Holly digs up info that starts connecting Terry and other supposed child killers.
One of the better horror sequels, SCREAM 2 takes aim at the sensationalisation of true crime, media exploitation, and yes, even the horror genre and sequels themselves.
THE TRIANGLE is a disturbing mix of real life and fiction in a curious bit of found footage.
WHEN A STRANGER CALLS BACK: an unexpected sequel that chills almost as much if not more than the original.
The sweet revenge of a man left for dead comes at the end of a sharp, shiny hook.
What happens when a dark piece of horror all the way through ends with a tunnel of light?
Don't go into this one expecting horror. At best this is psychological horror, although there's still not enough to really categorise it as such.
As a moderate fan of the first, THE CONJURING 2 - though based on a debunked story - is utterly haunting, holding a high level of tension almost throughout the entire runtime. Be prepared.
The Childhood of a Leader. 2016. Directed by Brady Corbet. Screenplay by Corbet & Mona Fastvold.
Starring Tom Sweet, Robert Pattinson, Liam Cunningham, Stacy Martin, Bérénice Bejo, Caroline Boulton, Sophie Lane Curtis, Rebecca Dayan, Luca Bercovici, Yolande Moreau, Scott Alexander Young, Michael Epp, Jeremy Wheeler, & Roderick Hill. FilmTeam/Bow and Arrow Entertainment/Bron Capital Partners.
Not Rated. 115 minutes.
For a long while now I’ve tracked the career of Brady Corbet. It was perhaps Gregg Araki’s Mysterious Skin where I first truly noticed Corbet and his talent for quality acting; one of those quiet, subdued sort of actors more interested in the internal workings of a character than any melodrama. He’s worked on countless films as a mere supporting actor, though his talent is absolutely worthy of being the lead. When Simon Killer came around I was extremely happy to see him holding that film up by its bootstraps.
I expected much of his sensibilities to crossover into his directorial career eventually. The Childhood of a Leader is one of the more ambitious debuts of any filmmaker in years. Not simply due to the scope of the story, but in the sense that this is a dark, at times morbid rumination on the nature of power, and how the quest towards it can often turn a person into a monster. On top of that it’s a period piece set around the drafting of the Treaty of Versailles around the end of World War I. So in no way is Corbet making anything easily digestible for the viewer. At the same time, this isn’t a pretentious, contrived bit of cinema either. Corbet shows us what’s underneath the actor’s skin. It is the blood and bones of an artist. The story of the film surrounds the Treaty of Versailles and other pieces of history, everything from Bolshevism to the lack of comprehension of what communism and socialism were in reality. However, the tale of the little dictator-to-be is first and foremost a story of family, of upbringing, of the way in which a boy is shaped by not just historical events during his formative years, but also by the day to day life he leads under the influence of domineering parents.
The score is absolutely fantastic, from the mind of Scott Walker (Pola X). Nothing emotes better for the suspense of a film like this better than a properly intense score. With the various pieces, each section of the film goes by with maximum tension. Even right off the top we’re drawn in quick by a frantic arrangement of strings that makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a Bernard Herrmann score. In the darker, quiet scenes everything is so mysterious, eerie. You really feel like this is a horror, despite any of its subject matter or themes. Corbet uses his directorial choices and the music to conjure up a genuine feeling of dread. In the last moments there’s this insane piece of music that spins you around with the camera, as if you’re directly in the midst of this history, in the centre of the crowd being thrashed about. So many of these scenes work well and they’re given such weight because of the combination of excellent imagery with the pounding brass, wailing strings, and so on.
Corbet absolutely has an eye for directing. His aide comes in the form of cinematographer Lol Crawley (45 Years, Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom). Using what looks mostly to be natural lighting, Crawley evokes the time period in such vivid beauty. The dark corners of the low lit hallways, bedrooms, offices makes for a nice parallel to the darkness of the character development, as well as the story overall being embedded in the despair coming out of the First World War. Corbet’s directing makes the work of Crawley stand out, and vice versa. I hope to see both of these artists make more stuff that’s challenging, as this film is certainly. The techniques and eye of Crawley are wonderful to watch. Corbet allows us lots of enjoyment by weaving all those images into an altogether delightfully horrific piece of art.
