So Maybe the NYC MTA Isn't the Worst Institution In the World...

For better and worse, found footage horror has become to the 21st century what the slasher film was to the 1980s and, perhaps more specifically, what the zombie genre has always been to the aw shucks world of DIY indie filmmakers who didn't go to film school. Where enthusiastic wannabe auteurs used to wrangle their friends into undead makeup in the hopes of reaching rental shelves, the generation raised on The Blair Witch Project now uses shaky cam and night vision to make their cinematic dreams a reality. It's just as cheap and, I assume, far less messy.

Strangely enough, I'm also finding it far superior. Like any horror genre, found footage has its piles of duds, but when you compile a list of its offerings, the good far outweigh the bad. For every misguided Diary of the Dead, there's Megan Is Missing, Grave Encounters, and lower profile but still quite strong picks like Skew and The Feed. Even the most successful of the second wave has built itself a solid, if not great franchise in the Paranormal Activity series. 

Thusly do we enter 2011's The Tunnel, an Australian festival hit styled as a combination of Lake Mungo's talking heads documentary and Grave Encounters handheld night vision cinematography. 

Quick Plot: As Sydney faces a water shortage, the city officials propose a new plan that would recycle water currently trapped under the subway's tunnel system. The plan is suspiciously dropped, stirring the interest of go get'em TV journalist Natasha, who rounds up a small crew to head underground and find some answers.

What do they find? Why, a flourishing utopia inhabited by bulldog puppies and trees that grow peanut butter and chocolate of course!

Or an undefinable race of monster men who feed on homeless people and collect their eyeballs. Same difference.

Like the aforementioned Lake Mungo, The Tunnel takes a slightly different approach to the found footage style. From the beginning, we are introduced to our two assumed survivors, Nat and cameraman Steve (the very natural Steve Davis). Their one-on-one interviews are mixed in throughout the film to explain, react to, or preface the 'actual' footage we see from their cameras. Though the effect might take away a little something from a few scenes (it's hard to fear for the screaming Nat when we know she made it to the post-disaster interview), it generally helps to build tension or let it settle in an oddly personal place. Seeing how the unfortunate turn of events affected Nat and Steve is almost as scary as witnessing the horror for ourselves.

The Tunnel had been heavily hyped for me as one of the scariest new horror films of last year. While I wouldn’t put it on the same plain as some of my 2011 favorites like YellowBrickRoad, it does offer some excellent creepiness and more than one moment of genuine fright. The docu-style also helps to add something (somewhat) new, and despite my major gripe of a Low Note, this is one of the good ones.

High Notes

You have to give a hand to any film that sets itself in such a fertile horror location as the deep terrain below a city’s subway system  

As we’ve seen from some of the rougher found footage tales, acting to the camera isn’t always easy. It’s quite a relief that all The Tunnel’s actors deliver natural, but still interesting performances

Low Notes

I'm not sure if it's just the surly feminist in me looking for a fight or if this is a widespread problem in cinema, but ever since Heather Donahue led two pals into the uncharted Maryland wilderness, doesn't it feel like females with power-infused jobs starring in found footage horror are just designed to be responsible for the deaths of others? The Tunnel offers an added layer of icky sexism by having the male characters all insinuate that Nat got--and precariously kept--her position by sleeping with the boss. I don't mind some flawed characters, but there's something about the way the sole female in the film is portrayed and treated that just feels a little unnecessary in its meanness

Lessons Learned

Tunnels carry sound quite well

If you require the services of a 911 operator, you're better off not living in Australia

When it comes to human body parts, eyeballs make the best keepsakes

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Tunnel isn’t quite on the same level as something as weirdly haunting as Lake Mungo, but it’s another example of how a fresh approach at a seemingly played-out subgenre can still work. A sequel has been planned, and if director Carlo Ledesma comes back, I’d be happy to check it out. 

Subway Swap!

