THE RED HOUSE (2012)

Mark Haddon / 272 pages / Jonathan Cape)

We all know what a brilliant, original novel Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time is, and although I read that on initial publication way back in 2003, when I was an innocent, fresh-faced fourteen year old, it has stayed with me (the same sadly cannot be said of the innocence or the fresh-face). For some reason I skirted Haddon’s 2006 follow up A Spot of Bother, but was drawn to The Red House after hearing it discussed on BBC2’s The Review Show. Although the panel were heatedly divided (and let’s be honest, most of the reviewers on there are impossible to please), the ambitious premise really appealed; a family holiday in Wales reuniting a brother and sister (along with their partners and kids) who have not seen each other in years recounted from the brilliantly contradictory points-of-view of all eight family members.

Haddon certainly sets himself quite the challenge here but, on the whole, I think he just about pulls it off. Each voice is clearly distinguishable and he devotes equal care and detail to bringing all his characters vividly to life. I am often drawn to stories about dysfunctional families (I can relate), and here the author delivers in spades. The constant shifting of the focal character perspective presents the reader with an almost panoramic warts-and-all view of the two families; and over the eight days that the novel captures (each chapter covers a specific day of the holiday) we learn more and more about them. The preliminary attempted niceties soon fall by the wayside and give way to secrets, deceptions, resentments and traumas. The novel is at its best when exposing the underlying frictions that bubble beneath the surface, and before long you realise (in my case with a certain degree of gleeful relish) that there’s a reason these two families previously had nothing to do with each other!

With eight characters to choose from, it is likely that you’ll be able to personally align yourself with at least one of them. For me, I could relate to both the confused and fragile Daisy and the directionless and detached Melissa, the two (seemingly completely opposite) teenage girls. In fact, I would argue that Haddon’s portrayal of the younger characters is where the book’s strength lies as he realises all of them convincingly and realistically; a rarity in contemporary fiction. Admittedly, I found the stream-of-consciousness style originally rather daunting; at times I wasn’t totally sure whose thoughts were being related, but I quickly got the hand of it and the device quickly became engaging and effective. It is reminiscent of Virginia Woolf – you could almost call The Red House the modern equivalent of Woolf’s To the Lighthouse; but with Nintendos, mobile phones and masturbation. The book has been criticised for a lack of plot, but this was never an issue for me – as far as I’m concerned, plenty happened and I just enjoyed spending a week inside the heads of these people. The short sentences and fast-forward punchy prose abets the jumpy, constantly altering thought processes of the mind. And everybody has had a bad holiday experience like this, surely? The misery, the desperation to go home, the ‘shop of crap’, the Scrabble… Haddon’s observations are spot on.

Eight ink blots out of ten; and if anybody out there can tell me whether or not A Spot of Bother is worth a read, any comments in the section below would be much appreciated.

THE NIGHT OF THE HUNTER (1955)
Dir. Charles Laughton / 93 minutes / Cert 12

Fifty-seven years on and this classic early noir thriller stands the test of time. Contemporary directors such as David Lynch, the Coen Brothers and Martin Scorsese have all acknowledged its influence on their work and it is clear to see why; to this day, it remains hauntingly unsettling (everybody knows that things are automatically more terrifying in black and white) and features one of the all-time great screen psychopaths in the form of Robert Mittchum’s corrupt preacher Harry Powell.

Powell gets his kicks by fleecing vulnerable widowers for every penny they’ve got and after sharing a cell with Ben Harper, a convict about to be hanged, he moves in for the kill on Willa, the easily-susceptible wife Harper leaves behind, intent on taking the money he has bequeathed her. All in the name of God, of course. Fooled by his religious credentials, Willa trusts Powell implicitly and they are swiftly married. However, Powell doesn’t reckon upon Willa’s two young children – John and Pearl. Fiercely protective of his sister, John is smart, plucky and instantly sees through Powell’s holy disguise and conceals the money in Pearl’s favourite doll. What follows is a taut, tense, chilling chase, as the children flee upstream with their mother’s killer in hot pursuit.

