The Life of Chuck (2025)

Score: 3 / 5

Melancholic and sentimentally bittersweet, The Life of Chuck is not the kind of film I usually enjoy. Movies with oddly specific character actors in their ensemble cast based around a sort of "live, laugh, love" thematic premise don't do it for me in comedies or dramas. With rare exceptions, stories musing on the afterlife in order to reaffirm spiritual awareness in the present feel too manipulative and triggering for me to be either emotionally provocative or hope-inspiring. And while I've not yet read the eponymous novel by Stephen King, it's quite low on my list of his works for the same reason. King can do amazing spiritually-resounding stories -- just look at The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, and Dolores Claiborne, among many more -- so it's not that I doubt his writerly craft. And I certainly didn't doubt Flanagan's extraordinary skills as director or writer. But this one worked for me, even if I doubt I'll revisit it anytime soon.

I should note here that, while I will avoid many spoilers, to discuss this movie is to spoil it. So if you're at all interested in a cozy, existentially curious speculative piece of date night vibes with the characteristics already mentioned, give The Life of Chuck a watch. It may not be your cuppa, but you'll be glad you tasted it. It's even a solid choice for your next family movie night, if you've got younger ones; they may get squirrelly or confused during a few lengthier scenes of heightened dialogue, but it'll offer cool opportunities to discuss the less tangible things in life with your loved ones.

While I've already named sentimentality as a pillar of this film, it would not do to ignore its resistance to wallowing. Indeed, the film staunchly refuses, in true Flanagan fashion, to condescend its messaging or cater to audiences in a way that feels dumbed down. We're engaged via multiple senses and cerebral appeals, Flanagan inviting us into his stylized world where one man's choice to live life to the fullest not only positively impacts the people around him but in fact melds him with the fabric of the universe. Over time -- the film is told in three sections presented in nonlinear narrative -- the titular Chuck navigates both childhood and adulthood, and his imminent death after a life well-lived seems to be bound up with the death of the universe. Weird? You bet. But cool as heck to think about? Also yes. And utterly horrifying when the stars start blinking out of existence? Trust and believe that that'll be my next nightmare.

Flanagan's approach to this film feels musical, both regarding the satisfying rhythms and movements of its thematic and dramatic beats and regarding its central scene of Chuck dancing to a busking drummer before pulling a young woman up and dancing with her. The extended scene is stunning and fun, riveting in its unbridled sense of joy, presented with considerable artistry from all departments involved. The film may never quite get us to a point of weeping -- which I say pointedly, as I cry in a lot of movies -- but I had a bigass smile on my face for most of its runtime. 

Its large ensemble cast is uniformly solid in what they do, but there's not a whole lot of featured moments for any of them to shine. Mark Hamill and Tom Hiddleston are excellent, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Karen Gillan have nice chemistry, and Carl Lumbly and Jacob Tremblay sell their scenes with gusto. I would add that Annalise Basso makes a case for herself as a leading actress in a big way, and I hope to see more of her on the big screen. Almost like those anthology holiday romances in which all the couples are somehow related to each other as everyone learns to love, actually, this film avoids integral or featured performances in favor of more or less meaningful encounters between characters. This helps provide some flesh to the film as folks like Matthew Lillard, Kate Siegel, Rahul Kohli, David Dastmalchian, Heather Langenkamp, Harvey Guillen, Violet McGraw, and Q'orianka Kilcher pop in for a scene or two each. 

Yet, for all this, it's hard to describe or even label the film. It pulls from the likes of affirming holiday classics like It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol, for sure, but it also pulls ideas from Being There and Amelie and Footloose and Nine Days while never feeling like anything else out there. In the first act, I was wildly excited to see what would happen; it felt like the kind of sci-fi drama that Denis Villeneuve or a younger Christopher Nolan might make. But each act has wildly shifting focal points and tones -- even within individual scenes -- and the film never recovers from the thrilling end of its first act. At least not for me. No amount of amazing dancing or stories about ghosts in the attic or Walt Whitman quotes was able to bring me back from distraction by that first act. So while I had fun dancing through The Life of Chuck (which, actually, is an odd title, since we only really see him as a kid and again as a middle-aged man before his death) along with its unequivocally beautiful spectacle, I still don't know quite what to do with it. And that seems to be very much not its intended effect.

Doctor Sleep (2019)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Mike Flanagan is one of my favorite horror writer/directors right now, and this movie showcases why. Not because it shows off his unique talents or even because it stays true to his own aesthetic, though to some extent it does both. But in Doctor Sleep, Flanagan succeeds in the nearly inconceivable project of staying true to a book written as a sequel to another book that was disloyally adapted to film, and in so doing, tying all three works together while crafting something new. By definition, then, this film cannot be discussed wholly on its own, but must be considered in tandem with Kubrick's 1980 The Shining and Stephen King's two books of the same names.

