All genres of suspense, terror, and horror will be reviewed by Richard Gary. His address to send preview copies supplied upon request to rbf55@msn.com.
Showing posts with label Robert Barry Francos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Robert Barry Francos. Show all posts
Saul at Night Directed by Cory
Santilli JawDoc Productions;
Utopia
85 minutes, 2019 / 2022
Covid vaccines. Voting
suppression. Conspiracy theories. In all of these, and more, there is a
contingent of people who believe that the government is trying to control our
lives. Of course, this is mostly nonsense, but this film takes it as reality in
a dystopian, twisted way. No, there’s no martial law, no Big Brother monitors.
It’s all sort of mundane, really. And it is expressed in the opening shot of
sheep, which could be referring to sleep, or…
In this version of
society, sleep is mandatory from 10 PM to 6 AM. For everybody. Well, everybody
except the titular – unrelated to “Please Call” – Saul (Kentucker Audley). For
he alone is, in the words of Rhonda Sheer, up all night, for the same 8 hours
everyone else is in sleepyville. While he sleeps, the world goes on around him,
including his wife, Kathyrn (Stephanie Ellis) and their early teenaged daughter,
Cleo (Acadia Colan). Sleep is enforced and controlled, so you fall asleep and
wake up on the dot, and do not wake up in-between (do people wear adult diapers
to bed, or is that controlled, too, I wonder…).
Kentucker Audley
They’re all in the
same house, at the same time, but when the females are sleeping, Saul is awake
with nothing to do all night, and vice versa during the day as Kathyrn goes to
work and the kid attends school. For him, there is no television (no one to
watch it, technically, so nothing is aired), no radio, no open stores – though
everything seems to be unlocked as he wanders about, including a shopping
center (Swansea Mall) and museums – since no one else is awake to steal
anything; and like a vampire, no sunlight (I hope he’s getting enough Vitamin
D). There are only handwritten notes passed between Saul and his family. In
this world, there are no home computers, and cell phones will not work for him
since there is no one awake to talk. Well, the one computer proper we do
get to see is an old cathode monitor rather than a slim type. And when Saul
needs to check in with the government at an office, we see green text on black
screen, like coding before WYSIWYG.
Suzanne Clément
When he’s not at home,
he’s roaming around an empty Providence, RI (I’m surprised the street lights
are on, because in real life, they would be turned off to save government
funds), until he suddenly meets someone else who is awake, French-only speaking
Amalur (Suzanne Clément, who is Quebecois). After being essentially
alone after over 800 days with no one to talk to, or hug, this is a blessing,
and a curse. Until they meet, there is perhaps only a dozen words spoken in the
film. When Amalur talks, there are very easy to read big, yellow subtitles, I’m
grateful to say.
For the longest time,
this is a personality study about loneliness, and the lack of mutual
spontaneous affection. Even though Saul and Amalur don’t understand each
other’s monologs, talking past each other, the sound of another’s voice draws
them to each other, even though they both have families. And yet, for some
reason, we see the effects on the daytime side of Saul’s family, but not
Amalur’s husband and three sons (we only see a photo of them).
There is a very
subtle commentary on propaganda and mind control, as we see the rare television
commercial (there is no new programming, apparently, as all we see is a clip
from the politically safe The Dick Van Dyke Show from the early 1960s;
MAGA?) and a billboard, both promoting sleep.
Stephanie Ellis
It’s interesting, of
course, to see the slow burn relationship between Saul and Amalur, as they both
try to communicate the best they can, and not let emotions muck things up,
which of course they do, but not necessarily how one might imagine. The film
does not take the easy or obvious road, but perhaps a more realistic one. Emotions
and nerves are close to the edge for all involved, not just for Saul and
Amalur.
The film has been
described as science fiction, which is nonsense. I’m sure in the mind of
whomever wrote their publicity the fact that it’s a dystopian, authoritarian
existence that may be what gave them that idea as a descriptor, but with voting
rights being stomped on and a possible Gilead in our future, where technology
is controlled by the government, the alterations would be in shades of
difference from our current reality, rather than some grand Zardoz (1974),
Logan’s Run (1976) or even Orwell’s 1984 perspective. There is an
old bon mot that states that films about the past and future are really about
the present. This one is especially true.
