“The poet cannot be afraid of the people” – Pablo Neruda, Memoirs pg. 81
What is the relation between the poet at the people? A poet a weaver of tales and truths, a stanza and soliloquy serenading individual, a wizard of words, an artist and a creator; they invoke the power of words (written and spoken) to express some principle or experience. They rely on the understood, yet mysterious, magic of rhythm and emotion to tell a story. Even now, my words happen to conjure flighty images within the imagination of my own mind. Why though? For whom do I craft these words in such a way? Is it solely for me? If that were honest, then I am truly a selfish individual to hold such statements in, refusing to share with others.
These ideas, these sentences full of power, suffering, passion, and intellect germinated from my mind and yet, as a poet, I feel compelled to share. With The People. The people, or those who aren’t necessarily able to weave a story in a similar manner (entertaining, informative, possessive, and emotional). Those individuals who march through life following only a few pursuits, spending a fleeting second within their own subconscious. They are everywhere, and there is no escape from the people. They are the collective. And they can be intimidating.
Both strangers and dear friends can be the people; one day their search for truth will bring them to the poet’s path. What happens then when these two fundamentally different groups intercept each other at the crossroads? Classifying myself as the poet, I will speak from my experiences (solely my own opinions). I was too, at an earlier point in my life, one of the people…before coming to know my own personal truth.
When assuming the role of a poet, as a poet should do at all times if considered as such-both by the world and self-one exists in a reality separate from the people. A poet creates a world: they form the foundation, decorate it with their favorite foliages, and even destroy some aspects of their previous world-the realm of the people. Once this world has been established and validated by the poet, they have two options: to grant entry to others, or keep their gates closed.
If one chooses the latter option then they have little fear for their world will not be tainted by outsiders; it will remain pure, completely untouched by the opinions, criticism, laughs, or cries from something other than the poet. There are those who relish in this isolation-there is nothing like having an escape from reality that is positive and progressive. However, they are also selfish and this directly conflicts with the nature of the poet.
“It is the business of the poet to communicate to others the pleasures and enthusiasm arising out of these images…within their own mind.” – Percy Blythe Shelley
The poet is tasked with communicating emotions to others- the “others” being The People. To live up to the title of poet, a being must be willing to extend entry to their world to the others. There are additional steps to take, but this is the initial one. A true poet (if there is such thing) will not only invite an individual, they will also impress their reality, their world, their universal truth, upon them. This is the duty of the poet.
Then, there can be no fear in the poet when it comes to engaging and interacting with the people, and yet, fear inherently exists within the poet (and within all of us). It’s buried in the depths of our being, pollinating thoughts, and manifesting when the words escape-whether liberation was granted from a ballpoint pen or a lubricated tongue. It is fear that will cause a poet to become selfish, and close their gates-preventing any entry into the eternal Eden within us.
There is an external factor that one must be cautious of when dealing with the people, because they are intimidating. Not as intimidating as the internal struggle of inspiration and suffering in relation to the creation of art, but a fear factor that stems from the “Unknown”. The “Unknown” is the entity that exists in our lives, and it will always exist as long as we do. It applies to people, that’s why people are so unpredictable; no matter how well we believe we know them, there is a percentage of uncertainty that rattles the spirit of the poet.
Imagine the child who is having a birthday party. They are excited to share this moment with others, but to do so they must send out invitations. Now, the invitations may be to their party, but the words originate from elsewhere-even though they say exactly what the host wants them to say. In contrast, the poet has no “real” control over their words (or ideas) that synaptically spark into their head.
