Sinister (2012)
After watching the 2002 supernatural horror film, The Ring, writer C. Robert Cargill experienced a nightmare in which he stumbled across a film in his attic depicting the hanging of an entire family. Such a simple, bizarre, personally harmless, and most likely ephemeral vision would serve as the jumping-off point for the setup of the simply titled Sinister, an intimate, self-contained, tensely atmospheric haunted house story that suffers from a stagnant and repetitive narrative, a screenplay dependent on cliches, and muddy lighting, but compensates with a terrifyingly designed antagonist, a slew of nightmarish and grisly visuals, and a deceptively compelling lead performance from Ethan Hawke, whose sheer role commitment grounds the unremarkable supernaturalism around him.
Ellison Oswalt (Ethan Hawke) is a true crime author whose bestselling debut from 10 years earlier helped put away the perpetrator of a previously unsolved murder following the failure of the police to do so, bestowing a life-changing supply of fame and fortune upon him in the bargain. Now, several failed books later and desperate to reclaim his spot on the top of the bestseller list, Ellison uproots his family -- invariably supportive wife Tracy (Juliet Rylance) and their two petulant children, 12-year-old Trevor (Michael Hall D'Addario) and 7-year-old Ashley (Clare Foley) -- to an outwardly beautiful home in Chatsford, Pennsylvania. Unbeknownst to his wife and kids, their new home is actually a crime scene in which the previous family was hanged from a tree in the backyard while the youngest child was apparently abducted. Ellison aspires to write a new book that will hopefully unlock new evidence in the murder of the Stevenson family, lead to the discovery of little Stephanie (Victoria Leigh), and, in the end, grant him and his family wealth beyond their wildest dreams.
One night, Ellis discovers a box in the middle of his attic containing Super 8 home movies depicting the ritualistic, simultaneous executions of families whose youngest child has gone missing and whose camera operator is unseen. As Ellis submerges himself in his detective work, drawing connections between each familial murder with the help of a star-struck deputy (James Ransone), he uncovers information on a Pagan deity named Bughuul (Nicholas King), who seems to appear in the background of every recording and is infamous for consuming the souls of children. Now, disturbed at the dead of every night by mysterious noises, Ellis' skepticism toward the supernatural gradually crumbles, along with his sanity, as he comes to realize that he may have put himself and his family next in line for Bughuul's insatiable appetite for bloodshed.
The opening shot is a faithful recreation of Cargill's Ring-inspired nightmare that, in turn, serves as the inspiration for Sinister -- a Super 8 home video of a family of four standing still in their backyard with nooses tied around their necks, fastened to a tree branch, their heads covered beneath a burlap sack. Once the branch slowly collapses, the family elevates above ground, their legs flailing in helplessness and agony until the last drop of life is torturously strangled out of them. Straight from the jump, with no diegetic noise like screams for help, or character introductions, director and co-writer Scott Derrickson sets a harrowing, fatalistic atmosphere that will pervade the remaining 109 minutes, right down to the bitter, unpredictable, and subversive twist ending.
While a new family of four constitutes the present-day protagonists and fresh meat for the treacherous Bughuul, the plot of Sinister revolves almost exclusively around its conflicted and opportunistic author, Ellis, making it a showcase for the screen-commanding talent of Ethan Hawke. At first glance, there doesn't appear to be anything particularly remarkable about Hawke's star turn. He isn't given a whole lot to do besides wander around his home in the middle of the night, watch a succession of interconnected snuff films on a projection screen in his office, react facially to the gruesome images contained within, and hopelessly follow mysterious creaks to their source. This is a simple, undemanding role that could be achieved with equal success by any halfway competent actor, right? Not so fast.
As Ellis finds himself being pulled further and further into the mystery set forth by Cargill and Derrickson, Hawke subverts the initial simplicity of his assignment with a progressively complex, nuanced, and captivating performance that evokes Kevin Bacon in Stir of Echoes, projecting a single-minded obsession for deciphering the truth behind the Super 8 snuff films while struggling internally to reconcile his hunger for financial security with his love for his family and determination to keep them safe. In one of his most revealing moments, Ellis is sitting in his living room, nursing a glass of whisky and watching an interview of himself talking about the success of his debut book, Kentucky Blood. When the interviewer asks which effect of his book holds the greatest meaning for him: the justice he secured for a murder victim and their grieving family, or the financial prosperity with which it showered him, Hawke cringes listening to himself proclaim the former. Deep down, Ellis knows his sole motivation as a writer is greed, feeding off the blood and suffering of his deceased subjects, and he's disgusted with himself. Hawke is so committed and engrossing that he sustains attention even when the scenario of which he's trapped in the middle stagnates and repeats itself.
