Ravenous (1999)

 You are what you eat.

This has long been due and awaited by a select* few, and tonight I am ready once again: Whilst wallowing in footnotes of a scientific nature and working my pretty ass off about topics no single remotely sane and especially 'normal'** person is interested in, I needed to occupy my creative multitasking with some visual input in order to actually concentrate on being a frelling out-of-work penniless genius who is being thought of as a weird, nerdy retard. Pardon my French. So the search for DVDs working on this glorious excuse for a laptop*** led to 'not-really-anything-working-besides-for-a-handful-that-I-have-already-watched-extensively' - as a result, thinning out the collection to what is available on one backup drive. This is a sore topic for me, as most of my DVDs are not working anymore, and most of my backups are A)**** on non-working peripheral drives, or B) dead internal drives in inaccessible impossible casings. Add C) non-accessible drives in dead motherboards and D) non-working broken DVDs as your personal level of Schadenfreude demands. It's easily possible to add E) non-working DVD-player to that - but as of recently, I can say 'thank you' to Maynard of horrormoviediary.net, who volunteered to send me a working external DVD-player. Thank you.

Still, the final solution in this case having been the handful of movies of which I have several backups - having been blessed with technological paranoia from an early involvement with it on -, I chose Ravenous to be the movie of the... day? Weekend? Don't know, don't care, but what counts is that Ravenous is one of those movies I can actually watch, so there we go - praise Dame Necessity.

First of all:
Robert J. Carlyle. OMG. Robert J. Carlyle.
Your hostess has to admit to going all fan-girl-y over that Scottish guy. His characters are always memorable - Colqhoun / Colonel Ives in this wonderful movie, the father in 28 Weeks Later (Hallêlu:-Fresnadillo/Boyle!), Dr. Rush in SGU (only thing saving that series, besides for the distinctly Farscape-esque touch of the story and the ship Destiny... srsly), .... and most recently, effing Rumplestiltskin in faerytale-smooch-drama-series Once Upon A Time (again, only saving grace of that thing - I do see a pattern here).

So. Ravenous. *toothy grin*

This is the story of a young man of the American military, Captain John Boyd (Guy Pearce), who has been sent to Fort Spencer, located in what has to count as pretty much the remotest areas of the Sierra Nevadas, for a reason made very clear at the very start of the narrative; there, he encounters a very archaic concept coming to life, threatening all - an archaic concept made manifest as a ravenous hunger... for human flesh.

(cue in cheering, applause and enthusiastic hooting of the doubtlessly huge crowd here for effect)

Captain John Boyd is a coward at heart. He managed to take an enemy post in a battle once (ah, yes: The movie is set during the time of the Mexican-American war - complete with in-period garb, which of course impressed me positively A LOT, being the historical-accuracy-nerd that I am), but that was under ...special circumstances. That was ...different. *grins toothily*
You see, he let himself be captured by the enemy (= evil Mexicans in this case) by 'playing dead' - he could not bear witnessing the deaths of all his men, and so he thought it would be a good idea to fake being dead. Wise choice indeed, considering that he found himself on a wagon loaded with the corpses of his fellow soldiers, buried underneath them. Getting their, ehm, inside-stuff into his mouth. Heh.

When a mysterious stranger who calls himself Colqhoun arrives at Ford Spencer shortly after Boyd has, our soldier does not know yet that his life will change completely under the influence of the remnants of his own past and the needs of the present. A horror movie with engaging and truly memorable, well-crafted characters! [rasping-hissing-guttural-reptilian noises] Happy squeal.

Without going too much into the background-end of movie-narratives, Ravenous manages to make every single character in this movie into a well-defined semiotic entity - stereotyped just enough to provide a starting point, but crafted into veritable personalities from quite early on (well... needs to be from quite early on, as some people kind of die. No, not peacefully, rest assured). There is simply no possibility to mistake one character for another, as it so often happens with modern horror flicks; in case you don't know what I mean, think back to the last movie you watched involving some person killing teenagers and/or young adults appearing in friend-circle-sized groups, maybe even one in which this happens outdoors, preferrably in some woodland area. If you should suddenly find yourself thinking about, I don't know, Friday the 13th or any other slasher movie from the past decades in which you find yourself mixing up the victims because they are simply flesh to be killed off, then you got the point I was trying to make. However - this movie. Oh my gods. This movie. Oh my gods.***** The characters are awesome. All of them.