I’m quite surprised that this film only carries a ‘12’ certificate, as certain scenes are genuinely scary. This is due largely to Mitchum’s mesmerizingly sinister central performance; his presence is felt even when he’s not on screen; there’s a pervading, palpable sense of dread, an unshakeable anxiety that he’s somewhere close-by, lurking in the shadows, which makes the entire viewing experience nail-bitingly uncomfortable. Mitchum’s voice – phlegmatic, deep and commanding – further reinforces this (his delivery of ‘children’ is just gruesome), as to do the infamous and often parodied ‘L-O-V-E’ and ‘H-A-T-E’ tattoos on his knuckles. Watching him interact with the children is particularly disturbing – veering erratically from jovial and good-humoured (though there’s still something inherently creepy watching him fussing young Pearl on his knee) to murderous and crazed (I’m thinking the scene in the cellar with the knife…)

With the text containing all the ingredients required to make a nightmare, it seems appropriate that the film feels quite dreamlike – Harry Powell is the monster under your bed, the big bad wolf in the forest, the fairy-tale figure lurking in the shadows that all little children fear. The use of eerie, mournful, hymn-like songs (sung by Mitchum himself; who has a soft, oddly soothing voice) adds nicely to the fairy-tale atmosphere, as to do the long, lingering shots of nature in bloom - rabbits, owls, frogs, birds, gargling streams – which serve to remind us that darkness dwells beneath even the most misleading of surfaces (surely a metaphor for Powell himself).

The Night of the Hunter may have appalled critics and audiences upon initial release, but as with many great films, it often takes time to appreciate their greatness.

Nine and a half kernels of popcorn out of ten.

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS (2012)

Dir. Drew Goddard / 95 minutes / Cert 15

If you go down to the woods today, you’ll be sure of a big surprise… no, really, you will, because this clever little film isn’t quite your usual horror fodder.

Okay, I’ll hold my hands up and confess that I’m not really your typical consumer of scary movies. I’m ashamed to say that I’m a big blubbery wuss at heart and absolutely require all the lights to be on and generally need somebody to grip my hand tight, tell me when it’s safe to open my eyes again and politely point out that I should probably consider changing my pants. But I wanted to see The Cabin in the Woods solely based on the pedigree of Joss Whedon (who, as we all know, created Buffy and Firefly) and who co-wrote the script along with writer/director Drew Goddard.

The premise of the film is almost painfully familiar – a bunch of bland, one-dimensional impossibly good-looking, impossibly articulate, impossibly witty teenage students (in this case, “the whore”, “the athlete”, “the scholar”, “the fool” and that old horror chestnut “the virgin”) plunge gorgeously into the depths of a deep, dark wood, hoping for a wild weekend of indulgence, but end up stalked, hunted and really not having all that much of a good time at all. But, due to their being so impossibly good-looking, articulate and witty, that’s just swell and we can’t wait to see their heads start rolling and the smug smiles wiped off their beautiful young faces.

As it turns out, we’re not the only ones that feel this way, which is where the film shatters its generic conventions and serves up something a little different – which yields mixed results. It is revealed early on that others also get a kick out of seeing sexy youngsters getting ripped to shreds; in this case The West Wing’s Bradley Whitford and Six Feet Under’s Richard Jenkins (both wonderful but arguably miscast here) who play two embittered ageing technicians who initially provide much comedy (though I do wonder in hindsight if the comedy slightly undercut the scares slightly). I don’t think it would be giving too much away to say that these technicians are involved in the gruesome ordeal that befalls our stunning kids, which proves to be a clever, effective well-executed idea, but sadly comes at the expense of much of the tension. The ‘fear of the unknown’ is partially dismantled and for the first half an hour or so, I was unable to view the perils seriously; imagining that the film was building up to a cheesy reveal where all the characters had been set-up and ended up alive and well. I was half right, but I should have had more faith in Whedon, because it dawned on me eventually that, you know what, this is actually rather sick and unpleasant.

