Malevolent (2018)

Score: 3 / 5

There's an effective chill to Malevolent, one of those Netflix releases that appeared two Octobers ago with no pomp or circumstance. I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't marketed at all. Not because it's "less than" in any capacity, though some might disagree, but because it's an economical slice into the haunted house genre that becomes a joy to watch mostly as a result of how unexpected, unpretentious, and delightfully wicked it is. I had absolutely no expectations and, now having seen it, I feel that served me well. So if you are willing to just dive in and live with this movie for its 90-minute run time, I urge you to stop reading now and take it for what it is meant to be. That is, a spooky little horror movie meant to be experienced without prior knowledge.

But it you have seen it, or don't care, let's talk! We're in 1986 Scotland and our main characters are two young charlatans. Angela and Jackson are American siblings that run a small paranormal investigating team dedicated to their distressed or bereaved clients looking for answers, peace, or even an exorcism. The conceit of two nonbelievers entering challenging situations is no new trope, but what makes this relationship special is that Angela apparently has some sixth sense about her; she hears voices and sees ghosts just like her mother, who has committed suicide after being driven mad by her abilities.

There are some interesting parallels in this movie about people being out of place. Obviously ghosts are by definition out of place, and the revelation that they are in fact real underscores the titular meaning: this is a classic ghost story, meaning that these are ghosts of people who died badly and are malevolently seeking vengeance. Angela and Jackson are also out of place, as Americans in Scotland, callously appropriating the culture and exploiting the people; they are out of place because Jackson seems to doubt their mother's very real affliction and Angela experiences life-altering fear as the visitations manifest before her. There's a great moment early on where we focus on her face as she sees a ghost appear before her; the ghost is in the foreground but we are only seeing her face as she registers that this is an uncanny moment.

But, ultimately it is Florence Pugh who made this movie enjoyable for me. The scares are fine, the atmosphere is spooky enough, and the story is interesting if not terribly original (maybe don't go into a haunted foster home?). It's a ghost story, sure, but remember that these ghosts died badly, which means somebody is to blame. Celia Imrie (a delightful surprise) and Ben Lloyd-Hughes are solid in their roles, but Pugh carries the movie with her typical strength and grace. I was pleasantly shocked by the sudden turn after the first hour, and things get shockingly vicious by the climax. If you're ready to get a little spooky, a little bloody, then think a bit, and soon after call it quits, this is the movie for you.

Little Evil (2017)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Netflix has gotten really savvy with some of its feature film choices, and Little Evil might be one of the most exemplary of both its brilliance and shortcomings in choosing to pump out these pictures. Movies made-for-streaming is still a pretty new phenomenon, but there seem to be a few key points to hit if they are going to be watched and appreciated. They can't be too lengthy. They have to be either blatantly funny or deadly serious. They should have a recognizable cast.

Frankly, I think Netflix has produced some really beautiful movies; even ones I wouldn't call favorites I still think of fondly and would be willing to watch again. Little Evil is one of these. Sharp and witty, briefly frightening but ultimately charming, it's a thoroughly pleasant thing to watch even on a small screen, and it only lasts 90-something minutes. Its tight editing and relentlessly fast pace keeps it moving at the speed of a self-aware television sitcom.

Adam Scott, who really should be the reigning scream king of today, serves up major daddy vibes while carrying this fun little flick. He plays Gary, a man recently married to Sam (Evangeline Lilly) and attempting to bond with her five-year-old son Lucas. Lucas is quiet and generally ignores Gary, preferring to talk with his hand puppet in the shape of a goat. It's weird, but nothing out of the ordinary, until Lucas's voice starts to change as he speaks the voice of the goat and can be heard whispering a strange, threatening language by night. Then his teacher kills herself. A clown at his birthday party lights himself on fire. Gary finds out all Sam's ex-boyfriends are dead.

But The Omen this is not, exactly. You might be tempted to read this movie as a parody of that 1976 classic, and you might be right to do so. It definitely references little Damien, along with several other supernatural horror films that involve wicked, victimized children, notably Poltergeist and The Amityville Horror. But I found that the movie's meta commentary on the genre that celebrates even as it pokes fun was more endearing than gimmicky. Moreover, the heart of the movie really is quite warm and concerns the delicate relationship between a step-parent and a young child who may not fully understand who they are or who their family is.

