#16: Child's Play (1988)
Child's Play reminded me a lot of children's toy: it's cheap, simple, and broad. Every character in the movie is a cartoon; the child we spend much of the movie with is introduced by "charmingly" dumping sugar on cearal and half a tub of butter (tub of butter!!) on charcoal that was once bread. There are the buffoonishly oblivious cops. The well meaning mother. I don't have an issue with broad characters, cartoons, or children's toys. Those things are supposed to be fun! Child's Play is not fun. It has no intrigue, it's short on thrills, and it seems to think it can get a lot more mileage out of mixing the sacred and the profane than it does. A child's doll cursing out a grown woman as it attempts to murder her might be amusing the first time, but believe me it wears thin. There are some impressive animatronics on display, and I always like Brad Dourif (who, after appearing on screen in the nonsensical opening sequence—I'm not sure why, but random voodoo as the impetus for all this feels lazy?—is kept from injecting the movie with life for over half the run time. Instead we are left with the "gee shucks ain't I cute" kid to pull us through the narrative in the meantime) but that's where my praise runs dry. It's not worth the tedium.
#17: The Living Dead at Manchester Morgue
After an impressionist montage that depicts city life as a chaotic Petri dish for disease and filth (unquestionably the high point of artistry in this film), things slow down—and begin to get oh so predictable—when we hit the countryside. The location filmmaking is beautiful, but this environmental spin on the zombie genre (with a few spins on the creatures we hardly see anymore this far removed from Romero's Dead films firmly setting the template) is low on thrills until late in the film. Instead we spend most of the movie dealing with one of my least favorite horror tropes: the protagonists have to convince comically obstinate authority figures that the supernatural phenomenon, that only they conveniently encounter, is real and a threat to everyone. It's not very compellingly executed, and once the zombie action heats up it doesn't really make up for it. There are some memorable gore effects and a few effective images of the undead appearing out of the fog, or hunched over in a hospital, but in all these sequences lack the rhythmic tension of Romero's films, and the oppressive atmosphere and gross-out effects of Fulci's take on zombies. It doesn't help that the tragic finale relies heavily on us believing that people who clearly are not on fire are in fact burning up in flames. I can often overlook the occasional shoddy effect if the emotion and story can make up for their lack, but there's nothing convincing here. It's a decent little post-Night of the Living Dead zombie curiosity, but not much more.
#18: Tigers Are Not Afraid
On the surface the Pan's Labyrinth comparisons make total sense: the movie is upfront about telling a dark fairy tale about a young girl and the horrors of her reality, and the fantasy world around her that's hidden from everyone else. Unfortunately by positioning itself so clearly as a spiritual successor of sorts to Del Toro's film, it only highlights this film's weaknesses in comparison. In particular the fantasy elements here feel half baked. In Del Toro's film there was a sense of clear mythology and world building, where every character and location had their place in the story—in Tigers Are Not Afraid, outside of the constant of Estrella's mother, most of the supernatural imagery seems to be there for the sake of striking, or startling, visuals. There's a lack of oneiric quality that Pan's Labyrinth used to so seamlessly weave its fantastical elements to its realistic horrors—Tigers Are Not Afraid shoots in a more docudrama fashion, and as such it succeeds most prominently when we see the (very charming) cast of kids simply existing in the world that they've made for themselves; their own bits of fantasy, such as the impromptu talent show put on in a derelict manor, are more compelling than any of the ghosts.
#19: The Lighthouse
This was extremely my shit, which is why it bugs me a little that the narrative structure of the thing was a bit of a let down amidst all the absolutely amazing cinematography, sound design, and bits of sea-faring dialogue (including a monumental Melvillian monologue precipitated by an insult to one's cooking skills). The rub is that the movie is about two men going mad together, but they both start out at like an 8 out of 10 on the crazy scale to begin with, which doesn't leave a whole lot of room for a dramatic arc, especially when coupled with a scene by scene syntax that's largely dictated by the routine of their lighthouse chores. This gives the film a jerky, stop-start pacing that doesn't much allow for a steady build up, and when the really 10/10 insanity shenanigans and supernatural happenings crop up it feels just as abrupt as anything else. But the devil is in the details, and the details here are shaped by Promethean myth, sailor folklore, psychosexual domination, Freudian symbols, bodily fluids, Eldritch knowledge, gaslighting, and a shitload of alcohol. There's a lot to dig into here, to say the least, and it's all tightly coiled around the (by turns) tense, tender, and so often hilarious, relationship between Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson's characters. For all its frustrations and and vague mysteries (some resolved, many left ambiguous for the theorizers), The Lighthouse is one of the best crafted and most purely enjoyable movies I've seen this year, and is surely an example of a film that has no concern for failure, as it never once stops to play things safe. If it's not as satisfying of a dramatic film as The Witch, The Lighthouse represents a courageous project for Eggers to hone his impeccable craft without playing things safe.