I have always loved the gothic subgenre. Its dark and twisted nature has held me in a chokehold since I was a kid. Horror, romance, whatever larger genre the word “gothic” attached itself to…I’ve always been 100% here for it. That said, through the years I have certainly asked myself whether or not my attraction to this subgenre was…healthy. While the Magic 8 Ball in my brain occasionally responded with a rather impolite “outlook not so good,” I never quit being interested in the gothic media landscape. Healthy or not, I was transfixed. In fairness to gothic”ness”, it is a subgenre that shamelessly displays its dysfunctionality on its voluminous pitch black taffeta sleeves. It doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. I find that to be quite respectable.
Indeed, gothic horror, gothic romance, gothic “insert the larger genre here” doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that its basic premise will always lie within stories about fucked up people with fucked up problems and a severe lack of control over their situations. To make matters worse, the viewer/reader will almost always end up hideously heartbroken for one or more characters due to the dramatic beauty and sadness that are par for the course within a gothic narrative.
Perfect examples of this can be seen in just about every iteration of Frankenstein that has ever been made, from literature to screen, every iteration of Rebecca that has ever been made, from literature to screen, and every iteration of The Haunting of Hill House that has ever been made, from literature to screen. Obviously, the quality of some versions are better than others and some exude more camp than others but the skeleton of gothic”ness” remains the same. And I love it all. Dysfunction be damned.
But then I saw a film a few weeks ago that turned my world around and upended my conception of what was possible with gothic horror. This film took all my previously held concepts of gothic storytelling as a slightly damaging or damaged storytelling device and threw them out the window. I saw a film that was so genuinely important that it couldn’t be ignored or denied. This film was the New Zealand film, Mārama (2025).
Much like what I wrote about Blood Quantum, this movie takes horror genre tropes and clichés (specifically gothic horror in this case) and flips them in order to make bold and vital statements about cultural identity and the terror of colonialism.
Mārama (2025) was written and directed by Taratoa Stappard. A filmmaker of Māori descent, he noted that he made this film to honor and remember the women in his family. He has also spoken of plans to make more films on this theme, which delights me to no end. At the time of this post, Mārama is available to stream on Shudder, and I firmly recommend viewing it. Multiple times. Not only is it visually stunning, but the performances are phenomenal and the story itself is remarkable. I’ve never seen a movie like this and doubt I ever will again (unless Stappard fulfills his movie-making promise). It is horrifying, heartbreaking and infuriating. It is other level in its high caliber filmmaking and brutal honesty.
It does the British no favors. The manner in which it portrays their sheer indifference to cultural heritage destruction is wild. And completely on point. The best and worst thing about Mārama is how realistic it feels and comes across.
This film is challenging and a true horror film in every sense of the word.
Brief Synopsis:
A Māori woman named Mary Stevens receives a letter from a man in Yorkshire, England who claims to know something about her family. In true gothic fashion, once the lady arrives at said location, she is told by Nathaniel Cole, the master of the house, that the man who wrote the letter is now dead. She reluctantly accepts a position at Cole’s estate as a governess for a young girl living there, mostly based on the fact that this girl speaks te reo Māori, Mary’s native language. However…strangely…so does Nathaniel Cole. Mary soon discovers that this mysterious house is festooned with Māori cultural artifacts, including a wharenui (traditional Māori communal meeting house) that has been shipped all the way from New Zealand to Yorkshire and is simply sitting in the backyard. It is by this building that Mary reveals her real (Māori) name to her young charge as Mārama. While their relationship building is quite positive, the brightness of that moment darkens quickly and the story gets bad from there and a lot more bloody.
I hesitate to include too many spoilers as this is a film that needs to be seen and experienced. The opulence of the gothic aesthetic plays monumental havoc with the savage flashbacks and psychic visions that Mārama experiences throughout the film. These images, seen only by Mārama and the viewers, lay bare the damage that British colonialism has caused the Māori people in no uncertain terms.
Traumatic and unquestioningly cruel, what we see through Mārama’s visions leave us no room to wonder what the relationship between the British and the Māori ever was but it does leave many questions about why this mysterious house has so many Māori treasures in it, including the wharenui and the little girl who fluently speaks te reo Māori.
Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse…they do. And when I say they get worse? THEY GET SO MUCH WORSE.
This will be the only scene that I will spoil. But it’s a big scene to me and I sobbed and cheered and gasped. I’ve never had a scene in a horror film produce so many sounds from me in such a short span of time. To call it brilliant would belittle its sheer power. It might well be one of the most important scenes in modern horror cinema.
Up until this point the film had a slightly supernatural edge with Mārama’s various flashbacks and psychic visions (although most were clearly trauma-induced so not supernatural at all), but this scene introduced the stone-cold reality and barbarous nature of colonialism. Every shot, every line of dialogue was real as fuck, and as such…it hit HARD.
It is a party scene- the birthday party for Nathaniel Cole, the master of the house, Mārama’s employer- and her presence has been requested. She has even been told what to wear. When she comes down to the celebration she sees a friend of Cole’s, another British man named Jack Fenton. She is shocked at the meeting. Not only does he, like Cole, speak her language, but he has tā moko tattoos, traditional Māori facial tattoos. At first she thinks he’s a just a drunk creep, but then he does the unthinkable and the absolutely unforgivable.
Jack stands up in front of the whole party and puts on a dancing and singing performance parodying the Māori people. He sings a song that begins by celebrating Captain Cook (without whom British colonialism of Indigenous peoples would have been impossible) and concludes by belting out lyrics centering on the rape of Māori women, all while wearing what appears to be a cartoonish version of Māori dress. It’s one of the most horrifying displays of misogyny and colonialism I have ever witnessed cinematically. The crowd, all white mid-Victorian folk, laugh gregariously, enjoying the presentation immensely and cheering Jack on with drinks and huge applause.
But the tension in the room is real. Mārama is standing in the corner, burning with emotion. She has fully divested herself of the Mary Stevens identity that she arrived to England with and it is clear that she now sees herself as the free and proud Māori woman she is. Not only is she disgusted with what she has just witnessed from this fetishizing exploitative white man, she is furious.
And so she does exactly what any proud Māori woman would do in that circumstance: she challenges him to fight by performing a haka, a Māori ceremonial dance. It is beautiful and arresting and I’ve never seen it matched in horror cinema. The closest thing I could think of that held that kind of vibe was the build-up to and unleashed fury from Sissy Spacek as Carrie White in the prom scene of Brian DePalma’s Carrie (1976). And while this scene is certainly connected to that kind of energy it is also layered differently as it is not just coming from being a woman who has been done wrong systemically, it’s coming from being a colonized woman, who has been done wrong culturally and historically which brings in entirely different traumas and experiences of oppression.
As Mārama is concluding her haka, Jack understands what she is doing, as he has some cultural comprehension. So he looks terrified. But the rest of the partygoers think that her reaction, her haka, is simply “part of the performance” and they laugh even harder. At her. At her challenge to Jack. She has told him exactly what she wants to do to him in no uncertain terms but the white audience doesn’t understand as they speak only English.
Again, since watching Mārama, De Palma’s Carrie has been on my mind. The whole transition between Margaret White telling Carrie, “They’re all going to laugh at you” to the shots of the whole auditorium of teens laughing at Carrie…that humiliation. That pain. It’s so very real. And Mārama’s humiliation and pain after that racist performance and the laughter? That’s about as real as you can get. While I don’t see many analogies narratively between these two films, there are certain threads that run parallel. Certainly no one laughs at Carrie White as a result of her cultural expressions or her being an Indigenous person, but they do laugh at her because they don’t understand her, which is essentially what happens to Mārama in that room, both culturally and linguistically.
Thankfully, both movies end with (what I feel) is proper catharsis for our heroines.
I’m not going to expand upon the way Mārama concludes as I REALLY REALLY want you to watch it for yourself. But I will say that it’s bloody and glorious and it’s a hellova revenge film.