Witness:

• The Stoner: Private Cleaves, an awesome performance by David Arquette. David Arquette! I really had not expected that.
• The Native (I - Stoner): George, convincingly played by Joseph Running Fox. The scene which touches upon catholicism is BRILLIANT.
• The Native (II - Female): Sheila Tousey plays Martha, sister to George the Stoner. Silent, tough.
• The Bookish Boss: Colonel Hart - Jeffrey Jones! His performance in this flick is just all-around nifteh. Like, seriously.
• The Aryan Übersoldier: Private Reich (lol), hilariously played by Neil McDonough. You can feel the aryan hardcore-ness emanating from the screen. Well played, Mr. McDonough, well played.
• The Religious Shy Nutter: Private Toffler, charmingly played by Jeremy Davies.
• The Alcoholic Doctor: Knox, portrayed by Stephen Spinella. Convincing. *nods* Convincing and funny, actually - but in this movie, the 'funny' (or should I make that 'amusing'?) kind of comes with the territory... which I fully approve of.
• The Naive Coward: Captain John Boyd, our very own lead.

...as I said. No single fucking way to confuse these characters with one another - visuals and voice are particular to each person. This is a good thing. Whilst I dislike the overuse of stereotyping in general, I welcome it as a device for storytelling - and let's face it, movies are narratives, therefore the rules of storytelling apply in a kind of way. Mhkay? Mhkay.

All of the characters are loveable in their own way, and you will no doubt have your favourite (and one you like the least...) - mine is, as readers familiar with my rantings and ...delicate distinctions on decadence, death and dismemberment as well as desiccating husks of dead things might already have guessed, the cannibalistic character, as played by - remember the elegies at the beginning of this review? x-actly - ROBERT CARLYLE (*swoons*). No one, I swear, no one plays the calculating wendigo beyond human behavioural patterns - and yet using these to his advantage by impersonating them to those who still suffer from them - like him: The original nightmare from which the variety of anthropomorphic monsters we have in our world's myths, sagas, stories, tales and bedtime whispers have spawned, the original dread to which all these pay witness.


It's one of us. 
  

As for anthropomorphic monsters of movie-land - I don't know how my esteemed readers feel about this, but I personally think that there's something archaic about a human eating another human. Satisfying. Basic. Or maybe it's that 'non-monstrous-looking people doing monstrous things to one another'-theme I have going on (-- my favourite topos, really)... anyways!

[I did want to add in some deeply philosophical stuff about why the stuff witnessed in this movie can be classified as cannibalism, followed by a deeply philosophical view on why most of the stuff can't be cannibalism for purely semantic reasons; let's just state that cannibalism would be the eating of one's own kind (as Cannibal Flesh Riot! taught us so well)... and the change from human to wendigo seems to be pretty straight and without any turns back to the olden road of not eating people. There, long philosophical point made.]


When looking at the atmospheric pictures Ravenous provides the viewer with, you have to figure in the soundtrack to delve into the whole movie-experience. I'd recommend a relaxing intoxicant of your personal choice if I ever did such things or would, indeed, even assume in my child-like naiveté that this would be something people would or could do without repercussion from the righteous, just and holy Law(s) [insert the Law(s) appropriate for your geographical area, religious persuasion, social stratum, education, gender, musical taste, movie preference, political persuasion(s), favourite drink, age range and relationship to cats here] for such a heinous act of malice, evil and brooding terror.
*nods sagely*

...feel free to crack open a cold one, though.

Enjoy *grins*

So... Soundtrack. Damon Albarn and Michael Nyman truly are AMAZING composers. I was a bit disoriented the first time I heard Nyman being mentioned on the cultural radio channel over here - Ö1 for those of you who keep track******, but quickly connected the name with this movie. Seriously - the man is brilliant. Together, these two men are more than brilliant. Ravenous' soundtrack is exactly the sound you'd like to have running whilst merrily hunting down your human prey, preferrably in the mountainous and wood-covered ranges of something with only thin air left. Tenderness******* and all that.

Pacing: Comes with the soundtrack - or rather, the existence of this brilliant musical accompaniment to the narrative told here proves that the pacing is here - and it is indeed. It runs. It floats. It's natural. Sometimes, it speeds up a bit to let us cherish the rest of the story as well instead of dwelling too long on one point (as I would be wont to do, just so that you unnecessarily are aware of that); it generally can be said that the movement is fluid and follows from what has already happened how (and how fast). Natural pacing. It's rare to see that in a movie - especially in a movie about cannibalism!

By the way: Why is it that when a woman produces and directs a movie that is witty, gory, entertaining and full of suspense throughout gets called weird, but when guys do the same thing, no one says that? Oh, wait. 21st century, I nearly forgot.


