Phone (폰)

While outdated technology may slightly hinder the tensity of this film, Ahn Byeong-ki's Phone is certainly still able to deliver scares. Released in 2002, the film was able to make use of a technology that was just starting to be adopted by the mainstream.

There are a couple factors that contribute to the horror in this film. On a basic level, there are quite a few instances of shock horror spread throughout the film. Intended to make the audience panic, if only for a second, these instances heighten the intensity of the situation. While some of these moments were predictable, one or two actually took me by surprise. And these moments weren't just random either; they still connected to the story.

The use of technology as a transmission of death is also quite horrific. Phone turns that annoying ringtone that everyone knows into something to be feared. I think the best part about it though is that there was deeper meaning to the horror behind the phone. While the back story might be a bit cheesy, it is a common theme and the audience cane easily understand the gravity of the situation. So, when the spirit possesses the phone to take revenge, it's more believable because of the familiarity of the adultery.  In addition to this, the cinematography accentuated the themes of the film. All of the scenes that relate to the vengeance of either the high schooler or the mother are washed in a cool blue, which highlights the cold, calculated revenge that takes place. And it appears that any connections to the father's adultery are colored in a warm orange color (although this wash isn't as obvious as the blues). I think this was done to hint at the real cause of all this trouble (the mother's attack on the high schooler).

I was quite unsettled by the Electra complex theme that was used in the film as well. I think it's safe to say it's pretty weird to see a five year old girl try to make out with her father. Eun Seo-woo (the little girl) does a terrific job acting like a demonic high schooler. Her facial expressions (eyes in particular) were quite unsettling-- you expect the child to have a baby face, but once possessed she does nothing but glare at her mother.

Phone is a pretty decent film with a few good scares thrown in. While not on the same level as other Korean horrors like A Tale of Two Sisters or Bunshinsaba, it is definitely worth a watch.

Let Me In vs. Let The Right One In

I originally intended to review these separately, as I was hoping that Let Me In would contain enough differences from the original Swedish film. However, while Matt Reeves' take on John Lindqvist's novel Let The Right One In is a well made horror/romance flick, it doesn't quite live up to Alfredson's version.

I'll start with the good things about Let Me In. The cinematography of this film is quite astounding. The cinematographer made use of blues and oranges to convey the theme of the film: innocence. Oranges are used when either a lack of innocence is shown or someone's innocence is taken advantage of. For example, Owen's bedroom telescoping sessions are all orange. The tunnel in which Abby attacks a random jogger has an orange tinge surrounded by darkness.

On the other side, blues are used when the character is innocently unaware of the true happenings or believes their actions to be innocent. The prime example for this is Thomas. We see him slit a man's neck to collect blood for Abbey, but as we come to find out, he does it out of love for her. It's her need, it keeps her alive, and so the act seems so innocent. While the colors are used interestingly to depict the theme, they also help create a horrific mood. Thomas' blood collections are cold; there are no feelings towards the victims. Abby's attacks are warm, which intensifies the heated moments.

That's about as much as I can say for Let Me In. What's really disappointing is that Reeves didn't take any initiative creating his own take on the source story. The script is literally almost the same as Let The Right One In, with the only major changes being names and locations. He does start in media res, which allows the film to have a tense opening. But the rest of the script follows the Swedish version almost exactly. And unfortunately for Reeves, Alfredson's version comes off as much more horrific.

My biggest complaint about Let Me In is the pacing compared to Let The Right One In. Alfredson deliberately created a slow pace, which reflected the isolated area in which the characters lived. But Reeves' pacing makes the dialogue seemed forced, even though the child actors are pretty darn good. Abby's kills in Let Me In also bother me; I understand the jerky nature was to convey a more supernatural threat (along with the effects on her face), but the great thing about Eli is that she seemed more human. That which is more familiar but is not in reality is more prone to invoke horror. And while I enjoyed the cinematography of Let Me In, Let The Right One In had astounding visuals with great thanks to the natural location. The film was largely unbiased in it's lighting; instead of blues and oranges there was nothing but white, which accurately represents the innocence of everyone in the film. That way, the viewer can make their own decisions on the motives and feelings of the characters. Finally (and this may be nit-picky), Let Me In was way too obvious about the reality of the situation (Thomas being a lover of Abby from childhood). Let The Right One In was much more subtle about the true horror of the story, while Let Me In kept dropping hints throughout in a forceful manner.

