ScreenFish

where faith and film are intertwined

horror

Saint Maud: For the Right Reasons

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All Hail, Saint Maud! 

With an emphasis on psychological horror, Saint Maud makes you question whether or not what you’re seeing is reality or merely taking place in the mind of the protagonist. Is Maud trying to do all things through God, or is that just a way to hide the struggles that are really going on deep inside? Let’s take an in-depth look at Saint Maud.

Written and directed by Rose Glass, Saint Maud begins with Maud (Morfydd Clark), a very religious nurse who lost her job at the hospital where she was previously employed. (While it’s not really fully explained why she resigned, we are given hints in flashbacks and mentions throughout the film.) Maud looks to be forgiven and shown a second chance as she takes up a private nursing assignment. This assignment lands her at the home and care of Amanda Kohl (Jennifer Ehle), a former dancer with a terminal illness that put an end to her career and fame.

Amanda is determined to continue living out her Hollywood lifestyle and not let the illness stop her. As the two opposite forces come together, they begin to clash with their differences. Maud is focused on cutting out Amanda’s unhealthy lifestyle (smoking, drinking and sex) and save her soul. Amanda, on the other hand, is more focused on mocking Maud’s beliefs and calling her “My Saviour, Maud”. These clashes lead to some serious friction between the two and pushes Maud to take some disturbing actions.

Usually in horror movie these days, the focus is on the jump scares. If this is what you’re looking for, then this is not the movie for you. However, if you’re more interested on the plot twists backed up by great acting, Saint Maud may be just what you’re looking for. From her body movements to her interactions with all characters within the film, Morfydd Clark does an amazing job playing Maud. In addition, Jennifer Ehle also does an exceptional job portraying Amanda’s Hollywood-addicted lifestyle. 

Admittedly, there are several questions that do not get answered within the film. For example, Maud’s past is never fully explored, nor is the nature of the God’s presence she experiences. When she connects with God, Maud falls into a seizure-like state which leads her to blackout and wake up somewhere else. 

As someone that has grown up within the Christian faith, I see that Saint Maud relate to struggles that most followers face at some time. For instance, because everything that she did was for God, Maud questions and loses her faith, leading her to doing some sinful things. This is a great example of what can happen when we reject God because we’re depressed or things don’t go our way. Instead, we should look to do things for the glory of God, and not our own personal needs. Our obsession with our own desires or doing work to be praised or rewarded is usually what leads us away from God. In this film, Maud really cares about Amanda and the unnamed patient of her past, though her focus is on the obsession of being praised or rewarded by God. As a result, her motivation is not based on the unconditional love within her heart, but for the praises at the attention of saving the soul.

Though it may not be a typical example of the genre when held up against Paranormal Activity and The Conjuring franchises, Saint Maud offers a different type of terror. Well-written and performed, the film shows what can happen when we focus on doing things for our own glory and the damage that can follow.

Saint Maud is now available on VOD.

Wander Darkly – Therapy of Memory

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Wander Darkly, from writer-director Tara Miele, is the story of a relationship. It is told in a unusual manner that some viewers may find difficult, but if you stick with it, it will reward you.

Adrienne (Sienna Miller) and Matteo (Diego Luna) have recently bought a house and had a child, but their relationship is somewhat rocky. On a turbulent date night, there is a terrible accident. In the aftermath of that event, the couple struggles to understand why they were together. But the journey to their understanding is a very twisty and strenuous road.

It begins in the ER after the accident. Adrienne has an out of body experience, seeing her body on a gurney and wheeled into the morgue. She wanders into different scenes and settings. When she eventually reconnects with Matteo, he assures her she is alive. They have a child. Everything is real. They begin to visit their memories of their relationship. The first, which sets the tone for all the rest is right after their baby was born. To talk about trauma is to begin to understand it, so Adrienne tells her newborn about the trauma involved in the birth. As the film plays out, Adrienne and Matteo work through the trauma they have experienced by talking about their past.

There is a meta quality to their memories. As they experience the events of their past, they discuss what happened and their feelings as they are remembering it. They are not only reliving events; they are simultaneously looking back at them from the present. As they go from good memories to bad and back to current day, we see the kinds of things that make up a relationship. We see the times of joy and the times of hardship.

