No One Lives

Japanese director Ryûhei Kitamura has an impressive resume. Although I’m not overly familiar with the body of work that began his journey (outings such as Versus), I – like many others – stumbled upon this unique talent after being exposed to the genuine horrors of The Midnight Meat Train. With an arsenal of very Kitamura techniques at his disposal (stylish hyper-kinetic camera movement and offbeat angles, among others), we all watched in awe as he faithfully brought Clive Barker's vision blazing into a new millennium. An adaptation now legendary for not getting the treatment it deserved – one wonders whether the overall experience had shattered Ryûhei in some capacity. Would he still want to pursue such outlandish monsters in the aftermath? Or would he perhaps try to find a safer path to success? Thankfully the former was chosen, and with No One Lives our director has selected a script from first time writer David Cohen that again raises the bar and gives us a lofty and unique perspective of the genre.

The journey begins as many others: in true slasher fashion, a young woman is stalked through suburban forest by an unknown assailant using sophisticated equipment. Before being apprehended, she leaves a cryptic message … bread crumbs for those in authority who may be looking for her. Scene two – and we have more familiar territory: a seemingly normal couple are negotiating the highways with some serious luggage in tow. The unnamed pair have made a decision to ‘relocate’ and begin a new existence. Although their motives are not clear, it appears our charismatic male is certainly the one at the controls. When they stop off at an out-of-the-way motel to recharge, we are then treated to some obscure dialogue. Some revelations are at hand, however – and through cobbled together news stories we ascertain the missing young woman is the offspring of society’s elite. After finding her breadcrumbs intact, the call goes out to secure her freedom and life.

Switching gears, we're then introduced to a gang of modern thieves in the midst of a large scale mansion heist. Quicker than expected, it’s ascertained pilfering and burglary are just some of the crimes this cabal entertains when the vacationing family unexpectedly show up. In the aftermath, the two factions cross paths in a small diner setting off a chain of interlocking events revealing a major and unpredictable twist … a happening that simply cannot be disclosed here. And although the couple find themselves the target of these outlaws, a killer emerges that will dwarf them all leading to a cat and mouse showdown in the thug’s lair where anybody is potential prey.

Without revealing the twist, I will say the rest of the film follows a steady formula of imaginative kill sequences. Holed in like rats, the criminal gang have finally met their match. Giddy with the twist – and by now relishing the outing – I was somewhat disappointed when various flaws began to appear … chief among them character's breaking the cardinal rule of an intelligent horror film: acting stupid. With a killer having already displayed near invincible prowess, that does not stop the injured and maimed trying to escape in the most foolhardy way possible – simply walking out the front door. It’s here, unfortunately, that the sophistication slips. Thankfully the second half is salvaged by key moments of flashback detailing our heroine’s plight – sequences giving rise to philosophic undertones asking pertinent questions concerning evil and its motivations.

I know all this sounds outwardly confusing – like a mash-up of very different genres barely related to each other – but with all plot points revolving around the twist, what looks messy on paper actually comes out sharp. Altogether, Ryûhei Kitamura has delivered a very unique and dark experience: an amalgamation of two disparate plot lines shoved together with enough force the generated heat melds the elements. Recommended.

The Purge

Despite a minuscule budget of only three million, The Purge received quite a lot of pre-release hype. Part of this (of course) is attributed to actor Ethan Hawke’s participation. After the critical success of both Daybreakers and Sinister, Hawke seems to know how to pick them. Another element to the excitement is the intriguing and original premise: an amalgamation of horror and (not-too-distant) science fiction that seems right at home within the pages of dystopian literature.  

It’s the year 2022, and the United States of America has found a way to curtail excessive crime and overpopulation. On one night every year (over a twelve hour period) all criminal activity is sanctioned ... including murder. Punishment is suspended and violence reigns supreme. This annual - and supposedly cathartic experience – has been aptly titled The Purge. Through news blips and media loops we quickly discover that despite the moral implications, The Purge is actually effective: for the remaining year misdemeanors remain almost non-existent. Apparently, the simple answer to humanity’s psychological tribulation is a united mental enema of depravity; an abandoning of all civilized behavior in favor of our ingrained base needs and ancestral animal instincts.

