Unlike its predecessor, ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018), Mike Flanagan’s signature second instalment focuses less on the dread and more on the emotional side of things. The ‘it’s not a ghost story, it’s a love story’ phrase has been around for quite a while, and it takes on a meaning of its own in ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ (2020). The original, ‘every love story is a ghost story’, can be found in a letter that David Foster Wallace wrote to the late Richard Elman back in 1986. Both expressions could easily fit within the walls of Bly Manor and make perfect sense.

I do enjoy the ghostly anthology style, and here’s to hoping that Mr Flanagan will undertake other such projects in the future. There are so many haunted places in this world, and so few artists who are truly equipped to tell these stories with adequate profundity and emotional intensity… it would be a shame not to produce more of this stuff.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

While I understand that Bly Manor may have disappointed some viewers who previously applauded Hill House, a fraction of the blame can be placed on the marketing department. We went in expecting something else, but I found strange enlightenment in the end, an ‘Aha!’ sparkle that brought me back to the ‘love story, ghost story’ trope above. Truth be told, no respectable haunting was ever a gory horror tale with blood and guts and jump-scares. Ghosts are fingerprints of the past in our collective folklore, spectres who are unable to let go, even in death, and some of whom are able to influence the world of the living.

It means we have to deal with sadness, remorse, longing, and other equally consuming feelings that we experience in the presence of death and the absence of those we loved and lost. Therefore, a true ghost story has multiple dimensions. A good ghost story is able to break your heart, and Mike Flanagan does it in two different styles with both Hill House and Bly Manor. The former explores the grief and bitterness that suicide leaves behind. The latter studies love and its dysfunctions as they unravel under the influence of a spirit whose rage binds everyone to her. Both have mysterious, almost-sentient houses as leading characters.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020)

Mike Flanagan has become a master of the genre with both limited series, but also with his work on Stephen King’s ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017) and the more recent ‘Doctor Sleep’ (2019). His writing style has an almost poetic depth I’ve only seen in Shirley Jackson and Henry James, which is probably why he resonated so beautifully with these illustrious authors’ works. The focus is never really on the actual ghosts. After all, they tell the same story—unresolved issues, the inability to move on, the violence of their death which caused a bruising of the very fabric of existence… it’s always a broken heart at the centre of a haunting, somehow. No, the focus is on the living and on how they cope with loss, with misery, and with the supernatural elements that they never wanted to believe in.

‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ simply does it with a sweeter tone. The ghosts have a more personal autonomy than those of Hill House. The living and the dead collide, repeatedly, between the walls of the English mansion, its rooms seemingly larger at night—as if the house itself inhales deeply and holds its breath until the light of morning. There is poetry in Carla Gugino’s storytelling monologues. I was pleasantly surprised by its added value, in fact, as I am not really a fan of narrators in moving pictures. Her repetitions have a dramatic effect, evoking the very loops of post-existence that ghosts seemingly go through. I doubt the series would’ve had the same effect without her. Sometimes, telling adds value to showing.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©2020

Some things could have been done differently, sure, but I wouldn’t dare dissect the series down to its bones for this because the transgressions are minimal, at most, and splendidly overshadowed by the extraordinary performances of its actors. Keeping in line with the anthology format we’ve seen before in Ryan Murphy’s ‘American Horror Story’, there are returning cast members who’ve changed their residence from Hill House to Bly Manor. Each of them is exceptional and remarkably versatile.

Victoria Pedretti brings tears to one’s eyes as Dani Clayton, a young woman struggling with her sexuality and a tragedy she feels personally responsible for. Her intensity is only matched by her emotional palette. Few manage to express true and unexpected terror when locked in a closet—few manage to make the viewers themselves take deep breaths to fight a growing sense of claustrophobia, of walls closing in. Dani is also at the centre of the love story that is the hidden heart of this series, able to explore the payoff after having endured incommensurable horrors at Bly Manor and able to bid her lover farewell when the time comes to carry the curse back to its roots.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

Kate Siegel returns as Viola, the angry and faceless spirit at the root of this nightmare—the former lady of Bly Manor who found herself betrayed and enraged beyond the grave. Her vicious circle break hearts, over and over, as she goes through the motions and consumes everything in her path, even when there is no one left to remember her. Viola is proof that there is nothing worse than being forgotten. Not even death is worse than vanishing into the dark recesses of human history.

Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Henry Thomas came back, as well, as Peter Quint and Henry Wingrave, respectively. One is a deeply flawed but passionate man, and the other… well, they’re more or less the same, actually, despite their financial and societal differences. Carla Gugino is a delightful presence, her deep voice and melancholic gaze working seamlessly as a thread that pulls everyone and everything together.

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Benjamin Evan Ainsworth and Amelie Bea Smith are both extraordinary as the children of Bly Manor. These sterling thespians are able to build their characters into three dimensions that mercilessly punch holes through one’s stomach. Miles and Flora are both odd—I believe they were written as such, while also trying to stay at least partially true to their age. It’s not an easy task to accomplish, but they both come through quite nicely. They’re ‘perfectly splendid’.

Rahul Kohli as Owen is a dollop of kindness and hope that is desperately needed, particularly in the darkest of times. His love story is the saddest, too, once you realize that he will never be able to bring it to a positive conclusion. But frankly, the true star of Bly Manor and a breath-taking performer that deserves her own crown is T’Nia Miller as Hannah Grose. Hers is the hardest tale to tell. It starts and ends in tears, yet it is filled with love and hope and mountains of empathy strangled by threads of lost time. If anyone ever wondered what being a ghost might feel like, Hannah is an exceptional point of reference.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

The lasting impact of ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’, much like its predecessor, comes from the brilliant combination of image and production design. The haunted house takes centre stage, of course, and to achieve a troubling effect evoking of Hill House, Mr Flanagan brought Patricio M. Farrell and art director Hugo Santiago back for Bly Manor. The ghostly Easter eggs, the period pieces, and the spine-tingling details… it all adds up to that subtle dread that’s meant to erode the resolve of everyone involved—characters and viewers alike.

To further strengthen the end result, Flanagan worked with Maxime Alexandre of ‘Annabelle: Creation’ (2017) fame and James Kniest, previously known for ‘Annabelle’ (2014). In an interview with Variety, Mr Kniest addresses the importance of using Hill House as a roadmap for Flanagan’s second Haunting foray.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

Most of the story’s tone is eloquently captured in the screenplay and through the actors’ performances, but the style and camera language had to also match. With each Haunting, the camera work begins with static and symmetrical angles, gradually evolving into a more fluid and almost organic motion—we saw it in the funeral home with the Crains, and we see it again through the layers we peel away at in Bly Manor. The dark aesthetic delivers stupendously as the truth is gingerly revealed, painting tragedy with a fair palette.

‘THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR’ (2020), ©NETFLIX

At the end of the day, each viewer will make up their own mind regarding ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’. They may voice discontent and point to insufficiencies whilst praising ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ as the superior of the two. It could go the other way around, as well. Or, better yet, each series will stand alone and with its distinctive set of features, while both pay homage to some of the best ghost tales ever written.

Whether it’s a love story or a ghost story or somewhere in-between, one truth remains. Our fascination with death and whatever might come afterwards is a timeless and endless source of hope and heartbreak.

HBO have truly outdone themselves this autumn. There are several shows I’m already raving about, of which some I will cover in heartfelt reviews over the next few weeks, but one has managed to stand out from the very first episode: ‘Lovecraft Country’ (2020). I waited until episode five so as not to get ahead of myself and fall for the good-for-the-first-three-episodes-only trick. The gods of television have been kind, however, so 2020 isn’t entirely in the gutter.

I’m a huge fan of genre storytelling used to explore the unpleasant parts of a nation’s history. Damon Lindelof did a splendiferous job of it with ‘Watchmen’ (2019), which recently garnered a record number of Primetime Emmy nominations—twenty-six! There is simply something about weaving elements of uncomfortable truth into a series otherwise designed to thrill people. It’s the cold shower that no one asked for, yet everyone welcomes at the end. In that sense, Misha Green’s ‘Lovecraft Country’ is an astonishing work of televised art.

Before I dig into what makes me love this show so much, I think a small disclaimer is required for those unaware of the series’ source material. While its title and genre melange bring up plenty of Lovecraftian references, the show doesn’t have much of the master of horror’s actual writings at its foundation. ‘Lovecraft Country’ is based on the eponymous book by Matt Ruff and can be considered an homage to H.P. Lovecraft, at best, as a dark fantasy experiment aiming to combine the depiction of racism in America with spine-tingling fiction and a handful of borrowed shoggoths. Critically acclaimed, the book was bound to reach the screen eventually, considering its multi-layered offer of magic, human nature, and blood-pumping frights.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

There were many ways in which the show’s narrative and overall performance could have gone awry. Its success might have something to do with Misha Green’s decision to collaborate with Jordan Peele and J.J. Abrams on this project. The former has already made an indelible mark with deliciously frightful works such as ‘Get Out’ (2017) and ‘Us’ (2019), and the latter is a household name in everything sci-fi and utterly fantastic, best known for ‘Star Trek’ (2009), ‘Super 8’ (2011), and ‘Lost’ (2004-2010), among others. ‘Lovecraft Country’ therefore got off to a formidable start.

