USA’s The Sinner
Part 1
Directed by Antonio Campos
Written by Derek Simonds
* For a recap & review of Part 2, click here.
Cora Tannetti (Jessica Biel) works in a warehouse, looking after business for a heat and air specialist company at which her husband Mason (Christopher Abbot) works. They’re a simple family, they have dinner with his parents a couple times a week and the grandparents look after the kids. Cora calls her husband a “mama‘s boy” for all the time they spend with them. Not to mention they work with pops at the company, too. A nice, quaint life.
At the same time it’s predictable. Friday nights are for fucking, just like everything seems to have its place, every aspect of their lives is plotted out. She has to take a pill before they get in bed. Doesn’t bode well for their relationship as we see it from the omnipotent angle. Something about Cora’s vacant eyes when they have sex is chilling. This is not a happy woman.
Bowing to the more patriarchal aspects of marriage and motherhood, she looks like a woman stuck. Not that she doesn’t love her husband or their child. She loves them so much that she appears to have forced herself into a life that isn’t what she wants. All this is without words, as well. All by way of Biel’s expressions, the way she looks at others. You can see her existing in her own head while the world goes on around her.
There’s a great metaphor in how, when they go swimming Cora goes out past the rope on her own, past where people are meant to swim. Like it’s something she has to do, compelled to. She puts herself under the water and holds her breath awhile, long as she can.
She returns to her husband freaking out a bit. “I wanted some quiet,” she tells him.
On the beach, a young couple groping catches her attention, making her feel strange. Out of nowhere Cora attacks the man, stabbing him in the neck with a steak knife, stabbing his chest, over and over telling him to “get off her.” Before Mason can pull her away, it’s over. He’s bleeding out. People are screaming. Nobody knows why it happened.
Problem is, neither does Cora. Naturally she’s carted off by the cops.
Looks like this is a case for Detective Harry Ambrose (Bill Pullman), a bit of a grizzled dude with rough fingernails, possibly liver troubles from drinking, or could be something else. Either way, he’s out on the beach faced with the murder of the poor young dude at the hands of a stranger. Along with Detective Dan Leroy (Dohn Norwood). Plenty of witnesses. But if they want to find a motive, this one’s like a needle in a massive stack of identical-looking needles.
There’s something in Cora’s past. We see glimpses of her upbringing, her praying. Only brief. It’s clear that we’ll find at least partial answers there. I don’t think this is going to be as simple as some exploitative abuse angle, though there’s no telling just yet. It simply feels bigger, more complex than that.
The detectives are meeting with Cora, laying out the next steps in what will happen from here on. They advise her to call a lawyer. She refuses. Knowing what she did, yet not sure why. She can’t produce any reason for doing so. Also, what are the shots of the black wallpaper in her head? Or is it the pattern of curtains, a duvet? Is it a key to unlocking her past? We’ve seen it a couple times now, directly linked with her. Visions. Puzzle pieces to some kind of trauma in her childhood.
Cora: “I just did it. And I don‘t know why.”
Nice audio touch, as Cora suffers in her cell for the night without her medication and the sound that played on the beach before she killed the man pounds in her ears, like it’s coming through speakers. She sees images of her crime flash through her mind. So, she drops to the floor. On her knees, in prayer.
Dt. Ambrose is a troubled dude. The black fingernails aren’t liver damage. They’re bloodied, bruised fingernails from having them stepped on by a lady friend of his he goes to see now and then. Lord, Harry. Bit of S&M, baby! Dude does enjoy his drink, though.
Everyone’s life is torn apart. Mason is having a hard time, he hasn’t gone to see his wife since she’s been in jail. It’s tough. He was there, having witnessed the murder. Not understanding from where this bout of rage exploded. He mentions to Dt. Ambrose what she said after the attack to the girlfriend of the man: “You‘re okay. You‘re safe. He‘s gone now.” As if she were saving the woman from something.
We’re offered a glimpse of Cora as a girl. She’s meeting her sister for the first time. Her mother, essentially, blames her for the sick new baby they have. That after her, there was no more strength left in the mother for another child. All this under the guise of being a test from God. Already we can see there’s a religious angle to whatever trauma Cora experienced when she was young.
