape” and follows three frat-boy types as they go out on the town to look for girls. One of the guys sports a pair of glasses that contain a hidden video camera/microphone combo.

The guys eventually end up at a bar, where they encounter a few ladies, one of them being the very weird, mousy Lily. Lily is quiet and more than a little spooky, but she seems to have the hots for our camera-man.

Eventually the friends end up back at their motel room with Lily and another girl. The other girl eventually passes out, and soon the friends learn that Lily is more than she seems…

AMATEUR NIGHT is a nice starting point. It takes a little way to find its grove—the first half of the story is truly obnoxious, as we follow these giggling, repulsive guys on their quest to get laid. But once the mysterious Lily enters the picture, things really start to pick up. I wouldn’t call this segment scary, but it’s certainly disturbing, and it’s nice to see these three assholes get pretty much what’s coming to them.

SECOND HONEYMOON

Next up we have SECOND HONEYMOON, from director Ti West. West has already made quite a name for himself in the indie horror world, having directed THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL and THE INNKEEPERS. He has a very deliberate, slow-burn style that some love and some hate. Personally I loved both of his previous movies, so I was looking forward to this entry.

SECOND HONEYMOON follows couple Sam and Stephanie as they go on a second honeymoon out west, with Stephanie filming the proceedings. Things seem rather mundane at first, but one night, there is a loud knock on their motel room door, and Sam goes to investigate.

When he comes back, he reports that the person who knocked was a strange and somewhat scary girl asking for a ride the next day. Sam of course turned her down, and the couple goes to bed.

While the couple sleep that night, the mysterious girl comes into their motel room and films them sleeping—and brandishes a switch-blade which she softly strokes against Stephanie’s flesh.

To say more would be spoiling the pretty shocking ending, but I will say this is one of the strongest entries in the film. It’s the only one that isn’t “supernatural”, but West has a real knack for “realistic” dialog. This really feels like the video-log of a real married couple, and the way he slowly builds the tension from mundane to disturbing is masterful.

TUESDAY THE 17^TH

TUESDAY THE 17^th, from Glenn McQuaid, is hands-down the weakest entry in the film, and should have been cut entirely. It has a neat premise—a sort of satirical take on slasher films (thus the cheeky title), and also the premise of a “final girl” coming back for revenge against the killer.

But the end result is rather lame, and the acting is downright atrocious here. Our “final girl”, Wendy, is so unbelievably unsympathetic and annoying that there’s no possible way we can get on her side.

When the killer shows up, for some reason he doesn’t photograph on the video camera; rather, he’s just a bunch of blurry, staticy glitchies. This is a cool effect, but it leads the viewer to ask: Why? It seems like something that the filmmaker did because he thought it was cool for the sake of being cool, and didn’t put much thought into it.

THE SICK THING THAT HAPPENED TO EMILY WHEN SHE WAS YOUNGER

While TUESDAY THE 17^TH is the weakest entry here, SICK THING is the most disappointing.

Emily has skype-like chats with her boyfriend James. She’s just moved into a new apartment, and pretty soon she begins to suspect it’s haunted. Also, we learn that when she was younger she had problems with self-mutilation—a problem she seems to be picking up again.

SICK THING is very well directed and acted. The skype angle—which doesn’t really make sense in a film full of VHS tapes, but whatever—works wonderfully in bringing the scares, as James (and the audience) can spot things creeping in the dark behind Emily before she notices them.

However, when the “twist” is revealed, it’s like a bunch of hot air being let out of a balloon. It’s so incredibly lame and nonsensical that it downright made me mad. Director Joe Swanberg had a great thing going here, and then, for some strange reason, decided to sabotage it completely with an ending that is, to put it bluntly, fucking stupid.

10/31/98

As the saying goes, you save the best for last, and that is certainly true with our last story, 10/31/98, directed by a group of filmmakers known as Radio Silence.

Like AMATURE NIGHT, 10/31/98 is about a group of frat-boy types, but unlike AMATURE NIGHT, the guys in this segment are likeable and funny; we actually enjoy following them around.

It’s Halloween night, and four friends are trying to find a Halloween party they were invited to. They find what they THINK is the right house, but once inside, they discover it’s empty. Or is it?