If there’s one day I don’t look forward to every month, it’s paying an ungodly $104 for my monthly Metrocard. Thankfully, one day I DO look forward to is trading movie recommendations with T.L. Bugg over at The Lightning Bug’s Lair and gloriously enough, May counteracts my MTA gripes with a suitably themed subway swap!

Over at The Lair, expect to find what I except to be the Zach’s glowing review of one of my recent favorites, 2009’s Canadian underground evil cult horror, End of the Line. For my part, Zach sent me the conveniently Watch Instantly 1985 French hit, Luc Besson’s Subway.

Theme!

Quick Plot: Um...let me try:

Christopher Lambert is Fred, a tuxedoed drifter of sorts who has stolen some super secret documents from a gangster’s bedazzled wife Helena (the gorgeous Isabelle Adjani) and is now hiding out underground where he meets a bevy of oddballs that includes a rollerskating purse snatcher, greasy flower man, talented body builder named Big Billy and a medium-length haired Jean Reno.

Now you might be thinking to yourself, ‘that’s not so hard a summary.’ In many ways, Subway is a simple film about a boy who loves a girl and the wacky world in which he tries to woo her. 

Except it’s not at all, because you don’t really know anything about Helena and Fred’s relationship until an hour into the film. Prior to that, you’re left wondering how they actually know each other, what mysterious documents he know holds as blackmail (if memory serves, I don’t think we ever actually find out) and just how giant this underground community of non-CHUD metro dwellers can possibly be. Mixed in is a sarcastic police investigator who much like Reno’s tragic turn in 1998’s Godzilla, just can’t get a good cup of coffee.

Subway is, based on extensive Wikipedia browsing, part of the European ‘80s Cinema du look movement. No, this has nothing to do with Lars Von Trier’s Dogme 95 let’s-hurt-you,-you-softie-moviegoers pledge. Cinema du look seems to pretty much be a plan to blast style as high above substance as possible, focusing on slick visuals and pop culture as related by a bunch of alienated young people that have no sense of depth or politics. I think.

Depending on your cinematic taste, you might be thinking such a film style is either as brilliant a combo as peanut butter and banana or as loathsome as putting butter on your pancakes (I don’t understand why anyone would do this). I suppose I appreciate both--even if I still will throw my hot coffee at any waitress who brings me a butter soaked dish of pancakes. On one hand, why shouldn’t a talented filmmaker give in to the joys of camerawork and present his/her audience with something that takes advantage of visual possibilities and is, I assume, easily pleasing to a modern film-going public? On the other hand, allow me to introduce my old often introduced friend Paul Verhoeven, a director who can magically produce films far more fun AND logical than Subway but that still contain a surprisingly dense, always reverent amount of smart satire.

See, I guess what I might be saying is that Subway is fun and fresh film. But I think it would have been far better were it directed by Paul Verhoeven.

I liked Subway. I did. It was fun in a where-the-brie-is-this-going kind of way. But also a tad empty, one content with presenting types rather than characters and stuff rather than story. For 90 minutes, that’s more than fine. It’s just not fantastic.

High Points

About 3/4 into the film, Subway almost pauses for an absolutely odd and beautiful little singalong. Yes it stops what is mostly a bouncy and light action film, but it’s rather wonderful

Isabelle Adjani is a superb actress, but let’s all admit that in her first scene, it’s really the 9 lb. earrings that do the heavy emoting. Because I doubt they got any work after this film, a moment of salute:

Low Points

If Wikipedia is to be believed (and they always are, right?), the only readily available version of Subway features a dreadfully dubbed audio track wherein for whatever reason, Christopher Lambert provides his own Frenchish vocals and everybody else sounds like Peter Falk

Lessons Learned

High mohawks can lead to high levels of sassiness

Nothing says ‘impromptu subway concert’ quite so well as boy scout uniforms

If planning on speeding through Paris in a car chase to escape murderous/carsick goons, always be sure to pack the right high energy mixed tape

Rent/Bury/Buy

I definitely recommend Subway, as it’s unique, enjoyable, and a piece of cinema footnotes in recent theory history. As a Netflix stream, it’s a more than ideal way to pass some time with surprise. No, I didn’t want to marry it and have its chic mohawked children, but it’s an easy rental for a light-hearted and bizarre time.

