LAND OF THE DEAD (2005)

The name of George A. Romero will always carry weight with horror fans. That's just the way it is. Colleagues of mine have suggested that he often gets a pass from reviewers who glow about his new films, even if we're talking dreck like Survival of the Dead. The theory is, because he's given the world two bonafide classics with Night of the Living and Dawn of the Dead (and a minor one with Day), his less-than-desireable output will always be celebrated because he's earned it.

I can't really say I agree. While his name will always carry weight, no one gets a pass. We're dealing with the human race, after all - the only species to have both learned and mastered cynicism. 

Perhaps the only other name in the genre with George's amount of clout is John Carpenter, and that man hardly ever gets a pass anymore. His last few efforts (outside of the very good "Masters of Horror" entry Cigarette Burns) have been eviscerated - as far back as 2001 with Ghosts of Mars. People, almost joyfully, lambasted his newest release, The Ward (defended here), as if their harsh criticisms were tantamount to orgasm.

That said (and yes, in a typical IMDB message board disclaimer), I recognize that film is a subjective medium. It's art, after all, and everyone will have their own opinion and approach it in their own way. But I cannot stand idly by and read positive reviews for Diary and Survival of the Dead. Those are not good films, plain and simple. Diary gets by for being at least exciting and never boring, but Survival is so terrible that I'd rather sit through that awful Day of the Dead remake again. 

Positive reviews for Land of the Dead, though? That I can get. What I can't get is the hate. Because it's out there, and who knows why.

Exactly twenty years after 1985's Day of the Dead, Romero's fourth zombie opus stormed its way into theaters in the wake of Resident Evil, Shaun of the Dead, and a remake of Romero's own Day of the Dead, to reclaim its title as King of the Zombies. Romero had done his press, fine-tuned his script for a post-9/11 world, and sucked it up to work with a major studio. He even used Universal's original opening logo as opposed to the current one, in a statement I like to think equated to: "Motherfucker, I've been making this shit since before your father was big." He is the big cheese who created the modern zombie, after all, so I'll allow him the proclamation. 

The excitement in the horror community was palpable. Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz's Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright eagerly provided cameos as chained-up zombies. KNB FX worked for a fraction of their usual prices just to be working with Romero again and to help support his project. Someone high-profile, perhaps Eli Roth, equated the new sequel as being a new addition to the Star Wars series for horror fans. And he was right. After twenty years, Romero was doing another zombie film, and this was a big deal.

But the movie was released...and nobody came.

Not realizing horror films don't do big business in the middle of the summer, squished in between all the hundred-million-dollar-budget releases, Universal sadly chose to release Land of the Dead at the end of June, and it simply got lost. (Not by me - I saw it three times.) While I knew Romero had been a revered figure in the horror world, I was shocked to pick up USA Today or the local paper and read positive reviews for this, his newest Dead film. A horror film getting good reviews? About zombies, no less? Isn't that impossible? (Let's not forget one crucial thing: Both Night and Day opened to critical drubbings, and it wouldn't be for years until they were duly appreciated.)

But I had my focus on the wrong place. It wasn't the film critic I had to worry about - it was the film fan. And oftentimes, that's so much worse. So-called fans hated it. "We waited twenty years for this?", etc. It even has the dreaded "WORST MOVIE EVER!" message board post. (Not hyperbole, this chick means it!)

And the fake complaints came rapid-fire, chief among them being "The acting was terrible!" (Sorry, have you not seen Night of the Living Dead?)

Romero's earlier zombie films have always relied on the power of the ensemble (Dawn proved this), and while that's still somewhat applicable to Land, this time the focus really seems to be on Riley Denbo (Simon Baker). Riley is a sort of messenger boy for Kaufman (Dennis Hopper), ruler and ultimate landlord of Fiddler's Green, a posh utopia allegedly free from zombie tyranny, but also divided into social class systems.

Despite Land being part four of an ongoing zombie saga (and though, mercifully, Land would end this particular series), each entry never really carried on anything beyond the zombie problem. No characters returned from one film to another and no events are mentioned - not even in passing. The only thing that was consistent was the worsening of the zombie problem. But in Land, Romero does choose to carry on one particular development established as far back as Dawn: the "walkers" are capable of learning, using tools for simple tasks, and communicating. What was solidified with Bub from Day has been passed onto Big Daddy (Eugene Clark), Romero's requisite strong minority character. (In Night, it was Ben, in Dawn, it was Peter, and in Day, he switched sexes for Sarah.) His trend continues, only now he's not just switching sexes again - he's switching to "the other half." Romero decided it was time to take the idea of this zombie race revolution seriously, and with no better way than his usage of a strong black male lead. 

Romero, working with a big studio again (a rarity), has all sorts of toys to utilize: better actors, better production design, and an abundance of CGI married into KNB's normal wonderment of red stuff. It's not just the producer or the producer's wife talking about cannibalism, but Dennis Hopper, lord of the acid era and all-around cinema legend. Fucking guy who made Easy Rider, people - he's kind of a big deal. Simon Baker as Riley does a fine job keeping a straight face amongst the sea of ghouls surrounding him, but he knows when to have fun, too. For some reason his performance comes off more Sam Spade than John McClane (maybe that's just me), but it works all the same.

By his side is Robert Joy, who also worked with Romero back on his ill-fated adaptation of Stephen King's The Dark Half. He's saddled with uncomfortable looking burn make-up, but in turn receives all the best lines. ("I normally don't need that many.") He provides most of the film's much-needed comic relief and seems to have the biggest heart of anyone, but he also bears the brunt of society's cruelest treatment. As far as realism goes, that sounds about right.

John Leguizamo as Cholo (an actor for whom I don't normally care), likewise, cheeses it up all over the map. He knows what kind of film he's in and he enjoys going off the deep end in his normal John Leguizamo way. I'm actually a little surprised at how enthusiastic he was about being involved in such a project; I often wonder how A-list Hollywood regards not just the horror genre, but the fiercely independent side with which I sometimes think only hardcore horror nutballs are familiar. Speaking of horror nutballs, Asia Argento (daughter of the famed director Dario) shares the majority of the screen time with Riley as Slack, a former soldier and now prostitute forced to work the streets for Kaufman. She does pretty okay, as she was never the strongest actor, but she looks more at home than anyone else swinging weapons into zomb faces and delivering some pretty questionable dialogue. Also, her short skirt and body fishnets aren't the worst thing on Planet Earth.

(Lastly, check out the 0:47 minute mark for a cameo by a three-foot high version of Catherine Keener. Wah-wah!)

The political subtext, without which Romero's films would be admittedly less interesting, is ever present; it was pretty relevant in 2005, but has never been more relevant than right now. The super rich live high and mighty and safe in their golden towers, shielded from the outside threat, while the poor live with barbed-wire-thin security from that same threat. Are they safe? Perhaps. But there's not much between them and total bloody chaos. Romero takes it one step further and says when shit really hits the fan, it doesn't matter how many zeroes are in your bank account: your ass gone get et.

Strictly on a technical level, Land looks great. Romero, who has been making zombie films for nearly FIFTY YEARS, lacks nowhere in enthusiasm. "I love these guys!" he once said about his zombies, and it shows. He's definitely not conservative with the gore gags, even within the stifling confines of a major studio's restrictions. The scope of the film can sometimes feel stunted, as we never get a real feel for the scope of Fiddler's Green, but it looks gorgeous - even the night shoots, which are hard to pull off. And the scene where Big Daddy's zombies slowly emerge from the foggy river waters is the stuff of goosebumps.

