REVIEW: Would You Rather

I'd like to make one thing abundantly clear about this blog; I don't like punching down. Yes, I go out of my way to find a bad movie (or at least something that looks bad) at the end of each month. Yes, this often includes cheap, weird kids' movies that were made with exactly zero artistic intent whatsoever. And yes, it's not exactly fair of me to discuss Ivan the Incredible or Freddy Frogface in the same context as something like The Big Lebowski or Susperia. I don't go out of my way to find something trashy to tear apart each month out of a desire to really stick it to smaller, less talented filmmakers. I take no perverse joy in taking direct-to-video children's films down a peg or two. Really, I just feel it mixes things up; like Peter O'Toole's Anton Ego says in Ratatouille, "we thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read". We watch movies to feel something, whether it be genuine elation or passionate, cathartic frustration. Which is why, when a film toes the line between legitimate and ironic quality, we're left with a middling kind of malaise; such is the case with this week's subject, Would You Rather.

The plot is simplistic and, at its core, could easily be written off as a ripoff of the Saw franchise; admittedly, it's a decently interesting idea that had me more engaged than I would have initially expected (no thanks to the paper-thin characters, but more on that later). Iris (Brittany Snow) is a young woman struggling to make ends meet while caring for her sickly brother, Raleigh (Logan Miller). With seemingly no other option to pay for Raleigh's increasingly-costly medical treatments (or the bone marrow transplant he needs to survive), Iris accepts an invitation to a dinner party hosted by the mysterious philanthropist, Shepard Lambrick (Jeffery Combs). Iris finds herself among a number of other struggling individuals, each tasked with competing in a parlor game; the prize being Shepard's assistance (be it through his own social influence or his vaguely-considerable wealth) in whatever issue they're currently struggling against. Little do the contestants know that the parlor game in question is in fact a morbid, twisted version of Would You Rather (hence the name), forcing them to choose between a series of increasingly unpleasant punishments to inflict upon themselves and/or each other. It's your standard "wealthy eccentric fruitcakes take horrifying advantage of seedy, lower-class people" exploitation flick, where any amount of subtext or social commentary is scarce at best and the real value lies in seeing comical acts of horrific violence committed against more or less innocent people.

As I said, it's honestly not a half-bad premise; although, "premise" might be slightly too proper for this film. A more accurate word would be "excuse", specifically an excuse to see a lot of low-rent violence and torture. The plot is 100% carried by, well, the plot, rather than the characters. We get a dull-as-dirt intro where we meet Iris and her pale, sickly brother (you can tell he has cancer because he's wearing a beanie indoors) and that's literally the height of the characterization at play here. Once we get to the party, it almost makes you think it's going to play out like Clue, where each colorful individual has a unique personality and gimmick; instead we get a single sentence to describe each contestant, not unlike the opening of Suicide Squad, before bodies start hitting the floor. We have the gambling addict, the Iraq vet, the crippled lady; I was honestly surprised we weren't introduced to Slipknot, the man who can climb anything.

In horror, it's extremely important for us to relate to (or at the very least, care about) the characters. I know I keep using Alien as the example of how characterization in horror should be done, but that's because Alien nails that aspect of its story so perfectly. We get ample opportunity during the first act to know and relate to our cast, so that way when they're being pursued by some snakelike monstrosity in the third act, we actually feel for them. It's all about immersion; things are scarier when you can plant yourself in the characters' shoes. And to the film's credit, I was thinking the entire time of what I'd be doing if I found myself in such a situation. But again, that's entirely thanks to the premise (sorry, excuse) rather than the characters. The situations are grim and gruesome and at times, cringe-inducing, yes. But the emotions on display here are tantamount to watching a series of cardboard cutouts get fed through a woodchipper.