Anyways! I am not writing as much and as lengthily as I would actually want to (...there's A LOT of stuff about this movie in my brain that wants to jump out at unsuspecting strangers, trust me...); this is due to me sitting here in front of the craptop, trying to go through my list of movie-reviews I have jotted down under the heading of 'to write' in order to do at least a bit of stuff that is actually really important to the world at large******** instead of just sitting around and worrying about stuff bothering me. So I ask you to forgive me this insanely short review of a movie that would deserve 30+ screens of analysis and love and hugs and kisses and kinky sex.


Hence: This movie is going to be one of the best you've ever watched, unless you seriously dislike character development, in-period-garb for actors, great and difficile acting, wonderful stereotypes used as they should be used, cognizant pacing, a beautiful soundtrack that makes you want to hunt people********* and twists and turns most people cannot foresee. I enjoy this movie immensely, whenever I have the chance to watch it. Some day, I shall make this review longer and more tedious and awesome to read...

11 / 10 holes in the ground. Like... holes. In the ground.

* Read: mad and obsessive.

** CSICON: Committee for Surrealist Investigation of Claims of the Normal: 'Finnegan's paper began with the electrifying sentence, "The average Canadian has one testicle, just like Adolph Hitler -- or, more precisely, the average Canadian has 0.96 testicles, an even sadder plight than Hitler's, if the average Anything actually existed." He then went on to demonstrate that the normal or average human lives in substandard housing in Asia, has 1.04 vaginas, cannot read or write, suffers from malnutrition and never heard of Silken Thomas Fitzgerald or Brian Boru. "The normal," he concluded "consists of a null set which nobody and nothing really fits."' 

*** Destrøyer øv t3k-N0-10gY

**** I officially and psychologically hate yellow. Hence the colour. Now delve into your Schadenfreude! 

***** Eh? Eh? EH?

****** Yes. I listen to Ö1 and love horror movies, nothing wrong with those two usually mutually exclusive things being combined into one happy package in me. :D

******* Possibly not the tenderness most people are thinking of when hearing or reading that word. Just to make this clear: There is no cuddling involved. 

******** The snark comes from realising that nothing I do is actually really important to the world at large. 

********* I don't know about you guys, but I feel like doing a Ravenous impromptu-show whenever I hear the soundtrack... *grins*

Chemical Wedding aka Crowley (2008)

What can I say...? I officially apologise for this review.

I personally think that this is, all in all, a great movie - then again, I've been studying Crowley's stuff since I was 15. So... to put it bluntly: Someone without any background knowledge on To Mega Therion and his works will probably think "WTF?" throughout the whole movie.




We get treated to an amusing, nifty opening scene of rural England to the sounds of...well, jolly music, of two young men visiting a boarding house, where Aleister Crowley (aka Good Ol' Uncle Al) is residing. "Do what thou will shall be the whole of the Law." - "Love is the Law, Love under Will." (I apologise to the hardcore Thelemites who might be reading this - although I seriously doubt it that there are any -, if I didn't capitalise the right words. I always forget that stuff... Crowleyanism just isn't my thing). Yadda yadda - apparently, one of the young men is seeking initiation through The Beast.




Chatter ensues, including Uncle Al telling the story of Isis and Osiris. For those who don't know it, here's a recap:

Isis and Osiris were together. Now, at some point, because of something else, Seth killed his brother Osiris and cut his carcass into little pieces, all of which he scattered over the land of Egypt. Isis (with the help of her sister) gathered all of the parts of the body and resurrected Osiris. But the phallus of Osiris was missing, and Isis changed into a birth and used a reed to become impregnated by Osiris. The resulting child was Horus.

This, conceived as a "virgin birth", is considered to be a great act of Magick****. It's one of the basics of the whole Moonchild concept. Well, you either have read Crowley and know what I'm ranting about or you don't.




The young man, to whom this is relayed through the old man, tells Crowley that he doesn't have the money to arrive later that week for his initiation, but apparently, a letter which has arrived should solve that - by one Jack Parsons. You can't imagine how much I had to giggle. Apparently, "the head of our Californian* brethren seems to have fallen under the spell of a writer of science fiction." They invoke his (Crowley's) Scarlet Ritual to produce such a Moonchild.

JACK PARSONS!

After that is out of the way for the movie to begin, Crowley dies, curses someone on the way out.

Let's start with the plot:

Professor Haddo teaches classical history and literature (I hope I got that right, but over here in Austria, it would be classical history and literature... if anyone is out to correct me, please do so) at the University of Cambridge. He also dabbles in the occult (Hermeticism** springs to mind, mixed with a dose of Thelema***). Dear Professor Haddo is what you expect from a teacher of the humanities who's interested in the occult: He stutters, is overweight and seems to have... issues.



