REVIEW: Poltergeist

Ever since I was a child, I've found 80's horror fascinating. Growing up through the end of the 90's into the 2000's, I couldn't help but notice how kids my age never seemed to show any interest in the horror of the time. Movies like The Blair Witch Project and Final Destination were seldom discussed around the playground, but everyone knew about Freddy, Jason, and Chucky. Even when something like Alien vs Predator managed to pique our interest, it was part of a series that took root long before any of us were even born. Whether this was due to the films finding immortality in the form of perpetually relevant Halloween costumes, or just a certain special something that captured our prepubescent interest is certainly up for debate. I recall Poltergeist being one such movie; I first watched it, for whatever reason, at a very young age and recall finding it inherently fascinating for reasons I couldn't exactly place. Well over a decade later, nothing has changed, save for my ability to pinpoint precisely why I was so fascinated with this film. Put simply, Poltergeist is a very good movie.

Set in the heart of West Coast suburbia, the film follows the Freeling family, an everyday clan living their everyday lives in their everyday neighborhood. This of course changes when the youngest daughter, Carol Anne (Heather O'Rourke), begins conversing with ghostly entities by way of the family television set. The house is unquestionably haunted; at first the supernatural occurrences seem innocuous (if mildly irritating) at worst, but things soon escalate when the entire family is targeted and little Carol Anne is abducted into another dimension. The rest of the film follows the parents (Craig T. Nelson and JoBeth Williams) trying everything in their power to get their daughter back. It's a plot heavily reminiscent of the classic Twilight Zone episode, Little Girl Lost; just as much of the story focuses on aspects of metaphysical theory as it does on more traditional haunted happenings.

The curious thing to note about Poltergeist, I think, is the overall tone. The only way I could describe it is a thoroughly feel-good horror film. There isn't exactly a lot of "humor", in the traditional sense, but there are plenty of moments that will inspire a knowing smile. The kids' bedroom is loaded with authentic Star Wars merchandise, the parents have plenty of back and forth banter, and there's generally tons of candid-style moments that really help to sell the authenticity of this family dynamic. One of my favorite scenes in the movie involves JoBeth Williams demonstrating the newly-discovered ghostly influence to her husband; first with a simple chair, then with their youngest daughter (kept safe by an oversized football helmet). It sets you up for one of those classic "the event won't replicate itself and the witness will look crazy" moments, until the chair goes sliding across the floor, exactly as planned. The mother's reaction is so genuine and funny that I can't help but chuckle whenever I see it. It's just so real.

At the end of the day, this is a film not about ghosts, but about family. They don't "just leave the house" because of what's at stake; they refuse to vacate their home until they get their little girl back. There's no instances of protagonist stupidity on display here. We're as lost and frightened as the Freelings as they deal with their haunting, and we genuinely feel for their plight. Heather O'Rourke is a strong contender for the cutest child ever committed to film (if you aren't endeared to her after she casually gnaws on a Luke Skywalker action figure, you might just be made of literal stone) and the fact that she's placed in very genuine (yet very vaguely-defined) danger helps sell the sense of tension. We want to see Steven and Diane Freeling get their daughter back just as much as they do. The characters come off, not as characters, but as a real family who genuinely cares about one another and reacts to these horrifying events in realistic, believable ways.

While this is assuredly thanks to the direction of Tobe Hooper and the writing/production of Steven Spielberg, it's inarguable that credit must also be given to the main cast as well. Heather O'Rourke manages to dodge all the pitfalls that young child actors usually fall into, coming off as effectively cute and precocious without grating on anyone's nerves. Nelson and Williams have a fantastic dynamic as Steve and Dianne, utterly selling their roles as the married heads of a run-of-the-mill 2.5 child household. The other members of the Freeling family, Dana (Dominique Dunn) and Robbie (Oliver Robins) leave less of an impression, though this is to be expected, considering they aren't exactly the main focus of the plot by any means. They work well with what they're given. The most iconic role, however, is easily that of Tangina Barrons, played by the irreplaceable Zelda Rubinstein. This was Rubinstein's second ever film role, and she completely and utterly owns it here. She's by far the most out-of-the-ordinary character in the entire movie, which is why she works so perfectly. If there's a breakout role to be found here, then this is definitely it.

Poltergeist is a film that has most assuredly earned its place in the annals of horror (and indeed, movie) history. By combining the talents of Tobe Hooper and Steven Spielberg (with the former bringing his knack for editing, use of sound, and ability to unsettle and unnerve, and the latter bringing a large budget and his talent for writing endearing, relatable characters), the film manages to be both a genuinely frightening horror movie as well as a truly touching family drama. It's a jack of all trades, master of most. If you're interested in taking a look at one of the cornerstones of the haunted house genre, step right over the fetid corpse of the 2015 remake and see why Poltergeist continues to be seen as the classic it is.