The story follows Atticus Turner and his closest friends and family as they grapple with the discovery of magic and occult brotherhoods in the midst of Jim Crow America. From the very beginning, we’re treated to remarkably strong and three-dimensional characters faced with insanely difficult challenges—and that’s before the monsters even show up. What I appreciate most is the apparent irregularity in the narrative thread: if episodes 1 to 2 gave us a thorough introduction into the Sons of Adam lodge and Atticus’s connection to them, for example, episode 3 focuses mostly on Leti and the haunted Victorian mansion she buys on Chicago’s North Side, while episode 4 pulls the story back on the Sons of Adam and Atticus’s determination to learn magic so that he might use it to protect those he loves, and episode 5 takes us closer to Ruby as she gets to experience life in the skin of a white woman. There are so many shades of weird and spooky, repeated viewings are a must!

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

Where the writing is concerned, multiple influences can be identified in the series’ screenwriting. H.P. Lovecraft aside, I’m reminded of Alan Ball’s ‘True Blood’ (2008-2014), given the infusion of sex, mysticism, blood, and oh, so much gore. The story is solid, with good source material and excellent character development—I love each and every one of them intensely. Atticus brought ghosts of the Korean War with him back to America, distraught by the realization that he, too, is capable of inflicting harm and pain and death upon others. Worst of all, he’s more like his father than he’d thought, and that becomes his shadow. Montrose is a complex man, to say the least, struggling with a murky past, his own sexuality, and his lethal, desperate desire to keep magic out of his son’s reach, the very son he beat the living daylights out of as a child.

Leti is young, the element of arousing innocence that finds unexpected courage in the face of mortal danger. She’s the balancing force against Atticus’s rage, and the superb portrait of a strong black woman in defiance of America’s white dominance of the Jim Crow era. Ruby is the older sister, a spicy combination of resentment and deep emotional hurt—she has seen and endured plenty more than her lighter-skinned sister, and she has stories of her own to tell. Even Christina Braithwaite and William are fascinating forces of disruption, while Hippolyta and George Freeman bring a sprinkle of wisdom and maturity to the boiling pot, despite the tragic end to their decades-long love story.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

The performances are absolutely stellar from top to bottom. Jonathan Majors as Atticus Freeman is beyond compelling. Better known for ‘The Last Black Man in San Francisco’ (2019), Mr Majors’s star is rising fast, and it is easy to see why as he breathes his whole life into Atticus. Jurnee Smollett takes everyone’s breath away as Leti Lewis, bold and perhaps a little reckless but eager to live a full life and do the right thing. Yes, the world is full of creepy and awful things—particularly people, though Leti pushes forward and does whatever is humanly possible to save herself and to help others.

In a spectacular contrast, Michael Kenneth Williams of ‘The Wire’ (2002-2008) and ‘Boardwalk Empire’ (2010-2014) gives Montrose a plethora of sides for the viewer to study. He’s the former abuser, the looming father figure that Atticus tried his best to step away from yet ended up being a lot alike. He’s the man learning to love another man after years of hiding his true self in a society that doesn’t look kindly on LGBTQ people. He’s the saboteur who knows more than he is telling us and will even kill to keep magic out of his son’s reach—not because he doesn’t want Atticus to have some kind of advantage against the white oppressors but because he knows… he has seen what such power will do. His apparent antagonism makes sense once you understand the trauma he survived prior to his rescue.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

Aunjanue Ellis, better known for her role as Madeleine Hightower in ‘The Mentalist’ (2008-2015) and as Sharonne Salaam in Ava Duvernay’s ‘When They See Us’ (2019), delivers a rendition in ‘Lovecraft Country’ like nothing I’ve seen before. Her Hippolyta loves Courtney B. Vance’s George Freeman deeply, but she is forced to adjust to life without him practically overnight. She tries to understand what happened. And while Atticus, Montrose, and Leti do their best to protect her from the ugly truth, Hippolyta charges head-first at the problem. The truth is more important, regardless of its aesthetic.