With all this being said, Let Me In is certainly not a bad film; it just happens that this is one of the many cases where the original is superior.

Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer

John McNaughton's first feature-length film debuted at the end of the 80's slasher era with the tagline "He's not Freddy, He's not Jason... He's Real!" Henry certainly isn't Freddy or Jason, but he's quite arguably worse. 

Horror films that affect me the most are those that have a serious sense of realism (which is why I normally prefer psychological horrors). The most influential factor of this film is that Henry (Michael Rooker) could be any guy. He could be your neighbor. Your boss. Anyone. And that is truly frightening. While Henry may have some shocking moments, there is mainly an awful sense of dread that arises from the very beginning and remains with the viewer even after the film is over. We know there is a killer out there. We see what he's done. And it could happen again.

Equally disturbing is the fact that Henry seems to have no good reason to kill; he does it to pass the time, even taking along his friend (Otis) to join in on the fun. He seems to lack any sense of humanity-- that is, until anything sexual is thrown in his face. He defends Becky twice from her own brother, even killing him to protect her. However, was this because he cares for her? With his back story in mind, it appears that any sexual acts remind him of his mother.  But Henry doesn't specifically kill rapists and perverts-- he only stops those acts if they are sprung upon him. So it seems like Henry's not out for revenge like Freddy or Jason; he's just bored. 

My favorite part of the film was the portrayal of Henry's past murders. The image of the murdered bodies with the sounds of their last few minutes of life made the deaths seem so trivial, as if it's something that just happens. The thought of death as just a thing is pretty scary. These scenes also add to Henry's anonymity. The bodies were all that were left for friends or loved ones to find, with no trace of who committed the crime. I'd almost prefer that all the murders were portrayed this way, but a lack of the videotaped family-intrusion would be no good. 

Burnt Offerings

Directed by Dan Curtis, Burnt Offerings (1976) is quite an interesting film. I feel really conflicted because on one hand, there are certain elements of the film that I really enjoyed. However, I can't say I like the film as a whole. There are a few small horror elements that I liked in particular but the actual film plot is just so... indescribable.

Here, only the car containing youth and life glows; the house is dull. 

The obvious horror element is the house come to life. The home "grows young" by feeding off of bodily injury and death. I think it's pretty clear once Marian starts acting suspicious about the old mother's room that there is no mother at all. Around this time we begin to see the house in better condition (flowers blooming inside the home being an example). Also, the cinematography is well composed in this regard; as the film progresses I noticed that there was much softer lighting, and many whites and bright colors in the picture glowed (with youth!).

In this tense moments, everything glows, including the pillars of the house in the background. 

The pacing and direction of the plot also contribute to the feeling of anxiety. The film's pace is pretty darn slow, which heightens the intensity of any tense moments that do occur (most of which don't happen until the very end...). The plot of the film is pretty confusing at times. It's not necessarily the plot that's confusing though, it's more of the fact that the film kind of just goes on for a bit. Ben's dream and the reoccurrence of the hearse driver are never explained as well (at least the dude is super creepy though).

I thought there was some Oedipal themes going on in the beginning of the film. In the beginning of the film David is shown to be more adept and cunning than his father, and shortly afterwards the attack in the pool occurs. I thought this was a very good set up for the father's psychology to go haywire (as the son was "replacing" him) but he ended up returning to his normal state.

I wish I had more to say about this film but I really don't. I will say that the acting was absolutely terrific; the entire family was completely believable. Ultimately, if a little bit more sense were thrown into the film, I think it would be a wonderful horror film and a real classic.

Onibaba

Never would I have thought that a Japanese film from the sixties could so delicately create commentary on modern culture and the lingering dismay of war. Kaneto Shindo's Onibaba (1964) is a psychological horror infused with demon lore that is reminiscent of other expressionist films (Nosferatu, Freaks, etc.)

The film takes place in 14th century Japan, in the middle of civil war. An old woman and her daughter-in-law fend for themselves by killing soldiers and selling their goods. The opening of the film shows a deep hole in the ground with the text "A Hole. Deep and dark, its darkness has lasted since ancient times" overlaid. The women are shown dumping the bodies of their victims here.