Johnny Klimek and Reinhold Heil, whose most recent and amazing score for Cloud Atlas captivated audiences, provide a very percussion-driven anthem for Romero's tapestry of destruction. Gone are the days of Goblin, John Harrison, and library music; Land's music is big and jarring. The stand-out track (called "To Canada" on the official soundtrack release) is so fucking good that it appears three times.

And another thing: Earlier, when I said Romero never carried over older characters from one sequel to another? I lied:

Additionally, Romero's ability for black comedy is ever in place: listen during the zombie invasion for the automated voice of Fiddler's Green reassuring its occupants that Kaufman will always be there for them in times of danger...as he flees with his chauffeur to his car, his bags stuffed to the gills with all the cash he could carry.

In the Romero zombie pantheon, he hit the ground running with Night, peaked with Dawn, continued with the less-impressive-by-comparison Day, and went out somewhat unceremoniously but still nicely with Land. Even among those fans who consider Land to be quite strong, methinks they would still rank it last, and that's okay. Being the last in the race doesn't necessarily mean you suck; it just means you're the least good.

If I were to have an issue with Land of the Dead, it's this: from Night through Day, the zombies were always the main threat, and under it played out the mini and man-made conflicts to make the story socially relevant. But in Land, for the first time, the zombies are the back drop. Don't get me wrong, rotting ghoul faces fill the majority of the frames, and their absence is never more than brief. But Cholo's theft of the Dead Reckoning and Riley's vow to get it back in exchange for a one-way ticket out of the city is the main conflict, relegating the zombies to supporting players - as things to be simply dealt with while the fight over Dead Reckoning continues. Because of this, and for the first time, I sometimes wonder to myself as the closing credits play, "What was the point of this film?" I know, I know: Such a confession kinda makes all of the above and below null and void, right? "Except for the film not having a point, I really liked it!" And that's...kind of a problem. That's the last thing you want your audience to wonder as they file out of the theater.

But then again, Romero wanted to make a point about rich vs. poor, and he certainly did. In the process, people were ripped apart, decapitated, blown to crispy critters - all done with a wink and a smile. In the climax, when the zombs storm the Green and eviscerate the high-falootin rich - people, mind you, to whom we have not been introduced - we enjoy seeing them get ripped apart. And not in the "I'm watching a zombie film!" kind of way, but in the way that secretly satisfies the blood lust in us, and scratches that itch we have in terms of the hate we have for the top "1%". In this country, the rich belong to the most exclusive social club in the world, and, like Cholo, we'll try our whole lives trying to get in, only to be denied. They consume most of the country's wealth, so let Romero's army of the undead consume them in kind.

Romero may not be on top of his game anymore, and if Land were to be his last..at least debated-over film (as to its quality), I say fine with me. Twenty years later, his successful trilogy became a successful quadrilogy, and that's pretty fucking cool.

VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED (1995)

It goes without saying that John Carpenter gave the world the absolute greatest horror remake with The Thing. I highly doubt you could find many individuals willing to contest that. Fourteen years later, he gave the world another remake of a classic from the golden age. Utterly reviled upon its release (much like The Thing), Village of the Damned enjoyed a fine opening weekend at the box office and made enough money to be considered a success. But unlike The Thing, most critics and fans have not done a 180 as far as Village is concerned. They hated it then and they hate it now. Their reasoning for their distaste runs rampant: miscasting, a severe lack of character development, a thinly-plotted and inconsistent script.

I can’t say I disagree with any of that. But more on that in a minute.

A quick rundown of the plot for those who have never seen it (and you should be warned, spoilers abound from here till the end): the town of Midwich falls victim to a mysterious black-out of sorts that causes everything with a pulse to pass out. For hours, all lay crumpled on the floor, or the ground (or yikes...the roaring grill). They eventually awake, unsure of what’s happened, but try to get on with their lives...until it’s revealed that all of the women in town are now mysteriously pregnant, including the virgin, or the biologically barren. The government catches wind, shows up to see what’s the what, and once there, never actually leaves again. The children are born with blonde hair and a very special skill set: they have the power to control your mind and make you do things you would never normally do - to others as well as yourself. Carnage, as always, ensues.

Even the most ardent Carpenter fan (and I certainly count myself as one) has to admit that he peaked with The Thing, and after They Live, never quite reached the same heights of quality again. (In the Mouth of Madness is the only exception.) And Village of the Damned is nestled somewhere in his run of entertaining-but-maudlin offerings of the 1990s.

Nothing against Christopher Reeve, but he doesn’t quite bring his A-game to this production, and I doubt it was an indifference to the material, considering (and not to speak ill of the dead) that he wasn’t really one of the more celebrated thespians of his generations for a reason. Still, he’s perfectly satisfying as Dr. Alan Chaffee, and from time to time even feels more at home playing the father of an evil alien leader than he ever did as Superman. Given their working relationship and lasting friendship, it’s way too easy to picture Kurt Russell in the Chaffee role - that kind of simple fan-casting has the power to make you look back on the film with incredibly different, what-could-have-been eyes. Linda Kozlowski (mostly known for the Crocodile Dundee franchise) also provides a perfectly serviceable performance as Jill McGowan, but spends most of the film looking dour and downtrodden. The only one apparently having any fun is Kirstie Alley as Dr. Vurner, the cigarette-smoking, fed-clothes wearing bitch who seems to know from the very beginning just what is happening to the town of Midwich... but doesn't feel the need to clue in anyone else until it’s basically too late. (Oh, let's not forget Mark Hamill, cheesing it up as Reverend George, just pleased as punch to be part of a major studio production again.)

The problem is there is barely any interaction between characters in this film. Reeve has scenes with everyone, but the other supporting characters barely speak to each other. Though they both have major roles, Kozlowski and Alley don’t exchange a single word to each other. Perhaps it was a purposeful choice to limit Dr. Vurner’s interaction with other members of the town, but there doesn't seem to be an endgame to support it. Much more information could have been fed to the audience; more opportunities for human drama were missed. For instance, Vurner wants to dissect the kids, knowing that they're evil. Yet, Jill's blond son seems decent and good. Right there could have been an interesting conflict worth pursuing.

The biggest flaw with the script by David Himmelstein (including an uncredited rewrite by occasional Carpenter writing partner Larry Sulkis [Ghosts of Mars] and Steven Siebert) is that it feels like whole sections were removed - either in the writing stage or the editing stage. Obviously there have to be leaps through time in order for the newborns to age, from infant to toddler to elementary-school age, but often time it feels as if important developments are also being left behind. For instance, at a town hall meeting, Dr. Vurner confirms that every fertile female in town has become mysteriously pregnant, and therefore has attracted government attention. She presents them with a choice: Have an abortion and the government will pay for it, or carry the children to term and the government will pay for that, too - along with a monthly allowance of three thousand dollars. (The catch for this second choice is that Dr. Vurner or her team of scientists would like access to the children on a weekly basis for research purposes.) After the pregnant women have dreams featuring some really bad ‘80s music-video-inspired set dressing, they all decide to keep their kids. This really fucks up Vurner’s plan to cut open one of the aborted fetuses to see what they’re made of. Long preamble aside, this is the point: All the women in town are pregnant. Earlier I described them as “fertile” women, but that’s really just an assumption. It’s never stated if it really is every woman (the young? the elderly?) or just the ones biologically capable of carrying to term. Vurner confirms that “all [the women] have decided to keep their babies.” When the time comes, dozens (dozens!) of women go into labor. There is only one confirmed miscarriage. But yet, we jump through time, and there are only nine of the special children. So what happened to the rest? Were there more? Did the others die? Were the other children born normally? If so, where are they? And why wasn’t this ever mentioned?

