THE WITCH (2016)

I’m reticent to call The Witch a horror film, even though it utterly is. Because doing so would call forth images of how the current horror film has come to look: lazy remakes of classic titles, CGI monsters, buckets of blood, or even old-school classy approaches that avoid cheap tricks, but which at least provide a visceral jolt to the audience every so often to remind them that they are, indeed, watching a horror film.

The Witch isn’t interested in doing any of this. It very much wants to get under the audience’s skin and unnerve them in ways they aren’t used to, but its approach is tremendously different from the current crop of fright flicks at the theater. It’s not a spoiler to say that this isn’t a case of “Is there a witch, or is it all in the heads of this family recently excommunicated from their former home?” There is a very real and tangible threat. It exists among this displaced, God-fearing family, looming over their new patchwork home in the woods like the night sky. Quick and hazy sightings of the force haunting them, rarely glimpsed but ever changing, heighten its malignancy. Like another witchy horror flick—The Blair Witch Project—the thing going bump in the night is never made a primary on-screen force. It’s not hiding behind closet doors or hovering in the background of a mirror’s reflection. Its existence is felt in every frame, even if its visage is hardly sighted—a masterful accomplishment for any filmmaker, but especially for one making his directorial debut.

Horror films are easy to construct, but difficult to render effectively. It’s easy to scare the audience, but difficult to earn those scares through classy and clever execution. And it’s tremendously difficult to establish dread from the very first frame. So few horror films know how to accomplish this. We can throw out The Shining as an example, and even more recently, Scott Derrickson’s Sinister. If the inescapable feeling of dread permeates from the onset, before a single horrific incident has occurred, that’s not just rare, but nearly unheard of. Filmmakers don’t know how to do it, so they open their film with a kill, and end it with a monster literally screaming into the camera. And in between: heads fly off, or ghostly faces drip. It’s tiring, and it’s cliché, and it’s boring, and The Witch is the antithesis to all of that.

Like The Blair Witch Project, The Witch is destined for a viewers’ revolt. In fact, it’s already here. “Overhyped.” “Overrated.” The dreaded IMDB bomb: “Worst movie EVAR.” Maybe The Witch should have remained a quiet title, released to VOD and then later to home video, but A24 Films boldly called the bluff of horror fans demanding smart and original material, rolling out the film in their widest release so far. And they get immense credit for having such faith in writer/director Robert Eggers’ debut. But The Witch is not a Friday night “I’m bored, let’s go to the movies” kind of film. It’s not ideal drive-in fodder (yes, they still exist). It’s not a party film like The Evil Dead. If there were ever any film worthy of closing the drapes, turning off the lights, and immersing in the environment of a horror film, The Witch is it. To experience it any other way is to rob yourself of an honestly unsettling experience.

The Witch's impressive sound design adds to that experience. A film that relies on utter silence, complemented by a chilling musical score by Mark Korven, The Witch makes great use of environmental ambiance, filling in those long stretches of silence, though a combination of textbook-authentic dialogue matched with actor Ralph Ineson's baritone voice and accent may have you leaping for the subtitles. Of all the horror films to watch with at least an average home theater surround sound, The Witch is a prime candidate.

If you have not yet taken The Witch plunge, please do so. But before you do, watch it with a mindset that’s different from what the film’s marketing has enforced. Don’t think of it as a horror film, but as a family drama that just so happens to contain horror elements. Sit down with it knowing that its eerie events are going to unfold at a slow pace, that the antagonist will be constantly felt but not seen, and that it will provide no easy answers. But ideally, sit down with it knowing that while the shadowy thing in the dark is a dangerous and terrifying threat…it’s not the only one.

DOLL FACE

A WHOLE DIFFERENT ANIMAL: ‘ORCA’ (1977)

By now, JAWS is a Hollywood institution. It not only birthed the summer blockbuster, but, like any popular new idea, it inspired countless knockoffs – a trend that continues to this day. Putting aside the more infamous examples, like the Italian-lensed Cruel Jaws (yes, this is real) and Enzo G. Castellari’s The Last Shark aka Great White, both of which saw their U.S. releases halted by JAWS distributor Universal Studios due to obvious reasons, the “animals-run-amok” subgenre wasn’t actually confined just to sharks. Following the unparalleled success of JAWS, every kind of animal that could reasonably run amok ran amok, regardless if those animals had legs or not.

Even those animals (or insects) that weren’t obvious amok-runners still got their own one-word titles through which to generate “terror”: Grizzly, Frogs, Slugs, Bug, Ants, Gi-Ants, Squirm, etc.

