Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. I’m currently in the midst of cataloging all the anime I watched this year for my end-of-year article, and in the process realizing that hey, I actually watched a lot of anime this year! I’ve kept current on One Piece, munched through most of Boruto, checked out some old classics, and even watched a few seasonal productions. And crucially, I haven’t really been watching with any sort of system in mind – like in my early years of anime enthusiasm, I’ve just been grabbing what seems interesting and taking a look. With the preview guide long behind me, I no longer need to care what percentage of a season appears watchable to me; I can just watch the cream of the crop, and leave the demarcation of seasonal cruft to less fortunate souls. You all can look forward to that post coming in a couple weeks, but in the meantime, this week offered its own set of cinematic attractions. Let’s break ‘em down!
Our first feature of the week was Dead & Buried, a horror film about a tiny coastal town with some terrible secrets. Dead & Buried slots comfortably into the horror tradition of “what the fuck is up with this town” stories, centering on a man who returns to his hometown as their new sheriff, only to be greeted by a series of mysterious murders and body-snatchings. As the violence intensifies, it begins to seem like everyone but him is in on some dark conspiracy, its tendrils drawing closer by the hour.
Dead & Buried largely adheres to a slasher/exploitation horror shell, and won’t win any awards for its cinematography, but still possesses some strong features to recommend it. Most significantly, the film features special effects by Stan Winston, who worked on The Thing, Aliens, Terminator, Jurassic Park, and many other classics of practical prop work. As a result, Dead & Buried’s kills are as juicy and grotesque as you could imagine, making devilishly effective use of prop faces and dribbling liquids. Don’t eat anything while you’re watching this movie.
Additionally, Dead & Buried is consistently enlivened by the presence of Jack Albertson, who steals his every scene as the town’s proud “artist mortician.” He evokes a Vincent Price-like sense of conspicuous villainy from his first appearance, but just like Price, he’s so charismatic that you can see why people let him get away with it. The unveiling of his master plan is frankly one of the best “look upon my works” climaxes I’ve seen in a horror film, making it easy to forgive the film for its wonkier aspects. If you’ve got a strong stomach and an appreciation for camp and killing, give Dead & Buried a try.
Our next feature was Sing, an animated musical about a group of animals that all hope to make it big at a local singing competition. The film proceeds basically how you’d expect for a modern Illumination family feature, offering plenty of feel-good moments, some impressive song sequences, and a wildly star-studded cast. Most of the actors involved basically play their usual selves, but I was astonished to learn the protagonist is played by Matthew McConaughey – dispensing with his usual gravel and twang, he offers a convincingly neurotic portrayal of a character entirely unlike his live persona, proving himself to be a genuinely talented voice actor. The film itself isn’t particularly noteworthy, but it’s an altogether charming and breezy watch.
Next up was the 1981 feature The Prowler, which proved to be a straightforward, no-frills, and thunderously effective slasher in all regards. You’ve got your mysterious villain in an ominous, face-concealing costume, you’ve got your resilient final girl who knows something’s up, and you’ve got a whole graduation dance’s worth of victims for the killer to munch through. By pitchfork and shortsword, The Prowler’s G.I. uniform-suited antagonist bushwacks his way through a variety of hapless victims, with the film mostly distinguishing itself through its unflinching hold on the murderous money shots. Most slashers are content to hit the slash and then jump-cut to the next target – not so for The Prowler, which lingers over its pitchforked bellies and slit-smile necks just long enough to provoke some genuine discomfort. If you’re looking for a generally accomplished slasher with some actual teeth to it, The Prowler is a fine selection.
After that was The Changeling, an altogether classier brand of horror from just a year earlier. The Changeling follows John Russell, a middle-aged music composer as he moves from New York to Seattle in the wake of his wife and daughter’s tragic deaths. Settling into a mansion owned by the local historical society, he soon finds himself haunted by some kind of strange presence in the house, which eventually leads him to discover a boarded-up bedroom in the attic. As the spirit’s intrusions intensify, John will have to find a way to bring his unexpected housemate peace.
As an outright horror film, The Changeling largely confines itself to a style of scare my housemates and I have taken to calling “spookum scareums” or “general spookums” or whatnot – our fondly demeaning terms for when a director just bangs some pots and shakes some doors and fiddles with the light switches. These tricks are generally the purview of horror movies that don’t have any genuinely inspired tricks to offer, but in The Changeling’s case, they are both elegantly executed, and also a reflection of the fact that this isn’t entirely a horror movie. Instead, The Changeling balances its seances and scary noises with a pronounced murder-mystery element, focusing as much on whodunnit and how it can be proved as the machinations of its lonely ghost.
The Changeling balances its various genre threads gracefully, and George C. Scott’s central performance grounds the proceedings in the tangibility of his grief. Genuine horror setpieces are carefully distributed between larger sequences of investigation and discovery, and while I felt the film lost a touch of its urgency in the final act, the actual conclusion feels like a thunderous update to The Fall of the House of Usher. The Changeling is accomplished on the whole, and also a movie I’d recommend to anyone who’s not quite comfortable diving into the horror deep end.
Last up for the week was an acclaimed Sam Mendes production, the 2002 film Road to Perdition. Set in prohibition-era Chicago, the film centers on Michael Sullivan (Tom Hanks), an enforcer for mob boss John Rooney (Paul Newman). When Sullivan’s son witnesses his father at work, it sets off a chain of events leading to Rooney’s son (Daniel Craig) killing Sullivan’s wife and other child, prompting Sullivan to embark on a bloody journey of revenge.
Road to Perdition is star-studded almost to a fault, with Jude Law, Stanley Tucci, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and Ciarán Hinds also all popping up in supporting roles. Some of their characters almost feel extraneous to the film’s narrative, with Law in particular essentially serving as an injection of drama to create some distance between the second and third act finales. But the most awkward inclusion is undoubtedly our leading man Hanks, who turns in a genuinely strong performance, but is never quite convincing as a hardened mob hitman. There’s just too much softness in his eyes, and too little pain etched in his cheeks; you can hire De Niro, Liotta, or Pacino to pin down a role like this, but put Hanks here and I’ll just be seeing his Big character.
Awkward casting decisions aside, Road to Perdition is otherwise mostly excellent, benefitting from evocative cinematography and a poignant thematic core. Newman is simply outstanding; caught between his wild biological son and the orphan he came to love, you can perpetually see how this drama is tearing him apart, and never really blame him for the orders he is forced to make. There is a delicious irony in the fact that Hanks is only able to connect with his son once they’re both on the run; in the tender moments they share, we see the tragedy of their prior “ideal” suburban lie made clear without a word. Meanwhile, Newman’s tenuous relationship with his own son reveals both the power and limitations of biological connection, with only the bond between Newman and his hitman adoptee ringing as true “familial love.”
Road to Perdition is handsome, exciting, and offers plenty of thematic meat to chew on. It’s a classic story told well – not necessarily a must-see for any of its particular dimensions, but an altogether confidently assembled package. If you like crime dramas, it’s a worthy selection.
