Reviews

A Ghost Story is slow. Painfully slow, in fact. This works astonishingly well with the theme the movie wants to portray. A Ghost Story is a post-mortem journey of the afterlife, but this afterlife is not heaven. The afterlife which the main character has to endure is simply watching. At first, time moves slowly for him, so excruciatingly slowly that it's hard to sit through. But he has to, so you have to. But just as it does for the living, time seems to speed up, but it doesn't do so in a releaving way. It just rather seems harder to hold on.

Left with the nothingness are only the memories.

A Ghost Story is probably one of the saddest movies I've ever seen on such a profound level. It made me feel dead - literally. Watching as time passes by, without any control. It takes everything, quickly then into time. A very, very long time.

Mother! is a purely allegorical film. In its foundation it mixes biblical allegories into a story about mother nature. The intent of director Darren Aronofsky is completely lucid. He wants the audience to reflect on the history of humanity and its impact on our planet, as well as of how our relation to God is ultimately what makes us destroy each other and our home. There are many layers in this film however I can't say that I experience the layers to be particularly deep. Mother! is so concerned about its metaphors that it neglects in creating fully fleshed characters and doesn't contribute any poignant ideas to the conversation about climate change. Yes, we have destroyed our planet. Yes, we have an unheatlhy relation to religion. Then what? This wouldn't be an issue had it been that it didn't take itself so incredibly seriously. It comes dangerously close to being goofy at its climax.

What saves Mother! is actually the ways in which Aronofsky choses to portray and visualise the metaphors. Watching the house deteriorate symbiotically with The Mother and all the visitors that arrogantly and violently storm their home was thrilling. The allegories were excellently portrayed by the actors, I think especially Jennifer Lawrence and Javier Bardem were fantastic. Mother! is anything but boring and manages to entertain all the way through in quite a ride. It marvels technically and I celebrate any filmmaker that tries to do something new. But Mother! doesn't fail by technical marvel, it just leaves me seeking a refreshing statement in a battle it clearly wants to participate in.

Possession is a forgotten gem that is unfortunately ridiculously difficult to get a hold of. If you have a chance to see this movie I would grab onto it because it is such a ride. However don't expect to understand that the story that you are about to embark. Possession is maybe the most emotional movie I've ever seen. It embodies the feeling of absolute desperation that takes place during a separation, and takes on forms of the several stages of grief, in both characters expressing them in different ways. Your senses are left assaulted by the heavy battery that the characters exert on each other and on themselves. But since the drama is so dialled up constantly the movie becomes almost comical and takes the plot to such insane levels. The German lover is extremely funny. However, at the foundation there is such bottomless sadness that the movies two main characters are experiencing in wanting to be together, but also wanting and expecting other things. The horror is lowkey to a point where you forget that it's a horror movie until it completely catches you off-guard. I love that Possession dares to reject logic and linearity in favour of exposing such raw misery. Isn't being abandoned and taken hold possession of the true horrors of love, after all?

Ju-on is the Japanese original of The Grudge, which is its much more wide-spread American remake. The Grudge has become one of the most well-known horror movies of the 2000's and despite the fact that I was a child when it came out, I quickly became well acquainted with it because of its massive popularity. And for good reason. It is genuinely terrifying. But looking back on it today, it is honestly kind of goofy in its execution and doesn't really work as a story.

What separates the two movies is a trait that is common amongst American remakes: the Japanese version has a lot more subtlety. It doesn't provide a lot of jump-scares, it lingers far longer with suspension and it doesn't really have any flashy effects. These things work to the movie's credit in this case. Ju-on is a collection of short stories in which all of the characters in some way come in contact with a haunted house and are afterwards haunted by its angry ghosts, in the form of a white-faced woman and boy who makes (very infamously) death-rattles when they near their victims. And that's about it. The rest of the plot in these stories surround how the characters deal with the hauntings and how they are ultimately murdered brutally. Which doesn't honestly make a compelling story, but what makes Ju-on work is that it is so scary with so little effort. It's bleak and unrelenting, it's slow and undramatic. I think it's quite incredible - compared to all the CGI monsters and loud jump scares in the world, nothing compares to a woman with a white face and ghoulish eyes.

The best parts of Ju-On are the part where a woman tries to hide from the hauntings of the ghosts in her apartment and turns on the TV and...well, the result is horrifying. This along with the scenes of a school girl trying to hide from the ghosts by hiding in a dark room with the windows covered by papers. What makes these scenes so fantastic is that they really take their time with letting you feel their fear. The scenes are not just the ends to a mean of serving a big scare, but rather letting the suspension and despair be the ends to the means.

Ultimately what Ju-on does best is capture a true reflection of the unforgivingness of death, coming after us, slowly but surely, one by one, taking its revenge on us just for living. If you have the guts, it's not a masterpiece but it really is the experience of a lifetime and a milestone in modern horror.