What I love about Mārama (besides everything) is that it pays significant attention to colonial history, cultural detail and it doesn’t play around or make things soft. It’s a genuine horror film and stays true to it’s gothic horror roots. But it complicates gothic horror! It troubles the genre perfectly because gothic anything is historically a very white area and this film is very much not. I love that. We desperately need more films like this.
Finally, much like Blood Quantum, Mārama is yet another horror film that makes the wholly cogent point that English is actually the foreign language. It is pure historical fact. Just like Mic’maq in Blood Quantum, te reo Māori was being spoken in New Zealand far before English was. This may seem like a small detail, but it is huge.
After Obsession left such a bad impression on me, I have decided to go a different direction with this series.
Instead of deconstructing why I dislike the term elevated horror (which has been done so many times already by plenty of good people), I have decided to use the term elevated in a different sense: to actually ELEVATE a collection of radically underseen and under-appreciated horror works that deserve discussion, exploration and recognition.
When it comes to horror, the bottom line has traditionally been set at “what is the scariest thing you can think of experiencing?” With very few exceptions, that award has gone to the realm of the fantastic. From undead slashers and invasive serial killers, from deep dives into the supernatural and/or the occult to your standard borderline scifi creature features, horror has provided plenty of good scares. And while there is nothing wrong with these categories and I love all of them, the hill that I will 100% die on is that colonization and its accompanying trauma is the most terrifying and horrific experience that a human being could possibly undergo.
This month I sit firmly on the side of highlighting a certain area of horror cinema that has (thankfully) entered the horror canon unapologetically without taking no for an answer. Using classic genre tropes and rhetoric, these movies explore critically important and highly ignored narratives while intentionally reappropriating horror elements much in the way that the cultures and peoples discussed in these films have had themselves and their own cultures reappropriated. These films fucking rule.
And it makes me so. Grateful. For. Horror. Horror is probably the only genre that allows for the full-blown no-holds-barred graphic nature of this historical experience to be fully explored without compromise. And when it comes to exposing colonialism, its hateful nature, players and behavior, there should be NO COMPROMISE. So that said…I will warn you: if you’re not ready for some pure unadulterated anger and perhaps some of the most horrific rage-driven violence you’ve ever seen, these are not the films for you. But maybe they are. And maybe you need them regardless.
So let’s start.
This week was Indigenous Peoples’ Day in the US so I want to discuss a genuinely striking film from 2019 called Blood Quantum. This film was written and directed by Jeff Barnaby, a First Nations/Mi’kmaq filmmaker who was born on a reservation in Listuguj, Quebec. Blood Quantum takes White Colonialism to task for its treatment of Indigenous peoples throughout the years via the classic horror tropes of zombies and their relationship to viral illness/plague. And when I say it takes White Folks to task…IT DOES THE JOB, PROPER.
In all honesty, I wanted to revisit this film before I wrote about it because it is so heavy-duty, layered and, frankly, concurrently violent and beautiful. But I also wanted to publish this as close to Indigenous Peoples’ Day as possible. So choices have been made. If this article doesn’t do Blood Quantum justice, I apologize. I just want people to watch it.
I had heard good things about this film for a long time. I don’t know why it took me…6-7 years to watch it? But when it was released, everyone I know was raving about it. I wish I had seen it then so I could’ve had some interesting conversations.
I genuinely wonder what your Average White Guy Horror Film Fan thought. I hope he was uncomfortable. I hope he was REALLY uncomfortable. This does a lot of things that a film like Get Out kinda…was just too accessible and nice to do. This film is. Not. Fucking. Nice. It does not play. And that’s a beautiful thing. But at the same time, it made me cry due to its sensitive character portrayals and genuine investigations into human relationships. This is a well-written film and brutal as fuck. It’s 100% my jam.
So let’s start with the title because, well, it plays a huge role in the plot and has historical significance.
a concept created by white settlers that refers to the amount of so-called “Indian blood” that an individual possesses. Blood quantum appears as a fraction and is “calculated” based on an individual’s family tree. Rooted in eugenics, the concept lacks any scientific basis…Blood quantum is a stand-in device for lineage imposed by the U.S. federal government to disempower Indigenous people and separate them from their lands, resources, culture, identities, languages, and futures…
This may sound familiar to those who are familiar with US Colonialist history. If you’ve heard of the “One Drop” rule for African-Americans (having “one drop” of African-American blood automatically made you Black) it was a similar mythical instrument of racial identification. And, as we can rightly see, both were based on completely whacked out White People “Racial Science” and they were both weaponized as horrific tools of colonialism and White Supremacy, allowing for entire populations of people to endure more pain and suffering than can any white person could possibly imagine.
But blood quantum has become more complex as the years moved on and that certainly comes into play in the film. Many tribes still use this colonial construct to decide who is accepted as part of the tribe and gauge “Indianness” and lineage. But as this interview with Elizabeth Rule has noted, much like Barnaby’s film, many times it’s now used simply as a tool of endurance. Rule states,
The thing that I’ve found to be most interesting about both arguments — in support and against blood quantum requirements — is the language of survival. So, lineal descendant supporters think about high memberships through the lens of existence as a resistance right. And so there’s a desire to build up tribes’ numbers and capacity in order to survive and perpetuate the tribe. On the other side, those who defend blood quantum requirements also evoke this language of survival, and they look upon those blood quantum minimums as a way to preserve an already existing closed community that’s very close and … usually very culturally connected.
So, the film’s title. It’s already loaded. Without most of the audience knowing exactly how loaded it is.
SPOILERS AHEAD:
The film begins, as horror films usually do, on a perfectly normal day…Until it isn’t. We are introduced to Traylor, a First Nations police chief sheriff on the Red Crow Reservation.
After encountering dead animals coming back to life and some serious chomping action from violent criminals and other random white people, Traylor gives up on passing this whole thing off as a Bad Monday. Naturally, the film escalates but not in a conventional manner. We jump forward to 6 months after this No Good, Very Bad Day and the Red Crow reservation is now an apocalyptic wonderland, looking quite a bit like something out of Mad Max or a George Romero film.
But it gets better. The big reveal comes next. We discover that there have been no infections within the Red Crow tribe even though people like Traylor were bitten by the infected. As it turns out, the Indigenous genetics of the First Nations people made the Red Crow immune to the bites and the resultant plague that “turned” people. But other people didn’t get so “lucky.” Most of the population (read: white people) do not have that genetic safety code. And these people periodically come to the compound begging and pleading for safe space and shelter. What a conundrum.
AND WHAT A FUCKING PREMISE. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The interracial relationship between Traylor’s son, Joseph, and his white (very pregnant) girlfriend makes life very complicated for, well, everyone. She’s the only white person who lives there and is somewhat (and I do mean somewhat) accepted. I could write an entire blog just on her positionality, white privilege and non-comprehension of the whole situation.
Then there’s Traylor’s other son, Lysol, raised in foster homes and burning with anger at not only white people but the world in general. He’s a genuinely fascinating character and represents colonial damage and trauma in a whole different way (which I will hit on later) but ends up having a massive impact on the narrative and everyone in it.
Blood Quantum is an exquisitely layered and complex film bursting at the seams with the full-throttle gore and excitement of a proper zombie film. The FX are no joke and they do not cost the plot anything. While I would certainly be a bit annoyed if people only watched it for that and straight up ignored the immense dexterity with which Barnaby wove a properly intelligent anti-colonial narrative into an electrifying horror film…I guess I would just be glad people are watching it. After all, I don’t see how you could, in all seriousness, call Blood Quantum just a “zombie film.” Most of it is in Mi’kmaq. That linguistic jump alone is a massive shift and just as important as the title.