One of the people he regularly interacts with outside of his academic circle is a guy named Victor - and Victor is also interested in the occult, particularly the Crowley-brand of the Art.

Victor is sort of cool, actually.

This is the basis for the bond between the two men. Victor also works in a project meant to create some sort of supercomputer based on quantum mechanics. This computer is not just a computer, though - it is a highly sophisticated virtual reality simulator. As you might (or might not) know, quantum mechanics/physics/electrodynamics is a very, very complex field - one that, these days, has quite a lot in common with Magick****. And no, I am not referring to the David Copperfield-kind here. See footnote.




Anyways, back to the plot. The supercomputer has to be tested, but before the official, backed up and nice testing begins, Victor and Prof. Haddo conspire to use the revolutionary machine for themselves. Haddo is put into the VR-suit, Victor types in the coordinates for the information Haddo should receive... and voilá!





We got us one professor possessed by the spirit of Aleister Crowley... an Aleister Crowley who wants to produce a Moonchild during his time in Haddo's body.




Now, the thing is that: In order to get all of this, you have had to somewhat understand the introduction of the movie, the one playing in 1947 (yes, that's actually when Crowley died... although he didn't die of a heart attack due to a letter from Parsons*****) - otherwise, it won't make any sense to you. You won't understand the significance of the colour Red (the Scarlet Whore), the little quips from Crowley, the whole sex-magick stuff (I am wondering if we're talking about IX° here...)... everything.
The remark about Mathers' mother's hair colour will seem completely unimportant and random to you. If you don't remember from the introduction that Jack Parsons has begun the Scarlet Ritual (remember?) in order to produce a Moonchild and do the maths (all two things based on things that are mentioned only once or twice, all in all), the whole movie will seem a bit pointless, and the "big reveal" at the end (which hasn't been a reveal for anyone who knows that sort of irrelevant stuff) will seem a bit hazed and inconsequential to the viewer.

I can see why this movie doesn't score that high in the average horror review. First of all, there is little bloodshed/gore/horror. I wouldn't exactly call it a horror movie, but I don't know what other kind of genre it would/should belong to. Seriously, it's...




Second - and I think that's the most important aspect of this movie - I don't think the average horror movie fan is that well-versed in Western occultism, especially the works of Aleister Crowley. In order to understand the movie, you really ought to have read... uhm... quite a lot by Uncle Al; you have to know about his life, his philosophy, the concept and philosophy of Thelema, Western Hermeticism, the OTO, Crowley's life, his relationship with Parsons, the whole Scientology-OTO-thingie, politics of the occult world before WWII... and I don't want to insult my few readers, but most of that stuff is known only to serious students of the occult. Anyone can read a book by Crowley, but there aren't that many who actually understand what he was saying.

Hell, even the name of the protagonist is an inside joke. Joshua Mathers. It's so obvious it's not even funny anymore. Or is it really just me who notices those things? I mean... seriously. Joshua. Yoshua. Yeshua. Jesus. Moonchild. And 'Mathers'? Please. But nice touch, really.

Note also that the name of the guy who gets possessed by Crowley, Prof. Oliver Haddo, was one of the pen names of The Beast.

It's stuff like that that can make the movie really enjoyable (also consider the trick of Prof. Haddo with turning water into wine). Without... hrmph.

Without that amount of background knowledge, the movie will seem incoherent, weird, even pointless at times.




That said, I enjoyed it immensely. Quotes from Crowley's works and references to it are abundant, even if they're sometimes mangled a bit for the "average" audience. Trying to view this movie as a non-occult person, I'd say that the dialogues are terrible, at times nonsensical and that there is no horror involved in it. However, as someone who is intimately familiar with Crowley and his work, I was enjoying every single minute of Chemical Wedding (although it still hurts my soul that it's "Chemical" Wedding instead of Chymical Wedding... that would have added a nice touch).

Frankly, I can't tell you a lot more about this movie without delving deeply into the realm of the occult and of Crowley's Thelema. And frankly, I don't think that you would be interested in reading that. In the end, it would boil down into me talking lots and lots about ...weird stuff.

Something I definitely have to criticise is the inclusion of Kal Weber as the theoretical physicist Joshua Mathers. Whilst the character in itself is a plausible concept, and the name will get many chuckles from occultists and magick-workers, the movie could have done without him. There is a love-affair between him and a female, redheaded student at Cambridge which was just unbelievable. Maybe it's me and my knowledge about how such affairs turn out in the end (not good for the party that already holds a degree and is supposed to teach and work instead of fucking young students)... but seriously. The role of Yoshua could have been done better - much better, considering the whole Moonchild-thing.

