Image by grafikacesky from Pixabay Over the course of the last thirty-one days, I’ve talked about some horror movies I rather despise. I’ve talked about some horror movies I really enjoy, and some that surprised me. Today, I bring my horror blogs for the year to an end by discussing my favorite horror film of all time: the 1968 classic Rosemary’s Baby.
[NOTE: This blog will contain spoilers for “Rosemary’s Baby.” You have been warned.] In 1967, American publisher Random House released the newest book from thriller novelist Ira Levin. Before it even hit shelves, however, Paramount Pictures purchased the film rights to the novel. The orchestrator of this move was Paramount executive Robert Evans (who produced other classics as True Grit, The Godfather, Serpico, and Chinatown), who admired the films of Paris-born Polish director Roman Polanski. At the time, Polanski was unknown to American audiences but had garnered attention in Europe for such films as Knife in the Water (1962) and Repulsion (1965). He had even been nominated for an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film for the latter, but had yet to make his mark in Hollywood. At Evans’s behest, Polanski read Levin’s novel cover-to-cover in one night, called Evans the next morning, and expressed interest in adapting the story of a young New York socialite who is impregnated with the offspring of Satan himself. Thus, the seed was planted for Rosemary’s Baby. The film was released on June 12, 1968 to universal critical acclaim and respectable box office success, earning over 33 million dollars on a budget of just over three million. For her portrayal of the charmingly meddlesome neighbor Minnie Castevet, Ruth Gordon won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress while Polanski was nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay. Today the film is credited with a “horror boom” in both the literary and cinematic worlds, inspiring other famous movies like The Exorcist (1973) and The Omen (1976). So, why is Rosemary’s Baby my favorite horror film of all time? To answer that question sufficiently, I must first address what was perhaps my biggest problem with the film initially. I found the first thirty minutes or so to drag a bit, and while this deliberate pace pays off later I struggled to stay engaged due to my lack of sympathy for the protagonists Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse (played by Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes, respectively). Their relationship came off as rather forced for me, so I found it difficult to buy into caring about them as individuals or about their life together. But I beseech those who experience the same or a similar struggle as I did to stick out the first thirty minutes. If you do, this film will not disappoint. By its conclusion, I greatly appreciated the slower pacing of the beginning before the movie never stops ramping up for the next one-hundred minutes or so. The reason I ultimately came to greatly cherish the film’s opening scenes is because of what they imply without ever giving clear, in-your-face answers. For example, one of the earliest scenes in the film comes just after Rosemary and Guy have officially moved into their new apartment and been welcomed by the elderly married couple down the hall: Roman and Minnie Castevet (played by Sidney Blackmer and Ruth Gordon, respectively). Rosemary is acquainted with Terry Gionoffrio (Angela Dorian), a fellow tenant and recovering drug addict who the Castevets have taken in. She seems to appreciate all that Roman and Minnie have done for her, and yet only days later has jumped to her death from the Castevets’ window. Barely fifteen minutes into the movie and I already had so many questions. If she liked her keepers so much, then why jump? Did she jump of her own accord, or was she pushed? Why speak so highly of the Castevets if indeed she despised them? To what extent did Terry have control over her mental faculties in her final days, and what (if anything) did the Castevets have to do with her state of mind at the hour of her death? So many potential answers to these questions, but I could not think about them in the moment. Because then I move onto another very curious scene. Some nights after Terry’s apparent suicide, Rosemary and Guy are invited over to dinner by the Castevets. At this point in the film, Rosemary prefers to be cordial and polite but Guy wants nothing to do with their old neighbors. But once in their residence, Guy’s outlook shifts completely. Off-screen, an implied conversation between Guy and Roman happens and then, upon returning home, Guy expresses his sudden fondness for the Castevets while Rosemary is beginning to find them obnoxious and intrusive. Again, so many questions. What suddenly changed Guy’s mind about the Castevets? What did Roman say to Guy that suddenly made him out to be a saint in disguise as an old man? Do the Castevets have some sort of uncanny ability to bend others’ perception of them to their will? The movie remains this way for nearly two hours of its 136-minute runtime. Slowly―and deliberately―Polanski gives the audience a tidbit here and smidge there to stimulate their curiosity. Until the final scene of the film, we never fully understand what is going on. We guess, we contemplate, and we deduce both during and after watching. But one never fully comprehends the events of Rosemary’s Baby. We can only keep thinking about it. And this is the reason I love this film. After seeing it for the first time, I knew it would be a film I revisited multiple times throughout my life in the attempt to try and fully understand what exactly is going on in every scene. It is a film that welcomes speculation and critical thinking without demanding it; one can sit and watch the horrific events of Rosemary’s pregnancy unfold and simply be horrified by them. But I get much more enjoyment out of this film every time I start thinking about it again. Of course, this expertly crafted story would be impossible without the unquestionably impeccable, mesmerizing, and poignant performances from everyone involved. To begin with who is, in my opinion, the star of the film: Mia Farrow. She is a fantastic lead who allows the audience to become fully absorbed and invested in her journey from the get-go. For the first thirty minutes, I am reflecting on the power dynamics of her relationship with Guy and the extent to which she has some control, if any. But for the remainder of the runtime, I am utterly gripped by Rosemary’s menial grip on the reality that is her tragic existence be ripped away by those around her, from her nosy neighbors and domineering husband