Just before the accident, the two are wondering why they are still together. As we see their life together to this point, we come to realize why they connected, and also why they drifted apart. And in the end, we see how they will be connected in the days and years ahead.

The structure of the film, with the questions of whether the characters are alive or not, borders on the horror genre and often seems like a psychological thriller, but at its heart this is a love story. Through Matteo and Adrienne’s relived memories, we see what it is that makes up the love that they share. Although there are some things that will never be healed, because they have undergone this period of memory, talking, experiencing each other as they had before, the love they held is transformed into something even more lasting.

Wander Darkly is available in select theaters, on virtual cinema through local arthouses, and on VOD.

Photos courtesy of Lionsgate.

Nimic – Short and Deep

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We may not expect an Oscar nominated writer/directorto bring us a short film. But then we don’t often know what to expect from Yorgos Lanthimos (three nominations between The Lobster and The Favourite). Nimic is twelve minutes worth of the kind of surreal weirdness that makes Lanthimos’s films attractive to some (including me) and off-putting for others.

Matt Dillon plays a cellist and father. One day coming home on the subway, he asks a young woman (Daphne Patakia) for the time. A strange connection takes place which will affect their lives in a very bizarre way. The film could be categorized as either dark comedy or light horror.

Lanthimos often seems to deal with people who are losing their sense of identity and their place in the world. (Or maybe it’s really about finding a new place in the world.)  In that way, this is very much in line with The Lobster and The Favourite. The surrealism of Lanthimos’s films leads us to some very existential questions of what it means to be who we think we are and who we are if we are not that person. Of course, such depths often surprise us in short films. Just as we settle in for a brief entertainment, we have to ask ourselves what it all means.

Photos courtesy of Mubi.

Nimic can be seen on the streaming service Mubi.

Bloody Battle for the Self: 1on1 with Brandon Cronenberg (POSSESSOR)

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Brandon Cronenberg is no stranger to a bloody mess.

As the director of Antiviral and son of one of the pioneers of body horror films, Cronenberg is more than comfortable wading through rivers of blood in order to investigate deeper ideas about the human experience. As visceral as it is mesmerizing, Cronenberg’s latest film, Possessor, is another violent exploration of mankind’s psychology that isn’t afraid to attack the senses. 

From a purely sensory perspective, the film’s violence—while graphic—looks great onscreen and a key part of that process is the cocktail used to depict the film’s blood. While Cronenberg isn’t sure what made up the mixture specifically, he appreciates the amazing work done by his visual effects team.

“The blood was spectacular and I can’t tell you too much about it because it was actually a secret recipe,” he beams. “I don’t know what it was. We had this fantastic effects artists, Dan Martin, and he’s responsible for so much of the wonderful practical trickery. He had some contacts who had this incredible formula for this very advanced kind of fake blood, which looks amazing. It actually coagulates like real blood and then washes off anything incredibly easily… I don’t even know if he knows what’s in it because it’s someone’s secret formula.”

More importantly, however, Possessor is yet another complex mindtrip from the young filmmaker that uses sci-fi elements to challenge our ideas about who we are. Written and directed by Cronenberg, Possessor follows Tasya Vos (Andrea Riseborough), a corporate assassin who allows her consciousness downloaded into the minds of others so that can commit murders for the benefit of the company. Tasya has a special gift for her craft. However, with each host that she inhabits, Tasya becomes increasingly broken by her experiences, leading to violent memories and urges that she must suppress in her ‘real’ life. When she accepts a mission to kill the head of a major corporation (Sean Bean), her host Colin (Christopher Abbott) begins to fight back against his unknown mental assailant, causing Tasya to lose control and potentially remain trapped in a prison of his consciousness.

Using Tasya as a key example, Possessor highlights our struggle to know who we are in an age where the nature of identity is increasingly difficult to pin down. Though his characters slip in and out of the bodies of others, Cronenberg believes that, ultimately, our identity cannot be separated from our physical selves.

“I don’t really think there’s a difference between mind and body,” he explains. “I think it’s all the same. I think the mind is really a process of the brain and you can’t really disconnect the two. Even though in the film, it plays it a little bit like that through the science fiction because she’s, in a sense, inhabiting other people’s bodies remotely, that’s more of a metaphorical thing to discuss identity. In reality, I don’t think those can be really separated.”  

Cronenberg goes on to explain that he believes that most people are simply presenting themselves for the benefit of others, rather than honestly depicting their true self.

