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Fantastic Fest 2021: BELLE is an Ambitious Social Media Spectacle
Mamoru Hosoda’s latest anime feature is a thoughtful exploration of the virtual masks we wear
Mamoru Hosoda’s films have a knack for exploring the fantastical worlds that exist in conjunction with our own, from the alternative mythological worlds of Japanese folklore in The Boy and the Beast to the stunning anthropomorphized social media of Summer Wars. Vibrantly underpinning these beautifully illustrated universes is a deeper, earnest exploration of inner worlds. Hosoda’s fascinated with how we connect to each other as human beings: how the various personas we adapt to get through our daily lives only stunt the growth of the people we have the potential to become. We could go back in time to fix our mistakes or explore the consequences of our actions (The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Mirai) or carefully choose to be men over beasts (Wolf Children) but Hosoda unabashedly celebrates the inevitable conclusion for each of these fruitless pursuits.
We’re beautifully, majestically flawed human beings, and only in coming together do we become more than the sum of our parts. To err isn’t just to be human — it’s to become divine.
Hosoda’s latest feature Belle dives into the sprawling cyber world of U, a virtual system that has taken over how humans engage with the world around them. Where Summer Wars’ OZ platform was restricted to screen interaction, users of U can literally “start over” their lives in a Matrix-like setting that directly interfaces with their eyes and ears. Avatars are uniquely tailored to their creators’ biometrics, creating identical yet wildly stylized and augmented virtual doppelgängers based on their best qualities. Everyone in U can literally be their dream self, with all of the fantastical possibilities that holds. The greatest celebrity of this world is musician Bell, whose life-affirming, toe-tapping tracks take the world by storm with the aid of floating instant-translation subtitles and throngs of vocal fans in Japan and beyond. Bell’s true identity, like all of U’s users, is an encrypted secret: her real user, Suzu (“Bell” in Japanese), is an introverted schoolgirl who believes she can’t sing a note.
Billed as a modern take on Beauty and the Beast, Belle moves its original story’s focus beyond a search for good and beauty within the worst of us to the qualities we all seek to amplify or hide. Even beyond Suzu, who revels in both her virtual viral fame and real-life anonymity, everyone in Belle has something they seek to hide about themselves. Suzu becomes a pop icon; a middle-aged housewife troll-brigades for her causes using an infant avatar, believing herself immune to consequences; multiple students at Suzu’s school barely conceal nascent crushes on each other, not believing they’re good enough for their dream pairing. These flawed people couldn’t be more different from their U avatar counterparts, despite being based on their unique, unmodifiable biometrics. While the concept of the freedom of anonymity has been explored in tandem with the rise of Twitter and Facebook, Hosoda is fascinated with how the avatars we choose can also highlight the qualities we fail to see in ourselves.
This disparity, however, can prove as dangerously addictive as much as it is a public service. Constantly running from her meek, introverted life into a literal dream world where she manages to take down a rival pop star, Suzu is able to accomplish everything she dreams of before rejecting the idea she’s capable of such things in the real world. Instead, Suzu and her tech-savvy best friend carefully manage Bell’s online persona while laughing at which celebrity news programs speculate is secretly behind Bell’s every move. In the same breath, Suzu envies the popular girl at their school, shies away from talking to dreamy boy Shinobu, and hides under instruments in her after-school choir in order to sing semi-confidently. It’s fame seemingly without consequences…except at the cost of actually pursuing the dreams in the real world.
The dream world is exquisitely realized by Hosoda and his team at Studio Chizu, a vibrant kaleidoscope of pop culture, HUDs, kooky avatars, and glossy consumerism on endless transparent levels. Like the earthy vistas of The Boy and the Beast or even the last iteration of this virtual world in Summer Wars, audiences’ eyes might tear up on instinct; to take it all in at once is just too staggering a task to handle.
What might catch viewers off guard is how much time it takes Belle to get to its Bête. A mangled, toothy black mass hidden under a splotchy-bruised cloak, the Beast (or The Dragon) is a vicious creature who wreaks AI-freezing havoc wherever it goes. When it disrupts Bell’s biggest concert yet, a team of moderators led by blond-coiffed Justin is determined to use his anonymity-breaking unveiling powers to reveal the Beast’s true identity and bring him to justice. This subplot, undoubtedly owing the most to its original source material, is compelling in its razor-sharp jabs at cancel culture and misguided white-knighting. However, it can’t help but feel like too much of a diversion from the rigorously-developed themes of identity and fame that already make Belle a fascinating watch.
Hosoda manages to get these stories back on track, however, as Belle reveals more about the tragic backstory not just behind The Dragon, but Suzu herself. Scarred by her mother’s fatal sacrifice to save the life of another stranger’s child, Suzu has spent her life wracked with conflicting feelings of guilt and self-worth. Teased with tantalizing clues about The Dragon’s identity, Suzu realizes her virtual conflicts must be resolved in the real world, and she rallies her inner circle to help save the life of someone she only knows piecemeal using only the fragments of knowledge at her disposal. What’s more, Hosoda recognizes and values the real-life connection Suzu and other social media users create with similar strangers around the globe; that if the world were that much smaller, we’d be a real-life presence in their lives without question. Further questions abound from that insight: with the internet connecting us to more people than ever, what responsibility do we have to these strangers facing peril at such a remove to us? And if we choose to act, what is the value system behind such virtual altruism, as avatars allow us to mask our motivations at every turn?
The plot’s myriad (and sometimes overwhelming) plot strands manage to converge in a heart-wrenching, visually stunning manner in the vein of classic Hosoda, and not without a copious amount of the signature slice-of-life humor that makes his features so memorable. Even with a handful of people in our early press screening, a sequence where a schoolboy and his crush approach each other in an unbroken shot that evokes both Buster Keaton and The Hurt Locker made the theater echo with raucous laughter. As ambitious and beautiful as Belle’s more gargantuan sequences may be, it’s these moments of touching simplicity that might stick with you the most. Like the characters within them, it’s the balance and combination of these sequences that make Hosoda’s films add up to something extraordinary–and Belle is a wonderful new addition to a stellar filmography.
