13 Slots for the Best Horror I've Seen in the Past Year
[13 of 13]

MIDSOMMAR

(June 2019)

i cant anymore - everything's black - mom and dad are coming too. goodbye.

That’s an email that Dani Ardor (Malevolent’s Florence Pugh) receives from her bipolar sister Terri, which we get a peek at early on in Ari Aster’s sophomore offering, Midsommar.

Like the obituary that opens Aster’s feature debut (and ¡Qué horror! 2018 title) Hereditary, it’s an ominous harbinger of the torrent of grief that rages throughout the film’s runtime, as well as all the dreadful things to come, as Dani finds herself in an isolated community in Sweden where things are, quite naturally for a horror movie, not as idyllic as they seem.

I’ve always liked the folk horror subgenre, where the outsider is plunged into a close-knit community, stumbling about, ignorant of the nuances and niceties (sometimes, even the language) of this alien society, exposed to customs and traditions that, to a stranger, can be bizarre, perhaps even grotesque and repulsive.

It’s like the extreme horror movie form of FOMO, the simmering anxiety of being the only one who isn’t in on it, and in folk horror of course, not knowing what it is--until it’s far too late--can very well be the death of you…

When Midsommar takes its first decisive folk horror turn, it’s a powerful and potent sequence, and once that takes place, it is, as they say, all downhill from there, at least for Dani and company…

More questionable incidents then take place, but each character’s personal issues and preoccupations cloud their awareness of the fact that things are very wrong in “… The tranquil and majestic Hårga.”

 

All things considered, Midsommar navigates the folk horror seas exceptionally well, because there is, after all, a giant lying in the folk horror depths.

Said giant is, of course, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man, one of those particularly singular titles that forever casts its long and intimidating shadow over all the other films of its type that follow. Like The Exorcist and possession movies, or Jaws and shark movies, any folk horror title made after 1973 needs to walk in The Wicker Man’s shade.*

But thanks to Aster’s firm directorial and narrative grasp (as well as DP Pawel Pogorzelski’s eye), there is more than enough glaring sunlight to drive away The Wicker Man’s shadow, at least for the spell-like duration of Midsommar’s length, enough time for Aster to weave an insidious tale that cautions that the insularity and isolation of any community has the potential to breed horrors.

I suspect that there will be a portion of the audience that will feel Midsommar is not quite as “scary” as Aster’s first horror effort, Hereditary.

But, while that may or may not be true, what I can say is, Midsommar is one effed-up title--and I mean that in the nicest possible horror movie way.

It’s a film that showcases the horrifying beauty of community, where one is never left alone, and where all emotions--joy, ecstasy, grief, or horror--are felt in unity.

Much like a theatre full of people, witnessing Midsommar’s sundrenched terrors in the climate-controlled dark.

* So complete and intimidating is that shadow that not even Hardy’s own “spiritual sequel,” The Wicker Tree, could hope to hold its own…

Parting Shot 1:

Frankie Valli’s “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine (Anymore)” plays over the end credits roll…

Man, Aster really knows how to pick a closing song…

Parting Shot 2:

There is what may (or may not) be a swipe at Neil LaBute’s ill-fated 2006 remake of The Wicker Man towards Midsommar’s end…

I leave it up to the viewer to decide…

Parting Shot 3:

I’m looking forward to the opportunity to check out the longer-by-23 minutes Director’s Cut…

Yay! More folk horror goodness!

“Yeah, it’s sort of a crazy nine-day festival my family’s doing. Lots of pageantry…”

“Uh-huh.”

“… special ceremonies, and dressing up.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It’ll probably seem very silly. But, it’s like theatre.”

(Midsommar OS’ courtesy of impawards.com.)

¡QUÉ HORROR! 2019

Candidate #24

MIDSOMMAR

(June 2019)

i cant anymore - everything's black - mom and dad are coming too. goodbye.

That’s an email that Dani Ardor (Malevolent’s Florence Pugh) receives from her bipolar sister Terri, which we get a peek at early on in Ari Aster’s sophomore offering, Midsommar.

Like the obituary that opens Aster’s feature debut (and ¡Qué horror! 2018 title) Hereditary, it’s an ominous harbinger of the torrent of grief that rages throughout the film’s runtime, as well as all the dreadful things to come, as Dani finds herself in an isolated community in Sweden where things are, quite naturally for a horror movie, not as idyllic as they seem.

I’ve always liked the folk horror subgenre, where the outsider is plunged into a close-knit community, stumbling about, ignorant of the nuances and niceties (sometimes, even the language) of this alien society, exposed to customs and traditions that, to a stranger, can be bizarre, perhaps even grotesque and repulsive.