Considering this is
the director’s initial feature after a few shorts, it is quite the impressive
debut. The acting is all top notch, though considering the history of the
talent that is hardly surprising, and despite the slow and steady pace, there
is still a feeling of tension and urgency among the angst. A beautiful and
moving film, as well as a warning of what may be around the corner.
“What Walks There Walks Alone”: A
Comparison of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House and Robert
Wise’s The Haunting
While going
for my advanced degree in Media Ecology at New York University, I took a class
with Professor Joy Boyum, “Fiction into Film,” and wrote this as a report. It matches
one of my favorite books with one of my best-loved films. The paper is dated
May 5, 1993. Please note for those who have neither read the book or viewed the
film, there are spoilers.
Clown:
“O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear, your true-love’s coming.
That can sing both high and low
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting.
Every wise man’s song doth know.”
– Twelfth Night, Act 2, Scene 1
Robert Wise’s direction of The Haunting (1963),
an adaptation of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House (1) (1959),
remains one of the more memorable psychological supernatural thrillers brought
to the screen. The film’s success has much to do with the cinematic elements
brought to the story as the tale itself.
Wise’s choice to not show the apparition(s),
with one brief exception a heartbeat long, is an effective tool for presenting
a stronger psychological narrative edge to the story that perhaps might have
been lost if he had chosen the easier “fright” route of wraith effects. The
doorknob jiggling and mysterious hand-holding is all the more convincing because
of the riddle of who or what is roaming the halls of Hill House.
Wise also emphasizes an element of
claustrophobia that is sometimes lacking in the novel. Jackson places much of
the action during the day on the grounds and hills surrounding the house;
invisible footfalls in the grass appear less horrific. Wise, however, used the darkness
of mahogany interiors, earth tones and shadows to give the viewer a sense of
entrapment and depraved evil. Once the lead protagonist, Eleanor, arrives at
Hill House, the only outdoor scenes are two on the terrace (first in daylight,
then at night) and two on the grounds, by the front door, when Mrs. Markway
arrives (day) and Eleanor’s final departure from the house (night).
One of the perplexities of Hill House is the
way the house is designed. Eighty years earlier than the story is set,
the house’s architect, the overbearing Hugh Crain, build a structure that was as
distorted and enigmatic as its contriver. Wise sets a somber tone through the
use of quick, jerky editing and especially irregular camera angles to reveal
the skewed house design and a conundrum of doors that shut themselves (by
design, not spirit).
The key theme of the film, as well as the
novel, is loneliness. Both are introduced by a prologue (narrated on film),
“Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness
within… and whatever walked there, walked alone.” Entering into this dark
isolation are four characters, each lonely in his or her individual way.
Eleanor Lance (Vance, in the novel), played by Julie Harris, arrives after
years of isolation spent taking care of her domineering and sickly mother.
Eleanor views her stay at Hill House as a chance to flower, to belong. In the
novel, she repeatedly utters a line from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night: “Journey’s
end in lovers meeting.” Though this is only quoted once in the film, the theme
remains the same: there is a sense of love’s absence, of a desire to find a
place in the universe where she is her own person, accepted by others for who
she is. Eleanor has no real home (she lives with her sister’s family), no one to
love, and no one to love her.
There is an almost claustrophobic feel of
dread and naivete about the world within her, as she created a dream life of an
apartment of her own with matching stone lions on the mantlepiece. Eleanor is desperate
to fit in and gain back what she believes she had lost through many years of
solitude.
The future owner of Hill House, Luke Sanderson
(Sannerson in the film, played by Russ Tamblyn), is also rejected by his
family. His lonely past has produced a “liar…also a thief.” The novel presents
Luke as an in-depth character who is a scalawag, but also has a heart, and is
merely acting out of his sadness and need to be accepted. He is presented as
the first possibly lover at “journey’s end” for Eleanor. In the film, however,
he remains undefined, reduced to comic relief.
Whereas in the novel, Dr. John Montague
(Markway in the film, Richard Johnson), who leads the supernatural “expedition”
into the house, is known by Eleanor to be married from his first introduction;
this fact is hidden from her in the film, setting up a possible liaison between
them. Is John the lover at “journey’s end”? Many of the romantic actions taken
by Luke in the book are given to John in the film, such as offering a steadying
hand to Eleanor as she looks up at the tower (nearly toppling over a balcony),
or rescuing her from the shaky ladder in the library. The novel presents John
as lonely, due to the shrewish nature of his wife, unnamed except as Mrs.
