GRIMMFEST digital: 'The Guest Room', 'Hotel Poseidon', 'Forgiveness', 'Two Witches', 'The Righteous'

The Guest Room

La Stanza

Director - Stefano Lodovichi

2021, Italy

Screenwriters - Stefano Lodovichi, Francesco Agostini, Filippo Gili

 

At once both modern and Gothic, the home invasion premise here spirals into something far odder, more metaphysical. Nicely played chamber piece in a looming guest house that always keeps undermining what's expected. Even when the meaning becomes evident, there's a lot of mystery still let intact, making this a fascinating existential horror.

 

 

Go here for my original notes on Hotel Poseidon. Further reflections make me think that this is a stream-of-consciousness narrative, certainly as the director Stefan Lernous says he is still trying to figure it out its meaning, that it has elements of autobiography. When asked about accusations of “style over story”, his reply is that aesthetics have meaning, that he likes mystery and cut-up narratives, suggesting that “eye-candy” itself is meaningful. I would agree to this for the most part; didn’t Christopher Lee say the real hero of Hammer was the set designer Bernard Robinson? Isn’t that why Lynch’s ‘Dune’ is still fascinating? Perhaps I would now think of 'Hotel Poseidon' as a William Burroughs cut-up filthy version of Peter Greenaway’s theatrical cinema.

 

 

Forgiveness

Writer & Director - Alex Kahuam

2021, Mexico-USA

Stars - Tasha CarreraHoracio CasteloLaura de Ita

 

A dance troupe is seemingly let loose in an empty building and we get a dialogue-free narrative of women stumbling around, being humiliated, beaten and subjected to broad mime. Anyway, purgatory? Superpowers? A room where apparently they are trying to film a micro-budget ‘Cats’? And next door, maybe a no-budget 'Animal Farm'? Very much the kind of thing that works best as a short rather than a feature, perhaps. The conceit and ambition are commedable, and it's not quite ‘The Seasoning House’, but it’s not ‘Martyrs’ either, despite the religious symbolism. And there are only so many scenes of characters performatively grappling with one another you can take before it becomes repetitive.

 

 

Two Witches

Director - Pierre Tsigaridis

2021, USA

Writers - Kristina Klebe, Maxime Rancon, Pierre Tsigaridis

 

Some shonky drama, some very “witchy” acting, but some well executed creepiness (even if the dialogue is set half the volume of non-diegetic). We start with a moody pregnant woman and her mansplaining boyfriend given the evil eye by a random witch who’s… hungry? But the film is perhaps at its best in chapter two where the witch taps into the fear of the jealous psychotic roommate. Rebekeh Kennedy goes to town as Masha, as this is not a film for subtlety. It’s at the Heavy Rock end of the genre, so simultaneously down-to-earth and ham-fisted. It loses focus in the epilogue and a post-credits scene (why put an ostensibly key scene later the comedown of the credits? But the filmmakers seem to have a hopeful eye for a franchise), but there are several good creepy montages and gore (and any film that doesn’t lose me with “witchy” acting is succeeding at something).

 

Based on the Q&A, the writers seemingly want us to root for the “bad ass” women, the witches, just because they can kick ass, but that doesn’t land. It’s best moment of turning the tables is when Masha treats a man as a sex object in the way typically relegated to women, using her powers to violently rip off his clothes. But the scary stuff is surely generated by these women picking on you and destroying your life on a whim. Chapter one ends arguably with its onus on the fears of the boyfriend of his girlfriend and of saving her; chapter two has the crazy roommate destroying your life. It’s this that resonates although it is uneven elsewhere.

 

Tarumama

(Llanto Maldito)

Director - Andres Beltran

Writers - Andres Beltran, Anton Goenechea

2021, Columbia

Stars - Jerónimo Barón, Mario Bolaños ,Paula Castaño

 

A couple retreat to a cabin in the woods to resolve their fraught relationship after the loss of a child… now, you see, there’s your problem. There’s a nice sombre tone and desaturated colour palate, and the performances are the same. Pretty soon, there are creeping disturbances at night. Nobody believes the young son that there’s a woman prowling the house, although mother has experiences of her own and is thinking that the place is haunted too. And her husband, a decent sort, can’t quite help mansplaining, which is typical in these scenarios, and dismissing his son’s outpourings as childish imagination. Of course, it’s all runs concomitant to her own grief and increasing unstable mind as well as her family’s fears that she’s becoming unrecognisable, uncaring and violent. She doesn’t want to be depressed anymore, she says in a moment of possession that speaks from her old self.

