Review: Blair Witch

All photos courtesy of Lionsgate

Blair Witch, 2016
Directed by Adam Wingard
Written by Simon Barrett
Distributed by Lionsgate
　
Last September, select moviegoers were more than a little surprised to learn that The Woods, a found footage horror movie premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival, was in fact a stealth sequel to the landmark film The Blair Witch Project. Briefly (and somewhat confusingly) titled Blair Witch, it picks up over a decade and a half after the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of student filmmakers Heather Donahue, Michael C. Williams and Joshua Leonard deep in the woods near Burkittsville, Maryland. It's actually the second sequel, with 2000's Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2 being a non-found footage cash-in so bad and unlike the original that most people reading this have forgotten it, if they even heard of it in the first place.
　
I finally got around to watching the new Blair Witch a couple days ago and to sum things up really quickly, I wasn't a fan. I am, of course, absolutely biased here. Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez's The Blair Witch Project is the scariest movie I've ever seen and one of my favourite films in any genre. So my standards are high, to say the least. But I don't think the Blair Witch sequel is a bad movie, just really misguided, and in fact I even want to give its few shining moments their propers when I get around to discussing them. So without further ado, and knowing that I am NOT going to shy away from spoilers, let's dig in.

Review: The Witch

All photos courtesy of A24

When the family comes across the clearing at the edge of the woods, they fall to their knees and pray, mother and father holding their hands aloft. Pious exiles, this Puritan clan—father William, mother Katherine, and children Thomasin, Caleb, Mercy, Jonas and, soon, baby Samuel—has found true salvation far away from both oppressive England and their compromising Puritan community. It will be a hard life, but a pure and righteous one.

But someone else has already staked a claim on this wilderness. She lives by herself in a shack deep in the thicket, occasionally wearing a red riding cloak that looks lifted directly from the pages of Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. She is a witch, but not the cackling, green-skinned variety of The Wizard of Oz or a verbose, compassionate intellectual in the vein of Hermione Granger. There is something much more primal and elemental to this crone, and when she’s done working her unspeakable magic the family at her doorstep will be at each other’s throats.

Tangent - Apologia

Hey guys,

So it's been two months. Jesus, it really has. I actually haven't abandoned this site, all 20 of you that care, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't have other things on my mind. Job hunting is my biggest priority at the moment because, quite frankly, I'm getting tired of listing "barista" as my occupation in the mini-bio on the front page. Likewise, my weekly Monday posts were starting to feel more like an obligation than something I actually enjoyed. Every once in a while I wrote something I felt very proud of but otherwise I was kicking myself over how to make writing about my favourite albums interesting. Perhaps one solution is to abandon the rigid, every Monday without fail (and even that wasn't certain) framework I had and opt for shorter yet more sincere pieces whenever the mood strikes me.

Analysis - On Cycles

Adam Dietrich

In my living room stand three largish bookcases, all of which are positioned around yours truly in the picture above. Each contains one or more forms of media: one holds books, another one comic collections, and a third a mixture of movies, video games and CDs. While I’m attempting to introduce new hobbies into my routine, my first and foremost pastime will remain the collection and cataloguing of media. I really do love it, whether it involves organizing, maintaining or, of course, enjoying my collected works.

Obituary - Roger Ebert, 1942-2013

Roger Ebert died this week. For close to half a century, the man’s name and image were synonymous with the very idea of film criticism, far and away the most recognizable person in his field and, in many ways, the most accessible. An active presence on social media networks for the last few years of his life, he arguably connected with his readers more than most critics half his age. And perhaps most importantly, his work showcased humility and unguarded humanity, even in the last week of his life.

Review - "A ghost is an emotion bent out of shape..."

Anyone who has read any two given posts on this blog knows I love horror. They also know I’m ridiculously forgiving of horror films with problematic plots. Thus it comes as no surprise that I’m recommending Andrés Muschietti’s Mama, a feature length adaptation of his 2008 short film of the same name.

2012: A Cinematical Retrospective

It’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m into a bottle of wine. I’d say it’s about time to wrap up the year and ring in the new one by naming my favourite movies of 2012.

Analysis - "It was the trees themselves!"

With the exception of a mild fear of heights, I don’t really have any phobias to speak of, be they of bats or snakes or even spiders. I’m not afraid of the dark, enclosed spaces or open spaces either, unless I’ve read House of Leaves sometime in the last 48 hours. But I do have a thing about forests; as much as I love camping, they can really freak me the Hell out sometimes. And of course, I’m absolutely drawn to them both in real life and in a fictional context. Some of the most effective works of horror in the history of the genre are set in the forest, and I’m starting to think this isn’t a coincidence.

Spotlight - Hallow...watches?

Two weeks ago I jabbered on about which books I like to read leading up to October 31^st. This week, I’m composing a variation for that theme. What follows are the three scariest movies I have ever watched, hands down. I’m not talking sudden scares that make me jump and leave me feeling pissed for the following three seconds. I’m talking about movies that stay with me long after they’re over and, if I may be so candid, might necessitate turning on a few more lights when I head off to sleep.