As Gary and Lucas embark on their father-son trials, we do not expect it to end well. Gary becomes convinced that Lucas is the spawn of Satan, the Antichrist determined to bring about the apocalypse. How do you bond with a kid like that? His temper is murderous, his mannerisms creepy, and his obsession with channeling demonic voices disturbing at best. Things reach an ugly peak when Gary tries to put the kid to bed and ends up being buried alive in his backyard. In order to save himself and the world -- and for some healthy revenge -- he plots to kill Lucas at the water park. But after a dubiously divine sign convicts him, he saves Lucas and the two apologize to each other. Their bond was surprisingly emotional for me, and the rest of the movie rejoices in the budding father-son dynamic of this unlikely duo.

Sweet, funny, and clever, the movie  doesn't demand much from you and won't be remembered for any unique brilliance. But it gets a lot of things right, from its diverse cast and characterizations -- when was the last time you saw a skinny, straight white man on a demon-hunting mission with a butch lesbian and a midget? -- to its affecting emotional intelligence. Its bit parts are cast well too, including Clancy Brown, Sally Field, and Chip Zien. And, really, if this is the basic output from Netflix, we're all in for a good time during this quarantine season.

The Hunt (2020)

Score: 3.5 / 5

One of the most complex and controversial movies of our age has finally been released and nobody knows what to make of it.

A group of strangers awaken in an unfamiliar forest, locked into their gags, in broad daylight. Fighting panic, they gather in a small clearing around a large wooden box that feels like something between The Hunger Games cornucopia and the plane at the beginning of Lost. The opened box contains a wealth of weapons (along with a pig that might as well scream Lord of the Flies) that the confused and now excited people claim for themselves. Suddenly and violently, they are attacked by bullets from unseen assailants and run for cover, hoping to avoid the booby traps around them. Once they scatter, one by one they begin to realize they are being hunted, and the hunting grounds are being watched by drones, radio waves, and people in disguise. But humans, it would seem for those who don't already know, are the most dangerous game.

So what the heck is this much-maligned movie all about? What was it that made Trump paranoid and angry enough to tweet about it (even though, at that time last summer, no one had seen the damn thing yet)? What was it really that caused Universal to delay its release over half a year? Well, the basic premise is that these people being hunted are conservatives; their hunters are liberals. But labels here are more important than any basic human element -- in a story that works by dehumanizing people, the only things that matter are ideas and ideals -- and this isn't a story about normal people of certain political persuasions. These are distinct caricatures of extremists, all murderously angry about the state of the union, all frighteningly eager to enact the vitriolic hatred they spew onto social media. Sure, the MAGA-supporting "deplorables" are nominally the victims here and the wealthy, condescending "elite" seem to be the villains, but that's only a means to pit the two groups together. It could just as easily work the other way around, and there would be no thematic difference.

I find the beginning of the movie to be sorely miswritten and misdirected, because the opening two scenes paint broad pictures without allowing us time to think through the ideas puked out at us. We begin behind a shadowy figure leading a group text -- it's Hilary Swank's voice -- that coolly references a Manor, a Hunt, and deplorables. We have little context to all this, but we're immediately sure that these are "liberal" folk callously preparing to do bad things. We shift suddenly to a luxury jet in which caricatured liberals are contentedly served with caviar and booze, en route to this Hunt with some drugged, unconscious conservative people are stashed in with the baggage. One of these wakes up, staggers out asking for help before being slaughtered in the main plane cabin. It's more gruesome than funny, but because we don't really know what's happening we have little choice but to chuckle.

But after the scene with the pig, the box, the weapons, and the first murder of the Hunt, the movie kicks into what it's really about. It's a skillfully delivered thriller, designed to capture its absurdist black humor and extravagant gore from a perspective of surprisingly accessible neutrality. The cinematography and editing are grounded, tight, and clear, often so much so that I would pause and wonder if the whole movie was meant to be in earnest. But with the constant stream of hashtag-jargon and meme-worthy soundbytes coming from the archetypal characters and the constant Eli Roth-esque splattering of blood, you're reminded fairly often that this is the way we often treat the Internet, too. As a deplorable runs for his life, he eagerly spits out his disdain for refugees; as an elite prepares to murder someone, he is criticized for cultural appropriation and micro-aggressions. Some people take everything as a joke (until it's clearly not), while others take everything seriously (and eventually make fools of themselves). So much is lost when we forsake open and curious communication.