One of the great parts about this film is that this act of murder is normalized. Every bit of the women's daily routines are visualized. The murder is just a part of their daily routine-- their way to survive. When neighboring farmer Hatchi returns from war, the hole is forgotten about (but not for long). Indeed, the hole becomes a symbol of danger for the main characters. The old woman draws the demon masked samurai to the hole, where she steals the mask and is later punished. The hole essentially symbolizes the  unmoral acts that man takes in the midst of uncivilized life. This film was made in a time where the Japanese were still feeling the effects of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Highly expressionistic, the hole physically depicts the looming feelings of grief and anger that were still present in Japanese society.

However, tension isn't created by the presence of the hole. With the absence of the young woman's husband, she begins to give into Hatchi's lust. The old hag resents the affair in what first seems like a moral sense of protection for her daughter-in-law; but we later find that the old woman herself lusts after Hatchi. The old woman speaks of sexual transgression to her daughter-in-law, which makes her a hypocrite given her own lust (and the fact that her murderous sins are never mentioned). The sexual tension invokes anxiety in the audience; we don't know who is going to act first, but someone's going to try and end this love triangle.

The hag adopts the mask of the samurai with the intentions of scaring her daughter-in-law. The mask is the physicality of her envy and grief, and the charred face of the dead samurai represents the punishment for the deliberate transgressions against other human beings. It's also eerily evocative of the WWII bombing victims. When the young woman destroys the mask and reveals the marred face of the old hag, she leads her back to the hole, where the old woman finds her punishment.

Expressionistic influences can be viewed in the mise en scene of the film. The tall leave stalks scatter the light around, tossing shadows over the characters' face and everywhere else. The huts are dark; the characters often hide in the shadows when moments of lust or terror are brought to the surface.

Finally, there is some commentary on the gender roles of modern Japanese culture. The two women must beg when selling their goods in order to get their bags of millet. But when Hatchi comes around, he gets an extra bag of millet and sake for no good reason. While sex is made more normal and human (as it should be... especially compared to American culture) the empowered role of man still exists.

Overall, I'd say Onibaba is well worth the watch. It may be a little slow, but the interaction of the characters really makes up for it.

Dark Water

From the director of Ringu, Dark Water (2002) tells the story of recently divorced mother Yoshimi and her daughter Ikuko as they settle into their new apartment and attempt to live peacefully. Water as horror motif plays a huge role throughout the film. With sparse moments of tensity and real horror, the film falls just short of an incredibly amazing horror movie, due to some aesthetically unsatisfactory final moments.

While divorce was not as common at the time as it was in the United States, 2002 held the highest divorce rate that Japan had ever seen. Especially in Japanese culture where family is highly regarded, the initial set up of the story places viewers in an uncomfortable situation from the get-go.  The family as a unit is analyzed and broken in Dark Water; through flashbacks and other scenes we learn that mother Yoshimi was often left behind and mistreated by her own mother. The parallel is made between her and the "monster" of the film-- Mitsuko, a young girl that lived in the same apartment building and went missing over a year prior to Yoshimi and Ikuko's arrival.

The mise en scene of the film reflects the true horror in a very subtle way for most of the film. Shortly after moving into the new apartment, Yoshimi notices a water spot on her ceiling that begins to leak, which slowly grows in size as more pieces of information about Mitsuko are revealed. A good portion of the complex itself is rundown as well, thanks to the incompetent caretaker of the building who does nothing when Yoshimi mentions the issue. The water spot is an important aesthetic of the film because its growing presence causes anxiety and it moves the plot along by forcing Yoshimi to check out the room above hers (the old room of Mitsuko's family).

The reoccurrence of a red lunch bag also works aesthetically because we don't know who it belongs to or where it comes from; again, the audience feels anxious. The color red is also commonly used in horror films to symbolize a past death or signal one coming in the near future. In addition to all of this, the lunch bag connects Ikuko to Mitsuko. We know that Yoshimi was ignored by her mother as a child, as was Mitsuko.  Yoshimi works hard to be a better mother for Ikuko. But when the strange events continue to happen, Yoshimi forgets to pick Ikuko up from school for various reasons (mainly her job and attempting to find the truth behind Mitsuko's disappearance). In this moment she is likened to her mother, and a glimpse of the true "monster"-- ignorance and mistreatment-- is shown within in the main character. This also ties in with the moral transgression that caused the horror in the first place (the old caretaker who failed to upkeep the building and more specifically, the water tank).

