¡Qué horror! 2014

Candidate #3

STATIC

(November 2012)

It's a familiar set-up: the Dades (Milo Ventimiglia, also serving as an Executive Producer, and Person of Interest’s Sarah Shahi) are living out in the country. Their marriage isn’t in the best of places. Meanwhile, the arrival of a stranger (Sara Paxton, no stranger to ¡Qué horror! territory due to Dennis Iliadis’ The Last House on the Left remake and Ti West’s The Innkeepers) throws things even more of out of whack, and Static’s tale begins in earnest.

Though this is largely an entry in the home invasion sub-genre, there’s more that goes on here, courtesy of director Todd Levin, working from a story and screenplay credited to himself and three other individuals (Gabriel Cowan, Andrew Orci, and John Suits).

And while a home invasion entry is certainly nothing new these days, not to mention that where Static ends up also isn’t particularly new, the execution is nonetheless commendable. Also, there’s a certain slant that’s given to the proceedings that is admittedly an uncommon angle.

We also get to briefly see Lost’s William Mapother, so that’s always a plus.

To say more would unduly spoil things, so the best I can say is, stay alert and observant; you may, after all, get an inkling of where the film is going before the climax.

Parting Shot: A review of The Last House on the Left remake (incidentally a ¡Qué horror! 2009 title) lurks in the Archive.

(Static OS courtesy of upcoming-movies.com; DVD cover art courtesy of bloody-disgusting.com.)

A Rundown of the 13 (plus) Best Horror Movies I’ve Seen in the Past Year
[2 of 13]
The Apocalypse Cinema Slot

CTHULHU

(June 2007)

I’ve known about this one for awhile though only now have managed to catch up with it, and I must say, this one’s an interesting and excellent Lovecraft adaptation by director Dan Gildark, a piece that tries things and goes places that are foreign to other Lovecraft adaptations.

Take “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” as a foundation, then splice in some gay themes and strains of apocalypse cinema, and throw in Gus Van Sant stalwart Scott Patrick Green and the Tori Spelling, and you’ll have a vague notion of what’s in store for you in Cthulhu.

For my money, one of the best Lovecraft adaptations I’ve seen…

THE DIVIDE

(March 2011)

This is one of those films I got to see over the past year, but didn’t have the time to write about previously.

Apologies, Monsieur Xavier Gens.

This one takes the boiler room scenario of titles like The Mist, as a bunch of tenants in an apartment building are crammed into the basement with the crotchety super, Mickey (Michael Biehn, baby!), in the hopes of riding out the nuclear devastation that’s wreaked havoc aboveground.

Sadly, human nature creeps to the surface and things don’t go so well for the poor unfortunates, who include Lauren German, Rosanna Arquette, and Milo Ventimiglia.

(Cthulhu OS courtesy of impawards.com and The Divide OS courtesy of reelizer.com.)

HEROES
Season 3 Episode 2
Volume Three: “Villains”
Chapter Two: “The Butterfly Effect”
Written by Tim Kring
Directed by Greg Beeman
(WARNING: SPOILERS)

“You have no idea of the fire that you’re playing with. You don’t screw with time.”
-- Mama P

Say what?! (In reaction to Mama P’s big cliffhanging reveal, and not the quote above.)
Urrrr… this better be some cockamamie scheme on Mama P’s part, ‘cause if not, why are we dipping into hackneyed soap opera territory? (Wasn’t Peter’s amnesia last season bad enough?)
And while I’m happy to see a bigger role for Mama P, given that she’s now in charge thanks to the Company’s chain of command, I am terribly disappointed that Bob has now suffered one of those thankless Heroes deaths: blink, and the character’s history. (And it happens off-screen to boot.)
And now poor Elle’s out of a job… but only after she inadvertently causes the escape of about a dozen powered lowlifes from Level 5 (when she lets out a massive electrical discharge as Sylar is cutting her head open, she causes the power grid to go down, and presto, escaped supervillains).