Which is, no doubt, writer Damon Lindelof's primary axe to grind here. It is no coincidence that his (again, nominal) victims here are angry trolls on the Internet who have spread hate and cruelty though chat rooms and comment sections, fueled by their insane conspiracy theories. Lindelof's magnificent work has been repeatedly maligned online by angry fans who essentially forced him off Twitter after Lost and before The Leftovers allowed him to prophesy our cultural future. This movie isn't Lindelof at his best, but perhaps his most dangerous: he effortlessly captures the kind of humor you see on SNL and repurposes it into a stew of dryly funny horror that he serves up with his typically self-aware dialogue and thrilling twisty narrative.

Lindelof places a woman named Crystal at the center of his story as the most mysterious character I've seen on film in a long time; that is, she is hard as the gem, if nowhere near as crystal-clear. Once she shows up -- seemingly she was one of the abducted and now hunted -- we know she's in it to survive. Ex-military and especially good at hand-to-hand combat, she seems coded as a conservative. Betty Gilpin plays Crystal with as much muscle and sass as you could hope for: she's as cool and quiet as classic-era Eastwood but ekes out jaw-droppingly brilliant moments of comedy with a simple jerk of an eyebrow or tilt of her head, an unwillingness to look at (or care?) about the people around her, and a strangely high-pitched sound occasionally escaping her otherwise locked jaw. She's cool and badass and utterly unreadable.

Especially at the end, and this is where I'll leave it all. While Crystal remains a mystery, a few things happen to complicate matters, especially when she finally confronts Athena (Hilary Swank), the leader of the Hunters, and surprises her with a few tidbits about herself. Namely, that she is far more educated than expected -- her practical application of Orwell's Animal Farm to her newly met adversary is truly chilling -- and that she was mistakenly abducted in place of the intended victim. Moreover, the climax, which consists of a brilliantly choreographed and photographed fight scene, includes a huge twist I absolutely did not see coming. And by the denouement, I was so hopelessly lost in the complicated implications of this apocalypse that I still have no idea if there is even a discernible moral to The Hunt. Other than, I guess, don't be an asshole?

Onward (2020)

Score: 4 / 5

There's a lot going on in Onward, so much so that I found myself mindlessly swept up in its energetic adventure. While it's not got any genre-bending, mold-breaking, or especially innovative new ideas, this movie manages to do a lot of pretty cool things. It aims for a certain kind of fanbase largely overlooked by Disney animated features, finally cracks open the door for certain types of families and relationships, and strengthens the recent push from Disney movies to ignore romance in favor of lasting ties between siblings and family.

Set in a world of myth, populated by elves, centaurs, and pixies, this movie is a sort of fever dream for kids who grew up playing fantasy adventure games like Dungeons & Dragons. Or, at least, I can only assume as much based on comments I've heard and my own recent first experience with D&D. Of course it's a PG-rated version of that fantasy life, but it works hard to fuse that mythos with real suburbia. The story centers on two elf brothers, but this isn't Tolkien; these characters have cell phones and ramshackle vans. They try to fit in at school and spend their days worrying about helping their single mom in the town of New Mushroomton. Helping her, that is, but also steering somewhat clear of her uptight new boyfriend, a centaur police officer named Colt Bronco.

When, on Ian's sixteenth birthday, their mother presents the boys with a gift from their father -- who died shortly after Ian's birth -- Ian's older brother Barley is overcome with excitement. Barley's love for a certain roleplaying adventure game is something of an embarrassment to Ian, who just wants to fit in despite longing for a father he'll never know. But Barley's enthusiasm peaks when their father's gift is revealed: a magic staff and a spell that can bring dear old dead dad back for one full day. Barley works hard to activate the spell, but the magic just doesn't seem to work.

It's a potent opening crisis for the story, a heartbreaking foundation of hope: to see a departed parent again, even for a single day. Ian, crushed that his coming-of-age birthday gift was fruitless, casually attempts to use the spell when he's finally alone in his room. This time, it works! At least at first, that is, because his father materializes from the feet up. But the awe of real magic and the impossible dream of seeing dad are cut short when the special crystal is depleted and the spell is interrupted. They have half of dad -- precisely from the waist down -- and the clock has started ticking on their 24-hour timetable. Barley draws on his wealth of magical lore to launch them on a Quest to locate another crystal, finish the spell, and get 100% of their father back before their day is gone.