Everything leads to the prior residence of Mitsuko's family and the old water tank that sits on the roof of the complex, as well as the replacement of Ikuko by the spirit of Mitsuko. In a game of hide and seek gone wrong, Ikuko is attacked at her school by Mitsuko's spirit. The spirit lures Ikuko to the 4th floor residence, where water pours from the ceiling. As mentioned earlier, Yoshimi becomes overly concerned with Mitsuko's disappearance, thereby giving less attention to Ikuko. Yoshimi discovers the cleaning log on the water tank that corresponds with the date of Mitsuko's disappearance. At the same time, Ikuko encounters some strange happenings on her own. First, hair spurts from the bathroom sink, which is shortly followed by the bathtub overflowing. As Ikuko tries to shut the water off, Mitsuko's spirit leaps from the tub and attempts to drown Ikuko. The scene is tense; we know something will come from the tub, but it's still shocking to see the rotten hands of Mitsuko. Unfortunately, this is the point where the plot starts to head south.

Yoshimi rushes back to save her daughter from drowning. Clutching Ikuko in her arms, Yoshimi runs to the elevator, attempting to escape from Mitsuko's spirit. Yoshimi watches from the elevator in terror, waiting for Mitsuko to exit the apartment. But Nakata plays a trick on us; Ikuko stumbles from the doorway, calling for her mother. Yoshimi realizes that she is holding Mitsuko instead. While I do think the twist itself functions very well aesthetically, the vision of the spirit realized is a little lack luster. It looks like an old doll painted green, which negatively affected all the tension that was previously built. Luckily we don't see the spirit for too long-- Yoshimi decides that she must stay with the spirit in order to save her daughter. A waterfall erupts from the elevator over Ikuko with Yoshimi and the spirit nowhere in sight.

If the movie had ended there I could completely ignore the aforementioned negative. But the film ends with an epilogue of sorts. Ikuko, now a high school student, returns to her old home and finds her mother. When she realizes what she saw was the spirit of Yoshimi, she understands that her mother has been watching over her and protecting her. This epilogue serves to tie together the themes of family and togetherness and resolve the issue of mistreatment that was the crux of the movie. For a drama, this epilogue works well aesthetically, as it ties everything together in a "happy ending" situation. I think that it lessens the impact of the horror itself. However, realizing that this is an Asian film, I do understand why the epilogue was included. It certainly doesn't detract from the quality of the overall film-- it only lessens the idea of what horrors occurred.

Ringu

Hideo Nakata's Ringu (1998) is highly attributed with the resurgence of Asian horror cinema in the late 90's and early 2000's. Based off of Rikiya Otaka's novel of the same name, the film's plot is based around a cursed videotape-- anyone who watches it will die exactly one week later. This film was released at a time where technology was becoming more and more advanced, to the fear of many. Even today we hold some fear of technology and the potential consequences of its over-use in our minds.

The film opens with a shot of dark, frothing ocean water, which is accompanied by an ominous soundtrack. While the ocean bit isn't explained until much later in the film, it certainly sets the tone for what follows.

The first scene takes place in a teenage girl's bedroom. Two friends, Masami and Tomoko, talk about Tomoko's recent trip to Izu. Masami brings up the story of the tape, and Tomoko reveals that she and her friends watched the tape. The room is quite dark and only a small amount of light reaches the girl's faces, which makes Masami's storytelling very tense. We later see Tomoko sitting near the television alone. When the TV switches on by itself, the eerie glow of the television set falls upon Tomoko's face, and at that point we know the story is no joke.

The story then switches to reporter Reiko Amakawa. After finding a picture of Tomoko and her other dead friends that contains their faces blurred and distorted, Reiko visits their vacation site where the watched the tape. Located in Izu, the cabin is shown to have an owner who rents it out, but the cinematography makes the cabin seem like it is in the middle of nowhere (the 'cabin in the woods,' a common motif of horror films).  Here, we see the contents of the tape, which effectively induces dread in various ways.

Firstly, the contents of the tape are abnormal and don't make very much sense. The tape shows some circular object like a ring, people crawling on the ground in pain, a close up of an eye, the word 'eruption', and an image of a well with a hand reaching out (this is where the tape ends). These images do not make sense and we know that death is somehow associated with the tape. Thus we feel uneasy.

