Domestic

Infested (2023)

Even Stephen King loves Infested!

So how come I don’t?

French filmmaker Sebastien Vanicek spins an undeniably creepy tale about the rag-tag residents of a dilapidated apartment building besieged by Middle-Eastern spiders that reproduce at an alarming rate.

Our hero, Kaleb (Théo Christine), is an exotic animal fancier and sneaker pimp with a troubled personal life. Seeking to numb his sorrows with a little retail therapy, he buys an expensive spider from a shady agent and promptly loses the little bugger once he gets home.

Next thing you know, there are spiders everywhere! Big ones, small ones, nasty ones, climbing out of every nook and cranny!

The poisonous pests lay eggs in their human victims, so they can emerge from the corpse, en masse, for maximum “ick” factor.

Kaleb’s flat is in the remarkable Picasso Arenas, near Paris, designed by architect Manuel Núñez Yanowsky, which makes for an artfully labyrinthine backdrop for the anxious apartment dwellers trapped between advancing arachnids and brutal, unsympathetic cops trying to contain the threat.

My main beef with Infested is that the spiders themselves are rather lacking in character. Once ensconced in the building, they aren’t especially aggressive, though they do erupt in an impressive array of shapes and sizes.

When I saw Arachnaphobia (1990) in the theater, the audience was so rapt that we were continually brushing our clothes due to imagined, unseen invaders.

Perhaps it was the smaller screen, but the uncanny feeling of being trapped in a web never really materialized in Infested, though not for a lack of effort by Vanicek and a likable cast that spends most of its screen time cowering in dark corners.

This is where the lion’s share of the character development takes place. Old friends confessing their various misdeeds and misunderstandings, diminishing the sense of urgency necessary to sustain tension or terror.

It’s a pretty good movie, just not all that scary. Let’s see if the Arachnophobia reboot can do any better.

You’ll Never Find Me (2023)

Welcome to a dark night of the soul. Even bad people have them.

In some nameless Australian trailer park, Patrick (Brendan Rock) sits in his living room drinking whiskey. Outside, there is thunder and lightning, just like the night Frankenstein’s creature woke up.

Patrick is alone, but not for long.

A wayward woman (Jordan Cowan), lost in the storm and soaked to the skin, pounds on his door seeking a telephone.

“You’ve knocked on the wrong door,” Patrick tells the shoeless visitor.

Of course, things are not that simple. The wrong door depends on who’s standing where.

You’ll Never Find Me, written and co-directed by Australian newcomer Indianna Bell, is an intricately constructed two-person play, featuring unexpected shifts in the power dynamic taking place over the course of a dark and stormy evening.

It’s Patrick’s house, and he’s obviously a formidable man who prefers solitude. A drenched woman with no shoes can’t possibly be a threat.

So why is he uneasy?

Patrick explains to her that feral kids living in the park routinely beat on his door and run away. Even at two in the morning during a violent storm?

That’s enough to drive anyone mad.

Gradually, Patrick warms up to his guest and promises to help her, but he’s also clearly suspicious about her point of origin. She claims she fells asleep at the beach.

“The beach?” Patrick wonders aloud, as if he’d never heard the word.

Viewers are left to puzzle and ponder the scant information provided by these mysterious players, as both sides continue to distract and interrogate the other while passing the time with a few hands of cards.

We can tell from the outset that Patrick is a (deservedly) haunted man, and as the tension in the trailer escalates, a very big decision about his future—the same one faced by Hamlet—becomes an unbearable burden.

With its single set, minimal action, and tiny, terrific cast, You’ll Never Find Me is a harrowing and claustrophobic watch, with revolving doors of trust and deception leading to the ultimate question: To be or not to be.

Original, highly rewarding, and vigorously recommended.

The Changeling (1980)

George C. Scott in an understated role as a classical composer bedeviled by spooks in Seattle? It’s true!

I reviewed The Changeling upon its release for my high school newspaper, wherein I declared it “really scary.”

More than 40 years later, I am revising my opinion. Sometimes “scary” doesn’t age well. But then, neither do I.

