The nightmare we wish we had

Vampyr (1932)
Dir. Carl Theodore Dreyer
Starring: Julian West, Maurice Shutz and Rena Mandel

Vampyr is Carl Theodore Dreyer's first sound film but it might as well be called a silent film since, like most of Dreyer's work, dialogue is kept to a minimum. In fact, the music takes over and envelopes the entire picture and transports us into one of the most unsettling and surreal realisation of a nightmare ever put into celluloid.

Julian West (also the producer) plays Allan Grey who travels to an inn and discovers strange, supernatural occurrences. A young woman is found with marks on her neck. An older woman is seen with her, presumably the vampire, hovering above her victim before suddenly disappearing. Now, that's what I think happens but it's not entirely clear.

Dreyer utilises a disjointed and jarring narrative style jumping from one scene to the next, from one character to another, without any clear links between them. We don't really know what is real and what is not real. We see from the perspective of Grey but we can't judge what is real, imagined or dreamt. Trying to distinguish what is what is futile. This is a film that is concerned more with setting an atmosphere than setting up a story.

There are intertitles in the beginning of the film that act as a silent voice-over. I tried imagining what it would have been like if these words were spoken. I cringed. The sombre mood would have been broken. Even if a serious voice was used it would still sound silly and if a dark, brooding voice was chosen then it would have felt like a parody. 

Grey finds a book about vampires and discover  that the strange occurrences eerily match the descriptions found in the text. Dreyer films the pages of the books, filling the screen with its inscriptions, acting as on-screen, silent narrators and thus taking over the role of the intertitles shown earlier.

Dreyer once said that "the old book is not a text in the ordinary, stupid sense, but an actor just as much as all the others." Even though the spoken dialogue in the film doesn't hold much presence, the on-screen text certainly do.

Familiar horror conventions are plentiful here but because of the unorthodox way in which they are filmed they seem fresh rather than stale. A shadow of a gravedigger filmed digging a grave plays out in reverse and you can't help but feel like you've lulled into a kind of enchanted trance. 

Shadows leave the bodies they follow and spirits leave the bodies they bring life to and in a strange way, the film itself feels like it makes our consciousness leave our very own bodies, even for only an hour or so.

Images from The Movie DB

Argento Double Feature at the Chauvel Cinema

Chauvel cinema (the one and only surviving arthouse theatre in Sydney, sad I know) is playing four of Argento's classic horror films in the next four weeks. I attended the first one last friday, it was a double feature of Argento's Suspiria and Romero's Dawn of the Dead.

I'm ashamed to say that I have never heard of Dario Argento until now and was pleasantly surpirsed by Suspiria. Argento knows his visuals. In every scene, despite the cheesy special effects, Argento was still able to evoke terror from within me through his masterful use of shots. The things that were happening did start to get ridiculous at times but I do love a director who is unafraid of giving us absurd, which I think produces a much more entertaining film as opposed to having it held back.

The plot is the film's weakest element, but it is also irrelevant. I didn't care about the story, I just wanted to sit back and marvel at the visual feast emanating from the screen. The music by the Goblins fits perfectly into the film, it's unsettling and creepy and althought it played excessively throughout the film, not once did I ever get tired of it. The dialogue is hilarious but I wasn't quite sure whether it was intentional or not. The opening scene was jaw-droppingly good, the visuals, the colour, the shots used and the sound were all balanced and played harmoniously together, creating a scene that I think would make Hitchcock and Coppola proud.

Dawn of the Dead, was the weaker of the two for me (I have a feeling some would disagree with me). It was funny, but it wasn't hilarious. There wasn't really any tension for me, probably because I never really cared about the characters in the first place. On the other hand, I do think that the film holds an important message, the film is an allegory of the consumerist values of the 70s American society which, in my opinion, is still relevant to the wider society today. There were some gruesome scenes, which I can imagine would have created quite a stir among audiences who saw it on it's original release. But overall, I just did not find the movie entertaining and I found myself checking my watch constantly, and actually hoping for the credits to play.

Next Friday, I might go see another Argento screening (they're playing Tenebre with the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre) or wait another week for Phenomena or Wes Craven's Last House on the Left. But I'm more excited about the Scorcese classics screenings which begins near the end of March, might finally get to see Raging Bull.

Photos from: 1, 2 and 3

Rosemary's Baby

Anyone in the film industry would know that if you undertake a horror film project, chances are your finished product will not be highly praised of by critics. Rosemary's Baby is one of the few exceptions.

Directed by the controversial and Oscar winning European director, Roman Polanski, the film tells the gripping story of Rosemary Woodhouse (Mia Farrow) who becomes impregnated after just moving in with her husband, Guy Woodhouse (John Cassavetes) into their New York apartment. They befriend an older couple living on the same floor who aid the Woodhouses with their first pregnancy. Noticing their over-generosity, Rosemary's increasing suspicion of the couple lead to a doubt-ridden string of events which end in one of the most memorable climaxes in horror movie history.

Much like the novel on which it is based on, the narrative progresses solely in the view of Rosemary. What she doesn't know, we don't know either. This style works to its favour, allowing viewers to not only suspect everyone around Rosemary but gives us room to suspect Rosemary herself. The viewer goes on a tumultous journey, constantly doubting everyone that graces the screen.

Rosemary's Baby works because of its subversion of its own genre, letting it stride past other horror films, in both story and execution. Polanski does a brilliant job handling the material and selecting shots that greatly benefit the film's unique style. But I have to give most credit to Mia Farrow, who seems to carry the whole film on her delicate shoulders. She wholly embodies the character and is an actor who relies on instinct rather than method. Simply put, Rosemary's Baby is an outstanding film, and should definitely be upheld as one of the true classics.

Image Credits:  TWO