Speaking of the one woman who miscarried, why is so she so upset about it? At this point it’s well-established that there is something off about the kids - and that they’re kinda jerks. So why wait five or six or seven years to blow her head off? One would think she’d be relieved she didn’t squeeze out one of the little blond turds.

But hey, we’re here to defend Village of the Damned, right?

It’s no surprise that, muddied screenplay aside, Carpenter’s direction and choices manage to shine through and make some of the more absurd aspects of the film interesting. For someone who questioned his ability as an "actor's director" in the beginning of his career, his ease with successfully utilizing children - nine, in fact - is cause for celebration.

First, it's rare when the performances by a child outshine those of their adult counterparts. Lindsey Haun as Mara, the children's ringleader, is quite good. Her role is atypical, and her task is memorizing large chunks of somewhat complicated and technical dialogue while removing any semblance of emotion from her voice. She very much manages to be eerie and intimidating, and as far as evil kids go, is far more effective than the kid from The Omen. 

Playing the thorn in Mara's side is the young Thomas Dekker as David, the only of the children seemingly born with humanity. His role is actually surprisingly complex in a philosophical aspect. He questions himself constantly, confused by these "emotions" he sometimes feels. He questions why he mourns for someone he's never met - that of the baby which miscarried, which would have been his "partner." From the very beginning he seems different from the rest, and his mother recognizes this. Dekker is quite good as well, and would go on to have a rather successful career for a young actor, his most high profile role as that of John Connor in television's "Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles." (Although, to me, he'll always be the hospital-bound Bobby in the episode of "Seinfeld" who demands that Kramer tell Yankee Paul O'Neill he needs to hit two home runs.)

(As an aside, I'll mention that one of the other children is played by Shawna Waldron, best known as having played Icebox in Little Giants. She has one line of dialogue - it's not bad. The end.)

There's an especially well-constructed montage which takes place at the funeral of the young woman who opted to remove herself from earth following her miscarriage. Reverend George gives an impassioned eulogy for the departed, all the while (and it would seem, for the first time), acknowledging the evil that has plagued their small town.

God said, "Let us make man in Our image, after Our likeness.” But image does not mean outer image, or every statue or photograph would be man. It means the inner image—the spirit, the soul. But what of those in our midst who do not have individual souls? Or spirits? They have one mind that they share between them—one spirit. They have the look of man, but not the nature of mankind…

It's the first and perhaps only time in the film a parent attempts to reach out to the other parents and ask them, basically, "Our kids are the fucking devil. Is there anything we can do?" Juxtaposed against this scene are the children out and about, doing some single-file marching. It sounds stupid, and Hammil's monologue borders on the cheesy, but with Carpenter's eye and music, it works quite well.

The visual effects by Industrial Light & Magic (ILM) is impressive. What was a somewhat hokey effect in the original Village has been re-imagined, utilizing the full color spectrum that changes in accordance to the children's level of intensity they are exhibiting, and sometimes even revealing the children's interior physical structure at key moments. Granted, what looked impressive in 1995, compared to the CGI extravaganzas of today in which entire countries are eviscerated, might seem somewhat simple, but ILM, who worked with Carpenter previously on Starman and Memoirs of an Invisible Man, does nice work here.

Ohhh...and the finale. How I love this finale. Once again, the use of Carpenter’s superior musical skills (sharing duty with Dave Davies) makes the finale incredibly affecting. From the first shotgun shell to the final explosion, the music, the quick (and quickening) cuts, and the jumping back and forth among the carnage outside - it’s all immensely suspenseful and satisfying. It gets your blood pumping and works on a very simplistic level - it appeals to what Carpenter calls “the lizard brain” the human race still possesses from our very early genetic roots; our need for destruction and domination. The finale is quite literally a race against time, permeated by the ticking clock counting down to the detonation of the explosives hidden inside Chaffee’s briefcase. And the brick wall he envisions in his head to block the children from seeing his motivations for keeping them in the old barn begins to slowly chip away. The music builds and builds and - in one of my favorite moments of any Carpenter film - finally ceases, a small choir on the soundtrack lets out a single sigh, all goes quiet, the kids look at the clock realizing this has been his plan all along...and quite literally, the roof is blown off the place. It's the stuff of film boners.

I remember reading at one point that Wes Craven was attached to this remake, a stipulation of his current contract with Universal Studios, and John Carpenter offered to Craven that he would take it on instead. This knowledge, coupled with his own comments on the original movie calling it "hilarious," would make one think that Village of the Damned wasn't exactly a passion project. But the aforementioned finale on which I heaped all my praise was evidently enough for the filmmaker to take on the assignment.

He said:

"The reason I wanted to remake The Thing was because of the blood test [scene]. The reason I wanted to remake this one [Village] was because of the brick wall scene."

When I was a wee one, I remember sitting down at the dinner table with my family and listening to my parents discuss the winners and losers at that year's Academy Awards, which had aired a night or two before. (Braveheart took home best picture.) I remember asking, in all of my naivety, if Village of the Damned had won any awards (as I had just seen it on video that week). My father gave me a funny look and asked, "For what? Worst movie of the year?" Also during this time, I had known someone personally who had gone to see Village in theaters, and had become so terrified that she began having a panic attack and an ambulance had to be called. This was kind of a defining moment for me as a film fan. At this young age I realized there was a real chasm between films that critics liked and films that general moviegoers liked - and an additional chasm strictly between moviegoers, who have never and will never agree on the quality of any one film.

I would never call Village of the Damned a great film, because, to be honest, it's not. But there are enough good things about it to justify its own existence. 

THE WARD (2010)

(Spoilers for The Ward can be found throughout. Read with caution.)

Listen, after 2001’s Ghost of Mars, John Carpenter’s previous theatrical feature, we all wanted to love The Ward. We wanted it to be worth the ten-year wait. After all, it was directed by a living legend who has been consistently five years too early for all the concepts he's introduced to the genre. Many of his most heralded films received lukewarm-to-middling reviews at the time of their release, but slowly and steadily began to be recognized for the genius (or just downright fun) little tales of beautiful nastiness that they were. Halloween received ho-hum reviews for several months until a positive one by The Village Voice turned it all around. The Thing, now rightly hailed as a classic and a defining moment in the horror genre – having inspired filmmakers as diverse as Quentin Tarantino, Guillermo Del Toro, Eli Roth, and so many others – was vilified upon its release. Critics called The Thing a porno of violence and accused Carpenter of filling his movie with irredeemable set pieces. David Ansen of Newsweek called it "an example of the New Aesthetic - atrocity for atrocity's sake" while Alan Spencer for Starlog contended that "John Carpenter was never meant to direct science fiction horror movies. He's better suited to direct traffic accidents, train wrecks and public floggings" (IMDB).

Despite his consistent post-Thing filmography, Carpenter openly states that his remake of the Howard Hawks 1951 classic nearly destroyed his career. It forced him on a path to grin and bear safer studio projects before fleeing back into the world of independent filmmaking, thanks to a distribution-only deal with Universal (which resulted in both Prince of Darkness and They Live, both considered among the master’s best).

So, the question remains: How will The Ward be looked upon in ten years from now? Will people’s general indifference and disappointment toward it subside? Will it be elevated and looked at with a new pair of eyes? Well, considering the director’s own and aforementioned Ghosts of Mars is still considered the dung pile most said it was in 2001, the jury can and will be out on that for the next decade.

