Spectral (2016)

Score: 3 / 5

I'm quite surprised this flick bypassed cinemas and started by streaming. The big-budget spectacle of Spectral seems intended for more than a laptop; but then I remember I'm archaic and most folks watch Netflix on ultra-high-def smart devices larger than my bed.

After a creepy opening scene in which a soldier in a crumbling building is killed by an invisible figure -- invisible but shimmering in a ghostly mist -- we are introduced to Dr. Clyne (James Badge Dale), a DARPA scientist summoned to Moldova and clearly the protagonist here. As it was his special goggles that helped soldiers "see" the otherwise invisible killers, he is brought in to help modify, clarify, identify, and hopefully pacify as a result. Though the assailants are thought to be insurgent enemy soldiers wearing advanced camouflage, the real horror is that they kill almost instantly and with no apparent weapons.

Then we enter the post-intrigue phase of the film, wherein a lot of new characters are quickly introduced with slipshod exposition. Few matter much, beyond Bruce Greenwood as the U.S. general and Emily Mortimer as the CIA operative running operations in Kishinev, the capital of Moldova. The others, we expect, will die soon enough; this may not be a horror movie, but it runs in that vein of sci-fi action in which bodies will surely pile up. After lots of technical dialogue that I couldn't/didn't want to follow, the team travels into the field with Clyne atop a tank with tools to help him see the unseen enemy. And things start to get interesting.

I don't want to bore with too many details, and a joy in the film is to learn the developments along with the characters. This is probably largely because the characters themselves have no personality, no drama, and no complications. The closest we get, during the dull middle of the film, are a couple conversations between Clyne and others about the ethics of scientific advancements and the moral implications that follow. It's not deep, but it rings true once we learn exactly what the enemies are. Then again, I'm still not sure I entirely understand what they are, apart from what I gathered from the visual dynamics during a notably freaky climax.

But the visuals of this movie are what made it worth a watch from me. There is some downright gorgeous CGI that highlights the gritty urbanity of the setting, and it helps that the cold color palette brings a helpful chill to a movie that questions the cost of war and the ghostly consequences of violent human commodification. While the film can't decide if it wants to be more philosophical or action-heavy, and thus it suffers, its final battle does not shy away from the full-blown chaotic conflict we see often on the big screen. This is when I was most wowed by the spectacle, even as I wasn't sure that the film had earned it.

The more I write, the more I become convinced this film was meant for a streaming services. Gorgeous visuals aside, the plot and characters are too thin and cliche to have found a lucrative market in cinemas. Really, this movie could have easily been reworked into an episode or two of an Arrowverse show. I don't mean that as a dig at all; I'd be totally down to see Team Flash fighting a bunch of ghostly white soldiers.

Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I have strongly contrasting opinions about this movie, and this is a rare case where my ambivalence does not particularly help the film in my esteem. And it begins with that historically accurate yet terribly cumbersome title.

The story indeed follows the life of Ted Bundy, here played by a more mature Zac Efron than we've seen since The Paperboy. Looking, as he does, uncannily like the handsome serial killer, Efron manages to play the character remarkably straight, never resorting to caricature or even relishing in the horror of the real man, in the way you might expect camp horror to (I'm thinking if Bundy were to ever appear on American Horror Story). His performance is so deeply layered that some might call it opaque, and I wouldn't say that, here, that's a bad thing; Efron does not give us any footholds, displaying Bundy in his charming wonder behind a blinding smokescreen of suavity. It helps that Efron's public persona is almost exclusively positive and popular, but here he is notably not playing any of his own strengths, and I didn't see a single -ism of his on screen. 

Most fascinating to me, though, is how tightly Efron and director Joe Berlinger work together to craft the film around his character. We never see Bundy committing any of his many murders. While I value the utter refusal to glorify his violence, the lack of it entirely almost does glorify it, doesn't it? It seems to suggest that his crimes occurred in a void, affecting no one, and are perhaps even forgettable, despite that many of his victims have friends and family still alive and mourning. Even more interesting, in this context, is that Bundy himself, bereft of the visual dynamic of his sins, becomes an utter void on screen. Efron's magnetic performance pulls us in, but in to what? He is a blank slate, a repository for all the headlines and accusations and charges leveled at him, but one that could possibly be -- forgive me for even suggesting it -- innocent. If the film is indeed trying to gaslight us (which I don't think it's smart enough to do, but more than once I wondered), it is surely because of its real focus.