“Ultimately, I don’t really think we have a true self…,” he points out. “I think it’s all to a certain degree performance. Sometimes we’re performing for other people, sometimes we’re performing for ourselves. So definitely there is an interesting–and I would say common–experience of being in a particular situation or trying to accomplish something and not being able to see yourself in it somehow because it’s at odds with your identity, whether it’s imposter syndrome or it’s just that disconnect between our own self-image and how other people see us.”

One of the more fascinating aspects of Possessor is its willingness to engage the notion of personal responsibility. While characters commit acts of violence, they are certainly not of their own free will but they must still face the consequences. With this in mind, Cronenberg says that he believes the notion of culpability is far more complicated than we like to think.

“One of the things that I keep coming back to what I’m writing… is the process by which we construct a sense of unified self, despite the fact that that doesn’t really exist,” he contends. “I think a human being is a chorus of conflicting impulses and ideas and emotions. Some of those come from our own brains, some of them don’t. There’s a very interesting science being done examining, for instance, human microbiomes and how other microorganisms in our digestive tract or parasites can affect our personality and affect our behaviors. Of course, in a more figurative sense, there’s the question of maybe what you could call psychological infections, how we pick up ideas from other people and claim them for ourselves. That’s especially interesting and kind of terrifying right now, [especially] when you look at what’s happening on social media and, for instance, foreign states meddling in the US elections. We are, in a sense, hackable now because we’re so completely online, but I don’t think we really yet understand what human society is becoming because of that. A lot of people believe that they have certain ideas that they’ve generated themselves, but they’re actually being manipulated in fairly nuanced ways online.” 

As a result of his research, Cronenberg also discovered some fascinating studies into brain functions and how they drive our actions and responses.

“I did some research into the neuroscience behind brain control,” he continues. “One of the things that I found was a Spanish doctor named Jose Delgado [who] had done some experiments in the United States involving brain implants in animals and human beings. There is a scene in the film where a kind of documentary plays on the television. There’s this bull fight and the bull has been implanted with this receiver. That’s actually footage from one of his experiments… The spot in the brain that he put this wire was stimulating different areas of the brain electrically and, because of where that wire was, the subject was acting in response to the stimulation but then claiming those actions for themselves. So, for instance, every time the experimenter pressed the button, the subject would get up from his chair, walk in a circle and then sit back down again. But every time he did that, he would insist that he had done it of his own free will. He [thought that] he was just looking for shoes or that he had heard a noise somewhere and was going to investigate. So, I think there’s a very interesting process of the brain by which we, in a sense, determine after the fact whether an idea or an action was generated internally. I think has fascinating scientific and philosophical implications.“

Given Possessor’s narrative complexity, Cronenberg enjoys the fact that there are any number of readings to the film’s meaning. One such alternative view is that the film’s subtext is that Tasya’s violent nature suggests an inner tension as she attempts to balance her career and family. To Cronenberg, this aspect of her character speaks primarily about the disconnect between her more animal impulses and the expectations of her domestic life.

“To me, the career aspect of it is maybe a part of a broader struggle that we have again with how internally we see ourselves, but also, on a certain level, we’re all apes living these animal lives but in this strange civilization that we’ve built for ourselves. So, I think who we are internally is very chaotic and animal and then who we are as a result of civilized society is somehow very restrained. I feel like there’s often a disconnect between what’s expected of us and this kind of inner turmoil that we deal with. That’s certainly true in the professional sense… I wanted to comment to some degree on how all of us are dealing with that specific. In Tasya’s case, [it’s] a very pronounced disconnect because she has this sense of violence in her and these impulses which are still at odds with what’s expected of her in this civilized domestic setting. In many ways, that is more horrific to her than the violence.” 

Violence is key within Possessor, not only because of its graphic visuals but also because it becomes an external representation of the inner turmoil that Tasya’s character experiences throughout the film. 

