Come on in [The Uninvited]

The Uninvited [PG-13]
Grade: A
Cast: Emily Browning, Elizabeth Banks, Arielle Kebbel, David Strathairn
Director: Thomas and Charles Guard

Let me begin my review of The Uninvited with an old war story from my earliest days of writing these things.

This story is, above all, a confession of a lack of nerve. In my first few months of film writing, as I was just getting my feet under me, I watched a romantic comedy that I thought was far above the typical fare. I thought long and hard about giving it a four-star review. However, deep down, I accepted the “just a rom-com,” theory. I couldn’t conceive of giving it a grade above a certain level. So, while still recommending it, I talked myself into a lower grade.

I regret that decision to this day. The film, the Ashton Kutcher-Amanda Peet effort A Lot Like Love, remains the best generic romantic comedy that I have seen as a film critic. And I can still tell you why. It had a semi-real director, and therefore a few moments of visual touch. It drained Kutcher of his Kutcher-ness and found something likably Midwestern in his mien. Most of all, it gave a crap about its characters. As a result you rooted for them. You’d be surprised how far a little caring goes.

So lesson learned. And today applied. As weird as this is to say, The Uninvited is the best generic horror flick that I’ve seen as a critic. I suspect it will be several laps around the sun before I like one more. I wouldn’t say it is original. It is a remake of a Korean horror film, A Tale of Two Sisters, after all. I would say, though, that it’s perfectly effective. It zigged and I zagged. Its ending, while not perfectly original, swiped me with a shock left.

The genius of this gothic horror story (and, yes, that word is too strong, but eh, there it is.) is that the story is not a horror film at all. But the main character, a bubbly, baby-faced wrist-slitter named Anna, convinces us that she’s stuck in one. Yes, there are supernatural freak-outs. Ghosts and ghouls. Apparitions and hallucinations. This film knows many horror-show tropes. Yet it manages to resist. I might go so far as to call the whole horror thing a bit of a maguffin. A throwaway. A marketing masquerade for a stranger story.

Fueled not by gore but by female pacts and jealousies, the debut feature of directors Thomas and Charles Guard is underlined by Freudian touches and a vague eroticism. The film’s strength lays in the bond between Anna and her rebellious wiseass sister, Alex ( a solid Emily Browning and a standout Arielle Kebbel, respectively). Kindred and vibrant spirits, they isolate themselves in a beehive of paranoia upon Anna’s returns from a mental hospital. She still cannot remember details about the death of their incapacitated mother, lost in a mysterious boathouse explosion at their oceanside Maine estate. Their suspicions of murder fall on Rachael (Elizabeth Banks), their mother’s nurse and father’s mistress, who is now the lady of the house. Her tastes run to tranquilizers, other people’s money, and long, sharp knives. Just ask the roast.

I find horror films refreshing from time to time. It’s deliciously simple filmmaking. The cinematic language is so direct. Creeking doors. Ringing bells. Sensitivity to light and shade. Even if these things melted into cliché long ago, the style remains extraordinarily aware to the quiet beauty and terror of nature. That applies to the lushly lit cinematography, intoxicated by the seaside landscape. The film needs a credit for God for creating British Columbia.

Some critics will grouse about the horror clichés – a bloody ghost, dead child spirits, and the like. Mostly, these feel like they came attached to a wad of money – fodder for the necessary commercials. Yet those paying attention will notice something different. Rather than easily reveal secrets, as ghosts would do in most horror films, they confuse. They obfuscate. They send these Hardy Girls on goose chases. The film uses cliché to attack cliché. In essence, they subvert the form, creating a post-modern film with a very casual stroke.

While not comparing The Uninvited in quality, it spiritually derives from an impressive roster of films – such as Rebecca and Diabolique. It’s not about making spines tingle. It’s about being wound in a web, slowly and deeply and completely.

There is a moment as we approach the climax when Anna escapes her wicked stepmother and takes her evidence to the local sheriff. He nods in understanding. Then he leaves her in the office. And she wakes up while being attacked. At least, that’s how Anna sees it. And that’s how we see it, too. This is the mark of the film’s accomplishment, our slow, silent, complete cocooning inside this character’s perspective. Arthouse directors sometimes will go for being so completely wrapped into a character’s perspective . And yet here it is in a Hollywood horror movie. The film is much more than it will appear to some eyes.

Surprise, surprise

So sometimes you go to a film and find it is much better than you expected walking in. I had that experience with a film last night. Total surprise.

Backlash away

Dennis Lim takes on the question of Slumdog and accuracy/fantasy. Meanwhile, Noah Forrest at Movie City News takes a baseball bat to The Reader. The part about Stephen Daldry obviously being the world's greatest director is quite humorous.

