Hello and welcome to Denouement Renouement! I’m an amateur writer who’s passionate about film and am hoping to broaden my knowledge through writing reviews. I have no formal education in film criticism and have no editor, but am doing my best to learn as I go. This is a 100% anti-AI space. New posts every Tuesday and Friday, anything on top of that is a bonus. Happy reading!
– C. Ramsay
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About
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Hooptober 13: Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981)
Film #14 — 2/5 Sequels
Also filed under: Video Nasties Project #4
By C. Ramsay
Set five years after the horrors of the previous massacre, the second installment in the Friday the 13th franchise offers essentially the same plot as the first, with a handful of additions and changes, even going so far as to provide a full recap of the original film within the opening five minutes. Returning with another incredible score is composer Harry Manfredini, who builds off of his initial work to make it far more grating, leading the story into its next relentless chapter. There are some other familiar faces who return among the cast, too, but most of the roles consist of new characters. However, mismatched with the general feel already established from the first film is an odd choice in title card design, which is too outlandish to really fit in with the rest of the movie, yet the rest of the movie also has some weird stylistic choices that make it seem like it’s at times making fun of itself and at times not. For all of its upsides, it’s difficult to tell exactly what kind of an experience Friday the 13th Part 2 is going for, and this muddled tone bogs down an otherwise well-crafted project.
Since the plot is so similar to the previous film, director Steve Miner introduces new methods to the technical approaches which, in retrospect, helped to expand on what are now associated with being the typical slasher conventions. Point-of-view camerawork is once again implemented, but this time rather than keeping to a first-person view, we’re often found to be trailing the killer, stuck operating with only glimpses of his feet or legs to indicate what might be about to happen. To keep the tension high, the camerawork deliberately builds off of the mechanics of the filmmaking in the first movie to wrong-foot the audience, leveraging our predetermined associations as to what certain shots or narrative flourishes might mean against us. The camera is also exceptionally patient in how it moves for any perspective shot, allowing the people being stalked to go at their own pace and forcing us as viewers to sit with that patience, even when it feels mundane. There is a complete lack of concern regarding any of the characters escaping, like it’s an intrinsic fact that they are each already a victim, so there’s no need to rush in fulfilling the moniker.
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Hooptober 13: Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977)
Film #12 — 1/5 Sequels
By C. Ramsay
Being the widely panned follow-up to what’s often considered one of the greatest horror movies ever made, contrarily garnering its own reputation as being one of the worst, Exorcist II: The Heretic has in recent time begun to be reevaluated and is not nearly as bad as the connotation of its notoriety despite still having some glaring issues. Some sections can feel somewhat slow and dull, and much of the core plot structure is culturally irresponsible and racist. Having been rewritten to hell as shooting was taking place, the script is the most flawed component of the production, faltering primarily in its dialogue and by repeatedly giving more importance to the visuals than to continuity or the basic sense of some scenes. While it’s not difficult to follow the broader plot points and overall story, the intricacies of how everything connects are not always apparent. The pacing is generally a little off, with certain storylines cutting abruptly to others in an attempt to provide more characterization, but instead resulting in a growing disconnect.
The pacing of individual scenes, rather than how they flow together, is much better done. The initial hypnosis scene is arguably the standout, taking its time in building some fantastic tension that’s then used to inform the feeling of the rest of the film. Although it’s odd that Dr. Tuskin, the character of Regan’s therapist, is for some reason adamantly nonchalant about having pioneered a working telekinesis machine, its inclusion in the story is taken more straightforward and therefore requires a basis of non-existent science, something that’s for the most part handled well. The audience is introduced to how the machine functions via a visual walkthrough with some exposition being presented as instructions for other people in the room, allowing us to follow what’s happening and why without needing the exact breakdown. At a certain point the explanations circle back to being more than what’s necessary, though, teetering once again into the territory of bad writing. The inability to successfully see certain scenes through causes the points where the tension should be culminating to actually be some of the least tense moments, the focus being erroneously placed on trying to show off effects that aren’t always as impressive as they seem like they were expected to be. Part of what makes the initial hypnosis scene so effective is its simplicity, and the more elaborate the subsequent sessions become, the less effective they are.
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Hooptober 13: Eaten Alive (1976)
Film #11 — 1/1 Tobe Hooper Film
Also filed under: Video Nasties Project #2
By C. Ramsay
Shot entirely on a soundstage with only a small variety of sets to cycle through, Tobe Hooper’s 1976 slasher feature Eaten Alive follows Judd, the psychotic owner of a run-down hotel in a Texas bayou who kills any of his guests who rub him the wrong way and feeds them to the giant crocodile that’s moved into his swamp. A deeply uncomfortable film from its opening moments, its brutality is kept at its surface, fully visible and never far off. The red lighting used to illuminate much of the hotel set, a stylistic choice rather than one meant to express realism, adds to the vileness of the location by muting all other warm tones, making everything look washed out and sickly. The stage of dilapidation that the hotel is in is noticeable at every turn, with peeling paint and wallpaper, water stains, and stacks of clutter in some places but too much empty space in others to name a few of the many visual cues that stand out. The set design is foul, and the people trudging around it do so as if they’re struggling through viscera.