Second, we now assume that Reiko is cursed and has one week to solve her problem. This is confirmed  shortly afterward when Reiko meets with her ex-husband, who takes a photo of her. The photo contains Reiko's face which is very blurred and distorted. In fact, her face looks almost alien-like in the picture, which is pretty unsettling in my opinion. Anticipation can only build from here as Reiko tries to lift the curse.

Lastly (and I think this is one of the most effective parts of the whole film), the viewer had to watch the cursed video himself. It might seem silly, but I think that in the back of a lot of people's minds many couldn't help but think about the possible consequences. This idea adds to the sympathy for the main character.

Later in the film, Reiko and her ex-husband Ryuji see visions of past events, where it is revealed that a child named Sadako had supernatural powers. Her mother also had these powers but committed suicide due to threats against her. After figuring out the location of Sadako's body, Reiko and Ryuji sail back to Izu through a deadly storm (returning to the water motif). In the most teeth-biting, hair pulling scene of this movie, Ryuji lowers himself into a well where the body of Sadako is believed to be. Located under the cabin where the teenagers had their vacation, Ryuji and Reiko attempt to extract the water from the well to obtain the body. Reiko pulls out bucket after bucket of water. The scene is dark, lit only by flashlights. I especially became tense when Reiko took her turn in the well. Eventually the head of the girl, covered in hair, slowly rises from the water, making you think the girl has returned to life. Luckily Reiko pulls the hair back to reveal a skeleton. Even still, this scene is incredibly creepy, leading you to believe that things won't end well for Reiko (she was supposed to die around the time they found the skeleton and she survived.)

The happy ending is used to create a false sense of hope for the audience. The next day Ryuji sits in his study and the TV flicks on. In a truly horrific sequence, we see Sadako crawl out of the well and out of the TV set itself. At the end of her abnormal walk she stands tall, eyes wide, literally scaring the life out of Ryuiji. I think what's most effective about this scene is that there's no special lighting or shots that try to hide the monster. We see her completely as she crawls out of the television and straight into Ryuji's living room. In an age where people are adopting three dimensional televisions that are loaded with crazy features, this sequence is extremely relevant and can be considered familiar to our generation. The film ends with an open ending, as Reiko races to save her son, realizing what she must do in order to transfer the curse from him to someone else.

Frankenstein (1931)

By the 1930's, Universal Studios was in a huge financial crisis. To try to clear some of the debt the studio released two relatively cheap pictures (those being Dracula and Frankenstein). Lucky for the studio, both films were extremely successful.

Frankenstein, directed by James Whales, is based on the story of the same name by Mary Shelley. The film is a prime example of Gothic horror. Gothic horror often contains elements of romance in addition to horror and is largely characterized by the atmosphere of the film. Often times, films that make use of monsters or supernatural creatures like the Frankenstein monster or Dracula are considered to be or contain elements of Gothic horror.

From the moments the film begins we can already see glimpses of such horror. As a funeral service commences, the scientist Frankenstein and his henchman Fritz look on from behind a tombstone. After stealing the coffin from its grave and another body hanging from the gallows, Frankensteins claims that the brains are not useful, and they must find a proper brain for the experiment. It is when the return to Frankenstein's laboratory that the true horror of the situation can be felt. The castle-like tower, resting high upon the cliff, surrounded by dark storm clouds and thunder are all staples of Gothic horror. The atmosphere lays the pretense for the horror that is to come. 

Frankenstein's fiance, Elizabeth, expresses her worries over her husband's absence to her friend, Victor Moritz. They go to Dr. Waldman, Frankenstein's old medical professor, to ask what Frankenstein has been up to. After revealing that he is trying to create life from the dead, the three travel to Frankenstein's laboratory. Reluctantly letting them in, Frankenstein leads Elizabeth and the gentlemen to the room in which the monster is to be born. Through an over-the-top sequence the platform upon which the future monster rests is raised into the sky. Electric nodes and other technological marvels flash as lightning strikes the beast into life. Another element of Gothic horror, the extravagant show serves to wow the audience and strike awe in such a way that it can soon thereafter be converted into fear. Indeed, as the Frankenstein monster comes to life, it appears to be docile at first. But at the incompetence of Fritz the monster panics in fear, which is appears to be an act of aggression to its onlookers. 

