"The secret lore of the ocean" -- Japan and the Mysterious Sea

 "We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, we are going back from whence we came." -- John F. Kennedy

My relationship with the ocean is complicated. I was born on the California coastline, and as far back as I can remember, many of my interests revolved around the water. Whenever I go to the beach, I feel tremendous peace, a return to my truest self. It's a long salty drink for my parched spirit and it's the best medicine I know. At the same time, my deepest fears lie in the ocean. Sharks are at the top of the list, that goes without saying, but it's the water itself more than anything, that vast empty space. The possibilities it holds, all that life hiding in silent, endless blue.

Just the thought of swimming in open water makes my blood run cold. I've always wanted to take SCUBA lessons but I'm certain I would suffer a fatal heart attack from sheer panic on the first dive. Even a nice whale-watching boat tour is out of the question because I know that any shadow quickly rising from beneath would send me into hysterics. And rest assured, this is not because I am ignorant--it's because I know too much. I know what's down there, and I know what could be down there, and I know that I am a member of a species that is ill-equipped to deal with any of it, so I know exactly enough to not go in.

C'mon, man! Cannonball!

Like a lot of questionable things about me, Japan gets it. Ayakashi loosely translates to "strange phenomenon of the sea," specifically entities that cross boundaries between water and land, whether that means a sea serpent being spotted breaching the waves, ghosts haunting the deck of a ship, or a full on beach-invasion of mutated crabs. The most obvious example of this reflected in pop culture is Gojira, the leviathan that rises from the sea and wreaks havoc on land. Most analysis agrees that Gojira represents Japan's fears over nuclear war and radioactivity, but for my money, it just as much represents fear of the immeasurable, unknowable secrets of the sea. Japan's relationship with the ocean goes deeper (pun intended) than the guy stomping around in a dinosaur suit would have you believe.

No one can illustrate Japan's itchiest anxieties better than Junji Ito. I discovered his brilliantly weird manga series Uzumaki only last year, and since then I have gobbled up whatever of his work I can find. Uzumaki tells the story of a small town that slowly becomes consumed with spirals, the pattern appearing everywhere from smoke to locks of hair to birthmarks. This doesn't sound like much, until people start twisting themselves into human curly fries and teenage boys slowly morph into enormous snails. Ito's combination of bizarro plot, bleak characters, and absolutely insane artwork create a dizzying experience of horror. In 2001, he unleashed arguably his most notorious work upon Japan, Gyo, first running as a serial manga before being adapted to bound collections. One day, fish bearing spindly terror-legs begin crawling up on land and chaos ensues. The overall plot consists of government conspiracy and biological warfare gone awry, mixed with family secrets and a little strained romance to spare. But the reason you may have heard of Gyo comes down to one nightmarish image: shark with legs.

Where's your god now?

Our Americanized introduction to the wonderful world of J-Horror arrived soaking wet. The American remake of The Ring has water all over the place, from Seattle's never-ending rainfall to a dreary ferry boat ride. The cursed video depicts a woman flinging herself into the ocean and dead horses in the surf. Samara herself is surrounded by water imagery, bringing the dank darkness of the well with her wherever she appears and dripping it all over your clean floors. The apartment in Dark Water is haunted with wetness, from the stains oozing through the ceiling to the grimy sludge that pours from the faucets. The story takes some inspiration from the bizarre details of the Elisa Lam case, wherein a hotel suffered plumbing issues that were later discovered to be caused by the corpse of a young woman stuffed in the building's water tower. The Grudge was less fixated on water imagery, but one of the tensest scenes depicted a detective reaching into a full bath of inky water, discovering through a psychic glimpse that a young boy and his cat were drowned in the tub.

Many of Japan's myths and legends are directly linked to water. The kappa is one of the more distinctive and well-known Japanese water spirits. They are described as wily ogres that dwell in rivers and lakes, causing trouble for unwary humans that stumble upon their turf, from drowning, to rape, to extracting your soul through your butthole (seriously). The Shinto figure Suijin (meaning "water deity" but also applied to any number of supernatural creatures that inhabit the water) accounts for a sizable portion of Shinto worship, the water god representing clean drinking water, healthy pregnancies, and providing protection for fisherman. Even the Shinto version of the creation myth includes a crucial reference to water: the god Izanagi arrived on Earth and refreshed himself with a soothing bath, like you do. As he toweled off afterward, each drop of water that fell from his body and hit the soil formed into a newborn yokai (mysterious phenomena), bizarre spirits and creatures that went on to wreak havoc on the world. 

Some of these apparitions seem terrifying in appearance and actions, but are often embarrassingly easy to outwit. Legends of drowned sailors known as funa yurei rising from the sea and dragging ships below the surface is a classic image of maritime horror. The ghosts will demand a bamboo spoon from the terrified crew, only to use the spoon to fill the boat with water; therefore, it was deemed wise for a captain to pack a spoon with holes drilled in it, so as to fool the spirits. Even the murderous kappa have a two glaring weaknesses: they have a bowl-like dent on top of their head that must remain filled with water, and they are polite to a fault. If one can trick a kappa into returning a customary bow of greeting, its bowl-head will spill over and the beast will be forced to remain half-bowed until he can refill himself, allowing the human to escape.

Perhaps the most mortally horrifying of these spirits, for me anyway, is Umibozu, or "sea monk." Storms are obviously bad news for sailors, but when the skies are clear and the water is still, that is the time to be truly afraid. Umibozu are artistically portrayed as dark giants with luminous eyes that rise suddenly from the depths of calm seas and loom over passing ships, if not sucking them into the swell of their arrival. Sometimes they ask questions, more often they cause destruction, but they always leave witnesses in pants-shitting hysterics.

Hey buddy.

They were said to warn of coming storms, but there are disturbingly few concrete reasons for encountering umibozu. In fact, I couldn't find any information on how to attract it (should you want to) or how to avoid it (should it find you), almost as if it is a true force of nature, as random and unfeeling in its punishments as the sea itself. Of course, this phenomena of enormous shapes rising from the depths has been promptly dismissed by science. Clearly, ancient mariners mistook the reflection of thunderheads or a large turtle for a towering harbinger of doom. I don't buy it. Even with only a handful of information on these entities, I know exactly enough to never get on a fishing boat again.

The most fascinating of the culture's roots in water lies in the existence of whale cults in the coastal regions. I'm sure some of you out there can't think of marine mammals and Japan without instantly jumping to The Cove, but I would like to do my part to remind you that film does not depict Japan's environmentalist attitude as a whole, only an ostensibly ugly aspect of its fishing industry (at least to us Westerners, and we're not in any position to judge). But Japan's niche religion of whale worship has a long history rooted in folklore, none as striking and haunting as the legend of Bakekujira, the Ghost Whale.

The most metal god in all creation.

One night long ago, off the coast of Okino Island, something huge and white came rolling in with the tide. When boats went out to investigate, they were astonished to see the living skeleton of a baleen whale, surrounded by a massive school of squirming fish. The men attempted to harpoon the beast only for their spears to fly right through it. The apparition lingered for a while only to eventually vanish without a trace beneath the waves.

It's fairly common for whales to follow their prey into dangerously shallow territory, accidentally beaching themselves in the process. But nature does not act without reason, at least not to those who are paying attention. Stories referring to Hyochakushin (the "Drifting Ashore" god) nearly mirror the legend of Bakekujira, but take a more literal form. Before the revolution of the sea-faring vessel, coastal Japanese villages were limited in how much bounty they could take from the ocean, their rowboats unable to travel too far away from shore. These villages would struggle to survive on their small fishing hauls and meager harvests on land. But every once in a while, fortune would smile upon them.

The arrival of a whale on the beach was an enormous blessing, bringing with it scores of deep sea fish. A village could eat for weeks on fish and whale meat and they didn't let a scrap of it go to waste. The villagers believed the whale was not only a gift from the gods but also a god itself, a massive noble creature that arrived in their hour of need, and they would not allow the sacrifice go unnoticed. Shrines made of whale bones were erected to honor the creatures, and to this day there are over 100 whale graveyards scattered over Japan. The whale god eventually blended into the lore of the Shinto god of abundance, Ebisu, as a bringer of good fortune and mortal comforts, establishing whales forever as benevolent rulers of the sea.

So what does all this mean? It's probably not for a white American to properly explain or even hope to truly understand, so I won't try. But I do find it inherently fascinating how a culture shapes itself, what geographical and psychological factors combine to produce such vivid mythologies, which in turn influence the modern culture. And given my own quasi-phobia of the deep, it's difficult for me not to be intrigued by the pattern.

I don't know for sure if the nation of Japan is subconsciously terrified of the ocean, if a citizen of modern day Sapporo looks out at that endless green sea and can't help but feel admiration mixed with some unknowable dread, some deep-seated fear that they've known their whole life but never really understood, sure that at any moment something monstrous could rise from the depths. But it's plain to see that many of their stories and legends have a common theme, and it's hard to dismiss that it is merely an influence of geography. There is true fear there, the truly alien, still the greatest mystery our planet holds. In any case, these stories have pumped up my anxieties of the ocean better than Jaws ever could.

Have you heard the good news about our lord and savior NO ONE?

(The information on Japanese legends sourced from https://hyakumonogatari.com/tag/water-monsters/ which is highly recommended reading if you're even half as interested in folklore as I am.)

Horror...for Kids!

