It is the best zombie flick I’ve ever seen. Better than Night of the Living Dead, both Dawn of the Deads, 21 Days Later, and World War Z (to which it owes a few visual concepts).
Absolutely riveting, impressively fluid and utterly terrifying. On Netflix streaming now.
The film is conceptually ingenious, spooky, nerve wracking, terrifying and meticulously paced and acted. This tale of a family’s descent into madness and the occult scared the bejeezus out of me. Only slightly gory, the horror is all psychological. It is, however, very cruel to its characters, sometimes too cruel even for me.
I’m getting too old for this shit.
One of my favorite ghost stories, it has all the elements: a believable tortured performance by George C. Scott, a recent widower with whom an old house begins to communicate; absolutely chilling, hair-standing on the back of your neck moments; an engrossing mystery that seamlessly ties into the increasingly disturbing hauntings; and, a unhurried pace which heightens the terror. Trust me. Or trust Martin Scorsese. It’s on his list of the 11 scariest horror films of all time.
Also, scariest wheelchair ever.
The movie gets an automatic half point deduction because it was so intense and gripping that I had to leave the room a few times and scream to my family, “What’s happening now?” I have to assume there were some problems with the picture during those moments. Otherwise, John Krasinski’s sophomore effort as a director is taut, assured (you feel he really had a vision as to almost every scene), and at the right times, edge-of-your-seat terrifying. It is also bolstered by wonderful performances that are necessarily non-verbal. Krasinski is moving as a beleaguered father trying to protect his family, and Emily Blunt’s travails as she communicates them are almost too much to bear.
The only thing you need to know about the plot is that the monsters can hear EVERYTHING!
Director Andy Muschietti’s knows his way around a spook story, as evidenced by his very creepy Mama, and with the aid of a troupe of incredibly gifted child actors and the can’t miss image of a clown roaming the sewers, he delivers the goods. The film rocks you with jump scares and terrifying imagery as Pennywise hunts his prey, and Muschietti covers his doomed Maine town in dread. Yet, the relationships between the children are authentic and sweet, engendering empathy and bolstering a critical plot point in combating the evil that lurks below.
My orthodontist used to have his walls covered by clowns of every shape and size, a decor choice which contributed to my crooked teeth. In every clown on that wall was a potential Pennywise, a diabolical trickster and eater of souls with a gift for gab that could entice vulnerable kids to their doom.
But enough about me. Muschietti’s Pennywise is as indelible and monstrous a film character as I’ve seen.
There are a few weaknesses. The film is too long, and as my son pointed out, they could have done with one less child character. There are also a few script clunkers, such as when one of the children mentions that the town has six times the national average in missing people, and a higher percentage for kids. Such a town would be dead, not seemingly thriving.
Last, Stephen King hates adults. That is all well and good (who doesn’t?), but the conceit is hackneyed. As with most King stories centered on kids, in It, every adult is cruel, abusive, distant, crazy and/or a molestor, which is meant to underscore the vulnerability of the children, but really, only serves to cheapen the story.
Still, this is well worth the $235 it currently costs to attend a movie.
One of the stand-bys for black comics is scary movies and the idiocy of white people who insist on staying in a haunted house that says “Get out!” so it is a clever reverse when our black protagonist (Daniel Kaluuya) stays on at the weekend house of his white girlfriend (Allison Williams) when every white person there is race inquisitive, if not obsessed beyond any concept of reason, as well as Stepford creepy, and every black person there is, well, a Stepford wife.
Writer director Jordan Peele makes a significant mistake, however, with an opening scene that reveals the ultimate danger. All that is left is the how, and it’s a credit to his script and his taut direction that the film remains interesting.
Also, in 1975’s The Stepford Wives, substituting the perfect sexpot obedient wives for the opinionated and very liberated Katherine Ross and Paula Prentiss made diabolical sense, as the feminist movement threatened man’s control over his suburban environment. Here, the question “why black people?” is asked directly and the answer is not only insufficient, it’s bewilderingly casual.
Still, the film is very clever in parts and the broad comic relief (best pal Lil Rev Howrey) is hilarious.
Linking two famous hauntings, Amityville and Enfield (both almost certainly hoaxes, which, I suppose outs me as someone who accepts the possibility of “authentic” paranormal phenomena), director James Wan sends his un-dynamic duo (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga) from Long Island to London, where they lend their assistance to a beleaguered family of five whose council house appears to be spooked by its former occupant. There are a few frights, but not much beyond that, the failures attributable to a number of factors. First, Wilson and Farmiga are boring, just dull as dishwater. I get it. They are religious. But religious people need not be saltines.
Second, big houses with sprawling grounds are scary; crappy British public housing, not so much.
Third, Wan over-relies on the same gimmick – camera pans away, nothing there, then back, all is well, then back, okay, then . . .
Whammo! Look who’s in the mirror. It gets old.
Finally, the whole story is the fact that the creepy nun wants to get Farmiga, much like the demon wanted to get Father Merrin in The Exorcist. Only, Merrin v. Satan was a mere subplot of what was an otherwise compelling, intricate and literate horror film, which The Conjuring 2 is decidedly not.