It's not the most original story, and as the plot careens kinetically from one fraught episode to another, the breakneck dialogue and abundance of visuals feel like perhaps too much icing on a cake. The sweet confections pile up quickly and although the film effectively balances the laugh-out-loud humor with genuine nostalgic adventure tropes, it can be a hard multi-layered dessert to swallow. It helps that the voice cast is so familiar and endearing: Tom Holland and Chris Pratt are eminently likable, as are Julia Louis-Dreyfus and an all-star comedic cast of bit parts that includes Lena Waithe, Octavia Spencer, and Tracey Ullman.

Funny and nice but somewhat standard, the movie whisks along until the finale, when a single heartrending scene wreaked havoc on my tear ducts. I don't want to spoil it too much, but let me just say that if Disney insists on more of these "true love is found between siblings" themes like in Frozen and Brother Bear, my heart will give out much too soon. It's such a quiet, profound, and ultimately devastating catharsis that it saved the rest of the movie from being somewhat forgettable. And yet, it's really not sad; in the way only the best Disney or Disney-Pixar flicks can be, the finale brings heartwarming affirmation and pure joy out of a dire situation.

Come for the cutesy cult-fanbase references and what-if premise. Stay for the emotional payoff you did not know you desperately needed. A new Quest awaits.

Saw (series)

Saw (2004) ----- Score: 4.5 / 5

There's a cold, brutal brilliance to this movie that I will never shake. It's utterly original (if perhaps loosely inspired by Se7en) and fiercely conceived, wound tight as a knot of barbed wire, in which every scene is connected and every beat suggestive of potential (and potent) psychological horrors. The pale gloom of fluorescent lights and backgrounds awash in green and blue create an atmosphere as grimy and unpleasant as the sets and dressing, littered with debris, sharp angles, and lots of spiky metal. Dismal, violent, and wickedly intelligent, the film torments us along with its characters even as we are made to begrudgingly appreciate the horrors we see. Things really aren't taken to their gory extremes here, and we're drawn in by the build-ups and the aftermaths if not always the climactic moments of death or dismemberment (thank goodness). In this way -- that is, both aesthetically and in terms of pure storytelling -- the first Saw is less exploitative than you might expect, except for its delicious, cruelly nihilistic ending, and far more cognitively entrancing.

Saw II (2005) ----- Score: 3.5 / 5

Saw III (2006) ---- Score: 2.5 / 5
The next two installments are fun enough continuations of the story established by the first Saw. In the second, Tobin Bell is fleshed out a bit, making the character more than a creepy puppet and invisible criminal mastermind. You might expect him to be less terrifying in the flesh, and perhaps he is, but Bell's performance is surprisingly chilling. Moreover, the story here is rather deliciously sadistic, pruning off the slower and more dramatic impulses of the first film and ramping up the suspense, gore, and psychological torment. It doesn't work as well for me, but it still a bloody good time.
In the third, what might be seen as a sort of finale to Jigsaw's trilogy, things get a bit weirder. Specifically, Tobin Bell returns but is given precious little to do, other than suggestively tormenting his apprentice, a repeat survivor-turned-acolyte named Amanda Young (Shawnee Smith). The central plot device -- that is, excuse for gore-porn -- is of a man obsessed with vengeance on the man who killed his son while drunk driving. He goes through several trials which mostly involve watching other people suffer and die in the name of hoping to finally get his revenge. Obviously there's a lesson to be learned, but this movie is notably more somber and less entertaining. The violence finally does feel exploitative and the lessons by now are not original or interesting. This movie is the death of Jigsaw and, for me, the franchise.

Saw IV (2007) -----Score: 1 / 5

Saw V (2008) ----- Score: 0.5 / 5
In what I suppose was meant to be a clever follow-up by the same director, the story of Saw IV weaves its way around previous installments. It's an extended epilogue that feels like a sicko's fan fiction based on the premise that Jigsaw had "games" planned for after his own death. Apparently he had collected more victims-turned-friends (acolytes) who had been trained (brainwashed) into helping him spread his gospel (torture and murder), and the revelation of those folks is the mission of this movie. Other than the gruesome and notably uninspired death traps, the film falters in basic cinematography and editing techniques; it's almost incoherent in convoluted plot twists around characters we never know or care about. The only worthwhile thing in this movie is its very handsome leading man, Lyriq Bent.
We get more of the same crap in the fifth film, which follows the "hero" (last man standing) of the fourth into more traps and more sadistic games that make less sense as time continues. It becomes increasingly clear that someone is toying with him, and it's very probably a fellow officer (spoiler alert from the previous flick, which means the suspense in V is nonexistent: it is, and our hero is going to be the victim and scapegoat). I almost kind of liked the subplot this time around, in which five people are forced through a series of communal tests like in II and fail miserably. The dialogue is laughable, editing bizarre, and grimy aesthetic worn and unoriginal. This is grindhouse trash at its most base, and there's nothing here worth wasting your time.

