Sezin Devi Koehler's Blog, page 5

Microreview: Sam Raimi’s Criminally Underrated The Gift (2000) Features Performances That Haunt Decades Later

When you think of director Sam Raimi odds are high that his masterpiece of Southern gothic horror doesn’t even register in his top films. I mean, it’s hard to compete with The Evil Dead and Spider-Man after all. But I’d argue that one of his magnum opus is actually the criminally underrated The Gift (2000), from 2000.

Filmed on location in the deep Georgia bayous, the swamps are as much a character as the denizens of Brixton. Especially when the body of local debutante and belle of the balls (pun intended) vixen Jessica King is found dead, murdered and dumped in a mangrove-lined pond that belongs to town bad boy Donnie Barksdale (Keanu Reeves). The incompetent police department — this is not a copaganda movie in the least — grudgingly enlist the help of a local psychic named Annie (Cate Blanchett) to help them solve the case. A favor they use against the “town witch” the moment they can to demonize her, instead of, you know, figuring out who killed Jessica. Annie, fascinatingly, reads from a deck of Zener Cards, the same cards used at the beginning of Ghostbusters to test psychic abilities, and the effect is beautiful in a specifically gothic way.

The entire main cast deserved award nods for their performances in The Gift. In particular, Keanu Reeves as wife-beating town bully Donnie Barksdale is played so no-holds-barred by Reeves as to be physically uncomfortable to watch. In fact, he actually punched both Hilary Swank and Blanchett during filming — with their consent of course. The result is as visceral as it looks.

And the layers of Giovanni Ribisi’s Buddy are equally haunting and tragic as the layers of truth peel back. Enough so that even when I see the Blue Diamond almond milk at the store my stomach turns and I buy another brand.

There’s so much more. If you haven’t seen it, I’m not going to spoil the twists. Which are equal moving, disturbing, and lingering even now 23 years later.

Also, thanks to Keanu’s own Asian and Indigenous heritage, we have an important moment of Southern representation for both of these groups, a presence that gets very little mention in narratives about the South. After all, I’m a South Asian southerner myself now after having lived in Florida for 12 years, and I can count Asian representation in Southern tales on one hand.

The Gift is a must-watch not just for horror fans, but Keanu Reeves fans too, even if you aren’t into horror. It’s eerie, it’s heartbreaking, and Keanu is absolutely brilliant.

Water card/5 stars. Highly recommend getting your predicament read from an unusual deck.

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MicroReview: Pet Sematary Two and Pet Sematary: Bloodlines Embody White Devilry and the Horrors of Settler Colonialism

In honor of Indigenous Peoples’ Day earlier this week, let’s talk colonization, cultural appropriation, and white devilry.

Mary Lambert’s original Stephen King adaptation of Pet Sematary is mainly about grief. But it is also about the cultural appropriation of Indigenous lands by colonizer forces and the evil that these settlers awaken that can’t do easily be put back to sleep. I wrote a full review on the film’s 30th birthday.

By Lambert’s follow-up Pet Sematary Two (1992) this discussion of grief and cultural appropriation quickly extends to white devilry and a scathing critique of police impunity. In Part Two, Drew (Jason McGuire) and Jeff (Edward Furlong) accidentally kill Drew’s bully stepfather Gus (Clancy Brown), and to cover up their mistake they bury him in the sour land past the deadfall. Gus isn’t just a dick. He’s also Ludlow’s police chief. When he comes back even worse than he began, his collection of crimes are shielded by his police uniform in increasingly disturbing ways. White devilry manifests on several levels as Gus gets away with extreme violence and murder, nobody being able to say or do anything because he’s the law.

Pet Sematary Two features a grisly sexual assault as a recently Semataried Gus attacks his wife Amanda (Lisa Waltz). For the remainder of the film, we see huge dark bruises over her body, a powerful reminder that these acts of violence have long-reaching repercussions. And a clever way that director Mary Lambert shows the audience how even when those bruises fade to our eyes, they will never leave Amanda. The haunted look around her face might end up permanent. The female gaze directing horror is always a win.