Review - "Argo fuck yourself."

Somewhat to my surprise, former blockbuster star and celebrated Masshole Ben Affleck has become one of my favourite directors as of late. His 2007 debut, an adaptation of Dennis Lehane’s mystery novel Gone Baby Gone, was a disturbing and thought-provoking work that felt like the product of an experienced director rather than one behind a feature film camera for the first time. And I have nothing but good things to say about The Town, a robbery thriller that, while seemingly Michael Mann’s Heat set in Boston, stood out by turning an analytical eye on the importance of one’s roots and cultural identity.

Needless to say, I eagerly awaited Argo, Affleck’s depiction of the so-called 1980 “Canadian Caper” that saw a joint Canadian-American intelligence collaboration secret six American Foreign Service employees out of revolution-torn Iran during the infamous hostage crisis of that era. And while it certainly takes liberties with the facts, I’m happy to say that Ben Affleck’s third directorial outing is up to the high standards set by his first two.

Analysis - The Dark Knight Rises: Annotations

It’s been over two weeks since the final chapter in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy hit theatres. I put up a spoiler-free review the Monday after it came out, but now that the movie’s been out for a little while—and now that I’ve seen it three times—I feel okay with putting up some MAJOR SPOILER WARNINGS and doing something a little more in-depth regarding the movie. My method will be rather inelegant, but make no mistakes, this will be alarmingly thorough.

Review - "What does that mean?" "Rise."

Up until last Friday morning, if you had asked me what my favourite movie trilogy was I would have said the Red Riding saga without missing a beat. With Year of Our Lord 1974, 1980 and 1983 Channel 4 managed to craft one of the tightest, most fascinating epics I’ve ever had the privilege of watching. But again, only up until last Friday morning, because I’ve seen The Dark Knight Rises and its quality by itself and as the final part of a series has cemented Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy as one of the greatest of all time.

I loved Batman Begins when it first came out. Since then, I’ve recognized its flaws but the movie is still great in spite of them. When The Dark Knight hit cinemas in 2008, it wowed me unlike any movie before (my good friend Xander Harrington will attest to how I was left practically speechless until we left the cinema). Going into Rises, it seemed unlikely that Nolan would be able to top himself, especially considering the late Heath Ledger’s powerhouse performance as the Joker in TDK—as well as the fact that few final chapters in trilogies tend to be the strongest. But Jesus Christ, he did it. Christopher Nolan somehow did it.

Review - "WELCOME TO EARF"

Last Wednesday, for shits and giggles, I sat down in front of my laptop and put on Roland Emmerich’s 1996 blockbuster, Independence Day, as a way of celebrating Canada’s southern neighbours. With my trusty companion, a bottle of wine, I liveblogged the whole experience, and this week I’m posting this pseudo-review, with timestamps, in its entirety. Enjoy.

Analysis - Here Comes the Spider-Man

So I’m likely seeing The Amazing Spider-Man this week and I’m actually really pumped for it, much more than I was a few months ago when that really “meh,” vaguely Twilight-ish first trailer hit the Net. By all rights, I should be irked by the film’s very existence—the final part in Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man trilogy came out only five years ago—but I can’t find it in me to generate even a modicum of outrage. And that’s because, as unpopular an opinion as it might be, I didn’t really dig Raimi’s trilogy. Specifically, I don’t think the movies did the character and his universe justice, even the critically-lauded Spider-Man 2.

But glancing over the smorgasbord—some might say plethora—of trailers and clips released over the last couple months, I’m seeing glimpses of a movie that is as true to the character of Spider-Man as Batman Begins was to its eponymous hero.

Review - "Big Things Have Small Beginnings"

A lone figure stands on a dead planet, gazing solemnly at the spacecraft which brought him here, now flying away. As the mothership soars into the stratosphere, the being—a tall, hairless biped with chalk-white skin and uncannily human features—removes his cloak and drinks an oozing, shifting black liquid. In seconds, the compound brings him to his knees, painfully rending him apart at the molecular level until the humanoid tumbles down the adjacent waterfall and dissolves among the rocks below. But from this individual’s agonizing death comes a glimpse of something new. Decayed DNA strands reanimate, one cell splits into another, then another. Like seeds cast into the wind, life spreads.

So begins Prometheus, Ridley Scott’s semiprequel to his 1979 blockbuster—and my all time favourite movie—Alien. I specify “semiprequel” because Scott himself has been wishy-washy about where it sits in the Alien continuum. While it’s set in the same fictional universe, it focuses not on the series’ eponymous monsters but on a species only glimpsed in the original film. It’s a much grander movie, featuring a more cosmic and existential brand of horror than that of its darkly sexual proto-slasher progenitor. It’s 2001: A Space Odyssey by way of Alien and John Carpenter’s The Thing, and with a touch of H.P. Lovecraft to boot; in other words, everything I could ever ask for, give or take some concerns I have with the finished product.

Analysis - "The feeling begins..."

I want to talk about Jesus.

