Film Freak Central

Now in Paperback! "A Walter Hill Film"

A Walter Hill Film, Walter Chaw's critical biography of filmmaker Walter Hill (The Warriors, 48Hrs., Streets of Fire), is now available in paperback from MZS Press. Featuring photos from Hill's personal archives, introductions by James Ellroy and Larry Gross, an afterword by Edgar Wright, and cover art from the acclaimed Ganzeer, it's A Walter Hill Film: Tragedy and Masculinity in the films of Walter Hill. Get your copy here.

The Holdovers (2023)

****/****
starring Paul Giamatti, Da'vine Joy Randolph, Dominic Sessa, Carrie Preston
written by David Hemingson
directed by Alexander Payne

by Walter Chaw It was never like this, but it's how I remember it: snow on the ground, ice in patches, a well-appointed office wall-to-wall with books, a fireplace, and me and a classmate, a dear friend, doing an independent study with my favourite professor. I have looked my whole life for my people. I think sometimes they are the fragments I shore against my ruins, that thing T.S. Eliot said to describe the whole of Western civilization informing his writing--but thinking of them as fragments seems wrong. Just as how their spark in my life is not the holding me up but the giving me a reason to want to persist. It would be so much easier not to. I saw an old friend the other day, and he told a story about how I said something to him once that aided him when he was at his lowest point. I didn't remember saying it, though I remembered the feeling of fear I had for him at the time and was moved to tears that I had helped him as he had so often helped me. You can't really know the wake you leave behind as you go. My favourite poem is William Wordsworth's "Lines Written a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey", particularly for how it speaks of the "best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love." This line has meant different things to me at different times in my life. I wonder what it means to me now.

Saltburn (2023)

*/****
starring Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi, Rosamund Pike, Richard E. Grant
written and directed by Emerald Fennell

by Walter Chaw People keep expressing in the weariest, archest way how disappointing Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan) has turned out to be, or, if they're more passive, how they do hope he doesn't end up like the last one--you know, that one; why do they all end up that way? Well, who wouldn't snap under that kind of aristocratic disapproval, I ask you? It's like if Jay Sherman's butler caught you nicking from the buffet table. And indeed, all of Emerald Fennell's insufferable Saltburn is like The Talented Mr. Ripley written by Fleabag--if Patricia Highsmith and Phoebe Waller-Bridge were trying to follow up an underbaked piece of shit with another underbaked piece of shit while producers were still bedazzled by her empty, shit-eating bullshit. Sorry, I mean to say Saltburn is hackwork that doesn't know what it's trying to say because Emerald Fennell, a member herself of the larded gentry, isn't remotely self-aware enough to recognize the extent to which she's completely bought into her systemic privilege and its attendant noblesse oblige. Yes, good Queen Emerald has a story to tell about how bad her people are. Now listen up, peon.

Wish (2023)

*½/****
screenplay by Jennifer Lee & Allison Moore
directed by Chris Buck, Fawn Veerasunthorn

by Walter Chaw It's possible to catch the zeitgeist express and still suck, and here's the proof: Fawn Veerasunthorn and Chris Buck's flaccid, disturbing, Les Miz-for-kids Disney flick, Wish. On the verge of giving her fondest wish to the autocrat King Magnifico (Chris Pine) in exchange for his beneficent magical protection, 17-year-old Asha (Ariana DeBose) discovers that Magnifico is actually a fanatical, power-drunk, authoritarian zealot. His greatest fear is that one of his people in the kingdom of Rosas may nurse a fond wish that leads to his downfall, so he hoards them, extracting them during a ritual from his people as they grow from childhood to the rest of their wish-less lives. He keeps them as bubbles of blue smoke in a glass observatory in his castle. Why doesn't he just destroy the ones he deems dangerous?

