For Halloween: what does fear sound like? A scream..?

When you consider how many different people get giddy over Halloween (the event) and its namesake movie from 1978, you might ask yourself and your friends…”So how would you like to be scared today?”  (Can you imagine being asked that question when you amble into a haunted house attraction?)

Fear isn’t a scream.  Fear triggers your scream.  Do you remember the tagline from the film, Alien, from 1979, (that I still can’t see as horror, but only as science fiction): “In space, no one can hear you scream.”  Let’s consider fear expressed as sound.  Many of us have discovered that the seductive and counter-intuitive magic that pushes us toward horror is sound, specifically the music or even the silence that precedes it.

Neil Lerner, a musicologist at Davidson College, and author of “Music in the Horror Film,” and, Steve Connor, the science editor for England’s “The Independent,” have identified some of the illusive kinds of music that creep us out, and keep us coming back to test our fight or flight reflexes.  Some readers, thinking back to the 1980s, may debate the potency of movie music.  The 1980s era was chock full of a compulsion toward shock, satisfying teens’ appetite for gore.  There, entrails and brain matter abound like some moist, chunky and sloppy confetti of flesh.  While gore does something for you, the music is probably the true engine of that tension.

Consider Halloween’s original theme: Nearly unforgettable. 

As an example, from an article by “The Independent’s,” Mr. Connor,  “Imagine a horn. You blow it gently and a nice sound comes out…   At some point, when you blow it too hard, the sound gets unpredictable, distorted and noisy.”  That’ll tweak or trigger your tension.

Do you remember what Albert Einstein, yes the genius physicist, said about imagination versus intelligence?  The most potent tool in horror, and in storytelling in general, is imagination.  The second most potent tool is probably how music gives us cues about how we should feel at any moment.   The individual and personal ways that we take in and respond to that chaotic and distorted music determine whether we’ll be scared enough to pee our pants or scared toward a heart attack.

Now, the remix for the 2000s:

Familiar, modern and creepy.

As with almost every film, the music and sound design set the scene and the mood; but particularly so, with horror, Mr. Connor says in that article, “It was only in horror and drama that the scientists found a significant use of non-linear sound to amplify an iconic scene’s emotional content…”

When he discusses Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, from 1960,  based on the novel, from 1959, by Robert Bloch, which was inspired by vague details about Wisconsin’s deranged Ed Gein, Mr. Connor said, “…the discordant musical notes he (Mr. Hitchcock) was adding to the disturbing shower scene were in fact based on the sort of non-harmonic sounds used in the distress calls of wild animals.”

From “the shower scene” (and don’t be like, “what shower scene?”) from Psycho.

Consider Psycho and Halloween – and if you’re an enthusiastic cinéphile, The Phantom of the Opera, with Lon Chaney, which flaunted its organ music – among a bevy of other horror titles. Neil Lerner, a musicologist at Davidson College, in Davidson, NC, and author of “Music in the Horror Film,” refers to “Horror film’s repetitious drones, clashing dissonances, and stingers (those assaultive blasts that coincide with shock or revelation) affect us at a primal level…” which harken back to privative instincts that ignore entirely however much education, breeding or sense of class you have.  No matter how smart you are, that film, which ever one, will still scare the pants off of you.  Here’s an interview with him, which includes a lengthy excerpt from the Phantom’s organ.  But here, in a college article, Prof. Lerner discusses the kind of music that propels horror films and our senseless return to them.

Well, many of us have discovered that horror movie sound, specifically the music, helps those stories to make our hairs stand on end, and ourselves on-edge.  I guess that’s part of why we’re crazy enough to flock back…for the love of Fear.

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“Cell 211″ an uncommon prison riot film, with a love story

Cell 211 is a perverse melding of a charming love story, which turns wistful, and a prison uprising spanning one day, and which might remind you of the Attica prison uprising in 1971.  This day in Juan Oliver’s (Alberto Ammann) life can go down as the most absurd and tragic almost first day on the job.

Mistaken identity is at the story’s core: Juan’s injured by an accident, his tour guides, and future peers place him in a newly empty cell, 211, just at the moment that the inmates take the prison – That moment upturns his life.  The inmates, and their leader Malamadre (Luis Tosar) mistake him for one of them and he must play along in order to live.  If the consequences weren’t dire – death or worse – it would make a black comedy.