Wunmi Mosaku is Ruby Baptiste. The Nigerian actress has several impressive credits to her name—among them ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them’ (2016) and ‘Philomena’ (2013), but it’s in ‘Lovecraft Country’ that one sees the full spectrum of what she has to offer: impeccable talent and a smouldering gaze that will burn a whole set down. Ruby is bursting with musical talent and the desire for a better life, for dignity and equality in a society that denies her purely because of her skin colour. Magic becomes a double-edged blade for Ruby. It takes her a while to realise that magic, unlike humans, does not see colour. It only gives its wielder the opportunity to do whatever they want, as Miss Braithwaite might say.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

‘Lovecraft Country’ is not Misha Green’s first foray as a showrunner. She brings plenty of experience to the table with ‘Helix’ (2014) and ‘Underground’ (2016-2017), along with an in-depth understanding of the source material and of the history of racial dynamics in the United States. One would need both to produce something so multifaceted and complex, so fascinating, so beautiful and horrifying at the same time.

Aside from its aforementioned Lovecraftian influences, the show is also a visual tribute to George Romero. It’s what horror filmmakers of the past century could only dream of. We have the constantly developing SFX technology and computer animation to thank for that. The mastery begins with the cinematographers in this case—namely, Robert McLachlan and Michael Watson. You’ll remember Mr McLachlan for his Emmy-nominated work on ‘Game of Thrones’ (2011-2019) and ‘Ray Donovan’ (2013-2020), and Mr Watson for ‘Underground’ and ‘Black Lightning’ (2018-2019), both capable of formidable imagery to accompany the equally exceptional production design, signed by Kalina Ivanov and Howard Cummings.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

Moving past the magnificent costume and set design and the production’s brilliant art direction, which when combined manage to easily submerge the viewer in 1950s Chicago, a tip of the hat is owed to the special effects—the result of Ms Green’s collaboration with Academy-Award-winning creative studio Framestore.

Truth be told, I’d envisioned the shoggoth monsters more along the lines of how H.P. Lovecraft had described them in ‘At the Mountains of Madness’: ‘Formless protoplasm able to mock and reflect all forms and organs and processes – viscous agglutinations of bubbling cells – rubbery fifteen-foot spheroids infinitely plastic and ductile’, but Framestore’s proposal in the ‘Sundown’ and ‘Whitey on the Moon’ episodes were just as frightening, if not worse.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

‘Lovecraft Country’ is full of such moments where dread is mercilessly induced, and a rapid heart rate is expected. Ruby’s metamorphosis continues to haunt me even as I write this review. George Romero would be giggling with sheer joy at this point, for Misha Green manages to make the viewer’s stomach churn while forcing them to keep watching—this is just too good to miss any of it, even the gooey, bloody, slimy and gory parts, proving that beauty exists in horror, too. There’s no shortage of violence and limbs flying, either, but they only serve as minor plot devices.

The true horror of ‘Lovecraft Country’ comes not from the monsters and the dark magic that it loves to play with in each episode. It doesn’t come from the many secrets still left to uncover about the Sons of Adam, either. No, the true horror of ‘Lovecraft Country’ comes from mankind and the terrible things too many people are willing to do in their quest for absolute dominance over the rest of the world and over those they foolishly consider inferior. The true monsters aren’t the shoggoths.

‘LOVECRAFT COUNTRY’ (2020), ©HBO/HOME BOX OFFICE

The true monsters are those who perpetuate racism to this day. The near-deadly troubles that Atticus and his friends deal with are basically what one too many Black Americans continue to face today, albeit at different levels and in varying circumstances. In that sense, ‘Lovecraft Country’ is a heart-breaking, compelling study of Black Americans and their painful history. I’ve seen enough to eagerly see this season’s journey to the end.

Mike Flanagan is a darling of horror film festivals and a rapidly rising star of the genre. Therefore, I was not at all surprised upon learning that he had been tasked with bringing Stephen King’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ onto the silver screen. On the contrary, I was excited, and fortunately, my initial expectations were met although not dramatically exceeded. Don’t get me wrong, I was not disappointed, though I do feel like Mr Flanagan was constantly torn between pleasing both Kubrick and King audiences—surely, we agree they’re not one and the same.

