The Jerky Boys Got Nothing On Mama Rose

From Repulsion to The Sentinel, there’s just something about single women in new apartments that makes for such a perfect starting point for tense horror. As someone who’s had her share of brave roommate mice, pre-war building bathroom ceiling cave-ins, and creepy Craig’s List landlords on roller skates (seriously), I can easily identify with such a premise, making the 2011 Puerto Rican filmed The Caller an ideal instant watch.

Quick Plot: Mary moves into a spacious but eerie apartment following her tense divorce from a dangerously obsessive man. Trying to get on with her life, she enrolls in a French conversationalist class where a room mix-up leads her to a meet-cute with John, a handsome and friendly technical teacher who just happens to be conveniently available despite being such a perfect catch. Still recovering from her abusive marriage, Mary tentatively engages in some flirtation while also befriending long-time tenant George, played by that lovable P.T. (or just Paul, I don’t know; not the Resident Evil one) Anderson regular Luis Guzman.

Life is slowly improving until one day, Mary’s antique rotary style phone rings. On the other end is a middle aged woman named Rose who refuses to accept the idea that her boyfriend Bobby no longer lives in Mary’s apartment. The bigger problem? Mary is apparently living in the 1970s. And not in a thrift shop bell bottoms/forever disco retro allegiance kind of way.

Nope. On Rose’s phone line, it is indeed the 1970s.

The Caller is a wonderfully paced film that takes its time in unraveling the freshly done story. John’s sci-fi geekery pays off in helping to establish the basic rules of the plot: somehow, Rose and Mary are communicating at different times, and as a result, an alternate timeline based on Rose’s new actions is being created. Like any time travel movie, a cynic could find more holes in the plot than a slice of Swiss cheese, but if you let your movie-watching instincts trump your scientific logic ones, The Caller is incredibly effective.

As Mary, Rachelle Lefevre (better known as the villainous vamp who got replaced in the Twilight films) is a solid lead. Her chemistry with True Blood’s Stephen Moyer makes you genuinely root for the couple’s safety, while Sergio Casci’s script has a disciplined approach that never rushes character or plot developments. Looming in the background is the constant menace of Mary’s ex, a subplot that isn’t always handled flawlessly but ultimately gets a proper payoff when needed.

Directed by second-time filmmaker Matthew Parkhill, The Caller has both original ideas and effective execution. Rose is a terrifying villain because, in one of the film’s wonderfully subtle themes, she’s just a lonely, abused old woman, something Mary herself could easily turn into if set on a certain path. We don’t know why she has this supernatural time jumping power, but it doesn’t matter in the least; if a nice and needy old woman was on the other end of a phone line, any one of us might engage her in the same manner as Mary. You never know what kind of evil a person has the potential to commit, and worse, how that might affect those around you. Mary learns this the hard way.

High Points

As Insidious taught us, scary apparitions in photographs are never not creepy when done right

SPOILER

When we finally meet Rose, it’s only for a few brief glances but even in quick shots, she’s a positively perfect design. There’s nothing monstrous or inhuman about her look, but the smudgy makeup and dated clothing is somehow enough to make her something to fear

Low Points

Don’t think too hard about the logic of timelines. I beg you. Just. Don’t.

Mixed Bag

The sound department was quite ambitious for The Caller, ending with both positive and negative results. Early in the film, there are some wonderfully subtle choices that build a truly creepy atmosphere, something that becomes less effective as the underlying noises become louder and more conspicuous. It’s nice to hear some experimentation, but the results aren’t quite as disciplined as they could be from beginning to end

Lessons Learned

Just because you made someone a daisy chain does not mean they are immune from the effect of a crazy serial killing time traveler

Pulling a knife out of your leg is something you should never do in a library, church, board meeting, or any other location where silence is important. Those things are LOUD

No matter how good that rent might be, never move into an apartment with terrible cell phone service*

Being wiry is almost as good as being big

About the Dog…

If you’re anything like me, you see a beautiful golden retriever in a horror movie and then get extremely distracted worrying if it will experience a terrible fate unworthy of anything so cute. If you are indeed of my mindset and need to know this, look below the picture of a beautiful golden retriever for the SPOILER ALERT answer (written in Spanish as an ode to the film’s filming grounds)

El vive.