10/31/98 is both amusing and scary. It has an almost “kitchen sink” approach to it, where the filmmakers throw every haunted house cliché in the book at you, and it all works incredibly well. I certainly hope Radio Silence tackles some more horror stuff in the future, because they have a real knack for knowing what makes horror fans tick.

With a little trimming here and there V/H/S could’ve been truly fantastic. As it is, we’ll just have to settle for a mix of pretty darn good and mediocre. As far as grading the entries, here’s how I’d do it:

TAPE 56: C-
AMATEUR NIGHT: C-
SECOND HONEYMOON: A
TUESDAY THE 17^th: D-
THE SICK THING THAT HAPPENED TO EMILY WHEN SHE WAS YOUNGER: C+
10/31/98: A+

V/H/S is currently available On Demand and also via Amazon Streaming. It’ll also have a limited theatrical run sometime in October. It's not excellent, but it's worth watching maybe once. 

GOOD FOR BUSINESS

THE Four Gables Bed and Breakfast in Brattle, Vermont, was built in 1791 as a residence for Archibald Horton. Horton, a professional surveyor and an amateur occultist, achieved a small level of notoriety when he broke off from the Freemasons to form his own group, which he unimaginatively called the Hortonists.

            Horton and his Hortonists were obsessed with black magic, and they believed there were invisible portals all around us—portals to alternate realities where great old gods with terribly unpronounceable names dwelled. The Hortinists wanted to usher in a new era for mankind; an era where the ancient demon gods would liquefy human flesh and turn bone into ash. Despite their best efforts, the Hortinists never managed to achieve their goal. But they did pull off a bunch of other dark, nefarious stuff.

            One after another, the Hortonists died off in bloody, suspicious ways, until Horton himself was the only one left. Having lived to the extremely old age of 103, he committed suicide by cutting off his own head in a guillotine he had had shipped to America from France.

            Over the centuries the house passed from owner to owner—none of whom stayed very long. There was a long period of time when it was completely abandoned, but the historical society kept it from being demolished.

            Everything changed in 2001, when Beatrice Torgleson purchased the house with hopes of turning it into a bed and breakfast. She was recently widowed (under mysterious circumstances), as well as recently retired, and she thought this was a perfect way to spend her “golden years,” as people liked to call them.

            Bea shelled out a small fortune to restore the house, although it was hard to keep the same contractors working on the job. They would quit at an alarming rate, with no real reason given.

            Eventually Bea was able to get one of them to tell her that the house was haunted. The workers would hear strange things. Rooms would suddenly grow cold. The walls would bleed. Black ooze would leak up through the floorboards. Random animals were found skinned and decapitated all around the property.

            Bea was miserable. Her dream was dead before it began. How on earth could she open a B&B if it were haunted?

            The house was finished before winter came, and just in time. A blizzard came crashing in, smothering the landscape in snow. Bea was alone in the newly restored house, sitting by the fire, when Archibald Horton appeared. He stepped out of the fire, clutching his severed head in his arms.

            In her rocking chair, Bea sighed.

            “Are ye not afraid of me, woman?” Horton’s head asked.

            Bea shrugged. “What does it matter? My life’s dream is over. I killed my husband to inherit his fortune so I could open this bed and breakfast, and now it’s ruined.”

            “I understand not many of the words you have just spoken,” Horton said. He placed his head up onto the bloody stump of his neck and it rested there awkwardly. “I demand a sacrifice, woman.”

            “Go ahead, then,” Bea said. “Kill me and get it over with.”

            Horton laughed, and his laughter caused his head to fall off his neck and roll into the fire. Cursing, he reached into the flames and pulled the head out.

            “You are too old and ruined for the likes of me, woman,” Horton said. “The sacrifices must be of virgin blood.”

            “Well, you’re all out of luck,” Bea said, rising from her chair on creaking legs. “No virgins here.”

            She turned and headed for the stairs.

            “Where are you going?” Horton said. “I demand you come back and have an audience with me!”

            “Whatever,” Bea said and went upstairs to bed.

            That winter was spent interacting with the various dark forces that dwelled within the walls. Bea had planned to open the B&B in time for Christmas, but she gave up on that idea. She updated the B&B’s website to say Opening Delayed Indefinitely.

            Every morning as she woke and went to the bathroom, a shrieking female face stared back at her from the mirror, blood pouring from her eyes and spiders crawling from her mouth.