REVIEW: Marvel's Luke Cage

As the proverbial snowball that is Marvel Studios grows larger and larger with time, one has to wonder; when will the cracks begin to show? Even the weakest entry into the MCU  manages to be merely "okay" at worst. While I'm no fan of everything Marvel has put out (especially considering the current state of their comics), their entries in the realm of live-action entertainment have been reasonably air-tight. Captain America: Civil War was a fun, powerful second act break before the climax that is Infinity War and I'm finding myself more and more excited for Doctor Strange as time goes on. 2016 is shaping up to be a good year for Marvel, especially considering the most low-key offering from Kevin Feige and company, Luke Cage. Like Daredevil and Jessica Jones before it, the show helps to not only establish Netflix as a legitimate entertainment platform, but also to maintain the Marvel Studios stranglehold on the public consciousness.

Taking place after the events of Jessica Jones, the series focuses on the life of Luke Cage (Mike Coulter); wrongfully incarcerated, he participated in a risky prison experiment that imbued him with superhuman strength and bulletproof skin. After making his escape, Cage finds himself laying low in a Harlem barbershop owned by Henry "Pop" Hunter (Frankie Faison). After the criminal activity of local nightclub owner Cornell "Cottonmouth" Stokes (Mahershala Ali) begins to take its toll on Cage's neighborhood, he's forced to step out of the shadows and become a bonafide hero. Noble as his deeds are, Luke's actions have consequences; though he may be bulletproof, the same can't be said of the people caught in the crossfire.

The performances here are for the most part strong, despite dialog that tends to fluctuate from "powerful and engaging" to "trying a bit too hard for its own good". Coulter does a fine job as Luke, though his range occasionally leaves a bit to be desired. He can command attention like no one else when a scene requires him to be angry or passionate, but its when he needs to be more subtle and reserved that his performance lacks a certain energy compared to his supporting cast. Frankie Faison is sure to be a fan-favorite as Pop, and Simone Missick manages to be both flawed and endearing as Detective Misty Knight. Rosario Dawson returns again as Claire Temple, fulfilling her role as the unifying thread that ties each Netflix series together. Her role here is more prominent than ever before, easily a point in the show's favor considering how soundly Dawson manages to sell it every time. 

As is usual for Marvel's entries on Netflix, however, the heroes tend to pale in comparison to the villains. Mahershala Ali is a dynamo as Cottonmouth, playing the classic role of "despicably likeable gangster" to a T. Despite all the awful things this character does, you can't ever really bring yourself to totally hate him; he's just too endearing. Playing the part of his cousin/partner-in-crime, we have Alfre Woodard as "Black" Mariah Dillard, a local politician who hopes to use the racial divide of Harlem to deflect attention from her own criminal activities. She's a thoroughly modern, painfully relevant villain, and watching her slowly transition from crooked civil servant to full-on crime boss was definitely one of the highlights of this season. Both Cottonmouth and Dillard manage to be layered, sympathetic, and despicable; all the marks of a truly great villain.

The only antagonistic element I wasn't totally sold on was Willis "Diamondback" Stryker, played by Erik LaRey Harvey. While Harvey's performance commands attention whenever he's on screen, I felt as though not enough thought went into this character. He's built up for the first few episodes, then introduced practically out of the blue. He feels somewhat vestigial, compared to Ali and Woodard, as if the only reason he was introduced was so Luke could be faced with a more obvious physical threat to go up against. There's definitely a lot of potential with this character, but I can't help but feel that he should have either been introduced earlier or not at all, as what we have currently is somewhat half-baked in execution.

It's a prime example of what's becoming a recurring symptom of Marvel's Netflix shows; with the exception of Daredevil's first season, every one of these series is met with a mid-season slump. Roughly halfway through the thirteen episodes we're given, something abruptly changes the status quo and the entire season is left feeling somewhat stunted, as if it is two short seasons being passed off as one full-length arc. Both Jessica Jones and the second season of Daredevil are guilty of this, and Luke Cage is no exception. While I still enjoyed all of these shows overall, this trope tends to make the entire thing feel poorly thought-out in hindsight; it may just be a side-effect of marathoning the entire show in one sitting (rather than watching an episode a week, as though it were airing on network television), but it's still a wrinkle I would like to see ironed out as these shows continue on (especially with The Defenders just over the horizon).