Chances are that first sentence alarmed a few of you. On my behalf, whoa, now. Whoa. Those close to me know I’m the last person to go on some rambling faith-based diatribe, and likewise know I’m not inclined to go on an anti-religious rant either. So for the next thousand words or so, let’s lower ourselves back onto our collective haunches and chill. There’s no better time: today’s Easter Monday and a holiday. And, given the season, it’s fitting to kick back and examine Martin Scorsese’s controversial 1988 film, The Last Temptation of Christ.

Review - On Endings, Expectations, and Take Shelter

Take Shelter could have been the best movie of 2011.

By the time it arrived at Ottawa’s little Mayfair Theatre in late December I was actually anticipating it more than I had any other film that year, beating out The Muppets and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. As cliché as it sounds, writer/director Jeff Nichols’ understated little thriller had everything: nuanced performances, pitch perfect cinematography, a minimalist but undeniably effective score and a constant atmosphere of dread. But while Nichols’ sophomore feature is 99 per cent of a fantastic movie, the remaining one percent is in danger of dragging the whole cinematic boat beneath the waves (note: none of my friends have approved this analogy). To say I’m disappointed is an understatement.

Review - Esquire of Darkness

I watched John Carpenter’s 1987 film Prince of Darkness this weekend. I’d caught the final third or so of the movie on AMC back in my first year of university, and while I remembered it being low-budget and kind of inexplicable it nevertheless intrigued me enough that I was more than happy to watch it in full when I stumbled across it on Netflix Saturday afternoon. With the day off from work and no obligations to speak of, I plopped down on the couch, put my feet up on the coffee table and hit play.

Roughly an hour and a half later, the credits were rolling and I was rubbing my chin, processing what I’d just seen. It wasn’t a mindbender by any means but neither was it trash. It’s actually a fairly solid film from start to finish, occasionally clumsy acting and dodgy pacing balanced out by Carpenter’s cinematography and pulsing synth score, and while it wasn’t nearly as good as The Thing, I could easily see how its cult status has endured over the last quarter of a century.

But later on that day, strolling through the Glebe with a drink in my hand and the thawing ice crunching beneath my feet, I slowly realized that buried within this admittedly unsettling doomsday flick was the potential for what could have been one of the greatest horror films ever made.

Analysis - Let's talk about Close Encounters

In the fall of last year I embraced a rejuvinated sense of scepticism after reading Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark. With this healthy dose of incredulity I ended up reassessing and ultimately discarding some of the beliefs I had entertained if not necessarily clung to over the years, UFOs and alien visitations among them. While in recent years I wasn't as die-hard a UFO nut as I was in Grade 8--when I actually did a school speech on the topic--I nevertheless enjoyed pondering and casually researching the subject. UFO and ET-related flicks make up the core of my cinematic preferences (although the actual film E.T. is exempt, thank God), and I've had my fair share of late nights discussing this shared interest with my friends around the dying embers of a campfire. Scary nights, come to think of it.

With the knowledge that I'll now regard such stories with a big shaker of salt comes a sense of mild disappointment: yes, the concept scared me a little--a mixture of wonder and the uncanny and heavily fueled by the works of H.R. Giger--but I enjoy being scared. Quite frankly, it's an incredibly sensous feeling, and a sudden injection of fear does a fine job of keeping my ego in check. And nothing quite compares to walking back home alone in the wee hours in the morning, constantly checking over one's shoulder, wary of a flicker in the shadows or a spine-chilling sound or, most of all, an ethereal glow on the horizon.

Strangely enough, my increased scepticism coincides with ever-ascending appreciation for a certain film that, considering its subject matter, I should probably appreciate less: Steven Spielberg's 1977 epic Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Review - The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call, New Orleans

Directed by Werner Herzog
Written by William F. Finkelstein, based on the earlier screenplay by Victor Argo, Paul Calderon, Abel Ferrara and Zoe Lund
Starring Nicolas Cage, Eva Mendes, Val Kilmer, Alvin "Xzibit" Joiner, Brad Dourif

Werner Herzog's The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call, New Orleans is an archetypal example of Absurdist cinema. Its characters are constantly seeking clarity, fulfilment and answers and never truly obtain them. It has one of the most unexpected "happy endings" I've ever seen a flick end on and yet one that still leaves its titular character spent and looking utterly lost. His last word to the camera is not so much a word as it is a syllable, a single, knowing "Heh" uttered possibly to himself, possibly to whomever is watching.

It is also incredibly absurd. In its nearly two hour running time there was no shortage of moments where I couldn't decide whether to gasp or burst out laughing, though most of the time I instinctually ended up doing the latter. Its latter half is rife with hallucinations, ranging from a pair of placid of undeniably sinister-looking iguanas to a dead debt collector's breakdancing soul. In fact, I have my doubts that the aforementioned obscenely happy ending isn't some massive drug-fueled delusion. As blasphemous as it sounds, I've never previously seen any of Herzog's films but I have a funny feeling the man likes to fuck with his audience, because that's the distinct impression I got from watching this film.