Belle had its Texas Premiere at Fantastic Fest on September 25th, with a theatrical release planned for 2021 courtesy of GKIDS.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: THE BLACK PHONE is Creepy, Claustrophobic, and Wickedly Cool
This Joe Hill adaptation from the team behind Sinister is a spooky and suspenseful riot
North Denver, 1978. A string of neighborhood teens have gone missing, giving rise to rumors of a devilish child abductor known as The Grabber. To Finney Shaw (Mason Thames) and his younger sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw), the rumors are just that–tinged with odd whispered details of a black van, black balloons left behind at the scene of the victim’s last known whereabouts, and others…until Finney’s best friend Robin becomes the Grabber’s latest victim. Gwen has strange dreams that seem to point to the Grabber’s identity–but their abusive father (Jeremy Davies) beats such notions out of them, fearful Gwen will end up like their suicidal mother if she pursues her dreams further. Before too long, though, Finney learns the Grabber (Ethan Hawke) is all too real…ending up imprisoned in his concrete basement alone with the detritus of past victims. A disconnected black phone may be Finney’s last hope, as he receives instructions from the ghosts of the Grabber’s victims on how to escape his captor’s clutches.
Based off the 20-page short story by Joe Hill, The Black Phone reunites Sinister’s creative duo Scott Derrickson and C. Robert Cargill for a supernaturally-charged suspense thriller that’s equal parts terrifying and tender, transforming Finney’s abduction into a pulse-pounding coming of age story.
While The Black Phone deliberately keeps its two leads separated for much of the film’s runtime, Derrickson and Cargill structure their film to allow both Thames and McGraw to shine in riveting and suspenseful parallel storylines. While Hill’s original story opens with Finney’s abduction, the film spends quite a bit of time setting up Finney’s family dynamic, as well as the emotional impact these abductions have had on their small circle of friends. It’s clear early on that Finney and Gwen rely on each other to survive even without the threat of a child-killer looming over them. Davies’ father character is a walking time bomb, perpetually drunk after working shifts at the local plant, and barely suppressing his grief over their recently deceased mother.
Finney and Gwen don’t have time for grief. Here, they take on the roles vacated by both parents, cleaning up empty beer bottles amidst afternoon episodes of Davey and Goliath. Thames and McGraw are excellent throughout The Black Phone, creating a lived-in sibling bond that outwits and outlasts any threats both domestic and outside their home. Thames possesses the Spielbergian ingenuity of the best kid leads, determined to figure out any situation arising from conflicts other adults would expect him to be too young to understand, let alone to bravely face on his own. McGraw brought down the house at Fantastic Fest with her earnest, profanity-laden challenges to everyone in authority, from local detectives to Jesus himself. Even when abused by her father, Gwen never lets her rebellious streak be snuffed out. She eventually shouts what her father wants to hear, but her piercing stare reveals she couldn’t give a single damn what he thinks — and they both know it.
When Finney is abducted, Derrickson kinetically cross-cuts between the siblings’ storylines, navigating Finney’s piecemeal unearthing of the basement’s secrets while similar clues burrow their way into Gwen’s dreams. Often, Finney’s visions, relayed to him by dialed-in spirits, will bleed into similar visions experienced by Gwen, keeping the two linked even when the two are physically apart. It’s a wonderful expansion of the short story’s universe, keeping the film moving beyond its confined setting without sacrificing any of the intricately constructed tension and claustrophobia. And because the film rarely leaves the POV of these child actors (aside from two detectives and a brief but hilarious appearance by Sinister actor James Ransone), The Black Phone’s lean focus charges each scene with immediacy, emotional power, and pure terror.
Jesus, is this movie terrifying. Whether it’s the sudden appearance of the Grabber’s past victims, their otherworldly voices filtered by landline static, or how their dialogue will ambiently bounce around disparate theater speakers, Derrickson and Cargill perpetually keep The Black Phone’s audience in a constant state of unease and anxiety. The pair are masters at what’s directly shown versus what’s dreadfully implied — with the ruins of the basement serving as illustrations of past gruesome events while the ghosts narrate their final attempts at escape.
The supreme terror in this film, however, comes from Ethan Hawke’s unbelievably creepy performance. The Grabber is capital-E Evil, with an unrestrained malevolence injected into every cheerfully delivered line. His split mask, a future classic creation by the legendary Tom Savini, allows Hawke to drive his character into further unpredictable territory. The Grabber may make either his eyes or his mouth visible, but never is he fully revealed–keeping him perpetually unknowable and terrifying. Derrickson and Cargill likewise never delve into the backstory of the killer himself. We know only as much as Finney does, leaving much of his motivation to deliciously fester in the imaginations of the audience. While past roles like Tape have seen Hawke turn in understated villainous roles, and even Sinister saw the actor flirt with a hubris-fueled darkness, you’ve never seen Hawke this diabolical.
The killer’s unpredictability is also realized in much of The Black Phone’s impressively creative production design. The film does bring a beautiful amount of period accuracy to a horror film — its opening shot is literally a pop-top can — but what’s truly amazing his how Derrickson, Cargill, and Production Designer Patti Podesta turn every inch of Finney’s basement prison into a minefield of innocuous setups and cheer-inducing payoffs. It’s a great way to visually-realize the film’s journey from Finney’s darkest despair to his life-affirming drive to survive, as Finney digs, tears, buries, and climbs his way out of the jaws of death that have claimed so many before him.
Sinister may have set a terrifyingly high bar at Fantastic Fest 2012, but The Black Phone reunites its creative team for a film that skillfully employs old-school horror and popcorn excitement with sincerity and heart.
The Black Phone had its world premiere at Fantastic Fest on September 25th, 2021. It hits theaters courtesy of Universal Pictures on February 4, 2022.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: Jim Cummings & PJ McCabe’s THE BETA TEST: You Must Spring This Thirst Trap
Jim Cummings’ unhinged hot streak continues brilliantly
One wonders just how long Hollywood outsider Jim Cummings can keep his hot streak running.
From Thunder Road, to The Wolf Of Snow Hollow, to The Beta Test, Cummings writes, directs, and portrays a lead character who is absolutely on the verge of collapse, is perhaps one of the most exhausting lead characters in history (yes, in all 3 movies), and yet who ultimately becomes profoundly, uncomfortably vulnerable and generates a unique kind of cinematic empathy. As exhausting and ruinous as Cummings’ characters are, we can’t help but identify with them in some uncomfortable way we’d most likely care not to admit. And if this were all there was to Jim Cummings’ schtick, then perhaps there would be every reason to believe that his hot streak will be coming to a halt before too long. But what Cummings has now abundantly proven in his latest two features is that he can bring his incredibly unique characterization of broken humanity and place it into any number of genres and simply knock those genres out of the park.