Part of this is because of the lack of characterization, but also in part to the host of tremendously stale performances on display. Some members of the cast do a serviceable job (such as Johnny Coyne as Bevins, the butler, and Gotham's Robin Lord Taylor as Shepard's sadistic son), but the vast majority characters we're meant to care about (Iris in particular) are just completely bland in the worst kind of way. The only members of the cast who really seem to pull it off are, of course, Jeffery Combs (a veteran of cult movies) and Rob Wells (of Trailer Park Boys fame). Even with that said, Wells can't really help but give a comedic performance; his character, Peter, is meant to be a slick, high-rolling gambler from Las Vegas. Instead, he really just comes off like a marginally more well-spoken take on Ricky, his character from TPB (pay close attention to the hefty Canadian "oots" and "aboots" that slip out, despite his character supposedly hailing from the Southwest). 

Combs commands 100% of the charisma, coming off as a legitimately detached, detestable lunatic. He never really drops his air of gentlemanly pleasantness, even when presenting his house guests with horrid punishments and ultimatums; you can tell he's having a lot of fun, and that kind of attitude adds a lot to the endearing schlock-factor. If I had one criticism of this character, it would be that, spoiler alert, he gets absolutely no comeuppance of any kind by the end. I at least expected Iris to take some sort of revenge once the game was finished, maybe trick him into participating himself; a nice bit of table-turning irony to give our villain a fitting end, but no. The ending of this film is so abrupt, unsatisfying, and toothless that it ends up coming off like an insultingly hilarious middle finger to the audience.

Then of course we have famous adult film star, Sasha Grey as Amy; she's the crazy girl, you can tell because she wears a lot of black and immediately turns against everyone. There always seems to be that one character in these types of scenarios, the one who acclimates just a little too well to a Battle Royale style death-game. The kind of person who would spend a good amount of time decorating a mask to wear on the night of the Purge, if you catch my drift. These kinds of characters can be fun, but you typically have to give them some sort of nuance to work; maybe have them debate their ideas with the protagonist, or slowly fall to the wayside after starting off normal. Even Sam Raimi's first (and come to think of it, second) Spider-Man films understood this. Amy, meanwhile, immediately electrocutes an old, crippled woman and approaches the task of stabbing someone with an icepick with a sort of childlike glee. There's just nothing to her; they attempt to characterize her literally seconds before she's killed off, meaning that she's the second-most defined character in the movie, right behind our protagonist.

Really, my biggest issue with Would You Rather wasn't that it was poorly shot, poorly acted, or poorly written (and it most definitely is all of those things). It's an exploitation movie, I wasn't expecting The Exorcist (hell, I wasn't even expecting Sleepaway Camp). My problem with Would You Rather is that I couldn't figure out what it wanted to be, and I'm guessing the filmmakers couldn't either. The tone fluctuates so wildly from an attempt at a legitimately dark, serious horror film (the sequence where the PTSD-stricken Iraq vet is beaten with an African whipping stick) to tongue-in-cheek pseudo-comedic schlock (a scene where Rob Wells' character is challenged to let an M-80 go off in his hand) that it ends up averaging out dead in the middle. It's not infuriatingly bad, but it's also not charmingly quaint either. It just sort of is, and that's one of the worst things a movie (especially one like this) can be. That said, to once again quote Ratatouille, "the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so." Would You Rather is no cult masterpiece, nor is it a paragon of all that horror should strive to be, but I suppose had my share of laughs. You could definitely do better, but you could also most assuredly do worse. If you're in the mood for something trashy, grab some friends and crack open a few beers; you might not be scared, invested, or surprised, but you'll get your money's worth.

REVIEW: Over the Garden Wall

Where to even begin with this one? It's so hard to write about things we love unequivocally; there's so much here I want to talk about and praise that I can't pin down just one aspect to even get started with. I suppose I should explain what Over the Garden Wall even is, exactly. Back in 2013, a writer/storyboard artist named Patrick McHale created a short film that was meant to serve as the pilot to an animated series known as Tome of the Unknown. McHale, an alumni from The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack, had hoped to get the show picked up as a three-season series. Cartoon Network instead wanted a full-length animated movie. Eventually, the two met in the middle and Over the Garden Wall became the network's first ever miniseries when it premiered in November of 2014. I remember tuning in every night that week to catch each new chapter as it premiered; by the time it was over, I had made up my mind. Over the Garden Wall is not only one of my absolute favorite Cartoon Network productions, but one of my all-time favorite animated anythings ever.