to her manipulative obstetrician Dr. Abraham Sapirstein (Ralph Bellamy). Which gets to my love for the supporting cast that (in different, but equally important ways) enhance Rosemary’s downward spiral into seeming madness and paranoia. To begin with John Cassavetes, who plays Rosemary’s husband Guy. A struggling actor whose job at home is to reassure his wife of the benign nature of her pregnancy and keep her from believing the truth, Cassavetes (while, in my opinion, the least remarkable actor in the movie) does a more-than-serviceable job in this role. One of the standout supporting actors is Bellamy as Dr. Sapirstein. Regarding the latter, Bellamy’s ruthlessly unempathetic obstetrician plays a pivotal role in the Castevets’ conspiracy by being the sole authority figure in Rosemary’s life that is effective at quelling her suspicions (at least to a point). As someone who remains fascinated by the notorious psychology experiments of Stanley Milgram and Philip Zimbardo, I found the dynamic between these two characters to be the most interesting during the film’s second act. But, the unquestionable star among the supporting cast is Ruth Gordon. Her portrayal of Minnie Castevet is multi-dimensional; within her first couple of scenes, she is clearly someone who can be your best friend one minute and your greatest enemy the next. Gordon embraces this off-kilter appearance so well that when she becomes one of the most vocal antagonists towards Rosemary in the final scene it is both believable and upsetting for all the right reasons. I have watched many horror films in my life. From old-school classics and serious, dramatic tales to newer releases and gut-busting horror-comedies, I feel that I have become fairly well-versed in the visual language that is horror cinema despite not having watched every notable movie in this genre. Yet, Rosemary’s Baby is a film that I keep coming back to in my mind. Not because I enjoyed every minute of it, but because its use of subtlety and intrigue make it a film worth my time and mental energy. It works on so many levels besides horror, primarily resonating with me as a psychological drama about a young, vulnerable woman whose good nature but natural skepticism lead her down the path of no return as a victim of pure, unrestrained evil. And that is why Rosemary’s Baby is my favorite horror film of all time. To celebrate my horror-themed blogs from the month of October, I have listed below my rankings of all the movies that I have written about:
What is your favorite horror film? What are your thoughts on Rosemary’s Baby? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. I hope everybody has a fun and safe Halloween! Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst
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I have been looking forward to this post for weeks. As I kicked off the month of October talking about why I tend to steer clear from horror films, some of my favorite experiences dipping my toe in the genre are when my expectations are subverted and I end up enjoying a horror film that I anticipated disliking. Also, this is the inaugural post of my sixth (and, as of right now, final) blog series wherein I select films from the film reference book “1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die” by Steven Jay Schneider and discuss them in some capacity. So, in honor of my horror-themed posts for October, I will today be discussing three classic horror movies that I expected to hate but actually kind of love. Coincidentally, the films I will be talking about today are all from the 1970s. (Perhaps I was born in the wrong decade… 😊). So, without further ado… [NOTE: This blog will contain spoilers for “The Exorcist,” “Carrie,” and “Alien.” You have been warned.] Image by emersonmello from Pixabay The Exorcist (1973) Merely five years after Rosemary’s Baby terrified audiences and stirred controversy for its reliance on devilish antics (pun intended 😊) for scares, Hollywood bore another mainstay horror classic: William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, released in 1973. Based on the 1971 novel of the same name by William Peter Blatty (which in turn is partially based on real exorcisms performed in the United States in the late 1940s), the film remains a staple of horror cinema and (in my humble opinion) holds up as a terrifying thrill ride. Why? I’ll get to that a bit later. Friedkin, the director, is on the record saying that the film is intended to preserve all that could be verified by those involved in an exorcism performed on a 14-year-old boy nicknamed “Ronald Doe” in 1949. (Although Friedkin has also publicly expressed doubts about certain aspects of these “true events”). A secular Jew himself, Friedkin had access to the personal diaries of the priests involved in the exorcism in an attempt to accurately depict the events on which his film was based. I will not devote much time to the many fascinating behind-the-scenes about The Exorcist, but there is one I would like to highlight. The late actress Mercedes McCambridge, who won an Oscar for her performance in Robert Rossen’s All the King’s Men (1949), was cast as the voice of Pazuzu the devil that possesses Regan (Linda Blair) in the film. At McCambridge’s insistence, she swallowed raw eggs, smoked, and drank whiskey to harshen the sound of her voice. At Friedkin’s insistence, McCambridge was also bound to a chair to give off the impression of the demon struggling to free itself from its restraints. Prior to the film’s release, McCambridge volunteered to avoid getting credit for the performance out of concern that it would strip away recognition from Blair. This, along with many other stories about the production of The Exorcist, attest to the film’s legacy as a testament to dedication to one’s craft. Despite being nearly fifty years old by now, The Exorcist holds up as a genuinely terrifying experience. As I have said several times in previous blogs this month, the film is not scary because of the violence or jump scares or even tension. Rather, it offers up an incredibly stressful and intense scenario for characters that we as an audience sympathize with and would never wish on anyone. The physical, mental, and emotional toll on Regan’s mother and the performer of the exorcism, Father Lankester Merrin, (played expertly by Ellen Burstyn and Max von Sydow, respectively) are prime examples of just how impactful The Exorcist is. The fact that, for much of the first hour, Burstyn’s character Chris goes down several avenues in an attempt to discover the truth behind Regan’s unorthodox mental state shows not only her devotion as a mother but also effectively invokes enough of a connection with her to suffer with her as she watches her daughter’s devilish transformation. Furthermore, the lengths at which von Sydow’s Father Lankester and his assistant, Father Damian Karras (played by Jason Miller) go to in their efforts to expel Pazuzu from Regan are both heartwarming and chilling. While not my favorite of the three films I will be discussing today, The Exorcist earns its place for me among not just the classic horror films but in the genre as a whole. It has stood the test of time as one of the first truly scary movies. Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay Carrie (1976) Leading up to the release of It: Chapter Two and Doctor Sleep last year, I decided to watch some of the classic film adaptations of the literary works of the “King” (pun intended 😊) of horror fiction, Stephen King. As of two years ago, the only true “horror” films based on King’s works I had seen were 1983’s Cujo and 2017’s It. Needless to say, I was skeptical about this adventure due to King’s name being synonymous with horror. So, when I sat down to watch the 1976 Brian de Palma film Carrie I was surprised that I enjoyed it as much as I did. The first film adaptation of King’s endless body of work remains, in my opinion, one of the best. It tells the story of the shy sixteen-year-old girl Carrie (played by Sissy Spacek) who struggles to gain acceptance from her classmates in the lead-up to the school prom. She is bullied by classmate Chris (Nancy Allen), receives comfort and advice from sympathetic gym teacher Miss Collins (Betty Buckley), and is psychologically tortured and oppressed at home by her fanatically devout Christian mother Margaret (Piper Laurie). The film, released on November 3, grossed nearly 34 million dollars in North American on a budget of less than two million dollars and received rave reviews from critics at the time who recognized the legacy that it would have for decades to come. Spacek and Laurie were nominated for (but did not win) Academy Awards for their performances, and it has landed high up on multiple lists for the best horror films ever made. So, why do I love Carrie? For so many reasons, it is difficult to nail them all down. First off, the film’s opening scene in the locker room is haunting, yet mesmerizing. As someone who had less-than-uplifting experiences in the high school locker room (as I am sure many of you did as young boys and girls), Spacek becomes sympathetic in a manner of minutes. The cruelty she is subjected to at the hands of her peers when she (unbeknownst to her) menstruates while showering is simply heart wrenching. As a moment in a young person’s life when they should be comforted and reassured, Carrie suffers ridicule and embarrassment that jumpstarts her journey of maturation in the film. Simply put, Spacek’s portrayal of this closed-off and intimidated yet incredibly powerful young woman is never boring or disengaging. Quite the opposite; watching this film for the first time, I wanted to know everything about her life. Does she have any true friends at school? What is her home situation like? Why is she ignorant about her own body? All of these questions are answered in a way that is both satisfying from a storytelling perspective, but also disheartening in terms of what Carrie’s life really is like. She has virtually no friends her age, evident by her reliance on Miss Collins as a confidante. And the scenes between Spacek and Piper Laurie, who plays Carrie’s mother, are gripping, impactful, and resonant throughout the film. Some of the most memorably tragic moments have to do with Margaret’s rejection of her daughter due to the horrific circumstances surrounding her conception. And this gets to my great appreciation of the story’s larger themes that never cease to entice my love for the creative. For de Palma aptly explores the unique tensions of a mother-daughter relationship in order to make the climactic scene between Carrie and Margaret both intense and immensely tragic. The state of Carrie’s life is the result of two things. First, a mother who resents her existence due to her acting as a mirror for Margaret’s own obsession with her self-identified sinful sexual fantasies. And second, a toxic school environment that does all it can to push Carrie over the edge in what is certainly one of the greatest climaxes of a horror film that I have ever seen. The infamous prom scene could have turned out cheap or unearned. But, it just doesn’t. The moment that the bucket is dropped, coating Carrie in pig’s blood, Spacek does a brilliant job conveying the instantaneous loss of sanity within herself and empathy for other people. As she traps her entire class in the gym, lights it on fire, and walks through the destruction of her own making, it feels like a baptism by fire of sorts: who Carrie could have become is gone, and the Carrie that we see leaving prom is anything but an endearing person. And yet, I still love her. I never turn against Carrie even in her darkest moments, perhaps that says something about my psyche. Nevertheless, 1976’s Carrie is a sight to behold in the terrain of modern horror cinema that remains both a classic and a solid film in its own right to this day. Image by Эльвина Якубова from Pixabay Alien (1979)
Of the three films that I am writing about today, I have only seen one of them twice: the 1979 horror sci-fi classic Alien. The original concept of the film from screenwriter Dan O’ Bannon was a script called "Memory," in which a group of astronauts awaken to a distress signal from a mysterious planet. Yet he struggled to devise a second and third act until screenwriter Robert Shussett contacted O’Bannon and came up with the concept of one of the crew members being implanted by an alien embryo, thus allowing the creature to board the spaceship. While major studios were initially hesitant to fund their project (with names such as Dark Star and Star Beast), the unprecedented success of Star Wars in 1977 changed many minds in Hollywood about the profitability of science fiction movies. Ridley Scott was chosen to direct the film due to the critical praise of his directorial debut The Duelists, and it was shot from June to October, 1978 over a period of fourteen weeks. Described as “Jaws in space” and “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre of science fiction,” Alien was released on May 25, 1979 and grossed over 203 million dollars on an approximate budget of eleven million dollars. Initial critical reception to the film was mixed, with Roger Ebert notoriously feeling blasé about it upon release before calling it a “great original” on his Great Movies list decades later. I