FMMP: Sinister
This weekend I was surprised with a call from the hospital Friday afternoon, to inform me about a dodgy character who had been hanging around in the abandoned lot next door all day Thursday, staring at the hospital. A boyfriend of one of the employees even approached him to find out his deal--he reportedly mumbled something about "not wanting to shoot cops," and wouldn't leave. They called for a police escort for the regular overnight woman that night. I toyed with the idea of doing the same, but ultimately decided against it. I refuse to live in fear. I didn't see him all weekend, so hopefully he moved on.
However, this is why I don't watch horror movies before my overnight shifts--the place is creepy enough on its own (although I've become quite inured to it after all this time; yet not inured enough to risk a horror flick). This doesn't protect me from horror movies that I watch from the safety of daylight, but continue to haunt me days later. I have such a movie for you.
(I was going to post the "Red Band" version, but it was almost as psyche-damaging as the whole movie, and I care about you guys too much to do that to you.)
I had high hopes for this based on the presence of Ethan Hawke, who hardly ever disappoints--and, I'm happy to say, his record remains untarnished. Of course, it isn't perfect (what movie is?), but any words of criticism I have are said lovingly, because I really loved this movie (more specifically, I loved how much it scared me).
The very first shot of the movie is guaranteed to catch your attention: A scratchy old home movie of four people with bags on their heads attached by nooses to a huge tree, but standing on the ground. In excruciating-yet-fascinating slo-mo, another branch is broken, acting as a counterweight that lifts them high in the air, as they all do the grotesque hangman's dance.
Present day. Ellison Oswalt (Hawke) is a true crime novelist chasing the success of his last hit a decade ago, dragging his long-suffering wife and two kids along with him. They're moving into their new home under the watchful gaze of local law enforcement, who it turns out are waiting for an autograph from the author. The police chief shows up and makes it clear he's none too pleased to have them there, as the town has already gone through enough.
The wife asks Ellison why they're staring. "You aren't moving us two doors down from a crime scene again, are you?" "No. I promise," he answers unhesitatingly, and I knew that was because they were moving into the actual crime scene. Men, always thinking they can get off on a technicality (she finds out eventually, and he doesn't. Get off, that is).
In the otherwise cavernous, empty attic he finds a box containing an old reel-to-reel movie projector and five films. He kills a scorpion on the floor, which doesn't unduly alarm him, and I had to wonder where they were moving to; the outside seemed very heavily wooded, not particularly desert-y, but further research revealed they were in Pennsylvania and that, amazingly, there are scorpions in Pennsylvania. Who knew?
The films become the focus of his investigation, the first of which is the aforementioned group hanging (which was the house's previous owners, and the reason he moved there). The extended version shows happier family gatherings, but the fact is the Super 8 format makes even innocuous activities look mildly ominous.
He's disturbed by what he sees, even though as a veteran crime novelist you'd think he was made of sterner stuff. And he briefly considers going to the police with this box of obviously crucial evidence, but his burning desire for another bestseller wins out.
I won't summarize the whole movie. He works his way through all the home movies, all of which begin with a happy family and end with their grisly murders, all in herky-jerky Super 8, and all using pinhole almost Lomo lighting, with only a tantalizing view of what's going on. The movie also uses music very effectively--abstract, edgy, unsettling. And distinctive: I think if I were to hear the music elsewhere, I would automatically get a queasy feeling and perhaps not immediately know why.
The third movie shows a family strapped to pool loungers and one by one pulled backwards into the water (this is what makes the murders extra disturbing -- they're accomplished simplistically with common household objects). Then Ellison spots a white-faced figure strolling casually under the water (see trailer). He freezes the film to study him more closely, and I thought "you can't freeze-frame those old projectors, it will burn the film" which is exactly what happens a few seconds later. So he has destroyed the clearest image he has of him/it.
Meanwhile things are getting weird in the Oswalt house. Their son, who has a history of night terrors, is getting worse and acting out at school. Their younger daughter, a budding artist, is drawing people hanging from a tree on her wall. And every night Ellison hears what sounds like footsteps running in the empty attic.
He goes up one night to investigate. He finds a coral snake (again, not as unusual as I originally assumed) and the lid of the box of films illustrated with stick figure depictions of the murders he's seen--all featuring "Mr. Boogie" standing off to the side.
Now that he knows what to look for, he spots the white-faced creature hiding out in the corners of all the other films.
He enlists the aid of a local deputy, who actually offers his services in hopes of a mention on the acknowledgments page of Ellison's book. Ellison sends him off to identify the families in the other films, a tricky business while withholding evidence, but Deputy So-and-So is willing to look the other way for the sake of his fifteen minutes. (Someone on Amazon criticized his inclusion when Ellison could probably have gotten the information on his own; someone pointed out, "Well, THAT'S an awesome movie--a guy sitting there Googling.")
