Interstellar (2014)

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The world is getting safer every day.  When Cooper was a kid, people were killing each other just to get enough food.  Now there’s more or less plenty to go around, though there’s less variety.  We’ve traded in a world of innovation and ambition for a more stable world, a more sustainable world, and so far it seems to be working.  Smart kids have to settle to be farmers to keep the world fed, and getting into university is once again a meaningful challenge.  Maybe in a few decades things might get better; it seems like for now all humanity can really do is wait and hope.

But there are things going drastically wrong even in this simpler, unambitious, safe world, that no one is willing yet to face.  There is a plan to do something about these problems, a plan so huge, so ridiculously bold, that even its strongest supporters can’t imagine it all the way through to success.  But it also happens to be the best plan we have.

There are, roughly speaking, two kinds of science fiction films.  One has ordinary stories to tell and tells them in a science fiction setting; the future, outer space, the-1800s-but-with-computers, and so forth.  When done well, as with Star Wars or The Fifth Element, they’re one of the most exciting forms of diversion I’ve found.  Maybe things don’t quite add up in terms of plot holes, and maybe the physics isn’t always technically correct, but we’re too busy having fun to care.  As entertainment they’re gangbusters, and we expect no more from them than that.

Then there are movies which aren’t dependent on setting.  Like any good story, what matters most are the characters.  In good science fiction, ordinary people come into contact with something new, a technology, a way of living, maybe a philosophical idea, usually stemming from some scientific discovery not yet reconciled with the world as we understand it.  Because of this new thing their lives are changed, and in the end they have to find a new way of looking at the world.  When done well, we get to share with the characters in building that new way of seeing the world, and that’s one of the most valuable things fiction can do, whether it’s science-fiction or not.

Now, does Interstellar belong to the first category of film, or the second?  I’ll leave you to decide.  But I encourage you to go see it, because whether it’s just entertainment or something more, there is no doubt that it is very, very well made.

For better or worse, Christopher Nolan seems to love making tragedies.  All his heroes, to date, experience their journeys against a backdrop of grief, pain, and loss.  In this film, Nolan brings his wonderful knack for putting dreams smack down on the kitchen table and his expansive, sophisticated sense of style to perhaps the oldest story people have to tell: of going out to see, to discover.  And we have here a Nolan hero with a chance, albeit as slim a chance as can possibly be imagined, for finding redemption.

The world is spinning in Matthew McConaughey’s hand these days, and anyone left in doubt of his formidable abilities after his coup in Mud (2012), Magic Mike (2012), Dallas Buyers Club (2013), and True Detective (HBO series, 2014) most likely either haven’t seen the work or they weren’t paying attention.  After winning the Oscar last year, his first choice of script is a science fiction picture, a genre that has always suffered for lack of real acting talent, and he how lucky for us that he brings every ounce of his charisma, sincerity, and pathos with him.  Funny thing about film, that there can be scenes which break our hearts and somehow uplift us at the same time; there is a scene of that kind in this film which is one of the most powerful I have seen, solely through emotion McConaughey delivers.  It is absolutely and undeniably because McConaughey nails it, that we are unable to not feel for his character, that the film succeeds.

McConaughey plays Cooper, a corn farmer who used to be much more, raising his son Tom (Timothée Chalamet, later Casey Affleck) and his daughter Murph (Mackenzie Foy, later Jessica Chastain) with the help of their grandfather Donald (John Lithgow, for the win) following their mother’s death.  When a seemingly inexplicable phenomena leads him to unexpectedly discover the hidden last remnant of humanity’s best and brightest, and their wild secret project that he is the best possible candidate for leading, the worries he was struggling with in the terms of a farm’s household are suddenly dwarfed by those of a planetary, and then an interstellar scale.  Guided by his acquaintance from a former life, Professor Brand (regular Nolan co-conspirator Michael Caine) and in cooperation with the professor’s chilly daughter (Anne Hathaway), he undertakes to embark on an expedition that has become, he is unhappy to learn, the best final hope for mankind to last more than about one already-fleeting century longer.

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 This covers roughly the first forty-five minutes of the picture.  I want to talk about the rest, and believe me, I could keep dropping names from its remarkable ensemble cast for paragraph after paragraph, but with a movie as intricately crafted as Interstellar, you’ll find I can’t really tell you much more than this without effecting what you’ll think it’s about, and that’s part of the journey you experience for yourself.