first watched Alien two summers ago, and found it slow and boring; the acting to be dry and unengaging (except Sigourney Weaver, of course); and the special effects to be outdated at best and tacky at worst. (Harsh words, I know). Needless to say, I was more than relieved after watching James Cameron’s 1986 film Aliens later that day as it was what I wanted from this kind of movie in the first place. But, since my first viewing of Alien, I have watched hundreds of classic films and thus my tastes have evolved and developed. Furthermore, I feel that I have a more acute ability to sift out the overrated films of yesteryear from the truly great classics of the past. So, do I love Alien? While I think “love” may be a bit too strong of a word, I found myself greatly appreciating Alien much more on a second viewing. First off, the deliberate pace felt natural and more effective at building intrigue and, later, suspense. The dynamic established among the crew members of the Nostromo in the first forty minutes of the film is both relatable and believable. The actors play their characters as genuinely “average,” and thus the predicament that they find themselves wrapped up in is all the more terrifying as a result. Without question, the standout for me is Sigourney Weaver. Of course, her performance in the final thirty minutes is commendable as she uses all of her wits to escape the Nostromo within an inch of her life. But Weaver’s portrayal of Ellen Ripley as the only rational person on the ship who consistently expresses doubts about the crew’s safety and security make her both a credible and sympathetic character, thus cementing her status as one of the best female protagonists of any franchise to date. But what about my initial impressions of the “outdated” special effects? While I still think that the final shots of the xenomorph (alien) being cast out into space are quite ridiculous, I love the evolution of the creature in all of its stages. The minefield of unhatched eggs is unsettling. The acid-bleeding “face sucker” that impregnates and kills executive officer Kane (John Hurt) in the infamous “chest-burster” scene is visceral and primal. And finally, the creature’s adult form makes the viewer’s heart beat faster and faster without ever fully revealing itself until the very end. This trope, while often overused these days, is an effective device to create mystery around the monster which makes it all the more terrifying. So, there you have it, folks! Three classic horror movies from the list of “1,001 Movies You Must See Before You Die” that I expected to hate but ended up loving (or liking a lot). What are some horror films you ended up loving despite initial doubts? Which of these three films is your favorite, and why? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay There is perhaps no other name as synonymous with horror filmmaking as Alfred Hitchcock. Commonly referred to as the “master of suspense,” many of Hitchcock’s movies of the 1950s and 1960s laid the groundwork for a new visual language and approach to storytelling within the genre. Many of his more famous movies, ranging from the 1958 psycho-triller Vertigo to the 1963 natural horror film The Birds, rely less on gore and cheap thrills and more on visceral human drama and suffering (typically of the psychological nature) to show his audience that humans are the greatest threat to ourselves and the world around us.
While I have not seen every single Hitchcock film, I have seen enough of them to come to the conclusion that I am not a big fan of his work. With one notable exception: the 1960 groundbreaking classic Psycho. To this day, it remains the only Hitchcock film I have seen twice. Furthermore, I enjoyed it much more on my second watch. So, allow me to share with you why I think that Psycho is the first modern horror movie. [NOTE: This blog will contain spoilers for “Psycho.” You have been warned.] For all intents and purposes, Hitchcock pursued Psycho as a passion project. Coming off of the high-budget pictures Vertigo in 1958 and North by Northwest in 1959 which made little to no profit, Hitchcock was seeking out fresh material for a new film following two unfinished films at Paramount Pictures. After his personal assistant, Peggy Robertson, read a positive review of Robert Bloch’s 1959 novel about hotel manager and murderer Norman Bates, she gave a copy to Hitchcock who read it and acquired the film rights quickly thereafter. Despite the many efforts by Paramount to force Hitchcock to give up on the adaptation, he persevered by agreeing to shoot cheaply in black-and-white, using his television crew, and taking a salary cut. In hindsight, these handful of facts alone predict the success of Psycho. Without a doubt, Hitchcock approached this film with so much care that it boggles my mind that the studio executives doubted the success of this picture. Of course, I was not alive in 1960 and thus lack intimate familiarity with the cultural norms and sensitivities of the prior decade that the film would smash to pieces upon its release. It turns out that Paramount was justified to be apprehensive about making Psycho. It faced much criticism from censors for its depictions of sexuality, gender, and violence. Hitchcock spent much of his time wrangling with the board of censors over what became some of the most famous scenes of the movie: the opening with Marion and Sam in bed together, Marion’s murder in the shower, and the reveal of Norman Bates’s cross-dressing in the film’s climax. Most concerned with potential nudity during the shower scene, the censors demanded that it be edited to avoid what they claimed were shots of Janet Leigh’s breast and buttocks. Hitchcock waited several days, showed the scene to the censors again, and they all reversed their positions. Furthermore, Hitchcock agreed to re-shoot the opening scene with the censors on set if he could keep the shower scene intact. Since none of the censors showed up, Hitchcock kept the opening as it was originally filmed. Famously, Hitchcock enforced a “no late admission” policy for Psycho because he worried that tardy theatergoers who missed Janet Leigh’s performance in the film’s first act would feel cheated. While theater owners initially protested the move out of fear of losing business, they acquiesced upon the film’s released because they enjoyed the sight of long lines of people outside their theaters. Nevertheless, all of the obstacles faced by Hitchcock in making the film were well worth it once the film came out. While critical reviews ranged from praising the performances to mourning the death of Hitchcock’s career, Psycho made a total of fifty million