The plot (which unfolds over 10 twelve-minute chapters) follows two brothers by the names of Wirt (Elijah Wood) and Greg (Collin Dean). We find them lost in a mysterious forest known as The Unknown, trying to make their way home; along the way, they encounter a number of colorful and absurd characters including a mysterious Woodsman (Christopher Lloyd) and a curmudgeonly bluebird named Beatrice (Melanie Lynskey). Each chapter tells a different short story that ties into their greater overall journey, taking them to strange and unique places within The Unknown. One chapter sees them stumbling upon a bizarre harvest festival, while another covers their journey on a riverboat operated by dapper frogs. Each episode is unique in terms of both content and visuals, yet none of it ever feels like filler; it all blends together to help create this imaginative, surreal, comforting-yet-slightly-spooky world of The Unknown.

A lot of people like to say that Hayao Miyazaki's Spirited Away is like a Japanese Alice in Wonderland. If that's the case, then Over the Garden Wall is like an American Spirited Away; not just in the sense that it's a tale about children lost in a bizarre fantasy land, but in terms of its quaint, inviting (yet at the same time, macabre and foreboding) atmosphere. It really is quintessential autumn-time viewing. The art direction was inspired primarily by illustrations from the late 1800's; the backgrounds have a distinctly painterly look, and warm fall colors are everywhere. Add in a smooth, jazzy folk soundtrack care of The Blasting Company, and you've got a winner on your hands. It really feels as though the creators boiled down autumn to its bare essence (feelings of growth and renewal, the interplay between quiet comfort and the creeping dread of the upcoming winter, a childlike sense of whimsy and nostalgia) and built the series' atmosphere, tone, and themes directly around these elements.

For something which premiered on contemporary Cartoon Network (where the most prevasive show by far is the hyper-spastic Teen Titans Go), Over the Garden Wall shows remarkable restraint and maturity in terms of not only its comedic sensibilities, but its themes and tone as well. If everything else on Cartoon Network is meant to be watched while vigorously downing bowl after bowl of sugary cereal, Over the Garden Wall is meant to be watched while quietly sipping a cup of tea, perhaps while bundled up underneath a nice, warm blanket. It's a very mellow, offbeat kind of show that doesn't go out of its way to make things "wacky" for the kids. It takes its time and focuses on building up the world, story, and characters moreso than establishing epic running gags to sell on Hot Topic merchandise. There's absurdity here, to be sure, but it all feels consistent and necessary, which is a huge reason why it works so well for all ages. Kids won't be bored and adults won't be irritated; this is, in every sense, something everyone can enjoy.

Despite its accessible nature, the series still deals in such themes as loss, maturity, lack of confidence, responsibility, and what it takes to develop a sense of self during our formative years. Wirt is an awkward, insecure, yet self-absorbed poet and hopeless romantic. He's caught right in that in-between, too old to properly connect with his kid brother, but too young to see his own immaturity. He, like so many teenagers, is hopelessly concerned with himself, wallowing in self-pity and adolescent wishy-washiness, and it's through his journey into The Unknown that truly helps him define the kind of person he wants to be. Greg is, comparatively, bursting with youthful optimism and whimsy, yet never once feels like an annoying baby brother to us. We understand Wirt's frustration, but we can also clearly understand all that Greg has to teach his older sibling about enjoying life and reconnecting with that upbeat spark of childhood sensibility that lies within us all. Speaking as a big brother myself, Wirt and Greg's relationship hit me right where I live in ways I never could have predicted. I'm not sure if this will resonate as much with everyone as it did with me, but I've yet to get through this series entirely dry-eyed.