The majority of viewers will view this as a “foreign language” or see this as qualifying as a “foreign language” title, but I would like to correct this. English is technically the “foreign language” in Blood Quantum. Mi’kmaq is a living language and has been spoken in North America (primarily in Canada’s Atlantic Provinces but going all the way down to Maine) for thousands and thousands of years. Far longer than white settlers have occupied Canadian or US soil. There is a mix of English and Mi’kmaq in the film but Mi’kmaq carries clear dominance. As I watched Barnaby’s film and it became more and more apparent that Mi’kmaq carried more power than English, I cried. I love horror films so much but to have a genre film actively rip apart the horrors of colonialism in a language that has actively survived the terrorism of white supremacy was a very emotional experience. This wasn’t the only time I cried. It brought out a lot of feelings, even amidst the blood and guts.
Most zombie media (especially that which directly references plague and sickness) facilitates ruminations on the self, identity and relations to community and future survival. That’s kinda a no-brainer, pun intended. And, of course, Blood Quantum is no different. But meditations on survival and community from the perspective of a colonized population do not hit the same way as a the frightened bleatings of privileged white folks. It’s not that I don’t have sympathy for General Zombie Film People, it’s just that white privilege exists all day every day and when hordes of white zombies are trying to invade a First Nations reservation? It changes everything. Not only does everything go up to 11 in terms of socio-critical relevance, but it becomes a different film. It becomes a re-imagining of past trauma when white people did the exact same thing just…without zombie-ism as an excuse. And bless Barnaby for this.
There is a lot of discussion amongst the Red Crow about whether the compound should allow white people in and whether they should save white people. Watching this conversation happen on film was incredible. But it was also gut-wrenchingly sad. That it should take a zombie invasion to revert proper agency and power to the very people whose land it was to begin with just gutted me (also pun intended, I guess).
And yes, these conversations about human decency and survival were real, especially when they dealt with children. But for me, I kept thinking: this is a First Nations community that has worked like hell to make themselves safe in the middle of an unsafe time and they are able to be safe from white folks for the first time in history. Why should they help white people?? If situations were reversed, what would have happened? Would white people have helped the Red Crow? I doubt it. As many zombie films/tv shows have shown, white folks are very much out for themselves in survival situations. But I guess that was part of the point.
Charlie, Joseph’s pregnant girlfriend, is white and (as such) tries to plead for “everyone” to survive. But it’s hard to watch her do that. Knowing that just outside the walls there are thousands of hungry and detrimental beings who are part of a population that has been trying to kill the people within the walls of the compound since the day they arrived on North American soil. White people in this film are zombies and diseased but…haven’t we always been? Even if we don’t have an actual “plague”? Isn’t colonialism a sickness? And, yes, I do say “we” because I am white and I cannot remove myself from this problem just because I am against the kyriarchy and am a fundamentally anti-colonialist individual.
I’m spending a lot of time on this because it hit me hard. Especially since it discusses land/space/property and safety so explicitly, things that First Nations people have never had the luxury of. The eventual allowance of a few white people in to try to save them was done out of altruism but it ultimately felt suspicious to me and echoed the history of white people taking advantage of Indigenous people and their kindnesses.
Ultimately, however, the story doesn’t go wrong because of the centuries-old obvious hate from white people, it gets undone by someone on the inside. Which is the most frightening aspect of the film. The hatred and rejection that Traylor’s son Lysol (given name Alan) has internalized (from all sides) causes him to act out in the most violent of manners, primarily against his own tribe, destroying everything and everyone in his wake.
I couldn’t help but think that this was also a comment on colonialism as well. Lysol, the product of foster homes, was did not receive the same sort of care and love that Joseph got, turning out bitter and fiercely angry. He was not the same kind of person as the rest of the people on the reservation. A troublemaker, into drugs and drinking, he comes off as a genuinely unhappy and hateful person, becoming more hostile as the film goes on. He vigorously repudiates Charlie for being white and vocally rejects her interest towards saving anyone outside the tribe, defending himself by saying that it was only to keep the Red Crow reservation safe.
Lysol’s past created him and, once again, I think we can turn to colonialism for an explanation. There is a tragically large historical precedent for First Nations children being removed from their families and getting placed in Foster Care. Blood Quantum takes place in 1981, putting Lysol smack dab in what is called the Sixties Scoop. This horrific collection of official policies in Canada forcibly took thousands and thousands of Indigenous children from their families and placed them in non-Indigenous homes, sometimes as far away as the UK, Australia or Germany. Suffice to say, they did not usually get treated well nor were they allowed to explore their culture.
While Blood Quantum takes place in Quebec, the Sixties Scoop affected all provinces and the discourse on Lysol as a foster child is real and so is the trauma he exhibited. Does it make his villain turn right? No. Does it make it understandable? Hell yes. Can we still look to and blame the horrors of colonialism and terrible whiteness for the terrifying conclusion to Blood Quantum?
ABSOLUTELY.
Blood Quantum asks a lot of important questions of the viewer and I believe that, unlike other, more mainstream horror works, postcolonial horror films give answers. Whether people are ready to listen is another story. I believe strongly that horror is the perfect genre to question and investigate difficult subject matter. I am so grateful for Blood Quantum.
Last night I watched Damian McCarthy’s 2024 film, Oddity. Needless to say, I absolutely loved it. As a horror film (it gave me a jump scare! SO rare for me!!), as a women-in-horror-film and as what I saw as this violent bridge between toxic masculinity and domesticity in cinema.
Obviously domesticity has played a massive role in film over the years, but with this series I want to examine how there is a preponderance of films that align men’s need for power and their ownership for a home/house. I will take this and weigh it up against women’s safety issues and delve into a variance of thoughts that I have on heteronormativity and domestic lives, class, and what consists of “home,” “safety,” and “power.”
Generally, I hate spoilers and I don’t do them. But since this is more of an academic project (and they don’t care a whit about spoilers) I’ll just give you the upfront right now: There will be spoilers. So if you care about those things, see the film before you read each of these pieces.
On to Oddity and my need to start exploring this topic, especially now.
I’ve been trying to watch more films recently and this one was on my list for a while. I have also been thinking about concepts of “home” a lot so it was pretty odd that they ended up integrating these things within one work. But that happens sometimes. Ah, film, you therapeutic bitch! You know exactly what I need sometimes!
Anyway, all that aside, the story isn’t overly preoccupied with the theme that I’m preoccupied with. It’s primarily centered on connections- familial, supernatural, and the toxicity shared between two supposedly “sane” men who work in a clinic for the mentally ill.
Dani and Darcy are twin sisters (both played by the remarkable Carolyn Bracken). Dani, married to psychiatrist Ted Timmis (Gwilym Lee), has just moved out to the countryside to the couple’s new home which (because Horror Movie Rules Say So) has very little cell phone service. This is, however, completely acceptable in the film. It’s that good. We learn from a short exposition by Timmis to his clearly slimy coworker Ivan (Steve Wall), that he’s quite into his new home.
Then Dani dies. But the film does not exactly tell us how. Which is excellent. It hints at it through a thoroughly terrifying scene starring one of Dr. Timmis’ recently-released mental patients, Olin Boole (Tadgh Murphy), but it does what truly great films do- gives breadcrumbs of information, not entire slices.
In a film like this, you really don’t want a sandwich. You just want continual tastes. And that’s what McCarthy does. He builds it like a delicate dollhouse; you’re almost afraid to take a breath with each new scene revelation. It doesn’t unravel, it builds. Even up until the very conclusion. What a film.
Darcy, who is blind, travels to the remote countryside house around the time of Dani’s birthday for various reasons, such as her now former brother-in-law suddenly has a new girlfriend living at the house less than a year after Dani’s murder. So Darcy’s more than a little curious. Unfortunately for Darcy, this doesn’t work out well.
I don’t want to spill the precise details. I want you to see the film.
What I DO want to talk about is ideas of home, domesticity and safety within the context of Oddity.
Concepts of mental balance are of prime significance in the film as are the strength or veracity of relationships.