The monster is locked in a dungeon, where he later strangles Fritz. Frankenstein, after realizing the horror of his experiment, drugs the monster along with Dr. Waldman, almost dying in the process. After Frankenstein leaves to prepare for his wedding, Dr. Waldman begins to operate on the monster and unexpectedly awakens him. The Frankenstein monster strangles Dr. Waldman and escapes into the countryside. 

In what may arguably be the best moment of the movie, the monster happens upon a young girl named Maria who wants to play with the beast. Maria shows him how the flowers float when thrown into the water. The creature becomes excited and in its blindness throws the young girl into the water, hoping to see her float. When the girl does not return to the surface, the monster runs in agony towards the city. This moment is so crucial to the portrayal of the monster-- in the flash from peaceful playtime to pure horror it is revealed that the monster "knows not what it does."  

With preparations of his wedding complete, Frankenstein and Elizabeth wait happily for the arrival of Dr. Waldman. Victor rushes in and informs the couple of the doctor's death. After Maria's father arrives with his child's dead body, Frankenstein's suspicions about the monster's involvement are confirmed. Along with an angry mob of townsfolk, Frankenstein rushes off into the mountains to find the creature. 

After being split from the group, Frankenstein comes face to face with his creation. After a short standoff, the monster knocks Frankenstein unconscious and carries him to the top of an old wood mill while being chased by the villagers. Blinded by rage and fear, the monster tosses the body of Frankenstein from atop the mill. The fall is broken by the windmill planes and Frankenstein is carried back to the city. The remaining villagers burn the windmill to the ground with the monster inside. 

Frankenstein truly stands the test of time, even in this day and age. There may be a few slow moments but the majority of the film flows between tension and awe at the new life that has been created. What's most remarkable is how, by the end of the film, the audience may even feel pity for the creature, who was truly misunderstood from the moment it was born. 

Nosferatu: Symphony of Horror

Nosferatu (1922), directed by F.W. Murnau, is another classic example of German Expressionism, much like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. However, instead of infusing themes of death, terror, and plague directly into the world in which the characters live, Murnau chose to fuse these together into Nosferatu himself.

The story begins with a man named Thomas Hutter, who is sent by his employer to Count Orlok's castle. Count Orlok is deemed a potential costumer to an abandoned home directly across from that of Hutter's. After warnings from locals at the inn where he spent the night, Hutter continues to Orlok's castle. When his coachmen declines to take him any closer to the castle, a coach draped in black appears to take Hutter the rest of the way.

After being dropped off by the mysterious coach, Hutter comes face to face with Count Orlok. Immediately from his appearance we may recognize that something is not normal here. This land (far removed from Hutter's hometown) and its occupant are representations of the uncanny, strange, and horrible. Hutter's visit to Count Orlok's castle inevitably brings the normal world and the uncanny together.

At dinner, Hutter cuts his thumb while eating food. The Count tries to suck the blood from Hutter's thumb, not wanting it to be wasted, but Hutter refuses. After waking up to puncture wounds on his neck, Hutter goes over the contract with Orlok. While going over the contract for the deserted home, The Count sees a picture of Hutter's wife, Ellen, and decides to purchase the home ("What a beautifully long neck she has," says Orlok.) That night, Hutter reads over a book he found at the inn about the "bird of death" (aka Nosferatu). Suspecting Orlok, he stays awake in his room until Orlok arrives in the middle of the night, revealing his true nature. Hutter falls unconscious at the sight of Orlok.

This is where we see the disgusting figure of Orlok fully for the first time. The shape of his body symbolizes that which is horrible. His sharp, beak-shaped nose, dark eyes, bald, pointed head, and grotesque fingers are all unnatural. The Count's exaggerated features mark the film as an example of German expressionism, which used unrealistic, exaggerated visuals to express feelings of horror, fear, and threat.

The true horror occurs when Orlok enters the world of the normal. The next day, Hutter awakens to find the Count sleeping in his coffin. In the evening Hutter watches in horror as Orlok stacks up coffins at an unnatural speed to be shipped to Hutter's home town. The under cranking is used effectively to give Orlok a super-human ability (speed). Hutter hurries home at the sight.

