Dir - Lucy Townsend
Overall: MEH
A low-budget indie romp with a unique premise, actor-turned-director Lucy Townsend's full-length debut Scareycrows is far from being laugh-out-loud hilarious, but it is not without some charm. Not to be confused with 2017's other killer scarecrows horror/comedy from Canada, this one centers around a made-up holiday celebrated by a seaside town and a now comatose asshole stuck in a wheelchair who utilizes supernatural means to reap her vindictive vengeance. It plays out like a Shaun of the Dead/The Fog hybrid, with a combination of likeable and annoying characters, thankfully killing off the later in typical slasher movie fashion. One of them is an unnecessarily bitchy salon owner, another a dipshit who constantly sings at the top of his lungs, and another just a condescending friend who refuses to take the diabolical threat as seriously as it deserves. So, watching them all get violently stabbed by something is a deliberate hoot. Likely due to budgetary reasons, the film is consistently lacking in atmosphere and Townsend keeps the gore and profanity at merely modest levels while utilizing no inventive camera tricks or stylistic flourishes Still, she also keeps the pace brisk at only seventy-three minutes, which never gets tedious enough to outstay its welcome.
Dir - Takashi Shimizu
Overall: MEH
Takashi Shimizu's Pied Piper legend retelling Innocent Curse, (Kodomo tsukai, Little Nightmares), suffers from a bloated running time and formulaic mannerisms, rendering it about as frightening as a pair of pink socks. Fusing creepy dolls, unsettling circuses, child abuse, a curse that gets you after three days, kids singing a lullaby several hundred times, and a cartoonish, supernatural villain who looks like a cross between Cradle of Filth band member and steampunk ringleader, it has a lot of showy tropes on display that cross over into silliness. Shimizu utilizes a soft purple color tint for the flashback/otherworldly sequences while rendering the modern day moments in green, which gives the whole thing an off-kilter feel that is no doubt intentional and stylized. At nearly two hours in length, the rudimentary "race against time" plot meanders more than it propels, occasionally breaking its own mystical rules in the process and offering up a barrage of stale visuals such as little ones with white eyes who are simply standing there or tickling adults to death, zombied-out grown-ups caught in vengeance limbo, quirky camera angles, incessant "scary" music, and Hideaki Takizawa camping it up as the big, flamboyant baddie. It plays itself seriously and its uncomfortable treatment of children jives awkwardly with the schlock elements, but it is a slick production that may please forgiving popcorn J-horror fans.
Dir - Sophon Sakdaphisit
Overall: MEH
Overlong and relentlessly hackneyed in all of its horror elements, Sophon Sakdaphisit's The Promise, (Puen..Tee Raluek, Phuean..Thi Raluek), delivers some heavy, supernatural heart string-pulling but is otherwise a slog. It opens during the 1997 Asian financial crisis where two best friends, (possibly in a lesbian relationship which is not explicitly stated), make a suicide pact after their families go bankrupt and the physical abuse and emotional strain proves too much for them to bare. This is more effective than the nearly ninety minutes that follow in the present day where the bestie that backed out of the killing-themselves-deal now has an upset ghost inhabiting her daughter's body to contend with. This is because Sakdaphisit utilizes a never-ending slew of screechy violin noises literally every single time that something "scary" happens as the story goes through one day at a time leading up to a not surprising finale that seems more of a relief than anything else. The dread never lets up and there is no room for any humor as Namthip Jongrachatawiboon's protagonist cries, screams, and cries a whole lot more during her harrowing ordeal. Even with a quasi-syrupy ending, it is not a feelgood watch by design, plus genre fans will likely be disappointed by its lack of uniqueness.
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