It’s October, when means horror movie season is in full swing, and of course I’ve partaken. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with friends, a 35mm screening of When a Stranger Calls, House on Haunted Hill on 16mm. Plenty more to come, I’m sure. In fact, after I finish this post, I’m off to see Terrifier 3. I don’t know that I’d call myself a horror buff. That label fits more with people who have really dedicated themselves to the genre, for whom it is closer to a personality. Me, I just love watching a good horror movie. I don’t tend to find them scary, though I can certainly get caught in the suspense and fall prey to a good jump scare, or wince at something truly gruesome. Here and there a movie will really crawl under my skin, like Hereditary did the first time I saw it. I gravitate toward horror movies mostly because of the purity of craft they require. Few completely measure up, but the truth is, I usually have a good time even at the flops.
That idea, of enjoying movies even when they’re not exactly great, or even good, or successful at the craft, has been on my mind a lot recently, mostly because of Megalopolis, which is still on my mind a couple weeks after seeing it. I don’t think the movie is especially well made, or even works at the end of the day, but there’s something there nonetheless. An animating spirit, a purity of intent, that makes it compelling and worthwhile. When it comes to horror, that animating spirit goes a very long way. I sometimes wonder whether I’m actually just too accepting of low quality scares. I’ve had many friends say Immaculate, for example, was a shoddy horror movie, badly attempting some ‘70s charm. I don’t know what to say, but I was charmed. Hell, I even had a good time with the very silly Night Swim, a horror movie I’m pretty sure is bad, but whose commitment to its own nonsense carried me through anyway.
Call it low standards, but there’s something freeing about appreciating art that isn’t exactly “good.” Of what importance is quality anyway? Certainly, a great work has a strong impact, it sticks with you, challenges you, entertains at the highest level, and wows you with impeccable craft. But greatness is sometimes is divorced a little from the quality of craft, or even quality at all. Sometimes it’s all down to what you, as an audience member, allow yourself to have a good time with. It’s about being open.
It was another slightly strange week for me, scheduling-wise, but I did finally see the publication of my big TIFF write-up for The Baffler, which I’m quite proud of. I’ve got a newsletter abotu J. Edgar coming this Sunday as part of my Late Eastwood series for paid subscribers, so keep an eye out for that. In the meantime, here’s some of what I’ve been consuming recently.
Reading, Watching, Listening
The work of French photographer and filmmaker Jean Painlevé had somehow escaped my notice all these years, but earlier this week I attended a screening of a few of his short films, recently restored. Painlevé specialized in recording footage of animals, particularly creepy clawlies and strange underwater creatures. He was noted for his contact with the Surrealists, and you can feel their influence in his work, though the films stand almost as a response to all that bending of reality. His films are all about the real, in all of its weird beauty. Truly a delight to experience, and I’ve gotta get me that out-of-print DVD set from Criterion.
“The Failure of Liberal Zionism”, by David Klion is just one of many pieces published this week looking back on a year of devastating violence in the wake of the Oct. 7 attacks in Israel. Among those many pieces, this is the one that spoke to me the most, outlining in very clear terms how any semblence of a righteous, liberal form of zionism has evaporated in a sea of contradictions in the face of thousands and thousands of murdered children. It’s sobering writing, not just because it outlines the horror of it all, but because it strikes at the impotence of those who still tell themselves there’s a way to square the circle.