Dani’s last call to Darcy literally states, “We are connected.” While that is meant to refer to cell phone status, it means far more. Not only are they twins, they are both women. In addition, Darcy is a psychic and medium, maintaining supernatural alliances as well. There are a plethora of connections reflected through this one sentence relayed over voice message. Played multiple times within the film, it is done so in order to emphasize that this is one of the only true and reliable relationships that exists.
*major spoilers start here*
Our poor murder victim is unable to see the reliable relationships in her life. This is a direct result of the primary unreliable one: her husband. As we come to find out later, he is the cause of her death. But she has been warned- again, through someone who she sees as an unreliable source: Olin Boole. Dani does not think Darcy is well, as she confers to her husband in the beginning of the film, asking him to see if she is willing to see a doctor. He agrees. If Dani doesn’t trust her own sister’s state of mind, why would she trust the warning of one of her husband’s former patients?
She doesn’t, of course, until it is too late and horror, literally, enters her newly purchased home.
Dr. Timmis is more than a little consumed with this house. He keeps it after Dani’s murder, going so far as to move his “new” girlfriend Yana (Caroline Menton) into it. She complains how uncomfortable it is and tells him she cannot/will not reside there. Begrudgingly, her boyfriend tells her that he will return to her apartment in the city with her, but it is clear that he is dragging his heels more than a little on this statement.
In a conversation he has with his colleague Ivan, he discusses the meaning behind the house, how much he adores it and how it holds a great deal of value for him. To be fair to the doctor, he’s telling the absolute truth. He values the hell out of that house. Enough, apparently, to order multiple women to be murdered in the confines of the structure and wish to continue to reside there.
What is the power and/or the strength of this house? What is the draw for him? While it might be argued otherwise, I propose that Oddity is not a haunted house film. While horror films around homes generally aggregate around ghosts/hauntings, House Fights Back, or some variation of these themes, Damian McCarthy’s work is something else entirely.
This film is a deep gaze into what happens when a man pours the poison of domestic violence and toxic masculinity into a building to live in. Instead of allowing the space “house” to grow into the warm creation of “home,” this hand-built environment has devolved into a supernatural reflection of Dr. Timmis’ own brutality. He is left alone with the trappings of his kills and a cold dark vehicle for existence. But, McCarthy does inquire in that lovely final scene, for how long?
There are a variety of other things to examine within this work- its references to the Jewish Golum, different ghost stories, etc. But I find ideas of reliability, mental stability, domesticity and connectivity most interesting.
The male “sane” characters- Timmis and Ivan- are remarkably unbalanced and figures of white male normalcy. The released “insane” patient, Olin Boole, is terrifying and appears disfigured and monstrous. Yet he is one of the most balanced characters in the narrative. Oddity is truly a film that is about the idea that perhaps not everything is as it seems. Domestic bliss is, perhaps, not as blissful. The charming ideal husband? Perhaps not so charming and ideal after all. But, of course, as in all heteronormative plots, the wife is generally the very last to know.
The bloodshed that transpires due to Timmis’ house obsession is very much about male-domination. While domesticity and concepts of “home and hearth” are attributed regularly to the feminine, ownership and spatial control are traditionally male concepts. Timmis wants the house to beHIS, he rejects the feminine- all the feminine. Dani, Darcy…even Yana in the end. That kind of control is the paradigm of traditional toxic masculinity and it is explored brilliantly within this film. It is also undermined and shown to be dangerous and horrifying by the finale (which I will not spoil for you).
While Dani is clearly preparing a home at the beginning, Timmis doesn’t give a shit. He just likes that he has this new house. It’s just a thing to him, not a larger way of life or an evolving connection with a partner. Obviously, the domestic violence (exacted through someone else’s hands) proves that. He wants to clear the way so he can Have What Belongs to Him
Oddity is a solid film with brilliant performances and really creative work. The women in it are unique, showing a realness that is ultra-rare. But the underlying fear that the men show of losing their manhood is a great touch, especially when underscored (and ultimately outdone) by strong women who are almost all characterized as disabled. Darcy has had cancer and is now blind and it is intimated that Yana was actually a patient in the mental institution. But my question at the end of the film is…what is the real disability?
I have named this series after the Elvis Costello song, “Home is Anywhere You Hang Your Head,” so I will leave you with that. Until next time….
Writing calmly about Mattie Do’s The Long Walk is difficult. But sometimes you just have to be honest and shout (digitally) about a damn fine film. In all honesty, what I want to do is grab people by the shoulders like a crazed John Carpenter character and say: have you seen the way to horror? It is Mattie Do! But I’m not that creepy and there’s a pandemic on. I will say to you, reader: Mattie Do is everything I want from a horror filmmaker.
Thanks to LAAPFF for programming this film. While Mattie Do is California-born, she lives and works out of Laos and is Laos’ first (and only) female filmmaker (as of the date of this review). Platforming her work is critical to women in genre-filmmaking and the Laotian cinema world in general. The LAAPFF has featured a litany of incredible films all by, for and about Asian women. Effective on regional and global levels, it is a continual joy and inspiration to watch and write about these films. My great hope is that these films play everywhere, not just in festivals. Everyone should see this work.
I like to know as little about a film as possible before I see it. I call it the “Tabula Rosa approach.” No trailer, no reviews, no reading of descriptions or reviews. Genre & country are usually enough for me and occasionally if someone I know says: YEAH, that was awesome, I listen to them.
All I knew about The Long Walk before watching was that it was Laotian and a horror movie. I am BEYOND glad that was all I knew. Deftly written by Chris Larsen and hauntingly lensed by Matthew Macar, Mattie Do’s direction makes this movie a genuine force to be reckoned with.
I’m going to try to keep this as spoiler-free as possible. I don’t want to say too much. Honestly?
JUST SEE THE DAMN MOVIE. IT’S LIKE NOTHING ELSE YOU’VE SEEN BEFORE.
Admittedly, there are some aspects to this movie that make it a subjective hole-in-one for me. So here are a few of my personal sweet spots and why The Long Walk is definitely one of those films that was “made for me” but may not be everyone’s film.
First of all, it has the “told through a kid’s eyes” aspect. I love films like that. Germany: Year Zero (Roberto Rosselini, 1948), Come & See (Elem Klimov, 1985), and Forbidden Games (René Clément, 1952) are all films told through the perspective of a child and films that I consider favorites. They are also some of the. Most. Disturbing. Films. Ever. While this film isn’t Klimov-level, it certainly holds its own and the way Mattie Do utilizes the child’s perspective in this film was a good call. Her sensitivity to innocence and betrayal was perfectly balanced, depicting the kind of confusion and discomfort only a child can feel.
The tragic life of the young boy (played exquisitely by Por Silatsa) is certainly a story we’ve seen before, but it is in the telling that the dynamism becomes real. Do’s regional specifications and temporal involvements of modernization are what drive this part of the film. What would be a simple dysfunctional family story is transformed into grounded work and distinct circumstances in small town Laotian life.
The Old Man (Yannawoutthi Chanthalungsy) is one of the great new figures in modern horror cinema. Chanthalungsy’s performance is just mind-blowing. I am desperate for more people to watch this film so they meet him (and, selfishly, so we can talk about his narrative!). Rarely has such a calming character led me on such a beautiful and horrific ride. Inspiring empathy, anger, nausea, pity and frustration, this is a fucking horror movie in every sense of the word.
The Long Walkis a meditation on ghosts (personal and supernatural), death (natural and not-so-natural) and concepts of growth and stagnation. The underlying narrative of technology in the Laotian countryside plays a critical role, upping the ante and bringing different kinds of monstrosities to the landscape. This language might not be making it sound sexy, so like- if you need that kind of review or recommendation? Let me reassure you- this is a scary and messed-up film!
Playing with ideas of horror and science fiction with skillful fluidity, The Long Walk will make genre-rule-obsessed viewers uncomfortable as hell.