As a space movie, Interstellar has a heavy legacy to live up to, built up mainly in just the past few decades.  Following Apollo 13 (1995), Alfonso Cuarón’s brief and masterful Gravity (2013), the most recent peer of course and the most likely to be compared, and the gold standard, at least from a purely technical point of view, Stanley Kubrick’s immortal 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968).  Here in 2014, humans can’t easily go into space to get real footage, and so outer space movies generally either live or die on the strength of their visual effects.

One of Nolan’s imminent charms, and one of the reasons the world desperately needs more filmmakers like him, is that he understands the limits of what special effects can do for telling a compelling story.  Every film of his from Batman Begins (2005) onward has made use of CGI effects to a limited extent, but whenever possible he’ll try to make a shot or sequence work using purely practical effects first.  Be they lavishly constructed sets, meticulously detailed costumes and props, or good old-fashioned user-friendly models, he does whatever he can to really photograph his footage before he resorts to digitally-attached illusions to make his vision a reality.

By keeping the action focused on what the characters can really touch and interact with, Nolan grounds the story firmly in a more real-feeling, believable experience for his audience.  Nolan wants the amazing things happening in his pictures to happen to his characters, not to happen with some characters off to the side, no matter how amazingly the images are contrived.

When it’s something only CGI can do, he makes sure it is so well-made, and happens for such a good reason in the story, that he can be sure it’s something we’ll remember.  Like a fine jeweler, he knows when in a story to bend the settings and events towards a set-piece of visual action, and he knows how to define, limit, and polish those set-pieces to make the whole work shine brighter.  

It’s in this spirit of dreams checked and well-grounded by reality that we’re coaxed into believing in his homely, ordinary, roughly futuristic world, and it’s on the same principle that the rest of the movie is carried out to such powerful effect.

In all other technical aspects, the film is excellent or better.  Nolan’s composer of choice Hans Zimmer provides another intense, minimalist, and largely melancholy score that perfectly agrees with the tone and action, while paying tribute here and there with huge swells of organs, yes organs, to some of the classic pictures and scores that came before it.  

Since shooting The Dark Knight, Nolan has favored the use of the 70mm IMAX format camera for giving his visuals an enormous feel and texture.  Sequence after sequence here, from cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema (Let the Right One In (2008), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)), whether it’s shot on an IMAX rig or not, is so rich and engrossing that it’s largely worth the price of admission alone.  

Like in the great space films mentioned above, the sound department here knows exactly when to use wonderful foley, or the claustrophobic sounds of a character inside their helmet, or unsettling silence, to sell the experience’s authenticity.  

My favorite thing about this movie however may well turn out to be its art department, solely for giving us the coolest movie robots I’ve seen since Oblivion (2013) or earlier.

Like every film Nolan has made, the aspect that shows the most careful finishing and agonizing attention is also the most important: the script.  As with the masterful Memento (2000) and Inception, it’s penned by Nolan himself, together with his brother Jonathan.  Along with the usual hallmarks of their work (dead-on dialogue, incredible one-liners, endless call-backs and call-forwards, and a plot designed like a puzzle and masquerading as an illustrated lecture course), the script carries, integrates, and often elevates some of the best ideas from some of the best sci-fi novels of the last century, from Frederick Pohl’s Gateway (1977) and Alfred Bester’s The Stars My Destination (1956) to Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five (1969), and even C.S. Lewis’s Out of the Silent Planet (1938). And like any great science fiction film it has space marines and sassy robots, only here they happen, delightfully, to be one and the same thing.

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Of course, when we get to discussing the legacy of excellence in science fiction writing, it’s inescapable that 2001: A Space Odyssey be further considered.  In some ways, Interstellar is like a version of 2001 where people are actually allowed to speak to each other.  To be more specific, what differentiates this film’s version of a somewhat similar story from its predecessor’s is the understanding that the audience needs characters who have compelling reasons for the things they do, and whom they can sympathize with in a memorable way.

2001, its script by Kubrick himself and the well-famed novelist Arthur C. Clarke, sought to first raise profound questions about the cosmos, reality, and humanity’s place in it, and then to underscore the profundity of its questions by declining to comment on them.  Interstellar, on the other hand, raises similar questions on a similar journey, and is brave and, ultimately, limited enough, to pursue guesses about what the answers might be.  Because of this, the narrative is the basis of the film’s only unmistakable flaw: it is overambitious.