Halloween truly brings out the kid in me. It is really a kid's holiday, maybe even more than Christmas, as Halloween celebrates all the best things about being a kid: dressing up in fantastic costumes, roaming the neighborhood late at night, consuming candy by the fistful, and best of all, getting scared. There is nothing so fascinating, educational, or memorable for a child than the many small moments of terror we experience while growing up, not the least of which coming directly from the movies we watch. I think every horror fan has gone through that lull where they can't remember the last time they were really scared by a movie, and we grow nostalgic for those days where all it took was a surreal moment in Pinocchio to keep us up for weeks.

You know the one.

When I was a kid growing up in the 90's, the element of fear was present in a lot of the media we watched. Not so much with Disney--they played it safe for the most part during their renaissance and skewed away from some of the darker aspects they'd tried before (re: The Black Cauldron, Watcher in the Woods, etc). But a kid in the 90's saw a great deal of leftovers from the 80's, which was evidently an age of experimentation and limited parental supervision. Back then, movies aimed at kids could range anywhere from as trite as Care Bears to as nightmarish as Return to Oz. It was a different time, as they say, and it's admirable if not sometimes baffling what studios were willing to pitch at kids back then. I guess the previous generation was unanimously more mature...or at least they were by the time the end credits rolled.

The 90's did see their own versions of kid-horror, but it was often with a certain context attached. Not a Halloween passed in my house without watching Hocus Pocus or Halloweentown, which were more goofy slapstick romps with supernatural themes than pure horror. Even theatrical releases like Nightmare Before Christmas and Casper, with all their spooky scenery and goth makeup, went out of their way to make their monsters as cuddly as possible. Movies like these were a tame introduction to horror, but they had a time and a place. They were usually screened in the spirit of an ostensibly children's holiday, and that gave them the safe space to throw out the occasional creepy visual before getting back to the softer stuff. Plus the monsters weren't exactly horrific; they were often adorably misunderstood, or at worst, hammy Old Hollywood boogeymen bumbling through our modern world. Even our fondly-remembered TV shows with a supernatural edge, such as Goosebumps, So Weird, and Are You Afraid of the Dark? had creepy ideas but often fell just short of true brilliance in execution. (Keep in mind I'm excluding shows like Buffy and Charmed, as those were aimed at a more teen audience and weren't as cautious when it came to the dark stuff.)

While the kid horror film didn't completely die out in the 90's and early 00's, they seemed to almost disappear as the ratings systems tightened up and parents became more interested in what their children watched. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, as parents should pay attention to what their children take in, and let's be honest, there are certain things that should be saved for "when you're older." I'm sure no shortage of parents can recall seeing something they probably shouldn't have at a young age, and because of that, they are ever-vigilant in preventing the same happening to their child (not to mention the supernova of Inappropriate Content that is easily accessed now more than ever). Unfortunately, this clean-up came with a deluge of fluffy kiddie romps over the next few years, all spoon-fed content and cutesy visuals. This isn't exactly a surprise, as kids stuff is for kids and doesn't necessarily require aspects like strong motivations or nuance, so thin characters and clunky stories are forgivable in lieu of pure entertainment value. But the problem there lies in the fact that for a while, there was a long string of kids films that were completely unchallenging and easily forgettable, disappearing upon ingestion like so much candyfloss.

Then something changed. At some point, someone realized that kids aren't stupid and parents had to sit through these things too, so there was a steady increase of effort to appeal to "all audiences." As animation has progressed to its current level of brilliance, the stories are more complex, the characters more relatable, and there are jokes everyone can appreciate. Today, we have a variety of wonderful family films that are moving and thoughtful, working on a level of perfect filmmaking that can leave a cynical, childless 20-something like myself applauding through tears.

With fresh talent and ideas emerging out of animation, a new wave in kid-horror was bound to emerge, and thankfully it has returned better than ever. It's not exactly on the same ground of popularity as something like Frozen, but the smattering of dark animated films that have popped up over the years have only improved on their predecessors. Combining relatable childhood fears with approachable comedy and enduring charm, all with a great deal of appreciation for pure horror behind the friendly fright night vibe, these movies are gems among the animation genre and perfect for the budding young horror fan.

Monster House (2006) is the earliest of these return-to-horror kid flicks, and while it's not the best of the bunch, it does stand apart from other animated films of its time as an underseen gem. DJ has a long-standing and well-documented obsession with the house across the street, home of the reclusive Mr. Nebbercracker (a wonderfully crotchety Steve Buscemi). The neighborhood kids know to stay away from Nebbercracker's property, and any wayward toys that go rolling into his yard are best left forgotten. Of course, DJ and his friend Chowder make the mistake of inciting the old man's rage, only for him to suffer a heart attack while threatening a child. (That POV shot of Nebbercracker falling on top of DJ is a personal favorite moment.)

An ambulance takes him away while DJ wrestles with his guilt for causing an old man's death. He doesn't stop his vigil of the house across the street though, and for good reason: in Nebbercracker's absence, the house is starting to eat people. DJ, Chowder, and their new friend Jenny realize that the house is a living thing (complete with eyes, teeth, and a nasty temper) and with Halloween night approaching, it threatens to devour the whole neighborhood if they can't stop it.

What follows is a delicious blend of action and humor that would fit perfectly in an 80's kids adventure, a la The Goonies or E.T. The movie was produced by Amblin Studios, so it's rife with that home-grown Spielberg flavor. It's the neighborhood you or I grew up in, complete with that one mean neighbor in his creepy old house. It's a world where the adults are useless while the kids engineer complex schemes and take on life-threatening calls of duty with rinky-dink weapons. A few reviews argued that the film didn't even need the motion-capture gloss it received, and the story would have worked just as well if not better in live action with some tasteful CGI. I'll agree that the "normal" scenes do feel so genuine and true to life that the animation is unnecessary (and, to be honest, it doesn't look that great, especially ten years later), but the Monster House itself is unbeatable. The fiery glow in the eye-windows, the muscly tree-trunk arms, and those vicious jagged porch-teeth...it really is a showstopper. Seriously, you just have to see it to really absorb its full glory.

Paranorman (2012) tells the story of Norman, a young boy who can see ghosts. He doesn't fear these apparitions, instead talking to them like ordinary people. No one believes he can see them, of course, leaving him excluded by his peers and keeping his family distant. The Massachusetts town he lives in has a rich history, the most notorious being the execution of an accused witch who cursed the town with her dying breath. Norman begins having visions of the town's past, seeing himself pursued by witch hunters. He's contacted by his estranged, dying uncle (a wheezing John Goodman) who explains to him that he is part of a long line of guardians who must keep the witch's spirit in her grave. If he fails, the witch's curse will come to life and the town will be doomed. That's all I can say without giving away too much of the clever, complex, and absolute blast of a story this is, and I didn't even mention the perfect horror references peppered throughout.

Even better, it's the first animated movie on record to both include a homosexual character in the main cast and directly acknowledge his identity! You can't beat that! This is the animated horror movie I've always wanted. It's a movie that horror fans can enjoy just as much as their kids, if not moreso. I love Paranorman to death, so much it makes me want to have a kid just to make it their first lesson in horror.

Hotel Transylvania (2012) is a peaceful resort for monsters, a luxury hotel built beyond human reach where the beasts of our nightmares go to get away from it all. The owner of the hotel is naturally Count Dracula (Adam Sandler, nearly unrecognizable under his Lugosi impression) and he's brought everyone together to throw a birthday party for his daughter Mavis (Selena Gomez). The two have a heartwarming relationship, which we're treated to in absolutely adorable vignettes of single father Dracula singing lullabies and teaching his daughter to fly in bat-form.

Look at that helmet. LOOK AT THAT HELMET!

Mavis has lived in the hotel her whole life, sheltered from the world and fed stories of the dangers of human beings. For her 118th birthday, she only wants to be allowed permission to visit the town just beyond the haunted forest to see the world for herself. Drac and his friends have deep pathological fears of humans (for obvious reasons) and through some not-so-small deceit, manage to convince Mavis that her place is at home. Just when Drac starts to relax, a human named Jonathan (Andy Samberg) unwittingly infiltrates the hotel's layers of spooky security. Drac attempts to escort him out without any notice, but of course he runs into Mavis, and the two kids are instantly fascinated with each other. Trapped, Drac disguises Jonathan in a Frankenstein getup to keep the both of them from discovery and the ensuing panic of hundreds of monstrous guests. Hijinks ensue as overbearing father Dracula and hippy-dippy globetrotter Jonathan butt heads over the details of the party and the importance of letting Mavis grow up. In the end, Drac must decide if keeping his daughter safe is worth crushing her chance for happiness, even if it's with a guy he couldn't have less in common with. It's Guess Who's Coming to Dinner meets Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and somehow it couldn't be more perfect.

The cast brings together all the familiar faces of Universal Horror as old frat buddies (voiced by Sandler's usual crew of friends), gathering under one roof along with a smorgasbord of unique and bizarre monsters. Granted, there are a few too many fart jokes for my taste and an embarrassing musical number at the end that I strongly suggest you skip altogether, but those cringe-worthy moments are brief and ultimately lost in the endearing heart and manic energy that lights up the film. It's certainly the best work Adam Sandler has done in years, and is a perfectly silly addition to anyone's Halloween watch list.

