Kumbay-Killer, Retro Style

Return To Sleepaway Camp is made for one audience and one audience only: nostalgic and forgiving fans of the 1983 original. Like that odd little horror and its cheerfully bad sequels, this 2008 entry has no real scares or intentionally witty humor. This is a cheap and affectionate homage to an infamous--if not especially good--low budget semi-classic of yore.


Quick Plot: Welcome to Camp Manadake, a summer getaway for incredibly obnoxious teenagers and run by mostly child-hating counselors. Our (cough cough) protagonist is husky frog-friending Alan, an understandably outcasted camper who is basically the boy that wouldn’t take a shower from Wet Hot American Summer, all awkwardly grown up. Poor Alan huffs his way through seemingly unsupervised days of croquet as slowly---verrrrrrrry slowly---some of his tormentors are killed through Saw-lite methods of murder. Camp director Vincent Pastore (his acting improving only an appetizer’s portion of antipasto since Black Roses) and junior partner Paul DeAngelo (whose thespian powers have been frozen in the 80s) fret about lost camp tuition and the possible return of Angela Baker, the transgendered murderess who wields a mean curling iron and even meaner guitar.

This is a movie that brewed in production purgatory for some time, and while it’s nice to have a genuine throwback horror, Return To Sleepaway Camp is also a reminder as to why some films die quick deaths (unlike the cast members, who suffer prolonged and elaborate torture that take too long to get to and even longer to end). From the nasty characters to the juvenile jokes, there’s simply too much to dislike in RtSC to really enjoy it. The spirit is admirable; the experience is not.


High Points
The nods to earlier films are gleefully deliberate (The Return of Ronnie’s Short Shorts!) and perhaps serendipitously accidental, like the police chief’s prosthetic nose and its resemblence to Part 1’s magic marker mustache

Because you don’t like one single character, rooting for all their deaths is quite easy


Low Points
Because you don’t like one single character, sitting through their dialogue is painful

Yes, it’s cute to have Isaac Hayes play a chef named Chef, but is that the end of the joke?


With few exceptions, every death takes about six times as long as it should. There’s no reason for this film to be 100+ minutes. But it is. And it feels like eternity.

Lessons Learned
Organized paintball has the potential to be amazinglly awesome. Can I watch that movie instead?


Rats chew fast


It’s really hard to get kicked out of camp nowadays

Rent/Bury/Buy
If you haven’t seen or never cared for the Sleepaway Camp franchise, avoid this film like a campfire sing-a-long. It’s simply not good. Loyal fans of Angela’s zany adventures will definitely want to check out the newest generation and many may find it to be fun. It’s goofy and stupid--just like Parts I-III. Enter at your own risk.


Despite my valiant efforts (okay, two rounds of Googling) I failed to find an adequate picture of DeAngelo's gams or 1983's artificial mustache. However, since Amityville II's review birthed quite the 'stache admiration society, I figured I'd include a nod to my personal favorite finely crafted whiskers of the 80s:

Keith almost makes me want to embrace a caterpillar. Almost.

Haunted Homes, Demon Teens, & Long Island Lolitas That Aren't Amy Fisher

Before we revel in the sexual depravity, mass murder, and withering disappointment of Amityville II: The Possession, allow me to bid you a warning:

I will spoil this movie. Because I’m a bad person. Or maybe because if you’ve seen any of the other Amityville spinoffs, you already know the ending (or rather, middle) or The Possession and it’s just too darn tough (or I’m too damn dumb) to discuss a film that hits its mark 60 minutes in without, well, spilling the red paint. If you’re truly looking forward to the twists and turns of this 1980 prequel, I recommend coming back here after viewing or just donning a pair of those cool 80s plastic sunglasses that didn’t actually protect your eyes from the sun, but did make it really difficult to see anything clearly.

Ready? Here goes:


Some movies were just made to be watched on a hot summer night at a drive-in. Amityville II: The Possession is clearly one of these relics. With its exploitation-y atmosphere, early climax, and okay-to-fall-asleep third act, this first sequel to Long Island’s pride-and-joy-horror smash made me want to win the lottery, buy some land, and build my own outdoor movie heaven.