For some darker days underground, head on over to The Lightning Bug’s Lair for Zach’s take on End of the Line.

Mass Transit Massacre

Rescue Mission Activate!
As some of you know and others don't care about, I spent the last year or so contributing to Pop Syndicate, a recently renovated website that lost all its past content (and writers). The following article appeared in 2009 and since you can't find it anywhere else in InterWorld, I'm rerunning it here. Apologies for the deja vu.

While riding the subway this morning, I experienced the occasional misfortune of hearing the sudden click followed by a very brief decrescendo. Once again, I had forgotten to charge my iPod. This being rush hour in one of the largest cities in the world, too many people were blocking my view of the new tet-heavy Dunkin' Donuts advertisement and I lacked the arm room to reach inside my bag for a book. What you ask, was a bored, half awake, rather irritable horror fan to do with only the screeching sounds of train tracks for entertainment?

Movie-filled imagination action, that's what. I've seen my share of bloodfests and know that the only thing scarier than watching someone die a painful death is realizing that the victim could be me, and the only thing more relaxing is realizing that it could be my enemy. And so, for those dark hours spent in mass transit (commonly known here as 7-9 AM and 4-7 PM), I present a few mind games to keep you sane and safe from boredom, danger, and the urge to kill the gum snapping secretary leaning on the center pole you can only grip with a pinky. Basically, you picture her death (and your subsequent survival) in your head via one of these scenarios:

Final Destination Destinies

The great thing about this growing franchise is that it gives paranoid obsessives like me an endless supply of things to fear. If a tanning booth and Slurpee can kill you, is there anything that can't? While your train is generally not stocked with life-threatening hazards (at least until the recession starts hitting mass transit budgets, that is), everyone around you is constantly at risk should Death draws their Metro card. 

That teenager applying mascara sitting next to the old man with an umbrella? Double eye gouging. The Mariachi band strumming away for spare change? One rough turn and those guitar strings could slice open a neck. An Mp3 player malfunctions to make some poor podcast listener's eardrums burst, sending a chunk straight into another commuter’s throat. A little boy munching on a peanut butter sandwich gets sick on the allergic man sitting nearby. He forgot to pack his  emergency kit. 

Anything could happen. Limits, thy name is not Tony Todd.

  

Battle Royale, Rush Hour Style

I can't think of many scenarios more awful than being whisked away to a deserted island, choked with a metallic and explosive collar, and forced to kill my friends and acquaintances. While I've been known to throw darts at blown up high school yearbook photos of cheerleaders back in my day, the idea of me having to kill--possibly with my own hands--is incredibly disturbing. 

At 8 AM on a Tuesday, however, that changes. State sanctioned murder is far more appealing when your bottom is dangling off a hard plastic seat because some sullen teenager next to you is comfortably stretching his legs in ways that would make my mother blush. Go ahead and airlift our subway car to the wilderness of Japan, fully fitted with danger zones and sharp rocks. I'll accept that AK47 or turn my government-issued pot lid into a neck-slicing apparatus if it means surviving in place of the irresponsible cyclist with a 10-speed standing on my foot.

The challenge here is twofold: 1) how do I survive when unarmed and wearing heels and 2) who's my real competition? Look around that car. Judge your fellow passengers. That skinny housewife may seem like a mouse, but imagine her fighting to defend the two kids she has in tow. Then size up the rugrats for further competition. For all you know, that fat college kid has no soul while the body builder's smoking habit will blast his endurance. Think hard. Just don't stare. Remember, the less people that believe the game is real, the higher your chances are for fictionally killing them without a fight. Plus, it’s rude.

Jason Takes Manhattan (or whatever metropolis you may inhabit)

Anyone who's seen the terrible/awesome eighth installment of Friday the 13th knows that Mr. Voorhees has no qualms about jumping a turnstile. Problem is, how can you possibly thwart him once the doors are closed? It's easy enough to use innocent bystanders as human shields in this scenario, providing your conscience can handle it. During rush hour, a machete can hack its way through quite a few grumpy suits, many of whom may prefer a fast death to another day at the office. Really, you’d be doing the a favor.