Prescott: “I don‘t believe in praying anymore”
Best of all is the dissection of dictatorship, in a very vague sense. Not that it doesn’t accomplish anything directly. Rather that the vague qualities of the screenplay, its character development tracking the rise of Prescott’s (Tom Sweet) ego into something of megalomaniac proportions as time passes, doesn’t try to lay a ton of exposition on us. This is probably a sticking point for some viewers. They’ll want specifics. They want to see little Hittler, little Benito, someone like those figures. Yet that isn’t what Corbet and Mona Fastvold are trying to do in this film. Yes, at the end there’s a very definitive idea of who they wanted to use as a figurehead for the type of politics Prescott was picking up along the way to his transformation from young sociopath to tyranny; note the hair, the facial hair, the flags and symbols, these all clearly indicate the person in question (click here if you want to spoil yourself). But then you realise that even though that dictator is clearly who Corbet is aiming at, the timelines and the age of Prescott (and obviously his name) do not line up. So again, even with this seemingly definitive answer at the finish, the film is not pointing to a single man.
The basis of this story comes from one of the only short stories philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre ever wrote, right down to the exact same title. Bits and pieces come from that story, though many aspects of Prescott’s life are cobbled together from the childhoods of various mad leaders throughout history. What we’re mainly seeing is the birth of a hideous ego, the development of a scary narcissist whose track in life has all but been predetermined due to his proximity to politics for the better part of his life. While some deride the plot as not having much happen other than act as a view into the tortured childhood of a spoiled child, everything going on around Prescott is building him up into a lad poised for truly bad things. Coupled with the fact he’s a budding sociopath, a young child much too aware of his own blasphemy, the ugliness of his personality shows you a means to his tyrannical end. The most important moment comes when Prescott’s father (Liam Cunningham) finally shows his hypocrisy, being an ambassador working on a peace treaty in public while privately thrashing his own child. Prescott then learns that you can be whatever, whomever you want behind closed doors, as long as the appearances tell a different story; thus is the start of his eventual cult of personality, the case for most of the worst dictators ever to live. There are several poignant, formative moments serving to lead Prescott towards his fate. I think this event with his father makes for the one that has the most impact on Prescott, particularly in regards to his understanding of the boundaries between political and personal life.
Ada: “It‘s going to take time. But you‘ll arrive at where you‘re headed.”
Although there are a few flaws – no first time feature is perfect, even the greatest – The Childhood of a Leader is one of the best debut features from a director that I’ve seen in a long time, if not ever. The plot slowly unfolds beneath the story of the end of World War I, the period afterwards, all shaped through the lens of a supposedly peaceful time. Or at least a time where there was hope for peace. Meanwhile, underneath all that bubbled the rise of a dictator, of a true monster, as is the case in many places. Young Prescott represents the situation many of these horrifying leaders went through coming of age in a time where young people weren’t exactly free to play; they were burdened by coming to terms with both their changing childhood and lives, as well as the upheaval of everything around them politically and socially. Corbet manages to cover a lot of ground in just under two hours. Not only that he instils the picture with the sensibilities of a classic director. I can only hope he makes more of this innovative, ambitious cinema as a director and writer. He challenges the audience with this audacious first feature film. In a time where a lot of people are caught up in remakes, big film franchises, artists like Corbet are much welcomed in my world. I love a bit of fun, but film, words, images, these can help us dig into and understand subjects that elude us. Maybe there are no answers, though I can’t help feeling this sort of psychological approach to the typical films about war (and the human figures which get caught up in it) is something that can foster better discussion than other work that’s getting vomited out into the Hollywood system.