If all of this sounds a tad implausible, it is. However, in this particular instance I was happy to suspend all disbelief for the sake of entertainment.  While it would have been interesting to look at the worldwide effect of The Purge, writer/director James Demonaco has opted instead to take a close look at the domestic component – to put under the microscope one well-to-do American family and see what mayhem eschews. The Sandin family – an envy of their entire neighborhood – have everything they need to survive. James (Ethan Hawke) knows security intimately. After all, he sells it for a living. His wife Mary (Lena Headey – better known as Cersei from Game of Thrones), is effective at keeping both her American accent and family together. Teenage children Charlie and Zoey come with their own baggage: Charlie has major issues with The Purge, and his sister Zoey is fuming her father won’t let her date an older boy from school. Soon night draws near and the shutters go up. When young Charlie succumbs to his warring empathy and opens up their house to a pursued homeless man, it isn't long before all hell breaks loose from numerous fronts. The homeless victim has escaped in the house, and his masked vigilante hunters (looking for all the world like The Stranger’s home invaders on steroids) have arrived on the front doorstep demanding their god-given American right to purge. It then falls to the entire Sandin clan to make a decision: do they succumb to the invaders ultimatum - thereby becoming no better than Purge participants – or do they fight to keep their ethics alive?

Notwithstanding a director at the helm who has worked with similar themes before (Assault on Precinct 13), The Purge still suffers from various flaws. The pacing – while lent strength with a rousing ‘heartbeat’ soundtrack – never seems to attain the lofty heights we originally envisioned, and developments become stalled as the audience guesses hurdle after hurdle. Although our masked adversary is decidedly creepy at times espousing patriotic rhetoric and generally giving off an American Psycho kind of vibe, his predictable bedlam comes far too late in the film and is ultimately ineffective.

All told, The Purge is still an above average thriller containing just enough claustrophobic moments and subtle action sequences to put it on the map. With Universal already giving the follow up a green light, one can hope future writers take heed of the wonky philosophic undertones and give more credence to The Purge’s attractive concept.  

Chained

From the somewhat vague synopsis provided by other media, a viewer may garner the opinion Chained might be something akin to a (low budget) gritty urban thriller along the lines of Michael Mann’s Collateral. However, such notions are quickly dispelled as we bear witness to a terrified adolescent male rummaging through a box containing female identification cards. When a doorbell suddenly rings and the child looks up fraught, it doesn’t take a sleuth to ascertain a serial killer is about to enter the fray. Enter he does, and soon we have reached the garish conclusion Chained will rapidly descend into the most taboo strictures of film-making; that any allusions of a crime/thriller are wholly discarded as the child cowers in fear and the screams of a new victim are heralded through the walls. Who is this child? And how did he come to be in such depraved circumstances?  

Cut to eight weeks earlier and Tim (our future captive), is taking in a movie with his mother. Afterward – and at the behest of his father – both mother and son enter a cab and make for home. But the mundane ride back takes macabre twist when taxi-cab driver Bob - a mentally unstable killer played by Vincent D’Onofrio – decides to make little Tim’s mother his next unwitting victim. Forced to endure Bob’s depravity up close and personal, Tim is suddenly orphaned and in the lair of a maniac. Our killer, having done his deed, sees the presence of the child as a new-found opportunity. Does he use little Tim as a mere slave to help him in his daily carnage? Or does he decide to do something even more sinister ... to mold Tim like clay in his image; to make the boy a protégé out of untarnished innocence and teach him the art of death. 

It’s an original premise, and before going any further we must shine the spotlight on the director: Jennifer Chambers Lynch – a surname synonymous with surrealist film-making. After the debacle of her debut Boxing Helena, Jennifer fled the broad audience and delved into more minor pursuits ... reminiscent, perhaps, of her father David. While Chained reflects nothing of David’s unique – some would say Lynchian - cinematic style, it is still imbued with enough disturbing and violent moments to warrant a small comparison. Shot in a mere fourteen days, Jennifer’s technique is domestic, claustrophobic, and all too real. With only two central characters, this is the sort of get-under-your-skin creepiness that leaves a lasting impression. 

Fast forward to many years later and little Timmy is all grown up. Now resembling a gaunt rock star, mentor Bob continues his slow methodology of indoctrination. Given the dehumanizing nickname of ‘Rabbit’, our padawan-in-training still retains his adolescent conscience and mild mannered innocence. Rewarded accordingly – and metered out with punishment in the same token – little Rabbit tries to find a subtle chink in Bob’s armor ... a monumental task given that Bob (living in rural isolation and anonymity) has perfected his killing art.

To call this film ‘unrelenting’ is an understatement – and it’s outings like Chained that reinforce something the collective horror tribe has always known: you do not need a monumental budget or prestigious studio backing to create an indie masterpiece. The only flaw – and with a second viewing I had grave doubts it was a flaw – was a shocking ‘twist’ ending that’s almost an unnecessary addition. It’s a small blemish, because the rest of the film is faultless in almost every department. Here, Jennifer Lynch translates our real-world horrors with skill and dexterity, and we can only hope this director decides to call horror her home.

