I was dragged like a corpse to see the lights
As they promised a cure for sleepless nights.
My hope to find a gem among the lame
Would by the end be thrown into the flames.
The door swung open and all that I found
Was the pomp and pulp and peppered clowns.
My mind puzzled, and my shoulders bore blame
As I craved to play this futile game.
Silence was tangibly this soiree’s theme
With regard to the fairer sex and me.
My eyes well worn like dresses on their frames
With sorrow that I’d never know their names.
Magic women and their misdirection
Eschewed all attempts at true connection.
My arms empty and my interest drained
As I tried to recall why I even came.
My handlers with their hands full drove me away
Reluctantly as they would rather have stayed.
My home, my umbrella, peace from the rain,
And the cohorts sped off, their sympathy feigned.
I had mixed emotions, as I’m sure most fans did, when I heard Sam Raimi’s horror classic “The Evil Dead” was next in line for the remake treatment. Let’s face it: horror remakes don’t have the best track record. For every remake that defies expectations and reaches the heights of John Carpenter’s “The Thing”, there are at least ten remakes that enrage the fans and join Gus Van Sant’s “Psycho” in the depths of mediocrity. So, it was only natural for doubt to pervade my thoughts regarding “Evil Dead” initially, but after watching the trailer for the film, any concerns I had were alleviated and replaced with anticipation.
In this version, David (Shiloh Fernandez) and his girlfriend Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore) make their way to his family’s old cabin to join old friends Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) and Olivia (Jessica Lucas) in an effort to support his sister Mia (Jane Levy) in her attempt at going cold turkey to kick her drug habit. (Fun fact: if you rearrange the first letters of each of the characters names, you’ll get the word DEMON. But, that’s neither here nor there.) One can only assume the group thought dealing with Mia’s withdrawal symptoms would be the extent of their hardships on this trip, but they soon stumble upon the remnants of a macabre scene in the cabin’s basement complete with blood stains, animal carcasses, and of course, the Book of the Dead, which opens the door to tons of Hellish happenings we all paid to see.
The cast is fantastic, and I must commend Jane Levy for not only carrying the film on the acting front, but truly throwing herself into her character and demonstrating proficiency in all that the role demanded. Lou Taylor Pucci is also worth mentioning, as his portrayal of Eric provided the majority of the humorous moments in the film. Unlike the films in the original franchise, there are very few laughs to be had, but there are numerous references to the original franchise throughout the film that fans will no doubt appreciate, so keep your eyes peeled and ears open!
The film’s poster bills it as “the most terrifying film you will ever experience”, and while that may be a bit of an oversell, the film is quite chilling and cringe-inducing. There are quite a few jump-scares, but none that you’ll be able to telegraph, which is always a treat. Also, relying mostly on practical effects rather than the use of CGI, there is plenty of gore and gruesome acts that will thrill, and probably force those with weaker stomachs to avert their eyes or exit the cinema altogether. But, those with a penchant for that sort of thing will not be disappointed. The effects are top notch, and left me, a self-proclaimed film gore connoisseur, wincing at times. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if “Evil Dead” set a record for most fake blood used in a film, as over 50,000 gallons of it were used in just one scene! That should give you an idea of what you’ll be experiencing if you choose to buy a ticket…and I implore you to do so!
Director/co-writer Fede Alvarez (handpicked by Raimi) had a very difficult task ahead of him, needing to both silence premature critics and satiate the hopeful fans, and I feel he more than confirmed his capabilities with this film. He accomplished in his first feature film what many before him have failed to do: remake a horror classic, and make it worth watching. I applaud the story concocted by Alvarez, co-writer Rodo Sayagues, and uncredited screenplay-polisher Diablo Cody, as it contained numerous nods to and maintained the essence of the original, while also bringing us something new and exciting, which is all I could’ve hoped for in a remake of “The Evil Dead”. If this is the quality we can expect from Fede Alvarez, I hope he will be given the green light to continue on with sequels in the coming years.
That would be…groovy.
4.5/5
(LASTLY, I beg you: please don’t be like the majority of the audience and exit the cinema when the credits begin to roll. There is a short, but very satisfying scene following the credits that you do not want to miss. Trust me now and thank me later.)
(“Evil Dead” is rated R for bloody violence and gore, some sexual content and language.)
The trees bend their branches away from the Sun
As you move in with the clouds on a solemn mission.
A quick flash of the truth, then the apologies come
And the rain hits like bloody mist of a dirty deed done.
You wipe at your face then stare deep into mine
Your eyes well with regret, yet still look so divine.
The wind rages, carrying whispers of another time
When what we were was possible for me to define.
The flood waters rise and nearly sweep me away.
A dream that they would, as I’ve nothing to say.