Adapting Stephen King’s works has always been a hit and a miss process, with some exquisite cinematic masterpieces like ‘The Shining’ (1980), the celebrated precursor to ‘Doctor Sleep’, as well as ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ (1994), ‘Carrie’ (1976), ‘The Green Mile’ (1999), and ‘Stand by Me’ (1986), to name but a few. I’m relieved to be able to place Flanagan’s work into the good pile rather than the bad, where bombs like ‘Needful Things’ (1993) and ‘Maximum Overdrive’ (1986) dwell.

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‘Doctor Sleep’ has ginormous shoes to fill, and Mr Flanagan does an excellent job of not getting himself lost inside them. After all, ‘The Shining’ suffered critical modifications from book to screen. Most of you might remember that Mr King hated Kubrick’s adaptation so much that he invested in a remake which unsurprisingly bombed. As far as the storyline goes, ‘Doctor Sleep’ picks up where ‘The Shining’ left off—both the movie and the book, which had to be tied up somehow in a manner that made sense. The book saw the Overlook Hotel exploding. The film clearly didn’t. Some assembly was required.

In the first ‘chapter’ of the film, we follow young Danny Torrance at first with his mum, both of them learning to live with the trauma and grief after leaving Jack for dead at the Overlook. While Shelley Duval and Jack Nicholson dominated ‘The Shining’ back in 1980, Flanagan’s sequel adaptation has Henry Thomas and Alex Essoe as Jack and Wendy. Aesthetically grand choices, both talented and intense enough to portray iconic characters. Danny is trying to cope with his ‘shining’, his special ability that brought the Overlook to life, so to speak, in the first place. Having been introduced to death and ghosts and violence from such a young age, it’s difficult for him to move on, especially since the spectres have followed him home.

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After he learns to lock away the bad stuff with a little trick from his memory of Dick Hallorann, Danny delves into adulthood with a serious drinking problem. The film follows him right up to the peak of his crisis. Having used alcohol to cope with his ‘shining’, Danny hits rock bottom when he takes money out of the wallet of a woman with whom he had a coke-and-booze-addled affair the night before.

Ultimately, Danny moves to a small town in New Hampshire, sobers up, attends AA meetings, and remotely befriends Abra Stone, a little girl with a gift like his. Of course, things take the obligatory dip into nightmare territory when a cult of apparent immortals start hunting Abra down, desperate to feed on her ‘shining’ in order to further prolong their lives—her power could feed them for entire generations, unlike other kids with ‘steam’, as they call it, these days. Danny must therefore mentor and protect the girl against these monsters, who will stop at nothing to kill her.

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I am in awe of Ewan McGregor. He manages to do a lot more with an otherwise bland character—the book’s strength did not come from Danny Torrance, not where ‘Doctor Sleep’ is concerned, at least. The kid version of him from ‘The Shining’ was a strong presence. But Mr McGregor breathes life into a grown-up Danny with his fears and vulnerabilities and self-loathing. We believe him as the alcoholic in desperate need of redemption, and we believe him as the man who is ready to face the demons of his past, including his own father, in order to protect the future, here portrayed by young Abra Stone.

His growth as Doctor Sleep, the kind soul who guides the dying hospice patients where he works into the afterlife, is done with a certain solemnity and reverence towards death itself. This particularly poignant side of him has roots in Flanagan’s writing, too, carrying over several touching notes from ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018). McGregor’s Danny isn’t just the main character, however. He is also the supporting element for Kyliegh Curran’s Abra—not necessarily a father figure but more of a Dick Hallorann himself.

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Ms Curran’s interpretation of a teenage girl who has grown with a titanic ‘shining’ is also noteworthy. While still young, she does not lack the talent to bring Abra to life as Mr King penned her. She is not a victim, nor is she entirely invulnerable. No, Abra is aware of how insanely awesome she is, but Danny does help to remind her that she is not invincible, either—that’s something she also gets from those frightful telepathic encounters with Rose the Hat.

From Abra’s point of view, I’d say that ‘Doctor Sleep’ is less a tale of empowerment and more a journey of overcoming trauma and horrific violence, as Abra sees the terrible things that The True Knot cult are willing to do for power like hers.

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Truth be told, I believe it’s Rebecca Ferguson’s stunning performance as Rose the Hat, the cult’s leader, that truly carries the film into the realm of greatness. The book offered little for us to work with as readers. There were plenty of gaps to be filled, yet Ms Ferguson, better known for her roles in ‘Mission: Impossible – Fallout’ (2018) and ‘The Greatest Showman’ (2017), manages to build an impressively spooky and authentic villain. There is depth in her persona and a truly desperate hunger for immortality.