Eventually, however, you'll probably be forced to confront Crystal Lake’s number one hockey fan. Depending on which installment you consider to be genuine canon, the method of putting old JV out for a while may include a little electricity. One possible escape from certain death would be to lure Jason onto the third rail, but this is an ambitious plan that requires you to stay alive long enough to disembark the train and hope for the right chance to push. Too ambitious? Would you rather focus on saving your skin and leaving the dirty work to the pretty virgin you have befriended?

Sorry, but that's just as good as suicide. Nobody survives Jason; you die or kill him temporarily until the next series’ entry or your contract expires. Still, if you truly doubt your potential for ending a 90 minute massacre yourself, you could focus on escape.

My plan would be to run through the cars until an MTA policeman, seeing an easy ticket to fill his quota, takes action. By the time Jason catches up, I should be able to rile the law enforcer enough to merit a backup call. If nothing else, a few of NY's Finest will buy me time to cross the platform and hop on the express.

Urban Vampire Slayage

Subways--at least the ones that remain underground--seem like the perfect place for a blood-sucking night prowler to get his hunt on, what with the artificial lighting and a constant flow of diverse meals-in-heels. I doubt the more experienced vampires would feast during such high profile times as rush hour, but every group has its showoff. 

Your mission is to identify the carnivorous commuter and plan the much-harder-than-it-sounds disposal of said fiend. Remember the totally kickass subway fight between Spike and the 1970s slayer during Buffy’s fifth season? 

You probably won’t have that (unless you’re imbued with super strength, at which point you should have a better job than one that requires you to ride a death trap on tracks five days a week). Part of the game here is angles and tools. First, locate a weapon. A stray cane could work as a stake, or perhaps your odds are better of grabbing a schoolgirl’s pencil box and hoping she recently used her sharpener. From there, it’s all about locating the heart and finding the space to put enough force behind your stabbing. I’m sure physics has something to do with it.

Did I forget an important step? One that Sunnydale’s own heroine never mastered in seven years? The actual identification process is, of course, its own challenge. How do you spot a vampire at the start or end of your day, when your eyes are barely open enough to see the living things in front of you? Do you look for the palest person in your car, or is that just plain racist? Decide what makes a vampire and cautiously go from there.

I suppose you could transfer this game to other filmic villains as well. Any unibrowed figures hiding from the full moon, their necks absent of silver jewelry? Body snatching pod people lacking any sense of human emotion in their eyes? Henry-esque sociopaths trying to blend in or a separated conjoined twin clutching his basket/briefcase/backpack a little too closely, as if it may be housing a raging claymation Belial? New York City boasts an average of 5 million people riding the subway on any given weekday; the odds are pretty high that at least one of them is either a monstrous killer or misunderstood murderer you’ve seen the likes of before.

and of course, when all else fails, the Classic Zombie Contingency Commute

When a guy squeezes into the seat next to you smelling like the undead, you're rarely pleased, but if you're a zombie fan tired of reading the same ad for 20 minutes, you can at least be inspired. Forget, for a moment, the fact that the poor man hasn't showered since George Romero made a good movie and pretend instead that his rotting odor is the result of a crashed satellite, voodoo inspired resurrection or nuclear waste spillage. How much time do you have before his eyes open wide in search of a high protein snack?

As Max Brooks has pointed out, straphangers are pretty much the equivalent of canned sardines if stuck underground during an uprising--except, of course, these canned sardines taste really really good. Emergency exits don't provide much in the way of realistic refuge, but no zombie fan worth his or her weight in edible brains would give up so quickly; if nothing else, suicide must be improvised to minimize pain. That in itself is no easy task.