First, they must make sure the invitation is correct. It has to list the truth surrounding the party; the poet must modify and complete their poems before sharing them. Then, the people to invite must be identified. Who will I give these invitations to? Who will read these lines? Who will listen to my cries, will anybody listen to my cries, is it even worth crying anymore if there is nobody to listen? These are the questions that will plague the mind of the poet (at least me) before they are introduced to their “party people”. Lastly, and possibly the most terrifying, the child must host the party. On the day of the performance, a poet will be asked to open their home to those who responded to the invitation. Bumblebee yellow balloons floating above freshly iced cupcakes, and there are snow-white streamers that catch the eyes of those who are not already mesmerized by the candle flames flickering on the cake. The world of the child will be filled with others; and together, just like the host and their guests, the poet and the people will have an experience. They will share sensations that spark individual thoughts within each of them.
The poet must not only be the commander of another’s experience, but also allow the people to dictate their diction. This dual duty is where fear strikes because of unpredictability. Some may not want an experience, they may want a different one, maybe they expected a majestic world and you offered them a frigid one where you shouldered your grief, or there is the possibility that they enjoy your world so much that they decide to stay for awhile. The best option, personally, is if the people try to make their own world after being invited to the poet’s world.
What is my greatest fear as a poet: the fear that my words will lack the impression of inspiration. But, to conquer that fear, I am dedicating my life to the crafting of a world, no, a universe where all receive an invitation, because I can no longer be afraid of my people.
And by sky high, I merely meant that I am currently sitting in seat 34D (the last seat on the right side, near the lavatory) on this Delta airplane. An Asian (I believe Chinese based on the language-I studied Mandarin in college) woman is fast asleep next to me while her son watches Pepper Pig on an iPad. There’s a sense of isolation in this position, but do not mistake it for loneliness. I desire this solitude. It makes the traveling…less hectic; and, I am blessed with the ability to decipher my thoughts-this is an added plus when one is at the beginning of something.
A new chapter began this week, and it started with a DM (yes, a direct message). How can something so simple, and partially ridiculed by society, start a revolution in me? Because, I had to take the risk, and create an opportunity that was previously nonexistent. When that message left my device it didn’t matter if it landed in the inbox (it did), or if they didn’t respond (they did).
What mattered then, and still does now is that I will waste no time being a content observer, not when my dream is to be a director. A director does witness, but only does so to devise their next action-either born from strategic intent, or sheer improvisation. This I wish I could say I knew already, but I only realized it this past Sunday, when I watched my script come to life on a screen.
Peninsulas & Pyres
Foresight has informed me of my foundation; it is built upon opportunities, risks, tactics, faith, fear (and the conquering of it), and so much more.
I feel as if I’m a missing member of this Asian family, for they are steadily drifting toward my seat; but, they are at peace so I will not disturb them. On this voyage to my new life, I am alone, and in this aloneness, I will learn who I am. Maybe I will discover that I am like one of the dull faced drones who previously occupied the boarding area. This creativity and talent could be a fluke, a momentary spark in the darkness that showed signs of blossoming into a blaze, only to die when the ventilation blew too hard. I may very well die, and I quote the great Billy Crystal “one of those New York deaths where nobody notices for weeks until the smell starts to seep through.”
This is a possibility that this reality materializes but, luckily, this isn’t my only option. No, there are countless others, one for each word that my pen writes. And, this is the reality I dare to choose… A realm solely made for the manifestation of whatever dreams I dare to dream. Yes, I am not only a dreamer (ahem, Pisces), but a do-er as well; and though I live for a challenge, there is nothing like conquering a task that was given by the self. I accepted long ago that my spirit is a seeker. It desires to chase. What it desires, honestly, depends on the day of the week. Why be confined to one choice anyways?
I have talked quite lengthily about my next adventure, however, I must now address the actions that are required for it. Truthfully…I don’t know the next step after arrival. And this may, possibly, be the ideal answer for anyone in my position; the act of leaving the specifics of each step to the self that encounters it. Technically, there is nothing one can do now to bring a reality into fruition, and yet they can do everything as well. Confused? I know, that’s how I feel as this mother and son cuddle, now encroaching in my chair space-bubble-aura-thing.