Foxtel’s The Kettering Incident
Episode 2: “The Lights”
Directed by Rowan Woods
Written by Victoria Madden
* For a review of Episode 1, “Anna” – click here
* For a review of Episode 3, “The Search” – click here
Fergus McFadden (Henry Nixon) is out in kayak. He comes across a bunch of dead birds in the water. Then, a piece of wood with writing on it; a part of a boat? Who knows.
We cut to Dr. Anna Macy (Elizabeth Debicki). In the background it sounds like a plane going down over the radio. When she comes to Anna only hears reports on the radio about lights in the forest. Her hands look like they’ve been digging in the dirt out there, too. Her boots on the porch are full of mud, clumps of earth. Worse, she has no pills left.
But worse than that even? Chloe Holloway (Sianoa Smit-McPhee) isn’t home. Her mother Barbara (Sacha Horler) finds her room empty. Nowhere to be found. In the middle of the woods sits Chloe’s abandoned cellphone.
At home, Renae Baxter (Suzi Dougherty) gets phone calls filled with static, the sound of someone saying “Mommy” over and over. Pranks, laughter at the end before they hang up. That is awful. Moreover, Renae worries over the lights in the forest. It’s becoming clear she believes there might have been something strange happening on those woods; last night, and 16 years ago, as well.
Last episode we saw Dominic Harrold (Neil Pigot) briefly. Now, Renae goes to him: “It‘s happening again,” she says. Ah, they’re kindred spirits believing in the existence of alien life out there, UFOs, and whatever else. Looking forward to seeing more of this relationship.
Anna talks with Barbara briefly saying that Chloe talked about getting out of Kettering. But we get more of the idea that not everyone in Kettering is so pleased with Anna being back. Not in the slightest. Not long afterwards, Anna has another episode. Flashes of strange images. She sees herself in that security footage tap dancing. Then she finds herself spaced out, watching a bunch of tap dancing young girls. The instructor calls out to her, surprised to see Anna – is this her mother? I’d bet a good lot on that one. Because Anna runs off in a frenzy.
Max Holloway (Damien Garvey) is having more and more trouble. The fact things with the Greenies hasn’t been solved puts a bunch of the hardline thugs in Kettering out in a mood to rage. They trash the protesters camp, as Max and his buddy Jack discuss how things might go from here on in.
At the same time, Fergus is out looking for Chloe. He checks in with Liza (Tilda Cobham-Hervey), who reports the reluctant truth. She also tells Fergus about Anna and Chloe spending time together. This naturally is leading to more suspicion to be thrown Anna’s way. We find out more concerning her, as Liza’s mother Sharon says Anna threw her through a window. But Fergus sheds light on it, calling that incident an accident. Probably just more prejudiced fear about Anna when something far more sinister is going on around Kettering.
Dt. Brian Dutch (Matthew Le Nevez) is up to no good. Turns out the stuff Chloe and Dane Sullivan (Dylan Young) were picking up, the drugs, belong to Dutch. Or at least he’s a part of it all, near the top. I knew immediately when we saw him last episode there was something off. I didn’t expect the corruption. With missing stash, Dutch puts the screws to Dane: find the drugs, or else. And the plot of the little town of Kettering thickens. One of the many plots.
Out to try and get more pills, Anna stirs up trouble. She sees a boy with a possible serious illness in the waiting room. Then she manages to slip out a prescription pad from the belongings of a Dr. McKenzie, who has obviously been let go, fired, something from the hospital. This is a nice, weird little scene. Fits right in perfectly, as well as adds more and more intrigue by the spoonful. When Anna gets to the pharmacy, though, the gig on the pills is up.
Fergus is still searching for Chloe, from land to ferry. Papa Max is out doing the same while also getting word from his men: further measures need to be taken. In town, the fear of Chloe disappearing is becoming more real. Barbara starts wondering about the influence of Anna, as do others. This can only mean bad things for Ms. Macy.