Clocking in at just under three hours, the picture still seems rushed, like it’s often saying “Alright, look.  Ideally, we’d give this idea more time, but there’s just too much else to we have to see, we’ve got to keep going.”  

It’s the terrible paradox of movies about ideas.  If you spend enough time on the characters to make a good story, then you usually don’t have time left to give the theories and their supporting details their due.  If you spend all your time on your ideas, and none on your characters, and when you answer all your own questions, not only do you deprive the audience of an opportunity for wonder, there’s no time really for the characters to advance, and therefore no reason for anyone to care.  

Kubrick and Clarke settled for ineffability, which is perhaps a wise move when you’re trying to make a movie about everything.  Nolan gives us suggestions for answers, and tries to plant some new questions of his own.  I would say the film and its ideas are for the most part a resounding success when it comes to crafting a compelling storyline; it’s just obvious that occasionally they wished to do more, to make an idea clearer or unfold part of the plot line longer, and they just couldn’t fit it all in.  When this is a side detail it’s jarring, when the weight of the plot falls on points of this kind, it’s worrisome, but not so much so that the film’s feeling is diminished, or the ideas it does manage to get across are made less interesting.

In some ways the movie is about this very problem, about whether people will necessarily fail at undertakings fundamentally beyond their understanding, with consequences disconnected from their own personal interests.  All the wonderful visual effects and technological innovations in the world will not help people believe in your story if there aren’t sympathetic characters and a meaningful struggle to overcome.  And if we ever do venture out into new worlds, if there’s any evil out there, any hidden daemon to ruin our chances, it’s something we’ll take with us, in our nature, in being too scared and short-sighted to be ambitious for the sake of others, for the people with whom we empathize.

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When all is said and done, it’s a heavy film.  It requires attention and a good deal of emotional stamina: it cuts closer to being an honest-to-god tragedy than many films I’ve seen in recent years, and will wring you dry before it’s done.  It’s not something you’re likely to pop on at a party, or watch to wind down a weary day.  But though it is enormous and challenging, it’s also beautiful and considerate and deeply affecting.  If you wait to see it on the small screen, odds are you’ll wish you hadn’t.  So clear your schedule for an evening, take someone you’re not afraid to feel feelings with, leave your earthbound worries at the door, and join these extraordinary characters on their journey.  I doubt that it’s one you’ll soon forget.


this post was also published on Literally, Darling

13 Movies to Watch with the Lights Off

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It’s that time again, the nights are getting longer, the first winter’s chill is in the air, and all the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some. Whether you’d like to spend the rest of the night climbing the walls in anxiety until sunrise, or if you’d just like to kick back with a drink and some friends and watch the world burn, here’s a list of great movies, some available for streaming and others worth the splurge if you care to rent them, that are sure to get you in the spirit of things. So go get a bowl of popcorn, put your feet up (for comfort and possibly for safety), and remember to switch off all the lights.

Let the Right One In (2008) (Netflix)

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Sometimes finding a real connection with another person seems impossible. It’s a story that’s been told quite often, too often many would argue, especially in the last ten years. Two young people, both solitary and withdrawn by their natures, find comfort and a sense of belonging in one another’s company. It just so happens that one of them is a malevolent supernatural creature that must secretly feed on the blood of the innocent in order to survive. But this is by no means your standard love story involving creatures of the night. What sets Let the Right One In apart are the little things. For starters, its two eleven year-old-leads, the result of a casting search that scoured the length and breadth of Sweden, are remarkably well-suited and live their roles beautifully. Excellent cinematography and a minimal and naturalistic approach to the violent subject matter give it the haunting feel of a simple childhood drama that happens to have horrific elements, but which grows more and more complicated and sinister as it progresses. The result is chilling and surprisingly tender-hearted, a well-crafted collision of the everyday and the otherworldly. In style it’s long on atmosphere and characterization, very short on gore, but it knows just when to use the latter for extreme emphasis. Directed by Tomas Alfredson (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) and adapted from John Ajvide Lindqvist’s 2004 novel of the same name by Lindgvist himself, it was also adapted in 2010 into a US version, but do yourself a favor and watch the one with subtitles, these performances alone are worth the price of admission.

Cronos (1993)

image copyright Lions Gate Films Home Entertainment

What would you do if you thought you could live forever? What price would be too high to pay?