For those with stronger fighting spirit, however, the Zombie Survival Game is never more challenging than when played on the Metro. Can you swing that briefcase with enough force to successfully bash in every stench's head before they corner you? Should you spend time trying to free up a pole for pointed attacks, or is it better to just use it for leverage in getting a nice running kick at the right angle? Your chances are fairly slim, but daily brainstorming may very well prepare you to at least last long enough to make it to the next stop for a transfer. 

So what do you think, fellow commuting time killers with slightly psychotic tendencies? Is it wrong to imagine the guy holding open the automatic doors decapitated by his own sense of entitlement, or do morals evaporate when you’re stuck under the armpit of a fellow traveler in inexplicable train traffic while a bebop group sings out of tune?

And You Thought Your Commute Was Rough

As stated before, the outcry over Lions Gate’s shelving of Midnight Meat Train riles up a nerve in my defenses. It’s not that I support a major studio burying an original horror film in dollar theaters and DVD bins; I just wish all the boo hooeing by genre fans was aimed at a worthier movie.

And now, having watched Maurice Devereaux’s End of the Line, I have even more reason to dislike that other subway slasher, because here’s a unique, timely, and actually scary little horror far more deserving of Internet campaigns.

Quick Plot: A young psyciatric nurse named Karen (Ilona Elkin) sadly accepts the news that one of her patients has thrown herself in front of a subway. Muffins and freaky drawings from the late woman’s files  provide little comfort, and things only get worse when Karen’s subway ride becomes the kind of nightmare every commuter fears. First, there’s the creepy homeless guy leering over her shoulder, followed by the fact that--much like my last night’s commute in the freezing cold--the train seems to be running on a random and inconsistent schedule. To make things worse--okay, horror movie worthy--the train soon hits a delay and Christian fundamentalists with the world’s best cell phone reception embark on a crusade to “save” the souls of fellow straphangers.

Because I love a pleasant surprise and love you, I’m digging out some roadblocks to stick right here:

As a warning: I want to discuss this film, but what made my initial viewing so enjoyable was, in part, the fact that I knew very little about End of the Line. While it doesn’t have a Martyrs-style switcheroo, there is something really neat about some of its unexpected plot developments so if you haven’t seen the film, YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

Or something. Just skip to Rent/Bury/Buy and come back after you’ve followed those instructions. Don’t make me page you.

SPOILER SITY

A disclaimer: There are probably just a handful of subjects I find more fascinating than Doomsday cults. There’s something so strangely horrifying about human beings surrendering everything that seems to make them who they are for some undefined greater being pent on eventually destroying their very existence. Also, I ride the subway every day and am constantly imagining a variety of horror movie scenarios that could occur at any given stop. For these reasons, End of the Line was quite possibly made for me.

Devereaux’s portrayal of the religious fanatics is eerie for a bucketful of reasons. Yes, it’s creepy to see nice middle aged women stabbing straphangers with crucifix knives that belong in a Children of the Corn playpen. It’s also unnerving to note the Hilter Youth-esque jumpsuits and at-peace smiles on every murderous character’s face. More importantly, Devereaux seems to ground the cult in popular Christianity.

I want to tread lightly here and try my best to not make any of my mere blogging comments into attacks on religion. I have no issue with anybody living a life based on personal faith, but those who try to force it on you when you just want to listen to a cuss-heavy podcast on the subway or trick-or-treat for candy rather than doomsday pamphlets aren’t just annoying; they’re judging you by essentially demonstrating that they believe you’re not worthy of heaven. I appreciate how End of the Line’s fanatics wanted to actually help their victims, straight down to apologizing when mass suicide had to take priority over fatal stabbing. 

Back to the controversy I can’t seem to put into words, doomsday cults--and any religious sect that has an end date in their pre-determined future--are terrifying because their members simply can’t value this life as much as the next. If, for example, a world leader believes in the possibility that The Rapture will occur and that when it does, he’ll be judged worthy, what’s to stop him from pushing the button to detonate the next world war? The characters of End of the Line are so confident in their beliefs that none of the physical pain they cause registers as anything other than God’s will. It’s not their actions that makes this a frightening film; it’s their complete lack of regret.