“Her relationship with violence is very much at the heart of her character so the violence in the film is really very much narrative. I felt it had to be a visceral,” notes Cronenberg. “People had to feel on a sort of almost bodily level what she was experiencing emotionally and it also tracks what’s her psychology. So, sometimes you’re seeing it from a more observational perspective and then looking back on it and it’s this more sort of stylized, almost fetishistic thing, for her. I don’t want to go too far in analyzing the characters because… the narrative arc [was] designed to leave a little space for various interpretations from the audience… but certainly I was thinking of her in some sense like one of those drone pilots who experiences PTSD because of the violence that they’re engaged in even though they’re engaged in it remotely. Yet at the same time, there’s something in her character that’s very much drawn to it. I think it’s a bit of a question whether that’s something inherent to her or whether that’s something that’s being planted in her character by her mentor figure and by the corporation.” 

Possessor is now playing in theatres.

Possessor: Plagued by our Shifting Selves

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“Pull me out.”

Such is the plea of Tasya Vos (Andrea Riseborough), a corporate assassin who allows her consciousness downloaded into the minds of others so that can commit murders for the benefit of the company. As the focus of Brandon Cronenberg’s latest sci-fi horror Possessor, Vasya has a special gift for her craft. However, with each host that she inhabits, Vasya becomes increasingly broken by her experiences, leading to violent memories and urges that she must suppress in her ‘real’ life. When she accepts a mission to kill the head of a major corporation (Sean Bean), her host Colin (Christopher Abbott) begins to fight back against his unknown mental assailant, causing Tasya to lose control and potentially remain trapped in a prison of his consciousness.

Possessor is a visceral and unsettling sci-fi horror that explores what it means to suppress our darkest urges. While the cast does an excellent job encapsulating Cronenberg’s vision (Seriously, when has Andrea Riseborough ever left a role wanting?), the real story to Possessor is Cronenberg himself.  Featuring complex characters and stunning (and often disturbing) visuals, Cronenberg continues to show maturity behind the camera.  With each long take and slow pan, his slow-burning lens becomes a predator, carefully stalking its prey with an almost soothing intensity. Then, in times of violence, Cronenberg goes the opposite direction, forcing the viewer to watch the unflinching horror that sits in front of them. At the same time, his use of bleeding and blinding colour palette paints a primeval portrait of the inner tensions of Tasya’s victims that blurs the lines of reality. In doing so, Cronenberg’s use of colour and camera almost become visual narrators, not only providing a backdrop for the story but plunging the viewer within it.

With this in mind, Possessor provides Cronenberg the opportunity to explore the fragile nature of identity in a world where we can become anyone in a digital space. As Tasya moves in and out of her hosts, she must fully immerse herself in their world. Not unlike the digital identities that we inhabit on a daily basis, Tasya’s experiences allow her to explore the lives of her psychological victims. However, she also loses a piece of her soul in the process. As a result, though she is hardly in love with her work, neither can she fully separate herself from it either. With each mission, the damage that she has caused continues to take a toll on her. 

Plagued by violent memories, her experiences in the minds of others cause Tasya to struggles to understand what it means to be fully human (or fully herself) anymore. While her husband and son welcome her home, her family brings her little joy. Violence has become her vice and she uses it to feel alive. To Vasya, the ‘jobs’ have become opportunities to experience closer personal connections in the midst of a disconnect—and gruesome—life. (One particular example of this comes when, after a particularly brutal mission, Vasya is asked why she used a knife to kill her victim, as opposed to the recommended gun.) In this way, Cronenberg’s view of identity focuses less on how we mature and grow from experiences but rather the perils of losing ourselves in the process and the damage that we may leave in our wake.

Though terrifying in its brutality, Possessor is far more than another example of graphic body horror. Never one to shy away from complex issues, Cronenberg again is willing to explore the instability of the mind at a time when we consistently put on social masks. By following Vasya’s psychological descent, Possessor reveals what can happen when the foundations our identities are shaken by taking on the roles of others. 

Possessor is available on VOD and in theatres now.

Scare Me – But with Humor

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“You look like a fella who might be interested in scary stories.”

Mary Shelley’s Gothic/proto-SciFi novel Frankenstein grew out of a contest between her, her future husband Percy Bysshe Shelley and their friend Lord Byron. The competition was to see who could write the best horror story. (I wonder if there is any record of the two men’s attempts.) Josh Ruben’s premier feature film Scare Me is the same concept. Two writers (plus a couple minor characters) try to see who can scare the other. The result is a hybrid between comedy and horror.