            Bea ignored it.

            When she took breakfast in the large, empty dining room, a headless, legless torso would crawl out from the heating vent and drag itself across the floor, leaving a trail of blood that would eventually evaporate.

            Bea ignored it.

            There were gigantic, hideous goat-like men in the attic, and two -headed rats in the basement. There were shrouded specters that floated from room to room, moaning and leaving a sticky residue of ectoplasm on the walls. There were a man and a woman, who were both nude and seemed to be composed entirely of blood, who would have violent, loud sex on the living room floor, before vanishing into mist. And of course there was Horton himself, always losing his head, screaming and chanting and demanding Bea bring him the sacrifices he desired.

            Bea ignored it all.

            Winter gave way to spring, and then summer, and soon autumn arrived. Bea took a trip into town. She needed to get out of that damned house for a while. She spent the day doing some light shopping and wandered into a Barnes and Noble.

            After perusing a few of the romance paperbacks, she was heading for the exit when she bumped into the corner of one of the display tables. The table was set up with various books for the upcoming Halloween season. Bea couldn’t believe her eyes. There were at least half a dozen books that acted as guides to various haunted locations. There was even an entire book devoted to haunted bed & breakfasts of New England.

            People apparently liked this sort of thing. They would pay good money to stay in a haunted hotel. Slowly, a plan began to materialize in Bea’s brain.

            She returned home. Horton floated up from the floor, clutching his head by the hair.

            “Tremble before my visage, woman!” he shouted. “For I am one with the Great Darkness!”

            “Yeah, whatever. Listen, I have an offer for you,” Bea said, setting her shopping bags down.

            “I do not make deals with the living,” Horton spat. He set his head down on a coffee table next to him.

            Bea smiled. “Oh, I think you’re going to like this one.”

            That Christmas, the Four Gables Bed and Breakfast finally opened, and seemingly overnight became renowned as one of the most haunted spots in New England. This brought in the tourists by the dozen, and the fact that Bea was a very good cook kept them coming back for more.

            Every day, a different person who was staying at the B&B would come up to Bea with a giddy look on his or her face, and tell of the horrifying sights he or she had seen during the night. Bea always smiled and nodded. She acted as if she didn’t really believe in that sort of thing, but that she would let the guests have their fun.

            And every few months, there would be reports from the surrounding towns of missing children; children seemingly snatched from their bedrooms late at night and never seen again. There were no leads, and no known motive.

            Of course, Bea knew the motive. She knew it because the basement was always off limits to guests, and she kept the key to the big padlock on her at all times. She knew it because she spent many nights washing the blood from her hands.

            But what did a little blood matter? After all, it was good for business.

            

I know who I'm voting for...

Julie D'Aubigny

Please, Hollywood, I beg you: Make a movie about this woman. I will be first in line to buy a ticket.

Click the pic for the article, from Badass of the Week. Here's an excerpt:

Julie D'Aubigny was a 17th-century bisexual French opera singer and fencing master who killed or wounded at least ten men in life-or-death duels, performed nightly shows on the biggest and most highly-respected opera stage in the world, and once took the Holy Orders just so that she could sneak into a convent and bang a nun.

One For the Road

            Mind if I buy you a drink?  It’s just that, well, I was sitting alone, and I saw you here in the corner, also sitting alone.  And I figured, you and me, we could sit alone together.  So whatever you want to drink, you let me know.  It’s on me.  Spare no expense.

            I’m not sure if you’re from around here or not, but have you heard about all the strange things that’ve been happening?  I’m sure you have, everyone has by now.  Weird stuff, let me tell you. 

            For instance, two weeks ago, the cows from McCreely’s farm started giving black milk.  Black as nightfall.  Every single cow.  They had a vet come out and look at them, and the vet couldn’t figure out what was wrong.  Then one by one, over the course of three days, the cows started dropping dead.  Every cow on that farm, gone.  McCreely is ruined. 

            Last week, the clock on the tower in town hall, it started running backwards.  They tried just shutting the damn thing off, and that didn’t work.  It just wouldn’t stop running backwards.  Did that for two days straight.  Then it stopped dead, and they haven’t been able to get it working since.  I mean, that clock is over seventy years old, so I guess age could have something to do with it, but I don’t know.  Seems strange.