But here’s the thing about The Ward, people. It ain’t that bad. It really, really isn’t. Yes, the script could have been stronger and a bit more unique. And yeah, it would’ve been nice to have a better twist ending than, “oh, she’s a crazy split personality.” Many negative reviews for the film have pointed to the script as the main reason for the film’s failure. And I will not sit here and try to convince you otherwise. No, the script is not very good. It's a convoluted amalgamation of J-horror, typical slashers, a bit of the ol' torture porn, and psychological thrillers. But I really take offense to the claims that The Ward is point and shoot; uninspired looking and almost TV-movie in scope—that Carpenter’s ever-dependable look and feel were completely absent from the film.

Guys, when I read those claims, I really have to wonder what fucking movie it was you watched.

After the movie’s initial opening, in which we see Amber Heard’s Kristen fleeing through the woods after having burned down a house, we cut to the psychiatric institution where our characters are committed. And the camera slowly pushes down a long hallway, inches off the ground, as background music echoes off the wall. We’re not even five minutes in, people, and it sure feels like a fucking Carpenter movie to me.

Except for the director’s most unheralded movie, In the Mouth of Madness, he’s never made a movie that actually fucked with your mind—that showed you only pieces of the overall puzzle as you sat back and tried to make sense of it all. And that’s precisely what The Ward is: a puzzle, being slowly put together by Kristen. While the destination may be all-too-often traveled, at least the intent is to shock and surprise you.

As to the claims that the film lacks energy and enthusiasm from the director (one report actually had the audacity to claim he was directing the movie from his trailer), I can only point to the impromptu dance the girls share in the common area of the hospital. The sequence is directed with, at first, such an infectious sense of enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile as you see these girls trying to exorcise themselves of all the bad mojo hanging over their heads and just, for once, get some enjoyment out of life; and that’s of course before the scene quickly takes a turn for the worst, showing in brief, nearly-subliminal images the ghoulish face of the ghost that is haunting them all. It’s a new bag of tricks that Carpenter is trying out, and I, for one, welcome the change. Much as I’d like for him to consistently churn out the types of movies that he made in the ‘80s, well…that would be boring after a while, wouldn’t it? Don’t you want to see growth from your filmmakers? Don’t you want to see them leave their comfort zone and try something new (at least, new to them)? That's up for debate. He could announce tomorrow the long-mooted Escape from Earth and people’s boners would shoot through their computer screens, but he tried revisiting Snake Plissken once before, didn’t he? And that didn’t turn out all that great.

Plus, I could think of worse ways to spend 90 minutes than watching Danielle Panabaker run around in that Daphne-from-"Scooby-Doo" outfit.

"Mind if I titillate?"

Carpenter, his old age having caught up with him, is no longer the jack-of-all-trades he used to be.  Instead of editing, writing, producing, scoring, and directing, he has, in recent years, opted only to go with the latter, leaving everything else up to his colleagues. And yes, that has changed (not destroyed) the look and feel of his films. But not in any way that makes them less deserving of our attention. They're different, but not inferior. They reflect a Carpenter in his golden age. They reflect a man who doesn't want to entirely throw in the towel, but just wants to make it a little bit easier on himself. He's put in the time, had his battles with studios (Universal) and ego-maniacal actors (Chevy Chase). He's earned the chance to take it easy. If we want to experience a great Carpenter screenplay, there's always Halloween, and if we're jonesing for an iconic score, there is always The Fog.

Speaking of music, Mark Killian's haunting, ethereal, and unusual score for The Ward picks up where Carpenter left off, who'd scored his previous (and probably last) film Ghosts of Mars. But Killian knows what makes Carpenter's music so effective: It's simple, to the point, but ever-present.

If nothing else, The Ward should be considered a potential conduit to getting Carpenter back behind the camera for more features. Apparently (and disappointingly) The Benders has been appropriated by Guillermo Del Toro, man of a thousand announced projects, and I don't know what's going on with Darkchylde, but Carpenter is ready and willing to get back behind the camera, should the circumstances be right.

Lazy script or not, inconsistent or not, The Ward brought our director back to us. For that, I’ll always be grateful.

DEEP INTO HIS WORLD: REVISITING 'THE CELL' (2000)

The Cell is a film that not a lot of people seem to like. References to it over the last few years have mildly spiked in conjunction with the introduction of the critically beloved but little seen NBC series Hannibal, as the two share breathtaking images of unrestrained beauty married to that of the macabre (one particular Hannibal character's fate seems lovingly lifted directly from the former). Every so often you may accidentally catch someone expressing enthusiasm for this horror/science-fiction/serial killer thriller aptly described as "The Silent of the Lambs meets The Matrix," but more often than not, no one has all that much positive to say about it.

Universally derided Jennifer Lopez plays Catherine Deane, a child psychologist employing an experimental approach in her work: her ability to enter the mind of her subject in an effort to examine his/her reality and attempt to study the visual representation of her patient's cognition to determine the root cause of her patient's illness.  This procedure takes its toll on Catherine, both physically, in that it exhausts her and forces her to such stimulants as marijuana (run!) to come down, as well as emotionally, as despite how cutting edge the machinery is, it just doesn't seem to be helping her current patient, a young boy named Edward. That this technique isn't helping with his illness certainly isn't sitting well with Edward's parents, who begin threatening to pull him from the project altogether.

Meanwhile, you've got Carl Stargher (Vincent D'Onofrio), a serial killer who likes to kidnap women and murder them, and then basically turn them into dolls. Hot on Stargher's trail is Peter Novak (Vince Vaughn, in an ever increasingly rare dramatic performance), a detective intent on hunting down the madman before he claims another victim. Their paths soon cross and Novak locates Stargher at his home, but it's too late, as it would seem Stargher is now comatose, having suffered what would seem to be his last seizure. And it's really too late because Stargher did manage to kidnap one more girl and place her in his inescapable cell apparatus, which over time fills with water, causing the victim to suffer and eventually drown. With the only one person knowing the location of this apparatus now in a coma, Novak requests the help of Catherine and her team to enter Stargher's mind and determine how to find this cell by sifting through the many layers of his madness.

As for The Cell being summarized as "The Silence of the Lambs meets The Matrix," this kind of generally lazy pull-quote that a critic concocts hoping to be quoted in subsequent marketing efforts is actually right on the money. You take a hunt for an infamous serial killer and marry it to this strange abstract world where everything seems possible and there are no physical rules to keep everything in place, and The Cell is exactly what you'd get. Many critics faulted this mash-up, not because of the approach, but because of the ol' "style over substance" bit, for which a lot of films get attacked. Too much Matrix, not enough Lambs. And that's a fair critique. Even the most ardent lovers of The Cell have to admit that its visual merits far overshadow and outweigh its thematic ones.  Not only does the film definitely tote the admittedly fantastic visual effects, but except for the mind-suit gimmick, it doesn't do much with the serial killer route beyond what we've seen in this genre so many times before: the killer was abused as a child, has sexual issues, and for the most part retains no semblance of genuine human emotion.

While one should always stress the importance of content over context, sometimes said context can just be so expertly performed that it can capably carry its weak content across the finish line. And that's ultimately what The Cell kind of is: a flawlessly designed and presented horror/thriller with a story strongish enough to complement it, but one still weak enough to prevent the finished product from being celebrated across the spectrum.

J. Lo and V. Vau (sorry) both turn in pretty standard performances, the former finding herself playing a role she's never played before, and likely won't again. Personal opinions of her "celebrity" aside, she manages to pull off a pretty tricky role, especially in the film's final moments when she's been dolled up as Stargher's demented queen.