The coffins are transferred from raft to ship. A crew member pries open one coffin, allowing rats (a symbol of disease!) to pour into the ship. Soon after this, crew members are picked off one by one. One of the final crew members investigates and finds Orlok, who kills him and the captain of the ship. When the ship arrives, nothing is found but the rats and an old ship log, so the deaths are attributed to a plague. Meanwhile, we see Orlok carry his coffin to his newly purchased home.

Ellen awakens one night to find Orlok staring at her from across the way. She discovers that the only way to kill him is to expose him to sunlight, and he must be distracted by a beautiful woman for this to occur. After her first attempt her husband leaves, and Orlok makes his way to Ellen's bedroom. We see Orlock's shadow as he ascends the steps to Ellen's bed-- fear and death making its way into normalcy.
Orlok is distracted until sunrise, and dies in a puff of smoke. Hutter makes it back just before Ellen dies.  We then see Orlok's castle crumble to the ground.

As an example of expressionism, Nosferatu serves to capture feelings of dread and horror, transporting them into the normal world. Unfortunately, this film hasn't aged all too well, and drags in many moments. While the key moments are exciting, the rest of the film makes them fall flat.

Suspiria

Dario Argento's 1977 horror flick Suspiria is considered by many a classic, stealing a spot on many critics' lists of best horror films. The film falls under a category of Italian films known as 'giallo,' meaning 'thriller.' Amongst English scholars/critics this term is used specifically to describe the Italian produced thriller and horror films, and this film serves as one of, if not the, primary examples of the genre. Suspiria is generally praised for its vivid cinematography and accompanying soundtrack (performed by Italian progressive rock band Goblin). 

Taxi, I said the dance academy, not the creepy rape forest...

Indeed, Suspiria's visuals are presented quite beautifully, right from the get go. The film begins with protagonist Suzy Banyon (Jessica Harper) arriving in Munich, Germany to enter a ballet academy. On a stormy night, Suzy's taxi meanders through a random spooky forest, eventually reaching the dance academy. As Suzy approaches the entrance, a student is seen fleeing the building while muttering some words hysterically. Once Suzy realizes she won't be getting into the academy that night, the focus shifts to the fleeing student. 

The killer always gets his victims to make funny faces before he kills them. Fact. 

The student, having fled to a friend's apartment complex to spend the night, is promptly murdered by an unseen figure (surprise!). The friend managed to get caught up in the killing as well (of course). With the focus shifting back to Suzy, we follow her into the school were the headmaster and teacher are introduced. Suzy meets her fellow classmates and then manages to faint during her first dance practice. From here on, the strangeness of the academy slowly begins to reveal itself, as Suzy is quartered to her bedroom and ordered to stay in the academy until she is better.

The thing about Suspiria is that based on plot alone, it's rather dull. Not much of it makes sense, and it kind of just... happens. After the first murders occur, the film kind of trots along with a thing or two happening here or there, until it's time for the film to end. BUT, this film is not known for its plot. There's a lot of visual elements to this film that really make it a worthwhile view-- and if you know what to look out for before you watch it, you'll have a much better experience. So without further ado...

**spoilers**

Visually, Suspiria is presented as a messed up fairytale. As soon as Suzy exits the airport and jumps in the taxi, she enters this fairy tale head on. The spooky forest separates normal society from the academy, and the visuals from here on incorporate bright, saturated colors that emphasize the childish quality of fantasy stories. The apartment complex that contains the first deaths is a bright, bright red, and is filled with symmetric geometry, creating an uneasy visual that is quite appropriate for the site of a murder. 

My eyes are bleeding.  Argento, you win this round. 

In contrast, the dance academy entrance is a deep blue, and appears quite welcoming. When Suzy is later taken to her room, we see that the narrow hallway of the girls' dorms is a deep shade of red. The doors themselves have very high doorknobs, making the women appear as young girls. This representation of infancy is further accompanied by the aforementioned hallway, which symbolizes the birth canal. 

Oh, this brings back the good ol' memories, right mom?

So the students are made to appear as infants in this fairytale-- but why? Turns out the academy faculty are witches, led by the originator witch who feeds upon their youth. Oh ok, cool. The representation of infancy is taken one step further when raining maggots force the girls to retreat to a giant hall, where their beds are surrounded by a giant sheet (symbolically, the womb). 

