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.

HEY, KNOW WHAT'S A REAL MOVIE?

THE GRAND FINALE

"I separated the joints - the arm joints, the leg joints - and had to do two boilings. I think I used four boxes of Soilex for each one; put in the upper portion of the body and boiled that for about two hours, and then the lower portion for another two hours. The Soilex removes all the flesh, turns it into a jelly-like substance, and it just rinses off. Then I laid the clean bones in a light bleach solution, left them there for a day, and spread them out on either newspaper or cloth and let them dry for about a week in the bedroom."

REVIEW: DUST UP

Boy, desert-set adventures just about always end with a grown man being roasted on a spit and then eaten by a bunch of meth heads, don't they?

But seriously folks...

Jack (Aaron Gaffrey) is a war-torn "high desert handyman" who lives in a trailer way out in the middle of a barren landscape. He is haunted by memories of his time spent in the marines during the (Iraq? Afghanistan?) war, in which an explosion kills a fellow marine and tears half his face apart, ripping out an eye in the process. His only companion is Mo (Devin Barry), a skinny white kid cavorting around in Native American garb and looking nothing at all like an actual Native American.

A routine plumbing call has him paying a visit to young mom Ella (Amber Benson), whose pipes are shooting out muddy crappy water. It's right around this point when Jack meets Ella's drug-addicted husband, Herman (Travis Betz), who is thousands of dollars in debt to the local drug king pin Buzz (the absolutely insane Jeremiah Birkett). As you can probably guess, Jack gets involved with all the goings-on of Buzz's drug underworld and things get a little bloody.

If there existed an alternate universe in which Quentin Tarantino and the Coen Brothers collaborated on a script, which was then directed by a Natural Born Killers-era Oliver Stone, Dust Up would come as close to such a wicked threesome as that. A script filled with quirky characters and snappy dialogue is visualized on screen in the frenetic, yellow-tinted style that Stone eventually bequeathed to Tony Scott (RIP). It is a fun, gory romp that contains just as much charm as it does slimy, grimy set pieces.

And the film is funny. Legitimately so, but in that odd, screwball way similar to its cinematic soul mate, The FP. Most of the characters are over-the-top and outlandish, but it all exists in a world where everything is perfectly normal. Broad Dust Up is not. It is a very refined and specific type of humor, and general audiences need not apply. Because while it is often funny, it is also often crude, violent, and even disturbing. Basically, if you can't get behind one character strangling another to death, all the while jerking himself off and ejaculating on the victim's face - all done for both comedic and shock purposes, mind you - perhaps you better check out before you get in too deep. Because you will see things in Dust Up you might not be able to unsee.

Gaffrey as Jack seems to be having the least amount of fun, per his character, being that he is a lonely and isolated figure whose only companion is a half-naked fake Indian. His eye patch and constant lemon face are deceiving in the sense that Gaffrey is actually quite capable of holding his own as far as the humor element goes. Straight-faced humor is often a gamble, because if the humor itself is lame and ineffective, such a performance can come off as boring. But because of the completely diverse group of characters by which he is surrounded, his straight man schtick plays well when coupled with Betz's Herman, who has some of the best lines, or Barry's Mo, whose mere presence never really stops being ridiculous.

Amber Benson plays the sole female lead, and she is saddled with the archetype of the young mom with a dead beat husband who is just trying to hold it all together. Still, she's given some fun lines and is allowed to get into the thick of it when shit really hits the fan. I can't say I'm familiar with any of her work on "Buffy," but her ability for comedy wouldn't surprise any fans of the Joss Whedon favorite.

And Jeremiah Birkett - holy shit. He takes the generic stock character of the drunk king pin and turns him into a devious, misogynistic, sodomizing, bisexual-for-the-fuck-of-it, baby-threatening son of a bitch. He seems to be having a hell of a time playing one, as his performance is near electrifying. At several key moments he is eerily reminiscent of Bernie Mac (RIP), and somewhere I hope Birkett takes that as a compliment, because he definitely should.