Finally, Mason goes to visit her in jail. He’s struggling to understand it all. The cruel irony is that she is in the same boat. She’s willing to admit maybe there’s “something wrong” with her. He’d rather believe it was a momentary lapse, a psychotic break out of nowhere. So obvious there’s far more to the story lurking below. On top of everything, they’re going to have to figure out where to go from here, in their relationship. She accepts what’s coming, from jail to her husband maybe having to move on. That’s not something he’s ready to hear.
Dt. Ambrose goes to see the others present when the victim was killed. The girlfriend, specifically, though she’s sedated. One of the guy’s present doesn’t have much to say, until the cop starts poking at him for not having tried to save his friend. This prompts what he’s looking for: the guy mentions his friend grabbed her by the elbow, that he was a strong guy, and it’s strange because he didn’t do anything. Ambrose susses out it was like “he let her kill him.” As if he knew her, recognised her after the first stab in his neck, then let what happened happen.
Could it possibly be? Will Ambrose pursuit it even if Cora doesn’t know it herself?
Man, I have to say, I wasn’t expecting much. Then I realised Antonio Campos was directing this episode, and I’m willing to watch anything he does or is involved with, full stop. Biel impressed me, big time. Look forward to Part 2.
Before I heard of this Franco-produced flick I’d not actually heard of the real life owner of Cobra Video, Bryan Kocis. He founded the gay porn studio, but also dealt with various legal struggles throughout his life: from charges of sexual assault on a minor, corruption of a minor, to bankruptcy and more. A difficult life, indeed. If even the basics of this tale are true, Kocis was a deviant who believed he fell in love, all the while exploiting the boy he said he cared about.
The dark side of the industry is in full effect throughout King Cobra. Aside from the relationship between fictional Kocis and Lockhart, which brings up issues of sex with a minor, the plot goes even darker with Joe (James Franco) and Harlow (Keegan Allen); most of all the latter. Harlow’s story is sad – the saddest – full of despair and loneliness and a search for happiness that’ll surely never end. The hurt of his character is terrifyingly real, and Allen plays him with a haunting, dead-eyed look.
Immediately, the stylised cinematography with its neon glow and filtered shots grabs attention. We feel as if we’re in an actual porno most times, not from the actual bare skin onscreen but the visual style. At other times the frames are draped in shadow, the way most of the characters are all under a cloak of darkness, living their lives on camera yet also behind it in the figurative dark spaces of life from one trick to the next.
There’s a major loss of innocence in King Cobra. One thing Marlow makes very clear is that everyone has a story. What people see on that screen, the flesh and the orgasms, is the end result of victimisation, of broken hearts and broken dreams. It is what comes at the end of a long road of pain. I don’t care if you think that’s not cool of me. Personally, I don’t support the porn industry. Nor do I judge anybody; I used to watch it, then awhile back made a personal pledge not to engage with it any longer. I just don’t think it’s healthy, you can’t fault me for that.
Now that Norman (Freddie Highmore) has killed Sam Loomis, there’s a little of issue of disposing of the body with which he has to deal. Luckily he’s got Mother (Vera Farmiga) to help. She’s old hand at these kinds of things. The two split psyches each take their own respective duties, as she handles all the bloody, messy bits. To help protect her boy from the nasty truth. Regardless, he’s having trouble with the entire situation.
Back at the motel Norman runs into none other than Sheriff Greene, who’s there to talk about what they found in the lake. “Multiple bodies” and one of them Mr. Blackwell. So Norman plays his game trying to keep his secret life under wraps, as the sheriff’s still wondering about all the connections, as well as whatever Alex Romero (Nestor Carbonell) is up to since his escape. A tense conversation between Greene and the young man. He’s just barely hanging on to the mask.
Norman’s cooking a nice dinner for he and his brother. Life seems grand, music plays. All appears right. Certainly Dylan can’t shake what he knows, or what he thinks he knows. He brings up Sam Loomis, they have a conversation about what Norman remembers. He makes up a little(/tall) tale. It all devolves as the younger of the two gets upset over his older brother “meddling with the truth.” All Dylan wants is to protect him, to help him heal and get better. He tries convincing Norman to take his pills again.
WOW! Just, damn. I didn’t see that ending coming. This puts the last few episodes into a wild frame, not exactly positive what the endgame is but I’m excited to watch it unfold. The next episode is “The Body” and I’m wondering if we’re about to see some truly disturbed, insane acting from Highmore once he and Mother are under lock and key.