Thunder Road introduced Cummings to the world as a father and a cop who simply has a unique and extremely public sort of breakdown. Wolf Of Snow Hollow brings a similar kind of character into a horror/murder mystery tale and nails everything about the genre. The Beta Test introduces a new co-writer/co-director/co-star in PJ McCabe and goes down a mystery/erotic thriller path to absolutely singular results. It’s odd, but even with his first two films being some of my favorites of their respective years, I still had some doubts as to the staying power of Jim Cummings. But here with The Beta Test, I’m comfortable believing that Cummings and his collaborators are here to stay, with endless creative energy and imagination left in the tank and endless fire in their bellies to skewer our way of life and affirm our mutually broken humanity.
There’s a confidence of vision in McCabe and Cummings’ latest film which is so brazen it literally seals their fates in terms of their futures in Hollywood. Cummings has long been outspoken about the dysfunctionality of Hollywood and the studio system and has thus far created his films totally outside of the studio system utilizing crowdfunding and social media. But The Beta Test pours some lighter fluid on the Hollywood sign and sets it ablaze as Cummings and McCabe play best friends Jordan and PJ who are slimy Hollywood agents at a fictional talent management agency called APE. One might almost call their scathing commentary on the brokenness and moral bankruptcy of the machine behind talent management on the nose if it weren’t so absolutely brazen and thorough and ultimately refreshing, because no one else would ever have the guts to take aim and fire so directly at the system that produces the very motion pictures we all love so much. And yet, it seems clear that Cummings and McCabe are perfectly capable of creating some of the most exciting motion pictures of the last several years without Hollywood’s help, so as they forge their own path, their righteous indignation towards a system that has allowed constant grifting, abusive relationships, power imbalance, and repeated sexual abuse of women and minors, will serve as a gift and not a curse.
But let’s talk about The Beta Test and how absolutely enthralling it is as its own piece of work. Cummings’ Jordan reminds me of Jude Law’s character in The Nest in that they’re both grifting their bosses, clients, and families into believing they’re more successful and fabulously wealthy than they really are. Jordan tells everyone about his Tesla, how he’s five years sober, and how every deal is just one “talk” away from closing. He’s also 6 weeks out from his wedding to his longsuffering fiancee Caroline (Virginia Newcomb, who is great in both this and The Death Of Dick Long) and has just received an intriguing purple envelope in the mail inviting him to a “no strings attached” sexual encounter…
Because Jordan is profoundly insecure and an absolute fuck-up, he takes the bait, has a frankly very hot sexual encounter, and is then promptly caught up in an identity theft situation that sends his already fake life spiraling out of control. Importantly, however, it isn’t just that Jordan is a fuck-up. Rather, The Best Test shows us that countless others have also fallen for this purple envelope scheme. And the film reminds us, with plenty of context, that it isn’t just Hollywood that is broken, it’s our whole national ethos. The pressure to “fake it ‘till you make it” is so prevalent in America that there are hundreds of thousands of Jordan’s burning the candle at both ends and quietly spiraling out of control. This fact allows us to both be disgusted by Jordan and also to identify with his plight.
Central to The Beta Test, beyond the character study of a broken human being, is this exercise in genre. The film is an effortlessly engaging mystery that keeps the audience guessing even as the solution to the problem is glaringly obvious: Jordan just needs to be honest with himself and his loved ones. The Beta Test, and the identity thieves all around us, know that we humans are so prone to hiding our demons at all cost that we’ll burn our entire lives down before we’ll simply be vulnerable. Jordan isn’t a hero by any stretch of the imagination. But it’s only when he begins to share some of his plight with PJ that the mystery begins to come into focus. And the key to the whole thing will come down to whether or not Jordan can stop lying incessantly to Caroline. But I won’t reveal where that all goes as you must see this for yourself.
What’s important is that The Beta Test succeeds in every possible regard. You’ve got unique, thrilling, and belly-laugh-inducing performances from Cummings, McCabe, and Newcomb. You’ve got angry, personal, pointed critique leveled directly at the power players in Hollywood who allow their abuse-laden system to keep festering. And you’ve got a thrilling rabbit hole mystery that never ceases to shock and surprise. All of it is actually elevated and made singular by Cummings’ exhausting work as a phony whose vulnerability is laid so achingly bare that you can’t help but cringe at the humanity of it all. There are very few voices that are able to say what Jim Cummings is saying through his work, and his is a voice that demands to be heard.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: PREMAN Has Something to Say With Its Indonesian Action
A non-traditional action film
Go ahead and get The Raid out of your head right now.
While it’s an Indonesian action film, Preman’s similarities to The Raid end right there. And there’s really nothing wrong with that. While I’ll admit that its genre is what got me to check the film out, I’m more than happy for Indonesian filmmakers like Preman writer/director Randolph Zaini to push beyond any boundaries western fans of The Raid might try to impose upon their work. And to mixed results, that feels like what Zaini had in mind.
The plot template feels right in line with countless international action showcases, with a father on the run from gangsters with his son in tow. Variations from that template this time out include our protagonist Sandi (Khiva Iskak) being deaf, and also not being a particularly great fighter or father. This is where it becomes clear that Preman will be a departure from the average action film. It’s a time honored tradition for audiences to root for their hero to kill all the bad guys and save the innocent child. Preman isn’t as interested in that as in exploring such heavy ideas as generational trauma, bullying, homophobia, and more. Sandi is a Preman, which the film defines for us as a particular kind of gangster that masks their violence under the guise of embracing some kind of political philosophy, but which is generally regarded by the average citizen as a nuisance (or worse). And, as such, Sandi isn’t exactly well regarded in the community. He’s also personally haunted by his own demons, in the form of nightmares personified by foxes portrayed as cartoonishly oversized mascot-costumed people. It gets a little bit weird, this one.
And so, while on its face Preman has the structure of a fairly traditional action film, Zaini clearly has more on his mind. This results in a film that’s less satisfying than the average action film, which I’ll admit is a struggle for me as an action fan. But far be it from me to fault a filmmaker who wants to explore the effects of toxic masculinity, bullying, and homophobia on their country’s culture.
Sandi isn’t without his charms as a protagonist trying desperately to save his son from gangsters who wish them dead after they witness said gang murder a community leader so they can take his land for a real estate developer. My favorite component of the film from an action perspective is Sandi’s signature weapon, which the filmmakers called a “monkey paw”. It’s this heavy ball on the end of a rope which Sandi uses to lay waste to his attackers. I’d never seen it before and Zaini explained to me in the film’s Q&A that it’s kind of a messy weapon used by drunken sailors in barroom brawls. So Sandi’s use of the monkey paw isn’t the same as a masterful Bruce Lee pulling out his signature nunchucks and displaying his supremacy. Rather, the monkey paw is considered a sloppy weapon to give you a slight advantage over your down and dirty competitors. I’d say it’s a pretty iconic weapon in the film, and this background helped me to better understand that Zaini and Iskak know their character quite well… and they know he isn’t a hero.