It doesn't take long to discover a connection between the murders--always a family, always with one child that goes missing. Ellison even notices that the family whose house they're living in previously lived at the address of one of the other murders. He comments on it, and then forgets about it. A teeny complaint: He seems like a smart guy (apart from trying to sneak his family into a murder house without his wife knowing). Shouldn't he be struck by this AMAZING coincidence? He isn't, and we have to move on.
Deputy So-and-So (that's what he's called, don't blame me) refers him to a professor of the occult when Ellison implies there might be a supernatural element at work. The professor is a bloated and nearly unrecognizable Vincent D'onofrio, whom he Skypes with. Based on the vaguely Satanic symbol that turns up at every scene, he names an ancient Babylonian demon, Bughuul the Eater of Children, as the deity behind them (further research by me turned up the fact that it wasn't a real historical entity, but that "Bughuul" translates to "bogey" or "boogieman." That's kind of cool, if you ask me). Bughuul's mascots, incidentally, are a scorpion, a coral snake and a dog (he sees a vicious Rottweiler in another scene I haven't mentioned).
The home movies all have innocent-sounding titles, like "Family Hanging Out" and "Pool Party." The last canister in the box is called "Lawn Work." After four of these, I can say I really, truly didn't want to see Lawn Work. Sure enough, it shows a lawnmower being used in a way guaranteed to have Second Amendment apologists screaming, "See? Why don't we ban landscaping equipment?!" and that's all I'm going to say. But, even knowing it was going to end badly, I was absolutely powerless to look away.
One last night full of very weird stuff (spoilers), and he's had enough. He packs his family up and moves them back to their old home on the spot. Completely ignoring that crucial little amazing coincidence he learned about the previous victims and their residence timelines. The box of films reappears in his old attic (despite him burning it before leaving the new house). It contains one last film entitled "Extended Cuts," in which it becomes clear who is committing the murders. Not that the information helps him much, because his own date with destiny happens soon after.
I won't give the ending away. It's a tad weak, and easily predictable, but not the worst I've ever seen. I think the last "holy fucking SHIT" horror movie end I've seen is the first Saw, and before that The Ring, so wholly satisfying horror movie endings are generally few and far between. And, of course, the more horror movies you see, the less new there is under the sun. I won't hold that against this one.
There's no doubt I'm buying this the first chance I get -- even if I can only watch it in the middle of the day, and nowhere near my weekend overnight shift. Actual gore negligible, but the implied violence was more than enough. I realize a week later that a large part of the appeal was because the whole movie could have been shot practically, except at most one or two shots, and to me that makes the most effective horror movie of all.
However, this is why I don't watch horror movies before my overnight shifts--the place is creepy enough on its own (although I've become quite inured to it after all this time; yet not inured enough to risk a horror flick). This doesn't protect me from horror movies that I watch from the safety of daylight, but continue to haunt me days later. I have such a movie for you.
Click to view(I was going to post the "Red Band" version, but it was almost as psyche-damaging as the whole movie, and I care about you guys too much to do that to you.)
I had high hopes for this based on the presence of Ethan Hawke, who hardly ever disappoints--and, I'm happy to say, his record remains untarnished. Of course, it isn't perfect (what movie is?), but any words of criticism I have are said lovingly, because I really loved this movie (more specifically, I loved how much it scared me).
The very first shot of the movie is guaranteed to catch your attention: A scratchy old home movie of four people with bags on their heads attached by nooses to a huge tree, but standing on the ground. In excruciating-yet-fascinating slo-mo, another branch is broken, acting as a counterweight that lifts them high in the air, as they all do the grotesque hangman's dance.
Present day. Ellison Oswalt (Hawke) is a true crime novelist chasing the success of his last hit a decade ago, dragging his long-suffering wife and two kids along with him. They're moving into their new home under the watchful gaze of local law enforcement, who it turns out are waiting for an autograph from the author. The police chief shows up and makes it clear he's none too pleased to have them there, as the town has already gone through enough.
The wife asks Ellison why they're staring. "You aren't moving us two doors down from a crime scene again, are you?" "No. I promise," he answers unhesitatingly, and I knew that was because they were moving into the actual crime scene. Men, always thinking they can get off on a technicality (she finds out eventually, and he doesn't. Get off, that is).
In the otherwise cavernous, empty attic he finds a box containing an old reel-to-reel movie projector and five films. He kills a scorpion on the floor, which doesn't unduly alarm him, and I had to wonder where they were moving to; the outside seemed very heavily wooded, not particularly desert-y, but further research revealed they were in Pennsylvania and that, amazingly, there are scorpions in Pennsylvania. Who knew?