DARK MERIDIAN OUT IN PAPERBACK

It's finally here - the first of a trilogy. Get your copy in paperback and ebook: Dark Meridian

The story continues in OLEARIA (2014) and THE HOPE OF KINFOLD. (2015). 

"Inventive and suspenseful, Dark Meridian is a story of epic proportions, told in Tait's distinctive, genre blending style."

-Tracie McBride, author of Ghosts Can Bleed. 

MANIAC

I have a confession: as a horror aficionado for most of my remembered life, I am at pains to divulge the sad fact I have never viewed the original 1980’s slasher Maniac. Of course, I can summon the VHS video cover in my mind with vivid recollection (almost as gaudily as I remember the poster for David Cronenberg’s first film Rabid). And yet for some obscure reason eluding me I’ve never sat down and watched the film. Now, many years later I have been given an opportunity twofold: to not only immerse myself in Franck Kahalfoun’s astonishing new remake- but to take a nostalgic trip back in time to the eighties I should have taken years ago as a genre novice.

One thing needs to be stated: this modern retelling of Maniac is shot almost entirely from Frank Zito’s POV ... you will see and hear Elijah Wood talking – you will watch his hand gestures and reflection in the mirror – but watching this film is like being at the controls of a macabre and voyeuristic video game. As a participating viewer, your first instinct is to recoil (do we really need an intimate close-up of personal carnage?). However, one slowly acclimatizes after realizing this unique perspective is the most intriguing thing about the film. Not only is it a monumental achievement from a technical standpoint – but as a collective audience, we delve into a characters motivations through feeling and hearing ... a challenge hitherto attempted (to the best of my knowledge) in film-making before.

Just in case we forget what territory we’re in, the opening is classic slasher: the prey has been spotted and we can hear heavy breathing from a stalkers outlook, bringing to mind an adolescent Michael Myers about to visit one of his siblings. Some credits roll, and a musical score unmistakably 1980's comes into the fray ... a deft touch paying considerable homage to its predecessor. After Frank’s first victim has been dispatched and scalped (a secret I don’t think I’m giving away), we are then escorted back to his mannequin-adorned lair – a dummy shop bequeathed by his promiscuous mother many years before. Although our retro music is still playing, Frank is soon web surfing internet dating sites, discovering in his hunting a smorgasbord of potential scalps to bring home and place atop his bald mannequins.

Nestled at the heart of the chase is Frank’s mental illness; his migraines and panic attacks; his overall malaise as though two separate individuals are competing for dominion. There are also the Norman Bates/Freudien issues. As an actor, there can be little doubt Elijah Wood is a preconceived good guy - but here he pulls off the warring duality effortlessly ... almost with the same amount of creative pizzazz a creature named Gollum once attained. With his previous foray into a dark psyche with Sin City, Elijah continues to step out of his comfort zone and challenge perceptions. Overall, I think this modern incarnation would be much impoverished without his casting.

Eager to share his mannequins (the regular art, away from fly-blown decaying scalps), Frank comes into contact with French photographer Nora – a beautiful and savant young artist eager to collaborate and share her wares. It’s a different kind of relationship, one that could almost spell salvation for Frank. Almost. As the impending climax reaches a steady cohesion - one that will see a close friend of Nora’s hog-tied and butchered for her hide - Frank then becomes Nora’s unwitting counselor, but cannot hold back his second self. It’s a final showdown, a gory splatterfest taking place in bleak and deserted suburbia.   

All of which is saying none of this is for the faint of heart. Maniac – although a triumph in terms of a remake – is still peppered with enough disturbing moments to make one ruminate about the legitimacy of the slasher sub-genre in general. Fans of the original will be subtly appeased – after viewing the 1980 version not long after, I did notice more than a few artistic nods to William Lustig’s first film. And although I found that version to be somewhat lackluster and sluggish, there are enough epic moments in this new re-imagining to satisfy all and any devotees.

In reviews, the phrase ‘highly recommended’ is thrown around all too often. But if it’s applicable to any editorial perspective, I’m going to say that particular idiom is suited to Maniac more than any other film I’ve seen this year. 

The Pact

When seeking out rare gems – in my case independent horror films with a slice of sophistication – one never knows what a mixed bag they will find. With sometimes little to no information permeating the ether (and online rating systems seldom giving up their secrets), the hit or miss ratio can be much-maligned or something to be celebrated. In my personal opinion, a films overall anonymity is something to be lauded; its mere ambiguity can guarantee it a proper audience away from the rhetoric of others. The Pact (2012) is one such outing ... a small sleeper of quiet horror that far exceeded any expectations I may have garnered from it.