The 2023 prequel film, Pet Sematary: Bloodlines extends the critique of state-sanctioned violence even further, bringing in a highly decorated soldier returned from the Vietnam War. Like Part Two, Bloodlines is also about what happens you turn a trained killer into an actual monster. And the men who came back from Vietnam with lots of medals often did unimaginable things to other humans, including women and children. After Bill Baterman (David Duchovny) revives his son Timmy (Jack Mulhern) in the antiburial ground, it sets off a chain reaction that calls back to the 1674 settler violence in creating the town we now know as Ludlow.

Although this series is about an Indigenous people’s land and history, Bloodlines is the first film to actually feature Native characters actually played by Indigenous actors. While the characterization of Manny (Forrest Goodluck) and his sister Donna (Isabella LaBlanc) are rooted in shades of caricature — issues that could have had an easy fix with a cultural sensitivity consultant — their presence is still an important moment in this franchise’s history, as well as King adaptations as a whole.

It’s difficult to watch, but Bloodlines importantly highlights the brutality of Anglo soldier violence against Indigenous women, both in the past and now. In Hawaii for example, US military soldiers are responsible for much of the trafficking, abuse, and murder of Indigenous women, to name one real-life example. Just Google MMIW for more information on this horrific epidemic of violence against Indigenous women in particular.

At its heart, the Pet Sematary films are about various kinds of generational and inherited trauma, stemming from settler colonialism and resulting violence. It’s also about the lengths some will go in order to avoid processing grief. That dangerous psychological space where the inability to say goodbye becomes toxic. An inability that also goes back to the white devilry of colonization. Some people never learn to let go of things that don’t belong to them.

Since this week celebrated Indigenous Peoples’ Day, I’ll end these microreviews with a hearty: Fuck Christopher Columbus. And fuck settler colonizers. Throughout history and now.

Part One: Spiral/5 stars. Part Two: 4/5 stars. Bloodlines: 3/5 stars. Highly recommend giving ancestral and treaty lands back to Indigenous peoples.

PS: For a background on white devilry, check this out.

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MicroReview: The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad (1949): The Horror of Industrialization vs. Folk Horror

I haven’t seen The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr Toad for many years and I was stunned by how disturbing this duo of tales is, even now decades since it was released in 1949. I’d also forgotten the title is a reversal and Mr Toad’s adventure comes first.

And WHOA. Mr Toad’s story is about the horror of industrialization as Mr. Toad’s need for speed leads him to steal horse-drawn caravans escalates into a crazed “motormania” the moment he experiences driving a car for the first time. Mr Toad’s madness prompts his friends to hold him prisoner in his own house, under the guise of “saving Toad from himself.” But by moto-blocking him, Toad’s obsession grows exponentially and he secretly trades his entire ancestral mansion for just one car.

Fans of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? will recognize the weasel henchmen in their dastardly debut appearances. Incidentally, Roger Rabbit is also about the damaging effects of cars on people and places as it mirrors real-life Los Angeles history when the street cars that provided amazing public transportation were bought out by General Motors to build freeways and encourage car consumption. Mr Toad’s adventure ends well, but it’s a surprisingly harrowing journey with a lot of subtext. And an important content warning is necessary for the slur against Romani people.

And all of that’s before we get to the iconic folk horror tale of Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. I had lost many of the details of this cartoon, so I had my jaw on the floor for a lot of these 40 minutes.

For example, Ichabod Crane is rather a pervert, highlighted by his phallic nose and erect hair. Why, Disney?! Gagging in the worst way. Ichabod’s manipulations of the women around him are as unsettling as the eventual Headless Horseman who, in fact, by the end competes with Ichabod for who is creepier. Brom, his rival, is actually far more the gentleman as he tries to protect Katrina from Ichabod’s machinations. That is, until he attacks Ichabod in the woods and disappears him—I’m sure Brom was responsible for the showdown with the ghost rider and his flaming pumpkins.