The womb, aka gossip central. 

So how about that part where the dog eats the face off of his owner? Maybe the dog was bewitched, or maybe he was tired of sitting outside the academy everyday for hours on end. Either way, he picked a good spot to have his late night snack-- turns out that coliseum was the site of various Fascist party rallies back in the day. 

Seriously, screw this. 

The jump cut to the German dance hall before this bit may seem random, but it actually serves as a political/societal connection within the film. The infancy of the women students is juxtaposed to the dance hall and coliseum scene to signify the infant like mind set that many members of a Fascist society have.

Yeah, this seems like a good place to walk the dog. 

About this time Suzy stops drinking the medicated wine that was actually keeping her confined to the academy. After the disappearance of her friend Sarah (who dies by jumping into a pit of barbed wire while trying to escape her killer), Suzy meets with Sarah's colleagues to make some sense of what's going on in the academy. She learns that the originator was rumored to be a witch, and that a witch's followers cannot survive without the witch herself. Suzy then remembers the words that were muttered by the first student whom she ran into (Iris, secrets, blahblah). Returning to the academy, she finds the irises painted on a wall and discovers a secret passageway.

Suzy's late for a very important death I MEAN date. 

In a dream like tunnel akin to various fairytale pathways (think Alice in Wonderland), Suzy makes her way to the den that houses the academy faculty, AKA the witch's followers, who are plotting to kill Suzy. She stumbles into the den of the witch, who reanimates the bloody body of Sarah. Suzy manages to kill Sarah and the witch (thus killing the witch's underlings in doing so). As the building begins to go up in flames, Suzy makes a hasty exit to normalcy. 

The servants are nothing without their undead master.

The buildup to Suzy's discovery so disturbingly creates tension and unease within the audience by using "the uncanny." The familiar concept of the fairytale is twisted and revealed to be not so kid friendly in the end and throughout. The infancy imagery pulls the viewer in, because what is considered to be infantile usually becomes nostalgic for the viewer, and gives them a sense of familiarity and comfort. Because the "fairytale" contains murders and ultimately evil, supernatural beings, the tale is more immediately rejected. 

So. With these visual cues and themes in mind, watching Suspiria should be an entertaining experience. Just don't try too hard to understand the plot. 

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari

Ok. So these first few reviews are going to be very laid back and informal (and simple), since I haven't done this sort of thing before. I'm going to start with something I thought I was going to hate but actually ended up enjoying.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (original German title: Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari) released in 1920 and is said to be one of the most influential German silent films of the era. As a postmark of the German Expressionistic style, it uses geometrically unusual sets and art designs to convey a sense of insanity and madness. Writers Hans Janowitz and Carl Mayer insisted on using the Expressionistic style in order to properly convey the themes of the film and to evoke what the German people were feeling during the turbulent age of post-WWI Germany. 

You can see that the set is shaped in odd ways here. Sunlight is painted around the windows, and the rest of the room is a deeper, contrasting shade. Geometrically this shot is more round and flowing compared to other scenes, like this shot:

Everything is a bit more jagged here, representing the tensions that the general population was feeling and their franticness. The first screenshot shows Francis, the protagonist. Francis is presented as the sane person of this story-- the flowing geometry of his workspace seems to contribute to this depiction, as opposed to the majority of the other sets' jaggedness. 

The first time we see Francis running into the asylum may be an indication of his true nature. The floor and walls are very symmetrical; not in a way that defines sanity, but madness. The architecture and design lead to the center of the room, creating an image that (to me) confuses the mind further. Throughout the whole movie we see jagged shadows and lights painted onto the set as we learn about the truth of Dr. Caligari. However, when it is revealed at the end of the film that Francis himself is the insane individual, we learn this fact in this very room. As Francis is drawn to the middle of the room by Jane, his madness is revealed. Thus the floor design and symmetry of the room all points to him. 

The six act structure of the film, combined with the interesting imagery, makes it pretty darn viewable in an age where colorful lights and crazy soundtracks are needed to hold the interest of many audiences.  It's also important to note that this one of the first instances in film where a framed story is used to reveal the protagonist's altered mental state at the end of the film. Since this story telling method is seen in a lot of modern films, the importance of viewing this film is made that much more significant.