The majority of Sinister transpires at night, when Ellis is at work in his study while his family is asleep, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that took place in their very backyard or the full extent of their patriarch's new project. Cinematographer Christopher Norr bathes these nighttime scenes in visually unappealing blackness that obscures the actions of the protagonist. Sure, the details aren't difficult to discern. After all, Ellis is just walking around the hallways of his home, climbing the ladder to the attic, checking to ensure his children are asleep in their bedrooms. But it's presented in the most soporific and unengaging manner imaginable, draining the suspense inherent to darkness through sheer overexposure. The daytime scenes, few and far between as they are, fail to provide much of a contrast. An early scene that depicts the Oswalt family eating a Chinese takeout dinner on their first night in their new home is so shadowy as if to suggest that, for all his success as an author, Ellis is too destitute to afford the electric bill. In many scenes, including a daytime conversation between Ellis and his sole nonrelated supporter, "Deputy So-and-So," the actors are filmed in silhouette, their faces obscured in shadow. This feels distinctly like poor lighting resulting from budgetary constraints more so than a conscious artistic choice on director Derrickson's part.
However, Sinister suggests that Derrickson's creative instincts and eye for detail may be better suited to the found-footage subgenre because the most aesthetically unsettling and effective portions emanate from the Super 8 snuff films. In addition to recreating the grainy and nostalgic aesthetic of Super 8 home movies, these tapes contain some of the most harrowing, unforgettable, and morbidly imaginative imagery to rival that of Samara Morgan's cursed VHS tape in The Ring. Apart from the aforementioned Stevenson family who was hanged from a tree, one family is bound and gagged with tape to pool chairs and pulled one by one down under, another is burned alive in their chained-up car in their garage, another is slashed across their throats, and another is run over by a lawnmower. In his most creative touch, Norr reflects some of the kills in Ellis' eyeglasses to convey his unblinking horror and the way in which these ghastly images are imprinting themselves in his mind.
To preserve the mystique and menace of Bughuul without subjecting him to the fear-crushing effect of up-close overexposure, Norr presents him in glimpses, such as in a reflection at the bottom of a pool or standing behind bushes in a photograph. At one point, while Ellis has his head turned away from his computer screen, a paused image of Bughuul suddenly animates and turns his head to face him, turning back to his original position just in time before Ellis can notice.
Once Ellis commences his investigation into the unsolved murders, the plot of Sinister stagnates into the repetitive cycle of a bump-in-the-night haunted house yarn. Ellis secludes himself in his office, watches homemade snuff films, drowns his ratcheting distress in whisky, jots down the year and location of each murder, gets woken in the middle of the night by the mysterious activation of his projector, and wanders aimlessly around his home in the pitch-blackness, tormented by a nonstop succession of creaks emanating from the attic, never once pausing to consider turning on a single light. In essence, that's the entire story. Along the journey, Cargill and Derrickson sprinkle the one-note proceedings with convenient horror standbys: Ellis researching the details of the murdered families on his laptop, a lazy and distinctly non-cinematic shorthand for narrative progression, and a well-versed college professor who can explain to Ellis, and by extension the audience, the history, motivation, and attributes of his otherworldly adversary. At nearly two hours, the story is too basic and circular to earn its overlong runtime.
Derrickson paces his protagonist's nighttime excursions slowly to construct a creeping sense of unease, resisting until later the impulse to climax with a collection of well-timed, if unoriginal, jump scares (the ghoulish face of Bughuul popping into the frame in front of Ellis, Stephanie Stevenson's mummified, scowling face emerging from negative space beside Ellis). Smartly, Derrickson avoids overdosing on them, preferring an atmosphere of suspense, disorientation, and gradually deteriorating sanity to nonstop jump-out-of-your-seat moments. However, the director overuses the technique of directing his ghostly children to top off their heinous misdeeds with a shushing gesture to increasingly silly effect, and the set piece in which they collectively emerge from the darkness to toy with Ellis as he strolls around his home doesn't generate fear because they're visible only to the audience, not the character, who can only vaguely sense their presence and hear their footsteps. It would have been scarier if Derrickson had locked us into Ellis' perspective, allowing us to see and hear only what he can. By granting us access to the sight of the mischievous ghosts, Derrickson puts us in a position of superiority over his protagonist, allowing us to see what he's forbidden therefrom. It's a random and head-scratching choice that doesn't make sense. Why can we see the ghosts and he can't?
