Not the ghost story advertised, but instead your classic terror-punk tale of a family who inherits the house a group of delinquents are squatting in. This starts a series of mortal games that are only slightly affected by the fact that the ghost of some William Powell type living in the attic, looking after the family. Mostly it's scenes of a brother and sister, who seem a little too close if you know what I mean and I think you…
Basically the movie advertised in Edgar Wright's Don't trailer, a random assortment of screaming haunted house hijinks, fever-pitched but centered around nothing. It's often quite fun and has a hell of an ending, but there's likely no one set-piece strong enough to make this linger in my brain. Multiple good fire stunts, though.
The first hour or so makes up such a perfect anxiety nightmare that it bummed me out when it went a more typical (albeit eventful) route of "her madness is making her KILL!" The Polanski that made me squirm during mundane scenes in Rosemary's Baby purely through the power of his mise-en-scene is multiplied by five here, to the point where it got too much for me and I had to pause the movie to go do chores. Polanski's famous…
The unexpected recipe of eulogy, cute animal videos and surveillance culture dread synthesized into the finest cinematic representation of the act of remembering I have ever experienced.
I don't know nothing about nothing, so it wouldn't surprise me if this is philosophically facile or a misrepresentation of Buddhist beliefs or even Just Plain Dumb, but there is such an emotional immediacy that I never once worried about any of that. I have no spirituality to speak of, no real personal…