There were a lot of uncomfortable moments that were hard to ignore, especially putting into context the fact that this movie is marketed to children. Katrina herself is presented pornographically with a beyond huge rack and pinky-sized waist.

However, what’s fascinating about pairing Mr Toad’s story with Ichabod’s is the contrast between the horror of industrialization and folk horror. Very clever and another aspect that’s just not fit for kids.

4/5 stars. Recommend for adults, sans children.

P.S. If you’re interested in learning more about the real-life history behind the trolley wars of Roger Rabbit, here you go.

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MicroReview: Bitch Ass Is a Fabulous Homage to 90s Black Horror

The less I say about Bitch Ass (2023) the better. If you’re a fan of Black horror, and particularly 90s Black horror like Bones and Tales From the Hood, then catch this one as soon as you can.

It’s creepy, it’s campy. It’s gory and hilarious. I’m not a big fan of horror comedies, but I loved this one.

Rock, Paper, Scissors/5 stars. Recommend as a double feature with Game Night.

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A Microreview in Which I Compare Guadagnino’s Bones and All to Laugier’s Martyrs: The Horror of Transcendence

I absolutely adore Luca Guadagnino’s work, especially the Third Culture Kid perspective that’s so obvious in his art. But Bones and All? A horror movie about cannibals? I wasn’t sure if I could manage it given this is imagery that often literally makes me puke.

But I should have known Guadanigno would tackle the subject matter in a way that’s exactly to my taste, pun intended. The result is an achingly beautiful and haunting love story featuring a ragtag group of outsiders doing what they need to do to survive. It’s also a tale of profound social isolation and the specific kind of madness that comes with not just being alone, but believing you’re all alone. The terrible lengths people will go to in order to feel connected, quite literally in some cases. Sully (Mark Rylance) keeps an 8-foot rope of the hair of people he’s eaten. In any other context it would be akin to the souvenirs of a serial killer. In Bone and All it’s Sully’s way of remembering and honoring the dead for their sacrifice.

I spent the entire 130 minutes of the film on the verge of tears in the best way possible. I somehow saw myself and my dreams reflected (or deflected as the case may be) in every character on screen. Remember what I said about Train to Busan and empathy as a main character? Bones and All does something similar. And I am here for every example of this kind of horror. The writing, the acting, and Guadagnino’s unique vision makes this a soul shaking hybrid story that represents every genre under the sun. It’s shifted my emotional and psychological tectonics toward a wholeness in a way that was unexpected, but now welcome beyond anything I’ve seen in years. Since Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs in fact: The journey of liberation, annihilation, and ultimately transcendence.

But with Bones and All, I never wanted this story to end. And as it replays in my mind, it never will.

Infinity/5 stars. Recommend forever.

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Review: Dogstar’s “Somewhere Between the Power Lines and Palm Trees” Is a 90s Rock Imaginarium Extravaganza

Happy Halloween to Dogstar fans, indeed! Somewhere Between the Power Lines and Palm Trees dropped at midnight October 6, 2023 for pre-orders and you can bet that I was already waiting at 12:01 AM for the album to go live. I listened to it four times before I went to sleep and it’s been on repeat since I woke up. No skips, as the kids say.

I love the homonym poetry of Bret Domrose’s lyrics, as well as the clever wordplay and multiple entendres.

What does it take? What can I take?
To bring you back, to touch your back?
“Everything Turns Around”

I can’t get over how much richer the timbre of Bret’s voice is now after all these years. His gift is aging well. I also love how the titles aren’t necessarily lyrics — like “Overhang,” “Upside,” and “Blonde” — which adds a narrative depth that plays out like a film in my head. It reminds me of The Beta Band’s The Three EPs, The Killers’ Sam’s Town, and Alexi Murdoch’s Time and Consequence, which similarly have a visual sound that also calls to my mind Aimee Mann’s Magnolia.