Speaking of her, she sits in the Four Leaf Clover drinking coffee. Jens Jorgenssen (Damon Gameau) meets her, giving back the present from her patient she dropped at the party. He’s soon driven out by the loggers, as is Anna: “You should go too, little bird,” Craig Grayson (Ben Oxenbould) tells her.
Over to see Roy Macy (Anthony Phelan), Fergus meets up with Anna again. Everything is fairly awkward, tense. Outside, Anna asks Fergus if there was a Mayday earlier, that she heard on the radio. A brief mention. I want to know more about what she heard. For now, Anna dances around the truth. She talks of being home at 11, saying Chloe partied hard. She further mentions the girl wanted to leave town. This won’t do Anna any favours. But it’s probably best, as this is a mystery she ought to try solving herself. Her father, for his part, is worried. She wasn’t home until after midnight. Ah, the lies. There’s only so long she can fend them off. And being linked to another missing girl? Kettering might swallow her whole yet.
A picture of the old Sullivan house intrigues Anna, captivating her attention. So many various plots, events, images. They’ll all link up, soon enough. It’s fun to watch them pile high. Keeps me glued to the screen.
The Holloways are arguing. Max is heading out to do mill business, but Barb isn’t happy about that. They’re both still believing she’ll turn up. There’s more to Max that we’re still not seeing. Just yet. I’m highly interested in whatever creepiness he’s holding in that closet full of skeletons.
We’re back with Renae and Dominic. They have a meeting together with others who have experienced the lights, other strange events. There’s a mention of the old Sullivan place. Lots of others know there is something odd in those woods. Something otherworldly.
Liza listens to a message on her phone that seems to depict Chloe, terrified, trying to get away from someone. A harrowing call to hear.
And there’s more to Roy. He meets with Grayson and Max. They discuss what to do about the Greenies, what’s next. None of them wants to see the mill get sold or closed up. They each have their own ideas, but Grayson’s more inclined to blame Anna for stirring everybody up. Whatever they’re planning now seems drastic.
At the station, Dt. Dutch is starting to worry about how close Fergus is getting to the drug operation in which he’s involved. On top of that, Fergus found a piece of a fishing trawler that disappeared a decade ago. Further than that he finds out more about Anna stealing the prescription pad at the hospital, that she’s on anti-psychotics; just as her mother was once.
On her own personal investigation, Anna finds the sick boy from the hospital earlier in the middle of a dirt road. He runs into the forest somewhere, as she tries following. Except it’s up Mother Sullivan’s Ridge. She’s out near the old Sullivan place. Will she follow, or no?
At home, Barb looks through Chloe’s things. She finds a bunch of interesting stuff, such as a hidden flash drive, a picture of Dt. Dutch. On the drive is a video of Chloe talking about ghosts, of convicts and Aborigines. Of more secrets and dark, dirty things going on in Kettering. “I swear one day I‘m gonna tear off all their masks and disappear,” says Chloe in the unsettling clip. Even further, Barb discovers her daughter knew more about her than she let on.
Anna soon comes across the Sullivan house. She hopes to find Chloe, but no such luck. She does find her own lost jacket, along with her pills. That’s one good thing. In a nearby room there are sleeping bags, camping equipment. A fire’s embers still glow in the living room in a fireplace below almost ancient-looking photos. And then Anna spies the chair from her visions. Then she has more of them, descending into a savage fit.
She comes to looking out at the nearby mountains. Lights zip around strangely by its peaks. Down at the local diner Anna talks with Barb, saying there were lights in the forest and generally creeping her out. “You should never have come back,” her father scowls at her.
Liza then shares the message she got from Chloe with the Holloways – all the fear, the screaming. This only deepens things. Both the suspicions and paranoia of Anna, as well as Max wondering if something is coming back to bite him badly. Fergus has the phone Chloe used, but all he can do, or anyone can do, is think of Gillian Baxter. They all wonder if this is just another horrific event wrapped up in Anna’s return to Kettering.
Very good follow-up to the first episode. Love them both! Tasmanian Gothic is a great genre of literature, even better on film at times. There’s so much more to hope for, and to which we can look forward. Next episode is titled “The Search” and will, I assume, dive further into the workings of the town, Roy and Grayson and Holloway working together, among many more plots. This is a fantastic series. Stay with me and we’ll follow this through to a suspenseful conclusion! I’m sure of it.
The Hospital. 1971. Directed by Arthur Hiller. Screenplay by Paddy Chayefsky.
Starring George C. Scott, Diana Rigg, Barnard Hughes, Richard Dysart, Stephen Elliott, Donald Harron, Andrew Duncan, Nancy Marchand, Jordan Charney, Roberts Blossom, Frances Sternhagen, & Katherine Helmond. Simcha Productions.
Rated PG. 103 minutes.
Arthur Hiller is probably most well known to people through his directorial work with the comic duo of Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder, on such films as See No Evil, Hear No Evil and Silver Streak. Of course he’s done much more, but many will know him from those. I’d seen a few of his movies before ever getting the chance to see The Hospital. Then there’s the great writer Paddy Chayefsky, whose Network I also saw before ever seeing his previous work on this film. And boy, was it ever a treat once I did get the chance.
The Hospital is a rare type. I’m not saying there aren’t any other movies like it. Not at all. What I mean is that it’s not exactly the kind of thing you’d see even today, let alone in the early 1970s. But such was the spirit of filmmaking then. The indie directors and writers were looking to change things, to show a different side to themselves, to America, to the world. Chayefsky’s story hones in on the touchy subject of suicide, at the same time he takes on the bureaucratic nature of hospitals and the stress of morality under the weight of that bureaucracy. There’s a whole ton of smart insight within the dark package presented. It’ll make you laugh. It will have you pondering the effectiveness of the American healthcare system, one that hasn’t changed (too) much since ’71. It will reassure you of the greatness who was George C. Scott. And Chayefsky has never been so funny or so on point. His brand of honesty has not been seen since in American screenwriters, though there have been plenty of great writers. Just the way his words cut to the core of the subject is truly art.
I mean, I’m likely in the minority here but I believe Chayefsky is at his sharpest, darkest, wittiest here all in one fell swoop. The first moments let us know that while we’re dealing with life and death, literally as we’re situated in a hospital as the constant setting, this is a story rife with comedy. Dark, yes, but comedy nonetheless. Network is a god damn classic. One of the single most poignant entries in American cinematic history, as far as I’m concerned. However, The Hospital has a certain quality that struck me the very first time I had the pleasure of watching it. The open honesty of the suicidal thoughts Dr. Herbert Bock (George C. Scott) feels is at once a little shocking and all the same incredibly refreshing. The performance is one thing. Chayefsky’s writing another. He makes Bock into someone intense and brooding while simultaneously a fucking riot. Scott only furthers that to chuckle-worthy ends. There’s a truthfulness in how Chayefsky depicts suicide, the thoughts of suicide, and everything surrounding the concept. He finds the absurd. His screenplay for this film juxtaposes actual death and the idea of death in close quarters. There’s often the trope of someone close to death confronting it somehow, then discovering they truly want to live. Meanwhile, Dr. Bock is busy trying to figure out the best way to off himself, so as to cause the least amount of grief, and a possible serial killer, or terrible employee, is walking the halls underneath the nose of everyone present. A genius lot of writing that’s aided by the properly jaded Scott in one of his greatest roles, as well as a well-rounded cast that lifts Chayefsky’s words right off the page into hilarious life.
What I love about Bock so much is that he’s sick and tired of the actual discrepancies in the world. He hates his own son because of the boy’s insistence on being a hypocrite, whether he knows that himself is another thing. He hates the place where he works because the healthcare system is backwards as all hell; medical technology, even in ’71, was hurtling through innovation all the time and people, mainly the disenfranchised like the African-American community, the gay community (et cetera) were out in the streets dying. He hates life – not only does his impotence involve the penis, it involves his “purpose” and all he “ever truly loved” and that’s a desperate sadness. There’s a brutal honesty in the character that makes this movie so rare as a whole.