As is the case with most low budget cinema, Dust Up isn't entirely perfect. The character work for this type of film is definitely well-done, and you get the sense that anyone on screen can get knocked off at at moment. (One particular sequence, in which one of the more colorful antagonists hops aboard a quad and chases our heroes as they run through the desert, shooting one bullet after another, is effectively suspenseful. The quick editing leaves the viewer unnerved that one of our protags could drop at any moment.) Dust Up, in that regard, works in making you care about its characters, as batshit insane as they may be. But what rubbed me the wrong way was the filmmakers' inclusion of what, to me, seemed like irrelevant defamation of the country's current economic crisis, which has been caused by those "living behind golden gates." And that's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm certainly not telling writer/director Ward Roberts to shut the fuck up and just make a movie. But these condemnations (straight from the maniacal Buzz) come so late in the third act that by the time he gives his speech to his crowd of meth heads, you begin to wonder why it was even included. The idea of "war is bad" literally occurs within the film's first frame, and its effect on Jack are felt throughout the running time. And that's fine. If a morality message had to be included, the war motif more than satisfied the job, and it felt natural and unforced. 

Filmmakers, more than any other artist, have long used cinema to condemn the actions of political systems. George Romero's been doing it for forty years, and he was not the first, nor the last. But in order for your point to have any validity, it needs to be organically weaved through your story. The third act inclusion feels like a late-stage attempt at giving Buzz some motivation and rationale behind his meth business and the Christ-like sway he holds over his meth head followers. It's not like it derails the film at all, as the majority of it is too silly and weird to take seriously, but on the flip side, this little detour into holier-than-though territory makes it stick out all the more.

But that aside, Dust Up accomplishes its number one goal, which is not to preach, but entertain. I can't say that if you have a sense of humor you will laugh and have a good time, because as I previously mentioned, this is not a film for everyone. Unless you find the idea of random sodomy amusing. And don't we all?

Dust Up hits video November 13. 

HE'S GOT MY VOTE

THE REVENANT (2012)

I don't think I've ever waited as long for a movie to come out – from first announcement to final release – as I have for Kerry Prior's The Revenant. The film, first announced back in the netherworld of 2008, has always hovered in the recesses of my mind as I waited for a release, and as 2008 became 2009, and then 2010 and so forth, from time to time that gentle, nagging question would pop into my head: hey, where the fuck's The Revenant?

Four long years it has taken for it to finally mingle with the masses. Forget all the film festival stuff and those lucky websites out there with the mojo and name recognition to obtain an early view. This shit's finally on video.

So was it worth it? Four years of waiting, perusing the usual websites for news, and even checking in with Prior himself? Could it really have been worth all of that time?

You bet your ass it was.

Back in 2008 when news first hit, The Revenant was nothing more than a zombie movie. It was hard to track down specific plot details, and beyond the movie obviously falling within the confines of horror, there was no indication of what direction the film would take. But based on what the movie seemed to be about, and more so based on who was involved (Kerry Prior – more on him in a second), I became instantly intrigued.

So, is The Revenant a zombie movie? Perhaps a vampire movie, as other reviewers have labeled it? Nah – it's neither. Obviously, it's about a revenant – a spirit that returns from the dead in corporeal form.

Barthenoy Gregory (Bart for short, played by David Anders) is a lieutenant in the US Army. While tearing ass across the desert in a Humvee smack-dab in the middle of Baghdad, he is shot down by a band of machine-gun-toting Iraqis. He receives a hero's burial, and his girlfriend, Janet (Louise Griffiths), is a mess. Bart's best friend, Joey (Chris Wylde, a seeming amalgamation of Nic Cage, Paul Giamatti, and Aaron Paul), does his best to comfort her. Then they kinda-sorta have sex. 

Bart, for reasons unknown, returns from the dead and to his best friend's door. Joey is simultaneously horrified, disgusted, and overjoyed to see that his best friend has returned. Despite his horrid appearance, they act like everything is normal (though admittedly weird). But it seems Bart can't hold down normal food without spewing torrential black blood, and after a discussion of just what Bart is – zombie? vampire? ah, a revenant – it's determined he needs fresh blood to keep himself from decomposing. So off to the hospital they go, which is just the first of their many misadventures.

