Bird Box (2018)

For reasons I'm sure you can guess, I've been feeling more inclined to watch vaguely (and explicitly) apocalyptic films, lately. I don't want disease, because... too soon... but zombies and other stuff is fair game. With this in mind, it seemed like a good time to give Bird Box a try, as the initial "meh!" reviews put me off when it first dropped on Netflix. How bad could it be, though? I was still interested enough to chance it.

The first time I heard about this I thought (cw: Harry Potter) "HORROR BOGGART!" and it still stands, to be honest. Directed by Susanne Bier, based on a story by American novelist Josh Malerman (the screenplay by Eric Heisserer) we join the story switching between current day and flashback, meeting Malorie (Sandra Bullock), her sister (criminally under-used Sarah Paulson!) and gradually some other characters in a Dawn of the Dead (2004) type ensemble cast of people stuck together in one location. 

Trope roll call!

• Sexy, tough female
• Tattooed, creepy skinny guy who wants to fuck (it's Machine Gun Kelly but I'm old and don't know who that is *shrug*)
• Grumpy widow (hi, John Malkovich)
• Funny black dude
• Soft-hearted lady who makes dubious decisions
• Competent/kind/hot war veteran

Malorie stands out at the obvious lead here. She's tough, smart, empathetic - and heavily pregnant. She doesn't take shit and doesn't suffer the selfish whims of others gladly. Throughout this flashback we see the incredibly rapid end of the world (as they know it) from weird news stories ("don't worry, it's happening in another country, not here" - gulp!) to people behaving oddly, to full on societal crumble in a matter of minutes.

I am a stone cold sucker for tipping point apocalypse stuff, so this may have been my favourite aspect of Bird Box. The subtlety of the initial weirdness, paving way for the eventual riot and complete destruction of humanity. I dig it, although this stretch of the movie is pretty predictable for anyone remotely aware of the narrative beats of this genre. 

End-of-world ensemble emotions roll call!

• Suspicion
• In-fighting
• Bonding
• Double-crossing
• Loss
• Deception

You know what I'm talking about.

The threat to these characters works well enough; you either lose your mind and commit suicide upon seeing the monsters, or you lose your mind and try to convert others to look at them. There's some not-very-gross-but-still-cool eye effects work, too.

What didn't catch for me were the gigantic leaps in logic and suspension of disbelief required for this story. I've said many times before that when I, Jo, say this, it's a big red flag. I don't usually get this shit stuck in my throat with movies; I'll pick up just about anything you are putting down. However, Bird Box puts down a little too much. Between driving blind from a suburban neighbourhood to a supermarket literally only using the GPS (and said device not functioning the way normal ones do) to lapses in logic when it comes to personal safety when looting... this was a lot for me swallow from a film that was just okay.

It also confirmed something I already knew: I am a horrible person. I turned to my partner and said "I hope one of the kids dies in this". Oops? But I did! I needed something to sink my teeth into! They didn't have the courage to do anything other than mild peril, though.

Speaking of, interestingly (but not surprisingly) the book this was based on had a much more downbeat ending. Malorie reaches her destination, but rather than a paradise of smiling people and a former school for the blind, the book describes a place where the inhabitants have willingly blinded themselves so as not to fall prey to the monsters, and the "sanctuary" offers little more than what the family had already. Points deducted for shaving the sharp edges off of that, Bird Box producers! 

Apocalypse-lite. Streaming on Netflix now.

I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (2016)

I get why some people didn't like this. It's so very studied and ponderous. And maybe a little pretentious. It reminded me of the old Christmas horror films we'd get in England, years ago. Too female-centered to be too much like M. R. James, but possessing a similar climbing, quiet horror of thumps in the night and mold on the walls.

The Ritual (2017)

I fancied watching this again recently, and I'm really glad I did. Spoilers incoming!

Based on a novel by Adam Nevill, directed by David Bruckner (who co-wrote and directed Amateur Night in V/H/S and The Accident in Southbound) this Netflix movie takes us deep into dark Swedish forests with a group of friends.

Dom, Luke, Phil and Hutch.

Tension exists between these men, as we find out that Luke (Rafe Spall) carries a heavy burden of guilt for not stepping in during a violent attack which opens the film. The knowledge they all have of Luke essentially standing by as their friend Robert (Paul Reid) was killed hangs heavily over the beginning of their trip. We see Luke wake from a nightmare about the murder, and throughout our time with him images ripple through his reality of the trauma from that night.

These scenes are some of my favourites, as imagination and reality/fabricated building interior and forest mesh so effortlessly and organically together. It's incredibly impressive and extremely disconcerting. It reads very much like something out of a dream, where details and settings bleed together in a singular landscape.

On the night Rob died the lads were trying to decide where to go on holiday together, and now, six months later they find themselves hiking as a tribute to him (as he'd originally suggested it). Hutch (Robert James-Collier) is clearly the most comfortable in the outdoors, with the others joining through a sense of sad duty. These are middle-class affluent types, paying £200 for their hiking boots but neglecting to break them in before the trip. They are kind of out of their depth before they even set foot in the forest.