The film's primary dramatic character is in fact Liz Kendall (Lily Collins), the barely fictionalized Elizabeth Kloepfer who literally wrote the book of being Bundy's girlfriend. Collins plays the character's insecurities to a tee, which makes her less interesting for us but perfect prey for Efron's Bundy. I say "prey" not because she winds up at the end of his knife but because the film eventually edits itself around her perspective as she begins to suspect the dark heart of the man she loves and has entrusted her daughter with. The too-good-to-be-true boyfriend Bundy is shown to us in blissful home video footage even as Liz turns to look at the latest news bulletin on television describing more brutal murders. Even in scenes where we only follow Bundy, Efron and the screenplay refuse to let us in on his secrets. I kept waiting for the murdering, the final blow of violence, and it never came, unless you count his increasingly adamant declarations of innocence. We never hear his thoughts, we never see his past, we never see his sins. The film, smartly I think, doesn't even try to rationalize his behavior by examining his childhood, development, or philosophy. That's obviously because it's impossible to rationalize him, but any attempt to do so belongs with criminal psychologists in a documentary, not in a Netflix drama.

I did, however, wish for a bit more; I just don't know of what. I found the courtroom climax -- courtroom dramas often boast my favorite climaxes -- dull, despite John Malkovich presiding with his deeply biting tone, because we've literally seen it before. There is a time and place for painstakingly recreated drama, and this one is just not it, especially not with numerous other Bundy documentaries streaming online at the same time. I wondered, during the movie, if Berlinger was relying too heavily on Efron and was otherwise incapable of making an interesting movie. And that may be true, but it's also highly possible that Berlinger was about a very different business than capturing a real-life boogeyman. What I liked most about this movie, and why I think I'd recommend it to any true crime fans, is that its refusal to reveal any hint of Bundy's "extremely wicked, shockingly evil and vile"-ness, is what makes the film so terrifying. His evil was real, as the film's deep understanding of him shares with us, and the only people who got to see it firsthand weren't able to warn others.

Calibre (2018)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Our understanding of fraternity between British boarding-school mates may not be complete, but that might actually help us as we are suddenly launched into the adventure of one such pair. We might say Marcus and Vaughn are best friends, but they don't seem all that familiar with each other. Their initial conversations are strained, perhaps because the more aggressive Marcus (Martin McCann) has arranged to go on a hunting trip to the Scottish Highlands with Vaughn (Jack Lowden of Dunkirk, Mary Queen of Scots, and the BBC miniseries War & Peace). Vaughn is expecting to be a father soon and is hesitant to leave his pregnant fiancee; he has also never hunted before. The night before their hunt, the two men drink and dance at a village pub, pairing up with young women for the night despite being warned by the locals to keep to themselves.

If this sounds like the setup to a horror movie, you'd be on the right track. Calibre quickly ramps up the energy as a geopolitical thriller in the vein of Deliverance. It may be partway around the globe from Appalachia, but there's no denying the similarities in geography, social structure, economic disparity, isolated and traditionalist culture, and even some patterns of language. I'd argue that, unlike that 1972 hicksploitation flick, Calibre works better toward understanding the nature of human violence in the wilderness without resorting to too much shock value and degeneration of human bodies. But, then, this Scottish picture has plenty of blood, even if it is rooted in realism.

Waking up hungover, the two foolishly stick to their plan and go hunting. Marcus, snorting coke to stay alert, lets Vaughn borrow his gun because the miserable newbie forgot his ammo, even though they are aware this breaks strict gun laws. So when Vaughn finally prepares to shoot a deer, we know the worst will happen. And it does, when the deer turns and Vaughn's bullet kills a little boy behind it. The boy's father shows up and, in a bereaved rage, attacks Vaughn before Marcus kills him. It's hard not to shout at all of them for not wearing proper hunting attire, not scouting the location first, children separated from guardians, not being in the right state of mind, but what's done, as Lady Macbeth would say, cannot be undone.