SDAFF '23: New Strains

***½/****
starring Artemis Shaw, Prashanth Kamalakanthan
written and directed by Artemis Shaw & Prashanth Kamalakanthan

by Walter Chaw Prasanth Kamalakanthan and Artemis Shaw's New Strains is perhaps the definitive film about the COVID shutdown, addressing it both straight-on and metaphorically in adopting the central conceit of Michael Tolkin's dystopian novel NK3, in which a world-ending virus has as its primary symptom the infantilization of the infected. "New Strains" refers to both viral evolution and the manifold tensions introduced into the new romantic relationship of vacationing couple Kallia (Shaw) and Ram (Kamalakanthan), who land in the Big Apple right when the world shuts down. Trapped in a well-appointed, centrally-located flat, they bicker, watch television, have spiritless sex, and disagree over how seriously to take the risks of infection. Kallia, giving off some Lena Dunham vibes, is loose about masking and decontaminating when entering the living space. Ram, notably more uptight, freaks out a time or two in response to her laxness. It doesn't help that she deals with strife through giggling and taunting. Indeed, for all of Ram's irritating quirks--his fastidiousness and jealousy--I instantly despised Kallia for her schoolyard cruelty.

Napoleon (2023)

**½/****
starring Joaquin Phoenix, Vanessa Kirby, Tahar Rahim, Rupert Everett
written by David Scarpa
directed by Ridley Scott

by Walter Chaw I wish Ridley Scott's Napoleon was weirder, kinkier, as perverse as it seems like Joaquin Phoenix, who plays the diminutive emperor, wants it to be. I wish it had more time for his relationship with Josephine (Vanessa Kirby), who, in this incarnation, is cast as a kind of succubus: a barren nymphomaniac who pulls up her bloomers and spreads her legs during her courtship with Napoleon and tells him if he looks at her holiest of holies, he'll never stop wanting it. It's deeply weird, is what I'm saying, and there's a version of this film that is just ninety minutes of these two actors, ready for anything, going full-tilt boogie. Maybe he puts on a dog collar, and she steps on him; then he goes out and murders a few tens of thousands of Egyptians while firing cannons at the Great Pyramids. In that Napoleon, however, we wouldn't see the million-dollar battle sequences, but instead a series of disturbing tableaux vivant of codependency and sadomasochistic sex play ending in the same title card tallying up the number of people who died (over three million) because of this creepy little freak. "Him?" we would marvel--and then consider that maybe it's only damaged men, damaged in exactly this way, who would consider the military conquest of the world a thing to be desired, possible to accomplish, and more, possible for them to accomplish. But, alas, that's not the sort of movie Ridley Scott makes.

May December (2023)

***½/****
starring Natalie Portman, Julianne Moore, Charles Melton
screenplay by Samy Burch
directed by Todd Haynes

by Angelo Muredda "You just don't know with these Hollywood types," Julianne Moore's wilted Southern belle Gracie says early in Todd Haynes's intricate hothouse melodrama, May December. She's referring, by way of a throwaway reference to a prior encounter with Judge Judy, to the impending visit at her idyllic Savannah, Georgia home by Elizabeth (Natalie Portman), a TV actress who's about to play her in a movie about the defining event of her life more than twenty years prior. Gracie is a tabloid celebrity, famous for her exploitative sexual relationship with a 12-year-old boy, for which she served time in prison. Improbably, she's also a proud matriarch, having married and built a home with her victim, Joe (Charles Melton), who now finds himself an empty nester at the ripe age of 36, as the couple's twin children, born while she was in prison, prepare to go off to college. Loosely inspired by the story of sex offender Mary Kay Letourneau, who went on to marry and start a family with the victim of her abuse until their separation in 2019, May December isn't a work of true crime so much as a playful, sly, tonally restless exploration of Gracie's observation about the unknowability of Hollywood folks, which turns out to be broadly applicable to the unfathomable nature of everyone, including herself and her partner.

SDAFF '23: Grounded

***/****
starring Whit K. Lee, Katherine Leidlein, Angela Chew, Alfredo de Guzman
written and directed by Justin Chan

by Walter Chaw Justin Chan's Grounded is triggering for me. It opens with a sunny prologue in which William (Whit K. Lee) proposes to longtime girlfriend Mackenzie (Katherine Leidlein). She accepts--with the caveat that he must finally introduce her to his parents (Angela Chew and Alfredo De Guzman) after three years of dating. If that seems like a long time, well, he's Asian-American, and she's happy to say how often she's mistaken for Nicole Kidman. My wife and I share the same racial dynamic with William and Mackenzie, though I had no problem introducing her to my parents, because a large part of me hoped they would disapprove of her and I could complete my divorce from them. I mean, I did care, but I was angry and looking for the fight. I wanted them to present me an ultimatum so I could choose not-them. Grounded made my blood-pressure rise immediately--the ol' fight-or-flight closer to my surfaces than I thought possible after all this time. The danger of films like this lies in how I will struggle to find any distance between it and my exposed nerves; Grounded cleaves so close to the bone I thought about tapping out a few times. I'm glad I stuck with it.