I wish to turn on the light-there is no window at this seat-however, I, again, do not wish to disturb them. Irony at its finest, because seconds ago my flash nearly blinded us (I failed to take a picture of the distance, or centimeters, between our shoulders). It’s fitting that I am writing in the dark, the physical manifestation of “Unknown.”
Moments over Minnesota
I, much like the rest of humanity, am unaware of what to expect out of this life. This has been learned, along with the idea that expectations are arbitrary anchors; they ground us on abstract shores, creating the delusion that our vessels are steadily rocking with the seagulls rather than descending into the briny blackwater. I can’t preach to you as if I’m immune to them; they still do appear in my mind, but their appearance does not signify acceptance.Just like the child who recently stirred in his mother’s lap, I am young and naive; however, I am aware of the power of choice. This is what separates me from the anchor, and depart from the comforting (or complacent) seaside cottage. I will not be bound to the rusted chains of a dying reality, instead I will shed the expectation before embarking on each experience. Without the imaginary safety net for insurance, I will be granted two options: sink or swim.
By eliminating the “what if” factor of setting expectations, and tolerating the tension associated with the presence of the “Unknown”…maybe, just maybe, I can prepare my soul for the next voyage. Without expectations present, action is now the required force to create a reality, a result, or a byproduct of a risk. Action is required if I wish to best the “Unknown”; if I wish to best the darkness within. No longer are the days of silent observation, from this day onward, I will be the director that I’ve dreamed of becoming.
A self portrait taken in the lavatory. I had to wake up the family to get to the bathroom though 😦
Flight Plan
The sky yawned this morning.
It drowsily rubbed away the darkness as the sun awakened.
Cotton pillows fluffed while the first rays of the day spread across the horizon.
From such a vast height one forgets that there is a world full of sleeping folk below, because we are the early bird.
The sky soaring albatross that beats its blackened wings against the wind, heading westward with hopes of sharing its feathers with those who have never known the joy of flight.
A familiar scent fills my nose, and I remember everything: the passion we shared, the tears we shed, and I crave it all. I crave you, to feel your nails on my back. Delicately scrawling my skin, just enough to cause my hairs to raise.
How soft your lips each time I press them, your body touching mine.
I fail to realize how much I missed you until I’m about to let you go.
The walls begin to crumble and the sun peeks through the waking haze. The night has fled and our reality is steadily approaching. It hurts, we know what happens once we leave…
So we stay.
Fighting any form of tiredness or responsibility. Desperately latched to a moment unable to be shared any longer, our moment of truth.
Where for a brief instant, we are the constellations at the center of our galaxy.
You are mine, and I am yours.
I am trying to absorb every ounce of you that I can because, deep down, I know I won’t be able to take you with me. You hold onto my lips as if they were the teat of life. Don’t leave me, you whisper in my ear.
“I won’t.”
The lie leaves my lips as we depart from your car, at four in the morning.
Why is it that after centuries and millennia of intelligent life, humanity can still not answer any scientific inquiries regarding art?
Simple, art is the product of an essence.
When an individual has tapped into a wellspring of pure love (love for the soul, and life), then art will be created. It began with techniques being refined, individuals daring to perfect a craft, while, simultaneously, discovering the self that exists underneath both the logic and instinct. Art germinated from the universe that the soul occupies, and, just as we will never know the vastness of space, we must accept the reality that art will always yield unanswered questions.
That is the true beauty of it; humanity is incessantly seeking answers (hence the creation of science), and yet, there are some individuals brave enough to propose a question without punctuation. A sculpture with polished eyes, a watercolor painting of a London fishing wharf, a duet for a six stringed violin and piano; these are not simply creations, but conclusions. They are the final product of an artist’s mind, seeking a truth-maybe within themselves, within the world, or within the moment. It remains elusive, like the shimmering waves of an oasis, lost in a desert of dry bones, tyrannical heat, and endless grains of sand.
