Your Heart Belongs to Me by Dean Koontz

At 34, Ryan Perry has achieved his life’s ambition and then some: spearheading a successful software outfit and social-networking site has seen him accumulate millions. Not only is he a Forbes magazine entrepreneur, Ryan is also dating an attractive fellow/surfer journalist (Samantha Reach), who isn’t far away from accepting a marriage proposal. So when he suffers a mild heart-attack and subsequently learns of its defect, his once placid world is altered radically. Ryan only has a short time to live … and will not live at all unless he finds a new heart.

Initially, I thought the premise of Your Heart Belongs to Me dealt with a fascinating condition that has existed since the first heart transplants: cellular memory. The theory (and stories) revolve around the notion the brain is not the only organ that stores personality traits and memories; there have been many documented cases whereby a patient has displayed new tastes in opinions, cravings, and other mild variations of habit. To a certain extent, this does form the book's basis … but it's only background music as Koontz tries his hand at marrying a slew of imaginings.  

After switching physicians with transplant success, Ryan goes on with his life … albeit lacking Samantha. There follows a rein of psychological persecution making his original fears of poisoning seem tame by comparison: some invisible phantom has access to his private quarters, can manipulate his security, and has taken to leaving him gifts such as gold heart pendants. After his paranoia shifts into investigation mode, Ryan uncovers a world of voluntary euthanasia and identical twins. Some consider Koontz’s work to be somewhat tame, but try envisioning a house full of real corpses embalmed exquisitely for the sake of art. His prose - somewhat purple and obsessively metaphorical - can be divisive. There is little dialogue, and a lot of inner rumination by our protagonist.

When the plot-payoff finally arrives, a reader with either vehemently applaud or cringe. Here there is no middle ground.  By and large, Your Heart Belongs to Me is a book about subtext and texture; seeing patterns to the plot not from the surface theme but from the implicit meaning of the tale … things the modern mind rejects on a conscious level.

While this is mid-range Koontz - any author who can (without fail) elicit a tear from me in the closing stages of a book, is an author who is ultimately doing something right.


 

Daybreakers

After its theatrical release, there has already been a lot of talk and reviews of Daybreakers, the second full-length outing by Australia’s Spierig Brothers, who were behind the 2003 semi-cult Zombie extravaganza Undead. So I won’t bore you with many particulars.

It’s 2019, and the script has broken genre stereotypes by granting us a vision of vampires seldom visited: they govern the world, and a massive corporation has seen fit to round up the last of the human race for consumption lest their population succumb to extinction. This in itself is fascinating, a plot device which mirrors our own world, and one with the potential to promote endless discussion. The sphere has been flipped, but is ultimately the same: blood being a metaphor for resources like food and oil. Thereafter ethical and moral questions present themselves ... as those left try to find a substitute or cure for the life-force of survival.

Edward Dalton (Ethan Hawke) is one such individual, a hematologist working for a pharmaceutical company. His allegiance to his kindred race is waning … fueled by slowly-eradicating memories and the farming of the race he once belonged to (think a Matrix-like landscape of human production lines). Impeding the work is another addition to vampire society: a ghastly sub-species that has succumbed to blood undernourishment and is living in the squalid depths of depravity, feasting on anything and severely deformed.  

Daybreakers is an American and Australian hybrid of a movie, and at the beginning, this can be grating. Obvious Australian back-drops, accents, and actors have been merged with American enterprise. Initially, the dialogue is awkward (and somewhat embarrassing), but as our story chugs along, the lines are blurred, a stride is found, and everything coalesces. Visually, the concepts that come to life are spectacular, and I can only fantasize about how fun it was for the story-board artists and imaginers. The Sun, in particular, is mined like a character itself ... and I was happily reminded of some of the awesome planetary sequences in Pitch Black (another one filmed in Australia), whereby we are granted a feast for the senses. Dark and gothic, the cities are transformed into a Cimmerian wonderland of black elegance. Let’s be honest, the vampires here just look cool. And seeing an entire population of transformed eyes will appeal to any purveyor of the macabre. There is also a disquieting element, and the images associated with the holocaust are palpable.