Fred (Ruben), a wannabe horror writer, has rented a cabin in the woods so he can write his werewolf story. The only real problem is that he’s not really a writer and nothing goes onto the page. Out on a jog, he meets Fannie (Aya Cash) who is staying in a cabin nearby. It turns out Fannie is a bestselling horror author. She’s not much interested in Fred—she’s there to work. But when the power goes out that night, Fannie goes over to Fred’s cabin and they decide to tell each other scary stories.

Fred is obviously at a disadvantage. His werewolf story does nothing to change or advance that trope. He only has the bare bones of the story, even though Fannie prompts him for details. When Fannie tells her story, she creates a dark world into which Fred is drawn as he listens. Then they begin a tale about a troll that lives in the air vents of an office building. They bounce back and forth in the telling and acting out this story. When pizza delivery man Carlo (Chris Redd) shows up with dinner, he too joins in this celebration of being scared by words. In the end, Fred is confronted by the biggest horror, that he may not be any good as a writer, and his life is a failure.

For most horror stories we have come to rely on special effects, moody music, gore, and sudden surprises that make us jump in our seats. But here the horror is almost exclusively done with words. At times we visualize just a bit of the story, and there are occasional shadows on a wall or ceiling that reflects something in the story being told, but that just allows us to get better into the words.

Because it walks a line between horror and comedy, it never gets overly scary or over-the-top funny. But for those who like something a little different in their horror, Scare Me might fit the bill for a dark night in an empty house with wind, thunder and lightning outside.

Scare Me is available on Shudder streaming service.

The Antenna – Slimy Political Metaphor

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The Turkish horror film The Antenna, directed by Orçun Behram, is more about creepiness that fright. It is also about a world that is trending toward the insidious control of day to day life.

The film is set in a mildly dystopic Turkey. Mehmet works as the intendant of an apartment building in a remote area. When the film opens, Mehmet makes his way through the empty countryside to get to the apartment building. It is the day that a new antenna is being installed which will provide a new service that allows the government to address all people. There is a special midnight bulletin planned for that night. But not long after the installer goes up to the roof, he falls to his death.

As the day plays out, we meet some of the residents of the building. One of them calls Mehmet to fix the black ooze that is coming into her bathroom. It turns out that tarry substance is getting into everything. Is it somehow connected to the antenna? In time it will become connected to various deaths.

This certainly can be seen as a metaphor for the kind of authoritarian policies of the Turkish government. The black ooze is corruption and invasiveness into our lives and thoughts. The content of the midnight bulletin is just as corrupt as we might expect from a dystopian government. Perhaps some might also see it applicable in other societies as well, including the US, but I suspect that this all works better in Turkey than elsewhere.

When the ooze begins to be overwhelming, Mehmet often finds himself in surreal/nightmarish corridors and rooms. Some people become violent; others are transformed into faceless puppets. All this creates a disturbing, spooky atmosphere. But it is very inconsistent and incohesive. The ooze is never really explained, and it is different things to different people. We’re left without much understanding of what is really happening in this apartment building, and we have no idea if it’s just a local occurrence due to a mistake in the antenna installation or if it is going on all over the country.

If you’re just looking for a creepy evening, The Antenna might be an option. But don’t expect to be fully satisfied at deeper levels.

The Antenna is available on virtual cinema through local arthouses and will soon by on VOD platforms.

Photos courtesy of Dark Star Pictures.

The Art of Horror: 1on1 with Jay Baruchel (RANDOM ACTS OF VIOLENCE)

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It takes a lot to scare Jay Baruchel.

As a long-time fan of horror, he believes that the genre has fallen creatively stagnant as of late. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

With Random Acts of Violence, his latest turn in the director’s chair, Baruchel (who also co-wrote the script with friend, Jesse Plemons) decided to take matters into his own hands and create the type of film he wanted to see onscreen. Though Violence does not fail to offer all the blood and gore that the title suggests, it also maintains a psychological edge that drives the narrative. Having passionately crafted the film over the last decade with friend Jesse Chabot, he could not resist the opportunity to create something unique that fought against the current trends that he has seen onscreen.

“As a fan of the genre, I find myself just rarely scared by anything that I see,” Baruchel observes. “Rare is the horror film that is a good movie and actually scares me. I just also kind of developed a bit of a personal distaste for this kind of idea of what a horror film had to be. Basically like 10 or 15 years ago, a bunch of investors realized that they could put a little money into something that would make them a bunch. Then, all of a sudden, we had this rash of self-contained genre films, which are very transparent in why they were created. For me, it’s an art form that is terribly important to me and I cannot separate my love of cinema from my love of horror movies. I think, when it’s at its best, it’s a very pure, very direct art form and it lends itself to some pretty special stuff. So, I just tried to make the movie that I wished was out there.” 