You desperately wish that I’ll join the exchange
After the silence and storm have finally waned.
True, the Heavens will soon cease their wretched abuse,
And rainbows will arch over your unfortunate truths.
The sky will clear up, and the sunlight will suffuse,
And these rain-rattled streets will shine like brand new.
The indiscretions for which you feel you’ve atoned
Will all be forgiven, but far from unknown.
And as you reach for my hand, you’ll be finding your own
For when the morning light comes, I will face it alone.
March to the beat of the big black book.
March to the beat of the big black book.
Miss one step, and you’ll get a look
From the angry preacher man.
Thunder at the podium for his morning rant,
His perpetual frown, that downward slant.
When he says don’t, it means you can’t.
This angry preacher man.
His collar crisp, his voice like gravel.
His flowing passion far from unraveled.
Fist to podium like a gavel
Goes the angry preacher man.
A vein is popping from his head.
His eyes are fixed, his state is red.
Prepare to live what he just said.
This angry preacher man.
He holds your faith and all your trust.
His firm beliefs are tightly trussed.
Difference is met by pure disgust
From the angry preacher man.
Children laugh from misplaced thoughts,
Not listening to a word he taught.
Joyful, soon to be distraught
From the angry preacher man.
For disobeying Sunday’s class,
Their fear of Hell will be surpassed.
No peeping through your looking glass
At the angry preacher man.
Now, the children do not dare to speak.
Their once bright world has now grown bleak.
They’re downright frantic once a week
Thanks to the angry preacher man.
For crossing such a revolting line,
It appears he’s being forced to resign.
“It’s all a part of God’s design,”
Claims the angry preacher man.
But, in the dead of night, so discrete
To a distant place on a brand new street
A new flock out there is soon to meet
This angry preacher man.
They’ll march to the beat of the big black book.
They’ll march to the beat of the big black book.
If they miss one step, they’ll get a look
From the angry preacher man.
I’ve heard stories from my parents of being dragged to the cinema at the age of three, while they watched and thoroughly enjoyed Quentin Tarantino’s groundbreaking “Pulp Fiction” in 1994. At such a young age, I imagine I distracted them from portions of the film before falling sound asleep in my rickety and uncomfortable seat. It wasn’t until I was thirteen years old that I watched “Pulp Fiction” again, in actuality for the first time, finally at an age that I was capable of understanding and appreciating it. The film not only introduced me to Tarantino’s work, it also inspired many personal aspirations and ignited my passion for film. So, when I see a trailer boasting that it is “the new film by Quentin Tarantino”, I know all filmgoers are in for something unique and important, and that is certainly true for “Django Unchained”.
Much like “Inglourious Basterds”, Tarantino uses history as a backdrop to tell the story of Django (Jamie Foxx), a freed slave, who is taken under the wing of former dentist and current bounty hunter, Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz). The pair ventures through the South collecting on bounties, in the hopes of eventually rescuing Django’s wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington) from the wretched and eccentric plantation owner Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio).
The acting is top notch, as is expected in a Tarantino film, considering his well-documented casting ability. Though Jamie Foxx is top billed and performs his part well, Christoph Waltz steals every scene he’s in with a distinguished panache and a perfect ear for Tarantino’s dialogue. DiCaprio also demonstrates such a dynamic presence, playing Candie with such flair that you couldn’t imagine the role going to anyone else. Samuel L. Jackson’s performance as Stephen, Candie’s head house slave, is also quite noteworthy, as he conveys a quiet intensity in one of his most interesting roles to date.
In typical Tarantino fashion, genres are mashed to create something completely inimitable and thoroughly intriguing. The most prevalent genre is that of the Spaghetti western, but there are themes of Blaxploitation present as well as romance and dark comedy. Tarantino is known for his dry wit, but I honestly didn’t expect to laugh as much as I did while watching the film. Much of the violence in the film is over-the-top, reminiscent of “Kill Bill”, and almost cartoonish in nature. It is unclear whether this is done for comedic purposes, or if it’s just a stylistic decision. Tarantino also assembles an eclectic soundtrack for the film, and while some songs are befitting of a western, other songs are surprising choices, but every tune proves beneficial to the scene it’s in. Though the film is a staggering two hours and forty-five minutes, the time will fly by as you sit in awe of this enthralling picture. Tarantino is unmatched in his ability to craft a scene, packing each with just enough sharp dialogue and action to progress the story in a surprisingly linear fashion to a satisfying conclusion that will leave you cheering.