Before there was Hellboy, or Pan’s Labyrinth or Pacific Rim, there was Cronos. When an antiques store owner discovers an odd-looking gadget, and feels its mysterious bite, at first things seem great: he feels younger, has more energy, and things generally are picking up. But the device’s purpose and its effect on him awaken dark appetites that he isn’t well inclined to feed. His life takes an irrevocable turn for the strange, and unbeknownst to him, a race among ruthless and powerful people had begun capture this horrific secret of eternal life. The approach to the material is thoughtful and heartfelt, and undeniably hair-raising, and there is even something like a message here, for anyone interested. Things soon go from good to bad to worse to awful, but we are compelled to keep following this earnest, well-rounded and sympathetic character through to his journey’s end. The directorial debut of director and screenwriter Guillermo Del Toro, and loaded with the lush and surreal imagery, creepy twists, and odd details he’s since become famous for, Mexico’s then-most expensive film ever made remains a classic of simple yet powerful storytelling at its best. Plus, Ron Perlman, to whom you should always say yes.

Absentia (2011) (Netflix)

image copyright Phase 4 Films

What could be worse than knowing the people who mean the most to us could someday vanish, leaving no trace, never to be seen again?

Tricia is finally taking steps to move forward with her life. When her sister Callie arrives for a prolonged visit of support, she has begun the necessary paperwork to have her husband Danny, missing now for over seven years, declared legally dead. But when she finally starts getting answers to the questions she’s asked for so long, no one is prepared to accept or cope with what those answers might mean. Deceptively mundane and down-to-earth in its opening and most of its delivery, but eerily haunting in its premise and its points of stress, this open question of an indie film is likely to crawl into your head and nest there for days. The film’s strengths are in its performances, its nearly flawlessly naturalistic dialogue, the reality of the emotional weight the story has on its characters, and in the simple, clever and chilling terrors it brings out when the lights go off. Seeking to explore what is perhaps the ultimate “adult” fear, being utterly abandoned without warning or explanation by the people we’re connected to, the film ultimately goes after the often invisible line between a reality we can’t accept and the rationalizations we use to shield ourselves from it, and reaches further and cuts deeper than one initially expects from its easygoing and simplistic style. Written and directed by Mike Flanagan (Oculus), at times it does seem hampered by its Kickstarter budget, and its emphasis on story over action may not appeal as strongly to die hard horror fans, but if you want to be scared of tunnels for life, in a good way, go watch it.

Shaun of the Dead (2006)

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Is there a better way to say “I love you” than surviving the zombie apocalypse together?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, and Edgar Wright are the best thing to happen to comedy since the bygone golden days of the nineties faded. Here, the trio brings to life Shaun (Pegg) and Ed (Frost), an underachieving retail clerk and his even underachieving-er flatmate, respectively. When Shaun’s lady love Liz leaves him for being a layabout, he realizes he has to turn his life around if he’s going to win her back. Fortunately for him, and for us, it is at just this point that the dead rise from the grave to overtake the earth in a slow wave of mindlessly unstoppable carnage, so he’ll have lots of chances to prove himself worthy if he just wants to stay alive. The solution? Grab Liz and her family and friends, go to the Winchester, grab a pint, and wait for this to all blow over. If only it were that easy. Slick editing, unmatched wit, imminently quotable, your new best friend on a disc. There is no aspect of the classic undead thriller film formula that this gem of an action-comedy doesn’t celebrate with affection and at the same time tear to pieces. The first of director Wright and co-writer Pegg’s “Cornetto Trilogy” (named for the ice cream consumed in each entry) and followed by the stylistic successors Hot Fuzz and The World’s End, this screamingly hilarious, irrepressibly warmhearted romp is in general a landmark in 21st century film; if you haven’t seen it yet, just go buy it. You can thank us later.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978) (Netflix)

image copyright MGM Home Entertainment

How do you know the people around you really are who they seem to be? What’s going on in their heads? How can you ever be sure?

