The curated portfolio of film journalist Joe Lipsett
In He Said/She Said, critics Joe and Valeska dissect a film in a back and forth email exchange. Previously, we adopted a crazy ersatz child in Jaume Collet-Serra’s 2009 Orphan. This time, we’re just trying to survive a less hilarious modern take on The Happening with Susanne Bier’s Bird Box (2018) [Read more…]
Kimberly Peirce and Stewart Thorndike
At a recent panel on queer horror last month, I was struck by a comment from co-panelists Katie Connell and Joshua Dare about the current state of queer female-identifying horror directors. The discussion began with a definition and brief historical overview of queer horror, then shifted into a survey of the current state of representation. Concerns about the tendency to spotlight films featuring gay men at the expense of their lesbian counterparts gave way to a cautiously optimistic listing of recent films featuring out and proud women. As we rattled off a number of films, however, we discovered a strange pattern: nearly all of these films were directed by straight white men.
Let’s backtrack a little to consider the current state of queer horror, which has notably made a number of gains and increased prominence in the last twenty years. A recent guide created by Vulture entitled “55 Essential Queer Horror Films” identified key shifts in the 21st century that reduced the stigma around queer characters, thereby enabling them to move from marginal to central, sometimes even lead, roles. In the 2000s, films such as Hellbent, High Tension and Seed of Chucky offered visible, albeit problematic, depictions of gay men, lesbians and trans characters.
With the advent of gay marriage in the 2010s, queer figures in horror have become even more normalized, nuanced and fleshed out. The result has been some of the most intriguing texts to date, the vast majority of which are about queer females. Films such as Jennifer’s Body (Kusama, 2009), All Cheerleaders Die (McKee, 2013), The Neon Demon (Winding Refn, 2016), Thelma (Trier, 2017), What Keeps You Alive (Minihan, 2018) and Blue My Mind (Bruehlmann, 2018) all feature complicated and fascinating lesbian characters.
Bruehlmann’s Blue My Mind
A cursory glance, however, reveals that all but two of those films were directed by straight white men – a number that is worth pausing over. While there is obviously nothing that restricts one group from telling the stories of another, the lack of female directors is note-worthy, particularly given the problematic historical depiction of lesbians as a source of titillation for the male gaze.
This disjunction is not severe when compared to publicly “out” gay male directors, who have become increasingly prominent in recent years. Renowned master of horror Don Mancini has kept Chucky and the Child’s Play franchise alive and sexually subversive for 30 years. Up and coming directors Chris Peckover (Better Watch Out) and David Freyne (The Cured) have both delivered horror films that play with notions of masculinity and lends themselves to queer takes. And recent Oscar winner Luca Guadagino’s Suspiria, featuring a nearly all-female cast, is filled with sexual connotations and feminist readings.
Stewart Thorndike’s Lyle
The simple fact is that representation and visibility matters. Even in horror fandom, there remains a frustrating need to explain why female characters and creators matters, although the recent uptick in feminist horror criticism that began with AxWound and Women in Horror Month and continues now with publications and sites such as Grim Magazine, Anatomy of a Scream, Suspiria Magazine, Graveyard Shift Sisters and Diabolique Magazine bodes well for the future.
Let’s return to the question at the heart of this debate: where are all of the queer female-identifying directors? Despite the disheartening statistics about the ratio of female to male directors (and in spite of Jason Blum’s hastily corrected statement about the lack of women interested in directing horror), the horror genre is flush with talented women. “Out” female queers, however? Not so much.
A deep dive online (and help from HorrorTwitter) revealed only two feature filmmakers: Kimberly Peirce, who directed the 2013 remake of Carrie, and Stewart Thorndike, who directed indie micro-budget “lesbian Rosemary’s Baby” film Lyle (2014). Singer St Vincent (nee Anne Erin Clark) directed one of the segments of the all-female horror anthology, XX (2017), though she seems unlikely to return to the director’s chair in the near future. There are undoubtedly a number of other up and coming talents working in horror shorts, including Monika Estrella Negra, who is currently crowdsourcing the funding for her first feature, Two Sisters.
Despite advances in queer visibility both on and offscreen, there remains a gap in the horror genre. It is possible that filmmakers prefer to leave their mark on the screen rather than publicly disclose details about their personal lives, but the fact that there are so many heterosexual white men telling stories about lesbian characters in horror films is a potentially problematic trend. On the cusp of what Vice is calling “the rebirth of lesbian horror movies”, let’s hope that a number of proud, “out” queer female-identifying directors emerge from the shadows to ensure their onscreen proxies bear an authentic touch.
Montréal Dead End is an adventurous anthology feature that is steeped in the geography of one of Canada’s most gorgeous cities. The self-proclaimed “no budget” horror film created by 18 different directors takes several different approaches that helps to set it apart from its anthology counterparts and while, like its peers, it’s not always successful, it’s worth checking out just to see how all of the pieces play together.