            Are you sure you don’t want that drink?

            Anyway, Nativity Of The Blessed Virgin, that’s the church over on Riverline Ave., well, they have this old bell tower, see.  And one night, around one a.m., the sound of loud clanging bells starts screaming out of that tower, and doesn’t stop

until sun up.  The fact that the bells wouldn’t stop ringing isn’t the strange part.  You see, there aren’t any bells in that damn tower! There haven’t been for fifteen years!  But everyone heard them.  Hell, I heard them.  They kept me up all night, and I had just gotten off of a double-shift.  It was awful.

            Where did you say you were from again?

            Did I mention the woods by Bindlebottom Lake?  Bindlebottom Lake is this huge lake we have, at the edge of town, and it’s surrounded by thick woodlands.  Woods that go on for miles and miles, up into the mountains.  Well, there was this group of trees near the lake, and all of them were stripped of their bark.  And not just a little bit.  I mean, entirely.  About fifty trees stripped clean.  And there were these weird...symbols carved in them.  I don’t know what they were, I’ve never seen anything like them.  Some professor or something, in the newspaper, said

that they were Pagan symbols.  Ancient. 

            And it’s cold.  I mean, it’s fall, so it’s supposed to be cold.  But I don’t remember a fall ever this cold.  It’s a biting, stabbing cold.  It seeps in through your clothes, cuts through your skin and wraps itself around your bones.  I wake up covered in ache.  No matter how many layers I put on, I still get the chills.  Thought I was getting sick or something, so I went to see the Doc.

            He couldn’t find anything wrong with me, but he said almost the entire damn town had come in to see him complaining of that same coldness. 

            Folks are saying this town is haunted. I don’t know if that’s possible, for an entire town to be haunted.  I’ve never heard of that. Maybe a house, or a whole block of houses.  But an entire town?  And if it is, is it all one ghost, or is it a ghost in every home? Can one ghost haunt an entire town? Of course, that all depends on if you believe in ghosts, I suppose.

            Last chance for that drink...

            Okay...

            Everyone’s scared now. That’s understandable. Strange things like this are bound to make anyone frightened. The thing about fear is, it leads to desperation.  And desperation, well, I’ll be honest, it leads to sex. Nothing makes people feel safer than sex. Takes everyone’s mind off of things. So I’m just putting it out there, that I want you to go home with me tonight.

            I don’t care that your arms are broken branches, or that your hair is constantly dripping wet. I don’t care that I can see through your skin to your bones underneath. And I don’t care that you don’t have any eyes, just two empty sockets glowing red.  Tonight, to me, you’re lovely. 

            And I need some company. 

            I’m too afraid to walk home alone.

Review: THE PACT

The Pact
2012
Directed by Nicholas McCarthy

It's very hard to make an effective independent, low-budget horror film. If you don't believe me, go hop on Netflix and scroll through the horror movies on instant watch. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Back? Yeah, they're pretty much all terrible.

So whenever a good independent horror film comes along, it's like a breath of fresh air. The Pact is such a film.

The Pact is the story of two sisters, Nichole (Agnes Bruckner) and Annie (Caity Lotz). The sisters have had a less-than-perfect relationship with their mother--a fact that's highlighted when we learn their mother used to lock them in a closet when they were "bad."

Their mother has recently died, and Nichole is at their childhood home, trying to get affairs in order and to attend the funeral. Annie wants no part of any of this. She still hates her mother, and has no intention of returning home.

This all changes when Nichole seemingly vanishes. Liz (Kathleen Rose Perkins), who is the sister's cousin, is watching Nichole's young daughter--and when she doesn't hear from Nichole for three days, she frantically calls Annie. Annie isn't very worried at first. Nichole has a history of drug abuse, and Annie suspects that Nichole has just run off, unable to deal with what's going on.

Things only get worse, though. One night, after the funeral, Liz also disappears from the house, and Annie is attacked and flung around by some unseen force. Is the house haunted? If so, by who? And just what happened to Liz and Nichole?

The Pact is as much of a mystery/thriller as it is a horror film. Writer/Director Nicholas McCarthy perfectly blends genres, switching deftly between a detective story, serial killer story and a spooky haunted house flick. The special effects in the film are subtle, which makes them all the more effective.