There is something wrong with people today. Everyone seems detached, cold, yet weirdly efficient and even-tempered. Everywhere you go, people seem to be staring at you. Your parents/spouse/SO/roommate treat you politely but like a stranger at the bus stop, they already have all the chores done for once without being asked, and you see them go and empty a dust bin of ash into a garbage truck waiting outside. You meet a friend out for lunch, and try to tell them that the people at home are acting oddly, but you soon realize your friend is acting the same way. And they have this weird little flower pod they’d like to to wear. You look tired, they suggest, maybe if you’re so worried about all this you should lay down for a short nap? Often hailed as the greatest remake ever remade (based on the 1956 original film and the 1954 novel The Body Snatchers by Jack Finney), this thriller’s edgy handheld camera work, eerie and unnerving sound design, and constantly upward-ratcheting tension go a long way towards bridging the culture gap of 36 years since its release. Performances feature from an almost impossibly young Donald Sutherland and Leonard friggin’ Nemoy of all people, not to mention an apparently infant Jeff Goldblum and countless easter-egg cameos. When you think about it, it’s also one of the most chilling, calmly executed, and effective disaster films. Watch it with someone you care about if you can; if nothing else, you can agree on secret code words in case one of you wakes up different tomorrow...

The Fly (1986)

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Probably one of the most distressing realizations that can grip us from time to time is that our bodies are just tissue, flesh and bone, a complex of chemical structures interacting entirely by the dictates of our genetic code, and having nothing at all to do with who we are as people. To intrude on that sense of self, to violate it, to change it in a way that it essentially no longer survives, is to call into question our identity: we become organisms first and persons second after all.

Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) is optimistic that he’s first on the threshold of the greatest technological revolution since the car or the atom bomb. It’s a sci-fi premise you’ve seen in the first five minutes of any episode of Star Trek: people get into a transporter, “teleportation pod” here. Powerful computers record their body’s complete molecular structure, break the body down, then convey the information to the destination where the person, or at least their body, is re-constructed on the spot. Brundle has taken the prototype teleportation pods back to his place for further work, and while experimenting finds he needs a human test subject. He gets in, it scans his DNA. And a little fly gets in, too... He seems to come out fine, but soon things go wrong. Horribly horribly wrong. Featuring some of the best special make-up effects and prosthetics work ever captured on screen and a performance from Goldblum so heartbreakingly convincing that it singlehandedly confirms the invalidity of Academy Awards by his not having even been nominated.  Directed by David Cronenberg (Crash (1996), History of Violence), from a script by Cronenberg and Charles Edward Pogue based on the 1957 short story by George Langelaan.  Come for the creepy tone, the subtle changes to watch for and the sarcastic banter, stay for the eye-melting effects and philosophical implications. But maybe watch it while the sun’s up.

Se7en (1995)

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When we say that a human being is evil, are we describing their behavior or their character? What’s the difference?

It almost always rains in the city. Detective Somerset (Morgan Freeman) won’t miss it much when he retires in a few days. He just has to train up this cocky young pup who’s new to the city, Detective Mills (Brad Pitt), and clear this last strange homicide they’ve found. The only problem is it’s suddenly not the only homicide of this kind. And then there’s another, and another... Now it seems the two detectives are more than matched against someone seeking to reflect the world’s own wicked nature back at itself, one deadly sin at a time. The movie that practically invented the grungy look in modern filmmaking, there are stories from production of the studio executives complaining about the quality of the sets, because it wasn’t clear that they were hand-crafted to be exactly as scratched, dismal, and decaying as the director and designers wanted. And the work is effective: the melancholy setting and chilling, disgusting atmosphere of the city and its unhappy citizens permeates the melodramatic and grotesque twists of the plot, giving the story at the same time both a fairy tale weirdness and a torn-from-the-headlines feel of disheartening realism. Arguably the film that dragged the creative spirit (and the reputation) of a then-young David Fincher (Fight Club, The Game, The Social Network) back from his disastrous debut on Alien³, Seven is an irresistibly fascinating expedition into the furthest logical reaches of the awful and the distressing. A marvelous dark engine of hideous contortions. Try and keep it out of your dreams.

The Cabin in the Woods (2012) (Netflix)

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There are movies that succeed by obeying a straightforward formula. There are movies, like Shaun of the Dead, that seem to know that they are following a formula, and swerve to avoid it while pointing the formula out. Then there are movies written by Joss Whedon.

Five conventional-seeming college kids head out of to the woods for a weekend away. Curt (Chris Hemsworth) has a cousin who has a cabin they can use. Does it look familiarly creepy when they pull up? A more appropriate question may be: how many bodies are under the foundation (it’s even more than you think). When they go down in the basement (why? there’s actually an answer!) and summon an unstoppable evil, things soon start to get bloody. But then one of them finds a camera, and things start to get confusing, except for us in the audience, who have seen the workers in the secret high-tech installation nearby: for us, things finally start to make a strange sort of sense...