While she has been a conscientious collector, her cult’s supply of ‘steam’ is running low, and their more recent victims have not been enough to feed them in the long term. The entire ‘tribe’ is a strange combo of misfits with sociopathic tendencies who live in their RV’s, crossing the entire country in search of more ‘steam’ to keep themselves young for longer. Their villainy is interesting, however, because they’re aware that they cannot live forever. Everything they do is solely for the purpose of cheating the clock. Rose and The True Knot are troubling metaphors for those in the real world who thrive and feed on pain and misery.

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In writing the screenplay adaptation, Mike Flanagan had to reconcile two sides of the same coin in a manner aimed at drawing and pleasing two kinds of fans—the Kubrick aficionados who still refer to ‘The Shining’ as one of the best movies ever made and the King devotees whose guilty pleasure is watching ‘The Shining’ since it is still superior to the remake. Both sides equally demanding. The writer-director faithfully recreates the elegant dread and the layered terror that made the Overlook so memorable. It is still home to a variety of live-in fiendish phantoms and a nightmarish cradle to which we are forced to return.

Story-wise, ‘Doctor Sleep’ builds Danny as the guiding light emerging from his personal darkness, a reluctant mentor to Abra’s fierce youth. She may be young, but she knows that she might be the only one who can stand up to the True Knot. On the other hand, Danny has his past demons to deal with—starting with the undying presence of his father, the spirits he locked inside boxes in his head, and the Overlook, where he knows they will have a better shot at defeating Rose the Hat.

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Mike Flanagan’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ is quite the visual treat, too. Rife with emotional close-ups and mainly adhering to a nocturnal grey and blue palette, the film can be seen as an extension to ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ and as a loving tribute to Kubrick’s original imagery. Michael Fimognari has worked with Flanagan before, on ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017), another King adaptation, and on the above noted Shirley Jackson-based Netflix miniseries. I see this as a fruitful partnership, as Mr Fimognari not only understands the sophisticated yet heart-rending style that has become Flanagan’s signature, he also manages to convey the Kubrick-inspired imagery meant to tie ‘Doctor Sleep’ to ‘The Shining’.

The lighting is low, and there is much to work with in the darkness. Rose the Hat and Crow Daddy and Snakebite Andi are thrice as scary whilst glazed in shadows, each of them hungry for a few more years, a bit more youth. In Danny’s room, the tenebrosity serves to remind us where he comes from and where he’s been, while in Abra’s room it is a medium for her to sink into when she sleeps and unwittingly witnesses the terrible murders committed by Rose and her deranged crew.

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But it’s the production design that really does it for me. The sets, in particular, stand on the shoulders of Roy Walker and Leslie Tomkins. Combined with Fimognari’s cinematography, however, the viewer is mercilessly dragged back to the real Overlook—the ‘70s style orange and brown geometric carpets, the high ceilings with wagon-wheel chandeliers, the terracotta walls and the red-door elevators… the chills just rush through and anchor us so deep into the story, we cannot escape. Not until Danny deals with his past.

Production designer Maher Ahmad, best known for ‘The Fugitive’ (1993), ‘Zombieland’ (2009), and ‘Little Evil’ (2017), and art director Richie Bearden of ‘Den of Thieves’ (2018) and ‘Game Night’ (2018) are just two of the team that delivers the superb visuals behind ‘Doctor Sleep’, and they deserve a round of heartfelt applause. It’s not just the Overlook that stands out, however. A personal favourite of mine is the visual duet between Abra and Danny’s room, the latter fitted with a blackboard wall on which she leaves him telepathic chalk messages. And then there are the minds of our characters—Danny’s with its boxes and Abra’s with its traps for Rose.

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While there are plenty of Kubrickian nods, the film ultimately stands more as a longer episode of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’, combining soul-stirring and supernatural elements that cause all kinds of jumps and jolts in the viewers. And while Mike Flanagan, a man of many talents, works hard in treading that fine line between Stanley Kubrick and Stephen King whilst building on the heritage of ‘The Shining’ left by both, he is at his peak when left to his own devices.

‘Doctor Sleep’ is the most beautiful when it steps away from its source material and predecessor, standing boldly as a cinematic oeuvre. By adding its own flavours into the mix, it expands on the book with deeply fascinating characters—I, for one, find it hard not to sympathize a little with Rose the Hat’s desire to remain young for longer. Of course, the end does not justify the means. Innocent children are tortured and murdered for the most selfish reasons, and so the horror transpires brutally onto the screen. Ultimately, Mike Flanagan follows his creative path and gifts us with a story that does not disappoint.