Ellison is a uniquely drawn protagonist in that Cargill and Derrickson don't feel obligated to make him entirely likable or noble. A famous but controversial true crime author desperately chasing the success of a 10-year-old bestseller that put his name on the map, Ellis deceives his family into moving into a crime scene for the sake of writing a new book that he believes will break them free from their current financial struggle and serve as a first-class ticket to easy street. The dollar signs are flashing so brightly in his eyes, his salivation for renewed success is so profuse, and perhaps his ego is bigger than his brain, that the thought of his 15 minutes having already passed with his debut book goes in one ear and out the other. Ellis is so confident in his ability to crack the Stevenson case that he couldn't care less about exposing the imperfections of the local police department. He doesn't hesitate to withhold the truth of his new home from his own wife, either. When Tracy makes him promise that he didn't move them in two homes down from the site of a murder, Ellis placates her with the half-truth that he didn't: instead, he moved them into the home where a murder took place. And of course he omits that detail. Besides, it wasn't even technically in the home: it was in the backyard.
When Ellis first discovers the box of snuff films in his attic, it's tempting to question why on earth he doesn't report them to the police right away. Cargill and Derrickson's screenplay is smart and psychologically astute enough to provide its protagonist with a credible motivation for concealing crime scene evidence from the police. Ellis does have the sense to dial 911, but right as the dispatcher gets on the phone, he's confronted by a copy of the bestselling true crime book that made him a hero and star, reinvigorating his sense of purpose to proceed, against his better judgment, with his new book. However, as the line between past and present begins to blur and an oppressive supernatural presence becomes undeniable, Ellis develops the clear-headedness to burn the snuff film reels in a grill, gather his family in the car, hightail it back home, and most courageously of all, abandon his second shot at stardom.
Regrettably, his trio of loved ones, and the actors portraying them, are underutilized. Though they live under the same roof as Ellis, they're too often conveniently and conspicuously absent from the story. Apparently, Bughuul must sprinkle opium poppies on his victims to keep them asleep because Tracy, Trevor, and Ashley are somehow never woken by Ellis' innumerable late-night excursions -- not even when he falls from the attic, along with several boxes, reels, and the Super 8 camera that come crashing down onto the floor. Neither of the kids are given charisma or personalities that would prompt concern for their wellbeing. Trevor is a stereotypically sulky preteen defined by his susceptibility to night terrors that inexplicably grant him the ability of contortion. For these incidents, of which there are two, Tracy somehow manages to break free of her sleep. There is nary a shred of tenderness or warmth between the siblings; Trevor and Ashley just bicker and throw food at one another. Despite being the youngest, most vulnerable, and homesick of the family, Ashley is a blank whiteboard, with Clare Foley delivering her lines in a lethargic voice with an expressionless face that somewhat spoils the mostly shocking revelation of her character. Juliet Rylance is largely wasted on the archetypal role of the "supportive wife," that is until Tracy learns the truth of the dirty secret in their backyard, leading to an explosive and smartly scripted argument between Ellis and Tracy that adds a much-needed gush of energy, passion, and emotional honesty to enliven the stagnant structure of the plot.
Vincent D'Onofrio is saddled with the thoroughly thankless role of Professor Jonas, whose sole purpose is to deliver exposition about Bughuul from behind a computer screen to our clueless hero. It's the type of role that not only could be phoned in, but unquestionably is. D'Onofrio submits a bare-minimum cameo, stammering his lines as though reading them for the first time during the shooting of his couple scenes, further evinced by his inability to look his co-star in the eye while acting opposite him. As the curiously unnamed deputy, James Ransone contributes a smattering of comic relief through an endearingly nerdy personality that recalls the lovably underqualified Dewey Riley from Scream. The only fan of Ellis' true crime writings in a police force whose openly hostile sheriff (Fred Thompson) advises the former to return where he came from and never look back, Deputy So-and-So (as he's jokingly nicknamed by Ellis) wants to aid his idol in his potentially sensational investigation for two reasons: (1) so his name may be included in the finished product's list of acknowledgements, and (2) because he holds a lifelong fascination with and belief in supernaturalism, which contrasts with Ellis' desperate skepticism. In his highlight moment of wry humor, Ransone indirectly calls Ellis out for his possible dependency on whisky and backhandedly praises him for being "brave" enough to spend so much as a single night in a home where an entire family was murdered.