SDAFF '23: Day Off

Ben ri gong xiu
本日公休
½*/****
starring Lu Hsiao-fen, Fu Meng-po, Annie Chen, Shih Ming Shuai
written and directed by Fu Tien-Yu

by Walter Chaw Fu Tien-Yu's Day Off is heartfelt pap in the Garry Marshall style: soft-focused, episodic, sprawled like a drunken floozy across a flight of stairs in a Tennessee Williams melodrama. It's a movie scored, every inch of it, with the kind of music honey and treacle would make if they had sticky little tentacles. The film is insinuating, probing for soft spots to geek for uncontrollable emotional gag reflexes: dying fathers, generational trauma, reunions, separations, triumphs... You know that minor chord you learned in your first guitar lesson? Think about a sad day and play that chord. Play each of the strings individually. Slowly. Close your eyes. You want a job, kid? Day Off is genuinely awful. It shares a personality with Precious Moments figurines. Moreover, it shares a vibe with the lonesome old lady you somehow got trapped in a conversation with who is shoving her Precious Moments figurines in your face and asking what you think. "This is A Decade of Dreams Come True, isn't it sweet? And this is My Heart Beats For You, isn't that adorable? ISN'T IT?" It isn't. It's sad, a lonesome transference of underdeveloped and frustrated social longing onto a plaster mold of literal children pretending to be adults.

SDAFF '23: The Secret Art of Human Flight

**½/****
starring Grant Rosenmeyer, Paul Raci, Lucy DeVito, Maggie Grace
written by Jesse Orenshein
directed by H.P. Mendoza

by Walter Chaw Ben (Grant Rosenmeyer) isn't doing very well. He writes children's books with his wife (Reina Hardesty), but she just died of an allergic reaction; all those arguments they used to have seem so stupid now. H.P. Mendoza's The Secret Art of Human Flight is about being grateful for what you have while you have it--which isn't novel, you'll agree. One night, while doom-scrolling through TikTok, Ben watches what appears to be footage of a guy killing himself but is, in fact, footage of a guy who has taught himself to fly, blasting off from the edge of a cliff. Why he needs to jump in order to fly is what I think liberal arts majors call a "metaphor." Also a metaphor is how Ben gets on the Dark Web to buy the multi-step process through which he, too, might learn to fly. What he doesn't know is his five grand is buying the personal attention of flight inventor Mealworm (Paul Raci), who, with a combination of unctuous Peter Coyote cult-leader charisma, puts Ben through his paces. It's that kind of movie.

SDAFF '23: Quiz Lady

ZERO STARS/****
starring Awkwafina, Sandra Oh, Jason Schwartzman, Will Ferrell
written by Jen D'Angelo
directed by Jessica Yu

by Walter Chaw I don't hold any particular rancour for Jessica Yu's confused, miscast Quiz Lady. No bile, even when it seems to be trafficking in racist tropes rather than satirizing them, even when its feeble attempts at wit and timing fall shrilly by the wayside. It's always a minefield for me to review a film by an Asian American this negatively, especially an Asian American woman working from a script by a (white) woman, but there's a point at which our community should be allowed to make disasterpieces and still get another shot, if equality is the real goal. There's a point, too, where pulling punches or pretending not to have seen something becomes patronizing and an act of making a work invisible, which is what we're often complaining about in the first place. I'll allow that Quiz Lady likely has an audience and that this film exists at exactly the wrong frequency for me to tolerate, much less appreciate; I do worry, however, that the range in which it vibrates is the one in which people who like to laugh at my people live.