Saw VI (2009) ----- Score: 0.5 / 5

Saw 3D: The Final Chapter (2010) ----- Score: 0 / 5
I suppose 4-6 constitute the sequel trilogy to the first three Saw flicks, and it's just disappointing, following Jigsaw's successor Hoffman working hard to continue the sadistic criminal legacy. The sixth makes pretensions to be relevant and interesting regarding the necessity of health care reform in America, but this isn't The Purge. Relevance in Saw is about as immaterial as the characters' lives; they're all only so much meat and blood. And then there's the seventh installment, a monstrous waste of time that insults long-time fans as well as its general audience. Its 3-D attempt at novelty squelches beneath muddied aesthetics and muddled storytelling, leading up to a finale that might have been a weirdly cool idea (Cary Elwes is back!) except that it's the exact same plot contrivance featured in every single installment of the series: someone "unexpected" is the real killer, a Jigsaw apprentice trying to carry on the sadistic legacy.
The series should have said "Game Over" a long time ago.

Jigsaw (2017) ----- Score: 1 / 5
Seven years later and almost no steps forward. When Jigsaw starts, I was expecting something a little different. The camera feels fresh, the atmosphere is a bit lighter, there's more explicitly stupid-funny dialogue. The kills are less gory and more absurd -- one involves being stuck in a silo, buried in grain and various sharp farm tools -- and I thought we might be in for a solid reboot. The story is structured in the same way as others in the series, with one plotline following a group of individuals getting tortured and murdered, and the other following law enforcement chasing down the big baddie. Unfortunately, this movie is exactly like the others -- read: more of the same trash -- in its excessive exposition, unwieldy plot turns, and pointless intrigue that leads to a climax in which yet another new accomplice or apprentice is unmasked. It doesn't help, this time, that there are major contrivances with the franchise timeline, as if that makes it more profound or interesting. Spoiler: it doesn't.

Emma. (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

There are those adaptations that only work well if you are a fan of the source material, and then there are those that seem catered to wider audiences. We tend to think of film adaptations as needing to be widely accessible by definition, and in this process the "original fans" -- of books, usually -- tend to think of these as watered-down, less insightful, or even overwrought bastardizations of their beloved novel. Adaptations of Jane Austen's works, however, seem to be generally blessed with favorable reception, whether through the medium of PBS or BBC specials, direct cinematic translations, or even modernized, loose versions inspired by her characters and plots.

Though I am by no means a huge Austen fan, I've enjoyed her novels enough and most film adaptations a bit better. And with the exception of Joe Wright's magnificent Pride & Prejudice in 2005 -- and perhaps another or two, including Love & Friendship (2016) -- Autumn de Wilde's new Emma. might be one of my favorites. I make this distinction for several reasons, primarily that de Wilde's aesthetic is so pure and she carries it through with such integrity that I occasionally forgot this was Austen material. It feels more like an arthouse comedy, an offbeat indie flick made as a hyper-stylized period rom-com, and in that regard it is magnificent.

I'm grateful to have recently read Emma -- a local theatre is producing it this month -- because Austen's many plots and characters hopelessly interweave in my memory. The story is, essentially, about the proud and selfish title character who decides to meddle with the lives of people around her. Specifically, she thinks she has a knack for matchmaking and manipulates everyone around her, friends and otherwise, into enacting her perverse romantic whims. Her schemes fail more than succeed, and she is suitably punished by the climax before all is forgiven and all comes to a happy ending. Well, an arguably happy ending; Austen doesn't really have fairytale conclusions, and her portraits of love are not quite idealized.

Though I personally find Emma a troubling character, here she is portrayed by a magnificent Anya Taylor-Joy (brilliant leading actress of The Witch) as a wickedly intelligent, surprisingly well-intentioned young woman who has the impeccable timing and social strength of any Internet "influencer" worth her followers. Her every beat is calculated, every expression measured and controlled. She imbues the spoiled brat of a character -- unlikable even in the novel, Emma is pampered and wealthy to the point that she herself feels no need to marry but determines to match up everyone she knows -- with surprising earnestness and even a certain innocence I found fabulously intriguing, if not quite endearing. Taylor-Joy's ability to combine smug self-righteousness with absolute incompetence breathes new life into the character and, by extension, the film.