It’s traditional for anthologies to use a bracket storyline to link the various entries together or provide some kind of thematic through-line. Montréal Dead End opts more for the latter approach, but intriguingly chooses to intersperse the ongoing storyline throughout the film. The film’s opening introduces a noxious green gas escaping from a sinkhole in the middle of the city and the remainder of the film explores the endless stream of terrors and monsters that arise in the mist’s wake (zombies and cannibals, mostly) in different parts of the city.
As the film progresses, it is revealed that the gas is tied to a forthcoming apocalypse that can only be prevented if the Guardian and the Archivist (Jérémie Earp-Lavergne) read from a powerful spell book within 24 hours of the gate opening. These segments tend to feature encounters between the Guardian and an agent of darkness with their own agenda (the Baron of Montréal North or the Priestess of Outremont, for example), but they’re rather repetitive and, most disappointingly, the resolution of the bracket storyline (ie: the climax of the film) occurs far too quickly and is resolved in an underwhelming fashion.
The other issue with Montréal Dead End is that the quality of the shorts vary dramatically. Because there are so many filmmakers involved, many of the 15 segments are quite short; at times this proves to be a minor blessing, but more often than not the need to cram in more ends up cutting off a promising story. Not unlike The ABCs of Death, the sheer number of shorts overwhelms the proceedings, so much so that they bleed together and become difficult to distinguish from one another. It also makes the 87 minute long film feel much longer than it actually is.
Thankfully there are several hidden gems. Many of the shorts that lean into comedy fare best (possibly because it’s easier to deliver a punchline than develop a mood, build tension and pay off a scare in the same amount of time). Among the strongest shorts are:
Several of the more horrific shorts are also enjoyable, but too many lean on familiar trappings: cannibals and/or zombies. One nearly silent short set in the The Village starts out promisingly: a pair of girlfriends fight about one’s wandering eye in a gorgeous purple neon-lit dance club. A strange man follows them home and lurks outside of the window as the envious philanderer first resists, then initiates sex, culminating in a physical attack. The association of carnal longing and food is subtle and effective, but the short has barely begun before it’s over. Contrast this with a meandering silent short about an old woman who is recruited for a bath by a group of feral children in the woods that is interminable.
Clearly not all of shorts are made equal.
Montréal Dead End plays the Blood in the Snow Film Festival Sat, Nov 24 at 9:30pm EST.
Opening this year’s Blood in the Snow film festival is director Lowell Dean’s Supergrid, a loving homage to dystopian road movies like George Miller’s Mad Max series:
SuperGrid is set in a near future where mining conglomerates have turned Canada into a wasteland. Two brothers must travel the same road that claimed their sister’s life in their quest to deliver mysterious cargo. En route they must contend with road pirates, rebel gangs, and each other.
Quick Review:
You know what you’re signing up for when you buy a ticket to SuperGrid. This is a film that dutifully checks all of the action movie checkboxes:
The fact that T.R. McCauley and Justin Ludwig’s script hews so closely to conventional tropes of the genre could be seen as disappointing, but Canadian action films remain a rarity so this Saskatchewan-shot production feels both ambitious and unique. Considering the minuscule $1.2M budget, Dean delivers some impressive visuals, particularly in regard to the futuristic dystopian world-building.
The actors are well-cast, particularly leads Leo Fafard (as older brother Jesse) and Marshall Williams (as impetuous younger brother Deke). Tough girl North (Natalie Krill) and Owl (Daniel Maslany, brother of Orphan Black star Tatiana) steal the show as Overwatch agents, while Fei Ren is enjoyably over the top (albeit a little broad) as hissable leather-clad hench woman, Guan Yin.
The Bottom Line: SuperGrid fails to offer anything new to the dystopian road movie subgenre, but it handles the expected tropes in a confident and enjoyable fashion.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-5XHdmQuSkk
SuperGrid screens Thursday, Nov 22 at 9:30pm at The Royal. The film opens in theatres Dec 14.
The most notable element of writer/director José Pedro Lopes’ The Forest of Lost Souls (A Floresta das Almas Perdidas) is that it is filmed in gorgeous black and white. It proves to be little more than an attractive stylistic choice than anything; this first feature is relatively straightforward. What the film lacks in substance, however, it more than makes up for in ruthless efficiency. It is a surprisingly cruel film, which is an inherent part of its charm.
The pre-credits sequence is silent save for a voice-over passage about grief. The images of a distraught looking woman wandering about a woods before finally succumbing in a frigid-looking lake are haunting. Following the title card, Pedro Lopes introduces two strangers, Ricardo Alves (Jorge Mota) and Carolina (Daniela Love), who happen upon each other in a notorious suicide forest located somewhere between Portugal and Spain. Ricardo is grief-stricken following the suicide of his daughter, Irene (Lilia Lopes) from the opener, though he doesn’t appear entirely sure about his decision to end his life. By comparison, teenager Carolina seems much more committed; she’s so organized that she has already prepared her video suicide note and concocted an alibi involving a music concert with spotty cell coverage to ensure that she’s not discovered.
As Ricardo and Carolina wander around the forest, gazing at the possessions that other suicides have left behind, they learn more about each other’s lives. Carolina’s demeanour reminds Ricardo of his remaining daughter Filipa (Mafalda Banquart), whom he claims to have failed, along with his wife Joana (Ligia Roque). His regret prompts him to try and change her mind, pleading with Carolina to give her absent father another chance.