dollars at the box office on a budget of less than one million dollars. (Today, this would be approximately the equivalent of making nearly 440 million dollars on a seven million-dollar budget). So, now you know the history of this film. But why do I think it is the first modern horror movie? Let me explain. As I stated (in one way or another), in my blog earlier this month, “I Have a Problem with Horror Movies,” I tend to steer clear from horror due to its overreliance on cheap scares and unenticing melodrama. And while sometimes that can be fun (lookin’ at you, Child’s Play!), I would much rather spend my time engrossed in a character-driven tale of suspense and intensity. And Psycho scratches that itch in a way that most films made to prior to 1970 just fail to do. First, let me address the “controversial” aspects of the film. The elements of sexuality, violence, and unconventional gender norms that were deemed unfit for viewers in 1960 are exactly what makes Psycho feel like such a modern movie. Hitchcock employs these elements not to gross out or offend, but to flesh out its characters and story. The opening scene with Marion in bed with her boyfriend immediately gives the audience a feeling of intimate connection with her. We see her in one of the most vulnerable scenarios that help us relate to her and sympathize with her. And such sympathies begin to wither away gracefully as the first act progresses, but I will get to that later. Secondly, the film’s depiction of violence (notably the notorious shower scene). Compared to the gory horror, war, and action films of the last forty years, Hitchcock’s Psycho is relatively tame. Rather than relying on excessive amounts of blood and guts to induce vomiting in the theater seats, Hitchcock employs quick cuts from both the killer’s and Marion’s perspective to give the audience a connection to both sides of the murder. He wants to put us in the shoes of both the murderer and the victim to emphasize the moral complexities and ambiguities of the human condition. In other words, this scene (in addition to exploiting perhaps the most vulnerable situation a human being can be to heighten the suspense) affirms what is, in my opinion, Hitchcock’s central thesis: Sometimes, the most insane of people effectively cloak themselves in sanity while those who appear good on the outside are anything but on the inside. Which brings me to perhaps my most controversial opinion about Psycho: I do not believe that Marion Crane is a good person. What I mean is that she is not a wholly sympathetic person who I fall in love with in the first five minutes of the movie. Quite the opposite, in fact. In the first scene, I find her to be representative of what second-wave feminists may have referred to as an “independent woman” back then. Janet Leigh plays Marion as a woman who lives in a man’s world and therefore will not sit idly while the men in her life (such as her boyfriend and her boss) decide her fate. I may not like her all that much, but I respect her. For the next roughly fifteen minutes of the film, we see her lie about having a headache in order to flee with the $40,000 that she was instructed to deposit in the bank for a client in the hopes of convincing her lover to leave and have a life with her. Again, I sympathize with her but I certainly find such an action inadvisable. Even as she trades in her car to avoid suspicions by the police, I lack much empathy for her since I think she has brought some (if not all) of these watchful eyes on herself. Still, I like the movie up to this point. And it is because Janet Leigh is not playing a likeable doll-face with few (if any) believable traits or flaws that was all-too typical of the Golden Age of Hollywood. Rather, I believe in her as a real person and I am interested in her journey long before her arrival to the Bates Motel. But, when her path finally crosses with that of Norman Bates, Psycho goes from a good movie to a fantastic movie. Within minutes of their first meeting, Leigh’s Marion and Norman Bates (played expertly by Anthony Perkins) foster near-perfect chemistry between each other. Despite his awkward mannerisms and somewhat off-putting personality, Marion warms up to Norman as he divulges what he characterizes as an existence defined by his oppressive mother. She is so moved by his vulnerability and seeming honesty that, before her demise, Marion decides to return the stolen money. The film creates a powerfully human antagonist in its first half to the point where he indirectly serves as Marion’s conscience. It took a mentally unstable, lonely, and isolated person with dissociative identity disorder (“split personality” as it is referred to in the film) and cloaked in a façade of normality to show her the questionable nature of her actions. But then, Hitchcock takes this intriguing story of two kindred spirits trying to break free from the authority figures in their lives and flips it on its head. For the very person (at least physically, if not mentally) that helps her realize the error of her ways is the same person that ends her mundane, if righteous, existence. From here on out, Psycho cements its status as not just a classic in horror cinema but as one of the best films of the 20th century. It invented (and utilized to lasting effect) many of the tropes that are synonymous with the “slasher” subgenre today. From quick-cutting in murder scenes and a chilling, violin-heavy score to perspective shifts as a means of enhancing the diversity of the narrative structure, Hitchcock’s late-career masterpiece holds up today as both a tentpole of horror and a gripping, dramatic tale of the deviant and twisted side of humanity. Needless to say, Psycho stands today as the foundation of modern psycho-thriller and horror films because it subverted the moral reservations of its time. By doing away with the strait-laced, tame approach to scaring people of the 1950s, Hitchcock’s tale of Norman Bates defied expectations in order to deliver a fascinating examination of the human psyche about the lengths people will go to preserve some semblance of the reality that they desire for themselves. What are your thoughts on Psycho and the “slasher” subgenre as a whole? What are some other groundbreaking horror films I should check out? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst As I talked about in my last blog post, I tend to stay away from horror films for a variety of reasons. But when I do dip my toe into the genre, I tend to lean towards the more comedic or lighthearted takes on horror that focus more on entertaining than frightening the audience. (“Zombieland” and “Shaun of the Dead” come to mind).