This doesn’t mean that I loved Amityville II. It just means I love drive-ins.


Quick Plot: Some years before the ill-fated move of Mr. & Mrs. Lutz, the best-named director in the world Damiano Damiani tells the far more ill-fated tale of the Montellis, a normal enough family who apparently didn’t read my advice on navigating the real estate market.

 Instead, they arrive at their bargain-priced dream home to meet some pesky ghost squatters that have a talent for shortening the tempers of humans they encounter. Little time passes before the sink is leaking red paint, Burt Young’s Papa Montelli is dripping heavier sweat wads than Sylvester Stallone sweatin’ to the oldies, and the teenage siblings are taking their relationship to V.C. Andrews levels of inappropriateness.

By little time, I mean almost none. The film isn’t one hour through before the central act of violence occurs, and while it’s shocking, graphic, and thoroughly upsetting, we in the audience still have another 45 minutes to get through. Therein lies the problem.


While there are flaws the first act, Damiani does succeed at creating an intriguing buildup to the collapse of the refreshingly authentic Montellis. For once, I actually didn’t want to kill the youngest child actors (even as they played hide-and-seek in plastic bags and could have made the job easy), which made their doomed fate truly horrifying. Diane Franklin is sympathetic as the naively seductable Patricia, and some of the latex-heavy effects have aged quite decently.

Unfortunately, the second half of The Possession loses all the intensity it so quickly built up. It’s hard enough to carry a film when 5/6ths of the main characters have been slaughtered, but much harder when your game plan is to rip off The Exorcist right on down to the silhouette of Father Merrin’s hat. As Sonny, actor Jack Magner doesn’t make for a particularly save-worthy soul and the guilt-baiting ghosts nagging at Father Adamsky have no real weight when all we’ve really seen of his sins were turning down one phone call. Some film fans may enjoy the boy-on-the-verge-of-manhood possession analogies, but for me, there just wasn’t enough character or story to really invest any care into.

High Points
The opening Rosemary’s Babyish la-la singing is rather haunting


Diane Franklin looks enough like a 15 year old to make the statutory incestuous stuff sufficiently creepy. This isn’t exactly a “high point,” per say, but I give it a nod since I imagine a 2009 remake would skirt this issue by casting a rapidly Benjamin Button-esque aging Lindsay Lohan and putting her in an 18-hour Playtex bra (how I fear your possibilities, Let the Right American One In 2010)


The massacre is truly disturbing, in part because the film’s lack of weight doesn’t really prepare you for such an early scene of no holds barred violence

If you’re going to have a mustache, take a note from Sonny’s lawyer and have a fucking MUSTACHE


Low Points
Maybe it’s just the poor luck of being chased down so quickly by Spielberg & Hooper, but floating paintbrushes got nothin’ on evil clown dolls


Sonny’s stomach-pumping bed scene demonstrates just how important good acting ability is to pulling of any form of the prolonged “Nooooo!” and not sounding like Darth Vader’s lament of Padme’s death


Lessons Learned
Introducing your son as your first born and letting your 15 year old daughter call you Mommy and Daddy may not be fostering the best environment for sexually confused teenagers

Chekhov’s law that introducing a gun in the first act requires said gun to be fired later in the story applies to horror movies in full force


Don’t piss off Burt Young when he’s wearing a belt

When in doubt about how to end a mediocre horror sequel, blow something up


Stray Observations
Yes, that’s Mommie Dearest’s loyal assistant playing Mama Monticelli, and yes, Rutanya Alda has the dubious honor of receiving two consecutive Razzie nominations for Worst Supporting Actress, proving that Ms. Crawford wasn’t the first one to take a second ‘round at the rodeo.

Is there some curse on adolescent male antiheroes that head the second installments of multi-film franchises? I’ll give Magner a gold medal if Nightmare on Elm Street 2’s Jessie silvers and Silent Night Deadly Night 2’s Ricky cleans up the garbage around the base of the podium.