Besides for the constant occult references that only a small part of the viewers will get, the theoretical physics-jargon was also something that one shouldn't put into a movie made for the average viewer. References to Einstein's famous e=mc² abound, as do terms from theoretical physics that the average viewer just won't understand. I'm in the lucky position to know a bit about occultism/Magick and less about theoretical physics, but hey: If you make a movie, don't expect that everyone knows that kind of stuff. I got a good chuckle out of some obscure references to quantum physics, but I bet all my books on the fact that most people won't. Ever.

I hate to have to reference movies outside of the horror genre, but I guess that Chemical Wedding suffers from the same things as Dante 01 or PI: If you're not into the occult, the qabbala and Magick, you won't get much of what those movies are actually about.

Hence: Two different ratings for this one.



cyn-score: 8.75/10 for making me get up and get back into doing more workings.

normal-score: 4/10 for being an incomprehensible pile of spent time wondering about what these people are babbling about.

(See? I can do both, normal reviews and "HOLY CRAP IT'S A CROWLEY FLICK!")



Anyways, I hope to see more movies catering to an audience such as myself.



* I wasn't too sure whether to spell it like that or make it Caliphornian, or Caliph/fornian, or any of those combinations combined with "fornication". Pardon the pun.

**=0 Uhm... google?

*** Knock yourself out.

**** Oh come on, you know the definition. Don't make me pray it. Please... *sighs* Okay. But only because it's you.

You've been warned.

I) DEFINITION.

Magick is the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will.

(Illustration: It is my Will to inform the World of certain facts within my knowledge. I therefore take “magickal weapons”, pen, ink, and paper I write “incantations”—these sentences—in the “magickal language” ie, that which is understood by the people I wish to instruct I call forth “spirits”, such as printers, publishers, booksellers and so forth and constrain them to convey my message to those people. The composition and distribution of this book is thus an act of Magick by which I cause Changes to take place in conformity with my Will.)

In one sense Magick may be defined as the name given to Science by the vulgar.

II) POSTULATE.

ANY required change may be effected by the application of the proper kind and degree of Force in the proper manner, through the proper medium to the proper object.

(Illustration: I wish to prepare an ounce of Chloride of Gold. I must take the right kind of acid, nitro-hydrochloric and no other, in a vessel which will not break, leak or corrode, in such a manner as will not produce undesirable results, with the necessary quantity of Gold: and so forth. Every change has its own conditions.

In the present state of our knowledge and power some changes are not possible in practice we cannot cause eclipses, for instance, or transform lead into tin, or create men from mushrooms. But it is theoretically possible to cause in any object any change of which that object is capable by nature and the conditions are covered by the above postulate.)

*****Jack Parsons. Look him up.

The Living and the Dead (2006)

I really don't know how to classify this movie - but that's not a bad thing at all. Let me try to explain...

Attention: screenshot - intensive.

The Brocklebanks are a weirdly dysfunctional family. Father Donald Brocklebank has, at the verge of bankruptcy, decided to leave the family manor Longleigh House for London, to get treatment of his terminally ill wife Nancy. The main problem, though, isn't Nancy's disease - it's their son, James, a young man who is a little bit... unstable.




I may have to define my use of the term 'unstable' a little bit more: His breakfast consists of medication. A lot of it. I have to take a lot of meds in the morning, but my pharmaceutical breakfast looks ridiculous compared to the amounts that James is taking - even when he's under-medicating himself. Because James needs his medication.





James seems to be on the verge of psychosis most of the time, his erratic behaviour getting more extreme. He seems to be aware of his condition, shooting himself up with medication, which seems to calm him down (I'd like to know what it is that he's injecting himself with).




His father, who has to leave the mansion they're living in (without any people working for them - it's just Donald, his wife and his insane son) and who appears to be strict, harsh even when dealing with James, shows a touching side of a father's love for his son when he finds him early on in the movie, a wound on his head from banging it against various objects, passed out on the kitchen floor. He may be harsh, but he does care for James - his pale, erratic son...






Something will go wrong, we realise, as James decides not to shoot himself his much-needed medicine the morning after his father has left for London.




He tells his mother that he will take care for her whilst her husband is away, and that the nurse which is supposed to do that cannot come. His mother is suspicious... and worried. She is bedridden and cannot care for James... who would need being cared for just as much as she does.




At minute 26, there is a sudden change in the tone of the movie. An urgency is gained that has not been present before, and it will be with us at certain times throughout the rest of The Living and the Dead.

Hectic. The focus shifts from James' mother to himself and his frantic experience of the world around him - dissociative, breaking apart. He reminds me of some of the schizophrenics I have met in associated hospitals, and his distorted perception of time also seems familiar, though in a less insane way. It hits a nerve... or two.