Doctor Sleep begins shortly after Danny and his mother escaped the Overlook Hotel. Danny, still haunted by the ghosts, learns from Dick Hallorann (dead in this version, following Kubrick's story) how to lock up ghosts in psychic boxes in his mind. We suddenly jump forward thirty years, when an alcoholic Danny (Ewan McGregor) -- who has tried to suppress his "shine" -- makes a new friend and attempts to clean himself up. He gets sober and works at a hospice, using his abilities to comfort dying patients, earning him his titular nickname. We jump forward again to the present, and if you're wondering why the plot is so strange already, you can blame King.

But this is where things get interesting, because we are introduced to a migrating cult of psychic vampires known as the True Knot, who survive by inhaling "steam" which people with "shine" exude as they die. It's weird and heady and not really the stuff of great horror until we see the vagabonds in full form: Jacob Tremblay's bit part ends when he is tortured and killed by the vampires. Their leader, Rose the Hat (a stunning Rebecca Ferguson), is also their primary hunter, and she grows telepathically aware of the distress of a little girl named Abra. Abra's shine ability (forgive me) outshines everyone's, and she reaches out to Danny for help. Rose begins hunting the girl, hinting that her wellspring of shine will help the vampires continue their semi-immortal lives for a long time indeed.

The film's oddly episodic structure is deftly handled by Flanagan, who never lets the exposition get in the way of his story or aesthetic. Whereas Kubrick's film works best, arguably, as psychological horror -- although we know from the beginning that Jack Nicholson is crazy, and also I dislike his acting in general, but that's just me -- Flanagan's provokes something more like emotional horror. With the help of some handy nostalgia and effective use of McGregor, Flanagan allows us plentiful inlets to care about these characters deeply. Even Rose, the villain, is so memorably played by Ferguson that I found I cared for her, even as she evilly uses her beauty and charm to violent ends. So when Danny returns to the snowbound Overlook Hotel, we know we're in for a seriously fucked-up finale.

Personally, I'm pretty ambivalent about Kubrick's film. It's beautifully shot and designed, of course, but I find it colossally boring. And while Doctor Sleep lurches wildly from episode to episode, trying to balance psychic vampires with alcoholism and ghosts with astral projection, it does so with a keen sense of forward motion. We know this sequel is actually going somewhere, and even though most of the picture does not feel even remotely connected to The Shining, the climax is a thrilling, riveting marriage of the many versions/visions of this story. It seems to attempt a reconciliation between Flanagan's movie, Kubrick's movie, and King's books, and in my mind, it succeeds magnificently. I haven't been so moved and pleased at the end of a horror movie sequel in a long time, and a big part of that is Flanagan's ballsy move to change the ending to suit his needs. Specifically, it's all about empowerment and overcoming trauma and the cost of sacrifice, and with these themes tacked on to a technically brilliant film, it's infinitely more satisfying than Kubrick's.

Gerald's Game (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

I may have misspoken. IT was a fabulously fun and terrifying flick, but it's not the best Stephen King adaptation this year. That label belongs firmly on Gerald's Game, available on Netflix. Mike Flanagan's newest film is yet another jewel in his severely underrated crown. It joins his masterpieces Oculus and Hush as some of the most emotionally intelligent, psychologically thrilling horror movies ever made.

If you still haven't read King's novel or seen the film, proceed with caution. Spoilers abound. Part of the thrill of this game was, for me, having no idea what might happen next.

To save their sexless -- even touchless -- marriage, Jessie and Gerald escape to an isolated lake house in Alabama. A successful lawyer, Gerald harbors expensive tastes and an assertive personality, while Jessie seems mostly along for the ride. She stops her husband from hitting a stray dog in the road, then cooks insanely expensive meat to feed the beast. When Gerald pops some Viagra and pulls out some handcuffs for a sex game, she seems a little unnerved but willing to entertain his desires. Unfortunately for her, he quickly becomes aggressive, even beginning to enact a rape fantasy, and she tries to stop him. Either due to her kicking him off, the emotional stress of the situation, or the extra pills in his bloodstream, Gerald has a heart attack, falls off the bed, hits his head, and dies.

This is only the first twenty minutes or so.