SDAFF '23: In Water

물안에서
Mul-an-e-seo
***/****
starring Ha Seong-guk, Kim Seung-yun, Shin Seokho
written and directed by Hong Sang-soo

by Walter Chaw I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately, It's the time of year when he died, and though I'm terrible with dates, my body seems to remember. I usually think my moods must have something to do with autumn and the change in the weather--but I love the autumn, the smell of rotten leaves, the halo around the moon, the chill. And then I remember. Korean master Hong Sang-soo reminds me of my dad, too. It's how he's so irritatingly self-assured, I think. So mulishly iconoclastic. My dad never really listened to anything anyone else told him. Sometimes that worked out for him; often it didn't. But the path of his life was defiantly his. My dad was learned, extraordinarily well-read in books written in languages I can't read, and tortured. He's been gone twenty years this year. Is it the "china" anniversary for death, as it is for marriage? Are the traditions the same, or do we fail to memorialize loss in the same way? My dad's death is almost old enough to drink. When I was much younger, I would ask him big questions--life, the universe, everything--and he would answer with quotations and philosophies: aphorisms, fables, poems. I don't remember anything about them except that they made me feel frustrated, mocked a little, and left to worry my thoughts alone like a cat with a tail of yarn. And now he's gone.

SDAFF '23: Cobweb

거미집
Geomijip
**½/****
starring Lim Soo-jung, Oh Jung-se, Song Kang-ho
written by Kim Jee-woon, Yeon-Shick Shin
directed by Kim Jee-woon

by Walter Chaw Kim Jee-woon is such a fine technical director that, for a while, the slapdash of his behind-the-scenes, Living in Oblivion insider piece feels like a meticulously orchestrated machine where every piece hits its mark instead of what I think is intended: silly slapstick arising from sloppy improvisation. There might be a path charted for this picture, but it all plays a little like Calvinball. What I like least is how many edits are timed to various shrieks: the last refuge of the desperate and the wayward. Screams of comic frustration, screams of theatrical fear, screams of manufactured ecstasy, screams of the righteous artist at war with a corporate machine trying to grind him down. Such is the plight of Kim (Song Kang-ho), a director labelled as a peddler of pop "content" who, wounded for the last time by a table of smug film critics, rewrites the ending to his latest endlessly-replicable soaper and, swimming upstream, seeks to wring two extra days from a fickle cast under the nose of state regulators suspicious about the sudden change in direction in a state- approved and financed picture. Kim Jee-woon handles the meta, film-within-a-film conceit by shooting Director Kim's magnum opus in Universal Horror black-and-white while leaving his studio-bound escapades in vivid, drawing-room colour. The picture he's making looks to be a Hitchcockian thriller of some kind--a metaphor for the labyrinthine cobweb the truly inspired must navigate in order to realize their vision.

SDAFF '23: Monster

****/****
starring Ando Sakura, Kurosawa Koya, Nagayama Eita
written by Sakamoto Yûji
directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda

by Walter Chaw Hirokazu Kore-eda is a keeper of secrets, a guardian of hidden things and a priest of the ritual of childhood. Watching his stuff feels like an invitation into intimate spaces, and I can't shake the feeling, however impossible, that they're places I've been before. I recall, for instance, a little half-loft built into the silversmithing store my father used to own. When I was too young to work or too tired from working, I'd climb up into it to read, or sleep, or peep down onto the sales floor, where customers would mill in and out. I hadn't thought at all of that tiny vantage, a crow's nest floating above a turgid sea of confused nostalgia, until I saw Kore-eda's new film, Monster, which, of course, has nothing to do with silversmithing stores or fathers who have journeyed past the horizon or boats unmoored and lost in listless seas.

Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One (2023) - 4K Ultra HD + Digital Code

Note: all framegrabs were sourced from the 4K UHD disc

****/**** Image A Sound A+ Extras B
starring Tom Cruise, Hayley Atwell, Ving Rhames, Henry Czerny
written by Christopher McQuarrie & Erik Jendresen
directed by Christopher McQuarrie