Random Acts of Violence tells the story of Todd Walkley (Jesse Williams), the creator of Slasherman, an R-rated comic book series based on a real-life serial killer. Having decided to end his wildly successful series, he ventures out onto a press tour with his publicist, Ezra (Baruchel) and his girlfriend, Kathy (Jordana Brewster) in order to promote the final issue. Along the way, they visit the town where the original Slasherman caused so much harm in the past and inadvertently awaken the same murderous beast that Todd’s story sought to idolize.

While Baruchel has a deep love of horror, he also maintains a passion for the world of comic books. (He even recently invested in Chapterhouse’s revival of classic Canadian hero, Captain Canuck.) Based on a comic of the same name, Random Acts of Violence finally gave him the opportunity to bring a comic to life onscreen himself. Given his experience in the industry, he felt like he could create a story that both celebrates the source material and brings something new to life as well.

“It really starts from there being a really interesting story and staring off viewpoint in the comic book,” Baruchel explains. “It just got stuck in Jessie’s head and in my head. At a certain point, the only thing that matters is serving the story as well as we can. So, at a certain point, we allow the document we’re creating to start to live its own life, which means it’s beholden to its source material but only to a certain point. There comes a moment where the movie starts to want to be something on its own. You have to decide [if this] thing that it wants to be that is different than the comic is worth doing,”

“In terms of the aesthetics, I think maybe subconsciously, we wanted it to look like that,” he continues. “But I think, more than anything, our way in with our camera and our lighting and our color palettes was more just kind of arch. We wanted really strong arch colors and light and shadows and that happens to be how a lot of comics are created. So, it ends up looking like that. Now, in terms of what my experience with ChapterHouse and Captain Canuck lent to it, I knew exactly what it would be like to be on a Comic-Con tour and the cramps and headaches that the owner has to look forward to arriving at a venue. So, I think there’s some [place] in the movie where I’m yelling at the guy who owns a comic book shop about a box that he can’t find. That seems to happen at every Comic-Con. That seemed to be a bit of a comic industry banality that could be something funny and real. So, some of my years in admin in that world definitely informed vibes in this movie.”

When he thinks about who has most influenced his work, Baruchel believes that some of the best aspects of the film stem from both the comic world and classic horror cinema. Though most of his examples are well-known classics, his recognition of one of Kubrick’s most famous works stands out as surprising.

“Alan Moore’s [work in] From Hell, I think is as good as use of the comic book medium as has ever been created,” Baruchel points out. “I would also put Preacher up there. Everything Garth Ennis did for the years that he wrote ThePunisher [is] really, really, really important to me. Then, I would have to say, for horror flicks, it would be The Exorcist, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre by Tobe Hooper and John Carpenter’s The Thing. To be honest, I think still The Exorcist is probably the scariest movie ever made but I think what might be neck and neck with it [is something that] people don’t think of it as a horror movie. I think I would argue that 2001: A Space Odyssey is probably the scariest movie ever made. So, I will spend my life trying to recreate even a moment from that film.”

As is the case with any work of art, both comic and horror culture are digested and viewed differently with each audience member. For example, while some may celebrate horror for its grit and darkness, others feel uncomfortable and even angered by what they see. In regards to this, Violence opts to discuss the relationship between artist and audience and, in particular, the creative power and responsibility that the creator may (or may not) recognize that they hold.

“It’s an inherently kind of relative experience as an audience member consuming a work of art,” says Baruchel. “I was trying my best to show every bad thing that can come from this. It was a sort of mental target. It’s more about this idea that one can divorce oneself from responsibility for anything one puts out into the world, which I think is as absurd as the concept that video games and comics make people kill people. I think those are both two very facile, silly, absurd philosophies… When Todd has made a Faustian bargain and even if he thinks that his book is victimized by critics, part of him as a rational man has to agree with at least part of what they’re saying. So, he knows ultimately that even if he believes his work has more merit than people seem to believe it does, he knows what his fan base looks like and he knows ultimately how will come across in the cold light of day. So, it’s about the sort of spectrum of responsibility that he was able to keep at arm’s length, getting closer and closer to him until the end.”