Two sisters lie at the heart of this tale after their abusive mother has passed away. Back in her childhood home and putting final touches on the funeral, Nicole calls Annie in an attempt to have her sister present for the occasion. With memories of mistreatment still sharp, Nicole initially refuses ... but makes the jaunt down anyway after Nicole seemingly vanishes from the face of the earth. Once returned, it isn’t long before Annie begins to feel the first supernatural overtones (smashed photographs and moved objects, among other things), leading her to believe Nicole’s disappearance is somehow related to the house or a presence within it. Soon after her cousin Liz succumbs to the same fate, and the audience is then treated to sublime poltergeist activity with Annie at the heart of the melee. Distraught, she flees to the local police – only to have her story rebuked. Returning to the house with a local officer and seeking revelation, Annie soon learns that her sister and cousin (although lost) could be a lot closer than anybody realizes...

Earlier I mentioned The Pact was ‘quiet’ horror – and it’s a more than adequate word to describe this. Choosing slow moving interior shots of a suburban house, director Nicholas McCarthy gives us an ominous impression of the mundane by transforming simple things like a small closet space into a place of dread. The musical score is heated and tense (silent when it needs to be), but ratcheted up with rusty violins and subtle piano during moments of suspense. There are some introductions early on - an example would be a jaded cop entering the picture – where as viewer's we anticipate a slide into the formulaic ... but hidden around every corner is a small surprise, almost like the chapters of a novella. A tight film experience notwithstanding, one cannot help but wonder how such a tale would fare within the confines of a book. For all its dark ambition, the plot structure still feels like something lifted from literature.

During the course of Annie’s sleuthing (an investigation that includes consulting a blind psychic), our young Gillian Anderson look-a-like comes to learn of a hidden room in the heart of her childhood home. It is here the story reaches a hybrid of real world horror sparring with the supernatural in perfect duality. There is an amiable twist – one that I didn’t see coming – and a balanced quota of restrained jump moments that are effective without going overboard. With her cell phone pinpointing strange locations and photographs of dead women pointing the way, Annie soon learns of a serial killer known simply as ‘Judas’. Like the hidden room in her house, this enigmatic figure is much closer than she can possibly realize ... a redemptive secret hidden in plain sight.

I know there are many out there who would construe The Pact as being somewhat unremarkable; however, with budget limitations and no major theatrical release, this was never going to get the attention it deserved. With tight performances, stylish direction, and imagery that is short-lived but containing unadulterated horror, The Pact will eventually go down as a small classic in the genre's independent pantheon.

The End of Ever by Troy Barnes

Many years ago I composed a review for Australian writer Will Elliot – who, having astonished readers worldwide with his debut novel The Pilo Family Circus – had now released his sophomore effort, the first book in a fantasy trilogy entitled Pilgrims. Parts of the review read:

I think there comes a time in the speculative writer’s life where they think: now is the time to do my ‘otherworld’ book. Be it another realm, dimension, or simply ‘world’ that sits adjacent to this one – it seems ingrained this accomplished to serve as a kind of Magnum Opus or literary Jupiter to dwarf all other works in a writer’s pantheon.  

As the author of two previous full-length novels, Troy Barnes has decided to largely shift gears and tackle the aforementioned above – to bring a motley cast of characters from our own familiar world and transport them kicking and screaming into an invented one. It’s an ambitious task – especially within the confines of a stand-alone alone novel. An arrangement of a mythology needs to be established; not only that – the writer must play by its rules and keep them check.

Although no central protagonist opens proceedings, this seems to be the story of young Zach. After a night of revelry with friends: Rayne, Shaun, Amy, and Taylor retire at home together. Upon waking, not only do they find themselves in a different world, their entire house has been transported to the edge of a cliff. At first this land is somewhat mundane ... it could be an exotic region of earth. But as they proceed down the cliff, they find a bleak austerity to the realm devoid of life yet potent in its nullity. Soon, it isn’t long before the landscape begins to feel like the afterlife ... one more akin to Hell.

Troy’s prose is simple yet steady. Holding its own you, can see the hallmarks of other writers the author may not necessarily read now ... but instead grew up with. There’s an undeniable Australian dichotomy – one that is refreshingly welcome. But there is also a level of the juvenile (not uncommon with only a third book), and pages riddled with adverbs an editor should have scalped away clean. Divided up into short and choppy chapters heralded into parts ... it’s a technique that ultimately pays dividends over the course of nearly 400 pages. In short, it keeps you turning them.