Sandi’s actions throughout the film result in a whole lot of negative consequences. Or, rather, his inactions. By not breaking with his corrupt gang, and standing up for what is right, some very traumatic and irreparable things happen. From an audience perspective, it makes it hard to root for Sandi. He’s not decisive. He’s not courageous. But he’s on the path to redemption and really it’s his son Pandu (Muzakki Ramdhan) who will do the saving as he models a more just lifestyle for his father to emulate.
Preman isn’t perfect, as its dramatic ambitions and its action film trappings don’t always seem to mesh in an airtight way. One almost gets the sense that for Indonesian filmmakers to be noticed internationally these days, it’s best to at least have some level of connection point to The Raid. And as I’ve already admitted, it’s the action that got me in the door. But Preman almost doesn’t really want to be an action movie. And even though it’s taking an opportunity to be critical of shortcomings in Indonesian inclusion, this westerner ended up needing some of the context provided in the post-film Q&A to really make sense of some of it. So while it’s just my perspective, I could see general audiences struggling to make some of the connections that Zaini intended.
But in the end there’s plenty to enjoy here, not least of which is a pretty iconic villain, The Barber, who will make you think differently about both scissors and the myth of Medusa. And that monkey paw really is a good bit of fun as our scrappy protagonist stays one step ahead of death until he finally gets his shit together. The further you throw away any expectations of The Raid, the better you’ll be setting yourself up to enjoy Preman.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: LAMB is a Patient and Primal Exploration of Parenthood
Noomi Rapace and Hilmir Snær Guðnason are spellbinding as farm bound parents who take a new creature into their care
Isolated in the Icelandic countryside on their sprawling estate, María (Noomi Rapace) and Ingvar (Hilmir Snær Guðnason) eke out their days tending to their livestock and crops. The outside world hints at monumental progress–time travel is now theoretically possible. Ingvar doesn’t see the point in seeing the future ahead, content with living in the everyday of their current experience. He hasn’t given a thought to the flip side of this possibility–to return to the past–but María’s quick answer reveals she has. What’s more, that it’s something she’s thought about for a long time while Ingvar seems to have buried the past outright. The tension exposed lingers across every scene in Valdimar Jóhannsson’s Lamb (Dýrið), like an imprint in a deathbed or a dust outline around a vacant picture frame. When the film finally arrives at its central conceit, the arrival of a cuddly new member of María and Ingvar’s family, Jóhannsson’s absurdity augments the aching sincerity behind this couple’s crushing loss, the emotional void filled by the role of parenthood, and what lengths we’ll go through to never feel that loss again.
Writer-director Jóhannsson maintains a strict grasp on the languid pace of Lamb throughout. With stunning tableaux of Icelandic mountain ranges and dew-strewn fields and a clinical view of the harsh yet necessary routines of farm life, much of Lamb feels like a Scandinavian successor to the films of Bela Tarr (who mentored Jóhannsson in film school, and executive produced Lamb). It’s in these meticulously captured sequences that the buried anguish of María and Ingvar comes to light–while tilling fields, repairing tractors, and birthing livestock are essential to their mental health as much as they are vital to keeping the lights running. Co-written by Jóhannsson and author Sjón (who also co-wrote Robert Eggers’ next feature, The Northman), I was caught off guard that the film was largely dialogue-free during the stretches where it’s solely María and Ingvar — but this decision speaks to not how this couple’s relationship has eroded but thrived beyond typical human recognition in their isolation. Having weathered literal and emotional storms together–Lamb realizes the need to express such feelings is so unnecessary.
Rapace and Guðnason are wholly committed to realizing this relationship onscreen, sharing a tenderness that blossoms as they take care of the new being under their charge. While similar creature features have actors who feel they need to overact to compensate for performing against a tennis ball, both actors radiate pure parental affection against what was revealed to be actual lambs, human babies, and eventually a skillfully designed combination of the two. As previously noted in one of the opening sequences, Rapace and Guðnason do diverge in how they choose to protect their adopted daughter–with Ingvar acting as the more conciliatory of the two to maintain a fragile peace, and Rapace quick to resort to whatever means necessary. As a result, the relationship between these leads feels dynamic and emotionally charged throughout Lamb, keeping the film moving at a measured pace even as further patience is required of the audience to piece together the film’s more understated and ambiguous moments.
The aforementioned VFX are truly a wonder to behold, used sparingly but without much obfuscation or trickery by the filmmakers. It’s crucial that for Lamb to work at all, the audience needs to be able to imprint on this creature as much as María and Ingvar do–not only to be convinced of the reality of Ada, but in the reality of what María and Ingvar do to defend their roles as her adopted parents. To keep it short–Ada is such an adorable creature, with her reflective lamb/human eyes filled with endless wonder and curiosity. Early on, she’s aware she doesn’t quite fit in–and is suspicious of any visitors that do arrive at the farm, notably Ingvar’s ex-rocker brother Pétur (Björn Hlynur Haraldsson). These hyper-aware emotions are an effective beacon of empathy for the audience–telegraphing how one wrong response could send this family’s lovingly crafted relationship tragically crashing down.
Which speaks to what I took away most from Lamb–how we develop that child-parent bond, and how María and Ingvar questionably exploit that attachment for their own self-therapeutic ends. It’s one of the few developments in Lamb that goes as far as to get an in-scene explanation, rooted in earlier heartbreak and loss. Much of their parenting, as is everyone’s, is done in the bubble of their farm, with María and Ingvar slowly learning to acknowledge their own past trauma and move on as they teach Ada about the beauty of the world. But how much of their attachment to Ada is for their own benefit, rather than raising this non-verbal lamb-child themselves? Throughout, the business of raising Ada feels increasingly akin to María and Ingvar’s deliberate dedication to their farm work, albeit with a more emotionally gratifying bent.
It’s a meditative conceit that provokes Jóhannsson’s audience throughout–even more so when some of its more fantastical elements go unexplained–whether it be an auspicious Christmas birth or more understated ties to Icelandic mythology. Lamb is a film that invites its audience to empathize with the broken people at its core as much as they do with the cuddly creation that’s the focus of its marketing–and to acknowledge the complex and conflicting emotions at the heart of a primal parental bond.