Neville Brand as Judd is terrifyingly deranged, maximizing his facial expressions during scenes of violence and throwing his full weight and stature into the choreography of the fights. Routinely turning on a dime, Brand somehow makes his character come across as meek and bumbling before his bursts of anger inexorably take over. Although the audience is not given much insight into Judd’s background, we do see what looks like a large Nazi flag draped over some furniture at one point. Whether his politics have led to his current state of delusion or his delusions have led him to grasp at extremist ideals is unclear. However, Judd’s state of mind does directly lead to his misperception that he and the crocodile he feeds are both animals who function off of the same needs, and more than once we see him trying to justify his actions as instinctual rather than outright murder. Almost all of the men in the film are dangerously predatory in different ways. Judd is the one we spend the most time with, but the opening scene features Robert Englund as recurrent sex pest Buck. We also meet William Finley as father of the year, Roy, who’s extremely mentally unwell, emotionally abusive, and jumps to threats of violence. All three were already on the brink of snapping, and by the time we as the viewer are brought into the story, all three are in the same proximity.
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Hooptober 13: Shriek of the Mutilated (1974)
Film #10 — 1/1 Extra Credit Film
By C. Ramsay
When a group of anthropology students travel to a remote location to do research with their professor, an aggressive Yeti begins hunting them down one by one. This is a baffling film that’s best described as having the feel of an unacquired, R-rated Scooby-Doo spec script. Even with distinguished exploitation filmmaker Roberta Findlay helming the cinematography, the working budget was extremely small and the project faced some other production issues—notably from director-editor Michael Findlay, of whom Roberta was estranged—resulting in low production value. Many scenes are expanded by using filler shots that run too long, that were already used, or that focus too often on capturing a facial expression that’s unnecessary in contributing to the mood of the scene, usually instead detracting from it. There are some creative workarounds used to portray some conceptually difficult scenes in spite of the budget, but these also aren’t executed very well and the film consequently leaves a tumultuous legacy without much else.
Full of mysticism and racial stereotypes, Shriek of the Mutilated is perhaps a tamer entry into the exploitation genre, but one fitting of the classification just the same. Although there are some really funny moments, it’s difficult to tell if they’re meant to be serious or not, and some of the scenes are inexplicably shot and edited in a style that resembles low-budget adventuring movies from the ’30s. There is essentially no consistent atmosphere cultivated for the movie aside from its own brand of inconsistency.
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Hooptober 13: The Crazies (1973)
Film #9 — 1/1 Romero Film
By C. Ramsay
Also known as Code Name: Trixie, The Crazies features some truly disturbing moments, the worst of which come up suddenly and are over before the full gravity of their imagery can be understood. The opening sequence establishes this legacy in a scene where a man goes insane, kills his wife, and sets his home on fire, severely burning his two young children in the process. Apprehended by the police and screaming lunacies from the car, this man is only the first we see of many who succumb to a highly transmissible virus that has made it into the town’s water supply. Any hope we briefly have during the opening events of the film is stifled faster than it can grow, making everything that follows feel tense and completely unpredictable.
Feeding into this tension is the purposefully choppy editing that, though present for much of the film, is most concentrated at the beginning. Before everything comes to a head in Evans City, Pennsylvania, any related components from the storylines of different people are presented through interspersed clips as a way to transition between narratives. Adding to this disarray is an overwhelming score and sound effects, mostly percussive, that make everything disorienting and contribute to the unpredictability, especially in the borderline humour of it all.
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Hooptober 13: Ganja & Hess (1973)
Film #8 — 1/1 Film by a Black Director
Also filed under: A-One
By C. Ramsay
“He’s an addict. He’s not a criminal, he’s a victim.”
So pleads Rev. Luther Williams in defense of his boss, Dr. Hess Green, an upper class, Black anthropologist who was stabbed by his assistant with a ceremonial dagger that initiates vampiric symptoms. As Hess adapts to his new state he seeks companionship from someone who can identify with him on an experiential level, taking for granted the support of his staff and overlooking the love of his existing family. Broken into chapters, the story amplifies the anticipation we feel as we know we’re building to something but have no idea what. What quickly becomes obvious, however, is that the film is much less reliant on linear narrative than it is the visual renditions of its own philosophies, oscillating from story to metaphor to feeling and back.