That escape gets Mr. B out as well, and he runs off into the night, but only after ensuring Sylar’s confinement (which Mama P looks about to rescind, thanks in part to the reveal that, gasp, he’s her son!).
Sigh.
As I said though, maybe this is Mama P trying to manipulate Sylar into doing her bidding, by giving him a mother figure by claiming to be his real mother.
Gods, I hope so.


So Mr. B heads back home, to have a brief reunion with Claire, and is set to go off again, to take down the Level 5 escapees.
But not before he brings back Claire’s pyrokinetic bio-mom Meredith, to keep his family safe.
Hurrah!
And I say that without sarcasm, as, honestly, this was one of the few high points of the episode. I just hope that Meredith is on the level here, ‘cause she did seem a tad mercenary the last time we saw her…

Oh, and one of the Level 5 escapees, Jesse Murphy (played in a little bit of stunt casting by Veronica Mars alum, Francis Capra), is where scarred Peter-from-the-future “put” the real Peter. (Does Future Boy feel like such a d!ck now, or what? Is a portion of Volume Three basically just cleaning up the idiot mess he caused by gunning down Nathan, while the other is cleaning up Hiro’s idiot mess?)
So now Capra gets to share screen time with Milo Ventimiglia in the role of supervillain on the lam (does Capra get half a paycheck then?)
Jesse’s power: sound manipulation.


And my mention of The Fly in response to Mo’s totally irresponsible “oh, I’ll inject myself with an untested compound because I am so conflicted and tortured right now” moment?
Well, what do we have here but a scene straight out of Cronenberg’s remake, where a shirtless Mo is hanging off the rafters, then does some wall-climbing? He then makes the moves on Maya, who succumbs to his shirtless charms, and ends up in bed with him.
Of course, he wakes up in the middle of the night, and, well, he seems to be… flaking. Or something.
You know, he’s looking in the mirror, very Fly-like, and there are some odd looking patches of skin on his back that are coming off.
Sigh.
So we’re raiding soap operas and sci fi remakes.


Meanwhile, Nathan’s Linderman appears to be a figment of his imagination.
Gods, Nathan is certifiable.
Either that or Linderman (who is supposed to be dead) is just invisible to everyone else, but that’s just plain silly, right?
Heh.
Nathan, by the way, takes the offer for the junior Senator seat, provided Tracy-who-looks-exactly-like-Nikki will be on his team.


Oh, and Tracy-who-looks-exactly-like-Nikki? Well, she apparently has the power to instantaneously deep freeze anyone she touches, and of course, when a human insta-popsicle falls to the ground, the body shatters, leaving itty bitty bits of bloody ice all over the place.
Ick.
(The poor sap who gets the messy death? The Greatest American Hero himself, William Katt! Stunt casting, hurrah!)

And Parkman?
‘Ported to Africa, where he meets Usutu (Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine), who knows Parkman’s name, and claims that he shouldn’t be there, and that this is not the future he painted.
Another Isaac?
Oh, and Usutu is apparently the one who painted that cracking globe symbol which Parkman saw in the previous episode.
(And why hasn’t anyone wondered what happened to Parkman? Has no one noticed that’s he’s gone missing?)


Hiro (I’m the idiot who’s responsible for that dangerous half-formula being stolen by some super-speedster, and can’t I see that how I’m treating Ando could very well turn him against me?) Nakamura on the other hand, has a plan to track Daphne the super-speedster and catch her before she steals the other half of the formula.
Fine, let’s see how that pans out, though why do I get the feeling that won’t work out too well either?


Claire, meanwhile, realizes that she now can feel no pain, which troubles her deeply since, despite her extraordinary regeneration, what kept her grounded and human before was the fact that she could still feel pain.
Now, while I admit that’s an interesting turn of events, the “attempt #7” scene is curiously lacking in the emotional weight department. I’m not sure if the greenscreen is totally to blame (as such shots always seem to be bereft of any genuine tension due to their artificiality), but it certainly doesn’t help any.