Of course, a big deciding factor in the quality of a character is the quality of the performance, and boy does this series boast some serious talent. Elijah Wood is as great as one might expect, imbuing Wirt with just the right balance of self-righteous bravado and insecure wimpiness. We also have Collin Dean giving an incredibly genuine performance as Greg, truly capturing that sense of childlike obliviousness that makes the world look so incredible and inviting at a young age. There's a reason Greg is voiced by an actual child actor, rather than an older woman with a high-pitched voice. Meanwhile, Melanie Lynskey rounds out our main trio as Beatrice, bringing a strong "beleaguered older sister" type personality to the table, perfectly complimenting Greg and Wirt's individual brands of immaturity. 

Christopher Lloyd also appears as the Woodsman, rasping out a surprising amount of emotion for how little we see of him. I almost feel like this was my favorite character out of the entire thing, purely because we know so little about him; his story feels like an underlying thread that permeates the entire journey, just offstage. The rest of the supporting cast includes such personalities as John Cleese, Tim Curry, and more opera singers and jazz musicians than one would ever expect. It's a truly unique ensemble that just fits perfectly. Everything here just fits perfectly; there's no one who sounds too distracting, there's never a song that feels out-of-place, the characters and plot elements, for as absurd as they are, all feel homogeneous and at-home within the world of The Unknown. Over the Garden Wall knows exactly what it wants to do, and it does it with heart, enthusiasm, and style.

If it wasn't clear already, Over the Garden Wall is a modern-day masterpiece. It's a timeless coming-of-age fairy tale that is sure to remain a cult classic for years and years to come (even though it rightfully deserves so much more acclaim than that). The bizarre characters and surreal situations may prove a bit too eccentric for those who prefer their entertainment more conventional and easy-to-digest, but underneath all of the peculiar set dressing lies a story with a purely human soul. It's a true work of art and you would be remiss to not give it a watch, especially now, as the leaves change colors and a slight chill runs through the air. When feelings of childlike nostalgia and spiritual renewal wash over us all, and nature seems to call out, telling us to put on a jacket and come see what wonders and horrors await in the great, wide world.

REVIEW: Cult of Chucky

It's sort of an unspoken rule that franchises tend to get worse and worse as they go on (especially when it comes to horror). Of course, this isn't true of all sequels, but the number of follow-ups that actually innovate and improve upon the groundwork laid by the first film is a proverbial drop in the bucket compared to the raging tidal wave of mediocre, derivative retreads pumped out of the Hollywood machine. Typically when a horror franchise makes the jump straight-to-video, it's a sign that the series is all but dead and buried (see Hellraiser, Leprechaun, and countless others). It signals an admission of weakness; the studio does not feel confident enough in their product's money-making potential to justify the cost of a theatrical release, so the best they can manage is to recoup their cost by skipping theaters altogether and going straight to home video. Sometimes, however, a direct-to-video sequel can surprise you. Like I've explained, it's fairly rare that a non-theatrical sequel to a classic horror franchise ends up any good, especially when said franchise dates back well over a decade, and especially when the sequel in question is movie number seven. Which brings us to Cult of Chucky, a follow-up to 2013's Curse of Chucky, which in and of itself was something of a revival of the Child's Play franchise (after its steady descent into comedy schlock during the late 90's/early 2000's).

Right off the bat I've got to commend the filmmakers for not taking the easy way out; this is by no means a soft-reboot. It's a clear benefit of smaller-profile releases such as this; while large-scale blockbusters like The Force Awakens and Jurassic World are forced to retread old ground in order to appeal to younger demographics, movies like Cult of Chucky are free from such boardroom legislature. The movie picks up essentially right where Curse of Chucky left off, and assumes you're familiar with every film in the series thus far (if you're a bit rusty, as I was, a quick trip to Wikipedia is invaluable before viewing; alternatively, just marathon the entire series, it's a fun time). We find our protagonist from Curse, Nica (Fiona Douriff), serving time in a psych ward after the justice system deemed her a more likely murderer than a knock-off Cabbage Patch Kid. After transferring to a new facility to continue her treatment, it isn't long until Chucky (Brad Douriff) comes calling to settle his debts. 