If you hate horror films, if they never made sense to you or if they all seemed to be the same, or if you can’t see what the appeal is at all, please watch this movie. Let it be a crash course in what makes the genre excellent. It equips you with the experience to tool apart and enjoy pretty much any other (good) horror movie ever made. And it gets so much better than it seems like it can get so many times you’ll probably want to start it over again as soon as it’s finished. Directed by Drew Goddard and written by Goddard and Joss Whedon. For fans of Dollhouse, the works of H.P. Lovecraft, or The West Wing, attendance is mandatory. Let’s get this party started.

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) (Netflix)

image copyright MGM Home Entertainment

In Under Western Eyes (1911), Joseph Conrad remarks, “The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.” I can conjure from my memory no clearer, more compelling, or more awfully mesmerizing an illustration of how far down reaches the human capacity for depravity than this film.

By now we all know Hannibal Lecter (if you don’t know him, stop reading this article and watch the movie now). He’s suave, sophisticated, after a few moment’s conversation he knows us better than we know ourselves. He can sketch from memory the Duomo in Florence as seen from the Belvedere, and if you’re alone with him without his restraints he might remove your face with his teeth. Lecter aside though, have you seen this movie recently enough to remember the little details? The way the camera switches to a first-person point of view just when we feel like something is expected of us that we don’t expect ourselves? How creepy good Ted Levine (Monk, American Gangster) is at playing the proper villain Jamie Gumm? The lighting and the way the camera cuts between Starling’s face and that of her impromptu mentor when she’s talking about her time living on a farm, and when it cuts, and why? Screenplay by Ted Tally, adapted from the novel of the same name by Thomas Harris, directed by Jonathan Demme. The only horror film ever to receive the Academy Award (if it matters) for best film, not to mention also those for best actor, best actress, best director, and best screenplay. You may never hear “American Girl” the same way again.

(Nota bene: For those who can’t get enough of the Thomas Harris mythos, the first-ever adaptation of his novels, Manhunter (1986), based on the since re-adapted Red Dragon, is also available on Netflix at the moment; Brian Cox (The Bourne Identity, Red, uncle Argyle from Braveheart) plays Lecter here, only it’s spelled Lektor, a perfectly adequate if somewhat less enthralling performance.)

The Thing (1982)

image copyright Universal Studios Home Video

Who goes there?

At an American base camp in Antarctica, winter is setting in, and a lone dog flees from out of the snowy wastes towards the front door. Close on its heels comes a low-flying helicopter, with a seemingly deranged Norwegian hanging out the window, discharging firearms and grenades at the poor dog as if his life depended on stopping it. The men of the American base (lead by Kurt Russell, a sensibly badass Wilford Brimley, and Keith David, among others) save the dog from this crazy man, and he is stopped by gunfire before they can understand what he was doing or why. If they had only known then what they were bringing across their threshold, they would have leapt at the chance to side with the Norwegian. If Invasion of the Body Snatchers is a disaster movie, this would be a locked-house murder mystery. Combining what essentially makes that film terrifying, and the central theme of The Fly explored above, together with enough incredibly well-turned gore and intense action to fill three movies, The Thing is possibly the best example of a fascinating little science fiction problem brought painstakingly and horrifyingly to life. Aficionados of the days before movie magic relied on computer graphic imagery will feel their eyes glue themselves to the screen over the practical visual effects alone, which have held up over time almost across the board with chilling realism and with absolute believability. Rob Bottin, the man in charge of the effects, put himself in the hospital overworking the job. Directed by John Carpenter (Halloween, Escape from New York) and adapted by Bill Lancaster from a story by John W. Campbell, The Thing is less a remake of the 1951 adaptation (The Thing from Another World) as it is a different take on the source material. It is an excellent film. And it will get to you, one way or another.

Evil Dead II (1987) (Netflix)

image copyright Anchor Bay Entertainment

Sometimes, and not nearly often enough, a movie comes along that makes the viewer feel simultaneously giddy with childlike glee and profoundly grateful that they’re a grown-up.