Lamb had its U.S. premiere at Fantastic Fest on September 25th. It hits theaters on October 8th courtesy of A24.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: MASTER OF THE FLYING GUILLOTINE, The RZA, & THESE FISTS BREAK BRICKS
A kung fu cinema experience
I moved to Austin in 2010 from Maryland and immediately jumped into the bustling film scene which had drawn me here. In casual conversation people will often ask about what made me relocate halfway across the country and I’ll frequently say: the film culture in Austin. I loved movies just as much in the suburbs of Washington DC as I do today, but I knew I had to not just keep reading about film festivals, film production, and breaking film news: I had to go and live it. Fantastic Fest, like all other film festivals and really any event-based organization, has struggled during COVID, going to an all virtual version in 2020 that wasn’t dubbed an “official” Fantastic Fest, and then here in 2021 having to majorly rework itself in response to the Delta variant just weeks before opening day. It’s been a rough ride for the organizers and promoters. But I dive into my own backstory and lay out the realistic context on the ground all to simply say this: Film festivals, and Fantastic Fest specifically, have an irreplicable ability to create true cinematic magic. And I’ll be forever grateful for all the forces in the world that combined to give me the chance to watch a 35mm print of Master Of The Flying Guillotine on the big screen whilst sitting mere feet away from The RZA as he provided live commentary for the film. (This was arranged by a company called 36 Cinema where RZA has partnered with Dan Halsted to present these kinds of ticketed screenings with live talent commentary in a mostly online format).
While my own kung fu bona fides are nowhere near what they could be and I’ll forever be a student, not a master, I came into the theater having seen this particular title more than once. I just wanted to focus on watching whatever action and kung fu cinema I could at the festival, and while I understood RZA would be providing a “live” commentary, I thought for sure that meant via Zoom. So it was a bit of pure magic when he showed up in the flesh to wax rhapsodic about kung fu cinema in general, and specifically this title. Jimmy Wang Yu’s Master Of The Flying Guillotine is frankly one of my favorite kung fu films because I feel it really stands out from a crowded field. A challenge I have with old school kung fu is that, while I enjoy it a lot, I regularly have trouble keeping them all separate from one another. Their stories often take a backseat to extraordinary physical brawls and battles. And while it’s great that the martial arts are the focus, I frequently find years later I can’t remember if I’ve even seen a particular title or not. Not so with this one. From the distinctive weapon, to being named after the film’s villain, to the showdown between an evil blind master and a one-armed hero… there’s just so much to love about this one. The music in particular has always been insanely badass, and it’s wild to have learned that Jimmy Wang Yu (who starred, wrote, and directed it) also just swiped music from some German band for the blind master’s theme and a Tangerine Dream track as well. I know rights clearances and sampling and all of that stuff can be dicey, but I love the music in this movie and, as the RZA said, “Cinema is hip hop”, and I’m glad this film exists as it does, among the very best kung fu films of all time.
Due to the capitalism engine that drives this country, behind the magic there’s always a little bit of something to sell. In this case, I don’t mind at all that a couple of these kung fu retrospective events such as this Guillotine screening and an upcoming Dynasty 3D screening were most likely organized in order to support the aforementioned 36 Cinema and also to sell a few brand new books. In this case one of Alamo Drafthouse’s companies, Mondo, is publishing a new book about the impact of kung fu cinema on American pop culture. It’s a large coffee table style book, printed in full color, called These Fists Break Bricks with a forward by RZA, but written by Grady Hendrix and Chris Poggiali. I’m unashamed to have purchased a copy myself, that’ll ultimately get signed by all 3 of the contributors. And while I’m not one for autographs and signed copies generally, I’ll almost certainly read the book cover to cover, and most importantly it’ll always be tied to this singular, magical experience that is only possible through me showing up to festivals, a killer team organizing these kinds of experiences, and the eternal need to support art by buying it.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: BABY ASSASSINS: Hard Hitting Action, One Note Comedy
An exercise in contradictory tones
Disaffected teenage girls Chisato (Akari Takaishi) and Mahiro (Saori Izawa) are roommates fresh out of high school navigating the frustrations of part time job interviews, demeaning service industry gigs, and the challenges that arise from being… secretly highly trained assassins? Yes, writer/director Yugo Sakamoto’s action comedy Baby Assassins is an exercise in contrasts, introducing us to the dour and depressed Mahiro and the chipper and boisterous Chisato as they learn to “adult” even as they take assignments from their shadowy employers. Hijinks ensue such as Chisato sleeping through her alarm so she’s running around the apartment grabbing a jacket, her keys, and her firearm so she won’t be late to her assassination appointment. The tone of this kind of comedy is pretty consistent throughout and it seems our actresses and Sakamoto have a pretty good feel for who these characters are. Baby Assassins builds a pretty distinct world.
It’s just that the comedy never quite rose beyond “amusing”, and the one note scenario seems to drag on for quite a while, even for a 95 minute feature film. As I wasn’t quite vibing with the film, I was getting close to dismissing it. I’m glad I pushed through, however, because Baby Assassins does build to a pretty grand finale, and does some minimal character exploration and growth.
Regarding that grand finale: Let’s talk about a man named Kensuke Sonomura. With over 75 credits to his name on IMDb as a stunt professional (a few of my personal highlights being action choreographer on Hydra and John Woo’s Manhunt), Sonomura is among the very best of the best when it comes to cinematic action. The 2021 film Hydra is so phenomenal, and so distinct, in fact, that I recognized the signature style found in that film here in Baby Assassins. I had to do a little internet digging but confirmed that indeed, Sonomura is the action director here… and it shows. While I’d argue that the recipe in Baby Assassins is just slightly off in favor of comedy over action, Mahiro’s absolutely stellar fight sequences will no doubt be among the very best of 2021/2022 (whenever this title releases in the United States). With a steady camera capturing all the gritty details, and a grappling style that’s powerfully cinematic, Sonomura’s action choreography matched with Saori Izawa and Akari Takaishi’s screen presences is what you’re paying for when you buy a ticket to Baby Assassins.
There’s definite comedic value in watching a couple of dramatic teen girls navigate the challenges of the roommate life while casually dispatching of rogue yakuza and such. But while there’s some thematic stuff going on, such as hinting at what kind of psychological damage is being done to these kids, and getting at the meaning of friendship between these two very different teen killers… even at 95 minutes Baby Assassins just barely justifies its length. But when toughing it out you’ll find just enough spark to the central relationship and a virtuoso action sequence or two to leave your jaw agape.
And I’m Out.
