The curated portfolio of film journalist Joe Lipsett
There’s plenty of horror to be wrung out of the idea that something is “too good to be true.” In director Daniel Robbins’ latest film, Pledge, the phrase is put to the test when a trio of College freshmen discover a social club whose seemingly perfect facade proves to be a front for something far more malicious and sadistic. [Read more…]
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…]
My writing partner, Trace Thurman, and I write biweekly editorials for Bloody Disgusting entitled “Horror Queers“. The series focuses on films with LGBTQ themes, a high camp quotient or both.
Thus far the editorials have tackled the following films:
It appears that at least once a year, LGBTQ-hungry audiences are being gifted with a quiet, introspective gay love story that delivers both the romance, the passion and the geography porn. It truly is a marvelous time to be alive.
Following in the footsteps of Brokeback Mountain, Call Me By Your Name and – most closely – God’s Own Country, writer / director Mikko Makela’s debut feature film is the latest entry in a recent trend of gay art cinema films that chronicles a forbidden romantic relationship between two men from different backgrounds.
In this case, it’s Finnish graduate student Leevi (Janne Puustinen) – back home for a long weekend from his studies in Paris, France to help his father, Jouko (Mika Melender), fix up the family’s lakeside cottage for sale – and Syrian refugee, Tareq (Boodi Kabbani) who is brought on as a handy man. Almost immediately the men are forced together because Tareq does not speak Finnish and Jouko’s command of English doesn’t extend beyond polite chit-chat, meaning that Leevi must act as translator. He’s also required to be the mediator, explaining Tareq’s frustration to his father because the refugee is unable to procure better work despite his expertise as an Architect; Leevi is also negotiating his father’s volatile xenophobia, which adds an additional layer of complication to their already strained familial relationship.
The tension eases up when Jouko is called away overnight on business and the pair of younger men are left getting to know each other. Makela wisely takes his time developing their relationship: for the better part of their dockside chat, their discussion in the sauna, their romp in the lake and finally their nighttime drinking on the porch, the topics are shallow and general. In fact there’s barely any sense of a romantic connection; these are guarded men circling the wagons. Still, a few lingering glances from one when the other isn’t looking serves to build anticipation and by the time the pair finally lock eyes in a knowing fashion at night’s end, both the characters and the audience are ready to put an end to the slow burn and get down to action.
Makela expertly employs a handheld style, as well as tight framing and slightly disjointed editing to convey the impassioned intimacy of their first sexual encounter. Leevi and Tareq’s coupling has a hungry, desperate vibe; the scene teeters somewhere between graphic and carnal and Makela’s script allows it to play out longer than usual before cutting to the next morning. From this point on the connection between the men shifts and their interactions, both verbal and physical, are more charged, sexualized and meaningful. Conversation about the weather is replaced by startlingly frank revelations about Tareq’s double life in Syria and his flight to Finland, as well as Leevi’s memories of his deceased painter mother and his uncertainty about love following a prior relationship back in Paris.
A Moment In The Reeds spells out its central conflict in its title: this is a film that traffics in a fleeting fantasy. The reintroduction of Jouko and the realities of the external world quickly threaten to upend the romantic connection between the new lovers. In this way, comparisons to God’s Own Country are certainly apt and unavoidable, particularly the gorgeous, empty countryside playing host to forbidden desire and brooding spectacle.
The natural beauty is amplified by Makela’s exquisite direction and the naturalistic performances by the two leads. Puustinen and Kabbani wisely underplay their attraction until the men act on their desires, at which point their sexual chemistry and affection comes on strong. Although I’m not in favour of a requirement to hire LGBTQ actors to play queer characters, the ease with which the two men interact, particularly in the sex scenes, belies a comfort by the real life gay actors that is absent in other projects.
The film is not without criticism. Despite all of the groundwork laid in advance, the ending of the film feels sudden and abrupt, which won’t satisfy fans of the film’s otherwise languid pace. Narrative-focused audiences, meanwhile, may find that their attention drifts: this is a simple, straightforward story about a brief, fleeting encounter between two men. At one point Tarek mentions “a fantasy experience” and that’s what the film is for the majority of its runtime, for better or for worse.