Montague. She is presented as a person who has no regard for her husband’s methods,
dismissive of Montague as a person, self-promoting, and a supernatural
“expert.” The film merely hints that John is lonely, and might end up in
the company of Eleanor.
A subplot of possible lesbian romance is then
presented by the last of the four main characters, introduced by Theodora
(Claire Bloom). This theme is interjected in the novel as Theo arrives at Hill
House after a painful fight with her “roommate,” feeling dejected and somewhat
bitter. In the film, Theo’s orientation is broached through dialogue, presented
more as the reason for her loneliness: “By the time I’m through with you
Nell, you’ll be a different person”; elsewhere asked what she is afraid of, Theo
responds, “Of knowing what I really want.” Her sarcastic manner is treated as
rooted in the sexual orientation, as well. Though Eleanor is repulsed by
Theodora’s sexuality in the film (“The world is full of inconsistencies.
Unnatural things. Nature’s mistakes, they’re called. You, for instance.”), in
both the film and the novel, Eleanor eventually wants to go off and live with
Theodora. The author posits this as another possibility of “journey’s end where
lovers meet”.
A third theme of the story is that of
parental/daughter relationships. Although Hugh Crain designed the house, he
barely resided there, and eventually died in Europe. It is his warped vision
that dominates the house, however, with a malevolent (male-violent) influence.
His evil is that of control. Even in designing the house, he materialized his
own vision rather than relying on others, with skewered angles and unmatched
lines, going against architectural conformity to express his will. It was with
this will that he ran his house while occupying it with his daughter(s). His
religious fanaticism, which evolved from his bitterness over his wife’s/wives’
demise led him to warn his daughter, “Honor thy father and thy mother,
daughter, authors of your being, upon whom a heavy charge has been laid, that
they lead their child in innocence and righteousness, along the fearful narrow
path of everlasting bliss…” Though his physical presence in the house was
minimal, his influence remains, and it is this warped domination which seems to
affect the weakest of those who enter the house, subduing them to the power of
his control.
Hugh Crain’s malevolence is directed at women.
All who die at Hill House are women: first the wife of Crain, who is killed in
an accident on the grounds before even viewing the house; second, their eldest
daughter (only daughter in the film), Abigail (Sophia in the novel), who dies of
pneumonia at an elderly age in her bedroom, the nursery (“the heart of Hill
House”), while her young servant/companion “dallied in the garden with some
village lout”; third is the companion, who inherits Hill House, who hangs
herself in the library. The last woman to die is Eleanor herself, a possible suicide
who seeks to remain at Hill House, under the influence of the evil will of Hugh
(2) Crain.
There are overlapping images in the context of
the story. An example is that both Eleanor’s mother and Hugh Crain’s daughter
die while banging on the walls for help. This “mother/daughter” parallel is
further mirrored by Eleanor’s guilt over presumed negligence in having slept
through her mother’s knocking, as did the companion, who “dallied” while her
mistress died in distress. Both Eleanor and the companion become obsessed with
the house and the staircase in the library. Both eventually commit suicide. Similarly,
Hugh Crain’s wife died without ever having entered the house, whereas Eleanor
dies driving into a tree at the same spot on the grounds so she does not have
to leave.
In Wise’s vision even more than Jackson’s,
Eleanor is treated by all as a woman-child, though she is in her early 30s,
because of her innocent and cloistered life. In a scene where she is seeking
permission to use what is essentially her half-owned car from her sister’s
family, the relatives reject her request because they view her as childlike and
consequently irresponsible. This scene is dramatized while a child’s melody is
played in the background. Also, throughout the film, again more than the novel,
Theo often calls her by the nickname “Baby,” sometimes in a patronizing tone.
This, of course, reflects back to the nursery, the heart of Hill House, which
has been collecting victims for years. The inflection is present in the novel,
but in a more subtle, sardonic way.
The characterization that is most changed from
novel to film is that of Mrs. Montague (named Grace for the film, played by
Lois Maxwell). Whereas she is a totally disagreeable character in the book
owing to her obnoxious ego and dismissal of concern for nearly all others, the
cinematic version lives up to her first name, presenting her as a strong and
decent person who is unintentionally triangled between John and Eleanor. In the
movie, Eleanor suggests Grace sleep in the “evil” nursery in a pique of jealous
spite, while in the novel, John makes this suggestion because he is acquiescing
to his wife.