Although it is a sequel, Evil Dead II is more than capable of standing on its own merit. In fact it commences with a more or less a ten-minute synopsis of the events of the first film, in case there’s anyone in the audience who’d like to know the premise. What is amazing about the movie is that after it’s done racing through 90 minutes of material in just the first 10, it never really slows its pace back down again. Instead it rushes headlong from one insanely entertaining scenario of grisly problems and brutal solutions to another, until you don’t really know anymore if you’re laughing (or crying from laughing) or if you want to go put boards over the windows to keep the darkness safely outside. It never lets you think it’s the most important film ever made, in fact most of the time it seems to almost be tripping over itself just to get you to like it, but its shameless marathon of pulling zero punches and leaving no gag untried makes it all the more delightful for that. More than half of the running length is essentially a one-man show from the unquenchably audacious Bruce Campbell; written by its director and his then-roommate Scott Spiegel, this movie is the reason why you know who Sam Raimi is (Spider-Man, Drag Me to Hell, Oz the Great and Powerful). If you have a friend who’s been talking about how great this movie is for years, do yourself a favor and watch it with them. If not, this is your chance to become that person for your friends. By the time the movie’s over, that is a person you will want to be.

Ghostbusters (1984)

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What more needs to be said? Who you gonna call?

To be fair, I would recommend this movie to watch with the lights off or on, in winter or summer, on a plane or in the rain. I would probably recommend this movie to people who are pathologically frightened by ghosts, proton guns, electric shocks, and/or Bill Murray himself, just to see if it could cure them. But who can blame me.

The dead are rising in New York, and for these three paranormal psychologist cum entrepreneurs business is booming. Trouble is, these ethereal ghouls and spirits may be bringing much alibg worse with them. Dan Ackroyd and the late great genius Harold Ramis worked up the screenplay from experiences and conversations Ackroyd had with his father about actual paranormal activity, investigation, and the possibility of elimination. From a zany story lead by John Belushi (then still living) about crusaders through time and space zapping spirits left and right, it was eventually grounded by Ramis into real life and changed into the seemingly accidentally perfect mixture we know and love today. Featuring the ad-libbing immortal Bill Murray as Doctor Peter Venkman and Harold Ramis as Doctor Egon Spengler, not to mention the intrepid Rick Moranis as Louis “Keymaster” Tully and Sigourney Weaver as Dana “Gatekeeper” Barret, thrills that legitimately make the skin crawl and the heart pound, visual effects and sound design that do better than hold up today, and an unforgettable music score (and the pop song of course, but who needs to mention that). By any measure, it set a standard of entertainment that the 21st century is still striving to catch up to.

The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) (Netflix)

image courtesy of imdb.com

If you’re anything like me, it is possible to get a little weary of all the shrieks and screams and tension of a long night of having your senses lovingly flayed by light of the TV screen. Fortunately there’s a movie for times like these, too. So if you’re feeling like you’ve started to see the limits of the good that scary can do for one evening, go grab another drink, or maybe a hot chocolate, get another bowl of popcorn (and maybe throw some nonpareils on top ooh boy!), and treat yourself to the ultra-surreal imaginary playground of The Nightmare Before Christmas. Although Mr. Burton’s morbid style can sometimes be too much of a good thing, here all the spider’s webs and moody lighting is pointed at a definite end. What seems at first like a romp for kids through an abstract mash-up of holidays turns out to be a funny, thoughtful, and moving work pursuing meaning in the balance of life and art and personal identity. Directed by Henry Selick, with a screenplay by Caroline Thompson & Michael McDowell from a story by Tim Burton & Joe Ranft. Wonderful music by long-time Burton collaborator Danny Elfman, who also provides the singing voice of our hero Jack, the Pumpkin King. From a technical point of view the stop-motion modeling and work itself is a beautiful towering achievement that may never be surpassed. For many, this movie is practically a member of the family; if you haven’t seen it, go find out why.

(Honorable Mention: Netflix Round-Up)

image copyright Magnolia Home Entertainment

Still need more? Online you can also find The Host (2006), a mostly-action South Korean flick with a lot of wit and heart and an amazing movie monster (**+); Rosemary’s Baby (1968), creepy enough and scary mostly as a tale of paranoid isolation among one’s closest friends and family (***); and George Romero’s immortal Night of the Living Dead (1968), the movie that probably gave us the modern zombie, along with inventing the “it’s-so-violent-but-they’re-not-cutting-away-from-the-violence-why” shot. Finally, as we go to press, it is noted that The Adams Family (1991) is also now available on Netflix, in case a little more not-so-scary variety is more where you're at.  Happy Halloween, and Happy viewing.

also published on Literally, Darling