James decides to lock out the nurse (Sarah Ball) when she arrives, and this, for some reason, sends the woman into some nameless, urgent feeling of dread and panic. She leaves, and James is left with his mother - who doesn't want him to stay with her any longer, as she clearly sees the change taking place in her unstable, demented son.




He feeds her pills that she doesn't want to take, obviously scaring her. His aggression becomes more and more intense, and he's forcing her to swallow more pills after he attacks her. She has difficulties breathing and wants to speak to his father, but he becomes even more erratic and aggressive, yelling at her that he "is the man in the house".

Finally, his mother throws up the pills, and he is devastated, screaming and yelling at her while she flees in her wheelchair...




James has degraded into a raving madman as he watches his mother flee, falling out of her wheelchair onto the stairwell.




The second day arrives... and James doesn't take his medication. Again. And now, the movie truly begins... taking us with it on a meandering, surreal path through mind, illusion, reality and time - down the rabbit hole, towards the abyss, where Da'ath lurks, and with it - madness and despair.






This movie tells a story - a long, sad story, one of madness and loss, of pain and dissociation from reality. Its language is mainly the medium of pictures - it is hard to convey in words what each of those pictures alone says, on a multitude of levels. Opulent in its simplicity, I am confident to say that this movie is brilliant in its optical execution of a dreamlike, surreal experience that bespeaks a philosophical depth rarely seen in a conventional horror movie.




The eyes drink in the ever growing intensity of the pictures and scenes, whilst the mind struggles with making sense of it - what is real? What is illusion? What is future, what is past? Is there something like reality? What is madness, and what is not? Or is all madness? Time loses meaning, becomes something we cannot make sense of anymore. The Living And The Dead blends the various scenes and episodes that take place in a seamless way which creates the illusion of coherence where none exists - for there is no coherence left within the depths of psychosis.




This brings me to the second strong point of this movie: the acting. As we are following only three characters throughout the whole movie, we can see them in a variety of scenes which help to define their personalities. We know next to nothing about them - but yet we see into their souls, into their fears, despair and inner struggles - and their insanities. And all three main protagonists are doing a really great job.




Which impressed me most was the performance of Leo Bill, who played James Brocklebank (thank you, imdb.com, for the information on the family's last name). His portrayal of the character was most convincing, and he brought an unexpected depth to the staple idea of "the lunatic". It's because of him and through him that we experience the mixing of reality with illusion, of hallucination with reality, of hallucination with hallucination, of reality with reality. Kudos to him. His portrayal of body-wrecking physical and mental agony that comes in advanced stages of certain forms of psychotic attacks was stunning, and I applaud him for it.




There was a merciless realism to his portrayal of psychotic, dissociative behaviour. It touched me, because this is something very personal for me. It hits too close to home to be entirely comfortable.




Also impressive was Roger Lloyd-Pack, who played James' father, Mr. Donald Brocklebank. He certainly is a good actor, and although his performance was outshone by that of Leo Bill, he still brought life and depth to his character. Personally, though, I find that Kate Fahy ranks in on second place when it comes to the portrayal of the depth of a character. She plays James' mother with a natural ease that betrays her experience as a mother (this by no means implies that her kids are in any way like the fictional character of James Brocklebank). She's a really good actress for this sort of characterisation, as her portrayal of different emotional states was very convincing.




The stories we are being shown in The Living and the Dead are brilliant - because they are real, each single one of them. No matter what version of reality you want to see or will see if you don't embrace all of them as equally real - you will be touched.




It is a dreary movie - there is no joy in it, for even those precious few moments are overshadowed by the gloomy atmosphere of Longleigh House.




Much of the dark, but achingly beautiful mood of the movie is carried by the setting of the old, decaying manor. Set entirely within those brooding walls, the merciless maze of versions of reality gains an extra depth, one that perfectly represents the isolation which is such an integral part of The Living and the Dead.




Isolation - it rings through the movie as a central theme, made out of hollow echoes of bleak despair. Longleigh House is isolated, far outside in the countryside, far away from help. Donald Brocklebank is isolated - all wealth is lost, his wife terminally ill, and his son is lost to him. Nancy is isolated - her health is falling apart, and so is her family and her dreams. And James... James can't even reach outside himself, confined within the fractal madness of his own broken mind, fractalised, dissociative, fraying out at the borders. Reality - lost; to him as well as to us.