Two other characterizations that are altered
from the original source are those of Dr. Montague/Markway and Luke Sannerson/Sanderson.
In the book, Montague, while the leader of the psychic exploration to Hill
House, is seen as a three-dimensional character who is sometimes flawed and
always human. In the film, perhaps because he is presented as a potential love-interest
for Eleanor, Markway becomes a near-swaggering Petruchio-type hero; one can
almost her him slap his knee in self-righteousness. Luke, on the other hand, is
treated the opposite: whereas Montague to Markway comes from human to hero,
Luke Sanderson to Sannerson goes from possible love-interest to practical
joking comic chorus.
An obvious problem in adapting the novel to
the film would be similar that of any phycological drama, the inner narrative
voice. Thought processes are the crux of psychological drama, as the
protagonist struggles with distressing events, and the consequences that are
faced become more severe. Wise takes the most direct approach, and has
Eleanor’s thoughts presented via voice-overs. Though this may be a potentially
overbearing and distracting technique, Wise uses it to optimum effect, holding
back and letting the actor’s expressions tell us of her own inner turmoil in particular
scenes, while voice-overs detail the trauma in others.
In the novel form, the horror story, be it temporal,
spiritual or psychological, has its work before it. Unless the subject matter touches
on the personal fear of the reader, such as something/someone hiding in a
closet or a phobia, like fear of heights (e.g., Vertigo, 1958), the
printed word needs to be worked harder to be shocking, especially to those who
grew up watching film. Historical horror novels such as Mary Wollstonecraft
Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) or Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Rappaccini’s Daughter” (1844), were
written when there were no moving images that could shock with a sudden “Boo!”,
so the imagination of the reader of the stories is needed to be able to
horrify. Present-day writers such as Clive Barker and sometimes even Stephen
King manage to frighten, but their shocks come from the gross and the gory. The
Haunting of Hill House was published during a period when the horror novel
was based more on the psychological than “visual” manifestations, therefore
crating a timeless horror that does not need to go “boo” or bleed.
Film has a great potential for
frightening the viewer. Whereas the novel can horrify by leaving the terror “unnameable”
(as H.P. Lovecraft was fond of doing) and inviting the reader to realize his or
her worst fear. A film can frighten by presenting a haunting image or a sudden
shock. For example, while the echoing, pounding on walls and jiggling of the
doorknob as “whatever walked there” searches for Eleanor and Theodora in the
Haunting of Hill House creates fear, in The Haunting, the dimension
of fear is heightened by watching the door bend under the weight of the
spirits, the wall- and door-pounding becomes deafening (especially as the
cadence gets perceptually louder, faster and more menacing), and the dissonant disembodied
voices of the mysterious forces (such as what sounds like hard fire and
brimstone preaching by Hugh Crain to his daughter) fill the senses by filling
the screen. Add to this the cinematic touches of shadow and light, juxtaposing
camera angles, eerie music (3) by Humphrey Searle, and dissonant editing
(4).
Through cinematic devices, Wise hold
back on visual information about the antagonistic spirits, to heighten the
sense of mystery and fear through the unknown. He uses the occasional lack
of music to make the terror feel more imminent and tangible, and skewed
closeups to place a fearful image immediately before the viewer in arresting
perspective. While Jackson has Eleanor see spirits in one form or another
(spying invisible foots falls in the grass or viewing ghostly picnics), Wise
chooses not to rely as much on the visual to frighten, but by way of a literary
perspective, employing the imagination, all the while using the cinematic
process to make the viewer’s imagination hold one in terror. The fear of the unknown
usually tends to be less challenging to accept on film because of the
temptation to show precisely what is there for which to be afraid. By choosing
not to display some blatantly showy special effects (other than an occasional
breathing door, for example), and relying on cinematic techniques, wise raises
the stakes from cheap thrills to high horror, without gore and without
hackneyed effects (5).
By viewing the film before reading
the novel, I was able to grasp some concepts that may not have been so obvious
from using the book as the primary source. Details in print are usually more
thorough in pointing out specifics, consequently more information is passed to
the reader. Due to the time in literary history the book was published,
however, less emphasis was placed on the homosexual aspects of the characters
of Theodora and, more subtly, Eleanor (6). The subtlety of this aspect
may have been lost on the reader, but to the viewer, these themes were clearer
and more straightforward.