For the first three years or so of The Revenant's struggle for tangibility, I had no idea that it was meant to be a comedy. And three years ago, the idea of making a low budget zombie movie hadn't yet become as saturated as it is today. But in the past year, once things began heating up for Prior et al., I was surprised, and admittedly disappointed at first, to learn The Revenant was a horror/comedy hybrid. In my experience, many filmmakers try to combine the two, and for the most part, fail. Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead is an ingeniously screaming example of when it works. And I suppose that's the best measuring stick to use for The Revenant. It is, after all, about two slacker-like fellows (despite the one's presence in the military) trying to live life as they normally did, even though one of them is dead. Humor derives from this conflict almost effortlessly, as well as from the rapid-fire dialogue, peppered with the kind of sarcasm of which Kevin Smith was capable during his very short peak. And the humor works, every single time. Not one single joke or gag goes by that will not elicit at least a smile. For instance, after Joey takes Bart to the hospital following his recent resurrection – and after it's been well established that Bart spews blood like a geyser, had to snip off the mortician's thread keeping his lips closed, and is also most definitely dead – he writes "general malaise" for his purpose of visit on his emergency room form. And there's no way you're not laughing at that.

Prior, serving double-duty as writer and director, has absolute confidence in the story he is telling. For what was most assuredly a low budget, Prior stretches every dollar – every cent – to masterful effect. The Revenant looks like a multi-million dollar movie, including sweeping helicopter shorts, on-location shooting in both Los Angeles and Iran, and some of the best special effects I've ever seen for such a low budget. That last bit shouldn't be all that surprising, as Prior made quite a career having done special effects for such films as Phantasm II, The Abyss, and Air Force One. (It was his affiliation with the Phantasm series that had instantly piqued my interest in The Revenant's announcement way back when.) Because the bulk of the action takes place on L.A. streets, the city itself becomes a character, and Prior aids that transition with his completely fair and objective take on the City of Angels. Much like any other major city in the world, there are areas that are beautiful and completely iconic, and there are other areas that belong to the unscrupulous, the deviant, and the dangerous. Joey and Bart find themselves mingling in both worlds, but it's in that second world where they are reborn as the media-dubbed "Vigilante Gunmen," who dispatch the criminals that have it coming so Bart can have a go at "sucking them off."

All of that "big" stuff aside, what most impressed me about the film were the small details – stuff normally included in more standard movies so it can serve a purpose later. For example, for several scenes that take place in Joey's apartment, you can hear through the wall the reoccurring and shaky practicing of scales on a piano. The person playing the piano never becomes a character, is never referred to, and is never even shown. There is no reaction shot of them included to induce a cheap moment of comedy. It's just a small, perhaps unnoticed, but very appreciated detail. Because it's the soft, unsteady piano playing you hear through the wall that makes life what it is. It's the boring stuff, the mundane. We don't all live grand lives. Not all of us will one day do great things. We'll go to work, come home, make a half-hearted dinner, and hear what our neighbors are doing through the walls. 

And at its root, that's what The Revenant is about. In the film's third act, Joey relents the lack of life he and Bart have lived. He talks of all the big important things they had always talked about doing, but never managed to do. And, in the middle of this very foul-mouthed, morbid buddy comedy, that's very saddening. 

For most of its running time, The Revenant wants to make you laugh, and in that regard the film is a complete success. But there are also times where Prior wants us all to step back and realize that the events that have befallen our characters are actually quite tragic, and so for brief stretches there is no humor, and what we see is to be taken quite seriously. But it never interrupts the flow of what is by and large a comedy. 

The Revenant ends in a surprisingly bleak and cynical fashion, which reinforces this idea of life over which Joey and Bart mourned earlier in the film. Each major character suffers an ending that, in a more typical genre movie, would be either gloriously dramatic or cheaply amusing, depending on the intended reaction. But here, in The Revenant, our characters' arcs end in very anti-climactic ways. This is not a weakness in Prior's script or intent, but once again is another confirmation that that's just life. We don't end big and bad. We don't go out in a blaze of glory. We die in the kitchen, or under a bridge. We die without last words and without having accomplished our goals, meager as they may have been. 