The camerawork is outstanding as well. Simon Rumley (who wrote, directed and produced The Living and the Dead) truly shines with this movie - it is executed nearly flawlessly on all levels. The use of light and shadow are brilliant, the camera's angles unusual but highly effective, the frantic editing of some scenes are blending seamlessly into the movie as a whole whilst still delivering the intensity and hectic, dissociative sense of urge that is so characteristic of James' perceptions, the pictures are beautiful... Flawless.




Weaving a net of sounds and impressions is the language. The dialogues never seem artificial or forced - there is, again, a stylistic minimalism at work here, which adds a particular feel of loneliness and - again - isolation to this piece of art. And the soundtrack by Richard Chester is of particular intensity as well. It is hard to describe, but the music has the effect of a painter's few final, highlighting strokes with the brush against the painting as a whole. It is admirable.

I don't know what to say.





11/10

Hellraiser (1987)

"Take it... the box! It's yours! ... ...it always was..."

...and so we are introduced to the main "protagonist" of the first Hellraiser movie - the box.

This is by far the best movie in the franchise - its creativity and uncompromising ...honesty (an honesty of flesh and mind, reflected in the camerawork and the imagery used) mark the, in my opinion, absolute zenith of horror in the 80s - and, mind you, I still think it's one of the masterpieces the genre has produced. There are not a lot of movies, modern or otherwise, who are able to evoke the same feeling as Clive Barker's Hellraiser did and still does.

Speaking of the camerawork and the pictures - beautiful. This is a 1987 movie we are talking about, and the suspense and effects are far better than in most modern horror flicks I've watched (and trust me, it's a lot).

That goes for the gore as well. Hooks lodging themselves in weak, human flesh... chains dangling from the ceiling, pieces of flesh on them, eternally turning, clanging, turning... flesh dripping from those hooks and chains... fingers, tenderly searching through the pieces.

And Pinhead - carressing the puzzle box - using it, so that he and the other Cenobites can use the dead one forever, in order to teach...

Enter Julia and Larry.

Julia and Larry move into his (Larry's) old family's house... which happens to be the place where Frank, Larry's dead brother, opened a gate to hell by means of the puzzle box. What Larry doesn't know, although he suspects his brother (he doesn't know that he's ...somewhere else now) of being a bit of a perverted fucktard, is that his very own wife, Julia, had a heated affair with his own dear brother. And that she still loves the nasty boy that is... was... Frank.

The lighting in the movie is beautiful, as are the pictures and the editing (but I think I already mentioned the pictures... sorry, overwhelmed with joy).



We also get treated to softcore knife play... nice. And although I don't find the actors attractive, it is quite an erotic scene - all the little details, like the 9-inch-nail (a subtle foreshadowing of Pinhead's presence?), the knife, the using of Julia, her submissive behaviour and begging... those are the things that make it erotic. In a very special way, if you get my meaning.

Larry obviously is a wuss. He cuts himself on a nail... and AAAAWWWWWWWWW I AM BLEEDING!
...how terrible.

But the blood, in this instance, is not wasted... not at all. Instead, it is used to free someone - an accursed, damned denizen of the Cenobite's Hell... Frank.


And, as you can see above: The gore is fucking awesome. Remember, this is the 80s we're talking about, and Hellraiser is still one of the goriest movies I can name off the top of my hat. It is just beautiful beyond words. More movies need slime. And slimy things.

The sound effects also are a source of joy... whispering, hollow sounds that seem to speak and may speak but don't, heartbeats... and a soundtrack that just kills you.

And Julia sure is one good girl. A good, devout girl that follows her boyfriend's - (un)dead boyfriend's - every single command.

Like... feeding him with the blood of human victims.

"Will you do it?"

"Yes... I will."

"Good..."

Something that is really striking me is that the scenes depicting Julia more often than not only show her legs - her torso is left completely out of the picture. Is it a fetish thing? Is it some sort of symbolism that explains Julia's heartless nature to us? Is it supposed to show us that she's just an object - an object willingly subjected and devoted to Frank's lusts and desires? I personally favour a combination of the three, and I am sure that there are other interpretations than those that my brain spews forth.

We also get treated to highly surreal but extremely beautiful scenes.

Pretty, isn't it?

Julia on her way to seduce guys... for what reason, you may ask? After all, she is married AND has an (un?)dead lover up in the attic...

Plus, I am sorry to say it, but the whole business-woman look is sort of hot. No, I don't think that Julia, aka Clare Higgins is hot (she is old! She has a weird look! She is... old! She has 80s hair!), but the outfit... erm. Yes. I am going to stop now. Otherwise, this might not be a proper review anymore.

This, dear males, is why you should never trust women who just want to take you home:



Remember: Women can be cruel. Especially when we're in love... and even more so when we're in love with (un?)dead sadomasochistic creatures from hell.



