AN ODD BUT PLEASANT PAIRING: 'THE WICKER MAN' AND 'IN THE DARK HALF

I remember the first time I saw "The Wicker Man".  At the time I was in college, drunk on

Xmas break at a party upon which eve a bong made out of a watermelon was passed around like a surreal fruit blimp.  The cult movie I then watched which, though the butt of countless jokes, for various reasons (other than intoxication) stayed with me.  I mean sure the movie is funny... police dude who looks like Phil Collins' dad gets stuck on pagan island as the sacrificial lamb dupe only to be entrapped by Christopher Lee who wears a skirt... sorry KILT, I know I know I KNOW I am being culturally insensitive again.  Damn, those mandatory classes didn't take. 

Initially, as a youthful intoxicant, none of the film (other than the campy hilarity) really resonated with me other than I would totally sign up to live on some pagan island and dance around bonfires made out of republicans.  What did resonate with me after the years broke my spirit and I had to look at most things with more analysis than before, was the mythological base upon which the film was laid.  The lost child and the symbol of the rabbit, the belief in spirits and nature, the historical gore of what Romans describe the wicker man to be... it's not a surprise Christopher Lee sees this as his best film despite the same replaying clip of folk music in the background.   

Ok let's face it.  Foreign policy.  The Brits have their shortcomings.  Like cold pork pies, for example, stored for days/hours not in the fridge.  I mean how unsanitary is that?  And large masses caring about soccer.  Lord, I hate American football, but soccer makes our farcical dementia-inducing national pastime actually interesting by comparison.  And nobility.  How hilarious is that sensationalized borefest descending from the folks who had the most money and land 500 years ago.  At least in the states, we call a spade a spade, our nobility being... taaadaaa... the folks with the most money and land, not the Duchess of Cadburlingberrytshire.  I mean at least Madonna earned her holdings and title (Queen of Pop, richest pop star), wtf did the Duke of Pisswick do other than fall out of his mum's ass?  Note: British women also do not have vaginas, they have "fannys".  This has been documented by scientists and pornographers.

NEVERTHELESS the Brits have one thing we poor Colonials do NOT have, and that is a

superwealth of LORE.  It just so happens when you have relatively high population of the same folks in the same land for like a thousand years, you get a lot of weird myths and ghost stories because generally speaking, scary shit does down. Eventually, if the US of A doesn't get blown into space, we will be able to scare the marbles out of ourselves on film with ghosts of ancient times other than the Native Americans whose treasure trove of mythos has largely been exploited or ignored.  What Brits can do is the eerie thrilling horror tragedy that connects its lineage to tragedies of yore.       

*And speaking of yore, note: when I am talking about "The Wicker Man", I am of course referencing the original, not the confused remake starring Nick Cage. 

Point being, what made the movie great was the basis of myth. Without that underpinning, all you have is humans doing a bunch of crazy shit to each other.  Which we do all the time.  A well-meaning police officer who is equally endearing as he is annoying in this tale is subjected to the will of a culture much older and darker than his Christian god, reflecting the clash of religion that came to the British isles and the subsequent wars over which god or gods to believe in.  Also you have the hot chick "the landlooord's daughter" singing to the virgin policeman naked through the wall, which is both creepy and funny at the same time.  Her song was creatively remixed by "The Sneaker Pimps" if you are a fan of this movie.  

The terrifying commonality of old religions (which makes me sort of think it equally

cracked as the new ones) is that the ultimate sacrifice = flesh.  That the gods or god may very well be the giver of life and sun and spring, but that there is a dark face of this all-knowing creator that requires of us to give that means the most to us in order to please his/her/their/its will, which for whatever reason is flesh.  One may presume that the gods are definitely bar-b-cue fans.  In the end, however, you have to confront the dark side of what be humans have believed for thousands of years about forces larger than ourselves.  The characters of the island in "The Wicker Man", have resigned themselves and eventually embraced that darkness.        

