On the Bloodstained Road to Joyful Childhood

I don't believe I've done a review of a thoroughbred horror film here yet, even though it is one of the genres that I very much enjoy. For that reason, let's start with a delightfully surreal recent addition to the indie-horror genre: Southbound.

Along with It Follows and The Guest, Southbound joins the ranks of the contemporary craze for late seventies horror classics and most notably the work of John Carpenter. This link becomes especially clear in the use of music, think mainly along the lines of the hypnotic and dreamlike score of a film like Halloween, re-created with vintage synthesizers. It gives these films a joyful nostalgia, something undoubtedly ironic, yet thoroughly respectful in relation to its forefathers. It is clear that we're dealing with a generation that grew up with these masterpieces of glorious horror. Southbound is no exception and its group of directors, the film is a horror anthology of sorts, all fit into this mould.

When compared with the earlier V/H/S trilogy, created by many of the same directors, we see the same connection to horror nostalgia, in this case to the medium that early eighties horror films would mostly be seen on: a tattered copy of VHS tape rented from the local video store. Although certainly enjoyable, what the V/H/S trilogy sorely missed was a coherent atmosphere, understandably caused by the involvement of so many creative voices. Southbound, however, does not have this problem as much and this seems mainly due to its use of music as a binding factor. Throughout the film we continuously return to the setting of the car and its inseparable car radio, forever playing the same radio station with its recognisable jockey, sporting a gruff, worn and southern-accented voice, not unlike Reservoir Dogs' K-Billy super sounds of the seventies. This evokes the idea, which is echoed in the narrative, that the characters are forever trapped in the same unknown area somewhere in the desert along the highway going south, a place that must be some version of hell.

It is this set-up of having landed in a parallel universe that reminded me very much of The Twilight Zone series. By realising at the start that something is very off, we cannot help but view all these supposedly mundane settings with an ironically bemused grin on our faces, such as the dinner party hosted by two faintly fifties looking couples and the inbred-looking identical twins, slurping soup at the same time. Or when the two men covered in blood, for unknown reasons, enter a dust-covered diner by the side of the road, while the gum-chewing attendant in mint-green dress shouts at them: "the sign says customers only!" It is this very American setting that speaks to our childhood and the times we spent in front of small grainy screens revelling at the products of devious minds. It makes Southbound into a very successful film, which unlike the recent work of Quentin Tarantino doesn't make its nostalgic referentiality forced or joyless. Instead, we are treated to hilarious scenes where no gore is spared that still maintain their inherent surreal quality, in this way creating the much needed layering that makes the film into more than just a visually pleasing copy of seventies cinema.  Sure, the film is trashy and sleazy, but no one can deny the sheer delight provided by the memory of our secret video-nasty childhood combined with genuine hypnagogic madness.

Hating The Hateful Eight

For anyone who missed it, Quentin Tarantino's latest film was released last week. Despite being his eight project (as is momentously announced during the 70s-styled opening credits), of the purportedly ten films that he will make, its setting and set-up seem to be thoroughly reminiscent of his breakthrough film, Reservoir Dogs. However, there are also a great many differences with his early work. For starters, the film has none of the speed, energy or vibrancy that was present in his first films. This film is overindulgent and loves itself so much that it takes 167 minutes (187 in the 70mm version) to reach its conclusion. Especially the dialogue scenes, for which Tarantino is famed, take their sweet sweet time, often without adding any greater dramatic effect.

Although there are some great performances (particularly by Bruce Dern), this might be Tarantino's most overacted film. Along with its single-location setting of Minnie's Haberdashery, this makes the film extremely theatrical and not in a good way. The film often alienates its viewer by tearing him or her away from the immersive movie-going experience with its unnatural acting, odd casting and artificial and unnecessarily repetitive dialogue. This is not an intellectual or self-reflexive exercise by its director, but a result of some very ill judged choices. One striking moment is the unfortunate cameo by stunt-driver turned actress Zoë Bell, who previously worked with Tarantino for Death Proof, another fiasco of a film. Her acting is so ridiculously chipper, completely over-the-top and awkwardly grating against the style and tone of the rest of the film, that it made me behold the scene in what can only be described as appalled shock.

Her presence, fortunately, is very brief, as is that of two other women who appear in this film. The only woman who has a part of some significance is Daisy Domergue, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh. And here we arrive at the film's most onerous problem: its intrinsic misogyny. From the very first scene Daisy is horrifically beaten, bashed and knocked about. This while receiving various forms of verbal abuse, often by means of the ubiquitous use of the word "bitch". In fact, Tarantino has stated that he wanted to break one of cinema's last taboos, that of hitting a woman in the face. To shock the audience is an admirable intention, yet what happens here is that her beatings are being played for comedic effect. This panders to the misogynist "let's punish the woman who talks back"-feeling that is consciously or subconsciously present in a mostly male audience, guffawing while the rebellious woman is dealt with in a way "she deserves".

It has been said that the character of Daisy should be seen alongside the other mistreated character in the film, Marquis Warren, played by Samuel L. Jackson. Marquis is just as frequently verbally abused with the n-word, yet unlike Daisy, he gets his revenge in a glorious ten-minute monologue of violence and delirious excess. Daisy never gets a similar moment of retribution. In fact, her character's death is the only one that is revelled in, purposefully prolonged, while other characters, with which we are supposed to identify, rejoice. Why should we celebrate a woman's torture and death in this way? Supposedly because she is "hateful", just like the other characters in this film. She is a racist, it's true, but so is over half of the characters in this film. It is implied that she has done terrible things, yet none of these are ever expanded upon. The crime that she has been convicted of is merely being a gang member.  Unlike the ridiculously gory effects, the obviously laughable racism, the other aspect that is played for shock, its sexism, takes a much more sinister form. It actively encourages the audience to feel enmity towards this woman above all other characters. She is a strong, tough and defiant woman, the only female role of substance in this film, who can therefore be identified with womankind as a whole. The film becomes hateful in a way that is no longer funny or exploitative in a grindhouse-film-style, it becomes precisely what misogynist means: it vigorously hates women and promotes the hatred of women.