To those viewers: Concede the fact that fantastic cinema can work within and between genres. Genres are like gender: fluid as fuck and that’s how they SHOULD be. To produce quality art like The Long Walk, you need to be able to be slippery while maintaining suspense, terror, and the right to whip out OMGWTF moments at the right time.
And I live for those shifts when they are done well. This was absolutely an exercise in How To Do It. Every Western filmmaker who tries (and fails) should take some classes from this film. Big ups on this. It wasn’t exploitative, it was smooth, and it kept on rocking the film. That third act. Hot damn. I shouted at my screen: “OH hell no. What????? No way. Shiiiiiit.” On the other hand, my cat then went into the other room. He may not be a fan.
Finally, while the film features men as the protagonists what hit me hard was that their stories were actually entrance points to a larger exploration of women and women’s experiences. Like horror is wont to do, The Long Walk viciously reveals some of the worst parts of humanity. But it does so in a nuanced and complex way. A road trip of masculinity and growth, this movie takes a scalpel to gender issues and power structures, ripping those bodies open like a drunk mortician, allowing us to revel in the pure unadulterated pain, joy and liberation that exudes from that screen.
Part of theLAAPFF, this film can be seen through the Eventlive link here starting on October 15, 2020. It’s only up for a few days so get on it!!! This film is only available to viewers in Southern California (excluding San Diego County) from October 15, 2020 at 12pm PT to October 18, 2020 at 11:59pm PT
Friendly Interactions & the Comfort of the BIFAN Community
I generally travel solo. Sometimes other people are too wishy-washy about attending events or committing to things and at some point I just decided that I would make sure that I never missed the things that I wanted to go to. No shade on anyone else, it’s a me thing.
Traipsing around on my own? It’s what I did in LA. But Los Angeles has a melancholic and toxic sense of loneliness, it makes you feel shitty being alone. I thought that I liked being on my own there, watching people and reading alone in bars. But I like the independence I have here in South Korea much more. In LA, everyone is a lone alone. Here, people just happen to go out by themselves. It’s a different feeling.
Meeting new friends at the festival felt great! People-watching in Bucheon is top-tier, lemme tell you. And having dinner and drinks post-films can’t be beat! If it wasn’t for Grace I don’t think I would have had 1/10th as good a time. That girl is a miracle.
I only had one night where things went off the tracks. The night after Grace left I got terribly lost in the pouring rain. I walked around searching for the place we had been hanging out for the last few nights, trying to use Naver maps, photos I took, you name it.
I finally ended up crawling into a bbq restaurant when hunger and the downpour got the best of me and simply huddled over my banchan and meat like a wet rat, dripping and grumpy. I had never experienced rain like that in my life. My umbrella was about as useful as my earrings. But I ordered some beer and soju and started eating kimchi. These three items, by themselves or in some combination, can cure almost any hardship. That is fact.
I proceeded to sit there shaking my head and laughing at myself. I looked at my wet dress, my flattened hair, my miserable state. The fact that my ass was stuck to the rubber stool and made a noise every time I moved because…WET. It was fucking hilarious. I felt like I had been thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool. But I considered this: after the films I had seen that day, did I genuinely care about water? To hell with monsoon season. There was meat, beer, alcohol. I was finally out of the pour. It was a phenomenal night. It doesn’t get better than that.
I haz a frown from being so sopping wet. That changed quickly 😀
It has been argued that one of the more unique properties of film as an art form is in its modality; how it functions. In particular, it is the experience of moving image exhibition that sets it apart. The projection of time-based media in a theatrical space shifts the identity of individuals from being separate to communal. When the lights go down, that collection of perfect strangers transmogrifies into The Audience. Anyone who’s been to a movie has felt it. You lose yourself into the sea of spectatorship in that theater and it is glorious! It is why theaters are still important. That magic doesn’t happen at home with Netflix.
For those who go to film festivals like BIFAN, it is an experience that, whether each person is aware of it or not, becomes a central part of the Festival Journey and is instantly heightened. Seeing a film, a viewer is part of The Audience for the duration of that singular work. However, should that same viewer attend a film festival, they become part of something much larger- a community. You become Community Audience. More specifically, you are Festival Audience. You see familiar faces at screenings. Volunteers and staff recognize you and wave, you nod at others you have seen sitting near you…you have shed your skin and are no longer The (singular) Audience, you are Festival Audience.
I felt this hard at BIFAN and I kept thinking: yes, this is why I am here. This is absolutely why I moved to Korea. These people- this community of film lovers- these humans who come to this festival and are so joyful about cinema- that is what I have been searching for.
I felt so welcomed. It was remarkable. One of the BIFAN programmers- Jongsuk Thomas Nam- was so kind to me and invited me to two online events and while I certainly felt awkward and a little fangirlish, I still felt like I belonged. I sang Olivia Newton John’s Xanadu at the BIFAN zoom karaoke with a cadre of folks I had never met. While it certainly would have been better if I had been back at my hotel to sing, I just went ahead and did it sitting at the restaurant I was at (don’t worry it was outside). Soju…helped.
Zoom Karaoke! It happens!
I got a chance to meet Pierce Conran which was great! We had some absolutely fabulous conversations about mutual friends (Hi Doug!), underappreciated UK noir, Westerns and cinema in general. I was just thrilled to get to nerd out. Again- this reinforced that I was in the right place.
Seeing him around the fest and checking in on movie opinions also made me feel right at home- it’s something I love doing, whether or not a friend or colleague and I agree on a film. Seeing a buddy in between screenings and doing the “what did you think? What did you like? What are seeing next?”- is one of my favorite parts of festival-ing. It made me miss Phil Blankenship and Jackie Greed. I always used to do that “check-in” when I saw them at AFI Film Fest.
Epic cinema conversations! So fabulous!
While I did spend the bulk of BIFAN on my own, these interactions were so joyful and really highlighted how special the Korean film community is and made me even more grateful to have moved here and been able to experience this festival. I experienced no pretension, no weird looks, no looking-down-the-nose simply because I am passionate about my love for cinema and expressive about it. I felt so happy. BIFAN really made me feel at home.
Then More Movies Happened….
Day Three: Sunday July 12, 2020 The films that I watched this day were: Blink (Han Ka-ram, 2020) – Korea Queen of Black Magic (Kimo Stamboel, 2019) – Indonesia Pelican Blood (Katrin Gebbe, 2019) – Germany
This was a HELLOVA day. I don’t even know where to start. While Blink had no subtitles, I was able to understand it with the basic Korean that I do know and the rich cinema vocabulary that I possess. I wish I could convey that to the filmmaker and actors since I could even reflect on the performances and the manner in which they engaged with the genre (Science Fiction) and its representation of gender and power structures. It was part of a special aspect of BIFAN called SF8, which is an anthology SciFi series from 8 different directors. Normally I’m not a SciFi person- I’m painfully picky about anything in that area- but Blink was incredible. It hit the right chords for me in the strong woman category, the unusually creative homage to Terminator (but not a rip-off! SO GREAT!!!!) and detective stories (I’m a straight-up sucker for a good head-strong detective, especially a woman detective). From that I went right into Queen of Black Magic which was A. Great. Horror. Movie. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. But if you hate bugs, that movie is not for you! I may return to this and write about it again because it is a remake of an earlier 1981 film which I need to watch. There were frames of that film in the end credits and I was so enthralled by that. As a film preservationist, it did my heart good to see that and I was genuinely giddy at the way this was just such great horror. But like…I should have known it would be fun and utterly watchable. The name for fun and utterly watchable was right next to the writing credit: Joko Anwar. Here’s the trailer but SERIOUSLY. IF BUGS SQUICK YOU- DO NOT WATCH THIS.