That same black starry river flows underneath "In the Dark Half", even though the stories are poles apart, there is a nocturnal similarity between the two that made me connect them.  The plot revolves around this messed up adolescent girl named Marie whose homelife is in tatters and mind is full of fear.  Each day she runs to a concrete building in the middle of nowhere to perform various mysterious rituals, the purpose of which we will come to know only as we begin to understand the reasons for her cracked life.  She feels that tragedy befalls her primarily... because it does, like how we ask ourselves why Tom Cruise gets a private jet and the folks working to cure diseases and fight wars have to struggle.  Living in a low income neighborhood of what appears to be a smallish town, with a basket case for a mother and a crush for an adult single dad nextdoor neighbor, Marie lives in the awkward bracket between childhood and teenagerdom where we don't quite know who we are or even what we feel and almost everyone around us is not what they seem.  


Jessica Barden steals the show here: her character's pre-teen unpreparedness for the

sexual or substance conquests of her mates, denial/rebellion against aspects of life we come to accept but initially regard as unfair (because it is), and good heart are stunning.  As bad things get worse, this girl faces what many of us avoid for life because the question is too big: is there  always such a difference between intuition, and delusion?  Yes, we can certainly all define the terms using a dictionary or DSMV but we have all had those moments where we (as Stephen King would put it) "shine" a tad.  Moments, feelings, places, acts we cannot explain to anyone.  Part of being an adolescent, or rather the part that is terrifying, is the feeling that you are going through this experience alone.  While there may indeed be 1000 other kids in your high school, you experience the freshness of love, the intoxication of drugs and/ or sex, the pain of heartbreak and the first sour tastes of the catty cutthroat actual adult world all by yourself.  And in those moments, it is up to you to decide what's real, and how to act.  

This girl is more alone than most of us,  and living in a small town it becomes natural for her to sneak away into the forest, and to manifest herself there.  Part of that manifestation is the supernatural, paranormal, occult, or the age-old question: is it just insanity?  Note to reader: I ask myself that question all the freakin time. 

There are parallels in both of these movies and while I can't say there is a gigantic sacrificial burning man in the end of each, those parallels do speak over the glaring differences in mood and theme.  For instance, both begin with the loss of a child and the question of what happened to an innocent person.  Both pieces call into question why life has to be so cruel, and what if anything can we do to rectify that cruelty.  Parallels of child and adult lessons, the occult, communion with nature, and sacrifice come into play as both tales unravel.  In the end, that power of myth and history is there too, lurking and occasionally baring a white tooth or the glint of an eye from just beneath the surface.

Watch "The Wicker Man" first, then this modern piece.  Two very different tales with roots in the same old forest.

WTF "The Wicker Man" = 26
W = 10
T = 9
F = 7

WTF "In the Dark Half" = 21
W = 8
T = 7
F = 6

 

 

LOVELY MOLLY

 

If I could shorten this review to one word it would be: yum.

 

It occurred to me the other day, in dialog with another movie lover vis-à-vis the ideology and use of gore, that horror movies...or should I say GOOD horror movies...are like PASTA.  Go ahead and scoff at me, it's fine.  But I'm right.  Good horror is like good  pasta.  I shall explain: the componants of horror are varied, but you can reduce it down to two basic pieces that make up all of the horror related across time: substance and gore.  The substance is the plot, characters, mythos, wordplay, and so on - the pasta.  The gore...well, that's the sauce.  Let's face it, in most horror (especially in the olden days) someone gets a'sliced up or eaten or burned at a stake and so on.  A trueborn horror movie has the perfect blend of both substance and gore, pasta and sauce, those timeless ingredients of a masterpiece meal.

 

And oh is "Lovely Molly" a dish.  Directed by Eduardo Sánchez (director/co-writer of Blair Witch...I know, I had my reservations too...Blair Witch was a product of its time and a valiant effort but...kinda overbuzzed for what it was), this film is in my humble opinion exemplary of the expert combination of character acting, mythos, mystery, local color, shock-horror, and that final saucy sauce: blood'n'gutz.  I ended the film sated with the story, and sad that it didn't go on longer, in the same manner that one wishes a good book goodbye like some old friend.  The plot twists in this thing are also bad + ass.