Found footage annoys certain people. Me, I’m always willing to give it a chance. There’s a lot of good stuff out there – unique, innovative stuff. No shortage of it, but now and then you’ve got to dig through a heap of trash to find the diamonds. Be My Cat: A Film for Anne uses its found footage premise well, driving the main theme of the film: obsession.
There are plenty films involving stalkers in this sub-genre, but they’re so often masked, or unseen behind the camera’s lens. Tofei is upfront and centre the entire time. This allows us a way into his mind, giving the audience a passenger side seat to the psychosis that overtakes him gradually; or maybe it’s been with him the whole time. Either way, it’s ugly. Not in a way which detracts from the story. There’s a compelling feel to watching this guy unravel.
The story’s trajectory is relatively obvious. Early on we understand there’s something not quite right with Adrian. Doesn’t take long. It’s how he takes us there that makes the plan uniquely terrifying. Adrian’s kinda crazy, kinda nonchalant attitude is unsettling, at the same time not wholly without charm either. His character, gradually flipping from fiction to reality to metafiction, engages the audience even in the slower scenes. You can’t help wondering what he’ll do or say next, which keeps you off balance, and never quite capable of pinning him down with any understanding.
I remember hearing of Be My Cat and just the short description, the Twitter account, caught my attention. There’s an edgy psychological aspect that sinks its teeth in and never lets go. Admittedly, I know that some may not find it as compelling. Not everyone wants to do a slow burn into madness in found footage format. And that’s fine, I understand. I suggest giving it a chance. Tofei has done something here that’s on the verge of greatness.
There are few slasher pictures which give me as much joy as 1981’s My Bloody Valentine. Many non-genre lovers will write this off as just another hack-and-slash serial killer romp, when it is, but it has so much more to offer than only being a toss away horror. In an era when horror was alive, kicking like nobody’s business, this George Mihalka-directed film is one of the greatest. That’s saying something.
Always have to do a good opener, and boy, this is a god damn knockout. With the female miner murdered down below ground we get an upsetting and gruesome kill to start off on, as well as the fact it contains such on the nose imagery with the heart tattoo over the woman’s heart, which is then pierced by the mining pick. You’d think this might play as cheesy, instead it’s appropriately nasty. Immediately, the title of the film is more than relevant. It joins the big seasonal horror names, standing alongside the greats like 
Some of the greatness is in the cinematography. Unlike too many slashers with poor camerawork, the cinematography from Rodney Gibbons – likely the best of his career – is a standout aspect of the production. Over and over, great POV shots from the killer’s perspective turn up to haunt the viewer as victims are hunted like animal prey. The launderette scene is legitimately scary. Our killer is totally savage, but the mining outfit is unnerving, slick black and that mask; jesus! A few times these POV shots crop up and they benefit the suspense incredibly, giving a lot of scenes that perfect spook factor. So many of the kill scenes, all of them, are impressive, as the killer stalks in the darkest spaces, literally driving the plot underground where the tension raises to near unbearable heights. Once we’re down in the mines the look of the film gets even darker, the Sydney Mines in Nova Scotia providing an amazing feel for those scenes.
My Bloody Valentine has very few flaws, if any, in terms of the genre. Even a nice score that changes from kill to kill in a unique way, courtesy of Paul Zaza (Prom Night, Curtains), something that’s always welcome in a good horror. Mihalka does a sterling job in the directorial department, shame he didn’t go on to more creepiness.
In the aim of transparency, I’m not a huge werewolf movie fan. Not my favourite of the sub-genres. That being said, when a horror gets it right there’s no telling how well it can turn out. There are well known classics, pinnacles of the sub-genre many people have seen before, some we all see each October leading into Halloween.
The wolfen themselves are a microcosmic metaphor for the displacement of Native Americans. Existing amongst a wasteland of urban America, they are natural beasts trapped in a concrete jungle; beautiful creatures captured in the cages of neighbourhoods neglected, nearly forgotten. Likewise, the wolves represent how Native Americans have been forced to assimilate over the years into white culture. The wolfen were once like gods amongst nature, they were shapeshifters, and still are. Their significance was much larger in the context of how Native Americans originally lived before the white man came to start their genocide. Native Americans were forced into urban slums, made to deny and forget their heritage, their tradition, even themselves as individuals. Up here in Canada, our own Holocaust involved indigenous peoples being put into residential schools where untold physical, sexual, and emotional abuse went on behind closed doors guarded fiercely by the Roman Catholic Church. So, there’s no denying this case. 