Juan and Malamadre in the beginning

This is a Spanish language film, by Daniel Monzón, with bits of Basque thrown in, and subtitles in white.  Cell 211 opens on August 6th, in Minneapolis’s St. Anthony Main, for Minnesota Film Arts, where it’ll play for one week.

The opening scene tells you that something awful, even grisly, has just happened. The story starts with a jaw-dropping scene where an inmate begins to mutilate his arms.  Most films particularly American ones start viewers off smoothly, this one was like, “eh, why bother?”  It sets the tone for an emotional, thematic thrill ride that Hollywood provides only every several years.  This came from Spain, so never mind.

Although Cell 211 isn’t a Hitchcockian story, it harkens to one of his stock themes and characters.  Juan is the ordinary person stuck in the extraordinary situation.  The story’s bizarre ironies and tragic twists are classically Hitchcock, making North by Northwest, from 1959, pop to mind.  Specifically a spy’s line, which describes Roger Thornhill’s situation: “It’s all so horribly sad.  How is it a feel like laughing?”

You’re plunked into a foreign situation, mistaken for the kind of person you could never be, which fills you with adrenaline as you make yourself a part of a den of murderers and worse.  No one wants to live that scenario, but it and this film are a heck of a ride.  Unlike in the United States, the prisoners here wear no uniforms, but blue collar, industrial clothing.  All Juan has to do to fit in with his new “peers” is to shed accessories that will reveal himself.

Juan after his breaking point

Cell 211 is far better than average for a few reasons: it boasts a semi-complex and refreshing structure, with traces of Japan’s Rashôman, from 1950, and a special use of mistaken identity that allows for perverse and tragic twists, which otherwise would fall flat.  The story alternates between three different locations and places in time, and between the tragic and the tranquil: Juan goes to the prison, his imminent workplace, to get his feel of the land.  After being injured, he’s caught behind his future “enemies’” lines, and accidentally mistaken for one of them.  This chunk of the film mixes with a segment from earlier that day, which builds up to a splendid, and utterly surprising, slight romantic subplot.  That’s his love story with his wife.  Before he goes to the prison, Juan and his wife chat, mock, and make love to each other.

A different, morose, but also slight subplot balances out the romantic one, where shadowy debriefings with a prison boss and a guard after the incident has passed.  The first is taciturn, the other empathetic: morose and shaken.  It helped viewers find closure to Cell 211′s chaos.

Now for a little math.  Many of the characters are interesting.  Five of them are important.  Three of those are pivotal: Juan, Malamadre, which sounds like Bad Mother, the inmate who leads the prison’s most violent section, and Elena, Juan’s wife, who plays a incidental, and passive, but pivotal role.  The men compete for the lead, at least in our minds.  Their personas are disparate, but compel our attention equally.  There is Juan, who should probably question working as a prison guard.  He’s an affable husband who might not be enough of an Alpha male, seems more like a library manager or a grocer than a prison guard.  He belongs in a suburb, mowing his lawn, not mowing down an inmate who has a shank poised against his jugular.

Juan and Malamadre. An incongruent team.

The leader of the uprising, Malamadre, while unsettling at least at first, is more rational and reasonable than we hear at the start.  Then again, Hannibal Lector could be a great conversationalist too.  Malamadre is quick with violence, but he’ll take the time to step back if talking or thinking will give him what he wants as easily.  He’s a brawny, highly intelligent, calculating criminal, with a goatee and a voice that’s so gravelly you wonder how long and intensely he’s been smoking.  He’s so well drawn, with such magnetism that, while this is Juan’s story, he and Malamadre become a surprising and unsettling duo.  Sometimes they compete for starring attention.

But the barely likely connection between Malamadre and Juan allows the story to broach a very subtle story about the fragility of a moral compass.  How easily it can be detoured or perverted.  A law man meets a vicious, daunting criminal, then a heart wrenching tragedy strikes and that moral man finds that the road to or line between the moral & legal and their opposites have grayed and frayed in his mind.  This, after circumstances put him off-balance and push him toward an abyss that’s darker and more of a hell than merely being caught among those who are hungry, rabid wolves.