Last but certainly not least is The Book of Life (2014), which is a slight departure from the others on this list since is more connected to Day of the Dead than Halloween, but I couldn't bear not including it as a new classic of holiday watching. Set up as a story told from the titular Book of Life, we meet rulers of the afterlife, La Muerte (Kate de Castillo) and Xibalba (Ron Perlman),watching a trio of mortal children play in the street. The two spirits agree to bet on which of the two boys will get the girl, La Muerte laying her money on kind-hearted Manolo and Xibalba placing his on show-off Joaquin. However, Xibalba fixes the game when he secretly offers Joaquin an amulet that makes him indestructible. Years pass and soon the kids are all grown up--Manolo (Diego Luna) as a bull fighter and Joaquin (Channing Tatum) a war hero, while Maria (Zoe Saldana) has just returned from her years away at boarding school, more beautiful and fiery than ever. Maria and Manolo pick up where they left off in their childhood romance, but family obligations push her toward marrying Joaquin. Maria and Manolo secretly meet to confess their love for each other, but once again Xibalba intervenes by way of a fatal snakebite. Manolo wakes up in the Land of the Remembered, where eternity is a festival of lights, bright and colorful and bursting with life, and his whole family is waiting for him. What follows is a race against time as Manolo faces the trials of the afterlife while trying to make his way back to the land of the living before Maria is forced to marry Joaquin.

It is as much a love story as it is a romp through the underworld, with a few pop songs mixed in to give it a musical pace. But the real draw for this film, the very reason you should see it, is the absolutely gorgeous animation. The entire film takes place as a very old story come to life, so the characters are crafted to look like marionettes, just the finest touch of wood grain in their skin and the tiniest space between their joints. The design of La Muerte and Xibalba, and the afterlife in general, is a wonder to behold. The two gods are a dazzle of color and supernatural grace, calling to mind Dia de Muertos sugar skulls and Aztec stone etchings.

Also, the "divorced but still banging" chemistry between them is pure gold.

Everything on screen is so beautiful to look at it almost distracts from the lovely simplicity of the story, but the animation really is the film's finest achievement and elevates it to a completely unique work of art. That alone is reason enough to seek out the film, only to be surprised by a truly endearing storybook romance.

So if you still have room in your Halloween marathon for a few less frightful but still spirited movies that the whole family can enjoy, these are my humble suggestions. I think these films deserve to be remembered alongside Nightmare Before Christmas and Hocus Pocus as essential October viewings, but also go on to serve their higher purpose: to introduce future generations, in whatever small way, to the wonders of horror. Whether its in the goofy antics of Universal monsters run amok, or questions of what awaits us on the other side, these are the films that will take them to worlds the other movies are too afraid to show them.

Welcome to the Dollhouse -- THE BOY

After watching THE BOY, I've found that most of the reviews for it range between glowingly lukewarm to outright mockery. This isn't without merit, as the film falls flat on more than a few points. However, I can't help but get the feeling that the more negative reviews are written by slightly biased authors. At best, they seem to feel that their critical palates are above munching on popcorn horror (meanwhile singing the praises of Conjuring 2: Euro-Trip); at worst, they call to mind the heckling of adolescent boys, breaking every moment of attempted suspense with cackling and cries of "That's not even scary!"

Let me be clear: THE BOY is not great, and its biggest flaw is that it's derivative of better movies. You could play Horror Bingo with as many tropes this film tics off. The beautiful American visits a foreign land for ambiguous reasons, waffling between scoffing at the local color and being captivated by it. The creepy old couple keep to themselves, yet hide a sinister secret.The spooky isolated mansion is filled with ominous oil paintings and dusty taxidermy. The attic door opens and closes on its own. The phone rings and there's only breathing on the other end. There's even a scene of our protagonist walking down a dark hallway on a stormy night holding a pillar candle and wearing a shimmering negligee, an image so painfully familiar I believe it's been with us since the dawn of film. But there's something to be said for aesthetics, and THE BOY is trying its very best to give you every impression that it is indeed a scary movie. It's both completely appropriate and sigh-inducing.

Yet, out of all these tired tropes, there is one that I just can't get enough of: creepy dolls. It's one of the few horror staples that actually has some significance to my reality. Like any girl, I've owned my fair share of dolls (and, like any woman-child, I'm not immune to still buying one every now and then....I waited my whole life to be an adult so I could buy all the toys I wanted!) I had all kinds, from a boxful of naked Barbies to my very own Woody doll (my name scrawled on the bottom of his boot, natch), to every little girl's ideal practice for motherhood, Baby Tumbles Surprise. Everyone had a part to play in the soap operas I enacted on my bedroom floor. But in every child's life, there will be one adult that just doesn't get it. My great aunt gifted me with at least three porcelain dolls in my childhood, all of them beautiful and surely expensive, with lush curly hair and hand-painted faces and fantastic Victorian-era clothes. I absolutely hated them. I told myself it was because the dolls just weren't my style--they represented a too-feminine frilly-ness I refused to relate to at that age. But the hard truth was I couldn't bear to look at them. Despite being beautifully dressed and lovingly made, their faces troubled me in a way that even my Steve Urkel doll did not. Their expressions were unanimously somber: lifeless glass eyes hovering above listless, pouting lips, all set atop ghostly pale, cold skin. These works of art were instantly stashed in my closet under a mountain of clothes, still cased in the boxes they arrived in. Few nights passed without thinking about them with cold dread: pretending to sleep in their cardboard coffins, seething with resentment over a life without a child's love, biding their time until they could wrestle their way out of my closet and come toddling over to my bed, begging for playtime with their sweet English accents.

It's only a little bit funny that I finally felt comfortable with scary dolls in the movies only after those porcelain nightmares were long gone to the Goodwill, off to haunt someone else's sleepless nights.

This is to say that one thing THE BOY does absolutely right is Brahms, the titular boy that is not a boy but a life-size doll that is treated as a beloved child. Brahms is a consistently unnerving presence throughout the film, staring vacantly into the camera with sad glass eyes and his trim little suit. Unlike sweet-faced Talky Tina or ham-fistedly sinister Annabelle, Brahms is quietly understated, neither endearing nor terrifying. He's just Brahms--doing his thing, listening to opera, reading poetry, playing quietly (very, very quietly) by himself. He's a classy little guy, if not a tad moody. In a lot of ways, he's kind of the perfect child.

No back-sass from this one.

For the entire film, you're waiting for Brahms to move. The camera zooms in close, and you're searching for even the smallest hint of life in that shiny little face. Throughout the movie, I felt the only thing that could truly ruin it for me is the thing that stains most haunted toy movies on some level: the big reveal of the Living Doll. After such a restrained buildup of tension, I couldn't bear it if it was all leading up to this dignified porcelain lad suddenly turning into Chucky. Scuttling around the house in his teeny tiny shoes, brandishing a kitchen knife half his size, screaming expletives, biting ankles, eventually getting tossed into the fireplace...it all seemed so below Brahms. Thankfully, the movie takes an entirely different approach to their creepy doll.  Not once does Brahms break character, and when he does break, it's into a thousand pieces.

All the tension lies in the mystery of Brahms, and it is here that the film seems to know exactly what it's doing, teasing out that secret for as long as possible. Perhaps it knows what it's doing all along, letting us get comfortable in these all-too-familiar trappings of a typical scary movie, letting us tic off our bingo cards and roll our eyes, letting us think we know exactly where it's going. I, for one, spent most of the movie with a sour face and plenty of scoffing, only by the end to get the rug yanked out from under me, but good.

The reviews will tell you the film's twist is both batshit insane and completely stupid, turning a lackluster movie into a complete waste of time. I won't defend the insane part, because it totally is, but stupid is a bit harsh. It's a downright horrifying revelation. It's not exactly airtight when you retrace the film, but credit where credit is due--it was a big fucking surprise. In fact, it made the whole damn mess worthwhile, at least for me.

I do take issue with the immediate and obvious sexualization of our pretty protagonist Greta, but that's like saying I take issue with Leatherface using his chainsaw as a dick replacement: it's just like "What did you expect, idiot?" Within fifteen seconds of screen time, Greta gets leered at by her cab driver and self-conciously covers her cleavage. Not ten minutes later, the grocery boy (a charming but often irritating exposition-machine Rupert Everett) asks her out within moments of meeting her. Brahms' mother wastes no time informing her that the previous nannies didn't work out because they "weren't as pretty as you." And Brahms...well Brahms is just a lonely little boy. It's Clarice Starling all over again, sniffed after by every man in her vicinity simply because she is a nearby female. In short, it's hard to watch, and kind of icky.

THE BOY is not perfect. It suffers from too many obvious influences, weird shifts in tone and inexplicable plot developments. (The sudden appearance of Greta's psycho ex is one example; he serves as unseen backstory until he's needed to scoot the climax along.) But for all it's paint-by-the-numbers pussy-footing, it seems to have a firm grasp on how to build a proper mystery. And it gives due respect to the motif of creepy doll. For once, I can be purely terrified by a blank, expressionless face without having to recall how stupid it looked once animated. Brahms is no Charles Lee Ray, but he doesn't need to be. Out of all the overused tropes they employ, they went their own way on the one that truly mattered.

Read me a story?

Jumping Off The Hype Train

You may recall my previous post concerning the bleak state of "blockbuster horror," how most of what is labeled "horror" in the theaters is either a sequel, or so reminiscent of tired themes and gimmicks that it might as well be a sequel. I came to the conclusion that there is an acute difference between horror fans and people who like scary movies, and both can exist in relative peace with one another, every once in a while meeting in the middle with a movie that even the Academy can appreciate.