There have been quite a few critics bashing the film for its gratuitous use of the “N-word”, some wasting their time counting each occurrence, and some lambasting the film without ever having seen it (I’m looking at you, Spike Lee). I feel the excessive use of the word is appropriate within the historical context of the film: it is set in the South in 1858, with the deplorable epithet mostly leaking from the mouths of slave-owners and slave-traders. Though I obviously didn’t live during that time period, I guarantee the word was used more frequently and with much more vitriol behind it than what we hear in the film. The word itself is unpleasant to hear, as it should be, which I think is Tarantino’s intent with its repeated use. There are also quite a few scenes that accurately depict the horrors of slavery, and though they are graphic, I applaud their inclusion, as they prove the film is not in any way shape or form making light of one of the darkest chapters of American history.
“Django Unchained” is brilliant. It is as grim as it is uplifting, as graphically violent as it is darkly comedic, and as brazenly original as it is reverential of films past. It is easily one of Quentin Tarantino’s greatest works, and without a doubt, the best film I’ve seen all year.
5/5
(“Django Unchained” is rated R for strong graphic violence throughout, a vicious fight, language and some nudity.)
It has become increasingly cliché to discuss “The Blair Witch Project” when reviewing a found footage horror film, but that’s the first place my mind travels when faced with the now painfully overdone horror subgenre. It not only turned the idea of low-budget, high-profit filmmaking on its ear, but, it grew into a pop culture phenomenon and reached a height that contemporary films of the same vein dream of attaining. The fresh subgenre it spawned has now decayed and withered into a cheap, ineffective self-parody of itself. After watching the once mighty George A. Romero tarnish his legacy with the dreadful “Diary of the Dead” and witnessing the unapologetic cash-grab the “Paranormal Activity” franchise has turned into, I swore to never again watch another found footage horror film. Then, through random Internet browsing, I stumbled upon the trailer for “V/H/S”. Just when I thought I was out…they pulled me back in.
Five stories are presented by a group of up-and-coming independent directors and tied together by a frame story. The frame story, “Tape 56”, follows a group of young perverts worthy of scorn friends who accept an offer from an anonymous individual to break into a house and retrieve a VHS tape. The promise of immense monetary compensation only sweetens the deal, and the friends venture into the house in search of the video tape. What they find while inside, among other things, is a plethora of tapes they are forced to sort through in hopes of finding the right one. So, they pop five into the VCR, and the tapes they view form the bulk of the film. As a frame story, it is effective in the aspect that it sets up the anthology, but that’s all. The dialogue is poorly written, and the characters therein will grate on your nerves as they forsake human decency and you beg for their comeuppance.
Those negative aspects are cornerstones of most of the stories presented, which is unfortunate, but at the same time, it’s somewhat understandable. The filmmakers involved know their audience, and give them what they’re hoping to see: blood, gore, nudity and the like. But, in the midst of the typical flaws that keep good horror from becoming great horror, there are actually quite a few enjoyable moments that impressed me. In the tapes “Amateur Night” and “10/31/98” there are decent and original ideas and technologies employed that you wouldn’t normally expect to see in a no-budget horror film. Also, the cinematography fits all of the stories so well, so I doubt filmgoers will succumb to nausea, or what I’ve dubbed FFS (Found Footage Sickness).
I do question the order in which the stories are presented, as the greatest of the five is presented first. I expected “V/H/S” to follow suit with other anthologies and put the weaker parts first, sort of like an opening act, and allow the film to build in quality to the headliner. Instead, what you get is a mixed-bag, wanting to cheer after a few, and feeling let down after others. At two hours of runtime, I couldn’t help but think a weaker segment could’ve been trimmed a bit, or completely left out altogether.
When all is said and done, the filmmakers must be commended for the innovative idea of pairing anthology with found footage. But, at the same time, I have to ask myself, does the good outweigh the bad? Are the stellar “Amateur Night”, the eerie “Second Honeymoon”, and the nifty “10/31/98” worth sitting through the pointless “Tuesday the 13th”, the confusing “The Sick Thing That Happened to Emily When She Was Younger” and the dreadful frame story “Tape 56”? The answer is…surprisingly, yes.
As one entity, “V/H/S” is a lot of fun to watch, especially with a group of friends. It’s great Friday night horror, and it really doesn’t try to be anything more than that.
3/5
(“V/H/S” is rated R for bloody violence, strong sexuality, graphic nudity, pervasive language, and some drug use.)
I’ve listened to the shouting heralds
And harbingers foretelling events to the world.
But, no word of warning could have prepared me for this girl.
Her verdant eyes like shining emeralds.
If she would glance my way,
It would make the world cease its sway
And sit silent and motionless
In awe of one man’s shimmering bliss.
This beauty made of magnificence
Transcending grace and elegance.
And behold my one and only hindrance:
The crippling confines of common sense.
O, gorgeous girl, how I long for thee.
Angel faced, jade-eyed somebody.
Your allure placed firmly in my memory.
Impossible to forget; so worthy of remembering.