Meanwhile, Mama P has a disturbing (and rather comic book-y) dream where some of the heroes are shown being defeated/killed by a bunch of baddies, which include Nikki (or whatever the hell her name is) and Parkman Sr.


Well, I can’t say that that was significantly better than the first hour, and I have to say that this troubles me a bit.
After the largely slapdash and compromised affair that was Volume Two, I had hoped that this third volume would waste no time and from the opening, immediately detonate at ground zero and recapture the glory of the golden age of Heroes (back in Season 1, when Bryan Fuller was still in the house).
Sadly, that didn’t happen.
There are still too many characters running about, and worse, some of them are acting rather idiotically, apparently just to kick-start some subplots.
And then there’s that whole Sylar-as-long-lost-Petrelli-son reveal.
Urg.


Well, hope springs eternal, and there’s always next week for another shot at redemption…

Parting shot: In the lag between the time the premiere aired, I got to see it and wrote this review, and today, when I finally got to post the review, news broke regarding the “letting go” of Heroes co-executive producers Jeph Loeb and Jesse Alexander. (Details here and here.)
As much as this came as a shock, how this will affect the show is also at the forefront of my mind.
It has already been indicated that Kring will be “simplifying” the storytelling, and “refining the tone of the show.” There’s also a bit about—thank Heavens—“emphasiz[ing] character development more than plot twists.”
I imagine the exact repercussions of this sudden shake-up will become evident sometime in the second half of the current season, during Volume Four (reportedly titled “Fugitives”).
Though it does seem like Loeb and Alexander have been shafted—and who exactly did the shafting is up for debate—this does present yet another opportunity for the show to clean up its act (if Loeb and Alexander were indeed the problematic pieces in the Writers’ Room).
Like I said, hope springs eternal. Let’s see, shall we?

(Images courtesy of comicbookresources.com, gregbeeman.blogspot.com, and eonline.com.)

PATHOLOGY
(Review)

Ironically kicking off with The Hippocratic Oath, Marc Schoelermann’s twisted and strangely riveting medical thriller, Pathology, focuses on Ted Grey (Heroes’ Milo Ventimiglia), brand new hotshot resident at the Metropolitan University Medical Center.
Life smiles on Ted when we first see him, in bed with his fiancee, wealthy Gwen Williamson (Charmed’s Alyssa Milano). Smart, connected, successful, he’s got a dazzlingly bright future ahead of him.
That is, until he’s drawn into the sinister world of a group of Met U. residents, led by Jake Gallo (Michael Weston), who draw out the worst tendencies that lie inside Ted, particularly the murderous ones.


Schoelermann (working off a script by Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor, who also wrote—and directed—the Jason Statham adrenalized actioner Crank, as well as the upcoming Game) delivers a nasty depiction of a world where cleverness and talent can be parlayed for a sense of entitlement and elitism, provided morality is chucked out the window.
There is, in fact, a disturbing lack of a moral compass in Pathology, which can be looked at as CSI gone so very terribly wrong, where the methodology of murder becomes nothing more than a game played by idle minds.
If there’s a weak spot to Pathology, an aspect of it that may be problematic for some viewers, it’s that; the fact that none of these characters, not even our erstwhile protagonist, Ted, is sympathetic, or even likeable. (Well, perhaps Gwen, but she’s far too unsuspecting a character for my tastes.)


So it’s fascinating that Schoelermann—and his rather good cast, which includes The L Word’s Lauren Lee Smith—serve up a film that, despite not really having a “hero,” is still an engaging cinematic experience.
Pathology is captivating the way an Animal Planet show is, where we see exotic and dangerous beasts that really can’t help their natures, turn on their prey—and each other—without the slightest hesitation.
This isn’t even a film like, say, Woody Allen’s Match Point, where there always seemed to be the constant danger of Jonathan Rhys Meyers being caught out; here, the aptly named Grey and Gallo and their coldly ruthless gang are apparently far too smart to be caught. That’s never really in the narrative equation.
Ultimately, not even Gwen knows her fiancee’s true face.
And neither do we, the audience, for that matter.