It has been a while since I’ve gasped during a thriller, yet Leigh Whannell’s ‘The Invisible Man’ (2020) managed to do just that and more. Calling it an adaptation of H.G. Wells’ novel would be perhaps too much, since the film retains only a loose connection to the classic sci-fi story. To compensate for such a departure from the original, Whannell’s version borrows from the Ring of Gyges in Plato’s ‘Republic’, an artefact which is said to grant its owner the power to become invisible at will—leading to a protagonist that can enter any home. No one is truly safe.

The film opens with Cecilia as she carefully goes ahead with an escape plan that she has clearly been working on for a while. It’s almost botched, but her sister Emily helps her with a ride. Only then do we see exactly how dangerous and abusive her successful, ridiculously rich, and controlling boyfriend Adrian really is. What follows is meant to be a slow but steady journey of healing. Or so it begins, at least. News of Adrian’s suicide reach Cecilia, who then learns that she has also been designated as one of his heirs. Tom, Adrian’s brother, handles the estate, and everything about him just feels odd.

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES/BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS

Even so, we’re led to believe better days are ahead. Cecilia struggles with the trauma of both physical and psychological abuse that clearly lasted years, but she’s learning to trust and live again while sheltered in her friend James’s house and in the company of his teenage daughter. Slowly, but surely, Cecilia should eventually heal. Then things go bump in the night. Adrian doesn’t seem to have left her. Not really. He lingers, unseen yet heard and sensed. Like a ghost. What starts out as a mere whiff of paranoia blows into soul-crushing horror as we realize that Cecilia isn’t losing her mind, even though everyone around her thinks she is. Adrian Griffin never died. An expert in the field of optics, he developed a suit that allows him to be invisible, and that is how he proceeds to torment and torture the one woman who dared to get away from him.

If we strip the horror and science fiction elements away, what we’re left with is a gut-wrenching tale of harassment and domestic abuse. Adrian literally gaslights Cecilia, pushing her to think that she is losing her mind before he tears her away from the few people she loves and cares about. We descend into dread and madness when he slits Emily’s throat and slips the knife into Cecilia’s hand before she can even react. Just like that, the heroine is framed for murdering her own sister and confined to a psychiatric facility, where the villain, the concealed terror, continues with his ploy until Cecilia learns that she’s pregnant. She had been taking birth control pills over the course of the relationship and unbeknownst to her, Adrian replaced the pills with something else. Cecilia is now carrying the child of the monster everyone thinks is dead, and it’s his ill-fitting brother that offers her a way out. All she has to do is surrender unto Adrian and return to her old life. A steep price for freedom.

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Don’t let the trailer fool you. You might think it gives away the story. It doesn’t. ‘The Invisible Man’ is brilliantly executed, and most of its strength comes from three key elements: Elizabeth Moss’s extraordinary performance as Cecilia; the powerful screenplay, a foundation for this superb sci-fi thriller; and the simplicity of production with a focus on camera work, since the depiction of the invisible man is only partially done with the help of CGI. Everything else comes from old school trickery.

Let’s begin with Leigh Whannell himself. Better known for the ‘Saw’ franchise and ‘Insidious’ (2010), Mr Whannell is one of the master storytellers of his generation. His youthful energy and appreciation of classical production methods seem to work remarkably well together. It makes him stand out among his peers, since cinema is mostly about our ability to convey a story and make the viewers feel whatever we want them to feel.

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES/BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS

Leading the movie through its carefully designed twists and turns is Elizabeth Moss. Her talent has already garnered heaps of applause and critical appreciation. She has already won two Golden Globes—one for ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ (2017) and one for ‘Top of the Lake’ (2013), while many might remember her from even farther back as Peggy Olson in ‘Mad Men’ (2007-2015). In an interview, Mr Whannell said that he has worked with incredibly talented actors before, ‘but working with Elizabeth Moss was just a revelation for me. She can do anything.’

Her character’s name, Cecilia, is derived from the Latin ‘caecus’ (‘cecco’ in Italian), which means blind. She’s often called ‘C’ in the film, which is clearly pronounced like ‘see’, and that is but one of the things that stand out about her. C’s journey is one of growing strength, of ascending from a lower place of fear and trauma to a higher ground where she is able to completely let go and say ‘enough’. And Moss delivers a visceral performance with a rare ability of truly becoming Cecilia, of removing her true self from the screen altogether. What we are left with is this terrified woman who is desperately trying to make sense of things. Why won’t anyone believe her? It sounds crazy, yes… but it happened. It’s still happening!