Having said this, one of the great debates surrounding horror films is the distinction between violence as art and fetishizing evil. Asked where he believes the line between exploitation and art lies in the genre, Baruchel believes that, while that line is subjective, it often stems from the author’s sense of authenticity.

“I think it’s a question that we don’t necessarily provide a clear answer to which is deliberate,” he answers. “I think there’s some stuff which the film kind of takes a specific moral philosophy and standpoint on but there’s other stuff that is more kind of contributing to a debate and a conversation that I feel should happen. That being said, with those movies that I watch, I know in my heart of hearts when something is feels truthful and something feels kind of fetishistic. I’d point to a Quebecois movie, Les 7 Jours du Talion (which is called in English, 7 Days), and that movie is really harsh. It’s just one guy torturing another guy in a room basically for a whole movie and [with a] great degree of realism. That’s a harsh watch but never once does it feel cheap or false. Never once does it feel like a love letter to violence and it doesn’t seem to be sort of wallowing in it. So, to answer the question, I think it’s kind of hard. It’s this almost amorphous thing that we call truth. I think you can tell when something warrants its aesthetic and, I feel, I think you can [tell] when it is ugly for the sake of ugly. I think it’s a terribly relative thing because every single one of us watches the same movie [and we are] going to have some different reactions to it. So, that would be my kind of instinct is that it speaks to more the truth behind it. [For example,] why Seven is important and a lot of other movies about a serial killer aren’t.”

Within Violence’s healthy dose of blood and gore, it’s also interesting to note the significant amount of religious imagery in the film that is often used to give depth to the murderous mayhem. Having grown up in a religious family, Baruchel recognizes that the emotional challenges of his upbringing serve as an influence within the film’s visuals.

“Basically, I’m kind of a child of two cultures to a degree. My dad is Sephardic Jewish, first generation, and my mom [comes from the] type of Irish, English, Scottish Canadians, and deeply Catholic,” he responds. “Some of the most impactful, not necessarily best, but most impactful moments in my childhood are tied to religion and Catholicism specifically. I was in Catholic school from Grade One through Six and have hated the entire time as a result of it. I like to tell people that I was raised with two different, but very potent, forms of guilt from Jewish culture and Catholic culture. This is the best way I can say it. I remember my mom reading me the Bible when I was a kid and she got to the story about Noah. I started like bawling my eyes out uncontrollably. At three years old, [I was] bawling my eyes out. Why would God want to do this? And then, Catholicism has a lot of really beautiful stuff but it is very deeply violent. You grow up going to church and in class and seeing Christ eviscerated and brutalized. It’s drilled into you. So, it’s impossible for me to kind of separate blood from awe, because it was drilled into me from a childhood and from years and years and years in church. My relationship with the church is still kind of like a weird, tenuous one. I reject most of it and yet I still feel a degree of safety and comfort when I’m in one. So, there’s a sort of push and pull in me that kind of finds it finds its way out and manifests itself in this movie.” 

Of course, a unique blessing for Baruchel is the chance to film within his home country of Canada. While he admits it might have been easier to work somewhere else, he feels that one of the great blessings of filmmaking is the opportunity to contribute to the cultural make-up of his home country.

“This is my home. It’s where I’m from, and this is where I’m most comfortable,” he begins. “The other piece of it is I feel what many could call a silly obligation to English Canadian cinema. I want to know that, for better or worse, I contributed to the cinematic language of my country. I want to know that I added something to our kind of cultural tapestry. It would be more convenient, I think, for me to have gone elsewhere potentially but I know that, at the end of the day, even if I got to create some really special stuff, I would’ve contributed to another country’s culture.” 

“For me, my great shame is that I never joined the army, if I’m being perfectly frank. That’s not a joke. That’s something [that’s always haunted me since I was a kid, that I didn’t do a lot of my uncles and my granddad and my cousins did. I don’t mean to say that I am comparing this movie to what any of my uncles or grandad or cousins did and join the army but it is, in some way, a way that I can kind of contribute and help. Countries come and go, but art sticks around. I would like to add to this country as best as I can.”

For full audio of our interview with Jay Baruchel, click here.

Random Acts of Violence is available on VOD on July 31st, 2020.