John Updike, rest in peace

Love him or oppose him, John Updike was the epitome of post-war establishment Americal76iterature. He passed today at the age of 76.

Slumdog and SAG

With its SAG win for Best ensemble cast, it looks like Slumdog Millionaire is headed for a Best Picture win. If that many actors are overlooking the fact that, Irfan Kahn aside, the acting in Slumdog isn't really its strong point, then it must be an indication that they are looking for ways to honor the film.

Does Slumdog Millionaire portray a "White Man's version of India?"

Bringing a book to life [Inkheart]

Inkheart [PG]
Grade: C
Cast: Brendan Fraser, Eliza Bennett, Paul Bettany, Andy Serkis, Helen Mirren, Sienna Guillory, Jennifer Connelly
Director: Iain Softley

In Inkheart, Brendan Fraser loses his wife in a bizarre book-reading accident.

As a professional bookbinder, the silver screen’s newest big-time child-herder is a “silver tongue” a person who can literally bring a story to life simply by reading out loud. He releases a cast of knife-wielding meanies from the pages of an adventure book called Inkheart. But it isn’t a free lunch. His wife gets sucked into the book. That leaves him to wander the earth in search of another copy.

Even without a mother, he raises his daughter Maggie so well that she turns out English. They move around in pursuit of a rare copy of Inkheart. When he finally finds one in a European bookstore, one of the released characters, a rogue (Paul Bettany), finds him. Armed henchmen aren’t far behind. A Vokswagen bus is not an ideal getaway car.

Soon they’re lost in a book, trapped in a fairy-tale castle on top of a mountain so remote that even the tax assessors seem to have missed it. It’s the hideout for Capricorn (Andy Serkis), the novel’s Bwahaha-ing evil bad guy. So with a minotaur, The Wizard of Oz’ flying monkeys, and Peter Pan’s ticking crocodile, they await their execution in an underground dungeon. Where’s a good copy of The Slaughterhouse-Five when you need it?

Helen Mirren plays a book-collecting aunt. Jennifer Connelly does a dialogue-free cameo as a faraway maiden. Is this an awkwardly placed paragraph? Well, it’s awkwardly placed casting.

A good concept. I would say yes. Director Iain Softley’s fairy tale does best when it jokes with its concept, bringing Toto to life, for instance, with a signature one-liner about being in Kansas . Unlike other recent Harry-Potter-alikes, the story, based on the children’s books of Cornelia Funke, has a certain post-modern metafictional touch that I find appealing. Yet as film, it never really leaps off the page. For a film about stories being lifted from the page, the film seems like it would feel more comfortable right back there rather than the big screen.

Oscars

I'll leave it to Christopher Orr at The New Republic to sum up my feelings about the Oscar noms. He does it very succinctly and accurately. I would only say that I'm happier with the Best Actress noms than he is. I think it's a case of his preferred picks getting left out. I like all those noms. Hathaway is probably my favorite. I haven't seen The Reader, but Winslet was a revelation is Revolutionary Road. The more I think about Streep, the more I think she so dominated the film that Hoffman got lost. Melissa Leo, I haven't seen, but I've loved her since back to Homicide. Jolie is the mess. Yes, indeed, you can cry your way to an Oscar nod.

About The Dark Knight snub - as I've argued elsewhere around the Web, it was that rare opportunity where the Academy could have nominated a popular and critical uber-success. They chose middlebrow forgetability, instead. If this were last year and TDK were left out in favor of No Country, Zodiac, Jesse James, Once, and There Will Be Blood, I would understand. But this year? Makes no sense.

First reaction ....

Did they just nominate The Reader and leave off The Dark Knight?

If so, they are going to deserve their lousy ratings.

And if so, I don't have a dog in the Best Picture hunt. Usually three or four of my top 10-15 films are in there. Not this year. Zero of my top ten. Milk might be in my top 15.

Have another drink, Nora

I'm on a Thin Man kick. So if they were going to make a new Nick and Nora movie, either a period piece or a modern update, who should play Nick and Nora?

Naturally, all the answers are on IMDB. Some people over there think Robert Downey Jr. would make a natural Nick Charles. Can't argue with that choice. Armond White.

Inaugural note

Listening to the Inauguration today, it reminded me of something, something that nobody is supposed to say out loud, especially a writer.

Poetry sucks.

There. I said it.

Today's poetry is particularly offensive - meandering and meaningless. I like a little poetry, assorted TS Eliot, Dylan Thomas, etc., but I'm not sure there's been a poet worth his or her salt in fifty years.

If you want to know why I so oppose movies moving toward elitism, just listen to that poem and see what it's done for poetry.

And another one, too

Number 6 himself, Patrick McGoohan, too, finally leaves The Village. Will the man upstairs be an ape, or himself?