 

Centered on the life of Molly (Gretchen Lodge), a low income mall janitor with a closet full of secrets behind her, the movie begins with the pastoral images of her quaint wedding to her truckdriver husband Tim (Johnny Lewis), attended by a girl we soon discover is her sister Hannah (Alexandra Holden).  Molly and Tim are that "even though we ain't got $" couple, as they move into their new home in a wooded area with quite a bit of land.  I'm not sure where this setting is supposed to be, or if they make references to it in the film, but it reminds me a lot of the poorer rural areas of upstate New York, though that was just how it resonated to me.  Since they do not have adequate funds to purchase their own home, they move into the empty house of Molly's parents, now deceased.  

 

What endeared me to Molly, Tim and Hannah is their struggle and the past darkness that they just don't talk about but still visibly grapple with.  These actors do not appear Hollywoodized.  They do not look like they have personal trainers and eight hours of make-up done just to look like a perfect person pretending to be imperfect.  The genius of these characters is the imperfections are plain, and painful to see. Put simply and without the political correct parlance of our time: they pull off poor people with just enough of a touch of white trash to convince you that they are representative of a huge portion of struggling Americans in the same grim chainsmoking minimum wage fucked up world.

   

That Tim and Molly have this seeming gift of a house should be a helping hand; instead the house is the harbinger of their undoing.  Haunted houses are one thing, but this story is far deeper and more convoluted.  Molly is witness to the flashbacks of her past experiences, many of which were blocked by trauma or child confusion.  This leads her to undergo a transformation into both the stereotypical hysterical female (the woman no one believes until it is too late) AND the evil woman (the woman we blame it all on) and the victim (the woman who must bear the sins of those who came before her).  That Molly combines all of these film/fiction personas is testament to the complexity of her character and the mastery Lodge demonstrates.  Without spoiling, there are several places in this film where I remarked to myself that the scenes must have felt very invasive and self-degradating or maybe even cathartic to execute. All I know is I don't think I could have done them. Lodge can and does.  Give her an award. Give her some good pasta.

 

 

The movie cleverly plays with use and disuse of the video camera, perhaps as a partial callback to the Blair Witch/reality/home movie simulation genre birthed into horror at the turn of the century.  It also cleverly plays with camera angles and sound - particuarly subtle sounds, even more so than other horror movies I have seen using just a touch of some element to cast a shadow here and there.

 

What we ultimately have is the combination of decent into madness and something else, the question that makes every single human being shiver at some point or multiple points in our brief little lives, whether it has to do with daydreams, fears, nightmares, suspicions, rumors, sickness, lies, the past, hallucinations, and so on.  That question: IS IT REAL?  And I think in the case of Lovely Molly, perhaps this question is too easily answered, which would be the one little stick of criticism I would float in here, but it isn't substantial enough to fuck up the movie.  If anything, that the movie does give you is a direction, in my case what I felt was a decisive departure from the camera flitting and somewhat arguable images of Blair Witch.

 

Lastly GORE.  Gore is like cursing or yelling.  Too much of either and people simply do not take you seriously.  Without going into it, the gore in this piece is choreographed with care and precision, and yes oh yes, there IS THAT MOMENT where you want to jump out of your seat and scream "Ohhhhh!  That did NOT just happen!  AND I crapped my pantaloons!"  (disclaimer: I did not just admit to crapping my pants) 

 

Which brings me to what always gets my hairz a'standing on end: mythos.  Molly's folly (teehee) is her exposure to that powerful element found in so many horror movies and is often underused and misused and misunderstood and undeveloped, etc.. In this case it's just elusive and mysterious enough that you want more, but don't feel like you've been cut short an explanation.  You know it: the sinister dark presence.  Hard to do right.  Elusive as fuck.  But when it's done right makes you scared of the ancient things on this earth.  Scared of of the rocks you stand on and the trees behind your house and the darkness at the basement floor.  That's horror people.  You can spin it any way you want it and argue until you are blue in the face that campy stuff is equally wonderful but it is movies like these that burn holes in your brain in the shape of questions marks.  Delicate, but effectual.  Yum.