The movie isn't nearly as straightforward as one might expect, subverting the formula beyond the usual "THE DOLL IS ALIVE, I TELLS YA, I SWEAR I'M NOT CRAZY" schtick one might expect from such a premise. In our opening scene, we see Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent, reprising the role he played at the age of six in the first Child's Play) living in a remote cabin in the woods, his only company being Chucky's severed head (whom he routinely tortures when he's got nothing better to do). With Chucky seemingly in two places at once (and our protagonists being a mental patient and a man who experienced severe, Chucky-related trauma at a young age), the viewer is left wondering what is real and what isn't. The movie plays fast and loose with our perceptions, adopting a much more psychological bent than the standard slasher fare one would expect from this franchise. By the third act, I was able to more or less guess what was going on, but there were still enough red herrings and misdirects that I was never 100% certain that I had this movie pinned down. It never gives the viewer the chance to become totally comfortable in their assumptions until the climax, when the film finally tips its hand and clues us in on what exactly has been going on all along; the result is imaginative, original, and thoroughly engaging.

I also need to compliment the film on its sense of tone, toeing the line with expert finesse between horror, mystery, and black comedy. There's never a moment where a joke breaks the tension completely or pulls the viewer out of a moment; it all feels very homogenous and natural, which is so often the downfall of genre-benders such as this. There's bits of humor and levity, but the threat is still very much real; we're able to laugh at Chucky's sarcastic wise-cracks, but we still feel tense when he's in the same room as characters we've come to care about. It's a delicate balance that not every film can pull off, but which Cult really displays a fine mastery of. I feel like a lot of this is thanks specifically to writer/director Don Mancini; he's been heavily involved in the Child's Play franchise since the very beginning, so it's clear he has a deep and intimate understanding of how this particular monster works.

It's also worth noting that this is a very good-looking movie, not only in terms of set design and special effects, but in terms of cinematography as well. The camera really has fun with its environments, implementing PoV shots, dolly zooms, and even some split-screen from time to time. It's a film with style to spare, helped along by the cold, sterile environment the bulk of the story takes place in. The clean, white surfaces of the mental institution are just begging to be hosed down with fake blood, the perpetual snowfall outside lending a sense of eerie calm and isolation. Pair that with the old-fashioned uniforms of the nurses and orderlies and you're left with a place that feels both alien and familiar, like something out of a dream. It's not necessarily the first environment I'd think of to set a smart-mouthed killer doll loose in, but damned if it doesn't work.

Speaking of, Chucky himself is looking better than ever. He's still 100% practical, portrayed by a series of animatronics and puppets; it almost feels like cheating, since a doll is expected to have a sort of artificial, plastic-y look to it, but it's clear that the effects team went above and beyond. Chucky is just so expressive, especially when it comes to his eyes, to the point that he's more believable as a living character than many of the big-budget creatures I've seen in recent years (I'm looking at you, surprisingly fake-looking apatosaurus from Jurassic World). Part of this is helped along by the vocal performance of Brad Douriff, still the only actor to ever portray Chucky on-screen. It's the role he was born to play, yet I still find myself questioning who I think was the strongest part of this cast, Brad Douriff, or his daughter, Fiona. Nica, as a protagonist, is so easy to root for (beyond the sympathy she earns off the bat for being confined to a wheelchair, terrorized by a killer doll, and framed for the murder of her family) and Fiona Douriff really brings so much more to the role beyond the usual "beleaguered horror protagonist whom no one believes" (especially during the final act).