Art will inevitably save humanity from itself; without art, man would’ve died out centuries ago. However, now, the culture is depraved. Men and women are mere followers, and art has been tainted. It has degenerated, and instead of a select few providing us with their developed conclusions, we, as a society full of impatient students and consumers, have closed our hearts to them. We all wish to produce a magnum opus without the life lessons from The Master.
Art is not dying, however, it is suffering. Hanging onto it’s last breath as we attempt to exist without it. How foolish we really are.
This is the second entry in an ongoing story that I am literally making up every time I sit down at the keyboard (the one with eighty eight keys). Being my 3rd musical project, I am learning that these notes are more than sounds produced from a speaker; they are my sounds. They represent my emotions and my thoughts, and these I share with you. Why? Because I hope that you will discover what represents you, and then share that with another. Enjoy.
The Story
Singularity.
The point at which man and machine will meld together. Science said it couldn’t be done. Oh, did science deny me my right to hypothesize and dream and desire for something so impossible. But science is not man’s only tool in his quest for knowledge; emotion has carried my existence farther than fact. With this in mind, I begun my trials.
I will not list the details regarding my experiment in this report, because the world is full of thieves and fools who would wish to recreate this, and I cannot bear the possibility of one using this for selfish gain. If my calculations are correct, then I will assume the responsibility of being the one who brought the divine and the digital together for there is nothing, at this present time, that can do so. Of course it would be the synergizing of sound and silence that transfers the soul from body to build. But, I realize that an invention untested will never grant rest to my imagination; and in the shadows lurks a greater evil, the envious man.
The man who tried to steal my plans is now dead, but I fear that I will join him. It’s ironic, the dagger that will inevitably be the death of me is the same tool keeping my blood from leaking out of my punctured heart. And how fate loves to flirt, I have just put the finishing touches on my new invention. I call it the “phonetic transcriber“.
The device itself is compact, about the size of the average typewriter, but by utilizing a key biochemical byproduct, the machine is somehow able to separate the soul from the body. Hypothetically, at least. However, the time for hypotheses and calculations has passed, and action is required for I feel the cold tendrils of death looping around my neck.
Liv, although you’d probably tell me I’m a fool for doing this, I must take the risk; what else is there left for me but the eternal void? Heaven or hell may await me, and I fear neither of them. I am terrified, however, of leaving this earth without knowledge that my device worked.
With death on my doorstep, I have to take the risk: I will test the phonetic transcriber on myself.
*non-distinct static and digital downpour erupt from the device*
I declare that on October 9th, 1851, the first step towards the Singularity was conducted by I, Professor Cedric Bergman; may the world forget that this was also the day that I drew my last breath.
This Friday happens to be a very special day; how rare is it to have a Friday the 13th occur in October. What are you going to do? If you have no plans, and are probably going to stay in, then this list is perfect for you! Why? Because I’m going to give you thirteen options for horror movies since the year 2000 (specific right?). Unlike my previous Night at the Kino, I wanted to introduce readers to the standout films that are considered modern. These range from zombie thrillers, possession stories, animated apparitions, even socially aware scares, and I’m confident that one of these films could get you in the mood for October (if you aren’t already). Now, how to find these films…well, there’s Redbox, some are on Hulu, but for the most…I’d say…do what you normally do (you know what you do, don’t you?). Below you’ll find them, and this is in somewhat of a particular order, but not one that is definite; honestly, take your pick, they won’t disappoint.
The Witch (2015)
Hands down, I’d have to say this is the Control verse of modern horror. Robert Eggers meticulously crafted a truly tragic tale involving a Puritan faminly living in exile. Without revealing much of anything, I will say that the terror in this tale comes not from the supernatural but the human element. Where most films would focus on creating a grotesque or evil witches, Eggers turns the lens inward and dissects the nuclear family, one member at a time.