But the real star is here director Tarsem Singh (The Fall, Self/Less), who became famous for directing the music video for R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion." His visuals on display are tremendous. He manages to create entire landscapes that are both twisted as well as beautiful, revolting as well as sad, and some of them will flat-out mystify you, such as the bodybuilder (a past victim, though based on a true story) that comes to life only when needed to do Stargher's bidding, or any of the several bizarre set-pieces, some of which are recreated from infamous and abstract art pieces (mostly notably the horse vivisection, inspired by the art of Damien Hirst, and the painting "Dawn" by Norwegian painter Odd Nerdrum). Whether original constructions or inspired by elsewhere, all of these images come together and form a demented and disturbed visual tapestry akin to literally a living nightmare.

If you were to accuse Tarsem of being more creatively engulfed by the idea of constructing this strange world rather than exploring the thematics of the serial killer aspect, he would have agreed with you:

You know, the serial-killer thing didn't interest me at all... At the turn of the century, a studio would make any film that had a serial killer in it. I just said, "Okay, so that's the nutshell I need to put it in? It's fine." In the '70s, everybody was making disaster movies. If I'd made The Cell in the '70s, it would have been about a burning building, with a guy having a dream on the 14th floor. I'd make it because of the dream, the studio would make it because of the building burning. Same thing here—I looked at the script, said "Oh, serial-killer thing—I don't give anything about that. Okay. Put that on the side. And inside his head… wow, clean palette."  

Then I came up with all this shit which was called overindulgent, masturbating on dead bodies or whatever. I just said, "All I'm saying with this is, don't laugh at this character, okay?" And that's it. That's what it took.

(Source: The AV Club.)

The Cell made enough bank the year of its release for New Line Cinema to consider it a success, and to ensure a very terrible direct-to-video sequel (though it would star Frank Whaley and take several years). Despite its commercial success and mixed love from critics, Tarsem did not jump right into another studio project, but instead bankrolled The Fall, an independent feature shot in countries all over the world over a span of several years. It was also pretty fantastic, and far more interesting and satisfying than his next big studio project, The Immortals, which starred a pre-Man of Steel Henry Cavill.

Tarsem has gone on record saying of all the genres he's worked in so far, he enjoys thrillers the most, and hopes to do another sometime soon. Here's hoping that's true.

HALLOWEEN 3: SEASON OF THE WITCH (1982)

There was once a time – somewhere after Michael Myers returned to the Halloween series with Halloween 4: er…The Return of Michael Myers, when Halloween 3: Season of the Witch was considered the black-sheep odd-ball entry. Once that titular boogeyman Shat his face back on (see what I did there?) for the first time since Halloween 2, Halloween 3 seemed like a strange temporary diversion on what was, at that time, a still-linear and expanding mythos. Yet, now that said series also contains both versions of Halloween 6 (neither of which are good, and both of which are confusing as hell), a proper sequel that saw the return of Laurie Strode and subsequently ignored Halloween 4-6, an entry in which Laurie Strode was unceremoniously killed off as if the character were never more than a trivial footnote, and then Rob Zombie’s very controversial misfiring entries, I think it’s safe to say that Halloween 3 is no longer the odd-ball entry.  And it’s certainly not the turkey that many series fans like to say it is. I admit that I used to think like that: Season of the Witch used to be a punch line. It was derided for chucking out what “worked” – meaning, a slowly over-saturating storyline about Michael Myers that soon achieved the heights of ridiculousness that producers John Carpenter and Debra Hill had feared and tried to avoid. To many people, it became synonymous with the expression “jumping the shark.” 

Halloween 3 was supposed to be the first of a new direction for the Halloween series: standalone entries released yearly or bi-yearly that celebrated and examined the October holiday in some way, none of which would be tied back to previous entries. Kind of a strange move, considering Halloween 2 already existed, and was a direct continuation of the first film – its very existence seemed to laugh in the face of that idea – but when the tiny Compass International Pictures releases your first film, and then suddenly, mega-studio Universal wants to fund the second – ya know, the folks that released Jaws – I could understand caving in on that original intention.

Halloween 3: Season of the Witch features no Michael Myers, no Dr. Loomis, no Laurie Strode. It does feature: Tom Atkins (rocking the mustache this time!), ruminations on old Celtic beliefs/traditions as they pertain to Halloween, an evil corporation, Stonehenge, booby-trapped bug-filled Halloween masks, and, fuck yeah, robots. Here’s the thing, though, and hold onto your butts: While Halloween 3 is nowhere near a better film than the groundbreaking original (ha ha; Lord, no), it does a far better job of incorporating the actual day of Halloween – and all the myths and iconography and history that come with it – directly into its storyline. We’re not just talking about some guy walking around in a mask on the day/night of Halloween and getting away with it because Halloween=masks. We’re talking about a revisitation of old-school Halloween; how it was celebrated and observed in lands foreign from our own; how the very idea of Halloween itself – one whose enduring popularity is credited to legions of children – is both the inspiration behind and the vehicle through which Halloween 3’s antagonist will carry forth his dastardly plan: essentially, to end the world as we know it. If you know the legends and lore of Halloween, you know (or should assume, anyway) that the Halloween of today is a sanitized and watered-down version of what it used to be. It is this embracing of genuine Halloween that makes Season of the Witch an entertaining watch, but it’s not the only aspect worth praising.

Halloween 3 also succeeds and exceeds because of everyone behind the camera. Carpenter’s involvement with this series diminished over time, producing/writing/directing the first film, writing and producing the second, and now only producing the third. This meant someone had to step up and take on the role of writing and directing what would be a radical departure for this newborn series. Things didn’t work out all that well with Rick Rosenthal, who directed Halloween 2, and was a person Carpenter et al. didn’t know personally, so this time the major creative roles were entrusted to Tommy Lee Wallace, who had been part of the filmmakers’ repertoire since nearly the beginning. Though a rearranged version of the original team that struck gold with Halloween, the major players were still there, injecting into the films their own DNA. Carpenter and Hill returned as producers; Dean Cundey as director of photography; Carpenter and Alan Howarth as composers.

Carpenter’s first three films (Assault on Precinct 13, Halloween, and The Fog) had by then established what a "John Carpenter film" was – how it looked, sounded, who appeared on-camera, and the story it was telling. This aesthetic carried over to the subsequent Halloween films where Carpenter opted to take on lesser roles, but still accounts for a large part of their success and their reputations that would slowly grow over time. Much like Halloween 2, Halloween 3 feels like a Carpenter film – from the collection of actors and actresses making return appearances (Tom Atkins, Nancy Loomis, and voice work by Tommy Lee Wallace and Jamie Lee Curtis) to the film’s score (which is probably Carpenter's all-time best next to The Fog), to the added benefit of being grandfathered into a series that Carpenter and co. had created. And this isn’t, in any way, to diminish what writer/director Tommy Lee Wallace (director of Stephen King's IT) brought to the film. He was the man behind the typewriter and behind the camera. His gonzo script (heavily rewriting one by Nigel Kneale) about ritual sacrifice, the apocalypse, a womanizing Tom Atkins, and mothafuckin’ robots works because of how cartoonish and insane the events become. When it gets to the point in the film where Tom Atkins is being strangled by a severed robot hand, or you see that one single pillar from Stonehenge has somehow been uprooted from England, shipped over to the U.S., and planted in the middle of a concrete factory (you DO know how fucking big those stones are, right?) you have to know by then whether you’re on board…or not.