Ivory tickler John Russell (GCS) is a recent widower, having lost wife and daughter in a wintery road accident. He takes a teaching job at a small college in Washington state to hopefully get his head together and start composing again.

Instead, the massive mansion generously rented to him by Claire Norman (Trish Van Devere, his real-life wife) from the local historical society, comes with a ghost in the attic that wastes no time banging around upstairs, depriving the maestro of much-needed rest.

A seance arranged by Claire with a psychic couple confirms the presence of a restless child murdered in the house, and it becomes Russell’s mission to bring metaphysical justice to the situation.

Director Peter Hyams (The Relic, Time Cop), a thoroughly capable and professional filmmaker, does a thoroughly capable and professional job on The Changeling.

The problem isn’t him, it’s me.

I suppose a scene in which a possessed antique wheelchair chases Claire around the upper floors of the mansion was sufficient to make teenaged me go, “eek!”

Since then, I’ve logged thousands of hours of community service watching ghosts, ghouls, creatures, cruel killers, and assorted hell-spawn ravaging their way through humanity.

The Changeling, even with its star cast and engaging mystery, comes off as quaint and dated. Weak tea and dry toast.

It’s not simply an age thing. A masterpiece of atmosphere such as Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963) requires nothing more than sound and camera movement to convince us that the supernatural world is all around us.

The Great Scott, who does not bellow, growl, or bloviate, is convincing as Russell, a (literally) haunted man vulnerable/receptive to unseen forces, due to the fresh tragedy in his life.

Though Hyams, Scott, et al, give it the old college try, their collective efforts fail to generate any genuine shock wattage in the 21st century.

The Fog (1980)

The Carpenter Kick continues.

Three years after John Carpenter set the night on fire with Halloween, The Fog, his return to the horror genre, earned lukewarm reviews and is generally considered one of his lesser efforts.

People forget that Carpenter came up helming made-for-TV movies with micro budgets, like Someone’s Watching Me, and Elvis, a surprisingly good Presley biopic from 1979 starring a young Kurt Russell, who was nominated for an Emmy.

Carpenter’s theatrical movies, which tend to feature desperate characters trapped together against unearthly enemies, are similarly economical affairs with superior practical effects by master technicians.

The Fog once again forces his cast indoors as vengeful spirits from a doomed sailing ship descend on a coastal California town on the night of its 100th anniversary.

Speaking of master technicians, makeup and effects whiz Rob Bottin even gets to step in front of the camera as Blake, the leader of the ghostly mariners.

Antonio Bay, California is the setting, as citizens excitedly prepare for the upcoming centennial celebration. Sad-sack sermonizer Father Malone (Hal Holbrook) discovers a diary written by his grandfather, detailing a treacherous deal offered by town founders a century earlier.

It seems that Blake, a well-to-do leper and his flaky followers, were determined to settle near the still-undeveloped Antonio Bay, even sealing the deal with a generous amount of gold.

Instead of welcoming their new neighbors with casseroles, locals lured the leprous crew’s ship onto the rocks with a false campfire, sending the scabrous sailors to a watery grave.

Once the founders lifted the lepers’ loot from the wreck, they had sufficient capital to incorporate and become an actual spot on the map.

To no one’s surprise, this original sin results in sword-wielding spooks rolling into town via a glowing fog bank on founders’ day to slay six unlucky souls to match the number of drowned crew.

The Fog isn’t exactly scary, but it’s got a ton of atmosphere, the 44-year-old effects are decent, and Carpenter keeps the action—and heads—rolling while notching the tension with minimal dialogue and unforeseen events, such as dissonant symphonies of car horns going off at night.

Carpenter’s cast is filled with reliable talent, including, Holbrook as the guilt-ridden Father Malone, Adrienne Barbeau (his wife at the time) as sexy DJ Stevie Wayne, Jamie Lee Curtis as a free-spirit hitchhiker, and her mom, Janet “Psycho” Leigh as the town mayor.