 

WTF = 27 

W = 8

T = 9

F = 9

 

 

 

GRAVEYARD SHIFT (1987)

Welcome to 1987, where vampires have the outward appearance of soft-core pornographic villains, horror movies are accompanied by cheesetastical original sound scores, and plot lines are flimsier than the Styrofoam tombstones in "Plan 9 From Outer Space." This is the era that gave us the the critically abandoned, yet very enjoyable Graveyard Shift (aka Central Park Driver); companion film of a largely untapped host of horror movies that have only recently made the jump from VHS to DVD (or are still waiting). This title is not to be confused with the Stephen King work of the same name and time period, but I was startled to find how frequently this has occurred on the interwebs. Back on track.

I bought this VHS on one of the most historic horror binges I've ever made, being when my local West Coast Video (RIP) went out of business, soon to be followed by every remaining video store in America. This was the same brilliant run that scored me The Crazies (original obviously, I said score, not uberfail), Creepazoids, The Body Snatcher, and Creepshow 2, among others.This was years prior to it's barely capable DVD release in cheap DVD bin hell. Anyway, I had never heard of or cared to rent this title before the store went under, but I am exceedingly glad to have discovered Graveyard Shift in West Coast's final act.

In essence, this film deals with a poorly advised love affair between Stephen, a modern-day taxi-driving vampire, and Michelle, a newly discovered to be terminally ill music video director in the Big Apple. Let me assure you, things are as dysfunctional as they might sound at first thought, but even more bizarre when Michelle's estranged husband gets involved in the love triangle. The casual ridiculousness of the vampire underworld depicted in New York City is definitely worth the ride; with all of it's accompanying gratuitous violence and nudity. Stripper vampires slashing dude's throats in sleazy alleys and hot vampire cops moonlighting central park? Shit, you had me at stripper. But in all seriousness, let's face it, fans of horror near and far are no stranger to the fact that even not so subtly delivered sex, violence, and similar exploitations can carry a cheesier horror movies to the upper echelon of it's group. Hell, Sam Raimi made a career out of it!

This film doesn't pretend to be something that it's  not, and this is precisely what allows it to succeed as a horror film, albeit a cheesy one. Graveyard Shift succeeds purely on style, guts (literally and figuratively), atmosphere, and rhinestones.

Although the lead roles are decent in their portrayals, the cast is barely capable where it needs to be, and absurdly below capable beneath that. Fortunately, cheesy late-80's vampire films don't require ensemble casts; in fact they encourage the opposite, with positive results! (See Lost Boys, Fright Night).

For example, not only does the film have copious amounts of cheesetastic soundtrack, but it also delivers an appropriate amount of atmosphere and action to make up for any shortcomings in the film's engineering. Graveyard Shift's sets and lighting are creative and well done, which lends to the fantastical elements of the story. This is reminiscent of Suspiria, albeit less magnificent.

Stephen's attempts to not only keep his belly full and bills paid, but  most importantly, keep his heart from being broken, staked, or both prove ultimately satisfying.This film is definitely worth a watch to the moderate to experienced level horror nerd; which I suspect you may be if you've made it here. 

Although this should not be confused with an accomplishment (See CHUD II, Ghoulies 2, I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, etc), Graveyard Shift was awarded a sequel, which clearly puts it above those that were so laughable as to bar any further sequels, prequels, or the like (ex: Hellgate). I don't know why I feel the need to bolster this film's credentials, it's a quasi-pornographic vampire horror love story filmed with performance art lighting; it speaks for itself.

WTF =15

W - 3 (shallow as a pot hole, but doesn't pretend to be otherwise)
T -5 (delivered the bacon, given it's budget)
F - 7 (a good mix of shock, awe, atmosphere, 80s cheese, and lust)

pseudo-pornographic vampire bite

TRAILER - 1987