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Caller is an excellent little thriller well worth a stream on Instant Watch. The only exception is for those annoyingly logical viewers who still let the issue that John Connor shouldn’t exist because he only exists because he sent a man to father him ruin their enjoyment of the Terminator franchise. Yes, there are inconsistencies in The Caller, but if you dim the lights and sit back to enjoy a creative scary movie, I almost promise they won’t bother you. I for one am eager to see what Matthew Parkhill does next.

*I learned this the hard way myself when I first moved into my current home, only to realize that unless I kept my head hanging out the window or consulted a shaman, I would never be able to have a phone conversation. Saying this out loud after watching poor Mary watch people she cares about die horrible deaths now makes me feel a little petty. But seriously: it was really annoying.

Horrible Non-Horror! Delgo

A “children’s film” that appeals equally to adults is, in my opinion, one of the greatest feats cinema can achieve. WALL-E, The Wizard of Oz, both Babe films and a select batch of others are celebrated for simultaneously being both eye candy with good messages for any time’s youth, and wonderful entertainment that doesn’t have an age limit. Most filmmakers can throw pretty colors and goofy characters onscreen long enough to entertain the under 8 crowd. It takes true talent and vision to keep their parents from calling the babysitter.

Then there comes a film like Delgo, a now legendary box office bomb that fails every generation (of which there are very few) that dares to watch it. Too ugly for toddlers, too violent for pre-Kers, too convoluted for the elementary crowd and too exceedingly dull for any adult charged with supervising.

In other words, it’s horrible non-horror at its very base.

Quick Plot: Let’s start with the onscreen voice credits, something you rarely see in a children’s film because most filmmakers assume children aren’t actively reading to see which of their favorite Monty Python members show up for a paycheck. Sure, The Muppets’ Christmas Carol also featured onscreen credits in its opening, but that’s probably because the kids that could read would get actively excited to see the words “Fozzie Bear as Fozziwig.” Granted I’m not a parent, but even the very subtle motherly instincts inside me say most six-year-olds aren’t overly thrilled at the prospect of picturing Sally Kellerman and Kelly Ripa in a recording studio.

Kellerman’s narration introduces us to the planet Jhamora, where the lizard-ish green race of Lokni have peacefully played with ugly dolls and moved red stones with their minds for generations. One day, the Nohrin—fairy-ish things that sort of look like something Toy Story’s sadistic Sid might have created if he were a little girl—flutter to Jhamora and stake it as their new settlement, first peacefully, then with force from the fair king (Louis Gossett Jr.)’s evil sister Sedessa (Anne Bancroft, in her final film role). After trying to kill the king’s infant daughter and brutally slaughtering a whole lot of Lokni, Sedessa is banished and a tentative peace is reached.

I know what you’re thinking: if I were six, all this talk of genocide and monarchy and revolution in a fantasy world would be absolutely RIVETING. AND I haven’t even told you about Chris Kattan yet!

15 years after the prologue, we meet the titular Delgo, voiced by that ever so dry slice of white bread that is and will always be Freddie Prinze Jr. Delgo is a Lokni orphaned by Sedessa’s war but raised by Michael Clarke-Duncan’s wannabe Obi Wan Kenobi of a master, who teaches the ways of what is never called, but obviously ripped off from The Force. Delgo’s best bud is named JarJar—er, Filo. But you can see where I’m going with this…

Chris Kattan has never been, how do you say, a subtle performer. Often such a style is ideal for the world of animation, where overactive personalities like Robin Williams or Gilbert Gottfried feel perfectly at home in the guise of colorful caricatures unlimited by live action restraints. In the case of the far less talented Chris Kattan, however, ‘free reign’ is never good direction.

As Filo, Kattan irks and grates in a manner seemingly intent on giving viewers hives. It’s not his fault that his character (like all the creatures in the film) looks like a Saturday morning cartoon rejected design later thrown into a paper shredder and messily glued back together, but hearing him mug and cry cliché after cliché as flat comic relief is just painful.