Even automobiles got in on the action, like 1974’s Killdozer and 1977’s The Car.

It got pretty ridiculous.

Addressing the great white in the room, Orca, on its surface, could easily be written off as one of these JAWS bastards. It even takes the name of Quint’s doomed sea vessel for its title. Obviously, the similarities are profound. Sea-based killer animal? Check. Crusty, hard-drinking boat captain tasked with killing the beast? Check. A crew assembled with people of differing philosophies toward the animal and how it should be dealt with? Check. An entire town’s financial stability affected by the maniacal animal? Oh yes. And like JAWS, Orca also gets a huge boost from its musical score – Ennio Morricone’s absolute all-time best, in fact.

Long dismissed as just another JAWS clone, Orca is worthy of much more respectable appreciation – forty years after its release.

While out on a routine sharking expedition hoping to land a big payday for a local aquarium, Captain Nolan (Richard Harris) and the crew of his vessel, the Bumpo, get an up-close and personal encounter with an orca whale during a shark attack. Impressed with the size and savagery of the whale, Nolan switches targets, deciding that the capture of a male orca – alive – would fetch a much bigger payday. But after botching this capture and accidentally killing the targeted orca’s pregnant mate (which miscarries on the Bumpo in a devastating sequence), the orca becomes incensed, ramming the vessel and then stalking the murderous captain all the way back to shore – and beyond – intent on ruining his life by any means necessary. Even from the frigid ocean waters, the orca inexplicably begins to wear down Nolan in every feasible means – physically, mentally, financially, existentially, and philosophically. (If Hannibal Lecter were an animal, he would be an orca.) Soon, Captain Nolan is left with no choice but to take back to the sea and engage in a battle to the death with his massive opponent.

Yes, Orca follows a lot of the same familiar JAWS beats, and though it pales in comparison, Orca is much better than its reputation or immediate sketchy filmic colleagues would suggest. (The opening sequence, which sees the orca kill a great white shark in a violent battle, is a not-so-subtle dig at its legendary predecessor.) Based on the 1977 novel of the same name by Arthur Herzog, what sets Orca off from its unintended brethren is the amount of sincerity with which it was made, with much of the credit going to director Michael Anderson (Logan's Run) for maintaining a level of seriousness and weaving a palpable sense of regret throughout what would otherwise be your standard animal-revenge thriller. Orca is inherent with sadness and despair, from the quiet haunted life of Nolan to the vicious capture of the pregnant orca, right down to the icy finale which sees the crew being led to the unforgiving crushing ice caps and brutal cold of the Strait of Belle Isle. Not a single time during the film can the sun be glimpsed or does daylight look bright and warm. Colors are muted, and at dusk, barely present. Nolan and his crew live a shiftless life, existing only in those strange lands where their fishing work takes them. No one has any roots to speak of – the only relationships they have are with each other. All of this is purposeful; Orca isn’t out for the same kind of adventurous thrills as JAWS, nor is it only interested in cheap but entertaining exploitation thrills like Alligator. Though the furious orca kills quite a few people, it’s not done for titillation like the usual sharksploitation flick. As each character sleeps with the fishes, you feel conflicted, even if these characters have shown off their ignorance toward the dangers that their profession can have on the ecosystem. Like real people, they’re flawed but not villainous, and none of them are particularly heroic; in fact, Nolan only gets up the gumption to resolve the conflict he’s inadvertently created because the town where he‘s temporarily docked blackmails him into doing it – even refusing to sell gasoline to the crew attempting to retreat from their sins. (Heroism!)

Aiding Orca’s effectiveness is the slightly dangerous tone exhibited by ‘70s-era Italian thriller and horror films, which always had their own look and feel, and which were heightened in every sense – regardless of genre. Exploitation films were just a bit more exploitative. The infamous “cannibal horror” period was rife with filmmakers pushing boundaries – so much that murder charges were brought against Cannibal Holocaust director Ruggero Deodato in response to the too-convincing fates that befell that film’s characters. This sensibility would spawn the giallo sub-genre – one that gleefully focused on the exaggeration of sex and sensuality, fluid and poetic camera movement, and, most famously, very specifically choreographed and violent murder sequences. The presence on Orca of Italian producer Dino De Laurentiis, a major figure during this time (and who remained so until his death; he’d go on to produce several films in the Hannibal Lecter franchise), and the largely Italian crew – from the script writers to the production and art designers – inadvertently rode that over-stylized subset of Italian filmmaking, which enhances Orca’s sense of danger and unease; it comes across as similarly loose-cannoned and willing to push the boundaries of good taste, even though, except for the upsetting whale capture scene in the first act, Orca is fairly restrained. (Though this is not at all applicable to Orca, Italian productions were also occasionally unkind to animals, which also enhances the unsettling usage of Orca’s special effects. More on that in a bit.)

