Jocelin Donahue – Consumed By Film

Director: James Wan

Release Date: September 13th, 2013 (UK and US)

Genre: Horror; Thriller

Starring: Rose Bryne, Patrick Wilson, Ty Simpkins

The second instalment in James Wan’s scary adventure opens with a game of ‘Hot and Cold’, where Participant A uses temperature to gauge Participant B’s closeness to a particular destination. Only, it should be rechristened ‘Manufacturing Scares’ because that’s exactly what the game is implemented for. In fact, the moment is indicative of Insidious: Chapter 2 as a whole, a film that lacks invention and overly relies on horror commonalities. Before the final credits roll we watch as characters partake in a Ouija circle, find a ghostly videotape and visit an abandoned hospital. (Guess what? It’s haunted). Discounting the occasional splurge of genuinely creep imagery, Chapter 2 is much the same as the first chapter but without the benefit of a new-born shine.

After a brief venture down memory lane — the origin of Josh Lambert’s (Patrick Wilson) uncanny ability is relayed — we realign with the present where the Lambert household isn’t exactly settled. The grizzly death of paranormal investigator Elise (Lin Shaye) has caused a stir, and Renai’s (Rose Bryne) subsequent questioning by a police detective in regards to her husband Josh’s potential involvement in Elise’s demise is also inducing internal strain; he seems different, evidently cockier. Her beau’s strange demeanour ain’t even the worst of it: the evil spirits are back and once again preying on Renai’s family.

If retreading old ground was an Olympic sport, Insidious: Chapter 2 would be blaring out the US national anthem with a gold medal hanging not-so-proudly around its camera lens. The title sequence is a carbon copy of what came before; aided by a congregation of piercing strings, blood red letters boom on screen and form the once foreboding INSIDIOUS inscription. It is sort of scary but the impact is far lesser here than was felt at the beginning of the premier output. Said string instrumental is part of the same score as before and, again, might have been quite unsettling if not for its overuse.

The familiarities aren’t simply local though, they arrive from afar. Chapter 2 has a number of its hands in a number of stagnant terror traits — James Wan meshes together haunted houses, desolate hospitals, alarming photographs and more in a hodgepodge horror pie that more resembles eight undercooked slices than a well-done whole. We’ve seen it all before, just one film ago in fact, and Chapter 2 struggles to stand upright on its own as a result.

The various elements don’t converse fluently either. If the first half is often predictable, the second is occasionally undecipherable. It’s a mess, really. Leigh Whannell’s screenplay devolves into a plethora of timelines and various existences. The writer dusts off his acting chops when a singular focus might have served proceedings better. Older and younger selves meet, but they don’t really. (Or do they?) Jocelin Donahue joins in at this point but her previous genre achievements fail to rub off this time around. Indeed, as far as haunted house epidemics go, The House of the Devil is in another league. Some effort is made to tie up loose ends, it’s just a shame that these loose ends end up in a tangle. As far as the film’s predictability goes, we tend to know the plan before the characters do: “If only Elise were here to help us.” If only. Watch out for two tin cans and a string as well. Something spooky oughta happen there.

Given the film carries a tone that pangs with dishevelled nostalgia, it’s probably to nobody’s surprise that some of the acting is camp. Patrick Wilson plays Josh Lambert but with a noticeable sprinkle of added aplomb to his voice, so much so that you’d think something was wrong with the father/husband. Despite his attempt to be eerie and serious, Wilson’s allure edges ever closer to humorous as the film progresses. It’s not meant to be funny, but it is. Rose Byrne is always reliable and provides a solid anchor for the uninspired narrative. Ty Simpkins also has more to offer than first time around, though admittedly he did spent the previous instalment almost entirely in a coma. Leigh Whannell and Angus Simpson’s comedic duo is a completely jarring inclusion. Unlike Wilson’s turn as Josh, the pair are supposed to funny but spend their time on screen spouting cringe-worthy material.

Though infrequent, James Wan does unveil some of the well-furnished horror magic that he has deftly applied in the past. Much like in The Conjuring, Wan finds prosperity in some seriously disturbing imagery. Hairs raise as menacing-eyed, widely-grinning faces flash before us for only a split second, but it’s enough to leave a dent in our previously unscathed fright-barometer. Moments such as this one catch us off-guard, however unlike the inferior jump scares that consume the rest of Chapter 2, these images are themselves intrinsically ominous and therefore contextually justified. The film actually bares a well-oiled look and one of its better moments comes near the beginning: a slow pan from pitch black into a moody, dark room. Lugging a plot that can barely hold itself together without succumbing to old ways and characters that don’t really command our attention, Wan’s dexterity when it comes to imagery is at least one spooky success.

Insidious: Chapter 2 spends an hour playing with second-hand toys before it takes to doodling with permanent markers and resultant mess-making. Aside from teaching us not to have babies (they’re a real nuisance when ghouls attack) and treating us to one or two authentic frights by way of scary visuals, Wan’s outing is purposeless.

At one point Josh says, “All you have to do is ignore them and they’ll go away”. I’ve stopped listening.

