By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
Back in January of 2003, New Line Cinema released Final Destination 2, a horror movie in which the antagonist was the unseen hand of death itself. All of the main characters knew their time was up, but they didn't know how, or when, so they existed in a constant state of fear, never knowing from which angle death might suddenly claim them.
Real life has felt a bit like that for a while now. If that vaguely worded terror alert that switches us to code orange doesn't make you paranoid, there's always the possibility of suffocation via government-approved plastic sheeting and duct tape.
"In times of terror, people want to be scared," says Eli Roth, writer-director of the horror hit Cabin Fever. "I think the success of both [Cabin Fever and House of 1000 Corpses] is a reflection that people definitely want to be scared in a safe environment. After 9/11, people felt like they could die any minute, so there was a lot of panic sex going on. Horror movies give that same rush."
But the rise in horror movies this year -- Wrong Turn, The Texas Chainsaw Massacreremake, May, Gothika, Freddy vs. Jason and Jeepers Creepers 2, to name a few others -- hasn't been the only manifestation of this fear. Consider also the sci-fi blockbusters -- both Matrix sequels and Terminator 3: Rise of the Machinesenvision an imminent future in which freedom-loving humans are driven to the brink of extinction by cold-hearted robots, and none of these films promises much hope of victory. The best The Matrix Revolutions could offer us is an uneasy truce, while T3 gleefully wiped out civilization in a climactic global nuclear war. Additionally, The Matrix Revolutionswas one of three significant films this year (along with May and Once Upon a Time in Mexico) to feature the gouging out of its lead's eyes . . . as a good thing.
Angela Bettis, who arguably got the whole eye thing started as the eponymous lead in May, sees a possible correlation with events at large. "Who wants to see?" she asks, rhetorically. "I saw, for example, some footage of the twin towers falling, and I saw people jumping out of the building and falling and hitting things, and bouncing off like a ball, and my initial reaction is, 'Open your eyes wider, take as much of it in as you can,' because you have this gross gratification that you need filled, but then after a while of that, the reaction is just, 'Close your eyes, don't look.' I turn off the news every day. The second I start hearing something about the Iraqi war, I'm just like, fuck it, turn off the TV. It's the same thing: Closing your eyes, gouging out your eyes . . . we don't wanna fucking look at it, man, it's too much in our face."
Some react with horror, others with sadness. Among this year's biggest potential Oscar contenders are 21 Grams, Mystic River and House of Sand and Fog, all tragic dramas that begin with something horrible happening to one of the main characters, then pile on tragedy after tragedy until every character has been broken by film's end. Vadim Perelman, director of House of Sand and Fog, says he was in the middle of adapting the Andre Dubus III novel into screenplay form when 9/11 happened. While he states that his film, despite prominently highlighting the conflicts of an Arab-American family, is not a direct reaction to the events of that day, he does note that "the last time you had all these gritty, tragic films was the '70s, which directly followed the Vietnam war. This isn't a reaction to the Iraq war -- which isn't really a war -- but to having somebody reach into our house and punch us on the nose."
When it comes to the moviegoing public's appetite for tragedy these days, Perelman quotes French author Leon Bloy: "Man has places in his heart that he does not know exist, and into them enters suffering so that he may find existence -- as man." He cites his own in-laws as "the perfect barometer" for the general public: "They don't care about film, but they see every movie that comes out." When they recently came to visit, he sent them to press screenings of 21 Grams and Mystic River. Though they were "exhausted" by the endless tragedy, their final assessment was, "We want more, we feel more alive."
"The most important thing is that the audience walks away with a strong reaction," says Paul Hough, director of the brutal wrestling documentary The Backyard, "whether it be anger, sorrow, inspiration or just a sense of being entertained. . . . Even the people who walked out tended to walk out loudly -- they wanted everyone to know they were leaving because [my] film had a very particular impact on their senses." Hough's documentary could loosely qualify as both horror and tragedy, depicting as it does teenage WWE wanna-bes engaging in brutal hard-core wrestling matches that utilize such props as barbed wire, light bulbs and fire.
But Hough doesn't see a direct connection to world events. "I think that the audience responds to a well-told story no matter what the time or trend." The son of English horror director John Hough, Paul hopes to become "the king of horror," citing the Japanese high school massacre movie Battle Royale as the project he'd most like to remake, though he hastens to add, "I am deathly afraid of blood in real life."