In the past year or so, I have watched several horror films for the first time. And, every time, I am far more nervous about the modern horror movies due to my assumption that they will be more convincing in scaring the living daylights out of me. So, when I heard from virtually everyone on the Internet to watch “Get Out,” I was skeptical. Not only due to the trailer’s reliance on emphasizing the film’s more traditional horror elements, but also because I lacked confidence in Peele’s ability to use genre conventions as social commentary on modern racial politics. And boy was I wrong. Why do I love “Get Out”? Let’s take a deep dive and find out, shall we? [NOTE: This blog will contain spoilers for “Get Out.” You have been warned.] Writer-director Jordan Peele, known for his work on the sketch comedy show Key & Peele, was paid to write this script in two months by producer Sean McKittrick (“Southland Tales,” “BlackKklansman”). Peele believes that comedy and horror have similar elements in terms of pacing and reveals within the story. Shot over the course of 23 days on a nowadays modest budgets of 4.5 million dollars, “Get Out” first previewed at Sundance Film Festival on January 23, 2017 before releasing nationwide the next month to rave reviews and standout commercial success (ending up becoming the 10th most profitable film that year). “Get Out” ended up with four Oscar nominations (with Peele winning for Best Original Screenplay) along with Golden Globe and BAFTA nominations. To top it all off, the film landed on several top 10 lists for the year and multiple listings for the best films of the decade. Needless to say, Peele’s directorial debut caught the attention of both the critics’ circle and the general public, and remains an important staple in horror cinema and black filmmaking today. And yet, despite all of these accolades, I remained skeptical going into watching this film. And, to be honest, the first scene, did not hook me. It felt like the opening scene from most other horror films that make us intrigued as to why something bad happens to a character that we have no emotional connection to as of yet. But, I kept watching. Within the first ten minutes, I was intrigued. The chemistry between Daniel Kaluuya’s Chris and Allison Williams’s Rose is evident from the get-go. But while they seemed genuinely in love, I always felt as if Williams acted like she was trying to compensate for something, particularly during the deer scene. And this is where my love for this movie began. Seeing Rose’s sincere defensiveness for Chris when the innocuous interaction with the cop turns potentially dangerous was relieving. Right then and there, Williams convinced me of her benevolence. In spite of Chris’s protests to cooperate with the officer, Rose stands her ground and strikingly identifies what is happening without the three of them openly acknowledging it. For me, that is what works about this film. Peele made an exacerbated horror story with all the suspense, thrills, and moments of intensity that fans of typical horror will expect and want. But, as someone who tends to steer away from this genre in general, I found enjoyment from more than just the suspenseful thrill-ride of Chris’s gradual discovery of the horrors that lie within the Armitage residence. Surprisingly, I rather liked Peele’s subtle approach to satirizing race relations―specifically the hubris of well-intentioned liberals―a great framework for a modern horror movie. That being said, within the first half-hour I also found myself enjoying the more traditional uses of suspense and mystery that Peele employed surrounding the abnormal behaviors of Rose’s parents’ housekeeper Georgina and groundskeeper Walter (played brilliantly by Betty Gabriel and Marcus Henderson, respectively). The blasé ignorance of Rose’s parents Dean (Bradley Whitford) and Missy (Catherine Keener) as they not-so-subtly patronize Chris during his stay with them. For all of these impressive aspects of the film up to this point, it was the party scene that really made me fall in love with this movie. Peele’s excellent direction really is in full swing by this point in the movie, as Chris’s outward casual nature as he meets Rose’s extended family and friends intertwines brilliantly with his inward stress and anxiety over his phone’s dead battery and Rose repudiating his suspicions about the utter bizarreness of the situation. There are two standouts in this scene. First, Chris’s friend and TSA agent Rod talking over the phone about trying to help Chris get out of there. Rod is played expertly by Lil Rel Howery, as this is the character through which Peele’s sketch show roots really shine. Rod is the conduit for comedic relief within all the tension of Chris’s predicament, and his role in the story never ceases to make me laugh hysterically. The other standout, without a doubt in my mind, is Lakeith Stanfield who plays “Logan King,” a genteel young man who is married to a much older white woman. And he makes “the scene” of the movie: Chris tries to inconspicuously photograph Logan, who suddenly snaps out of his trance and warns Chris to “get out” should what happened to him happen to Chris. Stanfield’s flip from calm and subdued to obsessed with doing anything in his power to get Chris away from this place is all in his eyes. It is mesmerizing and simultaneously horrifying. For me, this moment is where the film went from great to fantastic. Over the phone Rod identifies him as Andre Hayworth, the man who was kidnapped at the start of the film. And from here, the story is relentless. There is so much to love going forward: Chris’s discovery of Rose’s biased dating history, Allison Williams’s sudden shift from confused to pure evil in a matter of seconds, the full reveal of the twisted, crazed experiments of the Armitages using black bodies to gain some form