What follows for over an hour is intense psychodrama into Jessie's mind. Her attempts to free herself are unfruitful, and as dehydration sets in, she begins to hallucinate. Gerald taunts her and they discuss their failed marriage; a vision of herself appears and reminds her of a glass of water on the shelf above. The visions seem as real as the dog, who enters the room and begins to feed on Gerald's bloody corpse, and a haunting specter who appears at night with a box of bones and trinkets. She refers to the deformed man as "made of moonlight," and Gerald suggests that he is Death incarnate. Jessie begins remembering the past; as a girl, her family vacationed at a lake house where she was sexually abused by her manipulative father. For the rest of the film, flashbacks and hallucinations and reality meld into a nightmarish descent into her mind.

Carla Gugino gives what might be a career-best performance in a very difficult role, riveting our eyes to the screen and allowing each new horror to take her for a ride. Close-ups on her face provide her with ample opportunities to mine each moment for all their dramatic worth, and her multi-layered efforts are never taken for granted by the camera. Bruce Greenwood is almost as absorbing as a man navigating the waters of power and influence in a marriage. His is a thankless part, but one that allows for range and depth; at times he is vindictive and dangerous, at others sweet and eager to help.

Mike Flanagan's direction here makes what could easily be a boring or stuffy story a sort of Icy-Hot exercise. Alternating between heated, close-up action shots and distant, chilly horror shots, the film proceeds with calculated, deliberate pace, forcing us to invest our attention and feelings. He makes the film a sort of chamber piece, and more than once I wondered if he was making a case that this could (and should) be done on stage. Almost the whole film takes place in the bedroom of the lake house, and even those that don't seem informed by the bedroom set. Memories of a solar eclipse might well have taken place just beyond the outer wall; memories of dinner, cut hands, and daddy issues bleed into the waking reality of Jessie's situation. Especially in the second half, impressionistic lighting challenge our understanding of atmosphere and perception, as the vibrant red of fading sunlight warp shadows and inform the film's editing (well done, editor!).

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the specter of Death was actually real, a grave robber/necrophile/serial killer/cannibal who spared Jessie because he prefers male victims. The finale -- through no fault of the film, mind, but the source material -- is a bit weird, I'll admit, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It's horrific, to be sure, but there's a certain level of gimmicky coincidence that bothers me. Thankfully, it is tempered by Jessie's character arc, which triumphs over diseased, fatalistic modern masculinity and allows her to walk, at last, out from the bloody eclipse and into clear yellow sunlight.

IMDb: Gerald's Game

Ouija: Origin of Evil (2016)

Score: 3 / 5

Almost anything would have been an improvement over the first Ouija. And this one doesn't quite disappoint.

The rare horror sequel that stands full well on its own, Origin of Evil ties cleverly into the original's premise by mining the history of Lin Shaye's character's past. Shaye was easily the most interesting part of the first installment, and while she is absent from this movie (excepting the post-credits shot), her character takes center stage. Played by Annalise Basso, young Lina Zander navigates a struggling family whose youngest daughter becomes enamored of the titular spirit board. As the child exhibits supernatural abilities and horrifying changes in character, Lina and her mother seek answers and help.

Sound familiar? Perhaps the better question: Did you expect anything else? It's not a unique story by a long shot. Most of the scares aren't even unique, though I'd argue that their opaque nature is aggressively surprising. The filmmakers have stuffed so many visible, tangible monsters into this haunted house that any guise of subtlety or subversion is gone. It's a nice change from the oeuvre of recent possession films, where a good half of the movie focuses on the scary things we can't quite see. I'm not saying that more is better, but it does make for an entertaining change in style, especially when the gags aren't good enough to be anything but jump-scares at best.

Even with its cinematic equivalent of pounding you over the head with its scares, Origin of Evil works by serving up a square helping of heart with its horror. Director Mike Flanagan (Oculus, Hush) never loses sight of his actors, and focuses his energy on letting them carry the film. While he infuses the film with an entrancing sense of time and place (the 1967 period work is charming), he seems keenly attuned to the relationships between the three leading women. Lina, her mother (Elizabeth Reaser), and sister Doris (Lulu Wilson, in a star-making performance) balance each other so well that as Doris distances herself, we feel the tension and fracturing of the family far more than we see it. That's not an easy sensation to cultivate.

As far as horror movies go, it's not great. But when you consider how fabulously better it is than the first one, Origin of Evil is one of the most surprising movies of the last decade. The scares are fast, furious, and often silly, but they work well with each other. You could do worse this Halloween.

IMDb: Ouija: Origin of Evil

Hush (2016)

Score: 4.5 / 5

Joining the ranks of my favorite thrillers, Hush is the less-than-novel mashup of some major home invasion films that delivers on every front for a pulse-pounding white-knuckle experience.