 

But it loses it’s grip midway (in a moment of hysteria, she stays in the forest for hours until it’s pitch black and the storm is in full swing? He doesn't look earlier? And isn’t there a cut foot that gets forgotten? When too many of these questions intrude, something is lost). But it’s solemn tone and restraint stops it from going full bombast and, although there’s ultimately nothing new, it’s a fair haunting with a proper eeriness.

 

The Righteous

Writer & Director – Mark O'Brien

2021, Canada

Cast - Henry Czerny, Mark O'Brien, Mimi Kuzyk

 

An impressive chamber piece for writer-director-producer-key actor Mark O’Brien. The influence of old masters like Bergman, Dreyer and Tarkovsky are evident, not least in the crisp black-and-white photography (cinematography by Scott McClean), the small cast and the big questions about faith, guilt, past sins and repercussions, and of course – facing your own demons. But where Bergman was canny, tricksy and ambiguous with his use of horror and investigations of Faith, O’Brien’s film goes a more traditional home invasion genre route, with a few supernatural touches. And, you know, that guy has a blaring warning flag on him from the start. And of course there's the narcissism of the religious to think it's all about them. But the excellent performances and smart script make this solid and riveting, with an apocalyptic ending more prone to, say, something Paul Schrader or the Coens might go for. 

Glasgow FrightFest: 'Vicious Fun', 'American Badger', 'Out of the World'

Vicious Fun

Cody Calahan

Writers: Cody Calahan & James Villeneauve

As it says on the label. A horror magazine journalist stumbles accidentally upon a support group for serial killers, and it’s all in-jokes and horror comedy fun from there. These days in the genre, you’re never far from an Eighties setting and the throb of a synth score, and that’s the aesthetic here. It certainly looks good and colourful.  It covers most of the bases of serial killers – even the anti-serial killer serial killer – and, although it is constantly winking to the audience, it never quite becomes obnoxious or overdone.  Evan Walsh’s central performance as Joel the Horror Journalist is the most winkiest of all, always a bit meta: perhaps his almost-obnoxiousness is a gag in itself, but Joel is also definitely a bit Nice Guy; all he needs is a serial killer to point out his dubious ways. And true to the manner of Eighties horror-comedies, it’s a little clunky in places and most of the killers feel a little short-changed in relation to how good the set-up is. But it’s obvious that the film just wants the audience to have a good time, and that counts for a lot. It has good pacing and moves on when one location has been exhausted; there are several good genre gags (“I’m all my stepdaughter has”; killers appearing from nowhere; a summary of the appeal of the horror genre are all favourites); some nice ensemble work; a little industry satire. And the final drive-in coda is a highlight. 

American Badger

Writer & Director: Kirk Caouette

2021, Canada 

We’re in super-skilled-fighter-saves-sex-worker territory here. But that isn’t quite the whole story. Off-the-grid super-assassin Dean (writer-director-star Kirk Caouette) is meant to seduce Velvet (Andrea Stefancikova) to extract what she knows about the Albanian mob boss she works for and then kill her. But he is solitary and isolated, like an American badger, and inevitably this human interaction gets into him and disrupts the plan. 

The tone is lowkey, washed out and downbeat and possibly a bit introspective for some, but it’s more fascinating than, say, Jason Statham’s ‘Redemption/Hummingbird’. Mostly because ‘American Badger’ lets us know very early on that there are going to be great fight scenes, and here are several. Caouette even cuts away from some to follow the story rather than the action. It’s a somewhat hoary premise (three of the eight films I’ve watched at Glasgow Film Festival feature this criminal-man-perhaps-redeemed-by-female: ‘Voice of Silence’, ‘American Badger’ and ‘Out of the World’) but there’s a pleasing fleet-footedness about the pacing, for however downbeat it is, it doesn’t stress one moment too long unless it’s the fights. And it’s those that really stand out, drawing from Caouette’s extensive experience as a stunt man. The capturing of a drab if cluttered world is assured, where call girls are left in poor imitation of Hollywood dreams, where the rooms they and hitmen live in are messy with just rudiments of character, and where clubs and bars are soulless backdrops to fights. There’s a moodiness here and control that shows Cauoette is no perfunctory director either, lifting it up from the average.

