Dir - Hélène Cattet/Bruno Forzani
Overall: MEH
Same shit, different avant-garde giallo. For their follow-up to their identically structured and maddening debut Amer, experimental Belgium filmmakers/style-over-any-substance-enthusiasts Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani deliver an equally nebulous excess of throwback Italian nightmare fuel. Set entirely in a Eugène Viollet-le-Duc-styled apartment complex, it is a visual cacophony of extreme close-ups, (some obscured and some startlingly detailed), flashy editing, (including black and white sequences done while quick-cutting between photographs), wild color schemes, sex, blood, the giallo killer in noisy black leather, Freudian vagina symbolism everywhere, and too much else to mention. The phrase "too much" is one that will become fixated on the minds of anyone watching and/or enduring all one-hundred and two minutes of this indecipherable experience. That is the only problem with the film in that it pushes so hard in its experimental direction that it depletes the viewer of their senses instead of enhancing them. It feels like an act of mercy once the title splashes across the screen in bold letters, signifying that the ordeal is over and we can snap out of the spell that has been cast upon us. That spell is beautiful, but it is also sadly exhausting.
Dir - Karl Mueller
Overall: MEH
By mixing found footage mockumentaries with some semblance of "conventional" trippiness, screenwriter Karl Mueller's directorial debut Mr. Jones creates a clumsy final product to say the least. The minuscule production scored some wonderful locations in Santa Clarita, California, using an abandoned mineshaft and rundown houses in the woods to set up its couple who move out there for flimsy reasons, filming their ordeal for even more flimsy reasons, and then eventually stumbling upon some cartoonishly creepy scarecrows that lead them to trespass on an even more cartoonishly creepy house because people in horror movies are always complete morons. They justify their actions by trying to make a documentary or coffee table book or whatever about the title character; a mysterious fellow who is either one of the world's most illusive and eccentric sculptures, some kind of unholy shaman, or a protector of evil nightmare realms. Mueller never makes up its mind as to such specifics, (which is a fine route to take in creating ambiguous dread), but he also fails to make up his mind everywhere else. The lead performances by Jon Foster and Sarah Jones seem forced, which is not helped by how underwritten and unlikable they are. Also, the hand held camera work is appalling, and one is hard pressed to make out any of the unsettling images that they are presented with. Also also, it tries to excuse its persistent "Who is filming and editing this?" problems by morphing from just two people turning their cameras on for no reason, to interview footage, to a gloves-off bombardment of bargain bin surrealism. It seems like a genuine attempt was made to offer up something creepy, but the whole ordeal just falls down the stairs.
Dir - Johnathan Levine
Overall: MEH
Comedy writer/director Johnathan Levine takes on zombies in Warm Bodies; a cutesy and harmless romance where two attractive people, (one alive, one not), find love during an undead apocalypse. The premise is both elementary and silly, which makes for an effortless stream of genre gags to accompany a slew of familiar rock, pop, and indie songs on the soundtrack. Clearly ninety percent of the budget went to procuring the rights to said songs and not to the special effects, since the CGI skeleton monsters look pathetic and terrible. They are also about as threatening as Nicholas Hoult's doe-eyed flesh-muncher, who looks like he was plucked right out of a Teen Beat magazine and just needed a few scars and pale makeup to sell the whole zombie shtick. Such grievances are fine though, considering that the movie is light in tone and is not here to reinvent any wheels, let alone scare anyone. In this universe, the more that walking corpses interact with humans on a playful level, the less ghoulish they become, eventually having dreams, gaining pigment in their skin, and speaking in full sentences with minimal effort. This leads to a heartfelt finale where even John Malkovich's militant leader finally fesses up to the fact that these good zombies are on his side, but despite everyone's likeability on screen, the film never delivers any surprising chuckles and just "aw-shucks" itself through its moments.
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