At one point there's a very interesting/different approach to the "bringing a psychic into the haunted house" trope. Haley Hudson plays Stevie, a blind girl Annie knows from high school. Stevie lives in a house full of apparent drug addicts/dealers, who are constantly blasting heavy metal music and playing video games. She also just happens to posses the ability to communicate with the dead. Stevie and Giles (Sam Ball), who is apparently her handler, and a real prick to boot, show up at Annie's house, with creeptastic results. I've seen a million horror movies that use this plot point--bringing in someone to commune with the spirits--but Hudson's haunting performances, and the way Giles abusively protects her, makes it seem fresh and exciting here.

There's a lot more than meets to eye in The Pact. To go into it would spoil the fun. I literally knew nothing about the film when I sat down and watched it, so when the plot twists began to pop up, I was pleasantly surprised.

Right now, playing in theaters, is a dreadful looking film called The Apparition. It has 0 % on Rotten Tomatoes and is, by all accounts, awful. Yet that film will be more well-known than The Pact, which is a damn shame.

The Pact is suspenseful, scary and effective. McCarthy has a real eye for composing and framing his shots, and Caity Lotz, as Annie, brings a layered and thoughtful performance to the film; she's not just some dingbat final girl, making dumb decisions and just asking to get killed.

The Pact is currently available on Amazon as a "theatrical rental." For 6.99, it's cheaper than going to the actual movies, and it's more than worth it.

The Worst Halloween Costumes of All Time

Yes, this is a Welcome Back Kotter Halloween costume. Click the image to see other great (awful) Halloween costumes from times gone by. (Although I have to admit I kind of like the JAWS one...)

DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT MY BAD REPUTATION: The Village

Don't Give A Damn About My Bad Reputation is a feature I've wanted to do for some time. Basically, I will be taking a look at films that have really bad reputations, and giving my opinion on if they were judged too harshly (or if they really are just dog shit).

THE VILLAGE
2004
Directed by M. Night Shyamalan


It may be hard to believe now that his name has sort of become a joke, but there was a time when M. Night Shyamalan was on top of the world.

After The Sixth Sense, audiences and critics were madly in love with this man with the hard to pronounce name. He was on a pretty damn good run too, with pretty much all of his films following The Sixth Sense being well regarded and making good coin at the box office.

Then came The Village.

The Village was the beginning of the end for Shyamalan. He followed it with the abysmal Lady in the Water, and then The Happening, where killer trees make people kill themselves. I have a soft spot in my heart for The Happening, just because it's so bat-shit insane that I refuse to believe he was being serious when he made the film. I like to think of it as a big-budget version of Birdemic.

But back to The Village. As was the case with all of Shyamalan's films at the time, The Village had a lot of hype built around it. The marketing for the film made it look like it was going to be straight-up horror. Cast member Sigourney Weaver was quoted as saying after she read the screenplay she had nightmares. People were excited for the film.

And then it came out and people more or less took a big shit on it.

So what's the deal with The Village? Is it really a big old mess, or did it get unfairly maligned?

The film is set in a small village, seemingly cut off from the world, during an undisclosed time in the past. The village is surrounded by ominous woods, and the town elders warn people to never cross the barrier into those woods. For you see, spooky creatures called Those We Don't Speak Of lurk there. The village has a truce with them--they don't come into the village as long as the villagers stay out of their woods.

Everyone seems to live in peace and tranquility--until animals start turning up dead and skinned, and the creatures start coming into the town late at night and giving everyone the creeps.

Nestled into this plot is the story of Ivy, played wonderfully by Bryce Dallas Howard. Ivy is blind, but she possesses the ability to see people's "colors" (or auras, if you will.) Lucius (Joaquin Phoenix) has a big crush on Ivy. So does the mentally handicapped Noah (Adrien Brody, who is fantastic at playing these type of characters).

As the story unfolds, Lucius is badly wounded, and the only hope of saving him is to retrieve "medicines" from the world beyond the woods. It's up to Ivy to set off to retrieve them, risking her life for the man she loves.

Here's the biggest problem with The Village: the advertising.

Every trailer, every commercial, every print ad went out of its way to literally SCREAM into the audiences face that this was going to be a BIG ASS HORROR FILM. It was going to scare your bones out of your body. You were going to shit the bed at night, shivering under your sheets. This was a film from the director of THE SIXTH SENSE, and it was going to send you to an early grave with fright!