I think the only time we're truly at odds is when one gives the other a recommendation, not realizing that their tastes are vastly different. Hardcore horror fans like me get bent out of shape when the world is gushing about a big blockbuster like The Conjuring, a movie I personally found to be overstuffed with cheap, ineffective scares. Meanwhile, general audiences get huffy when they hear The Witch is the scariest movie of the year, only to find themselves watching a molasses-slow period drama with inexplicable flashes of artsy weirdness. My initial reaction to the naysayers was to scoff and say "Well they just don't get it!" But it got me thinking about the effects of hearing about a movie enough to believe it will change everything, and the emotions that can follow after we finally see the thing.

Hype is an abstract, illusory concept. In today's world of social media and websites dedicated to every facet of geekery, it's nearly impossible to avoid hype, even for things you don't care about. Not that into superhero movies? Well, coming this summer, TOO FUCKING BAD. You're getting 400 of them--all over your cinemas, bus stops, billboards, toy aisles, burger joints, soda cans, candy bars, and Facebook feeds. You will either be beaten over the head with how awesome they are by every person you speak to, or have to take a break from your favorite movie websites to avoid the screams of jilted fanboys all over the internet. Just try not to see even a little of our movies, cackles Marvel, now an enormous sentient tower of industry. Just try not to have an opinion on our genius marketing scheme! You will fail! Muahaha! 

Sometimes hype can make or break a movie. There's the idea floating around that the new Ghostbusters movie will be a huge bomb when it's released because so many people are outraged about the very idea of a Ghostbusters reboot that simply no one will see it. (It probably won't totally flop, and hopefully not, because if so many other "childhood-ruining" movies seen out of curiosity can turn a profit, then an all-girl Ghostbusters certainly deserves to at least do okay.) In this case, hype could actually save the movie; if it turns out to be good, word-of-mouth and critical tapping might turn that sinking ship around. Plenty of people were nervous about The Force Awakens too, right? Look how it all worked out! And then there's Avatar, a hype-monster that was inescapable for months before swiftly disappearing into the shadows, never to be heard from again. But that discussion is for another day.

My point is that it's difficult to not let hype affect your verdict of a movie, and the bigger the movie, the harder it is to have a completely independent opinion. Self-loathing hipster compost heap that I am, it's important to me to recognize the difference between movies I genuinely love and movies I like in order to strike common ground with others...or, worst of all, movies I love precisely because they are so hated by others (Spiderman 3, anyone?...anyone?). In my younger days, I was guilty of being a constant contrarian merely for the sake of it--snotty towards critical darlings and sympathetic towards box-office bombs because I was just sooooo individual. I realize now that those opinions were largely shaped by hype, no matter how inverted. Even in my attempt to rail against the Hollywood machine, I was still basing my opinion off that of others. These days I'm more open to everything, and spend less time actively searching for flaws, and I don't really care whether or not someone likes the same things I do (though it is always nice to find that one critic that agrees with your unpopular opinion). But sometimes, even at my most genuine, I can't help but ruin the party once in a while and get really fucking mad about something popular.

Last year, there were two horror movies on the festival circuit that earned massive buzz at pretty much the same time: Jennifer Kent's The Babadook and David Robert Mitchell's It Follows. The two films were almost synonymous with one another following their release, often being listed side by side as the most anticipated films of the genre. They were both purported to be game-changers, with original perspectives and innovative ideas. Neither relied on familiar monsters, but they did address all-too-familiar fears. They even both starred blonde women as their protagonists. I was equally excited for both. Those scales would dramatically tip upon finally seeing the movies.


Here be spoilers.

The Babadook tells the story of widowed mother Amelia raising her young son Samuel. It's immediately apparent that something is off about Sam, and though it's never spelled out, we can at least guess he's somewhere on the spectrum. Throughout the film, we get more and more immersed in Amelia's silent anguish, suffering with her as she barely endures Samuel's hyperactive screeching and his relentless, often hostile energy. Over time, we realize that Amelia's husband died in a car accident on the way to the hospital to give birth to Sam, and the mother-son relationship appears even more uneasy. One day, a pop-up book appears and upon reading, it reveals the tale of a monster called the Babadook that "you can't get rid of." The Babadook slowly begins haunting Amelia and Samuel with more intensity and frequency, eventually possessing Amelia in order to get to Sam. The boy manages to fend off his mother and Amelia regains control of her body, banishing the Babadook to the basement. The end finds mother and son happily on the road to healing, while the Babadook remains locked away, only to be visited occasionally by Amelia, bearing an offering: a bowl of worms.

I tend to get emotional about movies, some may say too much. But sometimes you have such a raw, visceral reaction to a film that it's overwhelming. The worst part about being a horror fan is how you tend to grow desensitized to fear. You enjoy horror for its elements and atmosphere, but so rarely do you get to experience true definite horror--the kind of mad itching in your guts you felt when you were a kid sweating under your covers, trying to convince yourself to ignore that strange sound in the dark. That was the effect The Babadook had on me. It's as if Jennifer Kent reached into my head and strung together series of my own personal nightmares and gave it back to me as a gloomy, brutal, beautiful gift. Every ounce of dread I've ever felt at the thought of becoming a parent was in full color and surround sound. Every anxiety-fueled daydream of something awful happening to my beloved was felt deeply and animated with vivid brutality throughout the film. Even the most vulnerable, childish fear of all, the sense that some thing is watching me sleep, creeping ever closer with long fingers and a gleeful smile...it was all there on the screen, all building upon this ever-mounting sense of dread.

Not enough media explores the idea that some women are not fit for motherhood. Some women, like myself, are aware of the weight and responsibility of motherhood, and for whatever reason we know in our soul that it isn't for us. But some of us become mothers anyway, by accident or coercion, and it just doesn't work. What happens to those families? How long can she fake that motherly love? How long until her resentment consumes her? Mothers have killed their children before, and no one really talks about why, the crime too unspeakable to explain. How much does it take to push a mother that far? The Babadook shows the agonizing buildup to that psychotic break, and it's both glorious and terrifying when you find yourself fitting so easily into Amelia's shoes.

Pictured: my future.

The monster represents Amelia's grief for her husband but also her resentment towards Sam, which becomes an overwhelming force that threatens to drive her over the edge. She traps that force in a locked room with mementos of her husband, treating it with kindness--she doesn't need to destroy or abandon her grief and anger. She can still indulge in her pain, but now she keeps it put away, locked up but safe and unharmed, feeds it in private every now and then, and slowly learns to heal, for her own sake and her son's. It's a powerful message, and the happiest ending you could hope for after all that trauma.

After The Babadook went above and beyond anything I expected and skyrocketed to the top ranks of my favorite movies, I couldn't wait to see what It Follows had in store. It certainly seemed the more widely popular film, being American and paying homage to some of the more beloved aspects of American horror (i.e., shades of John Carpenter's Halloween). And it held a classic horror staple that everyone can recognize and on some level connect to: teenagers in peril.

More spoilers (and a little bitching).

It Follows introduces us to Jay, a pretty high school girl getting ready for a date. She goes to the movies with a boy named Hugh, a guy who absolutely fits the bill for "drinking age guy that dates high schoolers," and soon enough they have sex. Hugh then chloroforms Jay and when she wakes, tied to a wheelchair, he explains that he's passed on a curse to her. She is now pursued by a creature that can look like anyone but is only visible to her. Her friends rally around her and attempt to help with the usual teenage cure-alls: slumber parties, aimless car trips, laying out by the beach, and having casual sex with the neighbor boy. Despite this, the creature keeps closing in on Jay, driving her to more and more desperate paranoia. This all builds to a climax at the public pool involving some Scooby Doo scheme I can't even begin to describe that predictably goes awry, but doesn't quite fail as the creature appears to be dead, or at least wounded. The end finds Jay hooking up with good ol Friend Zone Paul, he (maybe?) passes the curse on to a prostitute, and we leave them listlessly holding hands, while behind them, but not too far behind, a figure slowly follows. Their fate is left up to us, if we think the figure is the creature or just some guy in a hoodie. Actually, a good hunk of this movie is left up to us...a frustratingly large hunk.

It Follows is...nice. It's a more or less a pleasant experience. The whole movie gives off the feeling of a chilled autumn evening--cool and eerily quiet with a certain electricity in the air. That fantastic Disasterpeace score adds a hint of the danger creeping up behind you, building with adrenaline and intensity, before dissolving into a dreamy spacey interlude. The scenery is lovely, with tree-lined suburbia juxtaposing the wretchedness of the overpass where Jay first meets her monster or the coldness of a deserted public pool. There has been a lot of attention given to the ambiguous time period, what with the mix of old timey TV sets and futuristic e-readers, which lends another layer of enjoyable weirdness to the film. The monster itself--a relentless presence with an ever-changing identity that only reveals itself as it's closing in on you--is top notch chilling. Every appearance of It is incredibly scary and perfectly structured.

Apart from one stupid exception.

I will say that on the second watch, I had recently read this article which posited that It is a metaphor for sexual assault. With that in mind, and the assumption that It can look like people it has killed, the creature's appearance is even more interesting...the old woman, the half-naked cheerleader with her teeth knocked out, the little boy...people who may very well have been viciously raped just to pass on a curse. It's a cool theory, and certainly holds more water than the STD-read.

Yet despite effective atmosphere, fascinating camera tricks, and excellent music, the movie just left me annoyed and disappointed with little to chew on as the credits rolled. (More like It's Hollow!) For the sake of fairness to this post, I decided to give it another watch...and I shut it off halfway through. (You can read the full extent of my insane rambling here.) I can appreciate that the director was going for the nightmare aesthetic, because the movie strikes that mood especially well. It is a lucid nightmare, some things concrete and others maddeningly ambiguous, and I will give it credit for that sense of disorientation. But it's more like that kind of nightmare you're having while heavily sedated on a long car trip, and you keep jolting awake with a crick in your neck only to fall back into horribly lifelike bad dreams--you reach the end of your journey shaken but ultimately grumpy with a terrible headache.