I've become obsessed with this film. I couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks after having seen it. I find it hard to talk about or pinpoint, as there are so many levels to explore in its narrative and theme.

The core of this movie is the passed down trauma, pain and illness that we receive from our parents. Hereditary seems to suggest that we can't control anything in our own lives; as if something or someone else is in control of our fate, whether that be a genetic code, our social environment or... something else. Hereditary takes this idea and does what the horror genre does best; it incarnates it into a tangible monster that aims to destroy us and everyone we hold dear.

As I watched this movie I was having one of the most intense cinema experiences of my life. I was clinging to my chair, shaking in my seat, gasping for air. Hereditary is not a slow, cold, silent horror movie. It's loud, it's banging, it's punching your gut repeatedly. It's graphic and raw and it doesn't flinch from the grittiest of emotions in the human spectrum. This makes the scares all the more effective, because you're overwhelmed with empathy for the characters. And as the movie was nearing its climax and I was holding on for dear life, I seem to hear the audience in the room chuckling. I could hear their exasperation as the credits rolled. That may be your reaction too, but I'd like to think that has to do with expectations going into it. more than the actual quality of the film. I don't think you should be expecting the scariest horror movie ever made.

So let's talk about the infamous ending, which seems to split audiences down the middle. Without giving anything away, I belive it to be one of the most tragically beautiful depicitions of fate and hereditary ailment ever put to screen. I especially encourage you to look at the framing of the last shot of the movie, compare it to the very first opening image, and from there I hope you can understand the choices Aster made. The following weeks after having seen Hereditary I was unbelievably frustrated. Everywhere on the internet I tried to read reviews and analyses of the film and its ending, but everyone seemed to take it so literally. If you're going into the movie completely unknowing, I'd advise you to feel the ending, experience the ending, instead of understanding it as some kind of realistic depiction. For what is film but a tool to concretize and manifest abstract concepts into gorgeous, tragic spectacles.

Horror movies more often than not are easily defined by having a monster that sets out to kill the protagonist of the movie. Whether it's ghosts, zombies, demons, murderers or simply a natural disaster. Often we know very little of these monsters - we don't know what they are, how they can exist, how they came here or why they want to kill us. We can't argue with them and seldomly can we escape. The reason we fear these things so much is because humans fear death itself. Death is intangible, unidentifiable and uncanny. We can't stop it, we can't argue with it and it lurks around every corner, threatening to consume us relentlessly.

To me, that is what makes this movie so utterly horrifying. There IS a monster in this movie - we just can't see it. We know absolutely nothing about what is trying to kill this family. We don't know how to stop it, we don't know what it is, what it wants - we can't even see it! The disease seeps into the very foundation of their existance and neither we nor they even so much as notice, much like any other disease. It Comes At Night lures you in with a genre-typical theme, but then makes a diversion by making a controversial, trope-breaking and honestly refreshing take on horror.

In modern horror cinema, we have been conditioned into expecting shocks, sudden jumps and overstimulation of the senses. They are like roller coasters, filling us with adrenaline and huge rushes of emotion. But in reality, it's not really the pit fall of the roller coaster that truly comes to terrify us in the night. It's the knowledge of our own mortality and fragility.

The bleak, empty dread of this movie stuck with me for days. Few movies that I have seen have ever captured that sick, hollow feeling of realising that you will die one day. In this movie, death breathes these characters in the neck and turns them into paranoid, vile creatures.

This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a wimper.

With that said, this is not a particularly exciting movie and I do understand the criticism of those claiming to be disappointed and feeling tricked. I recommend going in with a clean slate, not watching any trailers and don't watch it on a movie night with friends.

I've seen this movie twice in my life. The first time I was 18 years old, I came home an afternoon after school and Fanny and Alexander was on TV. Having heard of it endlessly throughout my childhood (pretty much unavoidable as a Swede), I was intrigued. After a few minutes, I decided I couldn't stop watching. I was completely mesmerized. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I had never seen anything like it before. I ended up watching the whole three hours (cinematic release, unfortunately) and postponing whatever plans I had. And it stayed with me.

Fastforward a few years and last week, I watched this movie again, this time of older age, having seen several other Bergman movies, having read books about him and with an education in film studies. And how I cried. There is something about Ingmar Bergman that has an amazing capacity to mediate and depict feelings and thoughts I never knew how to put word to.

This masterpiece, as the climactic final chapter to Ingmar Bergmans magnificent directing career, has everything. It leads you through life and death, through love and hate, through magic and disbelief, through hope and despair. Bergman has a reputation of being difficult and slow, and rightfully so (although many of his other films are fantastic too). But Fanny and Alexander is easier than his others, yet also more graceful and whole.