None of that is true. Yes, there are creepy moments in the film--after all, there is a subplot about monsters. But The Village is NOT a horror film. It is a drama and a love story with supernatural elements.

The film looks gorgeous. Say what you will about Shyamalan as a writer (and I agree, the man has drastically lost his edge in the writing department), he really knows how to shoot a film. He's assisted greatly by the breathtaking cinematography of the always fantastic Roger Deakins. Deakins makes each shot look like an Andrew Wyeth painting come to life.

The costumes are perfect. The sets realistic. The actors believable. And the soundtrack, by James Newton Howard with violin accompaniment by superstar violinist Hilary Hahn is heartbreakingly beautiful; one of the best scores I've ever heard, up there with Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' soundtrack for The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. To put it bluntly, The Village is a very good movie.

But there's another problem, besides the misleading marketing: the trademark Shyamalan Twist Ending.

At the time this movie came out, Shyamalan's name was synonymous with twist endings. The Sixth Sense, after all, had one of the biggest twist endings in film history. Shyamalan sort of got shoe-horned into this task; it seemed like he felt he HAD to give each film a twist ending, or else his fans would be disappointed.

The Village does have a twist ending; several, actually. The following is a SPOILER, but since the movie is eight years old, it shouldn't matter at this point.

Our first twist comes when we discover that there ARE no monsters. The town elders have been making them up to sort of the keep the townsfolk in line. Yet, when Ivy goes into the woods, she does indeed run into a monster. The monster however turns out to be Noah in a costume--it was Noah who was killing and skinning all the animals in town.

Then comes the even BIGGER twist. Through the entire film, we are made to believe these events are taking place in the past. It turns out that's not true at all--it's the present, and the elders have again pulled the wool over the younger townsfolk's eyes. They set up the village as a sort of experiment; a way to escape the horrors of the "real world."

The more you think about this twist, the dumber it seems, and I suspect this also played a part in derailing the film for a lot of people. But this twist, despite it's large implications, is presented in a very after-the-fact way. It doesn't really hold much bearing on the plot, so really it should be easy to get over it if you think it's dumb.

So, was The Village unjustly maligned? I think so. And now--years after its release--might be a perfect time to revisit the film without all the stigma. If you go into the film expecting more of a dramatic thriller than a shock-till-you-drop horror film, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Final Verdict (Give it a Second Chance or It Turns out it Really IS Bad!): Give it a Second Chance.

All Hallows Read

More Info

Want To See Something REALLY Scary?

special thanks to my good friend The End of Summer

THIS AINT NO GAME

Isn't it about time someone did a "gritty" film re-boot of Super Mario Bros.?? Think of the possibilities!

Possible Halloween Costume

My Brain Hurts: Dealing with Living Dead Press

In the last few months the internet has been exploding with stories about how Anthiny "Tony" Giangregori, "editor" and owner of Living Dead Press, is pretty much the most unprofessional small press owner in the history of planet earth.

Mandy DeGeit has an awesome piece about how Tony totally butchered her story, and then reacted like a complete tool when she questioned him about it. The post got so much attention that even super writer Neil Gaiman chimed in.

Since I feel it's important that writers stand up to Tony--who is a flat-out bully who threatens to beat people up if they talk bad about him--I figured it was time I share my own dealings with Living Dead Press.

A few years back, I had yet to be published--anywhere. I wanted nothing more than to have a piece published. So when I was put in contact with Tony Giangregori at Living Dead Press, I was overjoyed at the prospect of making it into a zombie anthology he was publishing. I knew nothing about Tony, or his seemingly endless (and terrible) zombie books. I was just happy for an opportunity.

But right from the start I noticed that Tony didn't seem "all there." First off, my full first name is Christopher, but I never go by that–I go by Chris, always. I signed my contract as “Chris”, I submitted the story under “Chris.”

Before the book went to publication, Tony sent me a proof and I saw my name listed as Christopher.

Now, obviously this isn't a huge deal, but the fact is that no one ever calls me "Christopher", and seeing my name like that sort of made it feel like it wasn't really MY story.

So I wrote Tony a very polite email saying essentially “If there is still time, could you possibly change my name to Chris? If not, no problem.”

