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.