Richard Harris’ Captain Nolan is a heavy figure. The fisherman lives a life of isolation, having seen his pregnant wife perish in a car accident caused by a drunk driver – one that’s already taken place before the opening credits, but which can be unnervingly glimpsed through quick flashbacks complemented by the unsettling shrill shriek of an orca. The film draws parallels both obvious (the tragic loss of a burgeoning family) and subtle (obsession leading to self-destruction) between Nolan and the orca that hunts him, and which he then begins to hunt. As life took away Nolan’s family, so Nolan took away that of the orca. They become one and the same — two lost souls navigating a cold and barren seascape; satisfying the avenging beasts within them is the only thing offering them forward momentum.

The death scenes, too, are executed differently. Unlike JAWS, where the shark attack scenes were suspensefully predicated by John Williams’ famous low-end piano and Spielberg’s paranoid shots of the water, the death scenes here are quick and brutal, and over before you realize they’ve happened. The orca lunges with a shriek, takes his target, and disappears beneath the depths. It’s not at all about suspense this time around; it’s much more focused on shock – how, at one moment, you can be sitting safely on the bow of a ship, and at the next, you’re immediately disappeared as if you never existed. Again, a film that clearly exists because of what’s come before is still making an effort to distance itself through different stylistic choices. Yes, both films feature an aquatic killer as the main threat, but each is going about it as differently as they can while remaining in the same genre and delivering, ultimately, what the audience expects.

For its time, the special effects are quite good. Granted, some of the visual tricks, like superimposing together scenes of orcas breaching the ocean’s surface, show their age, but the practical effects are extremely lifelike to the point where certain shots look downright disturbing. Charlotte Rampling sitting on the beach next to the corpse of the orca that Nolan kills during the opening moments and seeing it rock and sway in the coming and going ocean tide offers it a very sad reality. (Production on Orca was even momentarily shut down following outcry from animal rights groups after someone glimpsed a life-sized orca prop being trucked into the shooting location.) A brief shot of a pummeled great white shark floating lifelessly in bloody waters, too, looks alarmingly real. (It wasn’t; all underwater shark photography was captured by ocean conservationists Ron and Valerie Taylor, who famously obtained all the real shark footage used in JAWS.) Honestly, there are times when Orca’s best special effects even look better than some of the troublesome effects from JAWS – and for a film that would go on to inspire a multi-billion dollar franchise and a theme park ride (RIP), that’s not dismissible praise.

It’s fair to admit that Orca would not exist without JAWS, but it would also be unfair to disregard Orca as a lazy cash-grab. It has its own identity and purpose, and its own less traveled path for getting there – one might even argue that it has much more in common with Moby Dick than that aforementioned stillness in the water. Richard Harris once stated to have found the characters in its script far richer and more complicated than Brody, Hooper, and Quint, and that its label of being a mere JAWS rip-off was offensive. Charlotte Rampling, who works steadily to this day, continues to look back on the film with pride. Affirmations like these are important to preserving and fairly examining Orca’s legacy. This isn’t a case where actors, who go on to more prominent roles in wider reaching films, look back on their horror past with embarrassment and dismissal. A good film is a good film, regardless of its genre, unfair reputation, and especially regardless of its inspiration.

PSYCHO

SOMETHING BETWEEN US

When I walked in and I saw you two sitting there, I could just tell by the way you were both relating that there was no connection whatsoever. 

And I felt when I walked in that there was something between us. 

There was an impulse that we were both following. 

So that gave me the right to come in and talk to you. 

Otherwise, I never would have felt that I had the right to talk to you or say anything to you. 

I never would have had the courage to talk to you. 

And with him, I felt there was nothing and I could sense it. 

When I walked in, I knew I was right. 

Did you feel that way?

THE MUMMY (2016)

Is it too late to make a “Show me the mummy!” joke?