Like other films of this stripe, there is an uprising of the repressed (in this case the humans, led by Willem Dafoe). Having an established acting cartel does bring the film to greater heights, and I have a feeling it would be much impoverished without Hawke’s sympathetic performance. There will also be many discussions about the type of vampire presented, for traditional dispatching methods are not brought into effect until the end.

Ultimately, I enjoyed my time with Daybreakers. Let’s hope this is just the beginning of a long road the brothers have in store for us …

Carriers

A unique apocalypse has devastated the world, and brothers Brain and Danny are on a pilgrimage across the country to their childhood haunt … a holiday house on the ocean where perhaps they can weather the storm of an airborne virus that infects its human hosts with ultimate death. Tagging along with the brothers are Brian’s girlfriend Bobby and their friend Kate. When encountering a father and his infected daughter who have run out of gas in the middle of nowhere, their trip takes a detour ... and they will discover they have more to fear from each other than any virus. 

From the out-set, we are only given cursory hints as to what the world (and our individuals) have been dealt – and this works. The mystery could entail many things on the menu: most notably zombies, but it manages to avoid the old tropes and goes straight for the heart. I use the word ‘unique’ as this is a film that has taken a different route from others in the genre. Sure, there are shades of many of its predecessors. Most notably outings like 28 Days Later and literature like The Stand and Night Surf. But Carriers is infused with a domestic human element making it worthy of distinctive praise. Throughout, we are treated to some unnerving acts as our characters attempt to deal with the illness - such as the dilemma pertinent to so many Zombie films: after infection occurs, a pretence goes on they are not infected. It’s designed in a way to make the viewer feel contaminated, and more than once I found myself wiping a hand across my sleeve. Though lacking gore and action, the real violence boils down to the callous lengths people will go to when their own survival is in question.  

Someone pointed out recently the current crop of horror movies being released is in a downward spiral. They may be right, but every so often a film like Carriers comes along and stems the flow.

The Fourth Kind

Right off the bat, lets ascertain what a few people might be wondering about The Fourth Kind: is some of the contents rooted in any truth whatsoever? Is the viral campaign the geneses of some kind of celluloid disclosure? The answer, sadly, is no. The Fourth Kind is almost entirely fictional in every regard. The same formula applied to films like The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity have also been used … albeit with an inflated budget. And the resultant outcome of all this is something more closely resembling an embellished narrative like Fire In the Sky.

When the first slivers of the viral campaign began to spill into my awareness, I will admit to a certain excitement ... because the subject matter has been close to my heart for over three decades now. In the early promos, we bore witness to things like film-footage of the Disclosure Project for the Press in 2001 (an event that was over-shadowed by subsequent world events later that year), and very high quality video recordings of vehicles in our air-space defying conventional explanation. This, however, is where the fascination came to an abrupt stop. If there existed even a smattering of truth to the project, I would have stumbled across it in my personal research. Alas, The Fourth Kind was going to be more in league with a mock-documentary. 

Said documentary centers around the citizens of Nome, a small town in Alaska experiencing an unusually high number of disappearances and visits from the FBI dating back fifty years. Dr. Abigail Tyler (Milla Jovovich) is a local psychiatrist delving into the local’s night-time world and soon discovers a great percentage of them are exhibiting the same symptoms and telling identical tales. Dr. Tyler also lost her own husband in mysterious circumstances years previous ... and is not immune to the collective phenomenon of Nome. Filmed events are spliced with so-called ‘real’ footage (annoyingly at the same time), of patients undergoing hypnosis and recalling an assault by non-human intelligences.

What director Olatunde Osunsanmi has done here is essentially create two films … both of which are false. After a while, the supposed real interviews with the authentic and skeletal Dr. Abigail degenerate into far-fetched lunacy. And any belief we might have harbored at the beginning is slowly eradicated where everything here feels more akin to something like Blair Witch 2: Book of Shadows. Olatunde uses the mythology and folk-lore of real world abductions (None's people are experiencing the screen-memory of an Owl, a common cerebral-surrogate for fourth kind encounters), but doing so in a way that is fixed and vacant. Our intruders malign aspect is layered on like an evangelicals ramblings, then ramped up to create the titular Hollywood ‘jump’ moments.