by Walter Chaw I've liked every film in this series to some extent, the last few very much. Yet, pressed, I couldn't tell you what any of them are about. If you ask me to recount the plot of this latest entry, Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One (hereafter Dead Reckoning), I would have a tough time only a few minutes out of the screening. This isn't an inherently bad thing. If you were to ask most people who've seen North by Northwest, they wouldn't know it's about microfilm being smuggled in South American figurines, just as they will not question whether a crop duster is the best way to kill someone waiting for a bus in the middle of nowhere. They wouldn't remember that Notorious is about radioactive ore hidden in wine bottles, or that Psycho is about a petty embezzlement scheme. That's because it doesn't matter. You'd probably even get pushback about how that's not really what those films are about anyway, which is correct. Hitchcock called those things that matter a lot to everyone in the film--and almost nothing to anyone watching it--the "MacGuffin." The Mission: Impossible films are the quintessential modern example of an old concept: if you do everything well enough, if you understand how to keep things snappy and populate the story with characters who feel like real, live people (thus imbuing all the noise with stakes), well, it doesn't matter what the picture's about, because what it's actually about is so instantly relatable. Will they survive? Will they fall in love? Archetype and craft. There's nothing simpler and nothing more complex.

Priscilla (2023)

***½/****
starring Cailee Spaeny, Jacob Elordi, Dagmara Dominiczyk
based on the book Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley with Sandra Harmon
written and directed by Sofia Coppola

by Walter Chaw Sofia Coppola takes a lot of heat for making movies about what she knows. This strikes me as peculiar, because I don't really have any desire to see a Sofia Coppola film about, say, enslaved African peoples. But one about a rich little girl lost? Yes, please. It seems, in fact, that what Coppola is doing as an author is the kind of thing generally celebrated with auteur theories and canonization. I wonder why she's been popularly singled out as a creator who's failed to checklist minority groups outside her own. What would the reception of her remarkable remake of The Beguiled have been like had she foregrounded the enslaved African American character and attempted to write her through the lens of Sofia Coppola's experience? Was her eliding of the character seen as whitewashing, was that the problem? How was the character treated in Don Siegel's version? How do the Oscar-winning depictions of enslaved African Americans in Gone with the Wind fare? I wonder if the cries for Coppola to have more diversity in her films is a disingenuous complaint driven primarily by a general dislike of Coppola because she's some combination of a woman and a nepo-baby who doesn't seem the least bit interested in catering to a larger audience. I wonder why Jean Renoir didn't get crucified for the same thing. Honestly, I don't wonder.

Rosemary's Baby (1968) - 4K Ultra HD + Blu-ray

Note: all framegrabs were sourced from the 4K UHD disc

****/**** Image A- Sound A- Extras B-
starring Mia Farrow, John Cassavetes, Ruth Gordon, Ralph Bellamy
based on the novel by Ira Levin
written for the screen and directed by Roman Polanski

by Walter Chaw Rosemary is everything. He's just Guy. It's that tension--between a woman fully actualized and a man forever frustrated, the Grail vs. the Knights of the Round Table--that serves as the tightrope in Roman Polanski's Rosemary's Baby. As portrayed by Mia Farrow, Rosemary is precious and flawed, full of life and surrounded by death. She is the venerated object, the cathedral she imagines the night she's drugged and violated; the most precious thing, the sanctified earth planted with the pestilential corruption of masculine ambition. Rosemary's Baby opens with a lengthy consideration of the buildings that surround Central Park like vultures in their priestly black, voracious and solemn, gathered around a carcass that is, in this configuration, the sole hint of life in a metal savannah. Polanski is a genius of architecture and the consideration of it. His spaces are predatory, or at least become so: "Forget it, Jake, it's Chinatown" and the apartment that sprouts hands from its walls and, here in Rosemary's Baby, the "Black Bramford." He puts pretty blondes into the maw of his constructions--sacrifices to the Minotaur wandering through his Labyrinth--and watches them get swallowed by the Stygian black. He is the Minotaur. The pitch is his, along with the appetites. Rosemary's Baby is his masterpiece, as well as one of the greatest films about what women endure in a world that sees them as seed incubators, nesting fowl, and finally trophies: meek and pretty. But Rosemary isn't meek, simply outmatched, surrounded, flanked by the men she's supposed to be able to trust.