All in all, Cult of Chucky is far better than I think it has any right to be; granted, it offers essentially nothing to those unfamiliar with the series thus far, but it works fervently against all odds to deliver an engaging, interesting, and above all original entry in a decades-old slasher franchise. It's a real testament to the power of love in filmmaking; Child's Play hasn't been a theatrically-viable franchise since the early 2000's. It's clear that everyone who worked on this project, from Douriff to Mancini to Jennifer Tilly, is here because they want to be. This is no quick cash-grab or tax write-off, there's legitimate passion and enjoyment for what they're doing, even though what they're doing is part seven in a slasher series about a serial killer who sealed his soul inside a doll through the use of voodoo magic. There's a self-awareness to it (it wouldn't really feel like Chucky if there wasn't), but there's absolutely zero cynicism, and I feel like that makes all the difference in the world.

REVIEW: Frankenweenie

As I've said time and time again, if there's one genre I'm willing to go to bat for it's children's horror. When we're young, the things that scare us can be some of the most spellbinding; when I was little, I was scared to death of the Xenomorph and Lon Chaney's Wolfman, but that didn't stop me from doing extensive research on various movie monsters during my middle school lunch breaks (thanks to the timeless and wonderful series of books from Crestwood House). Horror, as a genre, plays on such base, instinctual emotions, it's easy to see why so many kids like myself end up so inspired by the things that scare us at a young age. It's fun to be scared, especially around Halloween, which is why I find myself with just a teensy bit of positive bias when it comes to discussing films like Tim Burton's 2012 animated spoof, Frankenweenie.

Based off of Burton's 1984 short of the same name, the story follows a young science prodigy by the name of, what else, Victor Frankenstein (Charlie Tahan) and his pet dog, Sparky (the immortal Frank Welker). After Sparky is tragically hit by a car, Victor, overcome with grief, decides to exhume his best friend and resurrect him with a good ol' bolt of lightening. Once Victor's secret is revealed, however, all manner of chaos is unleashed on his sleepy hometown of New Holland once his classmates create monsters of their own. Truthfully, the most interesting part of the story is the monster mash climax, but that doesn't change the fact that this is one of the most loving tributes to the classic Universal age of monster movies that I've ever seen.

It's no secret that Tim Burton's output has been... shall we say, lacking, as of late. One only needs to compare his earlier films (Ed Wood, Beetlejuice, Batman, etc.) to his post-2000 work (Planet of the Apes, Alice in Wonderland, Dark Shadows, etc.) to get an idea of what I'm talking about. His penchant for originality seems to have fallen by the wayside in favor of putting Johnny Depp in an increasingly ridiculous series of hats. That said, Frankenweenie very much feels like a film that Burton wanted to make, rather than one he was, say, contractually obligated to make. Tim Burton's love for classic monster movies is more front-and-center here than in any of his other films (save perhaps Ed Wood). The whole thing is done in black and white, one of Victor's classmates looks and sounds like Boris Karloff, and there are references to everything from Gremlins to Gamera to Horror of Dracula. It's a veritable moving museum of horror history cameos and references.

Frankenweenie is, overall, a very feel-good kind of tribute to a timeless subgenre and feels entirely within Burton's classic wheelhouse; for anyone like me who adores his older work yet feels like he's lost his touch as of late, it's very much a ringing endorsement to Tim Burton's enduring talent as an artist. At the same time, I've got to appreciate how much this film commits to being a monster movie. For the most part it's a good-natured boy and his dog story, yes, but Frankenstein's creation is easily the most inherently gruesome of all the classic monsters. It's very possible to (forgive the pun) produce a relatively toothless vampire or werewolf story, but Frankenstein's monster, by default, always boils down to a collection of body parts being stitched together and ripped back from the afterlife by the cold hand of science. This is a children's movie that, despite its tongue-in-cheek tone, doesn't miss out on a few macabre gags and spooky moments; the creation scene is played 100% straight (and may have been my favorite moment in the entire film) and the climax is full of enough monster madness to give the kiddies a well-intentioned fright. It's a nice tonal equivalent to something like Ernest Scared Stupid or Monster Squad, in that it works as both a fun kids movie and a legitimate, all-ages monster film.