Prior has a lot to say, and he uses The Revenant to say it. Setting the film in Los Angeles allows him to fill his script with references to different ethnicities and the difficulties that come from their co-habitation. He has a lot to say about war and our completely unsympathetic government. He has a lot to say about the human spirit and how it can become easily corrupted once someone hits what Chuck Palahniuk has dubbed "rock bottom." But he also has a lot to say about the bonds of friendship and how literally death cannot kill the love that Joey and Bart share "in a completely non-gay way."(And if there is any movie on the planet that perfectly encapsulates the mantra "bro's before hoes," it's definitely this one.)

I sincerely hope that The Revenant is just the first of many genre offerings that Prior will be gifting to us in a hopefully long career. I hope the long road to getting his directorial debut out in the world hasn't exhausted him in such a way that he's wary about working on his next project. As far as first films go, The Revenant is a remarkable achievement. It is hilarious, sarcastic, touching, sad, and angering. It takes a well-worn concept and infuses it with a tremendous amount of contagious energy.

Four years later, I have a gigantic smile on my face. 

Special Features

As far as features go, the DVD includes a brief behind-the-scenes look at the making of the movie. There are no sit-down interviews here, but a more fly-on-the-wall approach that mostly captures the mugging going on behind the scenes involving the two leads and the producer kind of making an ass out of himself in more than one situation. The approach to this mini making-of as well as the action captured shows that, regardless of the long battle Prior may have fought in getting the film completed, it looked like a hell of a lot of fun.

Two feature commentaries – the first with Prior and the second with the cast – as well as the trailer for this film and other Lionsgate offerings are also included.

Speaking of, I'd like to very quickly thank Lionsgate for having faith in Kerry Prior and picking this film up for release. They're a studio that gets a lot of shit for their complete whoring of the Saw series, as well as their hundreds of completely inexorable direct-to-video travesties they unleash on us year after year, but after their salvation of both this and the recent Cabin in the Woods, I have to give credit where credit is due. There is no other studio out there taking the kinds of chances that Lionsgate is taking, and so for that, they have my gratitude.

REVIEW: IT'S IN THE BLOOD

John Carpenter often tells a story about there being two kinds of evil in the world: The first is the otherworldly evil - the supernatural - that surrounds us; and the second is the evil inside all of us, our bloodthirsty impulses compelled by our reptile brains.

The same can be said about demons.

October (Sean Elliot) has returned to the hometown where he spent his childhood for what appears to be an annual hiking trip with his father, whom he instead refers to as "Russell" (played by the immeasurably and perpetually cool Lance Henriksen). It would seem that October avoided the family tradition of becoming sheriff of their local town and instead opted off to medical school, where his photographic memory made him quite adept at memorizing a numberless amount of medical texts. (Indeed, his own voice seems to haunt him as he attempts to help a dog ensnared in a coyote trap, and it guides him into what he needs to do to save the poor canine.) The relationship between father and son seems to be a shaky and uncomfortable one, and at first we're not really sure why. But as the hiking trip unfolds, so does the story. Through the aid of angered dialogue and hazy flashbacks, we start to put together the story as it's being fed to us. Once emotions are running high on both sides is when the "figures" (the only way I can describe them) begin to come out of hiding. And I say figures, plural, because while some are tall with alien-like slender bodies, others look like deranged mutants - a crab crossed with a hog crossed with I couldn't even say. One even appears to be made of billowing black smoke. So when a nasty fall leaves Russell unable to walk, and with these mysterious figures closing in, father and son must shake off the past that has seemed to put permanent enmity between them and fight for their very survival.