I totally am.

The cast of professionals and not-so-professionals brought it and did what needed to be done. Atkins is Atkins, and we love Atkins. Dan O'Herlihy as the villainous Conal Cochran brings as much gravitas and legitimacy to his role as Donald Pleasence ever did. Cochran's monologue about the real origins of Halloween may not be as chilling and exciting as Dr. Loomis' rant about "the devil's eyes," but O'Herlihy's performance is just as steely-good.

And Stacy Nelkins looks pretty good in a towel. And nighty.

Is Halloween 3 as good a film as Carpenter’s original? We’ve already been over that, and the answer is still no. But is it better than most of the entries to come, up to and including Rob Zombie’s scientific experiments? Absolutely.

Still very much a family affair, Halloween 3: Season of the Witch belongs alongside its previous two entries. Though it ditches everything that came before in favor of something new, it still somehow feels like the proper third part of a Halloween trilogy.

To me, this Michael Myers-lacking, Loomis-less, Carpenter-lite entry will forever be more of a proper sequel than Halloween: Resurrection ever will.

IT AIN'T THAT BAD: HELLRAISER: INFERNO

In this column, movies with less-than-stellar reputations are fairly and objectively defended. Full disclaimer establishes that said movies aren’t perfect, and aren’t close to being such, but contain an undeniable amount of worth that begs you for a second chance. Films chosen are based on their general reception by both critics and audiences, more often than not falling into the negative. Every film, no matter how dismal, has at least one good quality. As they say, it ain’t that bad. 

Spoilers abound. 

I know what you must be thinking: I’ve lost my mind to even consider a direct-to-video sequel to Hellraiser (a Part Five, even) as not just good, but deserving of your praise and attention.

As long-running horror franchises tend to do, the Hellraiser series fell further off the rails with each new entry—many would argue as early as its third, after which the Hellraiser brand never really recovered. Following the debacle that was Hellraiser: Bloodline (featuring a revolving door of directors and consistent script changes), there was really nowhere else to go, continuity-wise. Perhaps that’s why each sequel to follow Bloodline (Inferno, Hellseeker, Deader, and Hellworld) were original non-Hellraiser scripts doctored to appear part of the franchise. (The Weinsteins were somewhat infamous for doing this to their horror properties – I believe Children of the Corn suffered the same fate.) And maybe that’s why these entries were better than any of the theatrically released sequels. (Yes, I am including Hellbound in that group, for I was never a fan of that entry.)

With interest, I delved into negative reviews by movie fans to ascertain what it is about this entry they just didn’t like. After all, Inferno had all the requisite Hellraiser iconography: chains tearing through flesh, creepy sexual intonations, an array of masticated cenobites, and gruesome bloody deaths. “Pinhead is barely in it!” I read. (Count his screen time in the first Hellraiser.) “He’s not even the villain!” (Was he ever meant to be?)

If a person wanted to argue with me that Inferno was a weak Hellraiser film because it failed to carry on the spirit established by Clive Barker in the first two films, I wouldn't have much of an argument. That person would be right. But that doesn't mean Hellraiser: Inferno should be outright dismissed, either. Because it's a rather strong film with strong performances, creepy imagery, and unflinching gore gags.

Detective Joseph Thorne (Craig Scheffer) is a born puzzle solver. His affinity for chess and word riddles alludes to his natural decision/desire to become a detective with the police department. He's not exactly a model human being, however. This comes across rather quickly.

While tending to the scene of a homicide along with his partner Tony Nenonen (Nicholas Turturro), he discovers that the slain was actually an old school mate of his. Discovered at the scene are a child's dismembered finger (somehow embedded into the wax of a candle) and the infamous puzzle box—one, if opened, that releases all manner of evil onto the world. Being that it's in Joseph's nature, he opens the box...and his private hell begins. He's soon thrust into a nightmarish world where he begins tracking a faceless figure responsible for the methodical killing off of individuals who played a part in Thorne's own misspent life. This investigation leads him into the most wild of places—even crossing paths with a cowboy for whom the faceless figure seems to be working. By film's end we realize that Thorne isn't just trying to find the mastermind behind all of this—dubbed The Engineer—but he's also trying to salvage his own innocence.

Craig Scheffer was born to play a douche bag. He’s immensely talented as an actor, but with that grating voice and that evil smirk, he was genetically designed to be a character that dares you to sympathize with him. He plays Joseph incredibly close to the vest, pushing the idea of “unlikable” to its limits, but yet you still do manage to hope he can somehow find his way out of the rabbit hole through which he descends for nearly the entire running time. Watch him steal money from a crime scene, blackmail his partner, do coke and bang whores, and physically assault suspects—all while his family waits for him at home. But also watch him feel compelled to do his job and attempt to save this child he believes kidnapped and in the possession of a severely fucked-up madman. Watch him care about another human being that he’s never met. The character of Joseph is as gray as they come: not all good, but not all bad, either. He’s flawed, as we all are, but not undeserving of empathy.

Doug Bradley returns for his fifth time, donning the pins and leather bondage costume to play Pinhead, and though in later years he never withheld his extreme dissatisfaction with the film’s end result, he does his typical job here. Pinhead, as well as Bradley’s interpretation of him, hasn't really changed since the first film, so the continuity is serviceable and satisfying. Bradley, a self-proclaimed atheist, claims that the “hell” featured in the first two Hellraiser films wasn’t of the Christian idea of hell, but the indefinable idea of hell. He sums up his presence in the film as being a “folksy moralist”—a sort of “Uncle Pinhead” who equates his monologue at the film’s conclusion to him warning children to look both ways before they cross the street. Clearly he’s not happy to have been a part of the experience (and is even one of those who claims he was barely in it—which, again…count his screen time in the first film). While I don’t have an encyclopedic knowledge of his opinions on each entry, I’d be utterly mystified to hear that he considered something like Hellworld or Deader to be superior. Still, Pinhead remains very much a behind-the-scenes figure (as his character works best in small doses) and acts more as a judge and jury rather than the executioner. It’s less like he’s the primary motivator in all of Joseph’s victimization, and more like he happened to be walking by Joseph in hell and opted for a closer look.

Dad from "Dexter" (James Remar) shows up, nearly unrecognizable behind his beard and priest garb, to play Joseph's psychoanalyst of sorts. He offers a rather soft and paternal performance—one of the rare uncorrupted characters in Inferno's line-up. He helps Joseph to organize his frazzled mind and provides him with a rational voice.

Hellraiser: Inferno was directed by Scott Derrickson, with whom I like to think horror fans have grown quite familiar. He did, after all, direct this year’s creepfest Sinister (sequel coming soon!) and the similarly dismissed and unheralded The Exorcism of Emily Rose. His script (co-written with Paul Harris Boardman, who is also providing the screenplay for the Memphis Three film Devil’s Knot) is certainly unlike the other films in the series, but not unlike films we have seen before. There is a reason why the film is called Inferno, after all, as it’s about a man journeying through his own private and specific hell. Only this time his goal isn't to save his departed beloved, but to confront a life lived poorly and selfishly with little regard for how he treated others.

One of Derrickson's strong points as a filmmaker is his ability to create unnerving imagery. Except for his overblown (and studio-tampered) big budget remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, he has yet to make a genre film that doesn't contain at least one legitimately creepy set piece. The Exorcism of Emily Rose was bolstered by passersby with dripping faces and Jennifer Carpenter's own unnatural abilities as a dancer to contort her own body to uncomfortable positions. And Sinister was dripping with eerie visages—namely the creation of main boogey baddie Bughuul. Inferno's new Cenobites (featuring a new take on 'The Chatterer") are quite effective—they tread that fine line Barker established by making them horrifying, but also undeniably erotic.