It’s like the extreme horror movie form of FOMO, the simmering anxiety of being the only one who isn’t in on it, and in folk horror of course, not knowing what it is--until it’s far too late--can very well be the death of you…

When Midsommar takes its first decisive folk horror turn, it’s a powerful and potent sequence, and once that takes place, it is, as they say, all downhill from there, at least for Dani and company…

More questionable incidents then take place, but each character’s personal issues and preoccupations cloud their awareness of the fact that things are very wrong in “… The tranquil and majestic Hårga.”

 

All things considered, Midsommar navigates the folk horror seas exceptionally well, because there is, after all, a giant lying in the folk horror depths.

Said giant is, of course, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man, one of those particularly singular titles that forever casts its long and intimidating shadow over all the other films of its type that follow. Like The Exorcist and possession movies, or Jaws and shark movies, any folk horror title made after 1973 needs to walk in The Wicker Man’s shade.*

But thanks to Aster’s firm directorial and narrative grasp (as well as DP Pawel Pogorzelski’s eye), there is more than enough glaring sunlight to drive away The Wicker Man’s shadow, at least for the spell-like duration of Midsommar’s length, enough time for Aster to weave an insidious tale that cautions that the insularity and isolation of any community has the potential to breed horrors.

I suspect that there will be a portion of the audience that will feel Midsommar is not quite as “scary” as Aster’s first horror effort, Hereditary.

But, while that may or may not be true, what I can say is, Midsommar is one effed-up title--and I mean that in the nicest possible horror movie way.

It’s a film that showcases the horrifying beauty of community, where one is never left alone, and where all emotions--joy, ecstasy, grief, or horror--are felt in unity.

Much like a theatre full of people, witnessing Midsommar’s sundrenched terrors in the climate-controlled dark.

* So complete and intimidating is that shadow that not even Hardy’s own “spiritual sequel,” The Wicker Tree, could hope to hold its own…

Parting Shot 1:

Frankie Valli’s “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine (Anymore)” plays over the end credits roll…

Man, Aster really knows how to pick a closing song…

Parting Shot 2:

There is what may (or may not) be a swipe at Neil LaBute’s ill-fated 2006 remake of The Wicker Man towards Midsommar’s end…

I leave it up to the viewer to decide…

Parting Shot 3:

I’m looking forward to the opportunity to check out the longer-by-23 minutes Director’s Cut…

Yay! More folk horror goodness!

“Yeah, it’s sort of a crazy nine-day festival my family’s doing. Lots of pageantry…”

“Uh-huh.”

“… special ceremonies, and dressing up.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It’ll probably seem very silly. But, it’s like theatre.”

(Midsommar OS’ courtesy of impawards.com.)

LÅT DEN RÄTTE KOMMA IN
(LET THE RIGHT ONE IN)
(Review)

“Let the right one in,
Let the old games fade,
Put the tricks and schemes, for good, away…”
-- Morrissey
“Let The Right One Slip In”


1982, Sweden: Oskar (Kåre Hedebrant) is 12 years old, bookish, bullied, and quite possibly just a wee bit maladjusted. And when he gets some new next door neighbours—who are definitely more than what they seem—Oskar’s world opens up in ways he could never have anticipated.
That’s Tomas Alfredson’s Låt den rätte komma in (Let The Right One In) in a nutshell, and it’s quite simply a fascinating and darkly alluring cinematic experience unlike any other.


Now, if you’ve already heard of Låt den rätte komma in, chances are, you already know what supernatural creature is at the centre of its narrative. And if this is the first time you’ve heard of the film, then I really should let you try and see it as unaware as you can possibly be, to further enhance the piece’s striking originality.
(Suffice it to say that said creature is—as is the cyclical way of these things—currently enjoying a renaissance, most visibly on the big and small screens.)


Despite it’s having that supernatural element though (which, by the way, has all the romanticism others have imbued it with totally stripped away), Låt den rätte komma in is also about how the bonds of friendship and love can form from a mutual longing and loneliness (as well as need; there is that, too). It’s about the painful and cruel world of adolescence. It’s about learning to be free of the oppressor, without becoming one yourself. It’s about making the distinction between the need to inflict injury, and the want.