But Sunday’s movie that made me rethink my eyeballs was a German film by a first-time feature filmmaker named Katrin Gebbe. This film, Pelican Blood, ended up winning the Best of Bucheon Award (and deservedly so). I’ve never seen another movie like it. I thought I knew where it was going and then there was a FULL ON NO-HOLDS-BARRED WTF MOMENT where I exclaimed through my face-mask into the theater: “OH. OK. That just happened then.” I didn’t mean to. But it happened. And it wasn’t like in other films where I’ve wanted to talk back to the screen for…reasons. The power of this film triggered some kind of feeling in me that set my vocal chords going and by the time the words formed on my lips I couldn’t stop and then there we were. But Pelican Blood is a film that takes no prisoners and doesn’t give a fuck about you. It’s a film that gives zero fucks, in fact. It’s a naked, raw, terrifyingly brilliant piece of film making that looks at motherhood, childhood, darkness, mental health and all kinds of human pain in a truly extraordinary manner. I LOVED IT. I feel weird about wanting to see again because it made me so uncomfortable but it’s such an addictive film to watch. I cannot believe a film like that even exists and I can’t wait to see what this woman makes next.
Day Four: Monday July 13, 2020 The films that I watched this day were: A Witness Out of the Blue (Andrew Fung, 2019) – Hong Kong Bloody Daisy (Xu Xiangyun, 2019) – China The Hand (Choi Yun-ho, 2020) – Korea
I love Hong Kong action films. And I love Louis Koo. Might not be everybody’s thing but hey- I’m not a fan of peanut butter and most people are so…to each their own, right? Bottom line: A Witness Out of the Blue didn’t have to work hard to please me. But I don’t want to damage the film’s credibility either. It’s a truly funny and enjoyable movie! You can’t tell by the trailer (which makes the film look like a Very Serious Action Movie) but within the folds of this action-packed Hong Kong heist genre pic you will meet a detective who runs a cat shelter, a parrot who is the only witness to the major crime, and a more than generous helping of quirky side-characters and their background stories. If you’re as familiar with Hong Kong and Asian Action Cinema as I am, then you know this to be one of the most delicious aspects of these films. I adored A Witness Out of the Blue and hope you will as well.
Few films I’ve seen in recent years have made me want to just turn on my heel and go RIGHT BACK into the theater and re-watch the same film, but Bloody Daisy was a film I instantly wanted to watch again. Alternating between scenes of pure drama, action and suspense, this film pays homage to some of the best crime film genres that exist. While the chronology of the picture goes from 1999 to modern day, the life changes, relationship fluctuations and character developments make this a highly charged and multi-layered thriller. The grim nihilism of Hong Kong action films of the 80s and 90s, American film noir and the 70s anti-hero buddy cop films were paid beautiful homage in Bloody Daisy. While I am not certain that the writer/director intended this reading, it is what I received from the film, why I loved it so much and a major reason why I would rewatch it. Aside from the fact that it just rules.
My only criticism (and it almost threw the film for me in certain respects): there is a rather uncomfortable tag during the end credits that has a big thank you to all the policemen working in China, giving all their time and their lives. I find this difficult for me to gauge. It’s very heavy-handed. Therefore, it being China in 2020, I feel a little awkward at this credit sequence message. The feeling towards police globally is not exactly positive and for good reason. On the other hand, Bloody Daisy, an incredible movie ABOUT is not a film about bad cops. HOWEVER the end credit praise was a little off-color for me and didn’t service the film well. I just wondered if he was asked to put that on in order to get the film made or…I have no idea. I don’t want to make any assumptions. It’s uncomfortable.
After Bloody Daisy I went and saw The Hand which was a really fun independent Korean horror short film about a hand that comes out of this guy’s toilet and starts killing people. It was super funny in a Evil Dead kind of way. I stayed for the Q&A which (as with the others I went to) was wonderful, even if I didn’t understand the majority of what was said.
Day Five: Tuesday July 14, 2020 The films that I watched this day were: Sheep Without a Shepard (Sam Quah, 2019) – China Impetigore (Joko Anwar, 2019) – Indonesia
So Tuesday was another strong day. I mean, hell. They were all strong days. Who am I kidding? There were some films that I loved and some films I only liked, but I enjoyed every single film I saw and I cannot believe what a good time I had at BIFAN.
So let me give you these trailers. If you are bothered by horror, do not watch the second one. Also, neither is TOO spoilery but if you think you will see these films (Impetigore is about to be available for streaming on Shudder) I would advise NOT watching the trailer and just going in blind:
So Sheep Without a Shepard knocked my socks off. Enough so that it’s probably going to get its own individual post since it’s a remake of another film and I want to watch that film and do a compare/contrast. As those who know me are aware, I have done a lot of work in adaptations and remakes and that is an interest for me. In my research on Sheep Without a Shepard, I found that the originating material was actually an Indian movie made in 2013. So, that post will come! Bottom line, this film won the Audience Award at BIFAN so…it’s a well-loved film and should be seen.
Now on to Impetigore. The first thing you should know is that if you get the streaming channel Shudder or have the ability to rent it FROM a Shudder-connected platform, this face-melting film will be available to stream from July 23rd onwards according to what I have read here. So the question is…should you? Well, if you like horror films, there is only one answer:
So let’s not disappoint Varla, shall we? But in all seriousness, Impetigore fucking rules. You know when you’re watching a movie and you’re so deeply involved with it that you absolutely forget that you’re watching a movie? YEAH. SO Impetigore. That was my experience. Now, I can’t say that this will happen for male viewers. This is probably one of the strongest horror films I have ever seen with women as protagonists and central figures. I could probably talk about how much I loved this film for hours based on the dynamism of the women characters and the involvement of puppetry alone but…there is just so. much. to. love. about. this. film. I cannot wait to watch it again when it comes out on Shudder. Sure, you can certainly see the influence of films like Texas Chainsaw Massacre and more but it’s what Joko Anwar did with the idea of homage that I loved. He translated it into creative intent and unique synthesis not simply repetition.
Day Six: Wednesday July 15, 2020 The films that I watched this day were: Fallen (Lee Jung-sub, 2020) – Korea Mrs. Noisy (Amano Chihiro, 2019) – Japan Taro the Fool (Tatsushi Omori, 2019) – Japan The Interviewees (Hwang Seungjae, 2020) – Korea
So I could definitely feel the Film Festival Fatigue by Wednesday. But I kept going. Because HELLO. MOVIES TO WATCH.
I started out with Fallen which Grace had told me about. There was a lot to like about it. But it was a little bit messy. Things I quite enjoyed: the smart way that it mixed the idea of a woman writer, true crime and women’s issues that are very specific to Korea. Fallen examines media exploitation of women, molka, Korean society and its response to queerness, bullying and suicide. It loses the path when it starts to go too deep into the Science Fiction realm. It seemed to be trying to handle too many genres at once which disappointed me because the visuals were strong, the performances great and any 3 or 4 of the things the film had would have worked together but not all 5-6. It just couldn’t hold up under all the multi-genre pressure. Worth watching but just difficult to work with at points.
I loved Mrs Noisy. Ootaka Yoko’s performance alone is extraordinary. It’s hard to talk about the film without saying too much but I definitely have some thoughts. I will try to keep this as vague as possible!
While I may have found myself disappointed with what I saw as a traditional return to domestic values in the third act I don’t believe the film can be chalked up to simple recuperation in that manner. The relationships and discussions are far too complex for it to be that easy.
This sensitive and funny women-centered film examines deeply flawed people and critiques modern parenthood in unique ways. While traditional family values are certainly present, they are not overbearing enough to disregard a film as worthwhile as this. Don’t miss it.
So Taro the Fool. Wow. I’m not a fan of Harmony Korine or Tod Solondz. I just can’t watch their work. And Lars von Trier…well, I like a few of his films but not many. When I got out of Taro the Fool I thought I completely hated it. I thought it was in the Solondz/Korine school of cinema masochism that drives me absolutely insane. And I still think it might be.