As splendid as Cell 211 is, it has problems.

Specific ideas are sacrosanct in film:

  • You don’t remake Alfred Hitchcock
  • …or Martin Scorsese, and some others, and
  • You never have someone attack an obviously vulnerable person.  …Unless you do it deftly.  This film does it so.

Malamadre and Juan bond hastily and too slickly to convince us.  Malamadre’s reputation having preceded his first scene, foreshadows the sort of foe with which the bosses and guards must contend.  While Mal is smart, he’s there for a reason.  He’s hardened, vicious, and doesn’t mind killing someone, if there’s a purpose.  Juan is not.  Their bond is forced, but it’s drawn with such care that you won’t notice unless you love to think through or debate that kind of detail.

Few films are flawless.  Still, if you’re into grades: 4.5.

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Modern thrillers: 50 years of mind games since Hitchcock’s “Psycho”

Alfred Hitchcock’s seminal suspense thriller “Psycho,” had its  New York City premiere on June 16 in 1960.  That was 50 years ago.  It was released nationwide that August.

It’s daunting to think back through five decades of psychological thrillers to ask yourself whether any of those that followed can rival this one.  Many filmmakers have dared to imitate Mr. Hitchcock’s instinct and flair; Gus Van Sant was delusional and egotistical enough to remake “Psycho” itself several years ago.  There are some stories that just ought never be tampered with.

So you gotta wonder: if you’re gonna reminisce about the best, most unnerving who-dun-it films, where do you start?!  But wait.  Before you lunge toward an answer, consider that approximately two generations, and a very different aesthetic, separate us from that which makes “Psycho” special.  The best thrillers emphasized suspense, not gore.  They are mind games.  A viewer’s patience was very important.  The experience is about foreshadowing, wondering, and worrying about that which lurks behind dark corners or overly gentle smiles.  The editing wasn’t nearly as fast with “Psycho” as we expect it to be in the 21st-Century.  It’s unfair to compare any film to Hitchcock; No filmmaker’s work wins against his.

There are those titles that you might dare to compare with “Psycho,” but which are so renown that there’s barely a point in doing so.  You could name Jonathan Demme’s “Silence of the Lambs,” from 1991, but it’s not like that had to crawl its way to a profit or renown.  Practically everybody knows it.  The film’s inspiration and source material shares common threads with the novel on which “Psycho” was loosely based.  Still, “Silence of the Lambs” is strong and distinct enough to stand on its own mind games with the audience.

I can help you catch him, Clarice.

David Fincher’s “Se7en,” from 1995, is in a similar situation.  While it may have earned fewer column-inches in newspapers and magazines back then, it won’t take many people very long to recall that film’s creepy and utterly grotesque crime scenes.

...The shower scene.

All you have to do is utter “the shower scene” to start a conversation about “Psycho.”  And that’s not necessarily the most gringe-worthy scene.  But there are a couple suspense stories that deserve your attention.

“Presumed Innocent” was adapted in 1990 from Scott Turow’s profitable 1987 novel.  It’s the tale of a sometimes happily married chief deputy prosecutor whose colleague and former mistress is found dead.  When his boss names him to prosecute her murderer, then all roads seem to point to him.  The truth is more complex, surprising, and shocking – it presents an ethical and moral dilemma that jeopardizes his family.

Here’s the trailer:

“One False Move,” written by Billy Bob Thornton and directed by Carl Franklin, is about Los Angeles police detectives cooperating with a small town Arkansas sherriff, in pursuit of a deadly and unstable trio of murderers.  The killers themselves  are on the trail of a drug score.   This is a thoughtful and smart take on a crime film that calmly considers questions of “race.”  At the time, this film’s major actor was Bill Paxton, who plays the sheriff, Dale.  He’s one of the most subtle and interesting protagonists.  He’s key to the pacing and the story’s simplicity.  “One False Move” is a little film.  It’s a subtle psychological thriller that grows far smarter and more complex, and more engaging than you expect.

While you can probably name good solid suspense thrillers, they might lack the taught pacing and well-developed narrative that these ones offer.

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