The very first thing you notice about It's in the Blood is that, for what will probably eventually be sold as a generic creature feature starring the guy who's made dozens of them already, it is strikingly directed by Scooter Downey. Right off the bat you can see that the material is being approached in as serious a manner as possible. After opening with a brief and legitimately creepy scene, we travel back in time to meet our main character. Sean Elliott's October sits quietly on the side of a road reading a text book. And you can see that October isn't your typical kid. Even as he sits and reads, and when a someone comes along to give the hitchhiking kid a ride, you can sense there's not something quite right about him. Not in a menacing or dangerous way, but in a way that makes you feel he's lived a lifetime already.

Additionally, Henriksen's first appearance is handled with equal thought. Because he is the one with recognition, so many times has he or other famous cult actors like him made their first appearance with their backs to the camera, only to turn for the big reveal so the cult audience who loves these actors can gasp and say, "Oh, it's him!" But no, this time around, Henriksen is on screen for what feels like several minutes, in the background, onscreen from the waist down, and out of focus, his voice the only sign of his presence. And it's for no other reason than because we are about to experience the unfolding of a story, which will be peeled back layer by layer. We're only given a little bit to go on at a time, and this begins with our two main leads. We're being eased into this just as they are, because while our two leads are obviously already well acquainted, the mangled history they share will finally come to light between them, just as it will for the audience.

If you've been following this blog for some time, I'm sure my utter man love for Lance Henriksen should probably be well known. He is not one of but the most underrated actor of our time. He brings his A-game to every film he is apart of, regardless of whether or not said film has even a remote chance of succeeding. Unfortunately, his work in A-List material has been relegated to cameos in the ridiculous Jennifer's Body and the very lame When A Stranger Calls remake. It pains me to see him offered so little except low budget horror that most people will never see. And it's even worse after watching him in It's in the Blood because he's so goddamned good. He effortlessly slips into the role as small town father, and his attempts to feel like, or at least come across as, a father feel absolutely genuine. He knows that shit's gone sour between the two and it's the last thing he wants. So if trying to teach his son to drive stick on a desolate road, imploring him to drive faster and faster - if that will help bring the two together, then he's willing to try it. We have seen Henriksen play the bad ass or the maniac for so long that when we see him playing a broken down, flawed character, especially one capable of showing real fear, he becomes even more humanized. We forget that he was ever Bishop, or Jesse Hooker. Russell might be the closest we've ever gotten to Frank Black. (As an aside, I wish Lance Henriksen were my friend. My life would be greatly improved by that, I think.)

It's important you know that It's in the Blood, while creepy, is a nearly brutal film to endure. Pretty paradoxical given that it's also pretty slow-burn and not terribly graphic. But it's brutal, not because of the violence, but because of the strength of the memories our two characters have tried to bury. They come back and they scream and sob in their faces and they demand to be remembered.

Scooter Downey establishes a very frantic aesthetic, as he wants to physically realize the demons residing in October and Russell's heads. He wants the audience to feel just as disoriented and grimy and haunted as our characters do, and for the most part this is achieved. Whether or not he goes a little overboard at times will obviously be decided by the viewer. Much like this year's Exit Humanity, I'm overjoyed to see a concept like this approached with such sincerity and maturity, so I can forgive the abundance of early Oliver Stone-like frenetic editing (and the, perhaps, overwrought scene of... er... impromptu necessary surgery.)

It's pretty amazing that this film is derived from the efforts of a bunch of first-timers. It is Downey's directorial debut, and Elliott's first time as writer and producer. His previous work as an actor consists of very limited screen time in a scant few films, but here he holds the screen quite handily as if he were a seasoned pro. In my experience, most young actors want only to participate in high profile projects where they can either look good doing it, or "prove" they should be taken seriously. But it takes true balls to realize a project, fund it, bring it to realization, and then on top of that, be responsible for 50% of the audience's sympathies. It's a tough order to fill, but one easily satisfied here.

Everyone involved in It's in the Blood deserves accolades, attention, and respect. It proves that Henriksen is still a force to be reckoned with (as if we needed that reminder), and it proves that, once again, all you need to make low budget horror work is brains and heart, not the almighty dollar.

It's in the Blood is now available via iTunes as well as Amazon and other VOD services.