Scott makes you wonder how a man can become so many different characters so flawlessly over time and not lose his mind. He is one of the greatest; ever. Even just watching him sitting in a chair, acting drunk, his talent is immeasurable. One of those national treasures that America ought to relish like the flag. He was an actor’s actor, throwing himself to the role as an actor should. The desperation of Dr. Bock comes across vividly in the way Scott tumbles him further, further, until we’re not sure what kind of ending this man is going to find for himself. Chayefsky fleshes the character out well enough, then Scott takes him for a ride. In the quietest scenes, his face does more acting than half of the so-called superstars today combined. Once the scenes get intense he rages, as I’ve come to love from Scott, but also he rattles you. It isn’t just empty screams or over-the-top emoting. You really feel grabbed by his character. So convincing and genuine. One of my favourite roles of his, right up next to his character in Dr. Strangelove.
I’m actually not a huge one on comedy. Anybody that frequents this site will now that. That isn’t because I don’t like to laugh. Those who actually know me know that laughing is one of the things I love most. I laugh too much sometimes, like an idiot. The Hospital is just my brand of funny. Dark comedy, the stuff that hits too close to home, that makes you cringe while also making you question things: this is what I dig. I can get down with foolish comedies, too. Those are few and far between for me; best examples are Dumb and Dumber and Step Brothers, both of which endlessly kill me. But the darkness, it’s always what draws me. I love horror and disturbing thrillers, so maybe it’s only natural I’ve gravitated towards comedy that’s more unsettling. Still, Chayefsky’s writing isn’t only darkness. It is poignant work. It throws social themes into a story about a suicidal doctor in a hospital that may or may not be stalked by a serial killing maniac. There’s a wildly effective mix of things happening. You almost expect it to fall flat. Only this movie is nearly a perfect bout of comedy and drama.
The Hospital may not make all the big lists or get mentioned too often. Who cares? The damned thing is genius.
The Wicker Man. 1973. Directed by Robin Hardy. Screenplay by Anthony Shaffer; based on the novel Ritual by David Pinner.
Starring Edward Woodward, Christopher Lee, Diane Cilento, Britt Ekland, Ingrid Pitt, Lindsay Kemp, Russell Water, Aubrey Morris, Irene Sunters, Walter Carr, Ian Campbell, & Roy Boyd. British Lion Film Corporation.
Rated R. 94 minutes.
DISCLAIMER: as of this writing it’s been 43 years since the release of this classic, so if you haven’t see it I really don’t even need to tell you about any possible SPOILERS! Yet I do so anyway. This review is going to talk about the ending later. If you head on through expect for that to get talked of openly. This is your final warning.
Upon hearing Robin Hardy passed today, I was torn up. Honestly there’s nothing else he’s done that I’ve particularly been interested in. It’s the influence of his mysterious folk horror The Wicker Man that endeared me to him permanently. When I was young I remember catching this movie on some channel, whether it was Show Case here in Canada I can’t be sure; likely, but not positive. I remember how strange and dreamy the whole thing was, and the way in which its songs mixed into the creepy story to make something altogether different from anything else I’d ever seen at the time. So as an early teen Hardy influenced me greatly with a single hour and a half of film.
There are a few reasons for Hardy’s influential touch. First, it wasn’t until about age thirteen that I finally shed the influence of my Roman Catholic upbringing, after my parents were smart enough to give me a choice – church or not. I saw this movie around age eleven, maybe twelve at most. It was before that choice of mine to stop going to church and taking communion, all that. The religious elements at play in this film were incredibly interesting to me. Second off all, Hardy’s finale is one of the single most horrific sequences of all time. To me it is the epitome of folk horror, including the gradual build up to those moments. This is a successful horror movie that does not rely on an entirely physical element to make things scary. Rather, The Wicker Man pries up your skin and slithers beneath it, both disturbing you and even making you smile (or laugh) from time to time.