A few positives can be taken away: the washed-out and blue sepia world production design has chosen is perfect for encapsulating Alaska. Some of the director's techniques and high-camera angles show the initial stages of someone who might find a permanent home in horror. On occasion the music and flash-back sequences can be quite disconcerting. Ultimately, however, Olatunde Osunsanmi has taken a fascinating theme ripe for dissection and turned it into schlock. 

Mischief by Douglas Clegg

Clegg is another writer whom (like Jack Ketchum) has somehow managed to go under my radar over the past couple of years. Recently, however, the author's presence seems to be everywhere: social media; websites dealing exclusively in dark fiction ... and of course having his titles pop out with ever-increasing reliability in book stores and their bargain bins displayed out front. And (like Ketchum), seems to be one of those sculpting a high reputation, releasing a novel every year with timely precision and garnering distinct words of praise while doing so.   

Apparently Mischief is the first of a trilogy in the Harrow Academy series, which also features a previous e-serial prequel Nightmare House ... and the entire thing (does) read like something you must have prior knowledge of. In this regard, my ignorance was frustrating; contained within were too many mysteries that lacked revelation; too many character reactions that were perplexing. However, other's will no doubt be overly intimate with the Harrow legacy … and it seems written with these reader's in mind.

Jim Hook is on a scholarship at Harrow, a prestigious prep school located in the Hudson Valley of New York. Years before his older brother Stephen and father perished in a car accident, and the wounds are still raw. Not only was Stephen the epitome of a perfect brother everybody looked up to, he was also a catalyst for shaping Jim’s philosophy and might have secreted a small supernatural pledge into Jim’s life in the aftermath of his death. We follow Jim as he adapts to the all-boys school and are introduced to the people around him: Lark, his beau from a nearby all-Girl's school; popular Trey Fricker, his best friend. And underlying everything is an almost invisible threat, never clearly articulated. It appears when his brother Stephen died, Jim unwittingly became a channel that would potentially enable something malign to enter the world ... and when Jim gets caught for cheating, he is inadvertently thrust into the realm of the Cadaver Society, a secret fraternity who have been pulling the strings at Harrow for a long time. Facing the threat of expulsion and upcoming initiation rights, he becomes haunted by ghosts of the living and dead ... 

A favorable thing for me was the prose; Cleggs style is simplistic and easily accessible. But there are many puzzling aspects here like signposts with no clear direction: a plot-strand involving Harrow’s principal that is curtailed before it even begins; the mystery of his father and brother's death with allusions the official story involved a conspiracy. As a reader, I felt as if I had been handed a pile of jigsaw pieces, none of which seemed to belong to the same portrait. Clegg puts a ton of effort into making the climax creepy ... but (for me), the aim was too lofty, and ultimately confusion ensues. That’s not to say other reader's won’t find things to like - and I can see it appealing to those who like their horror with a smattering of the juvenile.

As a novice to Clegg’s work, I think I (may) have stumbled upon the wrong book to get the juggernaut rolling. However, Mischief will  pique your curiosity, and I have the novels You Come When I Call You and The Halloween Man with appraisals to follow. 

The Burning by Bentley Little

Like many horror writers working today, Bentley Little has crafted a style all his own own. While his books invariably follow a formula, it is a well-mapped formula, ensuring a dedicated audience and often-imitated writing method.

Little's dedication in The Burning is interesting, and gives a fascinating insight into the roots of stories and how they manifest and evolve. In this case, Bentley' son requested a story including a haunted train and two graves marked Mother and Daughter, respectively. Taper this with his method, and Little delivers a simple, elegant novel with no pretensions about its grassroots influence.