The fact remains that the film clearly states its rules and then leaves a frustrating amount of loose ends behind, and besides that I have to endure these morose teenagers all while trying to enjoy a couple of admittedly worthy scares. It just stresses me out, and not in the intended creepy way but the "I'm keeping this one in the collection merely on principle" way.

My feelings on It Follows makes me not so different from those unprepared souls that stepped out of The Witch with nothing but questions and complaints: we expected one thing due to the massive hype, only to get something we weren't anticipating and didn't necessarily like. It doesn't make my opinion any better or worse than anyone else's, it just didn't speak to me. Meanwhile The Witch and The Babadook were personal gifts bestowed on me by the movie gods. But these things are subjective, that's nothing new: critics adore aspects we common folk sleep through, just as young film-fans may see themselves reflected in a character I'd happily see get electrocuted in a pool. 

Liking a movie doesn't make someone a witless drone following the current, and not liking a movie doesn't make someone too stupid to understand it. Maybe the solution really is "Don't believe the hype," despite how impossible that may be in this internet age. As much as I enjoy reading reviews and analysis and spin my own from time to time, I still try to follow my own gut and move on from my days of endearing myself to something for the sake of joining the bandwagon...or my days of thinking that spewing bile at something popular was the superior opinion. There is no superior opinion, only yours. 

And on that note, give Ghostbusters a chance. Believe me, the only way to truly ruin your childhood is to go back to movies you adored as a kid and notice all the problems you have with it as an adult. That feeling is worse than anything New Hollywood could ever do to you. 

In which I state all my problems with It Follows

I decided to cut this from my previous blog, since I realized it was less analysis and more nonsensical ranting about a movie I'd only seen once, and to include it would make it overly long and straying away from the main topic. (I think you can sense my nitpicky rage building as it goes along.) Turns out I have a lot to say about it, worthwhile or not, and I've been holding onto this anger for far too long. And now I pass it on to you.

To be clear, I've watched this movie exactly one and a half times. The first time was breathlessly optimistic leading to a supreme letdown. The half-time was begrudgingly open-minded in respect to the film and this post, ultimately leading to tapping out just before the climax, secure in the feeling that I just don't like this movie. And it sucks because it's far from a bad movie, it's just....not for me.

For as many interesting shots and intriguing moments as there are, there is just as much artsy filler. I am a fan of film and filmmakers and visual storytelling and metaphor and ambiguity and all that crap, but filler is filler. When I'm watching a suspenseful monster movie and I keep getting tripped up by teenagers mumbling about what they used to do when they were kids, I call that filler. When I'm watching a film whose monster is clearly communicating a frightening, ambiguous sexual metaphor (whether for venereal diseases, or sexual assault, or whatever theory you subscribe to), then to see Jay staring down her panties and hyperventilating for no apparent reason (if only to drive it home that her pesky vagina got her into this mess) and never relate back to it, I call that filler. When I'm watching a movie that clearly states its rules and implores me to remember them, only to show me unresolved scenes that leave it up to interpretation whether or not those rules were followed, I call that fucking BULLSHIT filler. (I am very upset about that boat scene.) And when I walk away from a movie loving aspects of it but remembering an overwhelming amount of aimless nothing, I just end up mad. I just watched Halloween with even longer long shots and it was fucking exhausting.

It Follows' biggest flaw lies in a most familiar territory of horror: unsympathetic teen victims. I don't know where down the line teens in horror went from being outwardly stupid and obnoxious to being outwardly pretentious zombies, but I'd like to go back to stupid, please. These kids are the perfect age to think every mundane they say and do is its own kind of poetry, much like the irrelevant lyrical prose clumsily woven throughout the narrative. It's as if all their intense teenagery feelings have gone too deep and imploded into comatose indifference. In fact, the entire movie seems tinged with this teenage sense of wonder--but not sincere wonder, more like "This ant crawling on my arm reminds me how insignificant we all are." That kind of self-indulgent, manufactured wonder, like these kids know they're in a movie and are purposefully projecting those deep vibes and striking those languid poses in order to look alluring. How else do you rationalize that stilted car sex between Hugh and Jay? Sure, he's unloading a terrible curse so his guilt sort of overwhelms his arousal, but Jay responds to his absolute lack of passion with performed tenderness, like she's copying something she saw in a movie. How else to you explain Jay choosing to hide by sleeping in the woods curled up on a car hood like a fucking cat? Because it would make a nice photo on her Tumblr.

 In fact, maybe this movie had the Instagram generation in mind--that would explain all the nonsensical posing, impossibly flattering camera angles, and general self-absorption among the characters. (Not to mention the trappings of another time scattered in the background...hipster kids love retro shit!) The camera indulges these kids' desire to be watched, leering at their vacant pretty faces and careless nubile limbs in a way that's uncomfortably pornographic. With that mood in mind, the kids feel less like characters than window dressing, pretty mannequins that the director can put into compelling poses without the need for logic or continuity, merely the pastiche of a beautiful image.

Jay would have all the followers on Instagram. I mean look at her. The director certainly wants us to. Her closeups are fetishized with glorious slow motion and that dreamy score, which is sometimes compelling but often laborious. I suppose when you have your camera aimed at such a beautiful face as Maika Monroe's, you would want to capture every little microexpression. Yara is speaking to my very soul when she says to Kelly, "Your sister is so pretty, it's annoying." Yes, Yara, it really is. So this whole movie is going to annoy me with her prettiness.

Nice puka shells.

I don't dislike this actress or the performance--I'm betting the script didn't give her a whole lot to work with--it's just that we're being presented with a pretty girl and through the camera's adoring gaze, we are obliged fall in love with her without understanding the first thing about her. That's nothing new for pretty girls in the movies, hardee har har, but I just can't buy into this portrait of a beautiful teenage girl taken at a distance. Its too Virgin Suicides, like those neighbor boys watching Jay in the pool are also the ones writing the script: just keep looking at this angel and the rest will speak for itself. It's kind of icky.

Jay's rising paranoia is hard to follow given she can't crumple her beautiful face too much, aside from a steady knitting of her remarkable eyebrows into an ever-deeper pout. I suffer from resting-bitch-face myself, so I do sympathize, but Jay can't seem to muster an emotion outside of "tense" and "relaxed." Because she's apparently incapable of communicating her feelings, she appears as an entirely passive character throughout the movie. Whereas most final girls have some sort of agency in their fate, Jay's decision-making ends after she chooses to have sex with Hugh (which is just another stick in my craw...more unfeeling punishment for sexually active teens). For the rest of the movie, she's a little wounded kitten: chirping meekly and smiling weakly and taking teeny tiny bites of her beautifully photographed food, just begging someone to wrap her up in a blanket and kiss her forehead.

She's either running away with a baffling sense of direction (the middle of an empty park is the perfect place to hide!), or she's dragged along by her buddies into solving this mystery, all the while staring off worriedly into the distance and being entirely unhelpful, despite being the one whose life is on the line. While Hugh is explaining the intricacies of the curse to her and her friends, she's barely paying attention, apparently too consumed by her own misery to do anything but pick at the grass (that particular gesture--girls absent-mindedly picking or stroking things to communicate a troubled mind, or ya know, boredom--recurs throughout the movie like it's supposed to mean something and I fucking hate it). She turns into absolute dead weight, and given we're supposed to want to protect her and identify with her, she's so closed off in all her ethereal teenage dreaminess that she just does not make contact as a real character. She's the lovely-looking centerpiece to this lovely-looking display.

And an apparent attempt at making peacoats and cutoff shorts a thing.

Meanwhile, her sidekicks are steadfastly at her side. This little team of poker-faced go-getters jumps at every chance to help Jay on the grounds that they're all such besties, but often I get the feeling this group just doesn't have anything better to do. Like, they're good kids so they don't get high or vandalize property (aside from Greg the jauggernaut bad boy), but they're clearly bored enough to drop everything in their lives to help their maybe-crazy friend feel better. It's made fairly clear that even though they believe Jay's fear, they don't really believe there is a monster, (at least until Paul gets beat down by a green screen effect) so it's a bit odd that they would go to such great lengths to indulge in what they largely perceive to be a paranoid fantasy.

But remember that Jay is a pretty, blonde, quiet girl, which is movie language for "She's not crazy, she's on a whole other level." This is reason enough for those boys--Pouty Paul and Sleazy Greg--to trail after her like puppies, both baldly campaigning to be the lucky guy she passes It along to. And to be clear, neither of those guys is the better choice. Greg is a horny teenage boy with a wandering eye, but at least he's honest about it; he makes no bones about the fact that he's in this for the pussy. Meanwhile, Paul is carrying his crush on Jay with this martyred nobility that's nauseating to watch. They're childhood friends, and movie logic tells us they will eventually end up together, and Paul has clearly seen those movies. Despite his gentle demeanor, he bears this obvious territorial resentment towards anyone attracted to Jay. He even snaps at Yara's aforementioned "pretty" comment with "At least she's nice." [Subtext: "Not like all those other fake bitches who won't date me either."]. He's clearly biding his time being the white knight next door he feels he's supposed to be, trying desperately to hide the full body angst-erection he gets whenever Jay's in the room.

May I take your curse, m'lady?