BUT DAMN. I couldn’t get that film out of my head for two days. I just kept. Thinking. About. It. I could not stop thinking about it. There are only a few films that I’ve ever had that experience with: Breaking the Waves (Lars von Trier, 1996), Straw Dogs (Sam Peckinpah, 1971), Germany: Year Zero (Roberto Rossellini, 1948) and Come and See (Elem Klimov, 1985).
I am in no way suggesting that Taro the Fool holds a candle to those films; it doesn’t. Whatever Taro the Fool shares with these other films has no name. Taro the Fool wears discomfort and weirdness as a garment, traverses shock, swims through sadness, visits melancholy and returns to revel in awkwardness and anxiety. Sometimes I like films that have all those elements! But used in this fashion…I still can’t decide! The lady in front of me couldn’t hang. She straight-up walked out at the scene that reminded me a bit of Alejandro Jodorowsky (who I adore). I get that. But she missed some heartbreaking monologues that made me think: I don’t know if I like this film, but this scene is some of the most amazing film making and most intense shit I’ve ever seen. I fucking love it. So…Taro is incredibly challenging. I’m still in the “unsure” category. But I sure appreciate it and thank BIFAN for having given me the opportunity to have experienced whatever it was!
My last film of the night was The Interviewees. There was a lot to like about this film since it is clearly based on actual interviews done with people talking about real-life situations in and around employment, happiness, life, death and other day-to-day existential matters and that non-fiction element makes it interesting. But it also weighs down the fact that it is a SciFi film. Much like Fallen, I think this film might have been trying to do too much and maybe couldn’t decide where it was going. On the other hand, I really enjoyed the performances, the structure and the “twist.”
Day Seven: Thursday July 16, 2020 The films that I watched this day were: The Kind-Hearted Man (Yamanouchi Daisuke, 2019) – Japan
I ended the festival with a bit of pink film from Japan. It’s definitely not for everyone so I would advise you look into pink film and decide if that is something that you would be interested in before watching this title. That said, it’s a pretty fun horror film with great scares and SFX make up. So some creepy old dude sex scenes, some kinda hot guy sex scenes, some scenes where I was like: “I don’t know if women’s bodies can actually do tha…oh, um, I guess they can. Learn something new everyday,” and some pretty awesome ghost shit. I’m not going to complain ONE BIT about ending my BIFAN on that note. It was fun as hell!
After the film ended, I went to get some food and joined a bunch of folks for the Zoom online reception. Again, I felt so honored just to be there. People from ALL OVER THE WORLD were on this zoom call. People who are usually at BIFAN. People who were talking about how much they love the festival, the community, how sad they are they had to miss it but they’ll be here next year. Listening to everyone’s updates from Europe, South America, Taiwan…It was truly an incredible experience. My friend Ivy from LA was on the call too (she was one of the only people I knew on the Zoom Karaoke) and it was really nice to see her.
I’ve gone to a lot of after-parties, tons of receptions in my life. I grew up in the industry, on film and TV sets. It’s not that filmmaking or filmmakers in particular make me feel all geeky it’s just that I have a lot of respect for people like the group that were on this closing night zoom call. It was so obvious that it was a huge international collection of human beings who create genre work and REALLY LOVE THE CINEMA and that awed me. I just love people who love the movies and these people love the movies. BIFAN seems to bring those people out and…how magical is that?
I closed my evening at this small restaurant where I got a chance to meet a few of the volunteers who had been smiling and waving at me throughout the festival. I seemed to go into their particular theaters more often than others. Sometimes that just happens during a festival- you end up watching movies in only house 3 and 10 for two days!
Some of the BIFAN Heroes!!!
Talking to these young women was so much fun. First of all, it was a really good chance for me to actually speak Korean (I rarely get a chance to speak Korean where I work and live- it’s basically all foreigners/English speakers). And I didn’t do as badly as I thought! I only used Papago when I needed to say really MAJOR things and for a word here and there. Also numbers. I am awful at the number system. Both native and sino-Korean. Don’t judge.
Festivals could not happen without volunteers. And these folks basically don’t even get to see most of the movies! So they were on their way out and I asked them to sit (they weren’t sure at first) and then they did. They asked what movies I preferred (I told them), then we just talked about Korea and why I’m here, how much I love it and random other things. It was one of the best parts of the festival. I loved being on the Zooms with the people who made the films for BIFAN. I loved Zoom Karaoke. I loved seeing the Q&As and I loved the movies. But I really really really loved talking to these three women who worked so hard to make sure that everyone stayed safe, healthy and happy at the festival.
So grateful to the BIFAN Heroes for their hard work and awesomeness!!
That was a tough job. I watched. If you think being a volunteer at a film festival is hard…trying adding the additional aspects of temperature taking for each film, bracelets, ID form filling out, and monitoring all that information when guests go into the theater. I was so proud just to be able to thank them and talk about movies and have some laughs with them on my last night in town. It was the best way to end my first, and certainly not my last, BIFAN.
And thank you again to everyone who made this festival possible, from festival director and staff to programmers, jury members and other attendees. It was a dream come true. I am still floating 6 feet above the ground in happiness from this experience. BIFAN has made me the most ecstatic film nerd in the north of South Korea. Until next year film friends….
Right. So I missed the first night. In the spirit of the season, you should forgive me. I was busy hanging out with new friends, watching a National Geographic special about submarines in South America that attempt to smuggle cocaine into the US, a mini-documentary by David Schmoeller called Please Kill Mr. Kinski, and a police training film by the Milwaukee Police department called Surviving Edged Weapons. I have to say that this was a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend the 1st night of Chanukkah, considering there are really no “Chanukkah” movies.
So, aside from that wondrous evening, I realized that I really enjoy Christmas movies, and being that I have a platform to tell everyone what my favorite ones are and why…I should do so.
In the most Jewish way possible.
So here we go. Starting late (hullo Jewish Standard Time), I shall now give you…
Sinaphile’s 8 Nights of Cinema for the 12 Days of Christmas
1. When I think Christmas, I think: IF THIS PICTURE DOESN’T MAKE YOUR SKIN CRAWL, IT’S ON TOO TIGHT.
Black Christmas
Yeah, When I think Christmas, I think Black Christmas (Bob Clark, 1974). I can’t remember the first time that I saw this, but I think that it was probably some crazy after-hours screening around the holidays, and it had to have been probably a little under 10 years ago. I remember being utterly, completely, GLORIOUSLY and GUTWRENCHINGLY terrified. It made me so happy!!!! See, movies don’t scare me. This one did. It’s on the list of the three films that have ever managed to truly creep me out or scare me in my lifetime as a movie-watcher. That experience was the best gift that Clark could’ve ever given me.
Original poster for Black Christmas aka Silent Night, Evil Night
Since that first time watching it, I have watched it many, many, many times over. And the best part? It still scares me. Bob Clark was an amazing filmmaker and a truly talented man. The fact that he died so early and in such a horrible way (he and his son were tragically killed by a drunk driver in April, 2007) still saddens me.
Original Black Christmas film advertisement, "first run" for the Conestoga Four Theaters in Grand Island, Nebraska
Clark had called the film Stop Me initially, but that was clearly not where it ended up. He retitled it to Black Christmas but the film was originally released as Silent Night, Evil Night for the US theatrical release then changed yet again to Stranger in the House for television broadcasts (although that ended up getting nixed due to it being “too scary” for TV). As shown, Black Christmas had a very indirect route to its title. Shot in Canada, it managed to do pretty well on release. While the critical reviews at the time were poor, it has since gotten to be more of a popular title, even spawning a remake a few years ago (which I categorically refused to see).
While Christmas time may seem like a time of happiness, joy and giving, jingle bells, snow and cider-y goodness, it warms the cockles of my heart to know that there’s always a good ol’ piece of classic slasher cinema there for me to dig my eyeballs into and get creeped out by. It makes me happy.
And if this trailer doesn’t get you…well, I’d do something about that skin.