Again, we loop back to what could be troublesome for Pathology’s potential audience: that our “hero” is apparently a highly intelligent and amoral individual.
Seeing everything as it unfolds, we don’t even have the luxury of the obliviousness Gwen clearly has concerning Ted. We also don’t have the love for the character that she has.
There’s a fairly effective façade that Ventimiglia adopts for Ted, removed from the previous television persona he displayed on Gilmore Girls. Here, the charm and good looks are quite clearly on the surface, camouflage for the cunning, calculating creature Ted is.
Ted is Heroes’ Peter Petrelli on valium, with his humanity lobotomized.


There’s a definite emotional remove for the audience, without a sympathetic protagonist to identify with. But that’s a distance that’s constantly bridged by moments of shuddering revulsion as we witness the macabre on-screen antics of the residents.
Again, we watch, morbidly fascinated with these sexy, photogenic monsters, with the decidedly opaque Ted at center stage.
Honestly, I’m not even convinced that what he feels for Gwen is love at all. Or perhaps it is. Who knows with these sociopaths?
Suffice it to say that Ted is not your average movie hero, and Pathology is not the sort of film to comfort its viewers.
It paints doctors as egotistical and dangerous, for one thing. And there’s a whole lotta post-mortem make-up mayhem (three cheers for Tatopoulos Studios!) for the gorehounds. And some nasty, kinky sex too.
This is not for the straight-laced, I’ll tell you that much.


As a medical thriller, this one’s got some impressive credentials, certainly more than past films of this stripe like Stefan Ruzowitzky’s disappointing Anatomie.
But like I said, it’s probably not for everybody, so be advised.

Parting shot: John De Lancie’s in this, as Dr. Morris, as well as Empire Records’ Johnny Whitworth (as fellow resident Griffin Cavenaugh), and L.A. Law’s Larry Drake (though he’s perhaps best known to horrorheads from Sam Raimi’s Darkman and the schlocky Dr. Giggles) as, ermm, “Fat Bastard.”
Also, if you don’t blink, you may just catch Battlestar Galactica’s Sam Witwer as “Party Boy.”


Parting shot 2: A side-effect of my surprise at Pathology’s nasty effectiveness is a sudden and sweet anticipation of Neveldine and Taylor’s upcoming Game, which is headlined by Gerard Butler.
The near-future science fiction vehicle not only reunites them with Ventimiglia, Witwer, and Whitworth, it also boasts John Leguizamo, Michael C. Hall, Kyra Sedgwick, and Zoe Bell among its cast.

(Images courtesy of impawards.com [Pathology OS; design by The Refinery]; bloody-disgusting.com [Pathology banner and DVD cover art]; shocktillyoudrop.com [Pathology images]; and slashfilm.com [Game image].)

reVIEW (6)
CURSED

Spurred by Wes Craven’s recent turn as a guest judge on On The Lot, I thought to resurrect this review of Cursed (a review which began life answering to the name, “Bad Moon Rising”; go ahead, you can call it that. I’m sure it won’t mind).

Saddled with such a sadly appropriate title, it’s a small wonder that Cursed actually got completed and managed to lope its way into theatres. Of course, once you get to see it, you may just wish it had been shot in the head with a silver bullet while it was still unfinished.
Brought to you by the Scream team, director Wes Craven and writer Kevin Williamson, Cursed has had a tortured existence, laboring under its own version of the Mark of the Beast: delays, rewrites, and re-shoots.
Apparently, much like Exorcist: The Beginning, Cursed was practically re-shot in its entirety, much of the original cast (who were no longer available due to other film commitments) replaced, for the version unleashed upon us hapless movie-goers. Reportedly, one of the major changes was shifting it from an R-rating to a PG-13, effectively neutering whatever bite it may have initially had.