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Fantastic Fest 2021: THE EXECUTION: A Sweeping Russian Serial Killer Epic
A thrilling debut from director Lado Kvatanya
I think it’s safe to say at this point that “serial killer epics” are a firmly established subgenre. I’m talking about frequently period-set mystery/drama/thrillers that are grand in scope, and explore not only the cat and mouse chase of cops, killers, and victims, but also the culture around which these events take place. Just off the top of my head (I’m sure dozens of other examples might spring to your minds) you’ve got David Fincher’s Zodiac, Bong Joon Ho’s Memories Of Murder, and the Netflix series Mindhunters (which Fincher was also involved with). All of these properties take turns thrilling and frustrating their viewers and characters alike, frequently exposing the brokenness of humanity and the shortcomings of political and justice systems. The Execution is Russia’s latest entry into this subgenre and it easily goes toe to toe with those examples.
Hopping back and forth from events in and around 1981 to 1988 to 1991, The Execution follows Detectives Issa Valentinovich (Nikoloz Tavadze) and Ivan Sevastyanov (apologies, unable to locate the actor’s name) through a roller coaster of events surrounding the capture of a serial killer. Issa made his career as a younger man bringing a notorious serial killer to justice. Having seemingly done the same again in 1991 and being promoted in the process, a woman comes screaming out of the forest having escaped a murderer — throwing Issa’s previous arrest out the window. The screenplay from debut director Lado Kvatanya and co-writer Olga Gorodetskaya weaves wonderfully back and forth, doling out breadcrumbs masterfully to keep the audience guessing and engaged as an ever more complex picture is painted of the complex psychologies not only of the killers, but of the cops as well. According to Kvatanya, the writers were interested in exploring the collision between a conformist (Issa) and an idealist (Ivan) as they attempt to solve an almost impenetrable crime.
First and foremost, The Execution works because it’s a riveting thriller. As much as it’s possible to be “entertained” by such grim subject matter as a serial killer, The Execution is loaded with red herrings and shocking revelations, all aided by the time hopping screenplay that can at times be tough to follow, but which will all pay off in a hermetically sealed package. In the final act of the film a number of major twists and turns emerge which I won’t spoil for anyone, but which firmly place the film into a slightly more satisfying package than some of the other films I’ve categorized The Execution alongside.
But that’s where another level of The Execution’s excellence should be noted. Because while the film will ultimately shock and entertain the viewer with its twists, the first two thirds of the movie very clearly explore the extreme “Russian-ness” of the events occurring. Aesthetically, The Execution is brilliant. I don’t know what Russia actually feels like, having never been there myself, but The Execution transported me to smoke-filled, dimly lit institutional offices and isolated farms in the forest and the cinematography and set design all just clicks into place. In terms of story, Issa is pressured by the government to wrap up the case and name a killer to save face, and it becomes clear just how much the USSR government apparatus will have an impact on the case as Issa makes his career by naming a name, and Ivan spirals out of control with the need for the truth. It honestly never really occurred to me to consider the actual historical context of what was happening in Russia as these events were unfolding, but The Execution is subtle in this regard, allowing an attentive viewer to associate the dissolution of our main characters with the dissolution of the USSR itself without being on the nose.
One of the biggest surprises and best films I’ve seen thus far at Fantastic Fest 2021, The Execution is a thrilling debut from a first-time filmmaker. Audiences who’ve loved serial killer cinema in the past will most definitely want to take the time and check out The Execution, assuming it ever secures a North American release, which I hope it does!
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Fantastic Fest 2021: THE FOUND FOOTAGE PHENOMENON is a Love Letter to Decades of Creepy Cinema
Sarah Appleton and Phillip Escott assemble a can’t-miss congregation of filmmakers and critics to determine just why audiences want to believe in the reality of horror
While any horror discourse is guaranteed to provoke fiercely held opinions, there’s likely no question that will be as immediately polarizing as asking what horror fans think of found footage horror films. Sarah Appleton and Phillip Escott’s new documentary The Found Footage Phenomenon dives headfirst into these murky waters, suggesting that while our personal verdicts on the genre may be nearly instantaneous, fully unpacking them may be a more nuanced and involving matter altogether. Unlike any other genre of horror, found footage directly attacks the viewers’ sense of reality–building off of our everyday lives, convincing us of how true they are…while slowly slipping in the otherworldly, the fantastic, or the bloodcurdlingly violent. The lack of score, polish, or anything demarcating a piece of fiction becomes as much of a weapon as it is a stylistic choice–with our barriers between true and false ripped asunder, we become as much a participant in our own terror as much as we are an eager audience. Some reject this approach entirely, highlighting a lack of craft or forced storytelling limitations. Other fans (like yours truly) revel in the experience, an opportunity to be further immersed in horror storytelling like nothing else.
The Found Footage Phenomenon leaves no stone unturned in navigating the philosophical and creative minefields the genre has created in the decades since the filmmakers behind Cannibal Holocaust, The Last Broadcast, and The Blair Witch Project popularized unearthing their supposedly real tapes. Much like fellow Fantastic Fest doc Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched from Kier-La Janisse, Appleton and Escott’s tenacity in exploring every aspect of found footage brings together an unparalleled roster of academics and filmmakers from around the globe who are more than eager to dissect this bizarre reclusive stepchild of horror cinema. Creators of genre staples Blair Witch, Last Broadcast, REC, Ghostwatch, Noroi, Paranormal Activity, and Troll Hunter are all assembled here, in addition to those behind more deep cuts like Megan is Missing, The McPherson Tape, Hate Crime, and Afflicted, to newer classics like Host, Found Footage 3D, and beyond. Much of The Found Footage Phenomena feels like a meandering yet tightly focused trip down memory lane as these creatives reveal the secrets behind the films’ origins and executions, with many of these films’ simultaneous productions leading to competing narratives over who was the first to pull off which storytelling device and why.
What unites these filmmakers, though, is a fearless dedication to scaring their audience using only what’s at hand. While it’s a decision that’s often borne out of budget and necessity, it’s one that only heightens the amount of dread and terror these films are capable of. From the shot of a man standing in a corner in Blair Witch to faces lingering in the corner of a still frame in Lake Mungo, some of the scariest and impactful moments of the genre are those that do so much with so little. While big-budget horror films can spare no expense at blood and gore, The Found Footage Phenomenon argues that found footage horror uses their audience’s sense of voyeurism and perceived authenticity against them to inspire true fear. It doesn’t matter whether it’s an unseen apparition dragging us out of bed or suddenly coming across an impaled girl in the jungle–no matter how much or little time or money is spent on the shot, there’s still that split second where our lizard brains feel like these moments are real.