Truthfully, if there's one thing I really have to dock the film for, it's that it doesn't go far enough in terms of dour tone and story beats. Spoiler alert, but the dog lives (un-lives?) happily ever after. The movie constructs this potentially hard-hitting scenario; Victor refuses to admit that Sparky is gone for good, hence why he sneaks into the pet cemetery, retrieves his dog's corpse, stitches it all together, and hits him with a gigawatt. His parents explain that, although Sparky may be gone, he'll still live on in Victor's heart. It's at this point that we get what might be my favorite line in the movie: "I don't want him in my heart. I want him here with me." It's the one bit of emotion that hits hard and feels real; Victor comes off like an actual child experiencing his first encounter with grief. everything else admittedly feels a bit cheap and unearned. We're sad when Sparky gets hit by a car because Sparky is a dog and it's always sad when animals get hurt in movies. The film has a legitimate shot at something truly moving, but passes it by in favor of something altogether safer.

We're given a moral about how we shouldn't fear or reject things simply because we don't understand them; Victor clearly doesn't understand death, yet he subverts it at every opportunity. Sparky lived a full life and a full afterlife; he brought joy to those around him and even managed to save everyone in town once things started to get out of control. It would have been much more fitting and meaningful, I think, had Sparky actually perished saving Victor during the climax. Not only would it mimic the classic tragedy one finds in so many classic monster movies, but it would also bring the overall message full-circle. Victor learns to accept Sparky's passing and keep his furry friend alive, not through mad science, but through his thoughts and memories. You could even have a little end bit where it's revealed Sparky had puppies with Winona Ryder's dog; Son of Frankenweenie!

Then again, that's me looking at this movie through the eyes of an adult. For its target audience (i.e. children), this is sure to be a Halloween standard. Sure, it's a little safe in terms of content. It's not particularly deep in terms of story or characterization, but it makes up for it in sheer gumption and love for its inspiration. I, a jaded twenty-something film student, came away wanting, yes, but a kid on a monster kick is going to absolutely adore Frankenweenie. Maybe it'll even inspire younger generations to explore the classic monster films it was based on? If that's the case, then I'd say it most definitely did its job. Check it out, it's a cute, upbeat little flick.

REVIEW: Get Out

Normally at the end of the month, I try to watch a movie that I know is going to be garbage going in. It's something of a tradition around here, allowing me a chance to really let loose and have fun just tearing something apart; variety is the spice of life, as they say. That said, considering the pure and utter tripe I've put myself through over the past month, I feel as though I've earned myself a little break. With Halloween right around the corner, I'm on something of a horror kick and, coming off of The VVitch, found myself hungry for more quality scares. With that in mind, it seemed obvious to check out the one film even I can't believe I didn't see back in March, director Jordan Peele's Get Out.

The plot feels like something straight out of a classic Twilight Zone or Tales From the Crypt episode; Chris and Rose (Daniel Kaluuya and Allison Williams) are a young, interracial couple who've been seeing each other for a few months. As one might expect, they reach that all important part of a relationship that all young couples dread: meeting the parents. The two depart for Rose's family home, an opulent ranch-house secluded in the woods, where Chris is introduced to Rose's mother and father (Catherine Keener and Bradley Whitford). A hypnotherapist and a neurosurgeon, the two seem to be making almost too much of an effort to make Chris comfortable (leading to more than a few good-natured but still cringe-inducing remarks) and all seems to be going about as well as expected. That is, until Chris begins to notice odd occurrences around the house, leading him to believe that everything is not quite as it seems. Much like with The VVitch, this movie is far better the less you know going in, so I'll end my plot summary here. If you want to know what happens, go watch the movie and find out.