When he and Jay end up together at the end, it feels forced and awkward which was possibly the intention, but it's one of the more hollow images that's selling itself as a payoff moment. The relationship isn't any more romantic than her connection with Greg. It ultimately boils down to sex: Paul that always wanted it, and Jay that wanted to get rid of It. After that, there's nothing left but shallow hand-holding and staring blankly into the distance, as if because they knew each other for years and then silently fucked on a couch while it stormed outside, now they should be in love. Again, just children striking a pose for the camera.

Jay's sister Kelly barely has any purpose besides providing the buffer between Jay and the others. One wonders why Jay doesn't have her own friends....is she so pretty that everyone is intimidated by her? Kelly has little personality outside of staring at Jay with concern, which I guess translates to unwavering sister-love. We sum up their relationship with exchanged glances and call it a day.

And Yara...what the hell are you even doing here, Yara? You're the one bright spot in this whole mess. All you do is read and sleep. You probably haven't made direct eye contact with a single person in your life. Why do you hang out with these people? You know these people are boring as shit, that's why you're always reading to them in an effort to have some fucking thing to talk about. Why do you need friends at all, Yara? You have yourself and your shell-phone books and that's fantastic. Yara, you're a beautiful bedraggled gap-toothed angel and you're the only person I can connect with in this shitshow.

Eat your sandwich, you perfect weirdo.

And most perplexing of all, WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS? What world are you living in where you can just disappear on road trips upstate to the family cabin with no notice? Do you go to school? Is it summer break? Is it fall break? Is it "I'm really going through some stuff right now" break? How the hell are you not all grounded?

This, and everything covered in the Cinema Sins video is why this one is staying in the DVD collection strictly for show, until the day some unsuspecting guest picks it out for a watch and is subjected to my bitter heckling.

I realize I'm nitpicking things that are microscopic next to the things the film does right. And it does so many things right, which infuriates me most of all! There are superb moments of horror and suspense, lots of hypnotic imagery, and the ever-present feeling that you are not safe. Normally those things would make a perfect horror movie, forgivable for all manner of sins! But I only focus on these aspects because the film seems so focused on them, and it's infuriating because these scenes do not deserve the attention. These slow-moving interludes of banal reality that serve as a story merely make for an over-long series of distractions from the good stuff, weighing down every too-brief moment of fright with a whole lot of boredom and irritation. Maybe I relate more to these teens than I realized: I felt equal parts terrified, sleepy, and helplessly confused throughout the film. Maybe this David Robert Mitchell is on to something I hadn't considered, but I doubt it.

 Obviously a great deal of talent went into this fascinating concept, but it seems they got so caught up in how cool their idea was that they neglected the part about compelling characters and plot structure. Saying after the fact "You can't solve a nightmare" is a poor excuse when really you just couldn't come up with an ending.

Blockbusted, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Just Quit Going to the Movies

The last horror movie I saw in theaters was The Strangers in 2008. After that day, I swore never again to see a scary movie with a crowd. The reason is simple: other theater-goers around me were being obnoxious. Tale as old as time. I particularly remember at one point--during the famous sequence where Liv Tyler smokes a cigarette in the living room in a conspicuously wide shot--the woman behind me was muttering to her friend about something or other, giggling and munching on popcorn. She managed to turn her attention back to the screen just as a masked man came drifting into the shadow of the hall behind Liv--an image splashed all over the trailers, mind you--and proceeded to scream hysterically, causing her friends to laugh at her, followed by a noisy recovery, the whole incident making at least seven minutes of otherwise tense screen time incoherent. It was similar to an incident years earlier, when I sat through The Exorcism of Emily Rose with a front row filled with boisterous teenage boys. Their cackling at the film's most harrowing scenes let all of us sharing the theater know of their bravery and immunity to death. Given the film's subject matter, I hope they all burn in hell.

I realize that in any given gathering of a certain size, it's to be expected that somebody is going to be a jackass. No matter what movie you're seeing, you have to be prepared for the possibility that someone there is going to ruin your good time. I don't want to believe that there are people out there who go to the movies to purposefully destroy everyone's experience, but I know they're out there doing it anyway. So, given my experiences, when it comes to horror, I tend to wait longer for the movies I want to see. The experience of watching them in my dark quiet living room with nigh a teen in sight is well worth the wait.

In any case, that's where horror is thriving: outside of theaters. The best horror released in the last several years has gone straight from the festival circuit to home video and VOD, with a few exceptions making it to wide release. It's encouraging to know that the best content is coming from the more independent market, and even makes us feel proud as fans when a little indie gem becomes a big blockbuster sensation. These days it feels like a new world where horror has become (gasp!) art, untouched by the Hollywood machine. Of course there are still scary movies playing in theaters, for the kids, but the true horrors are lurking in the shadows, waiting on the Blu-Ray release. Maybe it means a bold new direction for scary cinema, a world accepting of all kinds of wacky, terrifying new ideas to pry at our psyches and tease our nightmares. One would hope that as time goes by, the two camps will merge more into one, and the masses can experience what horror can be at its absolute best. Or, they could just make another Insidious.

Maybe I'm just a jaded old crone of a gorewhore, but it is truly baffling to me what "the masses" find scary. There are trends (we seem to be in a g-g-g-GHOST! trend in the last few years), but no matter the monster, it has been a long time since the horror blockbuster struck any new ground compared to what is being done outside of traditional Hollywood. There have been innovations, sure--Paranormal Activity ignited found footage into an industry that just won't quit, and Black Swan was a trippy masterpiece that made it to the Oscars--but as far as content, it's the same shit that's been done to death in a thousand other titles. I'd wager that if The Conjuring didn't have its James Wan pedigree and its passably recognizable cast, it would have been just as easily forgotten as A Haunting in Connecticut.

Speaking of The Conjuring, let's take a second and talk about trailers. Aren't they great? If you just scrolled  through any given website, you'd think our entire society hinges on trailer releases. They've become a type of cinema in and of themselves, a hyper-condensed taste of a movie that is engineered to cause spine-tingling or adrenaline-pinching in the viewer. All of that is wonderful, and I don't know what kind of movie fan I would be if it weren't for so many kickass trailers. However, there are drawbacks to promoting your movie, especially when it becomes a surprise success. The Conjuring was huge when it came out, or at least that's what the utter hysteria of its campaign would have you believe. Every YouTube video had an unskippable trailer attached. TV spots popped up every single commercial break, sometimes back to back. Lili Taylor's candlelit terror-face was splattered all over every website homepage. The ads really wanted us to know this was a scary movie, maybe even the scariest ever, and they wanted us to remember it as we marked our calendars for the release date.

So, as is my style, I waited for the Redbox release, nearly a year and hundreds of breathless reviews later. Now, I try my very best not to automatically shit on something just because it's popular (I am hipster scum, but I'm doing my best), but The Conjuring was trying my patience from the beginning. The ads had beat me over the head to such a degree months before that the images were vivid in my mind. In some way I hoped that finally watching the damn thing would make them stop (an exorcism of sorts)... I also can't stand Lili Taylor even at the best of times. But the buzz was inescapable, and my curiosity was piqued, so I broke down and rented it.

It was the most spiteful movie experience I've had alone in my own house since I rented Avatar. I was outraged. If you didn't realize this, I'm here to tell you right now, they showed the whole movie in the trailers. Every jump scare, every creepy visual, every harrowing moment. Watching the actual movie merely served to lend context to everything I had already been watching on loop months ago. And yet this was the film that terrified audiences all over the country.

Insidious was a similar experience, although at least there was some element of surprise there. I will give credit where credit is due: Insidious definitely had me, but only up to a point. What is a pretty tense and engaging setup starts stumbling in its third act...I was teetering on the fence once Patrick Wilson went venturing into the ghost dimension, and fell right off of it once I recognized the dulcet tones of Tiny Tim.

 While I could definitely understand certain elements and visuals keeping more than a few folks up at night (that one lovely family is the definition of nightmare fuel), the rest was unremarkable. Hell, I don't even remember enough of Insidious to give a scathing review. (I have forgotten most of The Conjuring as well, aside from those few images burned into my brain from rote memorization.)

Now this isn't me saying I'm a big tough girl who ain't afraid of no ghost. I am not immune to the jump scare, or the creepy visual, or the spooky use of ironic music. (And for the record, I am very much afraid of all the ghosts, in and out of the movies.) I'm just saying I wish "blockbuster" horror wasn't so...basic. It's not that these movies aren't scary, they just aren't terribly creative. Moments shine through, but they are few and far between and you can bet you'll see them in the trailers long before they have the chance to properly scare you.

So what does this mean? Maybe it means those Hollywood bigwigs just don't "get" horror. They've seen the most successful scary movies and they take note of what causes them, or the test audiences, to jump or squirm. They often fail to realize what causes slowly-building tension, or how to portray main character that the audience doesn't want to see die. All they see are dollar signs in the bloody writing on the wall. Or maybe it's the audience's fault. After all, aren't we, the filmgoers, the ones who determine a film's success? Clearly, plenty of people found Insidious scary, enough to give it three sequels, while The Conjuring got a less-successful but still buzzed-about spinoff and an upcoming sequel. Why would the masses make these films wildly successful while I found them trite?

Maybe I'm the problem. Maybe snobs like me should realize that the average joe probably doesn't see many scary movies to begin with. It's an occasional interest, just as fleeting as anything to do on a Friday night. So when Average Joe and Jane take in a scary movie, it's fresh to them. Hell, it's fun, interactive, a whole event. For some people, it's even an aphrodisiac. In a way, it may be the closest those folks will get to a live Rocky Horror show.