Rent/Bury/Buy
Amityville II is not a terrible film, nor is it particularly good. Having seen bits and pieces of most of the series (like the good native Lawnga Eyelandah I am), I was quite shocked at the brutality in the central murders. If you press stop after the bodies are messily removed, you have yourself an above average demonic dream home thriller that will darken your day considerably. If you continue through the Exorcist-lite mood switch, however, you may find yourself drifting into MST3K jokes or sleep. Anyone with an interest in the Amityville saga should definitely give this a rent, but I don’t imagine a rewatch will be necessary enough to warrant a buy. If anything, give it one viewing to appreciate a simpler, sweeter time in cinema history, before the MPAA created the PG13 rating and studios smartened up to where the actual money market was. This is 80s horror sleaze without limitations. If only the script supported it the whole way through.


Special thanks to Stacie Ponder and Final Girl’s Film Club for assigning this as May’s pick. Take a virtual field trip to wander through what promises to be a diverse and entertaining mix of other horror bloggers taking their rifle shots at this misshapen gem of a movie.

Mother, Can You Spare Some Blood?

In case you have forgotten, Mother's Day is quickly approaching. Before you rush off to make those brunch reservations, take this quiz to get a better understanding of just what kind of parent you have, what to get her this Sunday, and what all of this might mean for your personal safety. 

1. On your 5th birthday, your mother bought you:

a) a gift certificate for free anger management classes

b) a dress-up kit, complete with wig

c) a silver crucifix, which you promptly melted using your yellow eyes

d) nothing. Counting is too hard

2. In your baby photos, your mother is typically:

a) absent

b) holding you wayyyyy too close

c) staring frightfully ahead with dead eyes

d) chewing on your leg

3. You run into the house crying with a skinned knee. Her reaction is to:

a) lick the fluid oozing from the wound

b) amputate what she can and stuff the limb to put on prominent display

c) cry

d) shrug. What do you expect when you sprint on rocky terrain?

4. At the local PTA meeting, your mother is most likely to:

a) supervise her minions as they bludgeon your teacher to death

b) stay home. How could she possibly leave you there all by yourself?

c) brag about your performance in the school play

d) school?

5. Mom’s going out for the night. Your usual babysitter is:

a) a grumpy British psychotherapist

b) your mother. She’s a table-for-three kind of dame

c) the elderly neighbors across the hall

d) your own survival instincts

6. You’ve misbehaved. As punishment, you might receive:

a) death at the hands of your trollish half siblings. After all, you’re incredibly easy to replace.

b) shrill nagging

c) an exorcism

d) a cheerful pat on the back, or shackles

7. When it comes to bonding with your mother, the best shared passion is:

a) pure hatred

b) absolutely anything

c) Scrabble

d) hunting

8. Her style icon is:

a) Joni Mitchell

b) Julia Child

c) Florence Henderson

d) Raquel Welch circa One Million Years B.C.

If you answered...

Mostly A’s

Your mother is: Nola  Carveth (The Brood)

The Good News: Your emotions may have the power to manifest themselves into creepy little dopplegangers that do your bidding.

The Bad News: Your safety and sanity is questionable. 

The Bottom Line: You hail from a second generation broken home, so you should certainly be wary of letting history repeat itself with the wrong partner. Your more immediate concern, however, involves staying alive long enough to legally emancipate yourself from your rage-enhanced mother before she unleashes her Cronenbergian spawn on your ungrateful butt. Luckily, your dad seems like a genuinely nice guy, so catch the next flight to Canada and start readjusting. 

Best Mother’s Day gift: A stress ball

Mostly B's: Your mother is: Mrs. Bates (Psycho)

The Good News: You’ll never be alone.

The Bad News: You’ll never be alone.

The Bottom Line:You were a lonely child and as a result, you have developed an unhealthy eagerness to please and/or connect with others. Romantic relationships have proved to be something of a challenge, as your Oedipal desires have complicated your taste in the opposite (or same) sex. The best thing you can do for yourself is to make a clean break. Start fresh. Relocate. It’s never too late to become a new man (or woman).

Best Mother’s Day gift: it doesn’t matter; nothing is ever good enough.