Early on the viewer is given a personal moment with George Meda, Dr. Green’s assistant who’s played by director Bill Gunn, as he reads a philosophical letter he’s written that denounces the participation of Black boys in philosophical thinking. He argues in part that it alienates the ability to learn by narrowing the thought process to conventional standards, and that these standards are already unfairly projected onto the Black community and should not be humoured in an effort to assimilate. Though full of contradictions, each part has the potential for some element of truth depending on the approaching perspective, and in its entirety Meda declares that in life’s endless cycling, love is the only thing worthwhile. He then kills himself, and the film uses superimposed and interspliced shots over the course of the rest of its runtime to blend its central philosophy and praxis, recalling different moments in time as one, and synthesizing cultural experiences across time and space.
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Hooptober 13: Diabeł (The Devil) (1972)
Film #7 — 1/1 Film With ‘Devil’ in the Title; 2/6 Countries (Poland)
By C. Ramsay
From director Andrzej Żuławski, Diabeł is yet another two hours of breathtaking filmmaking that forces the audience through an onslaught of uncomfortable scenes in order to experience it. Set shortly after the Second Partition of Poland in 1793, we’re dropped immediately into the heart of despair—a prison in which we meet Jakub, a dissident who is freed by a stranger we come to recognize as the Devil—and from the opening moments the film captures the filthiest levels of depravity, exploring the muck of humanity from within.
A technical marvel, the exact timeline is completely fragmented and indefinable, making every minute we spend following Jakub around feel twice as long, yet no less important. The lack of specificity around this timeline draws out the emotional aspects of the storytelling structure instead of the logical ones, flowing in a stream-of-consciousness style rather than relying on rationality. The camera flows the same way the narrative does, often wandering, or at least not keeping completely still. In the occasional instances when the camera’s fixed, the people are not, but generally both are anything but stationary. Even in the tamest shots the camera will sway gently while staying focused on its subject, creating a jarringly hypnotic effect while complete pandemonium takes place in the background. There is a visual anxiety that hovers over the film, haunting the audience with layers of unpredictability.
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Hooptober 13: Valerie a týden divů (Valerie and Her Week of Wonders) (1970)
Film #6 — 2/3 Wildcard Films; 1/6 Countries (Czechoslovakia); 5/9 Decades
By C. Ramsay
Part of the Czechoslovak New Wave, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is a coming-of-age surrealist and folkloric tale that’s as optimistic as it is terrifying. The titular character is a 13-year-old girl still mesmerized by the allure of childhood when she’s suddenly thrown into a medley of situations well beyond her years, desperately seeking to surface from beneath the weight of her nightmarish reverie. Throughout her days she seeks to reassess her connection to herself, her friends and family, her love interests and those she realizes are preying on her, her religion, and above all, her sexuality, but in order to apply herself to doing so she must also learn to combat the influence and forces outside of her control.
The opening credits are stylized to convey innocence, using white title cards and constant fades to white, script font, and choir music as a backdrop to the activities that Valerie enjoys, which mostly consist of resting, walking, swimming, and spending time with animals. Her room serves as a haven of purity, a refuge presented in the lightness of almost entirely white decor, free of clutter and all of the people Valerie is otherwise incessantly harassed by. The world outside this space is not wholly unfamiliar or uninviting, though. There’s beauty and lightness everywhere, showcased through gorgeous shot composition that makes everything look and feel dreamlike. Much of the film is slightly overexposed which, especially for things like water and dew, brings out the iridescence on a lot of the small details in frame, adding naturally dazzling accents that Valerie is frequently drawn to. In all areas there is community for Valerie to be a part of and people willing to give her support when she needs it. What troubles her in this new stage of life is that she also begins to witness those willing to exploit the individuals in her community and their collectivity.
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Hooptober 13: Carnival of Souls (1962)
Film #5 — 1/3 Wildcard Films
By C. Ramsay
Opening immediately with a road race that spirals out of control over a bridge, leading to a bad accident in which a young woman named Mary Henry is the only survivor from her car, Carnival of Souls starts big before settling into a simmer for the rest of its run. The aftermath is what matters most, emphasizing Mary’s state of mind as she tries to get her life back on track after moving to a new town to start over. Plagued by visions and struggling to socialize, she teeters somewhere between madness and enlightenment, seemingly terrified of whichever way she might end up falling.
Running off an extremely small budget, perfecting the atmosphere of the film was a necessity to counterbalance the limited options available for presenting the story. Cuts are often used at irregular moments to help convey the fractured sense of time that Mary keeps during her mental and social recovery, and liquid is sometimes poured over the lens mid-shot to visibly warp the world as Mary sees it. Many shots are also used to either play with scale or capture the background, foreground, and Mary in ways that begin to look like they’re blending together, heightening the agoraphobia that she experiences after the crash. The audio is creatively mixed in order to blur what can be heard by both the characters and the audience, or simply the audience. Rhythmic sound effects—the chiming of a store entrance, the sounds of car trouble, creaking doors, and wind—are used at regular intervals while also being interspersed with sudden vacuums of silence. Accompanying these more commonplace sounds is an organ score that’s both eerie and lulling, at times overlaid and at others diegetic, allowing the viewer to sonically identify with Mary’s worsening distress.
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