Another interesting aspect of the
film that Wise added is having the final prologue spoken by Eleanor, after her
death. The closing line was changed from “Whatever walked there, walked alone,
to “We who walk there, walk alone.” By adding this change, Wise
solidifies the realization that the main character and antagonist in both the
film and the novel is Hill House itself. It is the neediest and most demanding.
It is the most appalling, and yet seductive. It is Hill House that is the lover
Eleanor meets at “journey’s end.”
Footnotes:
1. Screenplay by Nelson Gidding.
2. “Hugh” is Old German for “Will”.
3. Music by Humphrey
Searle.
4. Editing by Ernest Walter.
5. For the opposite school of thought, see the Roger Corman films of the same
period.
6. Though novels such as Radclyffe Hall’s The
Well of Loneliness (1928) and Lillian Hellman’s play, The Children’s
Hour (1934) had already been published with the themes, mainstream fiction
still apparently considered the subject a taboo.
Before I started watching this update of a reissued 1994 British documentary
television show about arguably one of the three most important horror film
companies in the 20thCentury – the other two being Universal
Pictures and American International Pictures (AIP) – I tried to think back to
the first Hammer Film Production I can remember seeing in the theater. It could
have been She, The Nanny (which began
my crush on Pamela Franklin for a couple of decades), Die! Die! My Darling!, or One
Million Years BC (all released in 1965). However, I have a vague memory of
seeing The Creeping Unknown as a
second-bill feature years after its original release as Quatermass Xperiment (1955), probably as a back-up for one of the
AIP Poe releases with Vincent Price; they helped cement my love of the genre
through the decades. Since then, I saw so many of their films and franchises, Dracula
and Frankenstein, especially.
It makes good sense that the narrators of this documentary are the
biggest stars Hammer helped introduce to Western cinema: Christopher Lee (d.
2015) who was best known as Dracula in Hammer Films, and the man with the
world’s greatest cheekbones, Peter Cushing (1994, soon after this was released;
I was a member of his British Fan Club), who reimagined by Dr. Frankenstein and
Van Helsing. It should be noted that Cushing’s career dates back to appearing
in the Laurel and Hardy feature, Chumps
at Oxford.
Wisely, it starts off right at the beginning, with how the name Hammer
originated (which I did not know, or perhaps did not remember), into its
formation as a viable force during the post-World War II period, and how they
attained their admirable talent, such as director Freddie Francis.
There is a nice compendium of archival footage and early ‘90s modern interviews, so many of the stars
of the early releases, as well as the classic ones, such as Francis (d. 2007),
Hazel Court (d. 2008; one of the few to be in both Hammer and AIP films), Ingrid
Pitt (d. 2010) and Veronica Carlson are present for first-hand accounts. We see
original footage and modern interviews of both actors and crew. Also enjoyable
are interviews with some American directors, and how they were influenced by
the Hammer collection, such as Joe Dante, John Carpenter, and Martin Scorsese.
A point they make here but don’t dwell on (consider the name of the
documentary, after all), is that early on there was hardly a genre that Hammer
didn’t tackle, including swashbuckling, crime dramas, and science fiction. It
was the Quatermass mash-up of sci-fi and horror that got them noticed to an
Ameican audience, which is where the larger money was, and from there it was
the revitalization and reboots of the classic Universal monsters where the
studio became financially sound. Peter Cushing says at one point, paraphrasing
the name of one of his films, “Frankenstein Created Hammer.”
Rather than follow the releases merely chronologically, wisely break the
film up into “groups.” For example, there is a whole segment that just focuses
on the Frankenstein films, some more successful in quality than others, in my
opinion, and thankfully everyone looks at it both nostalgically and with a
sense of whimsy, including David Prowse (he would go on to play Darth Vader in
the original three Star Wars films)
and Cushing himself, who comments at some point that his hair in a later film
looked like Helen Hayes. Needless to say, this is an exciting part of the film
for me.