Mostly C’s

Your Mother is: Rosemary Woodhouse (Rosemary’s Baby)

The Good News: She has great taste in real estate

The Bad News: She’s kind of an emotional mess

The Bottom Line: You grew up surrounded by a solid network of older and financially successful guardians, but that may have left you spoiled and harboring an unearned sense of entitlement, particularly since your mother never seemed to know just how to handle you. Her instincts were usually on target, but she’s easily influenced by those with more force--including, unfortunately, your emotionally absent father. It’s up to you to find your true inner self, but always take comfort in knowing that your mother loves you, even if you are sometimes a lil devil.

Best Mother’s Day gift: valium 

Mostly D’s

Your mother is: Mama (The Hills Have Eyes)

The Good News: Despite her limited physicality, she did stress the importance of exercise and the outdoors

The Bad News: She didn’t let you play well with others.

The Bottom Line: Discipline was never a priority for your parents--particularly your cave-ridden mom, who encouraged you to stay out past curfew if it meant you’d be bringing home the bacon (or baby). You may have built up some unrecognized resentment towards the lax parenting (especially when combined with the border limits imposed) so it’s time to start building a solid foundation. You need a little more stability in your life, relationships, and diet. And vegetables. Apply for a job. Get your associate’s degree, find an apartment, and adopt a dog. Wait, forget the last part. Just start with a plant.

Best Mother's Day gift: Duh, a meaty little puppy

The Devil Wears Gym Shorts

I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to throw it out: Fear No Evil boasts not one but two of the greatest kills ever put on screen.


I'm lying:


One of the greatest kills and THE best absurd trigger for teenage suicide. Ever.


If you don't believe me, then clearly one of the following statements is true:


1) You've never questioned the ethics of high school dodgeball.
2) You are thoroughly fascinated and possibly a tad titillated by male breasts.


Aaah, Fear No Evil, a 1981 homoerotic Omen-inspired teen thriller I learned about via Kim Newman's excellent cinematic study, Nightmare Movies. This is the kind of earnestly made indie smart enough to know that an ambitious low budget horror should combine proven formula, a unique spin, and talent. Fear No Evil doesn't have a lot of any, but somehow, there's enough creativity and simple bizarreness to make it work by amusement, if not terror.

The antichrist is gayer than South Park's Satan, the school bully's most badass move is to spin his history teacher's globe and an old priest that resembles Malcolm McDowell's hobbitized cousin can outrun Lucifer while stumbling with a scythe and bad knee. Do you really need to know any more?


Quick Plot: Somewhere in the depths of upstate New York, baby Andrew's baptism erupts into a splattering (yet apparently harmless) bloodbath, leaving his parents to spend all of 45 seconds worth of voiceover bickering and demonstrating their 18 years of marital strife. 

Now a moody teen with Chuck Bass's cheekbones and a talent for making heavy objects fall non-fatally on older women's heads, Andrew has accepted his status as the human incarnation of Lucifer with little qualms or instruction. Meanwhile, a gleefully ridiculous collection of high school stereotypes perform what seems to be a non-musical adaptation of Grease! and a dull angel hopes to stop Andrew from ruining the town's annual beach pageant of an Easter Passion Play. Oh yeah. And there are zombies. Kinda.

Let's be clear: Fear No Evil is not a good film. The acting ranges from blankly empty to bigger than Nicolas Cage's burning Wicker Man shouting. Plotlines die quieter deaths than a 21st century Meg Ryan movie and the final special effect looks like the Hall of Fame background on an 80s arcade game.


So no, it's not good, but it's a helluva lot more fun than Casablanca and more rewatchable than The Omen. You won't find Gregory Peck wearing Frank N Furter's hotpants or an Italian Stalliony bully picking on the antichrist by kissing him in the shower during gym class, now will you.

High Points
There's no groundbreaking story here, but I'll give writer/director Frank LaLoggia credit for not connecting what could be cliche plot dots to tell the same old tale


I don't want to know what body parts the producers sold to get some actual good--albeit at times, too literal to the onscreen action--songs like the Talking Heads' Psycho Killer


Death. By. Dodgeball.

Low Points
While I wouldn't dream of losing dad's "My son's THE DEVIL!" pub tirade, it's frustrating that he has no real resolution

Having reincarnated angels is interesting enough, but good girl Hulie lacks any of the weird (okay, cheesy) energy of the rest of the film


Does Andrew want to be Lucifer? Would he choose a different life? Is there any internal strife going on there? Based on the script and lead performance, I have absolutely no idea.