The cinematography does a fantastic job of adjusting to the scope of the film, encompassing the entire woodlands and jumping to claustrophobic cabin settings. It truly is a terrifying film, and I dare you to try and watch it without feeling the dread on your skin. For his efforts Eggers won best director at 2016’s Sundance Film Festival. If you’d like to read my random movie review of The Witch, then click here.
The Conjuring (2013)
We’ve all seen plenty of films with this back story. A family moves into a home that happens to be possessed by an evil entity and it takes the family uncovering the secrets-with the help of some eccentric paranormal investigators-to break the curse. That’s this film in a nutshell, but that is only the surface of it. What James Wan’s The Conjuring did for horror (at least in my opinion) was focus on character development rather than diving right into the scare. This aids in the progression and pacing of the plot, which flows at a steady rate, rising to a dramatic climax in the end.
Some people go crazy over the “Based on a True Story” label, but I will say, after doing my post-credits research, I was able to accept this title while others fail (The Warren’s were really out here, yo). Yeah, there are some jump scares and some cheap shocks, but the true terror of The Conjuring comes from its style of shooting. It feels campy, like a home movie at times, but that gives the viewer a closer approach to the terror, rather than capturing just reactionary moments.
28 Days Later (2002)
Poster by Nathan Miller
Before Rick Grimes awoke from his coma to the end of the world, there was another hospital patient being welcomed to a zombie apocalypse in Danny Boyle’s (Trainspotting) 2002 thriller “28 Days Later”. The plot is simple, a virus in a research facility gets released and humanity is in deep shit. How deep? Well, when your blood comes into contact with the strain, you lose sense of yourself and become a zombie. And this is where “28 Days Later” shines, the ability to revamp a concept. Instead of giving us mindless ghouls like George A. Romero did (R.I.P. to a legend), Boyle went with a more savage approach, giving them speed and ferocity instead of shuffling. The characters in the story are survivors, they aren’t heroes of any sort, and that’s what I love.Most tales in the zombie genre have gun toting warriors, but this group outlasts the horde by using wit-and luck.
The cinematography is gritty and there is an overarching feeling of abandonment in nearly all of the locations. Makeup and Special effects shine with the trademark red eyes for the Rage virus, and who can forget John Murphy’s chilling track “In a House, In a Heartbeat”. Overall, this movie is on my list for its revolutionary take on a common theme in the horror genre. Also, fun fact, Danny Boyle turned down knighthood in England.
Noroi (2005)
Hands down, this is the most terrifying movie I’ve seen. Noroi: The Curse is a Japanese film directed by Koji Shiraishi and from the first time I watched it, I’ve been cursed. The first thing to note is the storytelling: using a “mockumentary” style of cinematography to capture the horror (similar to the original “The Blair Witch Project”). Often this fails because we’re bound to one point of view for it, but this film does a great job by using various sources of media to cover the story-news clippings, and both professional and personal recordings. It introduces us to characters and we get an intimate look at their lives, and how this curse is affecting, and ultimately destroying them.
My favorite character has to be Mr. Aluminum Foil (you’ll see), his role is so vital to the plot because he creates a sense of panic every time he’s on screen. This isn’t your typical supernatural film, so don’t expect to be hit with the cliche like jump scares and melodramatic sounds; the film grounds itself into reality, and only steps foot into the abyss when it has reached the base of the spiral. A truly terrifying film for anybody willing to read the subtitles (if you can watch Narcos, you can peep this too).
The Descent (2005)
Poster by Chris Weston
What happens when you take a group of spelunking woman who have underlying beef with each other, and pit them against the elements of nature, and a superior predator? If you watch Neil Marshall’s “The Descent” you’ll soon discover that answer. Firstly, having an all woman cast for this film is a testament to the versatility of horror-it’s not confined to the male genre-and that’s one of the main reasons I’ve listed it here. The premise alone is sure to breed fear, and then the writer decided to add a well-crafted back story behind the characters, which only added to the level of isolation and abandonment.