The most important part of a movie like this, one so reliant on its subtext, is that said subtext actually works. So often you'll get a situation where the filmmaker gets too swept up in his or her own metaphor, tamping the message down the viewer's throat, completely sinking the film in the process. Get Out is a film that avoids this pitfall simply by reaching higher than the low-hanging fruit dangling right in front of it. Distilled to the most general terms possible, this is a story about the ills of racism. Now, had Jordan Peele wanted to simply deliver a generic parable about how racism is bad, he could have very easily set this movie in the deep south, instead of what looks like upstate New York or Vermont. He could have littered Rose's family house with confederate flags and jugs of moonshine instead of souvenirs from trips to Africa and bottles of expensive wine. He could have had every white character angrily shout racial slurs instead of smiling politely while mentioning how they know Tiger Woods.

This sense of subtlety, this challenge Peele took upon himself when telling this story, is exactly what makes Get Out work as well as it does. This isn't a movie about your generic, after-school-special kind of racism; the villains aren't boisterous right-wing southerners, they're just seemingly well-meaning liberals who are completely disconnected from Chris' world view. The conflict in this story shows that racism (excuse the pun) isn't entirely black-and-white, highlighting how progressive "ally" culture can be just as harmful as overt bigotry. This is a movie about how a well-intentioned majority can, through their seemingly progressive actions, rob those whom they seek to help of their voice and autonomy. Again, I don't want to delve into spoiler territory, but there's a specific point during the climax where the film lays out exactly what it's really about in spectacular fashion. All in all, it ends up coming off like a reverent throwback to the early films of George Romero and Paul Verhoeven, all while remaining fresh enough so as not to feel in any way cliché or done-before. Everything about the way this movie conveys its message subverts expectations (especially in regards to the ending), ignoring the most trite, obvious symbolism and instead going for something much more clever and, most importantly, real.

That said, all the biting subtext in the world doesn't amount to much if the film itself doesn't function properly. I'm pleased to report that, while some may find the tone somewhat inconsistent, this is a very structurally sound film (especially impressive considering, like The VVitch, this is a first-time director). The performances are all-around excellent, but I have to give some extra credit to Daniel Kaluuya in the lead role of Chris. He's our everyman, the one the audience is clearly supposed to identify and sympathize with as the situation unfolds before him. Kaluuya's performance is solid enough that it wasn't for some time after the film had ended that I realized how little there was to Chris as a character. On paper, he isn't too clearly defined; he is, in every sense, your average, ordinary guy. Kaluuya manages to elevate this, however, purely through his performance. So much is conveyed through simple facial expressions or the use of his eyes; they're even front and center on the poster I chose for this Review. Kaluuya managed to take a protagonist that, in the hands of a lesser performer, could have been totally flat and unengaging and turned him into the perfect lifeline connecting the viewer to the plot.

At the same time, we also have LilRey Howery as Rod, a TSA agent and Chris' best friend. He's our primary comic relief and I'm convinced that in any other movie, this character would have been completely insufferable. Through the combined efforts of Howery, Peele, and the screenwriters, Rod ended up one of my favorite aspects of the entire film, not only providing some legitimately effective levity, but actually contributing to the plot as more than a mere joke machine. Again, we see this movie's commitment to ignoring the low-hanging fruit; it would have been so simple for Rod to have ended up as your basic "goofy best friend" character. He'd spit out a few jokes, maybe act as a vehicle for some product placement, and overall just be an obnoxious, unnecessary addition used to pad out the runtime. Instead, he goes above and beyond in terms of what this kind of character usually ends up being, and the benefits of this effort are plain to see.

Get Out is a movie I simply cannot recommend enough; while it's definitely more of a suspense/mystery (with a hefty dose of satire) than an outright horror movie, it still feels like a loving throwback to a simpler time, when horror films weren't afraid to get inventive in order to get their point across. It takes what could have easily been your classic one-note exploitation premise and turns it into something a  lot more nuanced and inventive than what one might initially expect. One of the things that makes horror so special as a genre is its ability to act as a sort of universal catharsis. When the weight of the world seems that much heavier, some of us ease the burden through sunshine and lollypops, others through ghouls and gore. Whenever there's turmoil and tumult in society, the artists get busy; quality may vary, but Get Out is definitely a prime example of how it should be done.