Lessons Learned
Like many an acting gig, playing Jesus Christ has its highs (adoration from the town children) and lows (crucifixion)

Smoking pot does not make your breasts grow, but slipping the tongue to Satan's son will


Upstate NY bullies have very unrealistic definitions of small breasts


Do not assign the antichrist 50 pushups unless you're really good at dodgeball

Stray Observations
The Rhea Perlmen-esque leader of the Pink Ladies--I mean B's--wears a knit beret and peacock feather that prove for a fourth time that Season 5's Kenley really wasn't that original.


I've managed to cite Gossip Girl and Project Runway in this review, proving, in fact, that I am female. Or maybe I'm just a man who's made out with Lucifer a few too many times

Rent/Bury/Buy
My enthusiasm seems to point you towards a buy, but that's really reserved for those fans that treasure lovably bad horror. In terms of actual quality, I'd rank Fear No Evil somewhere above Sleepaway Camp and well, Black Roses. Those with a low tolerance for lactose should probably take a straight shot of The Omen II and move on, while for casual old school horror fans, a rental should suffice. The DVD includes some behind-the-scenes footage and commentary by cinematographer and writer/director Frank LaLoggia, who offers some enlightening editing info that somewhat justifies the inclusion of misplaced zombies. This isn't the worst or best bad movie of all time, but I don't know of any others that dispose of school bullies and nagging mothers with such ridiculous creativity.

Fair is Foul This Friday

Last Thursday marked the 445th birthday of one William Shakespeare. I imagine thou art wondering what this doth have to do with um, thou. Easy as a Cliffs Notes cheat sheet: The Bard not only mastered iambic pentameter, but he also created quite a few tales for modern horror filmmakers to make their own. 

Macbeth

Perhaps Shakespeare’s most famous tragedy is, conveniently enough, one of his bloodiest. Theatre geeks shudder in fear at the very sound of its name, while the audience gets treated to talk of a premature C-section 500 years before Inside and the kind of shriveled old witches that set the standard for side characters in films like Clash of the Titans and Deadtime Stories. Ghosts, child murderers, and one of the greatest female villains in fictional history round out the original work, so it’s not surprise that horror helmers have taken their shots at the ambitious lord and lady and their Scottish plotting. For a fairly faithful but also generously gory pick, I’d go with Roman Polanski’s 1971 adaptation. Shot two years after the horrific murder of Sharon Tate, Polanski’s Macbeth has a genuine darkness, squeezing the horror out of Shakespeare’s words and discarding some of the lighter moments. Heterosexual male viewers will be happy to learn that Playboy co-financed the film, resulting in some gratuitous (and some plot-required) female nudity.

Titus Andronicus

I don’t mean to assume anything about my readers, but if you’re a genre fan, am I correct in guessing you enjoy your share of cinematic cannibalism and dismemberment with the occasional rape and human sacrifice tossed in? If so, look no further than Julie Taymor’s 1999 visually gluttonous adaptation of Shakespeare’s first big hit. Some literary snobs have attempted to distance their beloved bard from penning the equivalent of Elizabethan exploitation, but Shakespeare’s elegant language and intricate storytelling is there, albeit to teach a lesson about vengeance with gruesome humor and black humor. Much like modern filmmakers who cut their teeth in the horror genre, young William broke out with this tale of Romans and Goths (historical, not Hot Topic-al) and Taymor spares no feelings or PG13 rating in ripping through the fall of a great general at the macabre bidding of a charismatic sociopath. Taymor brilliantly casts a tongue-in-cheek Anthony Hopkins, who basically channels Hannibal Lector after a few too many Chiantis. Yes, the words are Willy’s, but the Virgin Queen wouldn’t be wearing white to her non-existent wedding after watching this one.

Romeo & Juliet

What’s more horrifying than the film that made a star out of Claire Danes, essentially ending production of My So-Called Life and beginning the tragic de-hunkifying downward spiral of the man formerly known as Jordan Catalano? Okay, so Baz Lurhmann’s Florida rave-ish re-staging may not be what you’re looking for, but those trying to avoid memories of 9th grade English class need not fear: for every simple story with a title ripe for punning, there is a Lloyd Kauffman. That’s right: Tromeo & Juliet, a tale of forbidden romance with piggishly deformed lovers, is Troma Studio’s retelling of Shakespeare’s best known weepfest, with the characters you know and the gross-out humor you long for. It’s probably not the film to cite on your midterm, but it does provide more mutations than the typical high school production.