Therefore, there is a good deal to enjoy here. Fran Kranz (who played loveable geek Topher in Joss Whedon’s short-lived and much missed Dollhouse) was standout as a wise-cracking pothead. The comedy is funny, the satire is thought-provokingly disturbing and the horror at times can produce a few shivers (it also features lots of obligatory ‘jumpy moments). I’m just not sure, even with its twists and turns, the genre combination was completely successful. At times, it felt jarring. That said, it rips up the rulebook, which I’m all in favour of, and anybody expecting a formulaic narratively conventional film may end up disappointed. Ultimately, I’m afraid I did, but for completely different reasons. The ending is a real disappointment. The film loses it way around about what I shall cryptically refer to as ‘the elevator scene’ and the final act descends into some kind of fantastical farce; we’re talking prophecies, rituals and destruction on a global scale that feel desperate, ridiculous and like they belong in an entirely different film.

If it weren’t for the conclusion, I would recommend this film. As it is, despite having its frightening moments (watching one of the girl’s ‘make out’ with a stuffed wolf is pretty terrifying), I’m afraid this film is more of a thumbs-down than a thumbs-up from me.

Five kernels of popcorn out of ten.

Dogville (2003)

Dir. Lars Von Trier / 178 minutes / Cert 15

I expect three things whenever I sit down to watch a Lars Von Trier film. I expect extremity, I anticipate something a bit (okay, a lot) different and I don’t reckon upon coming away with a smile on my face. I’m happy to say that Dogville delivered on all three counts.

Running for almost three hours and divided up into nine chapters (plus a prologue) the 1930s set film is ‘the sad tale of the township of Dogville’, an isolated fifteen-person community located in the Rocky Mountains populated by seemingly good-natured folk who want for nothing and appear to make the most of what little life has handed to them. Their simple existence is shattered by the arrival of Grace (Nicole Kidman), a fragile (and if the DVD blurb is to be believed) beautiful fugitive pursued by gangsters and in need of a place to seek refuge. Championed by Tom Edison Jr. (a wide-eyed Paul Bettany), the townspeople unanimously agree to shelter Grace, who, by way of payment, agrees to work for them. She quickly establishes herself as a valued member of their close-knit society, but with the search for her intensifying, her acceptance is short-lived and the residents of Dogville soon reveal their true colours.

I am almost invariably drawn to characters who are seen as outsiders, so therefore I was onside with Grace from the off. In a bit of an anomaly, Kidman gives an astonishing leading performance and the rejection, exploitation and manipulation she endures is horrific and crushing. I am wary of divulging specific plot details, but one character’s betrayal in particular left me distraught. This is a film that will seriously challenge your faith in the goodness of humanity (I’m just glad I watched with a plentiful supply of chocolate to cushion the pain) as its powerful portrayal of human nature is vicious, visceral and violent. The fact that evil manifests itself in such an ordinary, mundane setting (we have gooseberry bushes and squirrels darting between children’s legs for Heaven’s sake) serves to make the film all the more disturbing. John Hurt’s characteristic smooth-as-silk narration, which reassuringly pervades throughout, lulls the viewer into a state of false security. The use of an omniscient storyteller creates the impression that the film is a kind of perverse fairy-tale, a slice of whispered folklore passed down through the generations, the legend of Dogville with its grotesque monsters and its damsel in distress.

I would have rated the film highly regardless, but the icing on the already delicious cake comes in the form of how Von Trier chooses to present his narrative visually. The action takes place almost on a soundstage, a blackboard on which the actors can perform. The story-space is heavily implied and realised largely through crude chalked outlines, perhaps a metaphor for the primitive and rudimentary nature of both the town and its inhabitants. For example, the gooseberry bush is a basic-level helpfully labelled black-and-white abstract squiggle. It is originally quite an odd concept to adjust to, but once you get used to seeing and hearing character’s knock on invisible doors, the minimalistic Brechtian-inspired theatre staging feels completely unique. With the boat already pushed out so far (the fact that Tom is constantly engaged in self-reflection parallels the desired effect that Brecht strove to provoke in his audiences), part of me wishes Von Trier had gone all the way and completely embraced his key influence and had character’s break down the fourth wall and directly engage with us (as the audience).

In short, this is a long, demanding film about the arrogance of forgiveness. But it’s well worth it. Nine-and-a-half kernels of popcorn out of ten.