Thursday, January 19, 2017

Under the Shadow / Babak Anvari

Superficially, this film has more in common with the Antipodean Babadook than with the Oriental Gothic of The Wailing.

Great Movie, Terrible Poster. Terrible Strap-line.

We have a mother and child; a greyed out house with claustrophobic interiors; waking nightmares and a very unreliable narrator. The monster takes a while to penetrate the interior. Snap.

But it is closer to The Wailing in terms of religious conviction and pacing.

I think The Babadook succeeded for stylistic reasons. In terms of plot -  it was the poor cousin to Dark Water or Rosemary's Baby, but its visual flair, and clever use of props (the children's book,  and late night flickering television) - made it feel pretty fresh.

Under the Shadow is less overtly scary than The Babadook, but it is in my opinion a better horror movie. It develops a more nuanced sense of fear -  it escalates gradually and with purpose. In terms of narrative, it is more logically satisfying.

The title itself brings a metaphorical gun to a knife fight. But I think it works.

Underneath the primary "ghost story" lies a discussion about three social issues and how they intersect. Religious conservatism, female emancipation and parental responsibility - in relation to a non-nuclear family unit - in 1980's Iran. A PHD beckons.

The Drowned Man is not the place for "cultural studies" so we will leave it up to our readers to fully investigate these burning issues - if they so wish!

Back to the Horror. It tosses up the requisite smattering of jump-scares, but it is confident enough to use extended pauses and disturbing shifts in time and place to Manufacture Discontent. It succeeds. During the last third of the movie I had a cushion close to hand.

Synopsis

Tehran, during the Iran-Iraq war. After her doctor-husband is conscripted, a neurotic mother must care for her 6 year old child in an increasingly deserted apartment block. An un-exploded missile penetrates the roof of the complex and this provokes a sequence of seemingly supernatural manifestations. Her neighbours are progressively compelled to leave until the mother and child must endure 2-3 nights of terror alone with the "djinn" or ghost in three separate locations: their own flat; the floor above in which the bomb landed; and the basement shelter. On their first attempt to escape from the apartment the mother is compelled to return by the Iranian religious police who enforce the night curfew. Eventually the mother and child are alone, trapped and at the mercy of a series of disturbing and inexplicable events.

The monster is, initially, less scary than that in The Babadook, but it's later manifestations become increasingly unpredictable and unnerving. The use of repetition - in the scenes set in the bomb shelter, the parking garage and the upstairs apartment - is well handled.

The performances of the mother and child are convincing and superior to those in the overly theatrical The Babadook. This naturalism is reflected in the interior sets and lighting, which portray a  comfortable middle class Iranian lifestyle. Warm colors and crowded domesticity. Great use of contrast between the Jane Fonda Aerobics videos and the veiled conservatism of public life in 80's Tehran. Subtle commentary about the physical consequences of Islamism for the educated classes, in terms of dress and behaviour.

Nevertheless, it is not an anti-religious film. Quite the opposite in fact, which is why I feel it lies closer in tone to the sustained hysteria of The Wailing.

8 out of 10 from the Editorial Board of The Drowned Man.

BTW. I am not beating up on The Babadook. Its a masterful film and will get its own post in due time.

Saturday, January 7, 2017

The Wailing / Na Hong-jin

After watching Ringu, Dark Waters and A Tale of Two Sisters in close succession my night-time routine was permanently altered. I could no longer sleep in a room with an open door.

"Asian Black Long Haired Threshold Anxiety". You know what I mean - and if not, I have a grainy VHS you can borrow and pass on.

Anyway, out of self-preservation I have avoided J-Horror, and K-Horrror for a while. But the time has come to man up and deal with this shit.

Great Title terrible Poster.

So I watched The Wailing and survived to give you The Drowned Man's review.

"Highly praised" by Mark Kermode - mainly because it bears some similarities to The Exorcist (his favourite film EVER).

I was never a big fan of that movie because the kid wasn't scary and I am not Catholic. Nevertheless it is part of the HR Leavis Horror Canon and deserves respect.  It has some nice touches. Like early on when the downstairs lights flick off (well, it was spooky at the time).

The cinematography and direction are excellent. In my opinion however, it's use of ambiguity, suspense and delayed climax are sub-Polanski, Argento, Hitchcock or Chabrol. Basically its as flabby as an Irish Jesuit.