And like these brain-tickling moments of found footage, the most intriguing parts of The Found Footage Phenomenon are the sequences where Appleton and Escott dig into the psychology of why this genre remains so viscerally effective to audiences today. Appleton and Escott’s argument is twofold–whether we love or hate found footage, audiences are naturally drawn to the appearance of reality, while also being keenly aware of anytime that sense of constructed reality feels false. Technological changes in how we record the world around us lead to booms of found footage–from the new availability of camcorders in The McPherson Tape to primetime simulcasts in Ghostwatch to the lockdown-imposed Zoom meetings of Host. As an unintended consequence of capitalizing on new media, each of these films captures their unique zeitgeist–creating a time capsule of how and why we relied on these modes of reality at any given point.
That’s what’s ultimately so fascinating about this genre, and Appleton and Escott’s love letter of a documentary. Whether you love or hate found footage, each of these films also captures an irreplaceable spirit of their era of horror and the audience who craved these films. While some classic horror films feel timeless, no other genre of horror is so rooted in its own moment–rising and ebbing like increasingly mercurial tides as technologies and audiences and both cinema and the horror genre change to survive as a result. As the years pass and tropes and tech fall out of pop culture favor–found footage films dare to remind us that the past might not be as distant as we want to believe. The Found Footage Phenomenon unabashedly celebrates this much-maligned genre–and revives classics and buried treasure titles alike for future audiences to discover for themselves…if they dare.
The Found Footage Phenomenon has its U.S. Premiere at Fantastic Fest on Thursday, September 23rd. The film will also be available on the Fantastic Fest @ Home Virtual Platform for 48 hours beginning Friday, October 1st. A U.S. distributor is in the works!
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Fantastic Fest 2021: An Interview with THE FOUND FOOTAGE PHENOMENON Co-Director Sarah Appleton
Sarah Appleton and Phillip Escott’s new documentary, The Found Footage Phenomenon, is an incredible retrospective of all the greatest hits and deep cuts this method of horror has to offer. From Cannibal Holocaust and Mondo films of the 1970s to Blair Witch, REC, Noroi, and other modern classics, to the COVID-tinged Zoom horror of Host and beyond–it’s rare to think of a piece of found footage horror that doesn’t go unscrutinized. With THE FOUND FOOTAGE PHENOMENON, Appleton and Escott make the case for a serious re-appraisal for a much-maligned genre, and express deep appreciation for how these films manage to capture their own unique zeitgeist in a world of constantly-evolving technology.
Ahead of the film’s U.S. premiere at Fantastic Fest, I caught up with Appleton to gush about all things horror, found footage, and the delightful mix of the two covered in her and Escott’s doc.
This interview has been edited and condensed for time and clarity.
Julian Singleton: To kick things off, what’s the draw of found footage for you compared to other horror genres?
Sarah Appleton: I don’t know, really. It’s one of those strange genres that came up in the 21st century that lots of people ignored. You start noticing things sometimes that everyone ignores–that there must be some merit to them. I also loved how accessible [found footage] was for lots of people who didn’t have that much money. Those people who wouldn’t have been able to make a film previously had a format where they could make a film that was really cool, realistic, believable, and scary.
Julian: And with the advent of having that accessibility came a new generation teaching themselves film grammar. With that technology came having to re-learn the rules, almost.
Sarah: It’s weird, because [found footage] came before social media and things. There’s social media found footage now, but it pre-empted people running around filming everything on their phone the whole time. That’s why I think it’s quite cool to look back at them now, because you’re more used to a style now that people didn’t like when it first came in.
Julian: What’s cool about the documentary is how it makes the case that found footage even predates film–with Dracula and War of the Worlds, that we had a craving for reality in horror before we even had the means to do it.
Sarah: If you’re like me and you like horror films, the only horror films that are scary are the ones that are believable and realistic. At least, that’s my opinion–some people like monster movies like Cloverfield. To me, the best way to scare someone is to convince them that something is in their reality. And that’s what found footage does!
Julian: Are there different aspects of found footage that you and your co-director love, and how did those reconcile between y’all in making the documentary?
Sarah: It was weird how we sort of melded. Phil was interested in Cannibal Holocaust, how [found footage] came out of Italy with the Mondo films, and how they came out of faux-documentaries in the 1970s. I was more into the technical aspects–when you’re running through the 1990s, [how] people get handheld cameras, and how the accessibility of technology allowed for more different stories in found footage to actually come about–ones that you wouldn’t get in a big-budget horror movie of the time.
Julian: The way the doc presents itself, the two are almost inseparable from one another. There was a push to create realistic cinema in the 1970s, but once you have that accessibility in the 1990s, the genre finally has the outlet it’s been looking for.
Sarah: That’s why I really love films like The Last Broadcast. They took everything they could possibly have at the time with the money they had, and tried to show you “this is what happens when you try to make something realistic with what you have.” It’s pre-empting the idea that anyone can make something…so you shouldn’t trust everything you see.
Julian: It’s definitely weird watching a doc like this amidst all of the craziness of right now.
Sarah: (Laughs) Like most people, I feel like right now you can’t trust anything you see on the telly, so it feels like the right time to make this documentary. Even though at the end of the day, [The Found Footage Phenomenon] is about films, but all of these films are of the time in which they were made. They all tell different stories about the turn of the millennium.
Julian: And it’s like the more this tech evolves, the window in which they’re capturing their zeitgeist is constantly shrinking. You have The Blair Witch Project, which took a year to make and had this slow build of hype and word-of-mouth after Sundance, and now you have Host, which is conceived and shot within two weeks amidst the Lockdown and it’s released before that period is even over.
Sarah: It’s crazy how quickly things are changing in society. You’ve got to make films really quick nowadays. The Blair Witch Project and The Last Broadcast had years to experiment before anyone else was doing something similar. Now Host director Robin Savage has another movie coming out (DashCam), and we’re still not over COVID. Plus, there’s so many people making films nowadays that you just have to do things really quick–otherwise someone else will get the same idea.
Julian: Do you see that window getting even smaller? What does the future of found footage look like for you?
Sarah: (Laughs) Oh my God!
Julian: I know, it’s a huge question!
Sarah: I don’t think anyone knows! You’ll have to wait and see what happens in the world. We’re at such a weird turning point with technology and everything that it’ll be quite interesting to see what happens when we come out on the other side, and what found footage we’ll want to see.
I think as Shelly [McMundro] says in the documentary, we’ll see more social media-based horror. Watching someone’s Facebook Live is the most realistic stuff you can get these days. And asking, “how would they fake that?” So that’s “real.” At least for now–God knows what’s going to happen after a couple of years.
Julian: And like Rob Savage making his film during lockdown, y’all pretty much did the impossible with this documentary during COVID. What was it like coordinating all of these interviews all over the world? You have Koji Shiraishi in Japan, everyone involved with The Blair Witch Project and The Last Broadcast in America, and you even got Ruggero Deodato!