As for the rest of the movie, it’s not much better. Delgo sort of kind of falls for Kyla, the teenage Nohrin princess voiced by Jennifer Love Hewitt. I suppose we’re supposed to feel something of a Romeo & Juliet vibe, but at the risk of sounding racist towards ugly fairy/lizard CGI creations, I don’t know that I want to live in a world where such awful things are allowed to reproduce. Their kiss in the final shot is remnant of the awkward first time smooches seen on TLC’s Virgin Diaries, and while I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve watched that sad excuse for a reality show, I’m less embarrassed to say I’d take a marathon of that over a second viewing of Delgo any day.

It’s not that the film is bad; it is, but any glance at my archives proves I’ve seen far worse. The problem with Delgo is that it’s a snooze with no understanding of any member of its potential audience. Yes, there are magical creatures designed to appeal to little girls…

if little girls dig plain-looking fairies in yoga pants.

There’s comic relief…

in the form of incredibly annoying and not-at-all comic sidekicks. 

We’re on a fantasy pre-Pandora-ish planet…

filled with all the whimsy of an antiquated screensaver. 

Toss in subplots involving meditation, war councils, and—I lie not—the devastating effects of gambling addiction and you have a kids film as ill-thought-out, but not nearly as kooky as The Nutcracker In 3D.

I’m sure directors Marc  Adler and Jason Maurer made Delgo with the best of intentions, especially considering it was a decade-long project that seemed enthusiastically intent on being a new frontier for animation. There’s an earnestness in the story and styling, which really seems to want to warn its audience about the perils of power, racism, colonization, and, um, gambling addiction. The film eschews easy pop culture references for an actual plot and imagined society. On paper, the idea of Delgo is a wonderful right step for children’s entertainment.

It’s just a shame—or guilty pleasure—that the end result is what it is. Because seriously: this-

is supposed to be charming.

High Notes

With all the heavily touted voice talent, it’s a shame to admit only one leaves any form of lasting impression. Thankfully, Anne Bancroft imbues Sedessa with a throaty cunning that adds a touch of sexiness to an otherwise dull 90 minutes, occasionally helped out by the always welcome raspings of Malcom McDowell in a villainous role

Low Notes

Between the uninspired dialogue, bland characters, overcomplicated plot and excessive violence, it’s hard to pick the ultimate offender of Delgo…until you pause at any given scene and wonder how any filmmaker with color vision can look at the brown/gray palette of his film and not think of the water you use to rinse off your brush when painting with watercolors. This is an aggressively ugly film.

Lessons Learned

Cutting off a fairy thing’s wings be twisted

Fairy thingies are easily distracted by flipped coins

In order to secure a PG rating for a film in which one character is stabbed by a belly complete with a grisly sound effect of someone pulling the sword OUT of his belly, make sure all your characters are so physically repulsive that even the most Puritan MPAA member will cheer for their extinction

The Winning Line

“Does this make my wings look wide?”

Not because it’s actually funny, but more because it represents much of what is wrong about Delgo. A princess wearing the same outfit she wears for the entire film suddenly worries about her girth with a trite question meant so earnestly to garner a chuckle from the moms in the audience. Except the script can’t even bring a desperate smile to the ticketbuyer’s face because, well, who says “wide” when they mean “fat?”

Rent/Bury/Buy

Delgo is more legendary for its box office failure than its actual quality, but this is still a very, very bad film. Badly written, blandly acted, and most shamefully, dreadfully designed, it makes no attempt whatsoever to appeal to its presumed 21^st century 4 to 11 year old audience, assuming instead that whatever magic was thought up by its adult creators is enough to lighten everybody’s world. The DVD is oozing with special features, including a commentary track and batch of making-of featurettes. So if you really, um, like Delgo, it’s certainly worth a purchase. But if you really like Delgo, I’m also assuming you shouldn’t play with sharp things and therefore don’t really want you touching the potential weapon that is a DVD.