The turning point of events comes after Dom (Sam Troughton) gets hurt, and they make the decision to take a short-cut back to their lodge. Rather than staying out in the open, they realise with reluctance that entering the dense forest is the quickest way back.

❝What's up? Are you scared of the woods?❞

It's dark, damp, and visibility is low through the arrow-straight trees. Luke repeatedly thinks he sees a glimpse of something moving in the distance and tensions increase as pain and exhaustion take hold. Everything changes after their first night in the forest. Breaking into an abandoned cabin during a storm, they wake the following morning, nerves shredded from terrifying nightmares and sleepwalking. 

There is a palpable feeling of a dark presence infiltrating their minds as they slept, pushing its way into their deepest fears. The most alarming awakening is from Phil (Arsher Ali) who is found naked in a "praying" position in front of a terrifying headless totem.

No one, especially Phil, is ever the same after that night. Arsher Ali doesn't have an awful lot to do aside from this, unfortunately, but he gives a haunting performance as someone who can't process or escape the fear of his ordeal. Phil is shell-shocked and violated.

Similar to the "lost in the woods" idea, the stripping back of anything our characters have -  in this case: possessions, unity, sanity - is not a unique narrative approach, but in capable hands, it's so effective. The lads start with the latest gear, and end with nothing, having lost tents, party members, and a full grip on what the fuck is even going on. With a steady hand, The Ritual peels back to the terrified primal core of these characters.

The creature reveal is what solidifies the success of this movie for me. This beast is a "Jötunn", an ancient god worshiped by villagers and offered sacrifices of unsuspecting visitors to the area (their possessions dot the landscape, nature claiming them in varying degrees). In turn, the locals are granted unnaturally long lives. The things we do for eternity, eh? I did find it interesting that none of the villagers seem particularly happy, however. Their lot appears more duty and fear-fueled than actively wanting to be eternally stuck in this existence.

The design of the Jötunn is stunning, even in full view it's difficult to comprehend as it seems compromised of human and beast body parts, as well as having aspects of the forest, too. It feels profane in a way that both captivates and repels.

As Luke attempts to escape his fate of being trapped forever, this showstopping moment is captured:

If he had lost his mind then and there, who could have blamed him?

As the third act draws to a close, the warm tones of a burning village give way to a landscape bathed in dawn light. In the far distance we see a car on a road. Luke is returning to civilisation and leaving old gods behind. At least physically. He was chosen because his "pain was great" - is his pain gone, by the end? I doubt it. If anything it's deeper, along with his guilt. His primal scream at the creature stuck at its forest's edge certainly hints at a lifetime of nightmares to come. 

This movie would pair well with Blair Witch for a night's viewing, as I think they'd complement one another for a "we're lost in the woods and we're f*cked!" double bill. Tents and trees by torchlight; distant, gigantic sounds you can't identify... That kind of fear pre-dates almost everything, it's woven into our lizard brains.

The Ritual is streaming on Netflix now. I appreciated the abrupt, not-necessarily-sad but definitely not happy ending (see also: Calibre). Beautiful landscapes, old gods and flawed humans - what's not to love? Very tempted to pick up the book and see how the two compare.

1922 (2017)

Written by Stephen King as a novella, and directed and adapted for the screen by Zak Hilditch, 1922 is slow and simple. It's an age old tale of how easy it is to plot cold-blooded murder - and how impossible it becomes to live with the guilt.

Thomas Jane (another of my "He's in it? Okay, I'll watch it" actors) is Wilfred James, a farmer in Nebraska, in 1922. Wilfred is a proud man, and when he and wife Arlette (Molly Parker) disagree on what should happen to a recent inheritance of land, the consequence of their differing opinions leads to the first violent episode in a year-long run of bloodshed and bad news.

He turns their son Henry (Dylan Schmid) against his mother during secret talks amongst the corn,  and plots Arlette's murder, little suspecting what nightmares - real and imaginary - this is going to bring down upon himself and anyone close to the family.

1922 is an uncomplicated, tragic tale. While I wouldn't say I was scared, necessarily, it definitely has its moments both of eerie dread and the jarringly gruesome. 

Rats play a large, symbolic part, seeming to burrow into and "infect" the world around Wilfred, mirroring the guilt and madness pulsing and growing within his soul. 

Serving this purpose the rodents are obviously vilified throughout the film, and while that makes sense, it also made me a bit sad, as a rat fan... To this day rats get a bad rap, and this movie certainly doesn't do anything to help that! 🐭

A warning: There are a number of grisly animal scenes in this movie. I looked away more during this than I can remember doing in a while, Even if I'm 99% certain the animals are fine on film sets now, I still don't need to see the impressive CGI of a crushed rat or a cow with a broken back :(. So just know those are coming and be ready, if you are sensitive to that kind of stuff like I am.

King fans will enjoy some recurring motifs too, such as the well (reminiscent of Dolores Claiborne) and the inherently sinister towering cornfields (Children of the Corn, The Stand) plus, according to IMDb trivia, connections to The Mist and The Dark Tower.

You certainly don't need a shelf of Stephen King books to appreciate this, however. Give it a try if you're looking for something gloomy to fall asleep thinking about.

This is another Netflix original, so it's streaming there right now.