Bughuul, whose name sounds like an amalgamation of "boogeyman" and "ghoul," is a terrifying and ghoulish rendition of the classical boogeyman, immediately carving out a position for himself in the pantheon of modern horror icons. Not only does this ancient creature prey on the vulnerability and trust of children, he manipulates them into carrying out his own gruesome crimes against their families, feeding off the uncorrupted innocence of their souls. The makeup and costuming bring him to life in a manner both nightmarish in its simplicity and unlike any other demonic entity that's come before or after. In a style reminiscent of performers in black metal, Bughuul's hair is stringy, black, and shoulder-length, he wears black triangular eyeliner, his mouth is supplanted by a black membrane, his complexion is pale, and to lure children into his orbit, he wears a salmon-colored collared shirt beneath a black suit jacket. In terms of clothing, skin color, and preoccupation with children, Bughuul could be the unintentional byproduct of Slender Man, or at least a distant cousin. His presentable wardrobe contrasts chillingly with the malicious glare maintained by Nicholas King beneath the mound of makeup. Not to be overlooked is the makeup applied to Bughuul's cult of brainwashed child disciples, their mummified skin putrid green with decay.
The ending of Sinister introduces a disturbing twist that adds a Mephistophelian connotation to previous actions and seemingly innocuous lines of dialogue spoken by Ashley -- her sudden desire to learn how to prepare a cup of coffee the way her father likes it, her promise to one day create a painting that will make her father famous again, her throwaway mention of a nightmare that isn't heeded by either of her parents. Once the full extent of Bughuul's modus operandi is laid bare, Ellis learns two crucial pieces of information: (1) the supposedly abducted child in each murdered family is actually the camera operator and murderer of their family (under the demonic influence of their leader, of course), and (2) not only has amscraying the haunted Stevenson house failed to rid his family of Bughuul's influence, it has singlehandedly placed them directly in his trough, thereby subverting Ellis' supposedly common-sense decision to return to his prior residence. When Ashley begged her father to finish his book, gain the riches, and take them back home, was she motivated by her stated longing for her hometown school and friends, or was she already under the spell of Bughuul, knowing she could only kill her family after they move out? Cargill and Derrickson leave that open to interpretation.
The very night her family has moved back home, Ashley drugs Ellis' coffee, binds and gags him with tape to the living room floor, alongside Tracy and Trevor, and hacks them to pieces with an axe, painting the walls in their blood, just as she had earlier promised. "Don't worry, Daddy," she robotically states. "I'll make you famous again." At the moment of impact, a split second before the axe pierces Ellis' skin, editor Frederic Thoraval cuts away to the aftermath. Sinister isn't the first horror film in which all the protagonists die and evil wins, but it represents one of the darkest examples thereof, punishing Ellis for making what would normally be considered the smartest choice in a haunted house story, i.e., getting out, and corrupting the innocence of not only a child, but a little girl. This pessimistic conclusion is more closely aligned with the found-footage subgenre, but it's just as effectively deployed here, and the filmmakers do an impressive job of laying out the breadcrumbs insidiously throughout so that the ultimate destination doesn't feel preordained.
In many ways, with its Super 8 footage of familial executions, confined domestic setting, and bloodily bleak outcome, Sinister plays like a found-footage horror film in reverse, with the perspective shifted from that of the actual found footage to the doomed viewer on the opposite side of the screen, destined to suffer an identical fate to his posthumous predecessors. Blending the grainy, handheld aesthetic of a homemade movie with the conventional cinematography of a narrative film, Sinister delivers a tense haunted house chiller that, despite its lulls, mostly lives up to the simplicity and foreboding of its title.
6/10
Comments
Post a Comment