A Sorority Is Only As Good As Its Wardrobe

Much like a good portion of the human population, I've had a rather serious case of Olympic fever over the past few weeks (much to the chagrin of NBC, who seem to be aggressively trying to cure this worldwide ailment with such antidotes as selective airing, ignorance of badminton, creepily leering broadcasters who can't hide the boners beach volleyball produces, lack of suspense, poor editing, and of course, Ryan Seacrest teaching your parents about Twitter). 

The result of this condition is that my moviewatching has been, shall we say, spotty. I don't feel guilty about this. After all, I can queue up The Unborn any day. I only get evil pummel horses stoically destroying the dreams of the Bronx ever four years.

That being said, I can only watch coxless rowing for so long before deciding it might be a good time to squeeze in a brisk 74 minute horror film, namely the fashion show spectacular that is 1986's Sorority House Massacre. Nowhere near a gold medal, but still far more interesting than coxless rowing.

And no, I'm not just repeating "coxless" because it sounds scandalous. As a public school graduate who's never watched a professional crew, I find the sport fascinating but only because it includes one team player three feet shorter than his or her teammates who does nothing but shout at his or her players to go faster. It's as if I missed my calling for the one Olympic event I might have stood a chance at.

Sigh.

Quick Plot: College student Beth returns to her sorority house following the death of her aunt. Despite the girls just wanna have fun vibe of her sisters, Beth can't seem to shake a series of powerful nightmares that involve a mystery man slicing his way through her comfortable party digs. Meanwhile, a seriously disturbed mental patient gives his doctors some worry across town. Could these two insomniacs have something in common?

Is an '80s final girl afraid of sex?

As you probably guessed, Sorority House Massacre treads no new territory in unfolding a very simple (yet somewhat convoluted, if the two can coexist) plot. It should surprise no one that Beth has mentally blocked some horrific childhood trauma that, whaddya know, involves the same man slashing his way through her gal pals and their terribly dressed boyfriends. Today's cinematic self-proclaimed purists can cry all they want about the moral perversion of remakes and Saw sequels, but when the only real thing separating Sorority House Massacre from the Halloween franchise is the holiday of Halloween, I can only roll my eyes.

That being said, I actually enjoyed this film quite a bit. Lead actress Angela O’Neill is a solid center for a surface story, and though none of the kills come with any real surprise, the cast is surprisingly likable in a way that makes their deaths linger sadly. Director Carol Frank opens the film with some eerie dream imagery that I found unsettling, but then again, it could just be because said imagery involved weird My Buddy-esque female dolls. Not that I have any relationship to things like that.

But really, if we need to examine what makes Sorority House Massacre worth watching, it's simple:

-A flannel shirt paired with checkered pans and complemented by an oversized cardigan
-Shoulder pads

-A Working Girl smart business dress suit accented with white cowgirl boots

-The classic two-piece Hawaiian dress
-Monochrome jumpsuits that call to mind Morgan Fairchild's cameo in Pee-Wee's Big Adventure

If that wasn't enough to get you off the couch and into the mall, Sorority House Massacre features that tried and true staple of any 1980s girlcentric film: the fashion show montage.

During which, you get boobs. See? Everyone wins! 

High Points

In case I was too subtle, let me be clear: THIS MOVIE INVOLVES A FASHION SHOW MONTAGE WITH JUMPSUITS SET TO OVERENTHUSIASTIC SAXOPHONE MUSIC

Got it?

Low Points

Look, I remember the '80s well enough to know that no killers died on the first try, but after about three false "the killer is dead!" moments, I couldn't muster much more sympathy for the squeamish survivors

Lessons Learned

Dream imagery is a challenging, yet occasionally practical and life-saving college major

When the house mother is away, sorority sisters will play…by trying on each other’s clothing and—GET THIS—eating the missing girls’ ice cream. It’s a “once in a lifetime” opportunity!