At first, the final moments bothered me as a trite betrayal. Since The Believers and Frailty, I’m far less surprised to discover that the crazed extremist characters in a genre film were right, and more importantly, I’d have been a tad annoyed to feel as though I misjudged everything onscreen for the previous 100 minutes. Thankfully, Devereaux’s ending was far more clever than I had initially realized. Upon listening to some of the extras, it became rather clear--even if nobody is willing to fully admit it--that the sneaking suspicion I had was right: there were no demons. There were, however, some powerfully mixed muffins eaten throughout the film by every character we notice see visions of rubbery monsters, mouthless ghosts, and tunnel dwellers dirtier than mole people. Pass the electric Kool-Aid, we’ve got some tasty spiked pastries that need washing down.

High Points

Although End of the Line doesn’t go too far into the backstories of their villains, the cult members are still individually drawn with the kind of precision rarely seen in horror. From the suddenly unchaste Sarah to the conflicted teenagers, the choice to show that some parishioners had actual doubts added a more human layer to the killings. Gray is always more interesting than black and white, particularly when it comes to morality.

I’m normally immune to jump scares, but for some reason, the very first pop made my drop my nacho

For the most part, Devereax has his main group of protagonists react to the horrors with refreshing believability. As much as we in the audience know to stab first, ask questions later, if any of us couch potatoes were actually in this kind of situation, we would probably find it near impossible to beat a teenager to death with the crowbar quivering in our hands. I appreciated that the commuters were genuinely conflicted over having to resort to homicidal violence. Even the young stud--the first man to kill--spends his last few moments asking for reassurance that he did the right thing. 

Similarly, none of End of the Line’s characters demonstrate the kind of superhuman survivalism often summoned in these types of films. Their action sequences are messy and chaotic, consisting simply of frightened people swinging hand tools at stab-happy Christians. Since we’re not watching SWAT team members or retired boxers, this makes perfect sense

Low Points

Overall, the performances are adequate and nobody stands out to drag the film down, but it also feels as though none fully step forward to add anything overly special to their characterizations

Once I put some of the pieces--or crumbs--together, I was a little more accepting of the final shot, but I still found the last ghastly baddies to feel a tad too Halloween porch ready

Lessons Learned

If you want people to join your cult, perfect a recipe for hallucinogen-laced muffins

1980s style punkettes are pretty damn fierce when the going gets tough

Mental patients are quite talented when it comes to colored pencil artwork. Look at that shading!

Ironically enough, nobody can complete an abortion faster than a Born Again

Always keep mace accessible when riding the subway. You never know when you’ll have to escape the clutches of a horny priest hung up on virginity and the fact that he resembles the homeless love child of Paul Bettany and Quentin Tarantino

In order to seduce a virginal fundamentalist, the secret is to kiss her earlobe

Rent/Bury/Buy

End of the Line is a definite watch, and a possible buy if you find it the right price. The DVD is loaded with extras, including a coy but interesting commentary, thorough making-of featurette, and a few more goodies. It’s not a film I’m return to often, but the original concept and spirited execution defnitely merits a revisit somewhere down the, ahem, line. More importantly, be on the lookout for Devereaux’s next film. Not only does he tell a good story on a meager budget, he also has mastered the art of referencing other masters without being annoying about it. One of my biggest pet peeves in indie horror is when directors think it’s cute to use a famous horror director’s name for a character. It’s not so much a wink wink as it is a smacking-you-in-the-face-with-a-frying-pan-emblazoned-with-an-obvious-reference-on-the-bottom (think “Dr. Savini” from The Dead Next Door). You don’t name a character Argento; you name him after the main sound mixer for a bunch of Argento films. That's the sign of a promising filmmaker.

As If the Subway System Wasn't Horrible Enough, Now There's ...

If you’ve followed news in the horror world last summer, you may recall the release drama of The Midnight Meat Train. Produced by Lions Gate and based on a Clive Barker short story, this film was intended for a full theatrical release before being yanked for less-than-desired showings in a handful of dollar theaters across the States. Barker barked and horror devotees complained. Saw V and The Strangers took the blame. Was this another case of shafting original horror to showcase easy money sequels and remakes?