So, if a basic haunted house flick gets Joe and Jane's blood pumping for a few moments, even if it's laughing at their friends' terrified screams, maybe that's not such a bad thing. It only demonstrates the flexibility of horror. Horror can be spoon fed, or it can be abstract; it can be exploitative or artistic; familiar images can be ripoffs, or homage. A nightmare, or a laugh riot.

I suppose it all really comes down to your perspective. And maybe I need to change mine, and stop getting so angry about okay movies making big money. Because here's the thing: either way, horror is being enjoyed. It's a golden age right now for horror, in a high state of evolution both on the big screen and streaming platforms. Some of the most popular television shows in the last five years have been centered on horror. Horror isn't dead, or cheap; in fact it's more relevant than it's ever been.

If you are someone who goes to scary movies to test your strength or mock your friends, you're still enjoying horror. You're still funding a production team or director who may go on to make something even better. That shouldn't hamper easily-miffed snobs like me and our good time. Those of us who stalk horror sites and keep a lookout for indie gems just enjoy a more exclusive side of horror that is constantly evolving with fresh, original, bizarre material all the time. We can see the rise of horror in popular culture and appreciate it for what it is, but we know a whole world of nightmares is open to us because we've earned it as fans. Honestly, I feel better knowing that something like Under the Skin didn't reach the masses, because it's all that more precious a treasure, and I know plenty of other fans feel the same about some of their own secret discoveries. It's our reward as fans of one of the most fascinating genres in the medium, and our patience waiting for that VOD release.

Let Joe and Jane have their fun at the movies. We're still in the Horror Club.

DO NOT STOP FILMING: In Defense of Found Footage

Horror fans are a loyal and endlessly hungry bunch, almost to a fault. We are voracious in in our consumption and ruthless in their preferences. Every fan is drawn to the genre for different reasons, but in general there are certain things we can all agree upon: practical effects trump CGI, remakes are often (not always) a waste of time, and we all love Brad Dourif and respect his decisions.

He's an artist. He can do what he wants.

But there is one aspect in recent years that at first divided horror fans, but has over time mutated into the basis for actual prejudice amongst ourselves: Found Footage.

I doubt I need to tell you what found footage is because it has been nearly inescapable for the last ten years. Despite its appropriate rise in the age of iPhones and Skype, the technique is nothing new to the horror industry: Cannibal Holocaust (1980) and The Blair Witch Project (1999) have been essential viewings in many a horror hound's education. There are few that argue with the ingenuity and sheer wonder of those films; to this day, they remain genre game changers on par with The Exorcist. Over time, the technique was used more frequently and with varying degrees of success following Blair Witch, but when Cloverfield hit theaters in 2008, and the rise-of-the-franchise Paranormal Activity following in 2009, the potential of the style exploded.

Before we realized what was happening, our video stores and Netflix queues were suddenly gorged with "shaky cam" cinema. As it's evolved, everything from GoPros to desktop livefeeds have lifted moviemaking to a new weird level of immersion. Found footage was once an occasional novelty treat, something you'd stumble upon and be pleasantly surprised by its unique approach. Since PA, we've gone from one or two movies a year to twenty, most of them straight-to-DVD. It didn't take long for everyone to get really fucking sick of it.

Any cynical fan could tell you that found footage is simply cheaper than making a "real movie," hence an upsurge of low-grade filmmakers are cashing in on a trend. This is based on the idea that found footage movies are barely movies at all; that they rarely tell a narrative, opting instead for disorienting visuals and inconsequential dialogue only to pad the runtime until the scares appear. In this view, found footage requires little to no effort on the part of the filmmakers, and instead appears to leave the movie up to whichever untrained idiot is holding the camera, and how fleetingly they can reveal their low-rent effects work. Given the sheer number of carelessly made shaky-cam movies in the last few years, it's not surprising that it has worn out its welcome.

But not with me! Ever the non-conformist, I personally love found footage. Believe me, I am a snobby cynical hipster dumpster fire on a lot of subjects, but when it comes to found footage, I remain naively optimistic. By all rights, I really shouldn't be. I get burned by it all the time simply because I watch a lot of it, and yet I still get excited when a new one pops up on my radar. Why? Why do I keep punishing myself with dizzying camerawork and wooden acting?

Here's the best I can describe the sensation. Picture it: you're on Youtube late at night, and you stumble upon a video that claims to show surveillance footage of a ghost. The video has a 16-minute time stamp, but damn if you're not curious to see that ghost. So you watch the whole thing, waiting on the edge of your seat for something, in the end only spotting a vaguely suspicious shadow in the very back corner. Disappointing, yes, but--oh, look, another link takes you to more footage to decipher. A waste of time, perhaps, but the adrenaline rush of maybe, just maybe, you'll see something you can never come back from.

You may go through a hundred of those videos and be let down time and again by doctored footage or a tuft of dust floating by the camera. Millions of tantalizing links, thousands of lackluster videos, and then...oh, then...you run across the Elisa Lam video. You can't quite explain why, but you'll leave a light on before you go to sleep tonight.

That's the effect of my ideal found footage experience, the idea of mining through hours of shit to finally emerge with a gleaming hunk of gold. What do I consider gold? Well I've broken it down into a few aspects that I particularly enjoy and actively look for in found footage specifically. These aren't necessarily rules, just bullet points that, if done correctly, can come together for a great movie.

ATMOSPHERE:
There is something that feels profoundly unsafe about watching footage that is supposedly real: home movies, security cameras, even recently with Youtube and Vine. Despite our constantly oversharing world, there are still some things that are sacred and should be kept to ourselves. The right kind of found footage gives the feeling that we shouldn't be watching them, either because they are too personal, or too bizarre. We can't tear our eyes away for fear of missing something, but we're also a little afraid of what we might see. (The best don't let you see a damn thing, except for one or two choice moments that you'll never forget.)

The nature of "documenting" something is to give whatever it is absolute legitimacy. And, by its very nature, the "found" tape will be unedited, leaving lots of open space before we get to the good stuff. This means that it might be a slow watch, but it also means that shit could hit the fan at any moment. Combine this voyeurism with the vulnerability of first-person point-of-view, and we get the delightful experience of "being there." That's the basic conceit of most found footage movies, but not all of them succeed in the same way.

For its flaws, Blair Witch Project really impressed the isolation of its characters upon its audience. Even all these years later, sitting safe and sound in my bedroom, I can still watch that movie and feel the utter helplessness of stumbling around in the woods, the vulnerability of being hunted by an unseen evil in an endless, open darkness.

Another movie that "takes you there," though not nearly as memorably, is The Houses October Built, supposedly the last known footage of an RV full of college kids who took a spooky roadtrip in search of the most extreme haunted attraction. The movie as a whole is pretty disappointing, despite it's badass trailer. Any scenes in the RV getting to know the kids are absolutely flavorless, and admittedly the action doesn't get much better even when they get to the haunts. But I have to give it praise for really simulating the experience of going through a haunted attraction: pitch darkness and heavy breathing followed by sudden loud noises and occasional bright flashes of light that may or may not briefly reveal a monster, all with a generous helping of complete disorientation and lots of screaming. I may not remember a single character's name but I do remember the claustrophobic darkness, the distinct flavor of Halloween throughout, and that one super creepy Doll Girl. Its inescapable atmosphere nearly saves the whole thing.

See you in your dreams.

CHARACTERS:
Going all the way back to where it began with Cannibal Holocaust, the trend within found footage has been to use unknown actors, often to lend the film more credibility if it's supposedly based on true events. Because of this, criticism is often brutal to the cast of a found footage movie: either they're too inexperienced to carry a film, or simply too grating for the audience to lend their sympathies. But that's not exactly fair.
 
The point of found footage is to put us in a moment, to get knee deep in an experience, but most of all we are meant to believe that it all actually happened. Unfortunately, things that actually happen are way more exciting with the benefit of things like editing and music. The reality of filming a camping trip with your friends is probably way more boring than you would hope, despite how funny and interesting all your friends probably are. We can only see as far as the camera does, so we really have to take any and everyone at face value and build from there. We don't have the luxury of flashbacks or internal monologue or whatnot, so character building is limited to what we see them do while the camera is watching (or in some unfortunate cases, out-loud exposition). We actually have to get to know them organically.

The Last Exorcism spends a great deal of its runtime familiarizing us with its cast. Rev. Cotton Marcus (Patrick Fabian), a longtime preacher and renowned exorcist, has commissioned a group of film students to make a documentary that will expose the practice of exorcism as a fraud. Throughout the film, he reveals his bag of tricks--everything from the power of a shallow yet fiery sermon, to rigging his crucifix to spew smoke when it is "possessed" by the demon--and not once does he come off as a charlatan. Cotton has all the charisma and sincerity of a Southern Baptist preacher, but with twice the integrity. He is candidly upfront about his beginnings as a child groomed for priesthood and eventual loss of faith. After learning about the death of a supposedly possessed autistic boy, he wants to bring down the business of exorcism so no more misdiagnosed children have to suffer at the hands of misguided religion. For all his "swindling," he's a pretty great guy.