As is par for the course, Carpenter crams everyone into a church in the final scene to keep the spectral swabs at bay, but they only leave after Father Malone returns most of their gold and gets beheaded for his trouble.

And so, order is restored, because you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs.

This is definitely a case that calls for an enhanced re-release with better picture quality, because The Fog is a very dark movie, and I don’t mean thematically.

Note to auteurs: If you plan on a lengthy career don’t use cheap film stock. It can can dim the enthusiasm of the newly curious.

Fresh (2022)

Ask anyone. The dating scene can be murder, especially if the relationship consumes you.

In director Mimi Cave’s black-comic thriller Fresh, Noa (Daisy Edgar-Jones) is a smart, witty, modern girl just looking for a meaningful nibble in her stagnant dating pool when she meets Steve (Sebastian Stan), a super-attractive doctor at her local produce market.

After a quick roll in the sack, Noa is whisked off for a magical weekend trip with the too-good-to-be-true Steve, despite warnings from her lesbian BFF Mollie (Jonica T. Gibbs) that there are some definite red flags in this picture.

Next thing Noa knows is waking up chained to a floor. This is never a good sign.

Turns out Steve has a thriving black market business that needs new blood occasionally.

“What the fuck is happening?” Noa screams at Steve.

“I’ll tell you, but you’re going to freak out,” Steve replies.

Noa is in a very bad place, but she shows grit and determination by convincing her captor that she shares his unusual tastes for the very finest cuts of meat.

Yes, it’s every bit as gruesome as you think, and then some, but Cave also sneaks in stress-relieving laughs when we need them most, particularly after one of the director’s many rapid-fire meat-cutting-and-eating montages designed to make the viewer queasy with self-loathing.

“I don’t eat animals,” Steve tells Daisy in the early days of their courtship. Not ones with four legs, anyway.

Fresh doesn’t pull any punches in its portrayal of toxic masculinity, embodied by the charmingly evil Steve, a respectable man with a home and family who just can’t resist a tempting morsel.

Unfortunately, as any upset stomach commercial ably demonstrates, sometimes your food will fight back.

The Invitation (2015)

I am a restless channel surfer, something that my lovely wife won’t tolerate. So, I have to sneak around like a burglar and surf on the down low when and where possible.

H is for horror. H is also for home.

This is the category I relentlessly peruse. After skimming through the same titles over and over again, I have come to the conclusion that there may be in excess of 5,000 movies about folks trying to rebound from tragedy (kid dies, kid goes missing, kid joins cult, kid kills other kid) by moving somewhere for a “fresh start.”

And it never works.

Our gradual awareness of the significant wounds we acquire (and inflict), while going about the business of our lives, is fertile turf for purveyors of contemporary horror.

We are in a weakened state, and the oceans of emotions used to somehow transform sorrow into a way of “living with it” are often identified as symptoms of madness.

The Invitation, director Karyn Kusama’s dinner-from-hell, is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, by seemingly offering its cast the chance to not only overcome grief and guilt, but to live in a serene present.

Will (Logan Marshall-Green) and his girlfriend Kira (Emayatzy Corinealdi) reluctantly agree to attend a dinner party in Laurel Canyon thrown by Will’s ex-wife Eden (Tammy Blanchard) and her new husband David (Michael Huisman).

Also present are several old friends whom Will hasn’t seen since a tragedy two years before, that resulted in the accidental death of Will and Eden’s son, Ty (Aiden Lovekamp).

Throughout a long evening of reminiscing over excellent wine, David and Eden reveal their true agenda for this jolly reunion, recruiting the guests to accept The Invitation, a growing metaphysical movement that seeks to rehabilitate poor souls suffering from overwhelming guilt.

Like Will.

“Grief, anger, depression, abuse… It’s all just chemical reactions,” Eden explains.

The soiree hits rough waters on several occasions, due to suspicion and eventually open hostility from Will, who pushes back at David’s spiritual salesmanship by storming out of the room every five minutes or so.

“I don’t pretend to know what you went through, and you don’t know me. You can’t!” he growls at David.