One rather skinny mental patient with a mid-sized knife is a force to be reckoned with, so much so that even if there are four of you (including one muscular man), banding together to take said skinny mental patient down is a far worse idea than separating and running for your lives unarmed

Stray Observation

Despite being set in, you know, a SORORITY, Sorority House Massacre stars the least horny male college students ever to be put on film. At least two of the boys decline 'staying the night' despite the cooing pleas of their ladies, while another preaches patience with his virginal girlfriend. What is going on here?

Oh. That.

How '80s Is It?

There's a blond, and her name is Linda. That's basically a birth certificate 

Rent/Bury/Buy

Sorority House Massacre isn’t particularly good, but it’s fairly high caliber quality in the realm of forgettable ‘80s slashers. The gore isn’t outstanding and the story is as original as Ryan Seacrest’s interview questions, but the cast is stronger than average and the utter ‘80s factor is enough to warrant a brief—74 minute!—stream on Netflix Instant. Then go back to gymnastics. Because it can’t be long before that pummel horse makes his real powers of evil known.

It's Not Easy Being Teen

I’m going to say something that hurts me very deeply. You know how stubbing your toe produces the world’s worst imaginable pain for about 10 seconds? This is kind of like that. Only I’m publishing it online, which means that pain will linger for as long as this Internet thing remains live, which in turn depends on what kind of apocalypse will ultimately bring us down (zombie invasion means the pain stops; Pulse-like computer ghosting screws me big time). Closing my eyes. Biting hard on a stick so as to save my tongue. Bracing self…

I. Was. Wrong.

Between my cries of pain, allow me to explain: for the last few years of writing about horror, I’ve displayed something of a snooty attitude when it came to found footage. Oh great, I’d sarcastically say to my cats whenever a shaky cam screener arrived in my mailbox. Another poorly filmed home video about stuff we can’t see attacking people I don’t like stumbling through improvisational dialogue when they should know to put that bulky camera down and save their dull butts already. Just what I want in my cinema!

Except, well, then I would watch low budget indies like Skew, The Feed, Meadowoods, Grave Encounters, and now, Megan Is Missing only to realize that just like those  previously overdone subgenres of zombies and slashers, a found footage film is not a gimmick when handled right. Michael Goi’s movie is certainly assembled as one—told entirely through ‘found’ video chats, newsreels, interviews and the like—but when viewed in its entirety, this is a new kind of horror done right.

Quick Plot: Megan is a promiscuous too-old-for-her-age 14-year-old who has that icky habit of wasting weekends trading oral sex to jerks for a few pot hits. Her best friend Amy, on the other hand, is an insecure mouse of a girl who keeps trying to fit in, despite a lower tolerance for alcohol and slightly higher standards when it comes to men. Both, however, are charmed by the mysterious “Skateboard Dude” they meet in a chatroom. Possibly named Josh, this Internet entity boasts a Brad Pitt-ish profile picture and the kind of game that makes even a hardened pessimist like Megan agree to meet him behind—not inside—a nearby diner.

Naturally, Megan winds up a missing person. Security footage catches her being led away by a faceless man. Amy comes forward with information about her cyber romance, only to…well, let’s just say one should never trust a one-sided webcam conversation.

Initially, Megan Is Missing feels like a direct horror adaptation of Catherine Hardwicke’s Thirteen told through found footage. The girls come off as crass, selfish twits who certainly don’t warrant a 90 minute film, especially with the kind of teenspeak and forced sluttiness that makes any potential parent pray for male offspring. Thankfully, writer/director Michael Goi proves to be incredibly clever in how his nightmare unfolds.

It begins when Megan, in a rare moment of utter unguarded honesty, tells Amy’s new birthday camera about her tragic past: as a child, Megan was sexually abused by her stepfather. Such a statement changes the way we view this character, who had—just two scenes earlier—recapped a sexual encounter with a much older Kevin Spacey lookalike camp counselor with creepy ambivalence and minor pride. It’s a fascinating character portrait process: Goi throws the misbehaving teen delinquent-in the-making at us only to carefully fill in the blanks to reveal a hurt soul in hiding.