Upon Universal Studios’ announcement that it would be re-exploring all the old classic horror properties they’d created more than eighty(!) years ago as an action-adventure shared universe, the Internet let out a collective, “wha?” And they were right to. In this post-Marvel world, everything is now being re-imagined as a shared universe. In theory, the idea is intriguing and creates a lot of opportunity for world building and creativity. Still, characters like Dracula, Frankenstein(‘s Monster), and the Mummy — they’re dead ghouls, brought back to life by a curse, or science, or sheer stubbornness, so the idea of centering a shared universe around them — and presenting them as the villains they ought to be — seemed like a really odd choice. But Uni were likely looking at their last firebrand of a rebooted monster property — the Brendan Fraser Mummy franchise, which had been designed as an Indiana Jones-ish tale of Egyptian paranormal, and which was still seeing new entries in the direct-to-video market as recently as 2015. (This would be The Scorpion King 4: Quest for Power, which, in case you lost count, was the sequel to the sequel to the prequel to the prequel to the sequel to the remake of The Mummy, and it starred Lou Ferrigno.)

The announcement of Alex Kurtman as director of this new Mummy, most famously known as formerly one half of the Kurtzman/Roberto Orci writing duo (who together had scored major gigs over the last decade in Hollywood all while not turning much in worth a damn) was the second sign that maybe Universal wasn’t quite thinking rationally about this idea. Not only was Kurtzman an untested director, the Dark Universe was one of Universal’s most audacious ideas since that one time they had a fast car drive furiously out one window and INTO another window. But with the announcement of Tom Cruise joining the film, who, craziness aside, has a good track record picking projects, the Internet’s hesitation went into remission. After all, even the worst of Cruise’s films were still marginally better than most other summer blockbusters. And who wouldn’t be excited about a classic horror property being resurrected with the likes of Tom Cruise and Russell Crowe?

And then the leaks began. Something about behind-the-scenes drama on The Mummy’s production. Something about the studio realizing Kurtzman was in way over his head. Something about Cruise taking on more non-actorly roles on the shoot. Once the film was released to a critical drubbing and a poor domestic box office take, no one was surprised.

I know I’m not.

The Mummy is as every bit as bad as you could have assumed at every stop on the production train — from the very first words “reboot of The Mummy” to “shared universe” to “action/adventure” — and, I never thought I’d say this, it even lacks the charm and whimsy of Brendan Fraser’s first go-round with Imhotep. After a promising opening, which introduces Russell Crowe’s Dr. Henry Jekyll in what’s assumed to be a sort of curator of the entire Dark Universe, The Mummy seems almost eager to reveal its brainlessness, throwing together a quick backstory on this Mummy’s version of the mummy — a young girl cursed by black magic and who is “mummified alive,” which, according to the filmmakers, means being dressed as a wriggling mummy and locked in a coffin. (If you remember your history lessons, being “mummified” actually entailed having your brain and organs removed, your hollowed cavities stuffed with herbs and spices, your body dried in the sun, and then wrapped in bandages — but, we’re in PG-13 territory here, don’t forget.)

Though Tom Cruise brings his Tom Cruise game, and certain sequences are admittedly fun and enjoyable, The Mummy instead presents a series of real-life mysteries more intriguing than the mystique it’s desperate to establish: Like, why does such an expensive production have such horrid CGI? Or, why does it suffer from a severe identity crisis — ie, is this horror, or adventure; fun, or frightening? (The “nod” to American Werewolf in London, which sees Cruise talking to hallucinations of his dead and ghoulish looking friend, while appreciated, feels cheap and stupid, while also showcasing some Sims-level CGI.)  The biggest mystery, perhaps, is this: what was everyone THINKING?

Before The Mummy was cruelly released to the wild like a lame animal, Universal was quick to distance their previous Dracula Untold from their Dark Universe, calling it unrelated from their long-term shared world-building. Ironically, Dracula Untold suddenly played a whole lot better after seeing The Mummy, as it was more surefooted at striking a horrific tone even if its main crux was action and escapism. (Uni’s previous reboot of The Wolfman with Benicio Del Toro, too, suddenly played a whole lot better.) But no, The Mummy was so poorly received and so powerfully bad that it made Uni stop and reconsider this whole Dark Universe thing, which is currently on hold — my thanks to the gods and monsters. (Leigh Whannell's The Invisible Man is still going ahead, though it seems to be its own thing.)

The Mummy achieves almost award-worthy stupidity, which is bolstered by the presence of Tom Cruise shouting and punching CGI mummies directly in their mummy faces. 

Show me the mummy!  

THE DARK

One of Arch Oboler's better known stories. Creepy in the right mindset, until you realize it directly inspired this: