Tigers Are Not Afraid is a Mexican dark fantasy/horror movie written and directed by Issa Lopez. It originally came out in 2017, but it reached a wider audience (including me) when the horror streaming service Shudder released it in America last year. Even with its release here in the States, though, it's still not very well-known outside the horror community, and that's really unfortunate because it's more than just one of the best horror movies of the last decade. This is one of those films that can transcend the genre and appeal to people who aren't normally horror fans, so I would even say that it's one of the best movies to come out in years, horror or not.
It follows a girl named Estrella whose mother goes missing, and she eventually becomes part of a "gang" of homeless orphans. The kids get into trouble with a real gang, a human trafficking ring known as the Huascas, and in particular with their leader, "El Chino." The movie is a riveting tale about the kids' fight for survival against both the dilapidated conditions of their crime-torn city and the dangerous Huascas, and while that's a fairly simple premise, it has a few twists along the way to keep it interesting.
But the plot isn't the best thing about this movie. By far, it's the characters. Child actors are notoriously hit or miss, but the ones in this film do a great job of bringing their little gang to life. You see that they're just regular kids who were dealt a really crappy hand and who are trying to make the best of it, so you genuinely care about them. You can't help but root for them to succeed, and you remain engaged in the story because you want to know how they make out in their struggle to survive. You feel their pain when tragedy strikes, and you're genuinely happy for them when they get a chance to have fun.
Adding to that emotional connection are the cinematography and the score, which combine to tell a story all on their own. They do a great job of conveying just how bad things are in this city, and you really feel for all the residents, not just the kids, because they have to deal with constant crime, the threat of premature death looming around every corner, and firefights that can erupt at any moment. The drab atmosphere is palpable throughout the film, and it serves as a perfect backdrop for the story.
And then we have the supernatural elements, which all focus on the main character, Estrella. She's haunted by visions of ghosts, which you eventually find out are El Chino's victims crying out for a chance to bring him to justice; she often sees small, magical creatures flying around; and at the beginning of the movie, she's given three magical pieces of chalk that each grant her one wish. She eventually uses all three, and her wishes come true in unexpected but creative ways. All of this mixes surprisingly well with the hard-hitting, bleak realism of the orphaned children and the devastation wreaked by the gangs and crime organizations in the city. They form a sort of cinematic "sweet and sour" flavor, blending these two contrasting elements in a way that is very reminiscent of Guillermo del Toro's artsier movies like Pan's Labyrinth and The Devil's Backbone.
There is, however, one big difference between this movie and del Toro's films. Guillermo del Toro tends to avoid overt scares, but Tigers Are Not Afraid embraces them. Granted, it's not the kind of movie that's going to give many seasoned horror fans nightmares, but it has its moments. In fact, even though the scares aren't super terrifying, they're still done really well. They're not just poorly thought-out genre clichés or lazy, tacked-on jump scares. No, they flow naturally from the story itself, and they feed off your emotional connection to the characters. You feel the children's fear because you care about them so much.
All in all, I can't recommend this movie enough. In many ways, Tigers Are Not Afraid is what horror should be. Issa Lopez understands that a great horror movie has to be a great movie first and foremost, and it shows. This is so much more than just a horror movie. It's an enthralling story that mixes its scares with real, heartfelt emotion, and that's a combination that just can't be beaten. So if you haven't seen this one yet, definitely check it out. You won't be disappointed.
Friday, July 31, 2020
Friday, July 24, 2020
Catch-Up Review: Color Out of Space (No Spoilers)
Color Out of Space is a small horror movie that was first shown at the Toronto International Film Festival last year, but it was given a limited theatrical release in January of this year. It's based on a short story by H. P. Lovecraft called "The Colour Out of Space," and it's a good mix of faithful adaptation and modern updating. It tells the same basic story that Lovecraft wrote almost 100 years ago, but it's set in the present day rather than a century ago.
The plot is pretty simple. One day, a meteorite crashes in a farm owned by the Gardner family, and their life soon takes a very sharp turn for the worse. The meteorite quickly disappears, but in its wake it leaves the titular monster: the color out of space. If you've never read the story or seen the movie, it's tough to describe just what this thing is, but I'll try my best. There's no tangible monster in this movie; instead, it's exactly what it sounds like. It's literally just a color. You see a purplish/pinkish color throughout the film, sometimes in the things it affects and sometimes in the lighting of the scenes, and every time you do, you know something bad either will happen or already has. It affects the Gardners themselves by eating away at their minds and bodies, and it messes up their plants, animals, and even their technology like phones and cars.
On the surface, that may seem kind of silly. Why would you want to watch a movie about an evil color? I understand why you might be skeptical, but it's actually way better than it sounds. In particular, this film captures arguably the best thing about H. P. Lovecraft's fiction: the fear of the unknown. Lovecraft understood that what you don't know is scarier than what you do know. If we can pin something down and explain it, then we can limit it. But if we can't explain it, if we don't know what its limits are, then it can be just about anything our minds can come up with, and nothing can scare us like our own imaginations. In fact, it can be even worse than that. We know that reality isn't bound by our limited intellects, so an unexplained monster might very well be beyond what we can imagine or even comprehend. It can literally be anything, so there's no limit to how scary it might really be. Lovecraft understood this, so he always gave his readers just enough information to make his stories coherent and then left the rest to their imaginations.
And Color Out of Space captures that characteristic Lovecraftian mystery flawlessly. Like Lovecraft, director Richard Stanley also understands that nothing he can show you on-screen will be as scary as what you can imagine in your own head, so he wisely chooses not to explain what the color actually is, where it came from, or how exactly it does what it does. The movie simply shows you what happens, and then it lets your brain stew in its own thoughts about what the color might be, giving your imagination free rein to scare you like nothing else can.
Along similar lines, this film also makes us realize how small and insignificant we really are in the grand scheme of things. We like to think we're the pinnacle of the natural world, the big boys at the top of the cosmic food chain, but this movie lays bare the truth: we're just weak and feeble creatures living on a tiny speck of dust in the great vastness of space. The color rips through the Gardners without even breaking a sweat, showing us that there are things out there that are way stronger than we could ever hope to be. Some of them are already here on earth (like certain diseases and natural disasters), and others might very well lie in outer space, beyond the reaches of our rockets and telescopes. That's a sobering realization, and it should kindle in us a sense of humility and wonder at the incredible power of the world around us.
In particular, this film highlights a deadly enemy we face all too often here on earth. It mentions cancer a few times, and one character even likens the smell of the meteorite to the smell of a cancer ward, making it clear to observant viewers that the movie is supposed to be a metaphor for that terrible disease. Cancer eats away at people just like the color in this movie, and all too often the only thing we can do is watch as the people we love deteriorate day by day.
In fact, Richard Stanley used to read H. P. Lovecraft stories to his mother as she was dying from cancer, so this movie is like a personal message from the director himself that he's gone through the same things many of us have. It's like he's telling us that we're not the only ones who've ever felt that way, that we're not the only ones who've ever gone through that agony, and there's a certain comfort in that. It's comforting to know that we're not alone in our pain. If other people have suffered through it and have been able to keep on living their lives, so can we.
So, if you're a fan of horror, I highly recommend Color Out of Space. It's not the best horror movie of the year (so far that's The Invisible Man), but it's still really good. It will tap into some of our species' deepest, darkest fears as well as some of the greatest suffering we can ever experience. It will remind you of humanity's true place in the universe, and it will incite in you a sense of wonder at what may be out there, patiently waiting for the day when it can finally show us just how awesome (either in a good way or a bad way) it truly is.
The plot is pretty simple. One day, a meteorite crashes in a farm owned by the Gardner family, and their life soon takes a very sharp turn for the worse. The meteorite quickly disappears, but in its wake it leaves the titular monster: the color out of space. If you've never read the story or seen the movie, it's tough to describe just what this thing is, but I'll try my best. There's no tangible monster in this movie; instead, it's exactly what it sounds like. It's literally just a color. You see a purplish/pinkish color throughout the film, sometimes in the things it affects and sometimes in the lighting of the scenes, and every time you do, you know something bad either will happen or already has. It affects the Gardners themselves by eating away at their minds and bodies, and it messes up their plants, animals, and even their technology like phones and cars.
On the surface, that may seem kind of silly. Why would you want to watch a movie about an evil color? I understand why you might be skeptical, but it's actually way better than it sounds. In particular, this film captures arguably the best thing about H. P. Lovecraft's fiction: the fear of the unknown. Lovecraft understood that what you don't know is scarier than what you do know. If we can pin something down and explain it, then we can limit it. But if we can't explain it, if we don't know what its limits are, then it can be just about anything our minds can come up with, and nothing can scare us like our own imaginations. In fact, it can be even worse than that. We know that reality isn't bound by our limited intellects, so an unexplained monster might very well be beyond what we can imagine or even comprehend. It can literally be anything, so there's no limit to how scary it might really be. Lovecraft understood this, so he always gave his readers just enough information to make his stories coherent and then left the rest to their imaginations.
And Color Out of Space captures that characteristic Lovecraftian mystery flawlessly. Like Lovecraft, director Richard Stanley also understands that nothing he can show you on-screen will be as scary as what you can imagine in your own head, so he wisely chooses not to explain what the color actually is, where it came from, or how exactly it does what it does. The movie simply shows you what happens, and then it lets your brain stew in its own thoughts about what the color might be, giving your imagination free rein to scare you like nothing else can.
Along similar lines, this film also makes us realize how small and insignificant we really are in the grand scheme of things. We like to think we're the pinnacle of the natural world, the big boys at the top of the cosmic food chain, but this movie lays bare the truth: we're just weak and feeble creatures living on a tiny speck of dust in the great vastness of space. The color rips through the Gardners without even breaking a sweat, showing us that there are things out there that are way stronger than we could ever hope to be. Some of them are already here on earth (like certain diseases and natural disasters), and others might very well lie in outer space, beyond the reaches of our rockets and telescopes. That's a sobering realization, and it should kindle in us a sense of humility and wonder at the incredible power of the world around us.
In particular, this film highlights a deadly enemy we face all too often here on earth. It mentions cancer a few times, and one character even likens the smell of the meteorite to the smell of a cancer ward, making it clear to observant viewers that the movie is supposed to be a metaphor for that terrible disease. Cancer eats away at people just like the color in this movie, and all too often the only thing we can do is watch as the people we love deteriorate day by day.
In fact, Richard Stanley used to read H. P. Lovecraft stories to his mother as she was dying from cancer, so this movie is like a personal message from the director himself that he's gone through the same things many of us have. It's like he's telling us that we're not the only ones who've ever felt that way, that we're not the only ones who've ever gone through that agony, and there's a certain comfort in that. It's comforting to know that we're not alone in our pain. If other people have suffered through it and have been able to keep on living their lives, so can we.
So, if you're a fan of horror, I highly recommend Color Out of Space. It's not the best horror movie of the year (so far that's The Invisible Man), but it's still really good. It will tap into some of our species' deepest, darkest fears as well as some of the greatest suffering we can ever experience. It will remind you of humanity's true place in the universe, and it will incite in you a sense of wonder at what may be out there, patiently waiting for the day when it can finally show us just how awesome (either in a good way or a bad way) it truly is.
Friday, July 17, 2020
New Movie Review: Relic (No Spoilers)
Relic is a godsend. While our country languishes in a seemingly never-ending pandemic with no new theatrical releases in sight (I think the big movies scheduled for August will be pushed back even further), we just got a top-tier horror movie released straight into the comfort of our own homes. It's an Australian horror-drama that originally premiered at the Sundance Film Festival back in January and was released to the general public this month. It came out in drive-ins on July 3 and VOD (video on demand, including Amazon, Vudu, and cable providers) on July 10.
This movie centers on an elderly dementia patient named Edna who goes missing. Her daughter Kay and granddaughter Sam go to her house to look for her, and as soon as they arrive, weird things start to happen, making you think that there might be more going on than just a bad case of dementia. Soon afterwards, Edna just shows up again in her house, but she refuses to say anything about where she was. Weird things continue happening, and you're not entirely sure if the problem is just her dementia, if it's supernatural, or if it's a mix of the two.
I was really excited to see this movie for two reasons. For one, it got great reviews out of Sundance, and I always look forward to good new horror movies. Secondly, I also had a much more personal interest in it. My grandmother died from Alzheimer's (which is the most common cause of dementia) several years ago, and I was interested to see how the movie would depict this terrible disease. Happily, I can say that Relic met and exceeded my expectations on both fronts.
I was really excited to see this movie for two reasons. For one, it got great reviews out of Sundance, and I always look forward to good new horror movies. Secondly, I also had a much more personal interest in it. My grandmother died from Alzheimer's (which is the most common cause of dementia) several years ago, and I was interested to see how the movie would depict this terrible disease. Happily, I can say that Relic met and exceeded my expectations on both fronts.
By far its biggest strength is its treatment of dementia. For one, it does an amazing job of portraying the progression of the disease, and this really resonated with me because the events of this movie line up very well with my own experiences. When Edna first shows up, she alternates between lucidity and forgetfulness. She's in her right mind most of the time, but she has bouts of forgetfulness every now and again. Then, as the disease progresses, she becomes a very different person than the one Kay and Sam have known all their lives, to the point where her personality is pretty much unrecognizable.