“I told you, man: it‘s all in the head.”
This is yet another classic horror with a cross into crime. Social commentary is one thing; Romero did all that within a zombie picture. Wolfen successfully comments on the situation of Native Americans in modern day America, as well as tells the story of a policeman with a very down to earth view of his city, who goes on to find out there’s an altogether different side to what he’s known so long. Finney is classic with plenty of great lines to reel off throughout, as is Olmos in a raw role with plenty of chances to be equally frightening and exciting. Not enough time in the day to talk about everything Wolfen does perfectly. If you’re a werewolf fan and haven’t seen it yet, get on that. Halloween is calling and it’s one of those nice fits for a cold, quiet October night.
I don’t always look at films through an analysis of metaphor. Only when it’s really there and evident do I tread into that kind of territory. Aik Karapetian’s The Man in the Orange Jacket is a deeply unsettling work that doubles as a psycho-horror film and also a political metaphor born in blood.
The film’s opening act (each act is stylishly labelled in roman numerals before it commences) is phenomenal. Moreover, you’d think it might keep going on the track of operating as a run of the mill slasher. It has a similar feeling to the 1983 horror 
Once he takes off the orange jacket, he sheds the skin of the proletariat. He puts on an expensive suit, a watch, he eats at an expensive restaurant (like a pig with his fingers and slurping on soup and wine in sharp contrast). He sits in front of a lavish chess set, though makes no moves to play it. This is when the noises start and the house feels strange, haunted by a spectre, or spectres. Now that the man has filled his life up with material things, consuming commodities like they’re going out of style, he has forgotten who he is exactly. The man has lost himself. How quickly we forget who we were, from where we came. He doesn’t realise who he is anymore. The man starts having dreams: he sees a vision of himself in a bathtub, being drowned by himself – the man in the orange jacket. Later, he sees a man in an orange jacket across the lake, and asks why he’s loitering, as if there’s something wrong.
Karapetian’s film is 4&1/2 stars for me. A great slice of horror cinema, with doses of blood, nastiness, and also a brain. In the final shot, lingering into the credits, Karapetian focuses on a painting – some rich, haughty king/nobleman, wearing fur and the like, stares down on the man. Earlier in the film the painting is noticeably visible, as if the old aristocracy is staring down on him, us, all the time. By the time everything is over, we’re no longer totally sure if what we’ve seen is the truth, if it’s all metaphor. Maybe I’m totally wrong. There might be no class struggle at the heart of The Man in the Orange Jacket. Karapetian could’ve intended this as a mind trip with no real aim, only to explore the psychosis of a murderer suddenly drawn into action.
I dig Darren Lynn Bousman’s career as a director, for the most part. He directed my second favourite Saw film after the original, the third and twisty entry into the franchise. Then there’s Mother’s Day, The Devil’s Carnival, and his segment from Tales of Halloween. In between are a few other, lesser pieces of work, but still, he keeps swinging for the weird and the wild, and sometimes the unexpected.
ab·at·toir
The scene when Allie shows Julia and Grady the film reel is pretty intense. The way it’s projected on the wall, the rickety sound of the film flowing through the projector, then the bits of fingers and blood on the floor of the church where Crone preaches is a grim reminder of how real everything is, no matter its supernatural twist. “Better living through sin and sacrifice,” Allie explains. You’re god damn right. The viscera splattered everywhere beneath the feet of Crone, who sells the citizens of that little town a bill of violence, is so brief that I’m amazed how effective this one shot was for me. That’s a small testament to some of the imagery in this film.
A 4-star bit of horror. Might even be in the top 20 for me since 2000. Bousman works hard as a horror director. He consistently, since his work on Saw, tries tossing things up, shaking the genre, seeing what comes out. Not always great. Sometimes, it’s amazing. Abattoir is an incredibly tense work at its best of times; horrifying and nasty, too. Jessica Lowndes does a fantastic job in the lead role, as do Joe Anderson, Dayton Callie, and Lin Shaye at her side in the supporting roles. You’ll get a nice dose of horror, from straight up blood to ghostly haunting to Gothic-style madness. There’s plenty to enjoy here. Parts of this really thrilled me. Other scenes got under my skin and gave me the chills. For whatever reason, I haven’t stopped thinking about Abattoir since I was lucky enough to enjoy experiencing it.