The films become the focus of his investigation, the first of which is the aforementioned group hanging (which was the house's previous owners, and the reason he moved there). The extended version shows happier family gatherings, but the fact is the Super 8 format makes even innocuous activities look mildly ominous.
He's disturbed by what he sees, even though as a veteran crime novelist you'd think he was made of sterner stuff. And he briefly considers going to the police with this box of obviously crucial evidence, but his burning desire for another bestseller wins out.
I won't summarize the whole movie. He works his way through all the home movies, all of which begin with a happy family and end with their grisly murders, all in herky-jerky Super 8, and all using pinhole almost Lomo lighting, with only a tantalizing view of what's going on. The movie also uses music very effectively--abstract, edgy, unsettling. And distinctive: I think if I were to hear the music elsewhere, I would automatically get a queasy feeling and perhaps not immediately know why.
The third movie shows a family strapped to pool loungers and one by one pulled backwards into the water (this is what makes the murders extra disturbing -- they're accomplished simplistically with common household objects). Then Ellison spots a white-faced figure strolling casually under the water (see trailer). He freezes the film to study him more closely, and I thought "you can't freeze-frame those old projectors, it will burn the film" which is exactly what happens a few seconds later. So he has destroyed the clearest image he has of him/it.
Meanwhile things are getting weird in the Oswalt house. Their son, who has a history of night terrors, is getting worse and acting out at school. Their younger daughter, a budding artist, is drawing people hanging from a tree on her wall. And every night Ellison hears what sounds like footsteps running in the empty attic.
He goes up one night to investigate. He finds a coral snake (again, not as unusual as I originally assumed) and the lid of the box of films illustrated with stick figure depictions of the murders he's seen--all featuring "Mr. Boogie" standing off to the side.
Now that he knows what to look for, he spots the white-faced creature hiding out in the corners of all the other films.
He enlists the aid of a local deputy, who actually offers his services in hopes of a mention on the acknowledgments page of Ellison's book. Ellison sends him off to identify the families in the other films, a tricky business while withholding evidence, but Deputy So-and-So is willing to look the other way for the sake of his fifteen minutes. (Someone on Amazon criticized his inclusion when Ellison could probably have gotten the information on his own; someone pointed out, "Well, THAT'S an awesome movie--a guy sitting there Googling.")
It doesn't take long to discover a connection between the murders--always a family, always with one child that goes missing. Ellison even notices that the family whose house they're living in previously lived at the address of one of the other murders. He comments on it, and then forgets about it. A teeny complaint: He seems like a smart guy (apart from trying to sneak his family into a murder house without his wife knowing). Shouldn't he be struck by this AMAZING coincidence? He isn't, and we have to move on.
Deputy So-and-So (that's what he's called, don't blame me) refers him to a professor of the occult when Ellison implies there might be a supernatural element at work. The professor is a bloated and nearly unrecognizable Vincent D'onofrio, whom he Skypes with. Based on the vaguely Satanic symbol that turns up at every scene, he names an ancient Babylonian demon, Bughuul the Eater of Children, as the deity behind them (further research by me turned up the fact that it wasn't a real historical entity, but that "Bughuul" translates to "bogey" or "boogieman." That's kind of cool, if you ask me). Bughuul's mascots, incidentally, are a scorpion, a coral snake and a dog (he sees a vicious Rottweiler in another scene I haven't mentioned).
The home movies all have innocent-sounding titles, like "Family Hanging Out" and "Pool Party." The last canister in the box is called "Lawn Work." After four of these, I can say I really, truly didn't want to see Lawn Work. Sure enough, it shows a lawnmower being used in a way guaranteed to have Second Amendment apologists screaming, "See? Why don't we ban landscaping equipment?!" and that's all I'm going to say. But, even knowing it was going to end badly, I was absolutely powerless to look away.
One last night full of very weird stuff (spoilers), and he's had enough. He packs his family up and moves them back to their old home on the spot. Completely ignoring that crucial little amazing coincidence he learned about the previous victims and their residence timelines. The box of films reappears in his old attic (despite him burning it before leaving the new house). It contains one last film entitled "Extended Cuts," in which it becomes clear who is committing the murders. Not that the information helps him much, because his own date with destiny happens soon after.
I won't give the ending away. It's a tad weak, and easily predictable, but not the worst I've ever seen. I think the last "holy fucking SHIT" horror movie end I've seen is the first Saw, and before that The Ring, so wholly satisfying horror movie endings are generally few and far between. And, of course, the more horror movies you see, the less new there is under the sun. I won't hold that against this one.
There's no doubt I'm buying this the first chance I get -- even if I can only watch it in the middle of the day, and nowhere near my weekend overnight shift. Actual gore negligible, but the implied violence was more than enough. I realize a week later that a large part of the appeal was because the whole movie could have been shot practically, except at most one or two shots, and to me that makes the most effective horror movie of all.