He replied with an email in ALL CAPS, accusing me of not telling him beforehand I wanted to go by Chris and not Christopher–even though I had never used my full first name in any of our dealings. He seemed furious at me for even suggesting such a thing. I was about to respond and ask him just what the deal was, and then he sent another telling me it was fine and he fixed it.

I thought, "How odd." But I let it go.

Then there was an issue with my ending. My story involved zombie animals–feral cats to be precise. He wrote to me and said “I love the story but you need to add a HUMAN zombie at the end–people HATE animal zombie stories.” I wasn’t sure where he was getting that statistic from; I had never heard anything like that. A better way for him to phrase it would have been "I personally hate animal zombie stories." Instead he decided to make his opinion speak for the whole world. But at the time I was so excited and desperate to be published that I said “what the hell” and added a little extra bit to the end.

Next on the list of growing concerns was the total lack of publicity he generated for the book. Seeing as he was the publisher, and it was his publishing "house", it felt only natural that he should do some sort of publicity for the book--even if it meant sending free copies to horror review sites to see what they thought. He didn't do any of that. His attitude was "I have plenty of fans, and they will find my books."

Okay...fine. Whatever. I was still being published, and that was exciting!

Finally the day came. I got a copy of the book, and flipped to my story. The title wasn’t even centered on the page; it was clear someone had just hit “tab” a bunch of times rather than, you know, centering it. 

And things just got worse as I read. There were grammar and spelling mistakes that I did NOT make in my submitted copy. And then at the very end I saw he had added a whole section I did NOT write. And not only that, but it was a really BAD section totally not fitting the tone of the story. He had written almost an entire passage that had no right being in my story. Don't get me wrong--the story I wrote wasn't exactly on the level of Raymond Carver. But for him to so blatantly add things to it without even asking me made the whole thing feel cheap and false.

I was hurt more than I was angry. Why would he do this? I considered emailing him, but I had had such awkward dealings with him in the past that I just let it go, and never dealt with Living Dead Press again.

Tony is still putting out his books. He's only gotten worse with time. Back when he published me, he actually paid me (a very small sum, of course) and gave me a free copy of the book. I hear he doesn't do either of those things anymore. 

And he continues to attack people who question his skills--or lack thereof. Such threats also, for some strange reason, include his wife. He'll say things about how "My wife wants to have an angry talk with you!"

What the hell does his wife have anything to do with it? Why would SHE want to have an angry talk with someone? YOU'RE the one that screwed up.

So that is my little trip down memory lane. Since then I've been published in real publications, and the experiences have been rewarding. No one has added whole sections to my work, and no one has written back to me in an email in ALL CAPS. 

So to those struggling writers out there: beware. It's very easy to get published by Living Dead Press. And that's because they're just not very good. 

The Evil is Gone

art by Brandon Schaefer 

Review: A DANGEROUS METHOD

A Dangerous Method is Canadian Madman David Cronenberg's most recent film.

 It tells the (mostly) true story of the birth of psychoanalysis, and the relationships between Carl Jung, Sigmund Frued and Sabina Spielrein. Also there’s a lot of stuff about sex, and there is spanking, so you know you’re in for a good time.

Michael Fassbender, who continues to be both awesome and in every single movie that comes out now, is great as Jung and Aragorn Mortensen is a real treat as Frued, who is constantly smoking a cigar and is constantly bearded.

But the real stand-out here is Keira Knightley, who is most famous for being the British version of Natalie Portman and also being a wet blanket in those stupid Pirate movies.

Knightley is fantastic here, playing Spielrein as a tortured animal of a woman, all jutting jaws and choked words. Also she looks really good getting spanked.

The film is based on a play, which means there’s not much action, just people sitting around talking. Thankfully what they are talking about is really interesting, and the actors doing the talking are all very good. 

The only flaw is we don’t really learn anything about these people, with the exception of Spielrein. I guess since they were all REAL people we can just look them up on Wikipedia to find out what they were really like, but both Jung and Frued are sort of blank in this film, despite the good performances.

I love David Cronenberg and will continue to be excited for any movie he makes. However, there is a part of me that wishes he would get back to making the awesome monster porn movies of his glory days.

I give A Dangerous Method three and a half out of four Fassbender’s.