The same may be said for director de Wilde, who approaches the proceedings with a pretty straightforward period piece method. In fact, while she captures a fine blend of humor and manners as in any worthwhile Austen adaptation, she manages too to make a profoundly charming work of its own merit; gorgeous costumes, bright lights, brilliant performances, and sharp editing buttress a film that presents its warm heart on its sleeve. It builds pieces and routines that at first feel a bit odd, but by the end are comfortably pleasant. Alternately cold and warm when it needs to be, the camera nevertheless views these characters with humanity and honesty, daring us to treat these characters -- almost caricatures in their universal ridiculousness -- as our friends.

But de Wilde complicates this by presenting them to us behind a veneer of rigid and distractingly artificial Regency society. Bold colors and textures, enormous feathered hats, and sometimes true-to-life unflattering clothes awe our eyes even as we see the damaging (and damning) suppression of real emotions and fruitful communication. In this way, this film feels more authentic and true to Austen than other adaptations I've seen, yet also feels more urgent, immediate, and accessible than others. Without, that is, sacrificing anything to modern sensibilities or pop culture.

In Fabric (2019)

Score: 4 / 5

I'm sure they're out there -- maybe even from this director -- but I haven't seen a real giallo movie in ages. At least, not a new one. But Peter Strickland's In Fabric is a masterpiece from another era, a smart, stylish, sumptuous sensual feast straight out of the '70s. Plot is more or less negligible, as in the best of the genre, and its more outlandish elements effectively feed its delivery: namely, the bright colors, synthesized music, and heightened sexuality/brutality that is giallo horror. Oh, and did I mention the fetishized red dress that is the villain?

We begin with a series of advertisements for a bourgeois department store before we are suddenly introduced to Sheila (a transformed, almost unrecognizable Marianne Jean-Baptiste), a recent divorcee living with her son, Vince. Vince is a mooching art student who dates intimidating, rude girls and has lots of loud sex, while Sheila is trying to date and manages to catch only losers like her unfortunately named would-be paramour Adonis. And Sheila's domestic troubles pair poorly with her work life; her bank is a darkly funny hostile environment in which she's constantly called in to the bosses' office for warnings. They count and time her trips to the restroom, criticize her handshake and demeanor, and even try to build camaraderie whilst interrogating her professional performance (she's black, the men are white, and yet one proudly proclaims a random stranger to be racist to, seemingly, appear the "good guy" in comparison).

Desperate for a change of pace, Sheila enacts the classic fairytale moment and makes a choice. A new, risque dress will do the trick to spice up her dating life, right? She visits the much-advertised department store -- replete with managers and clerks who are clearly in some kind of witchy cult, though no characters seem to notice -- and selects a one-of-a-kind sex dress. Well, sexy for the 1982 setting, meaning "artery red", long-sleeved but with a modestly plunging neckline, knee-length and with a single, deadly black rose at the waist. It doesn't take long for the dress to, well, take on a bit of night life of its own. And by the second half of the movie, its life drastically changes the format, function, and focus of the story, casting Shelia aside and embracing another character altogether; I wondered briefly if this would be an anthology film or if perhaps this would make a better miniseries than single movie.

But before you start rolling your eyes about a killer dress -- or, that is, a dress that kills -- be aware that this movie's supernatural elements are never explained away. This is no plot-thick, action-packed slasher movie like those iconic works of Dario Argento or Mario Bava. This is pure atmosphere, often more sensational and bizarre than literal, and the movie works hard to put you into a sensual awareness of beauty and its dangers. You could read a lot into this movie, and it darkly comments on consumerism, capitalism, fetishism, and of course the troubles of working-class women. It's also about salesmanship, deception, seduction, forbidden desires, and the cost of getting what we want. But, then, it's also about a coven of witches who sell dresses and enact sexual fantasies with mannequins.

So take it for what you will. I liked it for style, art, and its stinging mix of horror with humor. I also like its ballsy premise, almost as if writer and director Peter Strickland were daring us to challenge his power to deliver a movie that asks us to buy into a killer dress and then, moreover, to end up kind of rooting for the dress by the end.