The two protagonists make a series of grave blunders -- they do not bury the bodies, fleeing the scene and talking to a nearby gas station operator before deciding to return that night -- that are nothing short of infuriating. In fact, by the film's halfway point, I rather wanted these guys to be tarred and feathered. Having returned to town, their sins revisit them: their tires are slashed by a jealous, toxic man for having slept with the aforementioned forbidden women, and they are spotted returning to the village after burying the bodies just before dawn. They learn the identities of the men they killed even as they are entreated by the town leaders to help find investors for their remote community. The incidents pile up, weaving an intricate tapestry of anxieties so fraught, even viewing it made me feel sick to my stomach. The film's chromatic scale turns bleak, gray and brown and sickly green, while shadows lengthen and sweat shines. That shrill, heady sort of soundscape (music and mixing) typical of the genre is sure to raise your gooseflesh if you listen in surround sound.

I won't reveal the rest of the action, climax, or ending here because it's utterly thrilling. While rarely unexpected, the plot twists are given a distinct edge by the filmmakers due to the raw acting of Lowden and McCann, the setting and sounds, and the stunning editing choices. It helps, too, that the film supplies a few thematic intrigues as it progresses, especially in terms of debt and investment; it also shifts the tropes of outsiders as foreign to the differences between urban and rural communities, something infinitely more universal and interesting.

Apostle (2018)

Score: 4.5 / 5

I think it's about time we crown Dan Stevens the newest scream king on the scene, and let's keep casting him in more horror flicks. Even in the midst of his bizarre, crazy-eyed role in Legion, he delivers varied and nuanced characters in feature films, revealing a bankable and versatile star who is never less than interesting. He has dived headfirst into horror before, but the terrifying efficacy of Apostle stems from its use of Stevens in a period piece. This time, he is far from any aristocratic abbey.

Thomas Richardson (Stevens), thought to be dead, returns home to his aggrieved father: his younger sister has been abducted and held for ransom by a cult. While it's not exactly clear by no authorities have intervened, we're excited to see Thomas embark to the cult's remote Welsh island and investigate. The mystery is chillingly thick, and as Stevens poses as a new convert to gain access, we see that he is a very troubled man. Surely this film will be a journey to his heart of darkness as much as that of the new, nature-based religion led by their prophet Malcolm (a deliciously creepy Michael Sheen).

Roughly the first half of the film feels uncannily like The Wicker Man, from the remote cult-ruled island to its seemingly peaceful pagan prosperity, and from the lone troubled man investigating a disappearance of a young woman to the cult's classy and clearly insane leader. Then there's its preoccupation with bodily fluids: the island inhabitants claim the barren island only flourishes now because of their regular blood sacrifices. It's disturbing, sure, but each practitioner keeps a bloodletting jar at hand and only cut themselves. Apart from their animal sacrifices. Surely there won't be murder, right? Especially not as the cult's resources have diminished and the islanders are getting desperate as their crops begin to wilt and wither.

I'm not familiar with writer/director Gareth Evans's other work, but if it's anything like Apostle, I'm sure it's fascinating. The visual approach, rich in period detail and a production designer's dream once on the island, is grim and gritty, coated with grime and mud, feeling like a darker, dirtier older brother of Midsommar. By the second half, though, there are more elements in this filthy aesthetic, especially blood and guts. Unexpectedly and shockingly violent, the gore gets poured into several scenes in ways that really bothered me, probably because we don't often see this kind of body-ripping realism in psychological horror movies.

But it didn't put me off -- despite what my gasps and gags might have suggested as I watched -- and that is because it just works with the story Evans is telling. It's about desperation, about how we commodify and use others, sucking them dry and discarding them, "for the greater good" -- always, conveniently, helping ourselves. Even Evans's filmmaking sometimes feels indulgent and excessive, but its specificity and reluctance to give us any easy answers is as admirable as it is frustrating. I love his commitment and his incredible ability to stretch our nerves on the rack for so long; this mystery is one well worth delving into. Plus, I'm a sucker for isolated, murdery cults. In fiction.