As with previous forays, our narrative is heavily influenced by a Chinese mythology. In The Burning we have Angela Ramos, an hispanic university student who has just moved away from home into a share house with a ghost. There’s Henry Cote, a Native American Park Ranger plagued by perverse, erotic dreams of Chinese twins who haunt the Canyonlands. Recently divorced Joylene has moved to Bear Flats with her son Skylar to start a new life living with mother … soon to come across the eerie graves of Mother and Daughter. So too will they witness the gaunt, leprous face that peers in at Skylar during the night, grinning malevolently. And finally a Chinese American, criss-crossing the country on a journey of self discovery, being called toward something he only partially understands; toward ancient ancestors seeking redemption for past transgressions.

At the center of this group (and slowly peeled away through their strange encounters), a hellish Train raised from the bowels of history and carrying the departed souls of different races seeks reprisal. Those that have been wronged by Caucasian man since the Civil War and beyond.

At its heart, The Burning is primarily a revenge novel, seen through the eyes of very disparate characters trying to connect the dots before the inevitable showdown as our train finally pulls into its metaphorical station. What I liked about this novel – as apposed to Bentley’s previous outings – was the more worldly aspect to it. Too often, Bentley concentrates on small-town mythos (and though this is a perfectly honorable way to tell the tale), it was utterly gratifying to see things like the White House being laid waste to eternal powers. Moreover, our trips back in time to witness heinous acts committed by those before the turn of the last century. And it does this without being too preachy or trying broadcast a message. 

There exists another horror review site that parcels out stars based on the smell of a book. A little eccentric, but one oddity I think we all can relate to. In the spirit of this, I give The Burning 5/5.

Jack Ketchum's The Girl Next Door

As a dark fiction aficionado for most of my remembered life, I am at pains to divulge the sad fact that I have never read a book by Jack Ketchum. From a distance I have followed his career on the peripheral sidelines, often frequenting his website and keeping myself up to date with his resume and celluloid adaptations. As I type these words I am at a loss as to the precise reason I have never held one of his novels in my hand. Marketing is a big factor—during a thousand entrances into a thousand bookstores his name has never popped out among the ranks of many others. Even when strolling through the horror or fantasy sections with an eye for detail has my index finger skated across his name. And there exists no rhyme or reason to not having purchased one online. Chalk it up to the same fate that has befallen authors like Graham Masterson or even some of the authors whose name appears with mine in the editors/reviewers list on this site. There exists a desire to eventually get around to them … once I have gotten through the myriad of tomes in a perpetual and never ending reading list.

Regardless of never having tackled one of his books I do know that Jack Ketchum is held in very high regard among the collective tribe. His fans include the prolific and the not-so-prolific writers, as well as commanding a dedicated and loyal fan base of readers. The Girl Next Door has been adapted from a 1989 novel of the same name and stars a bunch of relative unknowns who give charm and sophistication to this harrowing study of human innocence; an education delving into dark regions that so far have been relatively uncharted in cinema …

To call this movie ‘harrowing’ is an underestimation. And a little too simply put as it does not fall neatly into the realm of horror. We begin our journey with the introduction and narration of an adult David Moran living in the present day. Plainly, emotional demons assail David as he recounts a sequence of events from his childhood where he bore witness – and participated in – unspeakable acts against an innocent girl. Think the same formula King utilized with IT or perhaps Hearts in Atlantis. Tapping into the nostalgic era of the 1950’s to present how inarguably terrible and magical puberty can be. This, however, works - and Ketchum and the filmmakers have their fingers pressed firmly on the button of bringing this period to life: the cars, fashion, hairstyles and politics are like a metaphor for what’s really going on; that lurking beneath the veneer of plastic suburbia beats the malicious human heart only waiting to rise to the surface and take over.

A typical teenager, David is introduced to a new girl who has recently moved into the neighborhood whilst catching crawfish. Megan Loughlin and her crippled little sister have come from another town to live with their Aunt Ruth Chandler (David’s next door neighbor and an eccentric divorcee). Ruth has three sons of her own and her house is like a relaxed beacon to the neighborhood kids during the summer: beers can be drunk within; cigarettes can be smoked. However, her authority and discipline can be just as far reaching as her philanthropy. At first, her chastisement of Megan for relatively benevolent or even nonexistent crimes is subtle – this is, after all, 1958. But when her unconventional ranting on why punishments must be dealt out to Megan fan out into madness, she proceeds to take the children on an odyssey of torture and clout where adults write the rule of Law and anything they say is permissible.