The Vast of Night (2019)

Score: 5 / 5

We begin with an old television set playing an episode of Paradox Theatre, apparently something akin to The Twilight Zone in its science fiction anthology format. It might provoke nostalgia, it might feel alienating to younger audiences, and then again it might feel Spielbergian in its emotional manipulations. But it doesn't last long, and we've dived into the story proper. Eisenhower is in office and the minds of most people -- especially the young ones -- have turned toward space and the threat of surveillance as well as new, unimaginable forms of warfare. The Cold War has even chilled the evening air of Cayuga, New Mexico, and if you think for one minute this small town in the 1950s isn't a thinly veiled reference to Roswell, you're wrong.

It's the first basketball game of the season and seemingly the entire town (a few hundred citizens) is in the high school gymnasium. Everyone, that is, except the two most precocious kids, Everett and Fay, who are leaving school and on their way to their evening jobs. Amazingly articulate and bright, the kids are respectively a radio DJ and switchboard operator, and function in their fictional lives as well as for us on camera as the only characters who connect the town to the outside world. Their interests are scientific, social, and profoundly progressive; they predict early on that transportation by electric roads and vacuum tubes will be commonplace before the millennium (not cell phones, though!). Fay has a new tape recorder, allowing the opening scenes to reveal a lot of character, setting, and exposition without too much hassle.

Indeed, the film works best as a nostalgic piece of setting study. The kids' incredibly fast-paced chatter is only marginally comprehensible to our ears, filled with so much period jargon and slang it's often unintelligible. But we completely understand their warm chemistry and the dynamics they establish of the town and its limits, making the thrill of this movie something of a time capsule we can investigate and pull apart in repeat viewings (mad props go to the screenwriters here). In fact, I wondered more than once while watching if the screenplay was in fact written to be a radio play initially. Later on, the dialogue continues to carry the story, as our two heroes become aware of strange audio coming through the radio waves and of reports of lights in the sky on the outskirts of town.

Amazing as the screenplay is, let's not discount the acting by our two leads, Jake Horowitz and Sierra McCormick, and their direction by Andrew Patterson. Patterson keeps things fairly tight on these two in lengthy takes that force us into their world. Absorbing sound design, set pieces, ensemble blocking, and truly groundbreaking cinematography combine in what appears to be an effortless time machine that allows us access to the most specific and realistic science fiction film setting in the last few years. In my favorite scene, Fay is seated at her switchboard, working diligently, as calls pour in panicking over strange lights above the highway; the humor leads to suspicion then fear and panic as she slowly loses control of the dialogue and her duties. It's a single take, zooming in at a snail's pace, that finally ends severely close to her face as the scene reaches a screaming climax.

And yet this scene is still comparatively early. The story continues and grows surprisingly dark as Everett and Fay race around town to interview people with stories to tell. They claim to know what's making the strange clicking sounds and garbled voices coming through the radio waves, and they suggestively reveal dark secrets about the town's history with lights in the air and tunnels under the ground. And, perhaps most satisfyingly, the mysteries are never fully revealed before the film's transcendent and terrifying ending. I won't reveal anything about that, though; the second half is much more plot-driven, and giving away a piece is already too much.

The cinematography reaches its genius peak during a showstopping long take at the film's midpoint, as the incredibly mobile camera goes from street to school to basketball game to bleachers, through a window and parking lot, and all with fluid, flawless transition. It's an impossibly engrossing take, one that works all the better because it perfectly lays out the dimensions of the town and the real-time connections of everyone in the scene. Other technical brilliance must be credited to the sound mixers and editors, from tape reels whirring and record buttons popping to nodes on a switchboard and crickets in the fields. It's so immersive, so tactile, that at one point the film goes to a blackout while the scene continues just so we are forced to listen to the gorgeous power of sound we would, certainly, otherwise take for granted.

And the sound doesn't stop with real-world, mundane materials. This movie draws attention to the voices calling Fay and Everett, highlighting the women and black folk, who aren't used to having their voices heard, much less broadcast. And then there are the kids themselves who, the film carefully notes, pursue the mystery of possible alien activity not because of the activity but because they themselves are just those kinds of kids. They are the scientifically savvy, socially responsible oddballs who function to propel the plot, not the possible lights in the sky. They don't have romantic chemistry, they have almost no interpersonal conflict. The vast of night may or may not contain supernatural or extraterrestrial bodies, but we are asked to pay attention to whatever voices are given to us from the dark and the unknown.