After Frankie-Baby, there’s “The Count Also Rises,” discussing, well…
Dracula (are you surprised? If you are, you need to see this and learn your
horror history, Jack… or Jill). Actually, I do agree and disagree on a point
they make in this segment. They comment that what makes Lee’s Dracula so
special is the level of sexuality he brings to the character. Well, yes,
onscreen he definitely made some in the audience swoon (both female and male, from those I’ve talked to),
but to imply that Lugosi’s Big-D wasn’t sexy is just wrong. Lugosi was a major
sex symbol in the 1930s and ‘40s (pre-drug addiction), and while there was no
blatant sexuality on screen as there was with Lee (e.g., a woman lying in bed
pulling down her neckline to be bitten), Lugosi’s portrayal just burned with
sensuality, using his voice – as is true with Lee’s baritone – and eyes,
specifically. Can I get an Amen?
Younger people may think of Lee as Saruman, but for those “kids” of my
g-g-generation, Lee is Dracula and Dracula is Lee; and I say this with the
utmost respect and admiration. When he plays other roles, such as Lord
Summerisle in the wickedly great The
Wicker Man (1973; not the Nic Cage travesty remake), it’s easy to accept.
But when Lee’s name is mentioned, it’s his cape and red eyes that come to mind.
The Dracula-based series was also extremely popular for the company, though Lee
pulled the plug on himself continuing the role after the cartoonish and garish Dracula AD 1972 (1972) and The Satanic Rites of Dracula (1973). He
explains why here, which is good to hear dripping from his lips directly.
The second half of the documentary is a bit more esoteric, covering many
bases. For example, there is a look at a few films that did not make money,
such as the sensationalist courtroom drama Never
Take Candy From Strangers (1960) and the sci-fi thriller The Damned (1963) to how Hammer had one
of the first full-time female producers with Aida Young (though Freddie Francis
sorta poo-poos her role). On more a more technical side there is discussion
about how Hammer used exceptional crews and eventually had their own look (they
definitely did), and how they managed to score major talent, such as Oliver
Reed, from both the UK and the US.
Adaptations of classics (e.g., Phantom
of the Opera in 1962 and The Devil
Rides Out in 1968) are discussed, including an interview with my personal
favorite horror writer, Richard Matheson (d. 2013).
Now, Hammer kinda hit its stride, especially with me, in the late 1960s and
in the early ‘70s, and I have no doubt looking back that part of it had do so
with what is covered in a chapter here called “Hammer Glamour.” The stars were
good looking; there were bountiful cleavage, and a strong sense of both horror
sexuality and sensuality. Films like Dr.
Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), Lust
for a Vampire (1971) and Twins of
Evil (1971) were fine examples of what fed a teenage boy the equivalent of
what many superhero films do now with the same formula using Harley Quinn
(Margot Robbie), Black Widow (Scarlett Johannson) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot).
Wisely, this film looks at both the good (marketing) and bad (sexism/gender
politics, as well as the overuse of the theme of sexy lesbian vampires*) of
this aspect, though because it was filmed in the early ‘90s, perhaps not as
deeply as it might since the emergence of the #metoo current history.
This logically leads into the prehistoric releases that seemed to begin
with One Million Years BC, including
interviews with its two major stars, Raquel Welch and the underrated Martine
Beswick; the latter would go on to other dinosaur-and-human releases that
seemed to come out quite often, and were often over-acted and over-melodramatic
in joyful exuberance. There are also a couple of brief interviews with the man
who designed many of them, the king of pixilation himself, Ray Harryhausen (d.
2013).
This was actually getting close to the end of the Hammer phenomenon,
with their the horrible but (unintentionally) hilarious last horror film To the Devil and Daughter in 1975, and
the 1979 horrible and not hilarious (unintentionally) comedy The Lady Vanishes. But thanks to
extended footage added to this new version of the documentary, we are told of
its somewhat limited revival in 2008, with the likes of Let Me In (2010) and The Woman
in Black (2012).
This is a fun and informative way to spend a couple of hours of horror
film history, and with the 40 minutes of added footage, all the more bettah. It’s well thought out,
extensive in its clips and interviews, and pretty thorough.
I do need to add a comment, however, about something I felt was left out. In the late 1960s and through
the ‘70s, Hammer wisely chose to go into the home distribution market, well
before the advent of VHS. It was common to see 8mm and Super 8mm short versions
of Hammer Films in 50’ (4 minutes) and 200’ (15 minutes) versions, both with
sound and silent. I still have a batch of the silent ones somewhere, though no
projector anymore. This was some solid marketing.
* It should be noted that one of the very first horror stories ever
published in modern history, even before Dracula,
was the 1871 Joseph Le Fanu novella, Carmella,
about a lesbian vampire.