Watching Megan Is Missing reminded me an awful lot of Catfish, for obvious reasons (people on the Internet aren’t necessarily who they pretend to be) and more subtle ones. Catfish, the pseudo-documentary juggernaut of 2011, was most interesting for how (MINOR SPOILER) its main subject created an alternate identity through social media. In Megan Is Missing, the entire film is assembled from webchats, video diaries, and ‘news’ programs that masquerade as justice finding journalism but end up being nothing more than headline juicing sleaze. Rarely are our characters honest, but their false faces seem to reveal even more truth.

To the ladies in the readership here at the Doll’s House: remember being 14? I hope not. There’s no worse age for a female than those tricky middle school years of, in the words of Britney Spears, being not a girl, not yet a woman. You WANT to seem like a grownup who smokes, drinks, and flirts like the pretty faces shown in magazines. But it generally takes you far too long to realize those things aren’t actually fun when you're not yet ready. Yes, one day you will have good sex with people who respect you, know your taste in cocktail or wine, and if you’re lucky, live in a city where smoking is banned indoors but when you’re an awkward 8^th grader desperately hoping black light decorated basements will make your braces less conspicuous, life is not so clear cut.

Like, seriously

Amy and Megan are the kind of girls who need to believe it gets better, but who can say that with any believability? They’re pretty, seemingly wealthy, and ultimately, incredibly unhappy. In Amy’s case, it’s because she’s trying so hard to fit into a mold she’s not yet made for. For Megan, the scars run deeper. This is a girl who knows that men will always be attracted to her, and though she also knows most are scum, she still wants more than anything for the right one to come along. It’s easy to see a teenager go meet a stranger in a non-public place and roll your eyes at her stupidity, but everything Goi has thus far captured showed that this is ABSOLUTELY the way an emotionally battered girl like Megan would go about landing her alleged Prince Charming.

I don’t want to spoil Megan Is Missing, as I’m far more concerned with recommending it. This is not a perfect film, but much like the similarly themed (and even more chilling) Lake Mungo, Megan Is Missing is a scary, thoughtful, and surprisingly deep exercise in using the trend of ‘found footage’ to tell a thoroughly frightening tale.

High Points

The nature of found footage is rarely kind to actors (see Low Points), but leads Rachel Quinn and Amber Perkins take on what I imagine is a huge challenge and succeed in creating realistic, flawed, and ultimately, sympathetic young teenagers (despite being much older in real life age, thankfully)

Though Megan Is Missing has a mostly serious tone, there’s an eerily funny sequence involving a ‘making-of’ clip for the reenactment of Megan’s abduction. The fact that this bit of black comedy is immediately followed by the film’s second most haunting image is even more noteworthy, as if the film—like the media—wants to glamorize the Lifetime movie-of-the-week material before a taste of realism shockingly brings us back to the fact that there are actual young lives at stake

Low Points

It’s hard to tell if some of the supporting cast members are actively shaky or if it’s the nature of found footage making their characters overact. While I could easily defend the occasionally grating performances on the grounds of “they’re teenagers acting for the camera,” it doesn’t make it any easier on the viewers’ eyes and ears

Lessons Learned

Virgins don’t know how to wear makeup

In case you forgot, being 14 really sucks

Never trust a camp counselor that looks like Kevin Spacey. Or a computer friend with a vague resemblance to a young Brad Pitt. Come to think of it, don’t ever, if you value your life, put your faith in any man who reminds you of a cast member in Se7en. (You probably already suspected as much about R. Lee Ermey and Leland Orser clones, but I would add Morgan Freeman to your no-date list, impeccable narration skills be damned)

Rent/Bury/Buy

I queued up Megan Is Missing right before it left Instant Watch, but I would definitely encourage a rental for almost any horror fan. In no way is this a typical slasher or even found footage flick, but once you get past the “are these girls really that annoying?” feeling of the opening, Megan Is Missing proves to be a fascinating, unique, and genuinely scary little indie. I’m excited to see what Michael Goi delivers next, and what’s far more shocking is that I’m in no way dreading the next round of found footage horror to pop up in genre circles. Megan Is Missing is a prime example of a filmmaker using unconventional tools to capture a different aspect of its story, and that's how it should be done.