Cotton picks a letter from his pile of requests and sets out to Louisiana to the Sweetzer farm to demonstrate his exorcism game on the allegedly possessed teenage daughter, Nell. The Sweetzers are a fascinating family. Widowed father Louis (Louis Herthum) has an intense vulnerability behind his icy eyes and set jaw, as if at any moment he could either start weeping or pull out his shotgun. Caleb (Caleb Landry Jones) is magnetic as Nell's protective brother, looming just outside of the action but constantly projecting a dark cloud over the shoot. He projects this intense hostility under a soft-spoken demeanor that is absolutely mesmerizing. Finally, sweet Nell (Ashley Bell) is an absolute angel, a sheltered girl who paints and plays the recorder, and has apparently been slaughtering farm animals at night. She looks as if she's seen terrible things, or stayed up crying many nights, but whenever she smiles, she transforms that haunted, hollow face into that of a gleeful little girl. She is truly heartbreaking to watch, especially as she regresses into a hissing, bone-cracking monster.

All the awards.

Much like found footage, we have collectively gotten over exorcism films in the last few years, and while The Last Exorcism is not perfect (the last ten minutes really go off the rails compared to its previously steady build), it is definitely a gem among its contemporaries. The use of found footage is perfectly executed as a documentary expose, which smoothly transitions to the adrenaline rush of shaky cam action. But the film lives and dies with its great characters and stellar performances. Despite brief moments of cheesiness and somewhat hamfisted motivations, the characters feel so real and compelling that we like them. We are sad to see their fates, no matter how ridiculous that ending is.

REALISM: 
When I say realism in reference to horror, I have no concrete definition. I think it really comes down to the stakes/rules of the situation, the delivery of the special effects, and the victims' reactions to both...not necessarily whether or not "it could really happen."

Found footage has the tricky task of selling the plausibility of fantastical things, whether they be ghosts, aliens or a giant monster attacking New York. But it's still a movie, so the monster can't just come out of nowhere. Reality rarely follows narrative beats, so found footage makes up for this by dispensing little warnings of what is to come before we see the monster, and the effectiveness lies in putting these warnings not only in a real-world context, but also be commonplace enough that the characters wouldn't notice them. The most realistic found footage will either take something real and spice it up to make it scary, or take something fantastical and rationalize it to fit our world. 

The Bay presents itself as a collection of confiscated footage to reveal the "true events" of one small town's Fourth of July celebration turned tragic by a sudden disease outbreak. The movie jumps between so many hands throughout its runtime, from news crews to police dash cams to iPhones to a camera found on the beach. I'd rather not give anything away, since this movie is such a perfect build-up of tension before spiraling out of control, and I would hate to ruin the ride for you. Suffice it to say that it is one of the more terrifying movies I've ever seen, all the more so because its presentation leaves you convinced it could totally, definitely happen. (Spoilers: it's this. I'm sorry.)

On the other hand, we have Troll Hunter, a delightful little gem from Norway. It works similarly to The Last Exorcism, in that a man in a fantastical line of work enlists a young film crew to record his exploits in order to reveal the truth to the world. Hans (Otto Jespersen) is employed by the government to exterminate trolls--literal fairytale trolls, lurking in the woods, hiding under bridges, eating people... the usual troll stuff. Hans is tired of his job and wants to expose the great lengths the government is going to in order to keep the country's troll problem out of the public knowledge. Over the course of the film, we get fascinating morsels of troll trivia, springboarding off storybook lore and given real-world context. They also reference several manmade points in the Norwegian landscape that appear to be bridges and power grids but are in fact secret troll deterrents. It's all very clever, yet quite cavalier about its whistle-blowing theme, not getting too bogged down in its own conspiracy that we forget we're talking about trolls here. The trolls themselves are a marvel to look at. CGI mixed with strategic lighting makes them massive, grimy beasts. Once the science(!!) behind them is introduced, they're just as fascinating as they are scary. Plus it's wicked awesome watching them get turned to stone..


RE-WATCHABILITY:
I watch movies repeatedly, some of them to an obsessive point (re American Psycho). It's a lot to ask of a movie to be fresh every time you watch it--there's only one Edgar Wright--so it is something special when a movie can still surprise you on the second, fifth, and tenth viewing. This is especially true with found footage, since the novelty factor can wear itself out rather quickly if there's nothing to back it up. The right kind of found footage can unnerve or engage you in new ways with repeated viewings, either with a flicker of movement in the background that you didn't notice before, or a foreboding line of dialogue that now has new weight. At the very least, the monster has to be so badass and compelling that you'd sit through the whole mess a dozen more times just for a few more brief glimpses of its glory (re Cloverfield).

I was thrilled when I heard M. Night Shayamalan was making a found footage film, and even more thrilled when it actually got good reviews. I'm one of the few refugees out there that still believes in M. Night, despite everything, and I was interested to see what he would do with the mockumentary technique (he's had a some experience, after all). The Visit did not disappoint.

Presented as a documentary being made by two kids hoping to reconnect with their estranged grandparents, it's unnerving, engaging, and unpredictable as hell. It's hard to describe the plot without giving too much away, but suffice it to say that Nana and Poppop are a little kooky--the question is, is it just the result of their old age, or something more sinister? When the truth is revealed, it's both a gutpunch and a punchline, horrifying one moment and helplessly funny the next. Upon second viewing, the entire movie was new again, offering plenty of subtle clues to the big reveal without ever giving itself away. It's even funnier the second time, which is really confusing for your movie-buddy if they haven't seen it before.

YAHTZEE!

So I've given plenty of examples of movies that offer the strengths of found footage and use it to its best advantage while also being enjoyable films, but is there any one movie that successfully combines all of these elements? Is there a perfect found footage film? I believe there is.

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is, for lack of a better word, flawless. Despite its mouthful of a title and low budget, this is one of the finest slasher movies ever made. This was one of those unsuspecting video store finds that changed me forever, and to this day I'm disappointed that more people haven't heard of it. But certainly more people now have heard of it than back in 2006, and it is finally getting its due on various "hidden gem" horror articles. About fucking time!

Presented as a film school project, three students set out to interview a self-made slasher named Leslie Vernon (Nathan Baesel) and learn his process for strategically killing teenagers. In this world, guys like Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger are real, established killers and respected professionals within their field, and Leslie is emulating them while attempting to build his own unique mythology. It's a serious job with a longstanding tradition and it has to adhere to certain rules (your main girl must be a virgin, you must give your victim a way to defend herself, you must give chase but never look like you're running, etc). If Leslie can orchestrate his big debut to perfection, he will be an established slasher villain.

What follows is a lighthearted meta-fiction mockumentary that both satirizes and enlightens nearly every aspect of your typical slasher film. If you're thinking that sounds like Scream all over again, shut up because no it's not. Leslie reveals the many moving pieces within his plan, as well as their psychological impact. He attaches industry terms (red herring, survivor girl, Ahab, etc) to familiar tropes and reveals aspects of elements we have perhaps only noticed in our subconscious. This movie introduced me to the concept of phallic and yonic imagery. It goes that deep. Jamie Kennedy couldn't spew this shit.

So, you can already see I'm a fan of the movie, but does it hold up to my self-imposed criteria?

Atmosphere: Portland, Oregon stands in for the sleepy town of Glen Echo and this is one of those perfect movie towns with woods all around and an ever-present chill in the air. It's a town that you can see going all-out for Halloween. It's constantly overcast and foggy, but the rich greens and reds everywhere lend so much color to the landscape. The place feels familiar and unthreatening, even though we're on the road with an aspiring murderer. Even hanging out and talking murder shop with Leslie's mentor, a retired slasher named Eugene (Scott Wilson), feels like sharing a few beers with your favorite uncle. There's a persistent friendliness to the whole movie, allowing the audience to really let their guard down and get to know Leslie and what he's about. However, when the twist appears, it turns the whole tone of the movie on its head and changes into something far more menacing, and just as effective.

Characters: It shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that I love Leslie. How can you not? He's funny, smart, intuitive and full of surprises, plus he really loves his job. He approaches his work with great seriousness without losing his humor, but when he's on the job, he is stone cold focused. It's a pretty chilling turnaround.

Meanwhile, our film crew consists of reporter and face of the project Taylor (Angela Goethals) and two largely unseen guys, Doug and Todd. Taylor is pretty ballsy for doing this project at all, let alone being the one who has to interview the self-proclaimed killer. Despite her obvious nervousness going in, she proves herself to be totally professional and capable, keeping a cool head even when Leslie is preaching his demented philosophy. She never once resorts to the usual tropes of the defenseless girl in the slasher movie (I don't even think you hear her scream) but we can still sense her incredible vulnerability.  I can't get too deep into how great Taylor actually is without spoiling anything, but I think she'll be remembered as one of the more human slasher heroes in years to come.

Also, Robert Englund!

Realism: As soon as you accept the idea that familiar horror movie villains walk among us, everything else is pretty easy to swallow.

Re-watchability: I've watched this movie countless times, and it hasn't lost a single shred of its charm for me. It's endlessly interesting to examine and dissect movies through other movies, especially when such a great character is guiding you through the whole journey. The rules within the slasher agenda are clearly stated with acknowledgement of old tropes and also connects them to literary tradition and psychology. Plus it's fraught with references to its successors. It's a literature student/horror hound's wet dream!

If there can be a perfect found footage film, or a perfect horror film for that matter, my money is on Leslie.

Who could resist this face?

So! That is my long-winded defense in this court of public opinion. I doubt found footage really needs my help, since the industry seems to be chugging along just fine regardless of anyone's feelings about it. Sure, there's plenty of low-budget shaky-cam crap out there, but there is plenty of beautifully-filmed, tightly-written, professionally-acted crap out there too. That shouldn't necessarily give cause to write off an entire area of film just because some are pretty bad. Think where the horror genre would be if there weren't some brave souls out there willing to mine for diamonds.