Låt den rätte komma in is decidedly one of the most unique horror films I’ve seen in quite a long while, with a pair of exceptional central performances by Hedebrant and Lina Leandersson, both newcomers found in open castings. (There are no professional child actors in Sweden.)
And while the film may have some perhaps familiar elements, Alfredson and John Ajvide Lindqvist—who adapted his own debut novel for the screen—never quite play with them the way you might expect.
One of Alfredson’s most interesting choices is to juxtapose Oskar’s roiling adolescent angst with the frigid setting and Hoyte Van Hoytema’s coolly controlled cinematography, creating a feeling at once both unsentimental, yet strangely moving, and giving us the intimation of something very dark and unsavoury lurking at the heart of Oskar, waiting to flower into something particularly venomous.
Which all then leads to an ending that can be read as either completely liberating, or merely the doorway to a terrible prison.


If you’re a horror fan and you haven’t seen this one yet, you really do owe it to yourself to seek it out, particularly since it’s already on its way down the Hollywood English-language remake road.*
And hey, there’s that title. I mean, Morrissey. Come on. You have to check it out now, right?


“Let the right one slip in…
Slip in…
Slip in…

“And when at last it does,
I’d say you were within your rights to bite
The right one and say, ‘What kept you so long?
‘What kept you so long?’”
-- Morrissey
“Let The Right One Slip In”


* Actually, the Hollywood version—to be brought to us by Cloverfield director Matt Reeves—will actually be another adaptation of Lindqvist’s novel, as opposed to being an English-language redux of Alfredson’s film.

Parting shot: Amongst a deluge of honours, Låt den rätte komma in—which quickly grew to be a darling on the festival circuit and within numerous critics’ circles—won Best Narrative Feature at last year’s Tribeca Film Festival. (I tracked the film in some Afterthoughts past, which can be found in the Archive, alongside a review of Cloverfield)

(OS’s courtesy of impawards.com; images courtesy of beyondhollywood.com.)

FROSTBITEN (FROSTBITE)
(Review)

Ukraine, 1944.
The German Army Scandinavian Volunteer Division: SS Panzer Division Wiking.
Separated from their unit. Lost and freezing.

This is how Anders Banke‘s Frostbiten starts, with a promising WWII-set sequence, but that quickly proves to be mere backstory, as we soon flash-forward to the present-day, where single mother Annika (Petra Nielsen) and teen-aged daughter Saga (Grete Havneskold) have just moved to a new town in Northern Sweden, where polar night is all the rage, and Annika has a job at the local hospital.
She’s here because of her interest in genetics, and the pioneering work of one Professor Beckert (Carl-Ake Eriksson). Beckert, you see, was one of the young men we saw in the opening sequence, and he’s at the heart of the matter that will serve as the crux for the events of the film.

Now, due to the tone and execution of that WWII Ukraine sequence, what I wasn’t quite prepared for in the main bulk of Frostbiten, was the humourous streak that stretches down through the rest of its running time.
I’ve talked about the downside of horror-comedy mash-ups before, and sad to say, Frostbiten only gladly bumps into that downside. The funny just really isn’t that funny here, if you know what I mean. (I will, however, cop to getting a kick out of the talking animals. That’s about it, though.)
What’s worse, the film boasts a little too many subplots for its own good, as in the latter half, we cut back and forth between narrative strands and characters to the detriment of the film, and the annoyance of the audience.

Thus, not only does the opening section fail to set the tone for all that follows in its wake, but the sequence of events that lead to the main problem of Frostbiten is annoyingly juvenile. Pile onto that the slipshod journey to the end credits, which is an irritating hopscotch voyage of scenes that aren’t really allowed to breathe and flow naturally into one another, and you have much of what is wrong with Frostbiten.
Then, as if that weren’t bad enough, by the time we do reach the end credits, there are a number of subplots left open and dangling (and I’m not even referring to the happy family in the ambulance nor the cops in trouble bits), so much so that the feeling of dissatisfaction—already considerable to begin with—gets even more magnified.
And while there are perhaps one or two scenes that are effective, and the design for the main vampire is passably interesting, there are bits in here where the use of dodgy CGI makes for less-than-stellar results.

I’m aware that Frostbiten has gotten nods at some of the festivals it’s screened at, but in the end, it really doesn’t have much bite for me.
As I’ve said before of some other horror-comedy mash-ups, the horror half isn’t that bloody or gory and doesn’t offer anything new, and the comedy half isn’t all that funny either.

Parting shot: I rather like the DVD cover art for Frostbite, but again, it does nothing to indicate the horror-comedy mash-up nature of the film. That image just screams straight-forward horror to me.
And the tag line makes you think the whole polar night thing is a central plot element that comes into play more than it actually does.

Parting shot 2: Now if there’s one recent vampire movie that’s worth your time, it’s David Slade’s 30 Days of Night, which, incidentally, utilizes the whole month-long night scenario in a far more effective manner. (See review in Archive.)

(Frostbite DVD cover art courtesy of amazon.com.)