Sarah: It was so interesting because at the beginning we had no idea who we were going to get. There’s so many films you can call upon, and there’s so many filmmakers we couldn’t get. Ruggero Deodato was actually the first person we got, because [Phil and I] both work in Blu-ray distribution, and we’re used to conducting interviews anyway. So Phil’s got a lot of contacts in Italy, and Ruggero coming on board really spurred us on to try and get other people. We couldn’t have made this documentary at any other time, so it’s kind of ironic in a good way with the contents of the documentary couldn’t have been made at any other time either.
Before the internet, we literally organized everything from the comfort of our own lockdown, you know? So, some people resorted to Zoom interviews for their filmed stuff, and we just really didn’t want to take that route–we took minimal crews overseas and employed social distancing. We hit [our interviews] at some points where it was easing off, and at some points where we had to get reorganized and reshot just because of local lockdowns.
Koji Shiraishi was quite fun! It was actually quite a challenge to get stuff shot in Japan. They were pretty locked down in Tokyo. I think they’re still not letting people in!
Julian: Were there any gaps in the history of found footage that you unearthed in your research or a film you ended up watching for the first time?
Sarah: Totally! There’s a lot of stuff we actually couldn’t cover as a result of the structure of the documentary. We were looking at films like My Little Eye in 2001 that hit on the reality TV era. I really wanted to do something on that, but it was just too much of a tangent after Blair Witch that it didn’t make sense. As for films I didn’t know about, there’s a film called David Holzman’s Diary. All of the American interviewees seemed to watch it in film school, but we didn’t know about it at all. It’s just not taught in the UK. And it was just fascinating to see that people filming themselves started even earlier than the Mondo films.
Julian: It’s funny you mentioned they watched that in film school–there’s actually a short film from that period called No Lies that I watched at NYU. It’s both transgressive and progressive at the same time for talking about a woman’s experience with rape in the 1970s. The filmmaker’s so uncomfortable in coaxing these questions out of her until finally, she slams the door in his face–and it says “Directed by this person.”
Sarah: I love that! People were really experimenting with that back then. And that brings up how we had to really draw a line in charting the history of horror found footage. There was even a film the BFI made me aware of called Skinflicker that came out in the mid-’60s. It’s a film about these people who kidnap and torture a government official, with a [factual disclaimer] and all. But we address David Holzman’s Diary because it was so influential to people like Lance [Weiler] from The Last Broadcast and Patrick Brice, who did Creep.
Julian: One of the hardest things about found footage is how with other horror franchises, you can repeat the same tricks or tropes to bring in people, but with found footage, it’s like you can only convince someone once that it’s reality. And every filmmaker builds off of that from there.
Sarah: And it can still continue to work! The fact of reality is that our lives are changing all the time. So more stories are being created every day. It’s easy to think that everything’s been done, and I used to think that with horror. “What’s new? What’s going to scare me?” But when you’re basing horror in reality, there’s still so much you can do. If there wasn’t, why would we be alive? We’d just be bored. (Laughs)
Julian: One of the things I appreciated most about this documentary is that it goes beyond the expected American scope some might associate with found footage. You cover Cannibal Holocaust, the [REC] movies, Koji Shiraishi movies. What’s the most universal aspect of found footage to you?
Sarah: That’s sort of why we called it the “global sensation.” Because of countries that don’t have that many funding opportunities, or filmmakers like [Troll Hunter’s] André Øvredal, where you have a good film industry but got [comparatively] better budgets once he began making films in America. Jeruzalem’s directors (Yoav Paz and Doron Paz) were also able to film partially in the Holy City–but you wouldn’t see that kind of film with a big budget necessarily coming out of that country. I may be off base, but found footage allowed for a lot of filmmakers from different countries to get their work out there and make something for less money.
And Horror is such a global thing anyway–it’d be a shame to think about it as just a U.S. thing. I think [REC] is one of the most well-known and well-liked found footage films–and it was remade in the U.S. as Quarantine, so you guys liked it. (Laughs.) With how accessible the medium and the resources are, it’s easily a global thing. It’d be a mistake to just talk about Paranormal Activity and not Troll Hunter or Apartment 143 or Noroi: the Curse.
And it seems like anytime you ask someone on Twitter what their favorite found footage film is, they say Noroi!
Julian: I mean… (is wearing a homemade Noroi t-shirt)
Sarah: You obviously love it (Laughs). That’s what’s interesting about Paranormal Activity. They tried to remake Blair Witch, but not in found footage (so what’s the point). With Paranormal Activity, they have a huge Hollywood franchise now that’s subverted what found footage is supposed to be!
Julian: And now you have a new one coming out in October!
Sarah: And a documentary about it, too! People love that format. It’s weird how it’s harder for folks to get into the smaller ones.
Julian: Maybe this doc will help guide people to them because it hits on those greatest hits titles before getting into the deep cuts. To close things out–besides The Last Broadcast (which we love), what’s a found footage film you think deserves more viewers?
Sarah: There’s so many! I have to say Afflicted because they did so well to make such a really cool spin on vampires. I should have a few [titles] I call upon, really, but I just keep calling on the same one. Also, Lake Mungo! Have you seen that one?
Julian: I just got the Second Sight Blu-ray (Note–Region Free)!
Sarah: If you haven’t seen it before, you’ll be freaked out at how good it is. For scary [found footage], that’s my pick. Especially how they hold on to certain sequences and images for so long. There’s no way of explaining the atmosphere in that film, you just have to see it for yourself. It’s bloody scary.
What’s your favorite horror movie?
Julian: It’s totally Noroi. Followed by the OG Dawn of the Dead. And you?
Sarah: You’re gonna laugh–but Final Destination 3! (Laughs)
Julian: Those are so good!
Sarah: I just love the atmosphere, the sound, the music. It makes me so scared watching the roller coaster scene, even though I’ve seen it 20 times. I just love it.
Julian: Those movies will inspire so many generations to just avoid specific things. I don’t know a single friend who will drive behind a logging truck. And I never want to step foot in a tanning bed ever in my life.
Sarah: It’s so hilarious how the shelf slots in with the tanning beds. I’ve seen others who prefer the other ones, but that’s the one I love the most. I know I didn’t say a found footage movie! (Laughs.)
The Found Footage Phenomenon has its U.S. Premiere at Fantastic Fest on Thursday, September 23rd. The film will also be available on the Fantastic Fest @ Home Virtual Platform for 48 hours beginning Thursday, September 30th. A U.S. distributor is in the works!