This is the world of Ever - a world reminiscent, perhaps, of King’s Mid-World. Carnage comes swiftly, and you wonder how many will be left alive by the mid-point. In their wanderings, the intrepid group are joined by the amiable Darkling Titch, a kind of elfin half-breed whose race were decimated decades previous. Titch then becomes central to the story as the group encounter soul-feeding Gremlins and a town entirely inhabited by a wicked band of men I’ve seldom encountered in fiction. Ever is a well mapped world – you can tell Troy knows it well. But if I could lament one thing, it would be its lack of color: as the group travel down a road known as the Shadow Line, you get the feeling more monsters are required on this journey.

Overall, this is a book I enjoyed my time with. And though there's nothing overtly new in the inventions, I found the characters to be its central sticking point. Other writers would do well to follow Troy’s example here – he’s taken a fellowship and given them such well rounded life you’ll feel a connection. And taken as a whole, it far exceeds his previous two novels.

When you have a novelist who is only improving with each successive stroke of the pen, you have a novelist you can ultimately invest in.


 

DARK MERIDIAN BY MATTHEW TAIT

A first look at the cover for my upcoming novel DARK MERIDIAN. 

Cassadaga

A 2011 movie that piqued my curiosity for two reasons: first, the somewhat retro poster raising questions: is this a homage to eighties horror? Or do we have something like a modern slasher in the offing? At a glance it evokes the VHS imagery of a bygone era ... or perhaps (for some) the artwork is reminiscent of their favorite small press horror title. Secondly, I was drawn immediately to the director we have at the helm: Anthony DiBlasi – a name that people with more than a passing curiosity in Clive Barker will be familiar with. Not only did Anthony direct the amiable adaptation of 2009’s Dread, he served as an executive producer to both Book of Blood and The Midnight Meat Train. Personally, I would have liked to see the director continue this independent foray into Barker’s territory. His films - although sovereign in nature and nowhere near the mainstream - contain a genuine feeling for Clive’s material. While commanding small budgets (as was the case with Dread), we still had something as slick and unnerving as anything released by a major studio. This time around, Anthony has chosen a world more conventional in the trappings. With an interesting script featuring a prolific spiritual community and an Oscar winner in tow, all the ingredients were there for strong film.  

Lily Morel (Kelen Coleman) is a pre-school teacher – a gifted one, the obstacle of being deaf failing to waylay her ambitions. Her younger sister Michelle lies at the forefront of her world, but tragedy strikes when Michelle is killed by a motorist, terminating the pair’s long-term plans to begin a new life in Paris. Seeking solitude to both grieve and work on her paintings, Lily takes up residence in Florida’s Cassadaga – a community of fringe artists and mediums. Welcomed into this spiritualist camp by ageing guru Claire (Louise Fletcher), and a local single father, Lily sets about teaching again. And although she begins to forge new relationships, memories of Michelle are still sharp enough for her to visit one of the local psychics in an attempt to placate her warring emotions and (perhaps) make contact with her sister again. It’s a palaver ultimately leading to a group séance – one that grabs the attention of a different entity altogether: the ghost of a murdered woman who also resided in Cassadaga.

At times, it’s a confusing mish-mash of genres. On one hand we have the elegant simplicity of a ghost story – the trusted formula made famous by tales such as Matheson’s Stir of Echoes. (Whereby our protagonist is charged with identifying a killer). On the
other the audience is subjected to another ambiguity altogether – a serial killer at the heart of it all. Known simply as the ‘Geppetto’ killer, we are given only brief snatches of this tortuous being and his past through an incoherent series of flashbacks. Confusion aside, the Geppetto is a truly nasty creation; a monster woodcarver fashioned by a zealous mother who hacks off the limbs of females to produce personal marionettes. Assailed by visions of his crimes, Lily is aided in her sleuthing by single father Mike, a relationship that soon blossoms into romance but in the end becomes mindless filler as their tryst ends abruptly. With the climax looming - and the two becoming closer to unshrouding the mystery - the character of Mike is unceremoniously pulled ... almost as though his role were hastily written out of the screenplay. Solo, it then falls to Lily to unmask Geppetto before he begins his carvings afresh.   

Despite the problems here (and there are many of them), I couldn't  forget this is an independent film. And for such a small picture those involved have made up for the tribulations much like they did on the director's other projects – that is, accept the shortcomings by imbuing other areas with a professional sheen. In the case of Cassadaga, these entail the general performances (especially Kelen Coleman’s), and the addition of some disturbing imagery. Most notable is the overall use of suspense. For these reasons alone, Cassadaga is more than adequate to fill a niche.    

The Grief School

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