of immortality. The last thirty minutes is so awesome. From Chris using cotton within the chair he is strapped into to block Missy’s hypnosis to his dispensing of the Armitage family one by one, I cannot express just how incredible it is to see this psychotic operation literally burn to the ground. And then there is the final scene. On top of a three-way battle in which Chris manipulates Walter into shooting Rose before committing suicide, Peele gives the audience one final punch to the gut when the sight and sound of police sirens arrive onto the scene. For me, it all clicked. Peele wants the audience (regardless of skin color) to completely expect how this will end. Since the police lack any knowledge of what has really gone on, all they will see is the black man Chris choking the defenseless white girl to death. And if it had ended that way, I likely would not enjoy this movie as much as I do. And having learned that the original ending, according to Peele, was for Chris to be arrested, I am overjoyed that he decided differently. This is just as effective because it plays on the audience’s expectations for how Chris’s struggle will end: hopeless. But, we learn that Rod himself is the one driving the car to take Chris away from this hellish place and leave Rose bleeding to death on the road. So, why do I love this movie so much? Peele tells an expertly crafted story about blindness coming from multiple angles. Chris’s initial blindness about the true nature of Rose and her family plays into the film’s thrilling suspense and mystery. The blindness of the Armitages towards their own warped attitudes that have caused them to be callous towards black people. And, perhaps most important of all, the blindness of the audience to Peele’s consistent reliance on subtle lines of dialogue and visual cues to tell his story. Overall, “Get Out” reminds us all that it is not a critique of blatant acts of white supremacy as the real world is not so black-and-white. Rather, this incredible film absorbs itself in the nuances, complexities, and gray areas of race in society that show just how much damage well-intentioned people can do to themselves and to others. In a nutshell, that is why “Get Out” is my SECOND favorite horror film of all time. What is my favorite? You’ll have to come back later this month to find out… 😊 What are some of your favorite horror films? Does “Get Out” deserve the praise that it receives? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst Image by GraphicMama-team from Pixabay Growing up, I was the kind of kid who enjoyed a space adventure with Luke Skywalker and crew or a fun superhero flick from the mid-2000s. (lookin’ at you, Tobey Maguire!) As I have grown up, I tend to enjoy anything from mainstream blockbusters to compelling indie flicks. But there is one genre I have never been attracted to.
I do not like horror films. Let me explain why. First, however, to address my short-term plans. I have decided to kick off the month of October by examining the film genre synonymous with one of the most celebrated holidays in the United States. For the next several weeks, I will be offering my thoughts on several famous horror films throughout history. But, I digress… There were many horror franchises on the rise during my childhood and adolescence that I became tangentially familiar with via seeing them advertised on television. From more traditional horror of gore and ghosts (“Saw” and “Paranormal Activity”) to the “Scary Movie” parody films, I was well-versed in how horror films these days tend to present themselves. Simply put, as high-tension, jump-scare spectacles that play on people’s most base instincts for kicks. And honestly, I was never intrigued by the proposition of watching a 90-minute film just to be looking away 90% of the time. As Halloween approaches, however, I am inclined to re-examine my general distaste for the genre. So, for the first blog post this month, I have chosen four horror films to discuss as a baseline for the exact reasons why I tend to avoid the genre altogether. And hopefully, as the month goes on, I will come to appreciate horror filmmaking. Or at least some of it. So, without further ado…BOO!! (Man, I’m hilarious. 😊) The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) Regarded as one of the first slasher films, Tobe Hooper’s second feature film was released on October 11, 1974 on a modest budget of $140,000 (approximately $700,000 today). It was marketed as being inspired by true events in the hopes of attracting a large audience, and tells the story of a group of college-aged friends who are subjected to the murderous theatrics of a family of cannibals led by the now-infamous chainsaw killer Leatherface. I have watched several other horror films from the 1970s (some of which may be discussed in the near future 😊), so I feel like I have at least a rudimentary grasp on the style that horror embraced at that time. And I must say, when compared to some of the other horror classics of that era, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre does not hold up. And I think I have figured out why. This movie is under 90 minutes, but accomplishes very little in that time while simultaneously failing to justify why its cringe-inducing episodes of hysterical violence should last that long in the first place. For me, this film is an example of a particular type of horror movie that I have come to despise; that which sets out not to entertain, horrify, or engross (pun intended! 