The Wailing is a weird homage/pisstake of The Exorcist. It is slow, filled with religious significance and utterly convinced by the concept of demonic evil. But, in terms of story and technique it couldn't be more different to Blatty's masterpiece.

Synopsis

A fat lazy provincial cop investigates a series of increasingly horrific mass-murders. A Japanese tourist is implicated. A strange physical disease spreads. The cop;s daughter appears to be infected, then seems to be possessed by a demon. A witchdoctor is called to exorcise the demon.

Up until this point the movie is bizarrely humorous and self-consciously "unscary". It's Carry on Witching, or a Last of the Summer Wine Halloween special. In Korean.

But then  it changes and becomes something really very strange.



I still can't work out exactly when this change occurs because the switch is so skillfully managed. The horror is so incrementally increased that it takes a while before the viewer realises the nature of the trap they have fallen into.

It feels only mildly disturbing for a long time... before suddenly sinking into bleak horror.. The confusion arises from the way the movie breaks cinematic conventions. Like a genuine nightmare, it changes its register and tempo until you really can't remember how it all started.

The film fuses body horror, zombie horror, supernatural horror and suspense in a way I have not encountered before.

The narrative twists in the story towards the end are unexpected and violently cruel.

Beautifully shot and acted. Of course its in translation, but that adds to the sense of the uncanny. It's half-Western/half-Oriental vision of Satanism is fucked up. I guess it symbolically draws upon a Korean "race-memory" of Japanese war atrocities.

Its also a very sad tale about fathers and daughters. And in some ways it is a traditional Eastern Ghost Story.

The Editorial Team of The Drowned Man recommends you watch it.

Friday, December 16, 2016

Fiendish Succubae shatter a Tender Heart...


If you expect the Maid Lottie to amuse you with more skittish play...well...I care not for your disappointment, for the cruelty I have suffered is beyond tolerance.

A rare flower, crushed under French Heeled Boot!

I have endured a grave treachery – the pain magnified by the perverse nature of my persecution! Sweet Mama! A tender girl can face no greater foe than one drawn from the ranks of her own jealous gender.
 
What queer fever brings forth this accusation?

Ha! Let me draw from the well off bitter experience.

Scant weeks ago I was the object of the Crown Prinz’s  favour and indulgence. I was his Personal Secretary, but - of course - my charms had demolished all professional restraint. He showered me with Regal Gift and while I sat upon his generous lap he pledged his everlasting devotion. Of course, I was under Secret Orders to foil his sordid Prussian Project, but being only human, I could not fail to be stirred by his infatuation.

Then...the arrival of those vicious harpies changed everything, and my gentle heart was broken into pieces

Hush Hush my child, and take pause, you beg.. but no, I must finish this.

The Indeceny of those bullying witches.

I recount the cruel behaviour I have endured.

---------------------------

Instance 1. Company House, London. November 15th of this year.

On arrival in the office of Josef Geldhabe the Countess Fifi mistook me for a Chaise Lounge. While kneeling by the CFO’s filing cabinet, carefully ordering his yearly accounts, I felt her Parisian rear quarters press down upon my back. Before I could register complaint her companion Lady De Monfort tossed her cape over my head.

When CFO Geldhabe stood to remonstrate, the French vixen buried her sharpened nails into my sides and began to scream. A moment later she raised her hand to her brow and fainted.

I could not free myself from under the supine body as the sharp heel of her boot was pressed tight against my tender portion. I cried so long and hard I lost consciousness.

Instance 2. Company House, London. November 16th of this year.

On the subsequent morning I skipped to my darling’s chamber full of cheer and keen to put the previous day's misfortune behind me. But as I opened the door... I was shocked to see the Crown Prinz cavorting with those hussies round the mahogany desk!

As just yesterday, it was I  - being playfully chased with horse-whip - I could not understand the sudden mis-direction of his regard.

But when I approached my Lord with gentle question, the Countess Fifi turned sharply and hissed at me with such violence I staggered back and fell into the fireplace.

My dress and wig swiflty ignited and - accompanied by the cackle of cruel laughter - I fled the room in fiery humiliation.


Instance 3. Company House, London. November 17th of this year

Again with good cheer, I....

-------------------(transcript interrupted)------------------------

Bletchley Park: ok thats enough of this...