Still, the political and social framework of the two men’s backstories is relatable and/or extremely topical. Leevi’s story is familial: he’s working through a communication rift between him and his estranged father and other unresolved issues in the wake of his mother’s passing. Tarek’s story is more global: he’s an immigrant recovering from the experience of being closeted in a country that’s hostile to the LGBTQ community at the same time as he struggles to establish a new life in a place where he doesn’t speak the language and can’t practice his own profession.
Both Leevi and Tareq are hungry – nay starving – for intimacy and someone who will listen to them (sexually, romantically, and emotionally). Considering how memorable and impassioned Mikko Makela’s film is, audiences may find themselves devouring A Moment In The Reeds with similar enthusiasm. It’s a strong contender for queer film of the year.
4/5
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.
SuperGrid screens Thursday, Nov 22 at 9:30pm at The Royal. The film opens in theatres Dec 14.
In both the real world and the filmic world, six years have passed between adventures for Wreck It Ralph‘s titular character (John C. Reilly) and his pint-sized bestie, Vanellope (Sarah Silverman). It hardly matters whether viewers retain any specifics about the duo’s first outing; although Ralph offers a brief recap, audiences need only recall that friendship is the defining aspect of their relationship, so much so that Vanellope had the words “You’re My Hero” emblazoned on a commemorative medal that Ralph wears around his neck.
In the years since their 2012 adventure, stagnant repetition has set in. For Ralph, the reliability and consistency of the same daily sequence of events is ideal; for Vanellope, however, the appeal has worn off. In an effort to give his bestie an exciting experience, Ralph crafts a new race track in her arcade game Sugar Rush. Unfortunately Vanellope’s agency conflicts with the desire of the human girl playing the game and in the resulting chaos, the game’s steering wheel is broken. A quick Internet search reveals that the one-of-a-kind item is only available on eBay for a costly sum that the store’s owner Mr. Litwak (Ed O’Neill) is unwilling to pay. With the threat of homelessness looming, Ralph and Vanellope must venture into the unknown realm known as the Internet in order to procure the wheel and restore Sugar Rush before Litwak sells the game for scrap.
This new adventure, written by Phil Johnston and Pamela Ribon and co-directed by Johnston and Rich Moore, opens up even more storytelling possibilities than the limited arcade game setting of the first film. Just like many of the Pixar films, adults will no doubt appreciate the (corporate branding) comedy more than kids, but for the most part Ralph Breaks The Internet remains firmly entrenched in family friendly territory.
The candy coloured world of the Internet is visually represented by an endless skyscraper city populated by squat, square headed avatars of people (if you squint, they kind of resemble Funko Pops). Companies are embodied by their logos or obvious visual signifiers (a warehouse of auction items for eBay, a large tree full of little blue birds for Twitter, an enormous pin for Pinterest, etc). One of the strangest elements is the intermingling of both real and fictitious companies; aforementioned Pinterest gets a major plug in the film’s climactic set piece while made-up company BuzzzTube, a combination of Instagram and YouTube, dominates the film’s narrative.
The largesse of the internet allows the production to greatly expand both its narrative and its satirical targets. After their eBay bid for the Sugar Rush wheel goes disastrously wrong, leaving them with an outstanding bill of nearly $28K, Ralph and Vanellope must find a quick way to drum up some cash. Their attempts to do so drives the remainder of the film, which takes aim at spam ads, personality quizzes, product placement, viruses, memes, gaming and, yes, even trolls. How well some of this content will age is uncertain (were bee puns really a thing…or will they become a thing?), but for the most part the observations on Internet culture are on point, even if they hue a little simplistic and obvious.
Along the way Ralph and Vanellope encounter a diverse range of vibrant characters, including BuzzzTube analytics maestro Yesss (Taraji P. Henson – clearly having a ball), Dark Web underlord Double Dan (Alfred Molina) and independent search engine Mr. KnowsMore (Alan Tudyk). The most significant character is racer Shank (Gal Gadot), a confident, independent leader of a Grand Theft Auto-inspired racing game called Slaughter Race who prompts Vanellope to reconsider her life goals, thereby widening the rift between the little girl and Ralph.