Othello

This is commonly known as Shakespeare’s racial drama, but my filmic recommendation ignores that aspect and focuses instead on the poisonous nature of jealousy and distrust. And roller skates. That’s right: bring on the Jezebels.  As Quentin Tarantino points out in the special edition DVD, Jack Hill’s 1975 Switchblade Sisters is a fairly straightforward re-imaging of Othello. The powerful yet insecure Lace takes on the part of the doomed Moor, as her Iago-esque friend Patch whispers suspicions in the gang leader’s little ear, forcing Lace to question new sister Maggie and her intentions towards Domonic’s Desdemona. True, Shakespeare didn’t script shootouts or forced nerd prostitution, but Switchblade Sisters proves that a good story is timeless--even if the fashion is not.

With the financial success of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, I figure it’s only a matter of time before Hamlet is dusted off to be played by an angsty Twilight alum. In the meantime, feel classy and cultured the old fashioned way and share your thoughts below. Bonus points for anyone that puts their comments in sonnet form. 

Rock & Roll To Steal Your Soul

List of Things to Do Before I Die:


-Read Ulysses
-Catch a foul ball at CitiField
-Beat Zombies Ate My Neighbors on Super Nintendo

-Host a film party featuring a double showing of Hard Rock Zombies and Black Roses


Black Roses is not a good film, nor does it qualify as a so-bad-it's good stinker. In the cheerfully wide catalogue of 80s horror, Black Roses represents an average 90 minutes of decent rock, poor acting, and monsters that rotate between looking evil and resembling poor man's Muppets. Yes, it does mark the dubious film debut of Vincent Pastore, but worse crimes have been committed. If Hard Rock Zombies is a bowl of melted cheddar, Black Roses is the the liquid nacho topping that shoots out ingredients you can't pronounce onto your salty movie theater tortilla chips. It's always edible, but never quite delicious.


Quick Plot: A sleepy midwestern town is visited by the country's biggest metal band, Black Roses. The school board is mildly miffed by the offensiveness of hard rock but allow the band to play a few shows for the enjoyment of the very white teenage population. After the opening night performance, one lone high school teacher notices his students committing acts of violence and (gasp!) wearing muted colors to class. The only possible explanation would be that Black Roses are agents of Satan (or maybe Satan himself; it's unclear) set to collect the souls of America's youth, one Footloose-y town at a time.

Black Roses isn't quite as much fun as it sounds, but it has its moments. As Damien, the kooshball headed lead singer, Sal Vivianno fares somewhat better than the soft-spoken Jessie of Hard Rock Zombies, but demony puppets and killer turntables don't quite match cannibal Nazi dwarves in entertainment value. Lead actor John Martin has a decent presence, but none of the kids make strong enough impressions for us to really care about their fates. So ultimately, there's nothing mind or ear-blowing about Black Roses, except...well...it's a 1988 horror about a demonic hair metal band.


High Points
The variety of monster puppets shows some ingenuity, particularly in the opening scene music video

Props to actor John Martin, who manages to pull off the role of an overly caring high school teacher with female fans and a porno mustache without coming off as overly creepy

Low Points
Did the high school band perform the elaborate and not very appropriate score?


The final heroic pun is barely audible, which would make Buffy the Vampire Slayer shake her ponytail in shame


How does one set a climax at a rock concert and not end with a stage dive?

Lessons Learned
Underage breasts are quite versatile and inconsistently sized in small towns


In the 1980s, any girl named Tina was a slut


Tennis rackets, when used correctly, make excellent tools for demon bashing


Rent/Bury/Buy
There's something about these 80s high school horror flicks that's hard to resist, and Black Roses is certainly likable in its cheesiness. Under no definition is this a scary movie, but there's a lot of low budget heart to keep it watchable. A small selection of extras includes a compilation of Damien auditions, which surprisingly reveal that Vivianno may have been the best casting choice (at least from the drudge of a pool amassed in that collection). An affectionate audio commentary by director John Fasano, screenwriter Cindy Cirile, and their teenage children is joyfully humble and good-natured, but the overall rewatchability of Black Roses isn't quite as high as you would think. A rental should suffice.