In 1956, Nicholas Ray made a film that was such a departure from the rest of his work that people still speak of it today. Just one year after Rebel Without a Cause (a film that did remarkably well, snagging not one, not two, but three Academy Award nominations), Ray had leverage. As a result, he could do a film based on drug addiction and, more or less, get away with it. Sure, films had been done about drug addiction before (in the same year as Rebel, Otto Preminger’s Man with the Golden Arm had been nominated for three awards) but none had utilized drugs and addiction in quite the same way; ripping open the very fabric of the American dream, showing it to be what it really was: an American nightmare.
Did it do well at the box office? Not entirely. Is it interesting anyway? You bet!
Bigger Than Life starred, was produced and co-written by James Mason, and like many other films or television programs of the time, it was “based upon a real incident.” In 1955, New Yorker magazine had published an article entitled “Ten Feet Tall” which was penned by a medical journalist named Berton Roueche. Shortly thereafter, this particular entry of their “Annals of Medicine” column became translated into Nicholas Ray’s epic, full-color CinemaScope piece, Bigger Than Life (1956). The originating article is a familiar story- a cautionary tale about the horrors of drug addiction and how it can destroy a family from the inside out. Nicholas Ray’s film, on the other hand, was much less polite (if addiction could ever be called polite). It skinned American suburban life like an animal and revealed it to be the diseased and fractured monster that it truly is, underneath all that smooth so-called “perfection.”
I would argue that, in many ways, Bigger Than Life could be viewed as a horror film. It functions on fear, ideas of masculinity and the monstrous and postulates that true terror is catalyzed by the volcanic eruptions of a figure whose conflicts are drawn out by a severe chemical addiction. The lighting, color use and Joseph MacDonald’s cinematography only serve to enhance this, and the fact that it is a CinemaScope film makes it even more horrifying with every frame. As you watch this film, both the narrative and the visual sensibility will tell you that it lives up to the title- this film really is Bigger Than Life.
I was lucky enough to see this film at the TCM Film Festival this past year, complete with a Q&A with Robert Osbourne and the leading lady, Barbara Rush (who was simply fantastic and looks like a million bucks!). I have to say- for the first viewing of this film, view it big or as big as possible. I’ve seen many other ‘Scope films that look great but didn’t use the lens as a narrative tool. Nicholas Ray knew what he was working with, knew what he could do, and he did it.
Because of the sheer magnificence of the CinemaScopic vision, a shot that would normally be passed off as simply the "happy car ride" becomes almost oppressively happy due to its epically large and colorful flavor. While the tone of the film at this point is a happy one, it should be noted that the claustrophobic intensity of this shot is not accidental.
The shattered masculine image plays a huge part in the narrative. This shot emphasizes it even further by showing him staring at his own reflection in a vulnerable physical stance.
Mirrors are powerful objects in this film, and in this scene more than any other. Once more, we have the glory of the sophisticated technologies ('Scope lenses had only been being used for about 3 years when they made this film, so it was still pretty new!) to hammer in the point even more clearly: he knows he has become the monster, and he doesn't like it. But, like every other chemically-involved-monster (Jekyll/Hyde, Invisible Man), he bought a one-way ticket, and there's no going back now.
While this film could have been shot in black and white and an alternative aspect ratio, this shot is a perfect example of the power that Ray had by making the choices that he did. His experience in black and white and noir enhanced the shadowy/terror-like aspects while still wanting to keep the colored/lit bits for a balance. This is one of the most terrifying and visually stunning scenes in the film. This forced perspective shot also underscores the "Mason-as-Monster" theme, seeing as forced perspective shots are not unfamiliar territory within monster films!
Rush said that this film has been shown at various Film Noir festivals. I could see that, however I am still more on the side of the horror genre when it comes to Bigger Than Life. Without spoiling too much of the film, I would like to bring up a few issues through which I believe that this film can be ultimately defensible as a piece of horror.
Frankenstein (James Whale, 1931), The Invisible Man (James Whale, 1933) and most versions of Dr Jekyll & Mr. Hyde are recognized as parts of the horror film canon. They helped to establish a visual and narrative iconography which, in turn, built the monster world. I would contend that in certain ways, Bigger Than Life is meant to inspire just as much terror as any of these monsters ever did. Nicholas Ray’s film plays to those monsters and their individual characteristics, features and attributes. The “monster” in Bigger Than Life calls up some of our greatest fears which were revealed in the early 30’s by the great horror masters and places them squarely in front of us, just as Whale or Fleming did. Horror is a device that exposes the ugliest and most devastating issues within society and the humans living within that society. By that definition, I believe that Ray has succeeded in making a horror film.
In Bigger Than Life, James Mason’s character, Ed Avery, becomes less human the greater his addiction. At first, the cortisone appears to be having a positive effect on his life- he’s stronger, has more energy, is filled with enthusiasm for life and everything in it. As the pill-popping increases, Ed Avery seems to disappear and The Monster comes out. The Monster abuses his wife and child, gets into virulent arguments at the workplace and eventually has himself convinced that there is only one way that this series of events that he has put in motion can go- it may not be good, but it’s right because The Monster couldn’t be wrong.
Meanwhile, his suffering wife Lou is playing a dual role- the victim of the nightmarish happenings as well as the “Fritz” or lab assistant in the creation of The Monster. In her own addiction to codependent behavior, she is no better than her husband with the exception that she finally comes to terms with her own “monstrous” behavior and, in doing so, is able to try to effect change on her son’s behalf (as well as her own, I would imagine).
Ed Avery’s flipping between personalities and wild unpredictability gives him somewhat of a Jekyll/Hyde sense. While we are aware that it is dependent upon the pills he is taking, the levels which he reaches throughout the film are so grand that by the climax of the film, it has almost become Grand Guignol-type behavior, shown by his ludicrous propositions to Lou. I think that this may be one of the main reasons I’ve heard the film referred to as “campy” or “cultish.” By the time the tension has built, the surreal energy in combination with the elaborate colors and shot structure make it seem almost…too much. And yet, I don’t believe that it is too much. From where I sat, the ending seemed like a nightmare bathed in a fever-dream, but one that you may not awaken from.
Terror, pure and simple. And the terror came from the multi-faced monster of addiction itself. Addiction- addiction to substances, addiction to conformity and normalcy against the betterment of one’s family (Lou’s line “We musn’t let Bob think Ed is still sick!” gave me the chills), addiction to abuse, addiction to codependency and, significantly, addiction to power.
In James Whale’s The Invisible Man, the title character (played by Claude Rains), states simply, “The drugs I took seemed to light up my brain. Suddenly I realized the power I held, the power to rule, to make the world grovel at my feet. ” If one were to look at Ed Avery in Bigger Than Life, he seems to be saying precisely the same thing. What is most terrifying in Nicholas Ray’s film (moreso than Whale’s, in my mind) is that there is always a certain level of uncertainty that the chemical supplement is actually the issue in the long run. Sure, Avery’s an addict. Sure, he’s getting more crazy and abusive due to the drugs. But when he looks at himself in the mirror in the shots shown above, and sees the shattered image, there is something that he recognizes- a fractured Monster Image that he sees with ultimate clarity. Somehow, this made for an even more uneasy scene. What if that Monster was really there behind the man the whole time? That kind of ambiguity is the scariest there is. It means that perhaps it isn’t so much that the drug creates the Monster, but reminds the Monster of what he knows is there all along.
Bigger Than Life‘s goals were to present a picture of the American family and suburban life that wasn’t quite standard for the time. To a certain extent, this trajectory was a little like Billy Wilder’s Ace in The Hole, due to its cynicism and biting social critique. While the film may not have fared well in the box-office back then, it has more than made up for that now in the fact that the horror and nightmarish-ness of each frame remain as singularly beautiful and terrifying as they were in 1956. Thank you, Mr. Ray, for this exquisite vision into the depths!