Killers of the Flower Moon (2023)

**½/****
starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert De Niro, Lily Gladstone, Jesse Plemons
screenplay by Eric Roth and Martin Scorsese, based on the book Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI by David Grann
directed by Martin Scorsese

by Walter Chaw I think Martin Scorsese is perhaps too principled a filmmaker to indulge in the dark poetry of Killers of the Flower Moon; too bound by limitations he's aware of and wary of violating, too respectful of the horror of the history to mark it with the crackle of verve and vitality. A sober topic deserves a sober treatment, no question, yet Scorsese at his best is doing lines off the hood of a vintage Impala, not running lines with actors and advisors, all with competing interests and hardwired biases, to find the most cogent, most reasonable way to approach a tripwire. He's so careful not to set off the powderkeg that is the Osage Murders of 1921-1926 that he doesn't set off any sparks at all. While I don't think Scorsese is capable of making a bad movie, with things like Hugo and even The Irishman, he's shown he can make movies that are enervated in the fatal way of a conversation you have with a beloved elder you're lucky to engage with but dread, too, for the repetitiveness and dusty formality. I'm not saying Scorsese was the wrong person to adapt white-guy journalist David Grann's NYT-feted true-crime book Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI, a celebration of an organization that has done grievous harm to these very people it swooped in belatedly to protect this one time. On the contrary, he's told what is probably the most palatable version of that story--but it's a story I don't want to hear. I guess I'm saying I have a hard time investing much in devalued institutions and their saviours.

Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person (2023)

Vampire humaniste cherche suicidaire consentant
**/****
starring Sara Montpetit, Félix-Antoine Bénard, Steve Laplante, Sophie Cadieux
screenplay by Ariane Louis-Seize, Christine Doyon
directed by Ariane Louis-Seize

by Angelo Muredda Puberty is a vampire in Ariane Louis-Seize's Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person, a stylish but flimsy debut that has little to say on the subject of either depression or vampires in spite of its title. A likeable, low-stakes coming-of-age allegory about the growing pains of being an outsider (among other barely scratched subjects), the film slots in nicely next to spooky-adjacent young adult romances like "Wednesday" and "Chilling Adventures of Sabrina", for whatever that's worth. It also makes a nice calling card for Louis-Seize's likely future in franchise television, her comic world-building better suited for a sitcom with genre notes than a feature, where her characters are reduced to the sort of easily summarized traits that would make them stand out in a pilot.

Breaking the Rules: FFC Interviews Demián Rugna

Walter Chaw interviews Demián Rugna,
co-writer/director of WHEN EVIL LURKS

At the risk of being premature in my assessment, I think Demián Rugna is the real deal. His Terrified from 2017 was confident and brilliant: a strange, alchemical product of the unimaginable and the familiar; a "fun" extreme gore/horror exercise that crossed the line so often it rewrote it. Now, six years later, here's Rugna's follow-up: When Evil Lurks, which is more--and amplified--innovative obscenity. The large gap between Terrified and When Evil Lurks and the failure of announced projects to materialize have, if anything, only sharpened the cruelty of his images and the atrocity of his ideas. I wondered if Terrified was an anomaly, given that it seemed to come from nowhere, fully formed with its payload of "what the fuck?" lawlessness, but When Evil Lurks confirms the arrival of a major talent.

When Evil Lurks (2023)

Cuando acecha la maldad
****/****
starring Ezequiel Rodríguez, Demián Salomón, Luis Ziembrowski, Federico Liss
written and directed by Demián Rugna

by Walter Chaw I felt like there was a hand pressing down on my chest during Demián Rugna's When Evil Lurks, a horror film so vicious and uncompromising I wasn't always sure I could finish it. I've seen it three times now, not because I've become desensitized to its lawlessness, but because it's so well-constructed that I'm drawn back to it despite the anxiety it inspires. There's comfort in the thrall of an artist who's in complete control of his medium. When Evil Lurks is Rugna's fifth film, and I don't think it's too soon to declare him an important filmmaker and a true innovator. I've never seen what he does in the horror genre before; I'd call it experimentation, except that it works on a more than theoretical level. Between this and his previous picture, Terrified (2017), he has deconstructed the familiar, reconstituting it into a beast that feels new and dangerous. When I take a shower now, it's not Psycho or The Seventh Victim that comes to mind, it's the long opening sequence of Terrified in which a man traces the source of a strange thumping in the middle of the night to something unspeakable happening to his wife in the bathroom for what must have been hours. There's nothing new about locating terror in intensely personal private spaces, but there's a revolution in having the idea to mate Martyrs with Poltergeist.