Arguably the show's strongest feature, however, is the atmosphere. This is a series that is able to immediately distinguish itself from the rest of the MCU, as well as the rest of Marvel's Netflix series. The vast bulk of the story takes place in Harlem, and Luke Cage positively revels in the culture. Everything from the sets to the struggles to the dynamite soundtrack helps sell the setting, making this the most believable, down-to-earth thing to come out of the MCU. The only thing I can fault it for is an immersion-shattering scene in the latter half of the season involving Method Man. When your protagonist is a bulletproof black man in a hoodie, some social commentary is inevitable (if not openly expected). The show handles this touchy subject matter very well, with the exception of this one scene; it's the only thing that feels as though it was added in reshoots, coming right out of nowhere and interrupting the tense flow of the episode. This very well may be a personal gripe, but it completely took me out of the episode like a GI Joe PSA about avoiding downed power lines. It's the one smudge on the show's otherwise sterling sense of tone and immersion.

All things considered, I honestly really enjoyed my time with Luke Cage. While many seem to be dissatisfied with the ending, I felt as though it kept the tension and excitement going until the last second, leaving me genuinely engaged and eagerly awaiting Season 2. The argument could be made that a lot of the MCU is somewhat homogeneous in terms of theme and story; with that said, Luke Cage manages to be totally original and unique in its own right. Despite some hiccups here and there in terms of story and pacing, the show's strong tone and endearing characters more than make up for any issues I have with it. Whether you're a Marvel fanatic or someone who's starting to get burned out on the whole superhero thing, it's hard not to recommend Luke Cage.

REVIEW: Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island

The 90's was a tremendous time for traditional animation. The Disney Renaissance was in full-swing, but it's also worth noting that it was an especially strong era for Warner Bros Animation as well. With television offerings like Animaniacs and Batman The Animated Series and films like The Iron Giant and Mask of the Phantasm, the studio had a lot to offer cartoon fanatics back in the day. For me, one of WB's most memorable productions was Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island, a direct-to-video film that premiered on Cartoon Network on Halloween night, 1998. Considering it's been years since I've watched my copy (naturally, recorded off the TV onto a blank VHS tape), I figured it was high-time I revisited the film that many credit with reviving this classic franchise from the clutches of Saturday morning stagnation.

As the story begins, the Mystery Inc. gang has given up the ghost and disbanded; Velma (B.J. Ward) runs her own book store, Shaggy and Scooby (Billy West and Scott Innes) are employed as bumbling customs agents, and Fred and Daphne (Frank Welker and Mary Kay Bergman) work together on a successful television show. As the production is about to embark on a road trip to investigate hauntings across the country, Fred is inspired to get the gang back together for old times' sake. The crew eventually find themselves in New Orleans, investigating a reportedly haunted plantation house on Moonscar Island, the former hideaway of a legendary pirate. Tales of mysterious disappearances and vengeful ghosts pique the gang's curiosity, but things take a turn when actual zombies begin to rise from the bayou; as the film's tagline says, "this time, the monsters are real!"

It's really a brilliant subversion of expectations; throughout the entire first half of the movie, the gang's skepticism is played through the roof. They question every remotely spooky thing they see, immediately searching for a projector or rubber mask. The idea of making the threat of a Scooby-Doo story genuinely supernatural is a stroke of genius; by packing the first two acts full of standard slapstick antics, it sets the stage for a major tonal shift once the zombies are revealed to be real. The first three-quarters of this movie are lighthearted and slow-moving, exactly what one would expect out of a Scooby-Doo film. There's lots of gags about Scooby chasing after cats and eating big sandwiches, almost to the point that it becomes tiring. However, this is all merely set dressing for the main event that is the climax.

I won't spoil the ending here, but it goes to some genuinely dark places. The movie starts and ends as classic Scooby-Doo, but the last twenty minutes in-between is essentially an animated horror film. The opening scene is an upbeat chase through a spooky castle as the gang is pursued by a swamp monster, while everything past the halfway point involves the honest-to-god rotting corpses of Confederate soldiers and pirates clawing their way out of the soil to limp after our protagonists. There are even some zombie tourists in there, implying that the Mystery Inc. gang aren't the first folks to stumble upon Moonscar Island and run afoul of the living dead. It honestly justifies the entire film all on its own; as corny as the tone was for the majority of the runtime, it all works in favor of subverting the audience's expectations and making that tonal shift hit that much harder.

I also can't praise the film's presentation enough; the animation was done by Japanese studio, Mook Animation (responsible for animating such works as SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron and Tiny Toon Adventures). Every scene taking place at night is full of heavy shadows that almost give things a stylized, hyper-realistic feel, as if we're watching a moving blacklight poster. I know the era of ink and paint is long gone (and that the upcoming S.C.O.O.B. will be computer animated), but I've always felt that this style was an ideal fit for Scooby and the gang, and would kill to see it used again in some capacity. Hanna-Barbera was not a studio known for its animation, so it's nice to see a property so ripe for spooky atmosphere done justice in terms of visuals. The 90's kid in me would also be remiss if I didn't mention the soundtrack, featuring original songs by Skycycle. Put simply, they shred. If you've never had It's Terror Time Again stuck in your head, then you've never seen this movie.

Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island is a fresh, original, well-animated entry in a franchise that is seldom known for being any of those things. It could be argued that the vast majority of entries into the Scooby series follows the "fake monster unmasked by meddling kids" formula; there are a few exceptions, of course (such as the more recent Mystery Inc. series), and Zombie Island is fortunately one of them. It's very much a film aimed at children, but the lighthearted beginning and middle work in service of a dark, exciting, and at times genuinely scary end. It's just over an hour long, so if you're a meddling kid with some free time on your hands, you really don't have any excuse not to check this out.

REVIEW: Suspiria

Suspiria is a film, like Sleepaway Camp, that I had heard touted as essential viewing for any fan of the horror genre, one of the most frightening films ever made. Having witnessed it firsthand for the first time, I can't exactly say I'm disappointed. Released in 1977 and directed by Italian giallo filmmaker, Dario Argento, Suspiria is most definitely effective, if not consistently coherent.

The story focuses on Suzy Bannion (Jessica Harper), an American ballet student pursuing further education at the illustrious Tanz Dance Academy in Germany. Following her arrival, Suzy begins to notice a number of strange occurrences; after a string of murders, she begins to suspect that all is not what it seems at her new school, and that something much more sinister may lurk behind the walls of the aging academy. To be perfectly blunt, the plot is not this film's strongest suit. While the pace hardly ever drags, plot points are introduced whenever it's convenient for the story and the progression of events is not always the easiest to follow. There's a good deal to nitpick in regards to the plot (the most glaring flaw being an exposition dump involving a psychiatrist near the beginning of the final act), but this is not a film that is famous for its story. To focus on the plot of Suspiria would be the equivalent of focusing on the sense of realism in Army of Darkness. That is to say, anyone who focuses on the plot of this movie is completely missing the point.

The thing that makes Suspiria such an effective horror film is its aesthetic. Everything from the set design to the color to the soundtrack (care of the band, Goblin) works in tandem to keep the viewer in a constant state of unease. It was one of the last feature films to be shot in Technicolor, and the process lends everything a vivid, sometimes garish, quality. It feels like something out of a nightmare; primary colors (particularly red) seem to pop out of the screen, and the lighting can shift tones and hues at any time. There's abundant manipulation of darkness and shadow, so you're never quite sure where someone or something might be lurking. The cinematography helps sell the scares, as tight angles instill a feeling of claustrophobia and paranoia. There's no telling what could be waiting just outside of the frame (rest assured, the film knows this is a concern of the viewer and exploits it wholly).

It would be impossible to talk about this movie without mentioning the sound design. This is easily one of the best horror scores I've ever heard, providing just the right tinge of unease to the atmosphere. The gentle chimes, backed by sinister vocals and chants, can become deafening at times. In a stroke of genius, the film makes it impossible to not take note of the score; this makes it all the more unsettling when we are met with total silence. The movie actually trains the audience to fear a lack of sound. Before the end credits roll, silence becomes the most sinister, suspicious noise of all. I've always believed that the key to good horror is the ability to manipulate the viewer's expectations; to, over the course of the film, condition them to subconsciously fear specific subtleties. Suspiria is a film that demonstrates its mastery of this concept with aplomb.

If there's one thing I must criticize the film for (aside from the plot), it's the ending. The mystery presented is an engaging one; the film enchants you with its dreamlike qualities, it makes you want to know what's going on. The result isn't disappointing, per-say, but I didn't find the climax quite so terrifying when compared to the rest of the film. Make no mistake, the tension is thick and the suspense is killer, but, as the American tagline for the movie said, "the only thing more terrifying than the last 12 minutes of this film are the first 92". The scariest scene by far happens within the first fifteen minutes; it's a haunting, iconic sequence, but the climax just didn't feel worth the incredible amount of build-up during the third act. I would recommend going in with tempered expectations; it's well-done and will certainly send a chill down your spine, but I can't help but find it a tad anti-climactic.

If you're looking for a horror film that will play with your senses and envelop you in its distinct atmosphere, you'd be hard pressed to find a better candidate than Suspiria. It's no wonder that this film is considered a classic entry in the genre; I honestly can't think of anything I could even compare it to. It manages to be unorthodox and incoherent, yet it's still able to hold your attention and leave its mark thanks to the engrossing visual style (backed up by the chillingly enchanting soundtrack). If you consider yourself a horror hound like myself, you owe it to yourself to check this one out. There's also talk of a remake, to be released next year. I'm rarely keen on remakes as it is, but this is a film that is defined by the style of the era it was made in. It's the epitome of pointless; take if from me, the spine-chilling original is the only one you'll ever need.