Out of the World

Hors du Monde

Witer & Director: Marc Fouchard

2020, France 

The IMDB synopsis is coy: “A shy man who works as a taxi driver because he can't afford to live as a musician, meets a deaf girl dancer who is attracted to him despite his trouble communicating.” But isn’t so long after our cab driver Leo – a gripping performance by Kévin Mischel – falls for Amélie (Aurélia Poirier) that we’re in ‘The Hours of the Day’, ‘Canibal’ (2013), ‘Henry: portrait of a serial killer’ if not ‘Maniac’ territory here: that is, the humdrum daily routine of killer. He lives and works in his car, but he’s also musician, composing melancholic instrumentals on his laptop of the orchestral kind (it’s good). But as so often happens with film killers, he believes murder is his muse. 

Fouchard’s film unfolds at a steady pace and gets increasingly engrossing as the character study deepens. The film stays close to the Leo’s mindset, incorporating interpretive dance as well as his kills – but how many of the kills are real isn’t quite clear, but he’s certainly guilty.  Leo is totally detached and off the grid, unable to socialise normally: dance turns into confrontation and, in an unsettling highlight, he has to hold a woman at knifepoint for dating advice. Leo doesn’t even know how, but Amélie is a mute dancer and these qualities – her disconnect and talent – entice him and gives him the impetus to try. He’s irredeemable – in an imaginary conversation, he doesn’t even let himself off the hook – but his struggle to try and suppress his nature and routine, to learn the gestures of flirting, are disquieting and gripping. He has a hangdog look that belies his murderous nature. 

In the end, murdering to make music is just his excuse: both offer a release for feelings he can barely control; sadness through music and rage through killing (he has mummy issues). It conflates artistry with homicidal nature – a trope of the serial killer genre from ‘Color Me Blood Red’ to Norman Bates’ taxidermy and many, many others - but the music is something Leo could be if he could get past the violence. Which he can’t.

Fouchard’s film weaves a dark spell, a sense of the claustrophobia of Leo’s mind and desires. ‘Out of the World’s deliberate pace demands attention and faith, but the journey to inevitable tragedy – where the film is the most Autumnally colourful – becomes riveting. It’s a strong, unforgettable and beguiling entry in the artistic rather than exploitational end of the Day in the Life of a Serial Killer genre.

The Artist

Writer & Director:

Michael Hazanavicius

2011, b/w

Films nostalgic about A Golden Era of film-making will always appeal to the narcissism and sentimentality of award-givers – ‘The Artist’ received 5 Oscars and 7 Baftas – but it’s easy to see why. Scorsese’s lesser ‘Hugo’ was a peer also lauded, but the affection for that feels more because of its homage to Georges Méliès, playing to the gallery, than as a standard children’s fantasy (it loses interest in its protagonist as soon as the homage takes over). 

‘The Artist’ is rooted in Guillaume’s Schiffman’s sumptuous black-and-white photography, pleasing locations and sets that effortlessly render the off-stage story in the milieu, the streets and the fancy rooms of the Silent Era. Jean Durjardin and Bérénice Bejo have the matinee idol looks and charm to convince but project with a contemporary knowingness and sensibility that allows connection for a modern audience. Oh, and there’s a cute dog. Make no mistake, this isn’t an Exposé Of A Golden Era: it’s a pure homage and in that way, it’s successful. It means you have to sympathise with the plight of a Silent Movie start losing his privilege and loyal manservant, that a girl can reach the heady heights of stardom on feminine looks and charisma alone. But neither George Valentin (Durjardin) and Peppy Miller (Bejo) are divas or brats so there’s no ill-feelings: just charm.

 

Its most satisfying surprises are in the playful use of sound: Valentin has a nightmare of sounds, for example, or the sudden appearance of ‘Pennies of Heaven’ on the soundtrack. The formal play with the medium produces other treats, such as the frames-per-minute slowing when a reel of celluloid is being looked at. And it’s both this knowingness and uncritical recreation of the era that surely makes it a favourite. It’s charming and winning and carefully made. There’s an overall sense of goodwill that, even if it is guilty by omission of any deeper concerns (such as class and equality), it’s not that film.

 

And it all culminates in a wonderful dance routine that just begs you to be giddy with the escapism of movies. It’s a pretty delightful piece of froth.