There’s something affectionate and familial about their dialogue, but also something sinister. At times their interactions play off their age difference and difference in temperament, but there is always an underlying tension. When they finally reach the lake when Irene drowned herself, the hint of malice is confirmed in a sudden outburst of violence and one of the pair is revealed to be a killer who preys on the vulnerable and despondent.
There is more to The Forest of Lost Souls, but to say more would be to spoil the reminder of the film. It’s not a particularly complicated film and, at a brisk 71 minutes, it doesn’t overstay its welcome. The abbreviated run time and short ~one day duration of the narrative means that characters, particularly those introduced in the second half of the film, are not very fleshed out, but what The Forest of Lost Souls loses in deep characterization it makes up for in brutal efficiency. The kills are swift and painful (albeit not particularly gory or scary).
The lack of frights is a bit of a deficiency, particularly since the film doesn’t have characters for audience to invest in. Still, the solid production values (particularly the picturesque forest scenes), brief run time and solid thrills make The Forest of Lost Souls a quick and enjoyable watch.
3/5
While Kevin Williamson and Wes Craven certainly didn’t invent the self-referential horror film, due to its pop culture footprint Scream has become a natural point of comparison for every post-1996 metatextual horror film. More than twenty years ago Sidney Prescott and Ghostface grossed $100M+ and, in the process, redefined the way that audiences — and filmmakers — considered how horror films are constructed. The proliferation of self-aware horror films in the 00s and 10s reflects this change (for better or worse) as it is now considered fair game to have characters acknowledge their predicament with a knowing wink to the audience, even while they run around screaming and dying.
Enter Brett Simmons‘ new horror-comedy, You Might Be The Killer, a film that gleefully comments on the tropes of the first cycle of 80s slasher films, even as it aims to replicate them, all while adopting an intriguing non-linear narrative structure that jumps back and forth in time. Although the film fails to stand on its own two feet by offering something new and unexpected, writers Simmons, Thomas P. Vitale and Covis Berzoyne do a good job of constructing a film that honours the conventions of the subgenre while simultaneously referencing and abiding by them.
You Might Be The Killer begins in media res as camp director Sam (Fran Kranz) calls his best friend Chuck (Alyson Hannigan) in the middle of a massacre. He quickly explains that the majority of the camp counsellors have been murdered by a bone-machete wielding masked man and that he has barricaded himself inside a cabin in the hopes of staying alive. Chuck is a video store employee and Sam’s go-to horror movie expert so he enlists her help in figuring out how best to survive. Thus begins a loose sort of bracketing device in which Chuck asks Sam questions to uncover the events that unfolded, which prompts the narrative to double back on itself (often using a title card indicating the number of dead counsellors to help audiences keep track of the timeline).
Although the film initially plays up the mystery of the killer’s identity, the film’s title a dead giveaway as to who is responsible. After a brief period, Simmons, Vitale and Berzoyne lay their cards on the table and acknowledge that Sam has been murdering his employees in a kind of fugue state; at this point the focus of You Might Be The Killer shifts from the mystery of “who” is the killer to the “why” the murders are happening, as well as “how” Sam can survive his situation. Throughout this process, Chuck reiterates the rules of the slasher genre according to its most popular entries (all while impressively manning the register and sassing customers who eavesdrop of the phone call).
Despite its meta elements, I would argue that the closest comparable film is not Scream, but 2015’s The Final Girls. Both films gently mock and play with the conventions of the slasher film while stringently adhering to them. Admittedly The Final Girls has a great deal more heart (and gender politics) working in its favour, but both films are fun, spirited endeavours that have a breezy vibe to them, thanks to a winsome cast.
The success of You Might Be The Killer is 100% thanks to Kranz and Hannigan. The two actors bring a great deal of audience goodwill from their various Joss Whedon projects to the production and their warm, empathetic screen presence helps engender audience investment. Even after it is revealed that Sam is the killer, Kranz manages to make him sympathetic and likeable. Hannigan arguably has the more challenging role of the two, given that she is divorced from all of the action; even stranded in a single video store set and forced to act all of her scenes on the phone, she’s a sheer delight. She infuses Chuck’s know-it-all, chipper, informative exposition with charm, easily making Chuck one of the highlights of the film.
Alas, despite the two strong performances anchoring the film, You Might Be The Killer peters out around the one hour mark. After a while it becomes clear that the film is using the self-referential material to prop itself up, and doesn’t have much else to offer. Little work is done to invest the other counsellors with distinct personalities, so watching the nearly dozen murders proves to be a rote exercise (even if the gore and the direction is ably and enthusiastically executed).
Ultimately You Might Be The Killers overstays its welcome and sputters to a (foregone) conclusion that relies too much on unearned audience investment in secondary characters who are little more than types. No matter how amusing the callbacks to 80s slashers are or how strong the two lead performances are, You Might Be The Killer still winds up feeling a little empty.
3.5/5