So,
we all know there is death after life, which is physical reality. But the more philosophical
one is whether there life after death. If there is, what is the form it takes?
Do we go to heaven or hell, meet 72 virgins, get to sit with Ra or Osiris (or
the god of your choice), or do we just….fffffttt
out?
In
my opinion, this is a prospect based on the fear of begin gone and forgotten.
There is also somewhat of an ego aspect, as in, I must go on! Most religions tell us that we suffer in this world
to be rewarded in the next, but in so many of the ghost stories we are told
that the souls that wander the Earth are tormented, either seeking justice, or
reliving the nightmare of their death over and over. Or, in some cases, seeking
revenge against the living. Every culture has their version of ghosts, from
Casper-ish wisps, to see-through people, or the stringier, long-haired and
dark-eyed Asian version.
I’ve
had my own experiences, as have had most, though I’m still not sure what it
was. In my early twenties, I stayed at a friend’s parent’s house where she were
still living. They had a full suite downstairs and I snuggled in at some late
hour after hanging out with the family. I was just falling asleep when I felt
something sit on the bed. I assumed it was my friend to talk more, but I turned
on the light and there was no one there. Needless to say, I did not sleep the
rest of the night. In the morning, at the breakfast table, I shared my
experience. Very calmly, she said, “Oh, that’s just my grandmother. She used to
live down there until she died in the bed. She comes back to visit sometimes; she’s
harmless. I was furious for not being warned (I would have driven the two hours
to get home). We’re still friends now.
This
documentary seeks to discover what happens afterwards, especially since there
is an entire market of people who are fascinated by the topic, or claim they
can be in touch with those “beyond.” I’m not saying I believe it’s true or not,
simply because I know that I don’t know. Experts, whatever that means, also
take extreme camps on their side of the argument. There was a time in my life that
I dated the assistant of a well-known professional psychic. I’m still not
convinced, though (part of why she chose to be an ex-).
Forrest J Ackerman / pic by Robert Barry Francos
The
first disc has two central characters, one living, and one ethereal. The person
still suckin’ air is the director, Paul Davids. The premise is that he has a printed
out piece paper from a computer that has a mysterious smudge on it, and he’s
convinced it’s a message from the dear departed, writer / Famous Monsters of Filmland publisher and genre promoter Forrest J
Ackerman (a man I greatly admire and have seen talk at a few conventions in the
early 1990s), who had rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible in
2008.
The
documentary is kind of a frenetic road trip attempting to prove that Forry, as
he is commonly referred by fans, has been quite active since he’s been bereft
of life by throwing down papers, moving objects, filling masks with electric
energy, and making coincidences happen around puns.
There
is more than a hint of skepticism present, I’m happy to say, by scientists. Again,
I don’t have an opinion about an afterlife (though the thought of real ghosts
as opposed to cinematic ones still make me unconformable), I’m just against
arguments that are only one-sided. For example, one psychologist here states
that the human brain tends to put things into patterns to help them make sense,
and may see them where they are not, such as seeing shapes by combining stars
(e.g., the belt of Orion).
Thing
is, everybody loved Forry, and not surprising as he was a genuinely sweet man-child
with a pun-loving humor – the worse the better – who touched so many people’s
lives, even if you’ve never heard of
him. Well, if you’re reading this, you probably have, but I digress… Getting
back on point, because he was so beloved, people understandably want it to be true, to keep contact with
someone important to them. Again, I’m not
saying it isn’t so, but…
Through
the length of the disc, we meet scientists, psychics, people who knew Forry intimately
(such as his caretaker over the last years of his life, Joe Moe), and even ink
specialists who try to diagnose the smudge on Davids’ paper, to try and figure
out if it’s supernatural in origin. The filmmakers look at it both from
spiritually and as a scientific phenomenon.
There
are two ways to look at this body of information, the first being that it’s a
lot of coincidences that people see what they want to see (for example, the clock on the wall behind the drawing
of Forry on the DVD cover, done a few years before his death, supposedly shows
the exact time he passed), or that there is a lot of these events. Either way, they are catalogued and shown in
great detail.
While
fun to some extent, especially since so much of it is about Forry, who I
believe would have be greatly bemused by this kind of attention. It does seem
to go on for a long time and over 106 minutes for this disc alone. Which brings
us to…
The
second disc, at 101 minutes, is titled “Life After Death Project 2: Personal
Encounters.” This one takes a bit of a different approach than the first disc; this
is more of an investigation of the separation of the spirit from the body in a
few different forms.