Images credit: IMP Awards, Collider

Images copyright (©): FilmDistrict, Stage 6 Films

Director: Ti West

Release Date: October 30th, 2009 (US limited)

Genre: Horror

Starring: Jocelin Donahue, Tom Noonan, Greta Gerwig

Ti West must have endured the most haunted of houses during his childhood, because only through first-hand experience can somebody gain, preserve and later paint such an enticing scary picture. Both a thematic precursor to his 2011 spook-gala The Innkeepers and a nostalgic nod to horror in general, The House of the Devil serves up a cauldron full of tension and idiosyncratic peculiarities. Framed within a B movie context where babysitters are in danger, wooden houses creak with undesirable exaggeration and a grainy glaze smoulders from the screen, the film embodies the work of a director smart enough to create a piece that stands out in its maturity whilst also retaining key horror tropes. West admirably holds back in an area where many others have succumbed to generic jump-scares and gore, instead teasing and withholding clarification before building to a timely, creepy crescendo. Paying homage to the haunted house flicks of the 70s and 80s, The House of the Devil concludes the greatest fear is that which cannot be explained, and sometimes the unexplainable thrives inside four walls.

Struggling for cash and trying to fend off a landlady breathing down her neck, Samantha (Jocelin Donahue) throws her name in the babysitting hat. After an odd conversation or two over the phone, she accepts a job offer at short notice given the monetary incentive. Upon reaching her office for the night — a secluded manor hidden amongst the arching trees and a wispy fog — Samantha meets the voice on the other end of her phone calls, Mr. Ulman (Tom Noonan), whose edgy nature reflects the pair’s recent kooky interactions. In fact, Mr. Ulman’s demeanour ain’t the only bizarre manifestation, and it looks like Samantha is in for a long night. Pizza, anybody?

Undoubtedly, The House of the Devil’s greatest strength is its restraint; both from divulging all of the answers immediately, and from rashly conceding to the genericism that has hampered the land of fright — or not — in recent years. Here, mystery shrouds all. Noises echo without a source. Light switches don’t exist in their usual spot on the wall. From the get-go, and even more so when goings-on reach the ill-fated haunted house, there extrinsically exists an offbeat ambiance. Ti West generates a tone that always promises an explosion of manic torment — we’re fully aware that things could kick-off at any moment — but one that relentlessly goads the viewer as tension creeps higher and higher. An inspired tactic, really.

Jeff Grace’s score drones one moment, as if signalling an inert-yet-eerie mundanity, before tingling the ears with sharp bursts that are of the genre but difficult to pinpoint. The cinematography too, relayed by Eliot Rockett, adds to an underlying sense of confusion as the camera stalks Samantha around the house, watching her, waiting for something to frighten; for a head to grace a mirror, or a silhouette to find the shadows, or a figure to appear from behind a door. Samantha often peers from windows and, as the camera pans backwards, we see her for the stranded victim that she is, unbeknown, trapped inside a house that evoked warnings signs way before the front door rattled its hinges to greet our protagonist.

West successfully bolsters this unwavering feeling of mystery and disorientation by suggesting a splatter-fest early on, and subsequently reshuffling the narrative towards the aforementioned suspense-fuelled happenings. Certainly, The House of the Devil avoids any universal horror trap holes, yet the film still reverberates B movie vibes that are welcomed rather than denounced. The premise hardly emits intuition, whereas the execution does entirely and therein lies the success. Characters find a place on the caricature spectrum and remain there throughout; the tall Mr. Ulman’s exasperated oddness contrasts his wife’s sheik, Gothic appearance — it’s not lost on the viewer that she ascends from the basement — and Samantha’s goofy friend Megan is seemingly only able to speak hokily (“How d’ya like them apples?”). Upon conclusion we are greeted by grimy yellow credits, though not before a series of exceedingly haunting flashing imagery. Off-putting in the hands of another, these familiar tropes work effectively here because they coincide with West’s unusually, expertly, tentative approach.

Though not as concise as the narrative, and also slightly constrained by common characters, the performances are solid. Leading the way as Samantha, Jocelin Donahue displays the type of defiant resolve towards the beginning that ends up getting you in trouble, before steadily warping into a paranoid employee. If only she’d listened to her mate Megan, played by Greta Gerwig, whose “it’s too good to be true” caution warrants observation. Gerwig doesn’t have an awful lot to do here, though going by her recent work there’s no questing the Californian’s acting prowess. The most enjoyable performance is evasive and intriguing, delivered by Tom Noonan as Mr. Ulman. Noonan’s unassured motions are the source from which mystery and unusualness sprinkle, aided by his knack for not directly answering questions (“No, not exactly…”). Mary Woronov has little to do as Mrs. Ulman, and A. J. Bowen also makes a fruitless appearance, consolidating the problem that sees one character too many materialise. Listen out for the voice of Girls favourite Lena Dunham.

Ti West is purposeful in direction, creating an atmosphere of ascending dread and hopeless lunacy. His meticulous input sees fear spawn from peculiarity, so much so that even nuances such as the tallness of a stranger promotes creep, and this execution thrives alongside a grin-inducing B movie panache. The House of the Devil is an appreciative mishmash of horror; from haunted house to satanic ritual to psychological thriller, with a gloss of gore. Wait until the end too, for when that inevitable crescendo hits, there may yet be a surprise in store.