Being that I am a horror aficionado, I have quite a few films at home on the ol' shelf. I used to be of the mind that if you owned one entry in an established series, you should own all of them. I was a completist in that sense. Which means that even though I may have only liked Child's Play 1 and 2, I owned all five. I eventually defeated that mindset and cleaned out a lot of garbage. As far as the Hellraiser series is concerned, I own two entries: the first film, and this one. If you remove yourself from the idea that the Hellraiser series tells one continuous story (and dear god, you know it doesn't—they gave up on that long ago), you'll find a lot to admire about Inferno. Yes, the name Hellraiser was bulldozed into the title, but blame the Weinsteins. Don't blame the filmmakers. Because they contributed a pretty solid horror film—one that predates the 1987 release of the first film and harks back to the real inspiration: a divine poem from the 14th century.

IT AIN'T THAT BAD: DEAD SILENCE

In this column, movies with less-than-stellar reputations are fairly and objectively defended. Full disclaimer establishes that said movies aren’t perfect, and aren’t close to being such, but contain an undeniable amount of worth that begs you for a second chance. Films chosen are based on their general reception by both critics and audiences, more often than not falling into the negative. Every film, no matter how dismal, has at least one good quality. As they say, it ain’t that bad. 

Spoilers abound.

I suppose it was inevitable. I've mentioned James Wans' Dead Silence more than once, and always in a positive light. But now it's time to fully defend what I would never consider to be a "great" movie, but one I find myself revisiting fairly often, especially late at night when it's not quite ready to retire.

People love Saw. I will not begrudge that. It is easy to show enthusiasm for low budget horror that manages to be original (it was) and effective (well...some parts). I would not call Saw a legitimately good film, but will say it showed the promise of co-writer/director Wan. Luckily Wan's sophomore project allowed him to team up with Saw co-writer Leigh Whannell for an attempt at a hat trick success with both audiences and at the box office. I'm always pleased when first-time directors strike it big with a horror film and opt to stay in the genre. And Universal Studios, thestudio that really brought horror to life with all the classic movie monsters, were enthusiastic about the duo's approach in resurrecting the golden era of the horror genre with their tale of witchcraft, ventriloquism, and old drippy mansions. They even used the original Universal Studios opening logo, establishing the idea behind the film immediately. 

Strange that the studio would then get cold feet after reading the script and demand the duo insert a bit of violence and an OCD, electric-shaver-using cop (played by Donnie Wahlberg), all because sound (and the slow disappearance of) becomes a reoccurring gimmick. If you see enough films, it becomes easy to tell when one deviates from its intended form into studio meddling. Generally things become lame and corny, and endings become unbelievably happy/resolved. While you can kind of sense all that in Dead Silence, in my opinion (obviously) it never becomes distracting. 

Uh oh, I'm rambling.

Ryan Kwanten (Red Hill, "True Blood") plays Jamie Ashen, who lives in a charming city row-home with his pixie-haired wife, Lisa. All seems well, and the couple is very much in love. Once Billy shows up outside their front door, however, it all comes crashing down. Lisa is killed by this mysterious visitor and Jamie finds himself following the trail of her killer. 

Billy, by the way, is this guy:

Dead Silence respectfully rides the long-tattered coattails of films like Magic, and before that, 1945's Brit import Dead of Night, an anthology film whose dummy-dedicated segment is definitely the creepiest. Wan and Co. know that, outside of the Full Moon brand, living/killer dummies is a largely underutilized storytelling device. Therefore, Dead Silence's intended focus was originally on mood and atmosphere over violence, and while that largely remains, the bits of violence crammed back feel foreign at times. And the mood and atmosphere in Dead Silence is gorgeously haunting. Halloween enthusiasts will find a lot to love about the mysterious Raven's Fair, home of the Ashen family, as well as murderous puppeteer Mary Shaw (Judith Roberts). Fog comes standard and rolls across graveyard grounds as if it were alive. Even during the day the sky looks dark and foreboding. And then there's the playhouse, set by itself on an island surrounded by a mile of water. Even the scummy motel where Jamie takes residence after arriving in town is brought to eerie life by the neon lights that cast their colorful glows through the swaying curtains. All of Raven's Fair feels like it was designed and constructed to do nothing but unnerve those who enter. 

I love myths. I love back stories and towns with a secret. It's the reason why I love The Blair Witch Project, and Stephen King's unofficial Castlerock series. I love this idea of a town's residents smiling fake smiles and pretending all is well, but living day in and day out with a murderous secret. And Dead Silence has that down in spades. The origin of Mary Shaw is explained, as are the events which led to her death at the hands of Raven's Fair residents. And again, like The Blair Witch Project, actual thought went into establishing this back story. 

Kwanten does a satisfactory job of carrying the film, and doing his best to help legitimize a bunch of killer dummies running around ripping out tongues. It's nice to see him play a rather understated role, as most familiar with him are more accustomed to his Florida trash, misogynistic "True Blood" Lothario. Really, Dead Silence has a pretty commendable ensemble of supporting actors, boasting both Bob Gunton (most famous for playing the warden in The Shawshank Redemption) and Michael Fairman (Mulholland Dr, "Sons of Anarchy"). Gunton's performance as Jamie's father, Edward, is...off-putting and not quite there, which, if you've seen the film, is obviously by design. Fairman as Henry Walker, the local mortician, is the exact opposite: frantic, scared, and all over the place. He knows damn well what the citizens of Raven's Fair did to Mary Shaw, and he knows the descendants of those involved are dying one by one under mysterious circumstances. 

While we're talking about actors, we need to mention Judith Roberts as Mary Shaw. She is a big creep. Even before she's a blue-tinted grinning ghost, she's still a big creep. Wan and Whannell love creepy old women. This and Insidious proves that. And they are right to, because old women are creepy simply because they're not supposed to be. They're supposed to be pleasant and meek and quiet. They're supposed to give you garish sweaters for Christmas and listen to Frankie Avalon. They're not supposed to be murderous or evil. They're not supposed to rip you apart for uttering a single word.

Former NIN member Charlie Clouser has been scoring films for a decade now, his most notable work pre-Dead Silence being Saw, in which his extremely memorable track "Hello, Zep" (which would go on to become Saw's signature theme) helped to really sell that film's otherwise ludicrous twist ending. A scene that became more far-fetched the more you thought about it was instead turned into an effectively blocked and directed moment, capable of causing chills in the audience. For Dead Silence, he also travels back in time in creating his score. Filled with classic strings and piano, but also complemented with his signature electronic dynamism the results are certainly one of the most memorable main themes in recent history. There's Gothic, and then there's Gothic, and then there is this score.

I love Dead Silence. As someone who appreciates old fashioned horror and drippy atmosphere, it scratches all the right itches. It's not perfect, but hell, what is?

IT AIN'T THAT BAD – BOOK OF SHADOWS: BLAIR WITCH 2

In this column, movies with less-than-stellar reputations are fairly and objectively defended. Full disclaimer establishes that said movies aren’t perfect, and aren’t close to being such, but contain an undeniable amount of worth that begs you for a second chance. Films chosen are based on their general reception by both critics and audiences, more often than not falling into the negative. Every film, no matter how dismal, has at least one good quality. As they say, it ain’t that bad. 

Spoilers abound. 

