Postings interrupted by the hurricane, but here's catch-up.
26.
The Woman
I hadn't heard of Lucky McKee before, although judging by his filmography (
May, The Woods, Red), I should sample at least one more work before I declare his quality as a filmmaker. But this is an ugly, ugly film, cynical and torturous. It's not a pretty film to watch or to digest. The fact that it's apparently a sequel to
The Offspring, a film about a family of cannibals struggling to survive, diminishes this film. I mean, the protagonist in The Woman might be a cannibal, but she's apparently civilized enough to shave her armpits.
Ultimately, the film's focus seems muddled. Is it about the audience's desire to see a wild woman set free? Do we want to see her gain revenge over her abusive captor? Do we want the captor, a rapist and domineering patriarch hiding under the veneer of a civilized lawyer, to be killed so his family can escape his influence? Would the family even want him to die because his continued survival at least guarantees a certain quality of life for them? Is the film yet another commentary on how trouble simmers under the idyllic suburban surface?
It's hard to call this a feminist film when the gaze is so staunchly male. When the father sees the wild woman bathing in a creek for the first time, the film luridly lingers on her exposed breasts. It practically gives her the ol' up and down. The woman may gain her revenge at the end, and the women in the family may gain a measure of freedom, but it's hard to call this a feminist film.
27.
Grizzly Man
I consider Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man to be the ultimate found footage film. It fits the criteria: it actually is found footage, we have a framing device for the story that explains how it was found and why it is being shown, and the footage shows scenes of terror and horror. And Herzog does not pretend to be an objective observer, which makes him more openly. That the events were real and the people are not actors is beside the point.
As expected, Herzog treats Timothy Treadwell's story with the solemnity it deserves, but it's also laced with gallows humor. Treadwell's recap of a battle between young males dueling for the right to mate with a prized female bear is entertaining. What might seem like irony (footage of Treadwell telling the camera over and over that he's prepared to die for the Alaskan bears and that he knows he's in constant danger) felt more like Herzog partly respecting the wild life Treadwell led and condemning him for dragging another person into his story's end.
Herzog doesn't judge the morality of Treadwell's actions; he leaves the viewer to draw those judgments and presents multiple accounts and perspectives, some from Treadwell's friends, some from members of the community who claim to know better. In the end, I felt like I understood why Treadwell would retreat into identifying with and anthropomorphizing bears, but it doesn't make his risky behavior any more acceptable either for the bears' sake or for his girlfriend's.
Like the best horror directors, Herzog leaves the viewer to imagine the brutality and terror. The infamous key scene is Herzog's reaction to the audio tape of Treadwell's and Amie Huguenard's deaths at the jaws and claws of bears. But we never see Herzog's face in full; we only see Treadwell's friend, Jewel Palovak, as she sees Herzog's reaction and as she reflects on her memories of Treadwell and her imagined images of Treadwell's and Huguenard's deaths. It's a powerful moment of abstracted emotion.
Through Herzog's narration, you can also detect his appreciation for the images that Treadwell captures even as Herzog outlines his fundamental disagreement with Treadwell's view of the world. And Herzog's sense of drama guides him to punctuate his narrative with the beautifully filmed testimony of Dr. Franc G. Fallico, who describes how Treadwell and Huguenard died based on his analysis of the tape and their remains.
28.
Absentia
I much prefer this preview poster or this festival
poster; the
DVD cover is misleading and will likely deter viewers from trying it. Because Absentia is a low-budget film, it is a slow-boiling film; as a slow-boiling film, it needs good performances to retain the viewers' attention. The family drama and internal conflicts in Absentia don't feel overblown, and the characters feel authentic, which lends the film weight as it explores the manifestation of guilt and terror of the unknown.
After all, how well do we know where we live? Even with Google Maps, there are still the secret places, the shortcuts that you and only you know and the paths that you avoid. Satellite imagery and street-level mapping don't capture this information; it's civic knowledge known only to people who live there.
How well do you know your neighbors? Unlike other films, the threat to normalcy at the core of
Absentia isn't in other people, so the question posed becomes "would you notice if your neighbor disappeared?" The film's minor question concerns when encountered with the unusual, do we know our neighbors well enough to not jump to conclusions about them and scapegoat them?
Like
Pontypool,
Absentia has a great hook, and it looks great in the scenes that are meant to grab the viewer. You could argue that the rest seems like filler and is treated by the director and cinematographer as such. It's not a film filled with visual flair, but that seems fitting for a film with a Lovecraftian terror at its heart.
29.
Lovely Molly
It's too easy and simplistic to call this movie a hot mess, and I could try to rationalize it by saying that it's as fractured as the protagonist's traumatized and broken mind.
From the start, the viewer is invited to sympathize with Molly and fear her. As the film reviews how Molly's past caught up with her, her isolation in a house haunted with memories of childhood trauma reminded me of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper."
Unfortunately,
Lovely Molly's attempts to creep the viewer out break the mood and disrupt the film's narrative. Writer-director Eduardo Sanchez of The Blair Witch Project uses a first-person camcorder perspective at seemingly random moments to show Molly's descent into madness between her stalking of a family and attempts to capture the supernatural to show that she's not crazy to her husband. The first time this device is used, we hear creepy groans, moans, and whispers from the objective point of view and from Molly's camcorder point of view. This renders the camcorder's presumed objectivity moot and leaves the film with no reliable points of view, which undercuts the film's future attempts to use it for tension. Once we've confirmed from both points of view that there's something supernatural in the house, it also leaves the husband and Molly's family looking like chumps when they express disbelief at Molly's claims and their concerns that Molly's troubles are a result of childhood trauma and her resumed drug use.
The film also tries to play coy with the audience, teasing the supernatural and cutting away to black at the last moment. This makes the film seem more low-budget than actual low-budget films that have handled mystery and tension better.
I do appreciate that the film is seen from a lower-middle class perspective. It's reasonable that Molly and her husband cannot afford to move once her descent into madness begins because 1) they can't afford it (as demonstrated by Molly's low-wage job) and 2) they can't find a buyer for the house. Since it's property they own, they may as well use it, despite the damage it's doing to Molly's psyche.