His friends are rightfully worried, as Will demonstrates classic post-traumatic paranoia, especially when David locks the doors, explaining that there was a recent home invasion nearby.

But what are Eden and her rather intense new hubby up to?

“Something dangerous is going on, and we’re all just ignoring it because David brought some good wine!” Will barks at the other guests.

The action is a delicately paced slow-burn, as Kusama (Girlfight, Jennifer’s Body, and TV’s Yellowjackets) and husband-screenwriter Phil Hay manifest the most nightmarish episode of dinner and drinks since Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

I urge you to accept The Invitation (at your own risk) and you will be rewarded with a sharp, uncompromising thriller that also serves as a fevered meditation on the various paths we take to process tragic events.

Apparently there is a right way and a wrong way.

The Lake (2022)

The Lake is a movie about many things. Oddly enough, a lake isn’t one of them.

Rather, Thai filmmaker Lee Thongkham has gifted us with a magnificently exotic specimen that defies easy categorization. It also has to be one of the dampest movies ever! There is pouring rain in like 75 percent of the shots!

In a humble Thai village, bordered by a river and a lake, humble Thai fishermen and toad wranglers gather in the gloomy darkness (with rain dumping buckets) to hunt their respective quarries.

While pursuing tasty amphibians one group of men discover an enormous egg and wisely decide to run off with it, no doubt with visions of enormous omelettes in their futures.

Seeking quick profit over respecting the sanctity of the nest, draws the ire of a rampaging parent monster and the interlopers are dealt with harshly.

The egg is found by May (Wanmai Chatborirack) a curious and empathetic little girl who becomes its protector, much to the dismay of her older sister and brother, who now find themselves as the heads of the household and in charge of the willful child, since their father, an unlucky fisherman, was recently squashed by the angry monster.

One of many points raised by writer-director Lee Thongkham, is that the family unit is a sacred thing, which explains why the kaiju from the lake is so thoroughly pissed at these poor starving peasants who’ve made off with her bambino.

Thongkham encourages peaceful solutions to the conflict between the enraged monster and the humans that poached its egg. On the way to forgiving and forgetting, there are many lessons to be learned, including, who knew that Thai monster movies were such a kick?

The creature effects are first-rate. Whether it’s a very nimble dude in a rubber suit raising hell among the fleeing villagers or the XXL version that’s ready rock in Bangkok, fans of monster mayhem will be tickled pink.

Go ahead and take a dip in The Lake. You’ll get all wet, but it’s quite refreshing.

Berberian Sound Studio (2012)

If you’ve ever remarked aloud words to the effect of “this job is killing me,” then perhaps you can understand the kind of hell that protagonist Gilderoy (Toby Jones) faces in Berberian Sound Studio, a meticulously unnerving film by Peter Strickland.

Gilderoy is a sound editor for movies, recognized internationally as a true artisan in a mostly vulgar industry. He takes an assignment in Italy that turns out to be a lurid horror movie about the Inquisition, and finds himself at odds with everyone around him, including the raging director (Cosimo Fusco), the playboy producer (Antonio Mancino), and various unhappy actresses who complain that they haven’t been paid.

Time is measured fitfully. Gilderoy, feeling more trapped every day, is unable to get reimbursed for his airfare by a sneering secretary (Tonia Sotiropoulo), forcing him into a captivity spent devising gruesome sound effects for a movie about (mainly) torture and screaming women.

We are witness to countless taping sessions of chopping, stabbing, boiling, and mutilating many pounds of fruits and vegetables, which never seem to get cleaned up, giving us a behind-the-scenes look at a studio full of moldy produce.

And it appears the mold is growing in direct proportion to the increasing torment depicted in the film being made, which the viewer never sees.

Meanwhile, actresses continue to scream in the sound booth. The director isn’t remotely satisfied with anyone’s terror level, and bullies the hapless audio supervisor into turning things up a bit.

Not surprisingly, the mild-mannered and repressed Gilderoy begins to lose his grip on reality, cheered only by an occasional letter from his mother. Even these become sinister as the days roll by, as if the carnage he helps create in this cursed Italian production has infected every branch in his life.