A sequel to The Blair Witch Project was probably doomed from the start, no matter what direction was attempted.

A direct-direct sequel? What, it turns out – oops – Heather, Michael, and Josh survived their encounter and fled that awful Parr house back into the woods for more dark-screaming?

No thanks.

Perhaps a group of investigators set out after having located the recently unearthed footage and try to find traces of the missing kids, this time bringing along their own camera crew?

Perhaps if the first Blair Witch had been released after Paranormal Activity, which had proven you could go back to the same well using the same schtick and find success, then maybe that would’ve happened.

But it didn’t.

Blair Witch’s success at the box office rang the dinner bell for an inevitable sequel, and so franchise owner then-Artisan Entertainment became intrigued by a pitch that would’ve made the first movie just that: a movie.

Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 takes place in an environment where The Blair Witch Project is recognized as the fictional narrative piece of pop culture phenomenon it legitimately was when it was released back in 1999. It follows a group of people so obsessed with the movie that they set out on some kind of Blair Witch Weekend Extravaganza to immerse themselves in everything that made them total suckers for the movie.

I give Artisan and director Joe Berlinger heaps of credit for trying it this way. You have to admit, it’s a pretty ballsy move by putting all your eggs in the basket of “you know that movie you love and which made the world come out in droves to see it? Turns out we’re retconning it all and having it be just a movie.” And it was even ballsier in picking documentary filmmaker Joe Berlinger (the Paradise Lost trilogy; Brother's Keeper) to take the helm of his first (and so far, only) feature film.

The screenplay by Berlinger and co-writer Dick Beebee (the House on Haunted Hill remake, “Tales from the Crypt”) is actually not just some kind of exploitative rehash of familiar horror tropes (or at least wasn’t meant to be), but was actually about our dependence on pop culture and the power of mass hysteria. All of the characters come from completely different walks of life – a former patient of a mental institution, an unstable weirdo (and hot) Goth, a married team of writers researching for a book, and a new age Wiccan out to dispel the notion that all witches are evil bitches – and yet they have all ended up in the same place, and it was their obsession and/or infatuation with The Blair Witch Project that led them there.

The best part of the film belongs to the opening five minutes (not including the terrible credit sequence), which is a compilation of news reports and entertainment talk shows discussing the explosive reaction to The Blair Witch Project – from MTV's Kurt Loder (remember him?) to Jay Leno – which is intermingled with interviews of “real” Burkittsville residents who discuss their love/hate relationship with the film. It’s an incredibly clever and intelligent opening to a film that is trying to tell its audience right off the bat, “We’re trying something different.”

Obviously, though it's shot traditionally, there still needed to be that amateur video aesthetic that made Blair Witch so successful and effective. And so elements of video captured by our cast becomes the catalyst for the film's conclusion. Because what the video shows them doing does not at all match up with what they're absolutely sure happened, according to their own memories. The things they experienced – and believed to be the real truth – are easily shattered when played on a computer screen in front of them. And what the video shows is them committing murder, participating in orgies, and offering sacrifices to the "real" Elly Kedward. But we, the audience, never saw these things. We saw a bunch of white kids drinking copious amounts of alcohol and each discussing his/her own ties to The Blair Witch Project. They were obnoxious and antagonistic and sometimes irritating, but never murderous. So how was it this footage was captured? Are we, the audience, being lied to? And if so, who are the perpetrators? The kids? The witch? Our own eyes? The true mystery lies in a statement made by Jeff, the leader of the Blair Witch Hunt, when he says "Video never lies. Film does, but video never lies." Work that around your noggin any way you see fit.

Unfortunately what was to be a more highbrow and classy affair was corrupted by Artisan Entertainment, who demanded that corny gore and Marilyn Manson complement the opening credits. Blair Witch 2 became a real Frankenstein affair, and Berlinger’s commentary on the DVD is quick to point out which scenes he was forced to include in order to appeal to a more broad (read: stupid) base.

In some regards, I am the lone cheerleader, and unendingly optimistic. But in others, don’t worry – I’m not delusional. For instance, I recognize that the acting is pretty atrocious. Though some members of the cast went on to other notable things (Erica Leehrsen did 2003’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Wrong Turn 2; Jeffrey Donovan ended up with "Burn Notice"; Kim Diamond became Spike Lee’s muse), there is no short supply of horrendous acting and/or dialogue.

For instance:

“Witch bitch!”

“The witch…kills…children!”

"Fucking witch!"

Etc.

(But let it not be said bad acting has killed a horror movie. Mia Farrow’s flat and corny performance in Rosemary’s Baby didn’t deter its then-and-now legendary reputation, and Heather Langenkamp didn’t exactly graduate from the actor’s studio before taking on A Nightmare on Elm Street.)

BUT!

Lanny Flaherty as Sheriff Cravens gives the best performance…ever.

In the movie’s final act, in which reality (or is it?) is slowly meshing with fiction, there are some nice nods to the first film, such as the very greasy Rustin Parr-looking repairman saying, “I’m finished now,” after fixing a soda machine (although they did blow the line they were trying to homage, which was actually “I’m finally finished”). Additionally, his assortment of tools, when piled together, depict the infamous stick figure that became synonymous with the first film.

The resurrection (forgive the pun) of the Burkittsville Seven children murdered by Parr make several appearances as ghosts, and while the idea of including them is nice, and even appropriate, their make-up is beyond pitiful, and comes off like an elementary school Halloween parade. There are also nods to Kyle Brody (the 8th and only surviving victim of Rustin Parr) and Eileen Treacle, who was allegedly drowned by the witch in a very shallow creek. While these inclusions are clever, it also adds an additional layer in that, yes, the first Blair Witch was just a movie, but all of the events discussed in the film – Rustin Parr, the seven murdered kids, etc. – all allegedly happened. So what we're dealing with is a sequel to a movie that calls it just a movie, but which is based on a "real" history that was completely fabricated for said first movie. Still with me?

Carter Burwell turns in a clever and nature-driven score, using a combination of water and stones to create a patchwork of very woodsy-sounding themes.

Humor is a welcome presence from time to time, normally courtesy of Jeffrey Donovan, and I do also love that “Heather Donohue/light bulb” joke, where the punch line is screaming. (I have an affinity for very stupid jokes.)

As far as horror sequels go, Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 gets a bad rap. It’s not as abhorrent as, say, The Exorcist 2, but it’s also not held up to legendary status (and fairly so). It’s big on ideas and nearly-but-not-quite ruined by a meddlesome studio throwing shit at the horror wall to see what sticks. Berlinger has a keen eye, and portions of the screenplay are clever and intelligent. I'd love to somehow see the original director's cut of this – I have a feeling it didn't include owl eating.

Because we'll never really know what Book of Shadows was originally meant to look like before all the studio tampering, it's hard to assign the appropriate level of blame to director Joe Berlinger. The end result is a somewhat irritating hodgepodge of ideas that, while based on an interesting concept, is ultimately dampened by lowest common denominator-type shock value, awful teen rock'n'roll (Nickelback yay!) and the typical amount of violence usually reserved for Friday the 13th. A shame, since the first Blair Witch's level of violence amounted to a couple of red squishy things wrapped in a shirt – and yet it still managed to be a box office and critical juggernaut – so why Artisan felt the need to cram in generic horror blood-n-guts is something we'll never really know.

A really great idea exists at the core of Book of Shadows, and if you can let the film be and examine it with a less discerning eye, sometimes you can catch glimpses of the director's original vision.

I urge you to revisit this particular fright flick. You might just be surprised.