Cinematically, this film pushes into new barriers, throwing us in the midst of extremely claustrophobic spaces, and using the natural darkness to add to the unknown element (also night vision was such a thing back in the early 2000’s). And who can forget that iconic scene when Sarah, played by Shauna Macdonald, emerges from the pool: it’s poster-worthy (which is why they used it as a promo). The Descent will have you afraid to explore any dark depths, whether they be caves or secrets.
It (2017)
I read my first Stephen King book this year, “The Shining”, and it plunged me into a dark world, so when I heard that the classic “It” was being remade I was skeptical, but ready. Honesty Hour: I’ve never watched the original It-I am reading the book now though-but what I viewed in Andres Muschietti’s 2017 film was a very dark retelling of an already terrifying story. Clowns are easily the thing of nightmares; and Pennywise, played by Bill Skarskgard (“Hemlock Grove”) happens to be the most entertaining. Already from the beginning of the film we are cast into Derry Maine, and into the lives of the youth. The movie pairs both the innocence of growing up with the grim reaper of the gutters, and it delivers.
Every moment was liable to worsen, as the film proved by keeping us on our toes. Why is this also on my list, because this is one example of paying homage to the source material. Hearing that Stephen King stamped this movie was enough for me to see it; avid readers know that it is rare for novels and films to find a common ground (Lookin at you “Game of Thrones”). It’s still in theaters, and makes for a perfect outing this Friday the 13th!
Kakurenbo (2008)
Horror does not only apply to the human world, but to the digital as well, and Shuhei Morita’s 2008 animated short “Kakurenbo” is proof. Coming in at around thirty minutes, this film packs a dose of dread from the jump. The art style and background is haunting, and one is imprisoned in this game of hide and seek. A group of children come to play this mysterious game, Otokoyo, where oni (demons) come alive and seek the children.
I remember watching this on Adult Swim, and having an entire new outlook on animated films. Once the story revs up, you’ll be upset when you find that the end is approaching; definitely something to view when you have some down time though.
Get Out (2017)
Poster by Francesco Francavalli
There’s no way that I can go any further without addressing Jordan Peele’s breakthrough film, “Get Out”. Who would’ve thought black folk could do horror? (Because it’s not all devil magic). Aside from the social commentary regarding it-not brushing it’s importance off, there’s plenty of other think pieces out there-this is an engaging story. A “meet my black boyfriend” scenario gone wrong, Chris (Daniel Kaluuya, “Johnny English Reborn”) begins to uncover a secret behind his girlfriend Rose’s (Allison Williams) family. I have to give a shout out to the supporting cast in this film who really embodied their characters, Georgina’s meme worthy face, Walter’s sprint becoming an entire challenge, and Rod with his antics.
Look at how much the film has shifted our culture, allowing more black stories to be told by us. And, the final bit that has to be addressed is the comedy (I’m a firm believer that any modern horror has to have it). Peele transfers his “Key and Peele” skit writing into the script, making room for fresh dialogue that naturally flows between each character; the comedy gave us the comfort we needed to get through this scary ordeal.
10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)
This might be closer into the thriller era, but I will set it on this list anyways. I am one of the folk who enjoyed the original “Cloverfield”, and when this one appeared on Hulu, I decided to watch it. Now, like everybody else, I assumed that it was going to be the same take from a different point of view, but instead this film went in the opposite direction. Where the first film featured a monster raging through the city, this one focuses on the monsters inside of men, and what happens when three individuals are forced to occupy a bunker.
Without giving away too much, John Goodman’s portrayal of the pragmatic Howard was one of the most underrated performances of 2016, and Mary Elizabeth Winstead, as Michelle, held her own against him. The film has its moments of joy, but there is always a tension looming in the claustrophobic cabin, and it often ignites into confrontation. Aside from the other thematic elements, I have to say that the characters shine the most, and I believe that comes from the small number. Having fewer people on screen can create time for development and exploration.