It pains me to say this, but The Midnight Meat Train is not the long lost gem we hoped for. It’s skillfully made by director Ryuhei Kitamura, with clean visuals and more than adequate performances. The basic plot and setting offer oodles of potential. And yet, for the entire running time, I found myself becoming more and more frustrated with everything that was and wasn’t onscreen.


Quick Plot: In an unnamed city, struggling vegetarian photographer Leon (Bradley Cooper) learns from the wisdom of famed art dealer Brooke Shields that in order to break out, he needs to take pictures of truly disturbing content without turning away. She knows this, of course, because of her early experiences with the famed Basquiat (we knew Shields was a child star and went to Princeton, but did you also know she also discovered one of NY’s greatest street artists when she was an adventurous 14 year old?).

Leon takes her advice and hits the streets, focusing mainly on the immaculately clean subway. As luck would have it, a few thugs are attempting to rape a pretty young woman right in perfect view of Leon’s non digital camera (and the very conveniently placed security CCTV). Leon has his shot and the woman is on her way to a conveniently patient late night train. The next day, Leon discovers a newspaper story chronicling her disappearance. A visit to the cops involves weird double speak and somehow inspires Leon on a vigilante mission to uncover this mystery, much to the chagrin of his far too understanding girlfriend.

Enter the Forrest Gumpish Vinnie Jones as the best dressed serial killer in mass transit. Sadly, he’s also the blandest, wearing a dull scowl that couldn’t be farther from the charismatic psychopath of The Condemned or even his supporting work in X-Men 3.

Deep sigh.


The Midnight Meat Train is not the worst film you’ll see, but I found it to be an incredibly disheartening film experience. 103 minutes isn’t long, but when extended stretches are devoted to empty montages, it feels like eternity (sort of the difference between an express and local train). The title calls back to something gritty and mean, like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but the film’s primary problem is just how clean it is. I’ve never seen a subway that shines with such regularly applied stainless steel cleaner and the digitalized gore is so noticeably unreal, none of the violence lands until the very last scene. By then, it’s a little too late to reinvest.


High Points
Surprisingly enough, the romance between Cooper and Leslie Bibb is quite believable and affectionate, providing a solid emotional base for the finale to land

Low Points
...but the fully clothed sex scene is supposed to do what exactly?



Cooper is fine enough as Leon, but his insanely fast slide into insanity? obsession? paranoia? is so messily done that it’s hard to really want to follow him on his increasingly dumb endeavors underground

Early in the film, Leon talks about how he pulls so much inspiration from the big bad city. That’s fine and mood-setting, but it would certainly help if the city WE see wasn’t drenched in shiny blue coloring. Of course, we could also SEE the city rather than the ridiculously clean metro and one friendly steakhouse


Until the last act, there is nothing actually frightening happening. We don’t know any of the victims, so seeing an extra or two sitting on a train and then get chopped up by a computer effect simply has no emotional impact

Lessons Learned
The only way to survive an encounter with Vinnie Jones is to first sell him candy


Searching for keywords on microfiche is much easier and faster than using Google


Never assist your friends in breaking into a rundown motel where a homicidal butcher allegedly lives; the consequences are just not fun

Bloody floors are incredibly slippery


Rent/Bury/Buy
I really wanted to like this movie but as seen in my extensive low points, that’s far too difficult to do. The performances are better than average and the final scene does start to get interesting, but the coldly empty blood and story inanity is just not enjoyable. How, for example, would any city’s subway system still be functioning if multiple straphangers disappear EVERY SINGLE NIGHT? I’m not one to nitpick plot details, but when the core concept seems so unruly, it just makes everything else that much more glaringly careless. That being said, those of you with a genuine interest in visual design of modern horror may find this particular approach interesting. It’s different and definitely made by someone with artistic vision; I just don’t think that style fits the nature of this film in the least.