Power Lines and Palm Trees is a story about a messy man and a complicated woman in Los Angeles, and how hard they did and didn’t try to make their love work over the course of many years. It’s hopeful, it’s sexy, and it’s wrenching in equal measures, sometimes simultaneously. But unlike the comparisons I’ve made to other albums, this tale is most excellently and effectively nonlinear.

Lily the Cyclops, by Rose Margaret Deniz, from American Monsters (2011).

And watch how I turn it into a horror movie: The woman gets a name in track six, Lily. In my first novel American Monsters, also set in LA, Lily is a cyclops who can turn men to stone with her eye. In my book she’s just a teen. But in my Power Lines and Palm Trees imaginarium, Lily is all grown up and thriving. Except for this toxic entanglement with a troubled musician who wants her back but doesn’t understand how to make it work. In the lyrics he even says how she’s “looking like you’re trying to kill me.” My Lily’s eye is still dangerous as ever, but she loves him too much to actually use it.

The things that I do don’t work for you,
and all that you need doesn’t seem to be inside of me.
“How The Story Ends“

If this album is my imaginary horror movie, it’s akin to Bones and All. There is also a mythmaking dash of the boys in The Virgin Suicides as they reflect on the lost Lisbon Sisters. A warm angst with a dark undercurrent that’s weirdly comforting. The story feels real and honest.

A lot of imagery comes to mind as I listen. The sitar riff in “Lust” could be a nod to Keanu’s Little Buddha. And the closing notes of the song remind me of David Bowie’s Labyrinth twinkles. After all, Dogstar opened for Bowie in 1995 at the Hollywood Palladium. “How the Story Ends” feels like a nod to River Phoenix’s James Wright in The Thing Called Love who also had a penchant for leaving his songs hanging on an unresolved note, to hauntingly beautiful effect.

There’s a song for everyone to bring them home.
“Dillon Street”

Dillon Street and Rob Mailhouse’s moving harmonica solo feels like a tribute to Bob Dylan himself, and so many other great singer/songwriters. Keanu on bass is the sounds of joy, the heartbeat of the world. It’s a bold move ending the album on “Breach,” which is a cliffhanger making me already impatient for their next record.

After the past year working on Much Ado About Keanu and writing about the band before I even knew they’d be getting back together — and so soon — Power Lines and Palm Trees feels like such a gift from the universe. An entirely new way to experience Mr Reeves’ expansive art and creativity.

But it also feels like time traveling back to the peak of 90s rock. I don’t think an album has ever made me so fucking happy, so immediately instantly. And I’m grateful to be in the world at the same time as this collection of magical tunes, and sharing the planet with this trio of my heroes who so thoughtfully brought this musical vision to life.

Sirius/5 stars. Recommend to the moon and back again.

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CALL FOR PITCHES—Flowers Out of the Attic: Personal and Critical Perspectives on VC Andrews’ Dollanganger Saga

Pitches are open until October 2, 2023 for an upcoming anthology of personal and critical perspectives of VC Andrews' Flowers in the Attic series.

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“Much Ado About Keanu: Toward a Critical Reeves Theory” Is Finally On Its Journey Into the Real World

Much Ado About Keanu has made a huge leap on its publishing journey: My manuscript is in my editor's hands as I wait for notes. Yeah!

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My First Book Deal! “Much Ado About Keanu: Toward a Critical Reeves Theory” Arriving Summer 2024

Set your calendars for Summer 2024 from Chicago Review Press, Much Ado About Keanu: Toward a Critical Reeves Theory is a sociocultural deep dive into Keanu’s entire filmography and creative outputs!

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Micro Review: Showtime’s ‘Couples Therapy’ Is a Useful Tool for All Kinds of Relationships, Not Just Romantic

Couples Therapy is a must-watch for anyone in a relationship, romantic or otherwise.

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