Only once before have I experienced characters in a film resonating profound feelings and emotions of mine, and that was in Persona, another Bergman movie. Seeing so many of his actors once again on screen, this time of old age, many today deceased, join together because "everything must carry on as usual". I experienced a chilling encounter with life, mortality but also the hope in spirituality and beauty.

Having dived into the great well of beautiful art that is Bergmans life and career, I am of course biased. But even before having inserted myself in his works, I found this movie absolutely magnificent. And I hope you might too.

From start to finish, Akira was an extremely heavy and intense movie, in every imaginable way. The fast pace, the cynical story set in a cynical universe, and all the brutal violence makes Akira a very difficult film to sit through. What keeps the viewer mesmerized however, is the extraordinary animation. Every shot is breathtaking and in all the gore and cynicism, it's absolutely beautiful. Akira is a work of art and a stunning masterpiece that needs to be acknowledged and remembered (believe me, it's hard to forget the experience), but I cannot really say I liked the film, at least I didn't enjoy it, as much as I appreciated it.

Even though the universe that the movie takes place in is very complex and a lot of the movie experience is trying to understand it, the underlying plot is rather simple; ultimate power is unfortunately given to someone who can't handle it and wreaks havoc. But what really stands out about Akira and makes it very likable, is that it takes so many chances, it shies away from nothing and just when you think the story can't become any more insane, it manages to surprise you again and again.

The 7/10 rating is a personal compromise; Akira is absolutely amazing, but it left me feeling hollow and heavy. It's an experience no avid film-lover should miss, but I don't have the stomach to give it a higher rating. I personally find the story very lacking, but much of the imagery is incredible and will stay with me for a very long time.

District 9 has today been out for 6 years, yet when I finally saw it, it was nothing like what I had thought it was all these years. I am so pleased to see that the alien sub-genre within science fiction has not completely stagnated (I'm guessing the Transformers-movies give this genre a bad name).

The first thing I noticed about District 9 was its style of narrative. It starts in a mockumentary-like narrative, which Blomkamp slowly abandons through the movie's progression, for better or worse. I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't for the fact that he stands by the hand-held camera-work, which is a personal pet peeve of mine. Either way, I can't remember the last time I saw science fiction try something new when it comes to form. This is very refreshing, it's neatly done and it draws you in closer to the story.

The first half of the movie was MINDBLOWING! I especially loved the not-too-subtle critique on racism and the treatment of refugees. What Blomkamp does here is what sci-fi is ought to always do; reflect our problems in society by mirroring it in different creatures or worlds. Also, everything that Wikus went through kept me in complete awe, despite the clichés. Copley's acting was on point and his scenes were gut-wrenching like nothing other, to the point where I had to hold someone's hand to continue watching.

Sadly, however, the second half of the movie, especially the third act, results in rather epic, grand, macho-pumping action. It's not necessarily dull or badly orchestrated, but I felt like it was too simple for such a grand opening.

District 9 is definitely worth a view, and I wouldn't mind it becoming a sci-fi classic. In its genre, it truly stands out. If I could give it 7,5 stars, that would be my vote.

When my boyfriend and I decided to watch this movie, we dove into it thinking it was going to be a rather amusing, easygoing piece of classic 80's horror movie with clichés and bad effects. And that is was similar to Alien. That's all we knew and we didn't expect much. So the movie started and we giggled at the cheesy characters and bad haircuts (Kurt Russell, as always, is a gem), as you do. Then along came the scene where the dog mutated and we both fell silent in awe. Occasionally, one of us burst out saying "WOW". I could not have been more surprised or terrified.

If you are a fan of over-the-top 80's gore effects, seen in e.g. Cronenberg movies or the Evil Dead trilogy, you are going to love The Thing. This movie went to such an extreme level of gory mutation and body horror that I can only really compare to the ending of The Fly. Yet, even if the extent to which the body horror is taken is some of the most extreme and in turn ridiculous I've seen in any movie of this kind so far, The Thing never loses its finesse. As horrific and disgusting as they are, you still always look forward to the next mutation scene, just to see what new thing they can think of next. The Thing is one of the absolutely most creative horror films I have ever seen.

But The Thing was much more than just the gore. In this movie, John Carpenter once again proves he is the master of build-up. The tension, partially thanks to the skillful camera-work, never stop creeping under your skin throughout the story and never lets you stop keeping guessing. The characters themselves are unable to trust each other, and for the viewer, it never gets less obvious who you can trust or not. It manages to always keep you on the edge of your seat.

The Thing only really falls short in the boring soundtrack and the flat characters with little to no personality, except for Kurt Russell, whose character is unnecessarily crass and hard to relate to as the hero of the story. But with that said, it's hard to believe the hatred the movie first got upon release (Roger Ebert, I'm looking at you!). The Thing is surprisingly enjoyable, especially for its genre, it really stands out.