It's Wait Until Dark (1967) meets The Strangers (2008). A deaf writer, Maddie (Kate Siegel), lives in isolation in the woods when a sadistic killer (John Gallagher Jr) targets her for a night of terror, violence, and death. Has it been done before? Of course, but only rarely this well. It's a technical masterpiece. I expected no less from the writer and director of Oculus, with its deceptive imagery and focus on the horrors of the visual world. Here, Mike Flanagan harnesses the power of sound (and, sometimes, the lack of sound) to entrap us in this cat-and-mouse game between an abled antagonist and a disabled protagonist. At first we might underestimate the effect of deafness on our hero, but when glass windows or doors start breaking, her phone starts ringing, or even when her only friend is murdered while pounding on her door for help, we realize that her particular situation is far from advantageous.

Flanagan and his team relentlessly pile on the horror and, with it, the smarts. While there are a few moments that will make any fan shout, "NO, don't do that, why would you do that," or "look behind you, look behind you, damnit!", there is no questioning the structure and technique of the film. Given that Maddie is deaf and mute, I was hoping that the film might be more silent than it was. But in retrospect, Flanagan does a fine job balancing the hushed moments with the banging, smashing, slicing crescendos. And the silence is never so silent that you are distracted by your own environment; he must have used ultrasound or some other tools to make the silence palpable. It's mesmerizing.

Fair warning for you faint of stomach, the finale becomes a bit of a bloodbath. One particular scene shows a hand getting stomped on repeatedly, and it comes to resemble a mangled, twisted mess of brokenness. It was hard for me to watch after that. I don't do broken bones, and this one was a beast.

It's an excellent scary movie, and it lives with you after viewing. Think on it: What do you do when you can't hear the things that go bump in the night?

IMDb: Hush

Oculus (2013)

Score: 5 / 5

The most unexpected horror film in recent memory is also one of the best. Its premise is so aggressively novel that I didn't even understand the trailer, rather like a lot of people, and so I wasn't expecting much. But this picture is so fresh and so hauntingly elegant that you'll not soon forget it. Remarkably complicated and satisfyingly scary, this movie also features strong acting and excellent camerawork.

Karen Gillan (of Doctor Who fame) plays opposite Brenton Thwaites (Maleficent (2014), The Giver (2014)) as siblings, working through a purgatory of shifting memories and illusion. Kaylie and Tim, respectively, have reunited eleven years after the death of their parents. Tim has spent that time in a psychiatric hospital, undergoing therapy that convinced him that his parents' deaths were not the result of supernatural phenomena; Kaylie has spent the years tracking down that same phenomena to exact revenge. The crux of the film, then, is a large, ornate mirror that apparently hypnotizes its victims and induces hallucinations.

Director/writer Mike Flanagan brilliantly delves deep into the world of this mirror in a truly brilliant artistic move: almost half the scenes of the film are hallucinations in themselves. What the audience sees is not often different from what the characters are seeing, so we are very much in the moment with our heroes, suffering the same illusions. That's not really giving anything away, so don't worry that I've spoiled some big secret. The horror of the film is profoundly psychological, but it isn't the (familiar in horror films) psychology of serial killers or demonic activity; this disturbing material is primarily effective because of its unsettling presentation by Flanagan. The almost unbearable tension is held just under the surface, in what we are afraid to see and what reality is hidden by the illusions. Ultimately, we are not even sure what is illusion and what is delusion, which is far more horrifying.

One central way in which Flanagan sets up this netherworld of nightmares is by designing a parallel plot: we see the present-day story of Kaylie and Tim plotting revenge on the mirror simultaneously with the descent of their parents into murderous madness, eleven years previously. Katee Sackhoff and Rory Cochrane play the parents, and their performances are brave ventures into chilling territory. The editing phase of the film must have been torturous, but the product is superbly cut together, with deliberately off-beat emotional pacing and a plodding progression through an almost academic study in dread.

While most of the film is wildly unpredictable, the ending is a little obvious. But it also takes an emotional turn that had me fighting back tears, which I certainly did not expect. Satisfying and haunting, the ending also leaves a door wide open for any possible sequels, hopefully only attempted by the same filmmakers. Continuations of this story could go off the rails quickly, if in the wrong hands. Of course, this one has plenty of sudden scares and a few gory shocks, but the heart of this movie is in its focus on appearances and reflections. Pay attention to what you see, even if it's not real, because the craftsmanship here is uncommonly good.

Oh, and good luck sleeping afterwards.

IMDb: Oculus