Signs (2002)
Aliens in a cornfield? Cmon that’s fresh af. M. Night Shyamalan brought the world one of the greatest plot twists with “The Sixth Sense”, so naturally there was already an air of mystery surrounding this film. And then, you hear the cast: Mel Gibson, Joaquin Phoenix, Abigail Breslin, Rory Culkin, and they welcome us into the Hess family. When a mysterious sign appears in the crop field in front of Hess family, it will push the renounced reverend Graham to uncover the mystery.
Signs is unlike any other film on this list, it’s horror being in the unknown. We are graced with many moments in the film (the foil hats, Merrill’s monologue, Shyamalan’s cameo), and I like how they all relate back to this unknown entity; it’s all speculation, and it translates to the viewer as well. By the end of the film you’ll be wondering if any of it was real. Oh yeah, it’s on Hulu now!
The Babadook (2014)
Another film that is currently on streaming sites is “The Babadook”. Yo, don’t let the people fool you, this movie is a scare, it’s just from an angle that is original; because what’s more fearful: a phantom from a child story booy, or a mother’s struggling battle with grief and a child that fails to behave. Director Jennifer Kent takes a leap into her own world utilizing set pieces and a cryptic style of storytelling, relying on an erratic rhythm rather than a steady pace. Do we ever know what “The Babadook” is, or isn’t; does it even matter?
The desaturated color tone of the shots enhance the already grim tale, and Essie Davis’ portrayal of Amelia forces the viewer to share in her grief. And this is what makes the film scary, because once we’ve identified with this mother, we are sensitive to her plight but ultimately we’re enraged that she won’t address the issues. This frustration is converted into fear whenever the supernatural element is added, and since we’re in such a volatile state, we’re already ensnared. But it’s only an hour and a half of imprisonment, and will surely make you keep the lights on a little longer this weekend.
Drag Me To Hell (2009)
After he blessed us with the “Spiderman” Trilogy (starring Tobey McGuire), director Sam Raimi returned to his slapstick horror roots with “Drag Me To Hell”. When Christine Brown (Alison Lohman), a loan officer seeking a promotion, denies an elderly woman her loan, she is inadvertently cursed, and what a curse. It keeps the audience laughing long enough for the tension to build, turning back to the terror at a moment’s notice. The humor is amped with Justin Long cast as Christine’s boyfriend Clay Dalton, who often has smart remarks for every scenario.
The film is true to Raimi’s genre blending of comedy and horror, even the antics of the supernatural are borderline hilarious (the maggots in the mouth scene). A must watch for any of his fan (if you watch “Mr. Robot”, you’re a Raimi fan).
Gok-seong or The Wailing (2016)
Netflix has this movie on it’s catalog so there is no reason you can’t watch it this Friday the 13th. “The Wailing” is a South Korean film directed by Hong-jin Na, and it has crossed over into America for a very good reason. It’s terrifying. It’s hard to describe what this film is, because there are plenty of intertwining plots, but you watch a village become beset by an akuma, or demon. The film has great writing, both in terms of story as well as dialogue, each complementing the other. The conversations between the officers are often hilarious, and a great contrast to the macabre mysteries that are befalling the town.
The soundtrack is spooky (yeah, I said spooky), and it really teeters on the shadow realm of acoustics. There are some scenes that leave you baffled (The Exorcism), and just when you expect the truth to be revealed, the film presses on further. It is a long ride, 2 hours and 36 minutes, but once the engine revs, you’ll be Wailing all the way until the end.
Conclusion
There you have it, folks. Ain’t no reason you shouldn’t be entertained-and terrified-this Friday the 13th. Of course, there are other notable works that I missed, and I feel cliche for making that disclaimer, but I’m going to do so anyways so you understand that my opinion is based more so on my immediate memory rather than a well devised agenda.. As always, feel free to comment or leave any feedback regarding my choices for films. Until next Tuesday…
The Nuclear Cottage 