For
example, we meet a number of people, most in the Southwest between California
and Texas, talking about seeing ghosts in retirement homes, ERs, and hotels,
among others. Some discuss seeing the spirit actually leaving the body in the
form of a wisp of smoke out of the mouth, or a gold orb from the chest. We also
meet a team of ghost hunters, but the camera stays focused on Davids as he “plays
poker” with a spirit, calmly making bets depending on an electronic reader that
supposedly reacts to the spirits desires. I’m a bit skeptical about that one.
An
interesting segment to me is more about out-of-body experiences, where e person
has died and left the body, observing his/her surroundings, and/or talking to
spirits (angels?) discussing the situation. No mention of seeing a religious
entity, I’m happy to say. If I heard one person saying they saw Jesus, Moses or
Mohammed, they would have lost me completely.
One
scientist / philosopher states that many who have had these near death experiences
gain psychic abilities, which sounds a bit too Stephen King / The Dead Zone to me, though who knows,
perhaps that’s true.
My
biggest issue with the content is everything is either post-fact or unprovable.
Four people say 0ne of them received a phone call from someone who had just
died. Okay. Why should I take their word for it? Others talk about how they
left their house and an object was moved while they were gone. Okay, how much
is being read into it? In another case, a mask flew off a wall (there’s a lot
of mask action going on in these films) during a party and lands a couple of
feet away from the wall. One person discusses it (the director), claiming there
were others in the room, but no word from them.
Forrest J Ackerman / pic by Robert Barry Francos
As
with the first film/disc, there is an awful lot of conjecture based on
coincidence, which is like sending someone to prison on circumstantial evidence.
Does a distorted video recording a ghost sighting make? If I may digress for a
second, this all reminds me that there is a brilliant book from 1976 by Julian
Jaynes (d. 1997) called The Origin of
Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. It’s a fascinating
study about what is “consciousness,” and when it first came to humans as a
species. The problem with the book, and why some of it was hard to fathom for
me – and this goes to these films – is that if certainly feels like the premise
came first, and the evidence is used to prove the premise, rather than the proof
bringing a conclusion. This film, unlike the first, is more one sided, which
was a bit disappointing to me. The first had some skeptics “experts,” but here
it’s everyone on the same page.
Oh,
this is certainly a fun ride, and despite my own agnosticism about the topic,
it was a fun watch, even though, again, much of it felt quite self-serving, as
in let’s make a film about this topic and
then make me the focus! It’s a well put together work in its narrative
framework, but I had more moments of c’mon
than I should have.
There
were only two secondary but real annoyances though. The first was that the
descriptor captions for the talkers went by too fast for the amount of text
(two or three seconds), and I had to keep going back and pausing. On the other
hand, I appreciate that the titles were repeated when the speakers came back;
not enough documentaries do that. The other thing that I found grating was due
to the single-camera filming, there were a lot of jump cuts in each segment.
One of the director near the end jumps every few seconds. Perhaps most people
would not notice it much, but I found it distracting.
There
are about 40 minutes of extras included with the DVDs (on the first disc),
which I thoroughly enjoyed. There is a Play
All button, which I engaged, and sat through them, happily. The only one
that came close to being whatever was
the last one. The others, mostly about Forry, including his friendships with
the likes of Ray Harryhausen and Ray Bradbury dating back to the 1930s (and
initiating their careers), are great stuff. Also, more info about his wife and
his house (the Ackermansion) which was infamous for its collection of sci-fi (a
term Forry is credited with creating) and horror. The extras are:
Forrest J Ackerman: He Coined the Term ‘Sci-Fi’
Uncle Forry, Joe Moe and the Demise of the Ackermansion
The Director’s Relationship with Forrest J.
Ackerman
Ray Bradbury, Rick Baker and Paul Davids Speaking at the Ackerman Tribute
Jacob McMurray, Senior Curator of the Science
Fiction Museum
Dr. John Allison, 3 Years After the Inkblot
Incident
I
have no doubt that there is an audience for these two discs, and I do recommend
it for them. There is a lot of good information among the peacocking, so
definitely check it out if this is your speed of a topic. Off the top of my
head, I can think of about half a dozen friends and acquaintances who would get
a kick out of this, and will tell them about it, without hesitation.