One thing’s for sure: imitators be damned, there is NOTHING like this one.
Shaffer has done some good work other than this film, mainly Frenzy, Sleuth, Murder on the Orient Express come to mind. This is his crowning achievement. There’s of course the inclusion of David Pinner’s novel Ritual, but his work together with Hardy made for some terribly interesting story and characters. Forget the simple fact all that folk music thrown in is so unique and fun, Shaffer makes this paganism-styled religion out on the fictional Scottish island Summerisle partly unnerving and also an equal part intriguing. You want to know more, and as Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) discovers more then you sort of want to know less – in the best, mystery-horror hybrid kind of way. I love that there’s a great deal of attention paid to the Celtic traditions, paganism, as well as drops of history here and there. Shaffer uses all kinds of things, such as the Middle English folk tune “Sumer Is Icumen In” (you can find a proper copy of this in A Middle English Anthology edited by Ann S. Haskell) that you’ll find comes at a crucial moment. The song is a terrifying sound to hear when it’s sung. It is also very poignant for that scene, too. If you know a book called The Golden Bough by James Frazer then you can see how much Shaffer drew from when writing this script. What I love is that he creates a purely organic way for us to discover this Summerisle religion alongside Howie. Instead of feeling like a terrible load of exposition, while still being completely expository, the journey on which Howie goes to figure out what’s happening allows us to sift through the pagan island religion with interest. Other screenplays might make that feel boring. Shaffer manages to keep the pacing steady. Then you can also count the interesting musical pieces as a way to make everything feel compelling. Between the unique atmosphere, the songs and the dancing and the pagan-like rituals we witness, all the odd visuals (those first animal masks are horrifying), there’s enough to make this more than weird for weird’s sake.
Some of the more enjoyable aspects stem from the theme of religion v. paganism, the centrepiece of the screenplay. Howie is a direct parallel to Lord Summerisle (Christopher Lee), whose hippy-like vision of religion appals the lawman, a staunch Christian. There are some genuine looks of horror courtesy of Woodward’s talented acting which really make you see how devastating the idea of pagan worship is to the straight laced, God fearing Christian worshipper. The awful irony is that Woodward’s Christianity leads him into curiousness and duty that is his downfall. That apprehension and judgement becomes a gateway into paranoia. In the end, this Christian paranoia re: heathenism alongside Howie’s dutiful police sensibilities combine in a lethal cocktail of curiosity. Something that’s worth noting is that on his way toward the finale, and his doom, Howie momentarily loses himself in the heathen pagan traditions: whilst wearing the disguise to follow Summerisle and his people, Howie sheds his Christian repression and slaps a few women on the ass gleefully. If only for a second he forgot his devout Christianity and let loose with the heathens. Probably all for the best, as the poor Scottish policeman isn’t long for this world, anyway.
As I’ve mentioned, The Wicker Man is successfully filled with horror not because of any blood or gore, nor any jump scares. It isn’t due to anything typical. All the fun elements like the songs eventually transform into something treacherous and evil. By the final scene, singing is nothing but a vortex into madness. The masks and the pagan symbols are appealing early on, like the marks of island/small town charm. Later, as Howie discovers himself the ultimate fool – perfectly dressed just like Punch, eternal fool himself – those animal masks and all the nature imagery, it’s positively chilling. Christopher Lee gives a charismatic performance that set him so far apart from the typical Hammer Horror roles it’s amazing, and his determined attitude as Lord Summerisle is nothing if not psychopathic. Likewise, Woodward plays Howie perfectly, and for all his foolishness you truly pity him, especially once he sees the eponymous structure from which the film takes its name. Robin Hardy will always be remembered, fondly, for his weird and wild The Wicker Man. It is not merely a load of hype. It is a fantastic piece of folk horror and an unforgettably unique moment in cinematic history. Relish that. I do, every so often, and as damned often as I can.
We’ll miss you, Mr. Hardy. Thank you for your strange vision; it is forever a fever dream in my memory.