There are so many ethical and emotional questions raised in this film it would be foolhardly to list them all here: discover them for yourself. Answer them for yourself. The Girl Next Door is a devastating picture you will not easily forget.

The Box

Love or hate the work of Richard Kelly, there is no denying this writer/director has had a huge impact on cinema. 2001’s Donnie Darko was the film hundreds of film geeks the world over had been clamouring for: an utterly original dark portrayal of a troubled youth (Jake Gyllenhaal) set in the eighties that is now a cult phenomenon. Although it borrowed a few motifs, nobody had quite seen anything like it before. The eccentric editing and camera angles, hallucinatory sequences, and the ability to raise more questions than provide answers all added up to an unforgettable experience that is rich enough for many repeat viewings. Kelly's follow up, Southland Tales, was an apocalyptic excursion that received less-than-stellar attention, critically and commercially, yet does have a small cadre of admirers. It is apparent that with The Box, Kelly is attempting somewhat to shift into the mainstream.   

But his definition of ‘mainstream’ is probably not what you think. Aside from having some familiar faces (Cameron Diaz, James Marsden and Frank Langella), The Box is utterly mired in weirdness. Based on Richard Matheson’s short piece Button, Button – things start off subtly then proceed to delve into that weird and wonderful Darko dominion; a complex series of intrigues like a Russian Doll piece. And this is a good thing. The Box requires your unmitigated participation and imagination. Nothing is overtly ‘done to you’. Ultimately it's up to the viewer to connect the dots and find your way to revelation.

Norma and Arthur Lewis are happily married suburbanites in 1976 with a young son. One night, they are awoken by their doorbell to find nothing but a package containing a small wooden box complete with button. Initially, the gift-bearer vanishes, and we are slowly introduced into the couple's lives. Authur works for NASA in development; Norma is a teacher with a secret. While a somewhat mundane progression, I loved this aspect of it ... because we're taking a short trip inside Richard Kelly’s skull: his own father worked for NASA, and the decade is pulled off with precision.  Houses, automobiles, and fashion; all of it enough to induce nostalgia. Of course, the mysterious stranger returns, and informs the couple that if they press the button, they will be awarded one million dollars tax-free. The price? Someone they do not know will die. Simple as that. Except its not, and the consequences are more far reaching than either of them can imagine.

There is a slight carnival feel to The Box. Like King’s Needful Things we have the dark, forbidding stranger gentlemanly in nature but not altogether human. If you’re familiar with Donnie Darko and Southland Tales, you’ll see many of the same faces from both films. Toward the end, similar effects are ratcheted up as we cross into other realms of experience. There’s a touch of humour … and the feeling of being simultaneously in suburbia yet ensconced in the otherworldly is a welcome duality. Performances are solid, especially those of Diaz and Langella. The score (composed entirely by Arcade Fire), is used to fantastic effect and becomes a pivotal part of a stunning climax.

While not containing the mythic and enduring quality of Darko, The Box is still a reputable effort in Kelly's envious oeuvre.  

Sorority Row

You always come to these films filled with slight trepidation. On one hand the intellectual within screams that you must not enjoy this particular sub-genre. Because only dullards subscribe to campy schlock where there is more flesh on display than blood and the plot is derivative of a thousand such other outings. On the flip side, there is an inner-child that recalls those outings with such unalloyed fondness you yearn to be dazzled by the mindless spectacle again. 

During my first screening of Scream many full-moons ago, I recall nothing but unadulterated joy. A re-awakening was in the offing – horror was in the process of a reinvention and we had a shining future ahead with more its ilk to follow. And follow they did: I Know What You Did Last Summer, Urban Legend, Valentine, Final Destination and The Faculty. It kick-started mindless sequels and reinventions of past maniacs. Did I garner enjoyment from these horror/thrillers even though there was now a trite formula and almost identical looking posters?

I did.