At 112 minutes, Ralph Breaks The Internet is a smidge too long. By the time that the third act conflict has escalated to a crisis of friendship, things feel ready to wrap up. Unfortunately this is when the film’s Checkov title comes into play and Ralph goes into action overdrive, which includes an extended chase sequence and homage to a giant classical Hollywood ape that hits the necessary, albeit familiar character beats that children’s films tend to focus on.
Thankfully the conclusion features the return of the film’s secret weapon: the Disney princesses (Anna and Elsa, Ariel, Aurora, Belle, Cinderella, Jasmine, Moana, Mulan, Pocahontas, Snow White, and Tiana — all voiced by the original performers, save Snow White). The revisionist interpretation of these classic characters may evoke comparisons to later Shrek films, but Johnston and Ribon are savvy in their discrete, smart use of the Mouse House’s invaluable properties. The fact that these characters provide some of the films greatest laughs doesn’t hurt, either.
Overall, Ralph Breaks The Internet is solid family entertainment with wide appeal to both kids and parents. The film’s perspective on the Internet is a little simplistic and familiar, but it is also visually dazzling and often quite humourous. As expected Ralph is at its best when it focuses on universal themes of friendship and growing up, both of which are handled in heartfelt and surprisingly mature ways. In a world that frequently feels constructed on doom and gloom narratives, an endearing story about the value and importance of friendship feels both timely and welcome.
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
Welcome to the Friday The 13th The Series rewatch. Each day throughout October, we’ll watch one episode of the seminal 1987 television series and tackle the highs, the lows and Micki’s hair (of course). Now step into Curious Goods and peruse our cursed antiques, won’t you?
S01E022: “The Pirate’s Promise”
Wikipedia Plot Summary: Ryan (John D. LeMay) and Micki (Louise Robey) visit a small seaside town which is haunted by the ghost of a murderous, long-dead pirate
The foghorn of doom
Cursed Antique of the Week: A foghorn that summons the murderous spirit of a pirate that trades his treasure for the lives of the descendants of his mutinous crew
Setting: Whaler’s Point, a town founded by pirates who became whalers
Best Death: None of them are particularly exciting, so I guess we’ll go with Fenton (Smith)’s hook to the chest
Quirkiest Add-On: Fenton and Dewey (Thomas Hauff) are revealed to be secret brothers, which is some straight up soap opera shit
Character Bits: This is the first Jack (Chris Wiggins)-free episode since “Scarecrow”
Corny Finish Line: There is no spoken dialogue; just the sound of the foghorn laid out over the image of a full pirate ship on a sea of fog, which is pretty on-the-nose
80s Fashion Closet: Ryan wears a thematically appropriate anchor sweater that is actually kind of fashionable. Less fashionable: Micki’s giant hoop earrings and corset at the end of the episode
Kissing Cousins Incest Watch: Do you think that when the cousins make their way upstairs at episode’s end, they’re going to…Oh never mind
Angus McBride looks ok
What Works…
Ugh – nothing. This episode is a total snore. I mean, at least neither Micki or Ryan winds up being the missing ancestor so we don’t have to deal with them being in any real danger.
Ok, and Angus McBride’s make-up/mask is kinda fun, albeit in a very “dollar store Halloween” kinda way.
Maximum fodder, limited interest
What Doesn’t Work…
If the last episode used all of the collective tropes to deliver one of the series’ best instalments, then this one exemplifies all of its weaknesses. There’s simply nothing interesting happening here. The villain is identified at the very start, a bunch of randoms we have no interest or investment in are murdered and the explanation for what is happening is evident from very early on (and then frequently repeated ad nauseum). This means that the majority of the episode is spent simply watching Ryan and Micki (and to a lesser extent Dewey) stumble their way through a dull, predictable investigation. We’re talking lots of books. Like lots and lots and LOTS of books.
It doesn’t help that there is no way not to compare this episode to the film that so clearly inspired it: John Carpenter’s The Fog. And while that film has its own share of narrative issues, it at least has a great score, great special effects and a host of engaging actors to prop it up (Adrienne Barbeau’s radio DJ is too sultry for words). In comparison, this episode has a bunch of white dudes and a really fake looking cave for Ryan to stumble into.
Oopsie!
Stream of Consciousness Musings
See you back here tomorrow for Friday The 13th The Series episode 23: “Badge of Honor”