At this point, I want to add that I probably already watched this movie about 20 times, and I still don't know whether to classify Frank as dead or as undead. Well, one consolation - he certainly isn't alive (...or is he?!), so I only have to choose between those two options.



The character I personally dub "Nyarlathotep the Younger"... for various reasons. If you're a fan of Lovecraft (as you SHOULD be), you'll probably understand why after watching the movie and... well, knowing about Nyarlathotep.



This, gentlemen, is a lady who wants to fuck a corpse (well, technically...) and is willing to do anything to reach that goal.



Behold... the puzzle box. And beware of the pleasures it holds...

...pain and pleasure combined into one - one terrifying and deadly, satisfying feeling of the mingling between life and death, pleasure and pain, love and hate... intense emotions.

Sheesh, I'm becoming all writer-y again. Working on a story and then writing a review seems to make my writing style seep over into the business of reviewing horror. Not that it's a real business, mind you, but... you know what I mean. At least I hope I managed to express myself without too many problems...

Actually, most of the movie consists of the same scenes over and over again. Julia killing/injuring people for Frank, Frank killing people to regain his flesh, Kirsty being all "something is WRONG!", Larry being an ignorant husband (as was established from the beginning)... but this doesn't take anything away from the suspense and utter beauty that is Hellraiser. In a way, this repetitiveness actually helps to establish the mood of the movie - hypnotic.

"It's me, Uncle Frank..."

"Some things have to be endured... and that's what makes the pleasure so SWEET..."



The flower... beautiful symbolism. A symbolism with so many layers that I can't even go into it without making this review into a thesis on how red flowers blooming mean lots of different things in this movie... how they describe a multi-layered reality and different meanings behind the movie and its script or even the original story by Clive Barker on which it (the movie and the script) was based on. Suffice it to say that the terms "life" and "death" only describe a minimum of the symbolism these particular scenes are infused with. I invite you to watch it and judge for yourself. Philosophy students are more than welcome to post their opinions ;)

And I also want to reiterate that the visuals of Hellraiser are some of the best and most enchanting I've ever seen.

Escaping Frank with the puzzle box, Kirsty collapses in panic. Dazed and confused, she wanders through the streets, holding on to it. When she finally breaks down, she is brought into a hospital, where she first doesn't believe that what she experienced was true - until the doctors hand her the box. And of course, as soon as she's alone with the puzzle box in the hospital, she starts playing with it. And we all know what that means: Hell is about to get raised (sorry, pun intended, although I know it's a bad one).

"The box. You opened it. We came."

Pinhead just RULEZ. If there's any entity in horror movies that is just so distanced and matter-of-fact like he is, I will have to start worshipping that one. Until such a time comes, Pinhead still is on top of my list of villains. His detached way of viewing the world of the living flesh is just... brilliant. Other horror movie villains hate, show passion and anger, or are demented. He, on the other hand, is just mildly interested. A tad curious, maybe, but that's it. And that's what makes him so awesome.


Yes. In case you didn't gather it yet, I'm a big Pinhead fan.


Ehm. On with the review at hand.

Kirsty strikes a deal with the Cenobites - she solved the box, and so she should accompany them to hell. However, she manages to convince them that if Frank - Frank, he who escaped from Hell against the Cenobites' wishes and desires - admits that he escaped, they will take him back instead of her.

Promptly, she runs back to her house, demanding to see her father... who, at that point isn't exactly her dad anymore. Frank has taken his skin. Literally. And the Cenobites want him back - they are a bit pissed off.



The beauty of this movie is that no one is innocent of guilt. Kirsty strikes a deal with demonic beings (well... demons to some, angels to others), her father is just dumb and ignorant, Frank is a veritable human monster, Julia is a soulless, murdering bitch, and Pinhead and the other Cenobites aren't exactly nice fluffy bunnies either. This is not Good vs. Evil - this is monstrosity and evil and guilt and desire and darkness on different levels.

Later on in the movie, we get to witness one truly suspenseful cat-and-mouse scene with two absolutely unique and unexpected jump scares.

Suffice it to say... the Cenobites get what they want: Dear old uncle Frank (as if there had been any doubt of that).

"Jesus wept..."

And... a truly unique ending that leaves us smiling.




Long story short: Awesome movie. Truly awesome movie. Everything just ...fits. There really isn't much more to say than that. If you haven't seen Hellraiser yet (shame on you), then go, leave the house now and get the uncut version for ultimate joy and a truly great movie.

10/10 chains with hooks lodging into flesh coming out of nowhere, controlled by Pinhead's will