And this is where Sorority Row fits in. The cast is young, American, and utterly beguiling. The stage is Theta Pie – a Sorority House where Jessica, Claire, Ellie, and Megan are celebrating upcoming graduation. They have a motto and are sworn to trust, in secrecy and solidarity. It opens up with a huge party: everyone drinking from the quintessential American Pie red cups that seem to be the only type of cup in a thousand college films. After discovering one of the girl’s brothers has cheated, they devise a revenge scheme in the form of a prank entailing feigning death. Not everyone is in on the joke, however, and when the prank goes horribly wrong the audience is treated to some grisly moments and surreal tension. Similarities abound with I Know What You Did Last Summer. 

In the aftermath of their friends death the remaining girl's keep their motto by swearing to never speak of it again. Of course, such a plan is doomed to failure - and the outcome warrants a trapezoidal odyssey of carnage as someone has taken to enacting revenge by picking them off one by one.

Apparently, the actors in this film are reality television stars making the leap onto the big screen. Though their previous forays are not apparent as the audience is treated to some witty dialogue and even grow to enjoy their arcs. The body count and dispatching – though not overly huge – is lent some creative drive as our over-sexed and alcohol guzzling young adults are terminated in new and interesting ways. The guessing game of who’s responsible comes into play … and is handled with intelligence.

Will Sorority Row be a mind-numbing experience worthy of repeat viewings? No. Will it become a cult-classic? Probably not. But I do recommend taking your favourite thrills partner to enjoy a film that pretends to be nothing but good entertainment. 

Deadlight by Troy Barnes

Many of you might be aware of Troy Barnes. In 2008 this native Tasmanian burst onto the scene with the self-financed debut Deadlight here under the microscope. The very next year he went on to publish MONOChromacy. Troy’s work is like holding up a mirror to some of the more archetypal horror stories of the past, while he still manages to find his own voice over the extended length of a supernatural thriller.

What has consistently drawn me to Deadlight over the past two years (and finally made me grab it), is the cover illustration. From a distance it piques the interest: a dynamic blue color scheme by graphic designer Jessica Turale acting like a beacon. After a quick perusal of the art and blurb, we have a good idea of the territory on show. 

Carter City: Detective Nathan Stone and his partner Ritchie Clements are on the trail of a female serial killer dubbed ‘The Messenger.' Over time, with no clues and no leads, the bodies begin piling up. What becomes evident is they are dealing with a young woman of no ordinary ilk. With almost uncanny super-human strength and agility, Sarah is able to fight and ‘see’ the malignancy inhabiting a human spirit - those who have committed heinous acts in the past. This gift (or curse) was bestowed upon her after awakening from a coma. Her assignment on this side of the veil is to dispatch those who dwell within the Deadlight.

There are great portions of Deadlight that deal with police mythos and work. In parts it’s gritty and stylish, reflecting a kind of washed-out noir world of chain smoking detectives. In other parts, the banter can be loose and ill-fitting. Oftentimes, authors can deploy the act of imagining with minor attention to verisimilitude. When reading, I was reminded of how Stephen King once remedied this. After completing a preliminary draft of From a Buick 8, he took it upon himself to spend some time with real-life troopers in Pennsylvania, thereby adding flavor that wasn't just guesswork and things cobbled together from reams of modern US cop shows. Of course, not everyone can have such resources at their disposal, so Troy is ultimately to be forgiven.

Things certainly crank up around page 120, as Sarah is more heavily introduced into the fray of the wicked. One of the positive things here is Troy is no slouch when it comes to bloodletting: Sarah’s lack of conscience and irrational behavior can be grating at first, but over the course of the novel we see how and why this is so. At times, her method of purging humanity’s dross happily reminded me of Jigsaw from the Saw franchise; the same ethical conundrums present themselves … and the killing methods are just as creative.

After completing the novel I was in two minds: on one hand certain errors were jarring. On the other we know we’re dealing with an author who is in the infancy of their career. Troy Barnes is talented, and you can tell he cares about what he is doing. There’s both heart and determination in Deadlight. I imagine that by the third or fourth effort, he will discover an ambitious narrative that will ultimately sell books. For this reason, Deadlight is certainly worthy of purchase.