Even more than its depiction of the disease itself, though, I really loved the film's message about how we should treat our loved ones who suffer from it, and this comes through with particular poignancy in the very last scene (which I won't spoil; I promise). See, it's not just your typical horror ending where either the monster or the victim finally comes out on top. This movie's ending is a bit more complicated than that. Kay and Sam show that they love their elderly matriarch no matter what she's become, and again, for someone who's gone through a similar experience, it's a powerful reminder of the humanity of dementia patients. My family and I never stopped loving my grandmother no matter how much her Alzheimer's progressed, so I really appreciated seeing a similar display of love from these characters.
Even more than its depiction of the disease itself, though, I really loved the film's message about how we should treat our loved ones who suffer from it, and this comes through with particular poignancy in the very last scene (which I won't spoil; I promise). See, it's not just your typical horror ending where either the monster or the victim finally comes out on top. This movie's ending is a bit more complicated than that. Kay and Sam show that they love their elderly matriarch no matter what she's become, and again, for someone who's gone through a similar experience, it's a powerful reminder of the humanity of dementia patients. My family and I never stopped loving my grandmother no matter how much her Alzheimer's progressed, so I really appreciated seeing a similar display of love from these characters.
On top of all that, Relic also manages to integrate the disease into its horror in a brilliant and seamless way. This point is tough to explain without spoiling it, so I'll just say this: the movie doesn't just use dementia as an excuse to show off a cool monster. Instead, it's genuinely at the heart of all the bad things that happen in the film, and without it, there would be no horror at all. In that sense, it's a lot like The Babadook (which coincidentally also happens to be from Australia), but I think this one does it even better.
And speaking of the movie's horror elements, Relic eschews the gore and jump scares that most non-fans associate with horror and instead relies on more subtle methods. Everything from the set designs to the cinematography to the acting comes together perfectly to create a creepy, unsettling atmosphere that permeates the entire film and makes you constantly question whether Edna's dementia is really just all in her head. The horror in this movie is the kind that gets under your skin and lets your imagination do the heavy lifting, so while it won't terrify you the way something like Paranormal Activity will, it's just as effective in its own way.
I have to warn you, though, this movie is a slow burn, so it won't be for everyone. But for people who can appreciate that kind of horror, even the slow parts are creepy and mysterious enough to hold you over until the big finale. Then, when that finale comes, it doesn't disappoint. Again, I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just say this: it takes the theme of dementia and magnifies it in a very creative way, giving you a glimpse of what it must be like to have this terrible disease.
I have to warn you, though, this movie is a slow burn, so it won't be for everyone. But for people who can appreciate that kind of horror, even the slow parts are creepy and mysterious enough to hold you over until the big finale. Then, when that finale comes, it doesn't disappoint. Again, I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just say this: it takes the theme of dementia and magnifies it in a very creative way, giving you a glimpse of what it must be like to have this terrible disease.
All in all, Relic is more than just a great horror movie; it's the second best movie (of any genre) I've seen all year. Sure, that's not saying much in 2020, but much like I felt about The Invisible Man, I'm confident that this would be one of my favorites even if it were a normal, non-pandemic year. It's just that good, so if you like slow burn stories that rely on a creepy atmosphere and a well-crafted mystery, you should definitely check this one out. You will not be disappointed.
Friday, July 10, 2020
A Review of Netflix's New Show Ju-On: Origins
Ju-On: Origins is a new horror show from Netflix that came out last Friday (July 3). It's a prequel to the popular Japanese film franchise Ju-On, which most people in America know from The Grudge, the stateside remake of Ju-On: The Grudge. The show tells the story of a house where bad things constantly happen to the people who so much as step foot in it. Over a series of several decades, tragedy after tragedy occurs there, and this string of incredible evil is definitely more than just a coincidence.
I was looking forward to this show quite a bit, and while I wasn't entirely disappointed, it ended up being a mixed bag for me. I did like it, but just barely. On the one hand, the horror elements are really good. For example, it has some very creepy, atmospheric moments, and the ghosts in it are head and shoulders above anything you see in Ju-On: The Grudge. They look like they've been through hell, and they're ready to take you there too.
More importantly, this show manages to portray the depths of human depravity in a way that's both gut-wrenching and eerily beautiful. Not that evil is ever beautiful in itself, but there's something to be said for capturing genuine truths about the human condition, even if it's the darker truths that we often try to set aside and ignore. Good horror unmasks evil and shows it for what it really is, and this show does an excellent job of that. It portrays the darker side of human nature as truly evil, never glorifying it or making it seem fun, and there's a genuine beauty in that.
As good as those horror elements are, though, the show really falters on the narrative side. The story limps along from episode to episode, being barely intelligible enough to justify its existence. In particular, I would say it has two main problems. For one, the first few episodes are often confusing, as they jump back and forth between a few different characters and their storylines. The second half of the series is more coherent, with the various narrative threads slowly coming together in a cohesive way, but the end doesn't make up for all the confusion you have to endure to get there.
Secondly, the plot feels really pointless. It's basically just a string of horrifically evil acts and the events that led up to them, and then it ends. There's no real story here other than the mere fact that this house is evil, and even when the different plot threads come together in the end, it still lacks any genuine narrative power. The closest thing we get to a character arc is a guy who searches for the house and then finds it, and when the credits roll after the final episode, nothing is actually resolved. It's almost like you the viewer and the characters in the show have to just live with the fact that this house is evil, and there's nothing anybody can do about it.
There is, however, a silver lining to this apparent lack of purpose, one saving grace that makes the narrative just good enough to get by: I think the point of it all is that there is no point. The way I see it, the purpose of the show is to capture the pointlessness of evil and show that goodness is the only thing that has any real meaning. Evil, in contrast, is kind of just there with no real rhyme or reason to its existence, and we simply have to learn to live with it in our imperfect world.
At the end of the day, I can't guarantee that you'll love Ju-On: Origins (in fact, you probably won't), and I can't even guarantee that you'll like it, but I can say this about it: it gets evil right, and I think that makes it worth the roughly three hours it takes to get through all six episodes, especially during this dearth of new movies that we're currently suffering through. Despite all the confusion, the lack of character development, and the narrative impotence, this show portrays evil in a chillingly accurate way, so if you're a horror fan who appreciates art that captures the darker side of humanity and shows it for what it truly is, you should give this one a shot. You just might like it.
I was looking forward to this show quite a bit, and while I wasn't entirely disappointed, it ended up being a mixed bag for me. I did like it, but just barely. On the one hand, the horror elements are really good. For example, it has some very creepy, atmospheric moments, and the ghosts in it are head and shoulders above anything you see in Ju-On: The Grudge. They look like they've been through hell, and they're ready to take you there too.
More importantly, this show manages to portray the depths of human depravity in a way that's both gut-wrenching and eerily beautiful. Not that evil is ever beautiful in itself, but there's something to be said for capturing genuine truths about the human condition, even if it's the darker truths that we often try to set aside and ignore. Good horror unmasks evil and shows it for what it really is, and this show does an excellent job of that. It portrays the darker side of human nature as truly evil, never glorifying it or making it seem fun, and there's a genuine beauty in that.
As good as those horror elements are, though, the show really falters on the narrative side. The story limps along from episode to episode, being barely intelligible enough to justify its existence. In particular, I would say it has two main problems. For one, the first few episodes are often confusing, as they jump back and forth between a few different characters and their storylines. The second half of the series is more coherent, with the various narrative threads slowly coming together in a cohesive way, but the end doesn't make up for all the confusion you have to endure to get there.
Secondly, the plot feels really pointless. It's basically just a string of horrifically evil acts and the events that led up to them, and then it ends. There's no real story here other than the mere fact that this house is evil, and even when the different plot threads come together in the end, it still lacks any genuine narrative power. The closest thing we get to a character arc is a guy who searches for the house and then finds it, and when the credits roll after the final episode, nothing is actually resolved. It's almost like you the viewer and the characters in the show have to just live with the fact that this house is evil, and there's nothing anybody can do about it.
There is, however, a silver lining to this apparent lack of purpose, one saving grace that makes the narrative just good enough to get by: I think the point of it all is that there is no point. The way I see it, the purpose of the show is to capture the pointlessness of evil and show that goodness is the only thing that has any real meaning. Evil, in contrast, is kind of just there with no real rhyme or reason to its existence, and we simply have to learn to live with it in our imperfect world.
At the end of the day, I can't guarantee that you'll love Ju-On: Origins (in fact, you probably won't), and I can't even guarantee that you'll like it, but I can say this about it: it gets evil right, and I think that makes it worth the roughly three hours it takes to get through all six episodes, especially during this dearth of new movies that we're currently suffering through. Despite all the confusion, the lack of character development, and the narrative impotence, this show portrays evil in a chillingly accurate way, so if you're a horror fan who appreciates art that captures the darker side of humanity and shows it for what it truly is, you should give this one a shot. You just might like it.
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