The Invisible Man (2020)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The Dark Universe may be dead on arrival -- for now -- but its monsters can't be kept down. I've enjoyed the recent attempts at reviving Dracula and the Mummy, but it's fair to say that those big-budget exercises in mass market consumption lost their bite in lacking much artistic integrity. Leigh Whannell's The Invisible Man, though, is a magnificent outing for one of the most underserved characters in the Universal monster lineup, one that honors its source material while effectively and brilliantly updating it for a new age of gods and monsters.

We begin under a cliffside estate, a modern Gothic mansion at night, with floor-to-ceiling windows that immediately frame our story in a place of invisible walls. The only sound is from the pounding waves hundreds of yards below the bedroom from which a young woman is attempting to escape. Cecilia, we learn quickly, drugged the man in bed next to her (whose arm is still wrapped around her sleeping body) and has prepared to leave in the dead of night, stealthily getting her clothes, disarming the alarm, and trying desperately not to make too much noise. It's not until she finally gets off the property and into her sister's getaway car that her husband appears, shattering the car window and proving to us that he is a violent, controlling monster intent on keeping his property in his grasp.

Once Adrian, the man in question, turns up dead by suicide, Cecilia tries to rehabilitate herself into society. Living with her friend and his daughter, she learns to go outside again, exist in public, and even try to get a job. But something is terribly wrong: her breakfast goes up in sudden flames, a knife goes missing, her blanket is pulled off in the middle of the night, and her portfolio disappears just before her interview. Could these be the symptoms of Cecilia's cracking mental state? She can barely sleep, doesn't bother trying to improve her appearance, gets feisty and combative when people question her judgment. And yet we can't judge her because we've learned that she suffers severe PTSD as a result of her abuse at the hands of Adrian.

Whannell does a lot of great work here, no surprise, but I was most impressed in his focus on Cecilia. Played to stunning effect by Elizabeth Moss, Cecilia is a masterclass in rounded, dynamic character writing as well as heart-wrenching delivery. Often scrutinized through close-up shots in unflattering ways, Moss's face is a brutal canvas of terror. Her incredible control of every individual facial muscle notwithstanding, she manages to keep Cecilia from becoming a tortured wimp. She does get walloped a lot, and frankly a few of the more violent scenes were hard to watch, but everything she does is believable and sympathetic. How on earth do you try to convince others that your ex turned invisible when they already have a hard time believing that he's controlling and abusive?

This is a movie about psychological horror, to be sure, and the first half plays a line somewhere between Paranormal Activity and Room in its attention to Cecilia's mental and emotional breakdown. While we completely understand her stress and anxiety at suspecting that Adrian has returned from death and is invisible, we also understand the people around her who simply cannot accept that possibility. But Whannell complicates this already ambiguous story by showing us that Adrian has indeed returned. Well, "showing us" is perhaps the wrong phrase. While Whannell and his cinematographer Stefan Duscio work to isolate Cecilia in wide shots of an empty room or hallway, they brilliantly suggest all kinds of unseen horrors in the negative space around her. Often, nothing even happens, but we know full well that Adrian is there, somewhere, watching and waiting to pounce.

Whannell's screenplay is no less brilliant in its attempt to make a woman's forcibly silenced experience of abuse into a cinematic horror. Even if Adrian weren't always present, he would be; Cecilia can barely function without furtive glances down the hall or out the window. But just when the chilling psychological drama is wearing thin and you start to wonder if Adrian will ever really do anything more than creep around and take pictures, Whannell hits you with some of the most effective scares I've seen in a movie in a long time. I don't want to spoil it, but there's one scene of Storm Reid getting slapped that made me gasp and one scene involving a knife and a restaurant that made me yell out loud in the theater.

The turn to outright horror makes the final act of the film almost unbearably tense, and by the final sequence I had no idea what was going to happen. Suffice it to say that the finale sticks its landing and then some, and I could not have been happier with the film as a whole. This is no science fiction drama in which a mad scientist injects himself with a formula and can't reverse it; this is no super juice in a needle that may or may not unhinge his mind and drive him power-mad. Sure, there's some high-tech gear, but it looks suspiciously inspired by BDSM getup a la AHS: Murder House. This is pure, unadulterated real-world horror for the #MeToo era and for all time; the latter because Whannell's greatest feat is finally -- for the first time in any movie I can recall -- making a living, breathing invisible man as terrifying as he should be.