😊). But instead, that which has the one and only goal in mind of giving the audience an utterly displeasing experience. I gained nothing from watching this movie on an emotional level, primitive or otherwise. Instead, I simply became familiar with the type of ridiculous antics that 1970s horror films often employed to make the audience squeal and squirm rather than mesmerize and awe them. I have little else to say; The Texas Chain Saw Massacre gives me no reason by its conclusion to desire more or return to it in the future. The Hills Have Eyes (1977) Wes Craven’s horror follow-up to his 1972 directorial debut The Last House on the Left, The Hills Have Eyes was released on July 22, 1977. Peter Locke, the film’s producer, basically looked to Craven to make another horror film in a similar style and flare to his first movie. And it undoubtedly comes off that way. Having watched several of Craven’s horror flicks, these two included, I prefer the 80s flavor injected into A Nightmare on Elm Street or the 90s well-intentioned goofiness of Scream. Unlike Chain Saw Massacre, I am struggling a bit more to hone in on exactly what I do not like about this film. Certainly, the cannibal angle comes off uninspired at this point (The Hills Have Eyes is said to have been partially inspired by Hooper’s film). However, I found this family of cannibals to have far more personality and vigor to them than in Chain Saw Massacre. Furthermore, I found myself sympathizing more with the suburbanite Carters and their predicament than the moronic college kids of Hooper’s film. But, I was still unconvinced that the movie was worth my time. Why? Similar to Chain Saw Massacre, Craven’s The Hills Have Eyes comes off in the 21st century as a misguided attempt to shatter social conventions of what is “acceptable” in cinemas versus telling a compelling horror story. I give it more credit than Hooper’s film, but not much more. An American Werewolf in London (1981) Finally, I thought to myself as I queued by John Landis’s critically acclaimed 1981 horror-comedy film. An older horror film with modern sensibilities. I was genuinely excited for this movie, especially considering that Landis’s 1980 comedy The Blues Brothers is one of my favorite films of all time. Needless to say, I was sorely disappointed. What I expected to be a subversive and laugh-inducing take on an old-school monster movie turned out to be hilarious for all the wrong reasons. Apparently, Landis struggled to get any attention for this script because Hollywood thought it was too frightening to be a comedy film and too funny to be a horror film. I tend to agree to some extent, but largely because Landis struggles―and fails, in my opinion―to strike that balance effectively. The story of An American Werewolf in London lacks anything vaguely interesting. And while the makeup effects are impressive for the time, the actual transformation scene dated the film so much that I laughed out loud watching American nitwit David Kessler fulfill his furry, bloodthirsty destiny. Ultimately, I think Landis should have kept this script on the shelf. While it made me laugh a few times, An American Werewolf in London has been incredibly surpassed by the horror-comedies of more recent decades. The Lighthouse (2019) At this point, you might have decided that I am prejudiced against only older horror movies. But you would be wrong. I have watched my fair share of modern horror movies (and even like some of them!), and appreciate many of them for what they do differently from the last. From the more comedic tones of Zombieland and Ready or Not to the high-tension thrills of Get Out and A Quiet Place, my horror tastes are certainly biased in favor of more recent entries of the genre. So, when I heard about the supposed up-and-coming horror guru Robert Eggers’s newest film The Lighthouse, I was rather intrigued. On the one hand, I tend to enjoy psychological thrillers over straight-up horror movies. Furthermore, I was fascinated by the story concept and rather excited to explore the strenuous lives of two lighthouse keepers and their inability to adapt to the isolating conditions of their profession. And, for most of the movie, I was enthralled. Not only are Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe in prime form throughout the film, but the visual composition of every single frame by cinematographer Jarin Blaschke was incredibly. The Lighthouse is an impressive feat of modern indie filmmaking purely based on visuals alone. So, why did I ultimately find myself somewhat unsatisfied by the end? I was incredibly frustrated by the fact that Eggers did not commit to any sort of clear message or theme being explored. To be clear, many great horror movies gracefully employ ambiguity in order to make the audience question everything they just watched to startling effect (The Shining and Eggers’s first film The Witch come to mind). As a storyteller myself, I believe that it is crucial for the creator to at least hint at what they are trying to say if not provide some definitive possibilities. But, by the end of The Lighthouse, I lacked any understanding of what Eggers was saying except for working at a lighthouse with a crazed old drunk would probably suck. Ultimately, I do not know if I have garnered a clear answer to the question of why I tend to dislike horror films. Sometimes, I find the attempts to disgust the audience (morally or gutturally) to be in poor taste. Other times, I find the extreme open-ended nature of the storytelling to be more frustrating than enticing. And, sometimes, I laugh at the outdated effects. While I do not really like any of these films, I have ranked them below if you are interested:
Needless to say, I am very much looking forward to my next several blogs so I can share with you many of the horror movies that I do enjoy. What film genres do you tend to avoid? What horror movies should I, as someone who tends to not like horror, check out? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst |
Austin McManusI have no academic or professional background in film production or criticism; I simply love watching and talking about movies. Archives
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