Random Acts of Violence: Are You Not Entertained?

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“Real art is born of truth. Everything else is a random act of violence.” -Jesse Williams, Random Acts of Violence

While the genre is most well-known for its scares or graphic depictions of violence, the very best horror films have something to say. 

Thankfully, while it’s happy to serve the fans that it wishes to reach, Random Acts of Violence leans towards the latter. With a smart script and engaging premise, there’s a compelling honesty to Violence that makes it worth a watch.

Directed by Jay Baruchel (Goon), Random Acts of Violence tells the story of Todd Walkley (Jesse Williams), the creator of Slasherman, an R-rated comic book series based on a real-life serial killer. Having decided to end his wildly successful series, he ventures out onto a press tour with his publicist, Ezra (Jay Baruchel) and his girlfriend, Kathy (Jordana Brewster) in order to promote the final issue. Along the way, they visit the town where Slasherman caused so much harm in the past and, inadvertently, awaken the same murderous beast that Todd’s story mythologizes.

Based on the 2010 comic of the same name, Random Acts of Violence is a fascinating mash-up between horror films and the visuals of graphic novels. With his ever-improving skill behind the camera, Baruchel (who also co-wrote the screenplay alongside Jesse Chabot) integrates a darkened colour palette for the primary narrative scenes with the bold visual artistry of the comic itself. By moving between worlds, Baruchel visually reinforces their direct influence one has on the other and blurs the lines between reality and what’s on the page. Tightly compacted into an intense 81 minutes, Violence moves along quickly and effectively, never leaving the audience much chance to catch their breath. Sharply written, the film is well of the tropes of the genre and lovingly honours and subverts them. In the process, the film carves out its own unique voice while not forgetting the kills and chills.

Though, what’s most interesting about the film is that, in the midst of the Violence, there lies the beating heart of a conscience.

While Random Acts of Violence eventually descends into the graphic bloodshed that the title suggests, there is a method to Baruchel’s madness that is far from random. While some horror films seem intent on pushing the envelope with graphic visuals simply to titillate the audience, Violence provides compelling conversations that underscore the bloodbath and challenge the meaning of the murders. For instance, even as the body count rises, Todd continues to defend his decision to portray graphic imagery due to his artistic intent. Nevertheless, he still feels a certain culpability that weighs on his soul. Does his artistic expression bear some responsibility to this string of murders? Or is it just another delusional person looking for an excuse to serve as their inspiration? 

Baruchel uses the graphic nature of the film to disturb, rather than excite. While the film never places blame on the audience for enjoying the blood and gore, neither does it allow them to completely enjoy watching it either. By slowing down the violence and forcing the audience to see much of the horror, the film refuses to allow the audience to celebrate the carnage by reminding them that these people matter. In other words, despite its graphic content, Baruchel’s film pauses to ask what it means for us to mythologize the villains of our culture rather than give voice to the victims that they leave in their wake.

Though we know little about them, these victims still matter.

As a result of its self-awareness, Random Acts of Violence both serves and challenges the horror genre. By offering chilling visuals and scares, the film honours the great thrillers that came before and ‘gives the people what they want’. However, in a culture that elevates the mystique of the murderer, Violence does not allow the viewer to get too comfortable in their enjoyment of the bloodshed by reminding them of the true value of human life.

And it’s this truth that prevents the film from simply becoming more random acts of violence.

For full audio of our roundtable conversation with writer/director Jay Baruchel, click here.

Random Acts of Violence premieres on VOD on July 31st, 2020.

teenFish#10: Picturing Loss in POLAROID

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Welcome to teenFish, a podcast series that lets teenagers speak about media that matters to them in their own voice. Hosted by Daniel Collins (Infinity Warm-Up), teenFish airs every month and invites local youth to engage the truth and lies of the shows and films that excite them.

When high school loner Bird Phillips (Kathryn Prescott) discovers a vintage Polaroid camera, she remains unaware of the dark power at her fingertips. When she realizes that the old camera contains the power to take the life of whoever has their picture taken with it, she must decide whether to use the camera’s power or dispose of the cursed gadget. This month, Daniel and Jacob get together to talk about losing a loved one, meaningful mementos and horror cliches.

You can also stream the episode above on podomatic, Alexa (via Stitcher), or Spotify! Or, you can download the ep on Apple Podcasts or Google Play!