Unfunny Games After the Apocalpyse

After watching something like the gleefully tacky and trashy Doomsday, nothing feels overly exciting, particularly a quiet, untacky, untrashy French drama set in a realistic post apocalyptic world, where nary a mohawk or gladiator ring is to be found. Instead, Europe's favorite buzzkilling auteur Michael Haneke brings us a painfully slow story (of sorts; more below) of a joyless near-future filled with the prestige of a Very Good Film and the spirit of, I don't know, arthritic bones.


Quick Plot: A young French family arrives at their country cottage to discover that another young French family has moved in with a loaded rifle and territorial desperation. A surprising pull of the trigger widows mum Isabelle Huppert, driving her and her two children into nearly deserted villages, occasionally stopping to grab some handouts from reluctant neighbors while looking blank and sad.

We're never told what event has sent France spinning into decaying chaos--a point that is both frightening and frustrating. Much like his brilliant Cache, which left the audience with unanswered yet deeply fascinating questions, Haneke's Time of the Wolf doesn't provide much in the way of resolution or clear plot. A fourth character--a feralish boy with a murky conscience--has a dramatic entrance that doesn't develop into the family relationship you'd expect. Eventually, Huppert & Co. join more survivors at an abandoned train depot to wait for a Godotish train in conditions of misery and starvation. While there are hints of villainy in the brutish leader, racist stragglers, and a pre-InsideBeatice Dahl, Haneke avoids developing the typical conflicts or actual story. There is no huge confrontation or climactic event that point us towards salvation or destruction; instead, we simply get survival.

Imagine Cormac McCarthy's The Road without characters (and with a bicycle in place of the shopping cart) and you might come close to Time of the Wolf. It's dark and rather depressing, but also poetic and eerie. Haneke can make intriguing films and his spirit in bucking the trends and cliches of common cinema is refreshing. At the same time, it's hard to accept a film that chooses to not have a central protagonist or even basic plotline to follow.


High Points
An early scene lit entirely by a dying, then raging, fire is truly tense


The absence of any score helps feels hauntingly appropriate


Small hints of what went wrong are effectively channeled through a few disturbing images, such as a herd of cows burning in the night


Low Points
As if a French film with minimum everything by Michael Haneke needed any more help, the choice to have completely silent and black background opening credits amps up the pretentiousness before the first line is spoken


With so many characters and so few names and closeups, it's just too difficult at times to decipher who's who

Lessons Learned
Birds do not make ideal pets in any situation, much less the post apocalypse


If a gigantic disaster strikes your country but you seem to be living safely, it's best to stay put


Rent/Bury/Buy
When I was watching Time of the Wolf, I was bored and more than a bit antsy for something to happen. It doesn't. It's been a few days now, and I now have to admit that Haneke's work has stayed with me. This is probably one of the most realistic depictions of a post-apocalyptic society in recent cinema, and sadly, much of what the characters undergo is not uncommon to certain reaches of the world today, adding some timely weight to a future vision.


So. Rent, bury, or buy? I haven't had this hard a time slapping a label on a film and it makes me understand Roger Ebert's annoyance with the star system rating. Genuine film fans who like a slow burning, though provoking drama might purchase (a few DVD extras seem worth a gander). Apocalyptic afficionados can rent (or do Watch Now via Netflix). Straight horror fans should skip. Personally, I fall under all three categories and am left confused as to how I ultimately felt about the movie. It's well-made and ultimately leaves a deep impression, but the lack of strong characterization or, well, Stuff That Happens makes it hard for me to honestly say I would watch it again. Even though I know I should. Because it's good. But...sigh...you get my point.

I'll just have to wait another twelve postponed release dates for the eventual arrival of Viggo Mortenson giving what will undoubtedly be a fantastic performance in The Road. Should that movie ever actually be released in the 21st century or before the first round of actual apocalpysies.