Ostensibly, the film is a horror thriller which purports to show us the travails of brother and sister Jimmy (Jesse Eisenberg) and Ellie (Christina Ricci), who’ve both been infected by a werewolf. In actuality, it’s a flat and tiresome experience that is a definite low point for both Craven and Williamson.
Not that either is a stranger to low points, mind you. Since making an impact with the infamous The Last House on the Left in 1972, Craven‘s career has been checkered with soaring highs (A Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream/Scream 2) and abysmal lows (Deadly Friend). Williamson, meanwhile, exploded onto the scene with Scream, and delivered a brilliant sequel in Scream 2, but spiraled ever downwards, passing on the way to the bottom such disappointing sights as The Faculty, Dawson’s Creek, the again appropriately-titled Wasteland, and the horrific (in the worst sense of the word) Teaching Mrs. Tingle.
So… low points? These gentlemen both know low points. I suppose I was just holding out the hope that whatever elusive spark, whatever strange alchemy they managed to tap into with Scream and Scream 2, they would find a third time.
No such luck.
It’s almost as if both suddenly developed creative amnesia, and whatever they seemed to know about suspense and horror, on display so elegantly in the first two Scream installments, evaporated into thin air.

Nowhere in the entire running time of Cursed do we find even a smidgen of the taut suspense Craven and Williamson managed to pack into Scream’s now-familiar opening sequence involving Drew Barrymore, a phone, and some popcorn. What we have here is 96 minutes of ho-hum that isn’t even remotely entertaining.
And since Ellie and Jimmy need to kill the werewolf who is the source of the infection in order to return to normality, it actually gets to a point where you start praying for a RAW Smackdown with Real Actual Werewolves just slapping each other around in some mindless popcorn horror fashion, just to ease the tedium. Tragically, even that doesn’t come to pass.
Like I said. Ho-hum.

And anyone who’s seen Scream will tag Cursed’s opening for what it is: a sequence which introduces us to cannon fodder, in this case, American Pie’s Shannon Elizabeth and singer Mya, the former delivering a particularly hilarious performance as Becky, the werewolf’s first on-screen victim.
Hijacked for the miserable ride are Dawson’s Creek’s Pacey, Joshua Jackson, Smallville’s Lex, Michael Rosenbaum, Gilmore Girls’ Jess, Milo Ventimiglia, Judy Greer (Jawbreaker, The Village), and Scott Baio—playing himself (!) in an ultimately pointless subplot—presumably to pad the suspect list with a gaggle of red herrings, in a vain attempt to confuse the issue, never once fooling us as to the identity of the mystery master werewolf.
It should be noted at this point that in the process of the unmasking, there is a rupture in the film’s logic (or perhaps it was just me slipping into semi-catatonia for a few seconds, thus missing a vital plot point—though I doubt it), not that that’s such a big deal, considering logic is seemingly just as much of a rarity in Cursed as actual thrills.

The thing is, the field was wide open with werewolf films. I certainly wasn’t expecting another An American Werewolf in London, John Landis’ ultimate word in werewolf cinema, but they could have tried. They could have made some kind of positive mark. As it is, Cursed could have fallen smack dab in the middle of Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf and the seventh installment of this sad and sorry franchise, Howling: New Moon Rising, and I wouldn’t have blinked an eye.

The saddest part, I suppose, is that this terrible miscarriage masquerading as a movie was the result of the collaboration of two individuals who know the game: these aren’t neophytes here, not even sophomores. These are individuals with Masters at horror*, and yet managed to produce not a sleek, sly, and cunning beast, but a whining, mangy cur with its legs all wobbly, its tail between its legs, and its teeth all fallen out.

* Well, maybe in Williamson’s case, a Magna Cum Laude.

Parting shot: Ventimiglia has, of course, gone on to the phenomenal Heroes. (You can tell this is an old review, as I didn’t describe him as “Heroes’ Peter.”)

(Cursed OS courtesy of impawards.com.)