Writer-director Peter Strickland has cunningly fabricated a stinging slow-burner about the frailty of the creative spirit and how the battle between art and crass commercialism can cost you your very soul—not unlike say, Barton Fink.

Berberian Sound Studio plays out as a hypnotic and haunting collage of rolling tapes, clipping VU meters, and the turning of knobs, all of which contribute to a very soft man’s ruin, brilliantly realized by veteran stage actor Toby Jones, with whom we sympathize every awful step.

It’s also a “way homer” and worth the time it takes to puzzle over. I’m still thinking on it.

Cobweb (2023)

Pity poor Peter (Woody Norman), an eight-year-old kid who just wants a decent night’s sleep, a life without bullies, and a normal mom and dad.

In Cobweb, we learn that Peter’s school days are spent hiding from evil classmate Brian (Luke Busey, a third-generation movie psycho), while his home life is watched over by his stern parents Carol (Lizzy Caplan) and Mark (Antony Starr), an odd, secretive couple who aren’t afraid to dish out severe punishments for being too curious.

The problem is, Peter is being kept awake at night by intermittent tapping in the walls and his freaky parents dismiss his concerns by telling him he has an overactive imagination!

Peter tries to enlist the help of Miss Devine (Cleopatra Cole), his new teacher, but her appearance at his home results in the lad getting locked in the creepy basement, where he makes further contact with someone else living in their house. Someone who develops a powerful hold over the lonely tyke.

Cobweb‘s rookie director Sam Bodin shows off a fully stocked cabinet of gothic panache, creating a nightmare landscape to rival Tim Burton, one that seems all but inescapable to our young protagonist.

Bodin and writer Chris Thomas Devlin understand a child’s limited worldview and what perceived threats can endanger it.

Question: Is it my imagination or does the creative team of this movie enjoy tormenting kids just a bit too much? In any case, Cobweb is a fiercely original film that should scare the bejesus out of any average, run-off-the-mill rugrat.

It’s not for them, anyway.

No One Will Save You (2023)

If you’re a fan of witty, acerbic dialogue, this won’t be your cup of tea.

Instead, No One Will Save You is a master class in visual storytelling from writer-director Brian Duffield (Underwater, The Babysitter, Love and Monsters) who puts his leading lady Kaitlyn Dever through one helluva wringer, all without a single word of exposition.

Through views both intimate and isolating, we meet Brynn Adams (Dever) a young woman with promising artistic talent who lives a solitary existence on the outskirts of town.

On the occasion when she ventures into her small community, it is quite apparent that Brynn is not a popular citizen, as her appearance invokes scorn and derision, all conveyed by a floating camera that hovers nearby like a curious housefly.

So who does Brynn turn to when she discovers that someone has broken into her house? What measures will the nervous girl with the bad reputation take when it appears her intruder is not of this world?

There’s barely a soundtrack to serve up emotional cues—mostly a few ominous Bernard Hermann orchestral swells—so we’re as surprised as Brynn when aliens shows up prowling her pad.

No One Will Save You sucks in the viewer like a Texas Twister from the opening frame. Brynn is a friendless, reluctant heroine with a tragic past who nonetheless steps up when her home is threatened by ambitious extraterrestrials.

For the majority of the running time, it appears that the thing to do is cheer for Brynn, and remain hopeful. This course of action gets increasingly difficult when Duffield zooms out from her personal combat to reveal the state of the rest of society.

Soon, the question becomes, why fight it? Maybe subjugation isn’t such a bad deal. It could even be an effective way to work through crippling anxiety and childhood trauma.

Filmmaker Duffield has fashioned something rather remarkable with No One Will Save You. It’s a silent, sci-fi, home invasion thriller with heavy implications for us to consider, that still manages to be big-ticket entertainment.

Are we the bad guys here? If we weren’t so freaked out about defending our castles, maybe we’d learn something.

Big-time recommendation from this terrestrial citizen.