HUSH
Overall: MEH
The horror film is prone and furthermore even relies on cliches to make them what they are. Filmmakers continually utilize the same methods to make their films scary and nerve-wracking and it comes down to so many factors such as cinematography, music, pacing, and of course, the subject matter itself. There are several ways to make your characters scared and if done successfully, to scare the audience as well. Having strangers try and break into your house when you are all alone and potentially helpless is on or near the top of the list of things that would be universally terrifying to experience. So a film like Hush from Mike Flanagan and his wife Kate Siegel, (who co-wrote as well as almost exclusively stars here), works as a once sentence premise undeniably. Movies like this are backed into a corner each and every time though. Basically, someone, (practically guaranteed to be a woman), is left at their most vulnerable, and if we are to have a ninety instead of a ten minute movie transpire, their pursuers have to appear inept at playing cat and mouse with them. Which leaves the main protagonist the chance to overcome the odds and often times, their own personal inner-conflicts to not die at the end. For better or worse, that is Hush ladies and gentlemen; a nifty concept that plays the rules just like they are always played.
Overall: MEH
Easily Mike Flanagan's weakest film thus far was his second released in 2016, Before I Wake. There is a number of blunders transpiring on screen here. Similar to the works of M. Night Shyamalan, this has a prominent emphasis on its heartfelt dramatic aspects while forgoing logically coherent details. Most things that happen in this movie happen because it is paramount that the audience be as emotionally invested as possible. Yet when plot holes are so lackadaisically left everywhere, it is impossible to fall for the sap. The story here has genuine elements and the performances are adequate, but simple things like the way the law works and reasonable character behavior are sidetracked to say the least. Also, the undertaking to make everything fit into the horror camp comes off oddly contrived. There is a CGI monster that looks terrible and behaves to a tee the way modern CGI monsters are supposed to, (even though in some scenes it is clearly someone in an actual body suite that looks infinitely better), there are boo scares a plenty of course, there are several specters that show up with zombie skin and empty eye sockets, and all of it seems wildly out of place. Telling a very affectionate tale of coping with the loss of your children, but trying to have your "let's have a creepy horror movie thing jump out of a giant, black Christmas present while smiling" cake too makes this quite a faux pas.
Overall: MEH
While watching Mike Flanagan's director-for-hire job Ouija: Origin of Evil, it could not be more apparent that the man's heart is barely in it. He apparently wanted this to have as little to do with the 2014 lacklust Ouija as possible and really, none could blame him. A derivative yawn with dull throwback elements, (the opening titles, the spontaneous cue marks, the retro color filter, the fact that it is a period piece), it still manages to specifically fall into the contemporary horror stylings of The Conjuring more than anything from decades past. Of course The Conjuring also has intentional call-back moments to older and superior horror films, which actually makes Origin of Evil even more uninspired. All of the film's elements that are meant to be scary are not only entirely rehashed, but also easy to spot a mile and a half away. This sadly is not limited to visual annoyances like CGI-morphed faces, wall crawling, and sudden movements/screechy noises acting as jump scares, but nearly every aspect of the plot itself. Dead family members, psychics, creepy kids, dream sequences, foreshadowing a kindergartner could not miss, expository dialog delivered all at once, even a mental asylum for a few minutes of screen time are all boringly here. Believe it or not, Flanagan actually ignores a handful of cliches he could have easily partaken of, but by that same token, you cannot forgive the handful of cliches he knowingly, (if even endearingly), embraced.
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