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES/BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS

Oliver Jackson-Cohen of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018) plays Adrian Griffin. We don’t see him much, but Whannell does such a good job of ‘showing’ him, still, that whenever he is visible on screen, we can’t help but recoil from what a heartless, demented monster lurks beneath that dashing, charming façade of his. Michael Dorman of ‘Patriot’ (2015-2018) and ‘Daybreakers’ (2009) does a marvellous job of portraying Tom Griffin, a character that immediately arouses suspicion and concern even when he’s simply telling Cecilia that she has inherited a fortune. To amplify that sensation of Tom not quite ‘fitting’, Whannell had him wear suits that were two sizes too small. The end result is chilling because Tom devolves into a sublime patsy.

Acting as a counter-balance of normalcy and discipline, Aldis Hodge’s James Lanier feels like a steady thread that we can hold on to for a semblance of comfort while the rest of Cecilia’s life crumbles before her own eyes. Storm Reid’s Sydney Lanier is supposed to represent hope and compassion. So, when both are viciously attacked by the invisible man, it tears us apart. The very idea of freedom and happiness are trampled and beaten bloody. We are thrust into the same nightmare as Cecilia, and she is the only one who can get us out.

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES/BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS

Where the screenplay is concerned, Mr Whannell offers a variety of praiseworthy points. As soon as the film starts, we’re dumped right into the middle of Cecilia’s escape with zero prior exposition. There is no opening to offer a more detailed account of how it got to this point. ‘I wanted to just drop the audience into Cecilia’s situation without a back story and make them feel everything through her, and luckily I had Elizabeth Moss who is very good at communicating a lot to the audience without saying anything.’

Respectful of ‘cinematic language’, the Australian director kept track of what he envisioned the camera doing whilst penning each scene in the script. Through that process, his directorial vision led to the camera moving away from the actors during production, as if it had a mind of its own. The overall effort is translated into a silver screen oeuvre that borrows visual impressions from David Fincher’s ‘Zodiac’ (2007) and startling beats from his own notorious ‘Saw’ (2004).

‘The Invisible Man’ was initially attached to the Dark Universe, with David S. Goyer set to pen the script. Later on, it had Ed Solomon replacing Goyer and Johnny Depp suggested for the titular role before the project was finally given to Whannell. Yet I doubt anyone would have been able to exploit and express dread and spine-freezing terror like he did. Part of the film’s success should be attributed to Jason Blum’s involvement, as well. The founder of Blumhouse Productions brought his own experience to the table where chills and goose-bumps are concerned, since ‘Get Out’ (2017), ‘Paranormal Activity’ (2007) and ‘The Purge’ (2013) are just three of his insanely successful genre-related credits.

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES/BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS

The true stroke of magic comes through its cinematography. ‘The Invisible Man’ features the impressive camera work of Stefan Duscio, a relatively new name in Hollywood with barely a handful of feature credits to his name—chief among them being ‘Backtrack’ (2015) and ‘Jungle’ (2017). But it is here that he proves just how much can be accomplished through the camera, alone.

Elizabeth Moss’s performance wouldn’t have had the same impact without his craft and mainly without the abundance of pan-out movements that make the viewers wonder whether Adrian is there, albeit invisible. The terror is basically fuelled by Duscio’s use of negative space. Plenty of spaces around the characters are included into the story, suggesting that Adrian is, in fact, there. The camera lingers after a line is said, too—a thought provoking gesture that further builds tension because all Cecilia has is this feeling, this sensation of hairs rising on the back of her neck, while we’re watching from the outside, analysing every inch of empty space around her and other characters as we try to guess where Adrian will attack from.

Accompanying the exquisite cinematography is the modest use of VFX to create the invisible man, while Duscio and Whannell’s analogue work of framing and writing, respectively, reigns supreme. The attic scene is particularly memorable not only because of the story-related elements that it reveals, but also because it’s one of the few moments where Duscio was given enough darkness to play with. Throughout the rest of the film, everything is thoroughly illuminated—thus making the challenge of ‘showing’ the invisible man even more daunting.

©UNIVERSAL PICTURES/BLUMHOUSE PRODUCTIONS

Ultimately, the film succeeds where others portraying the ‘apparently crazy woman no one believes’ often fail. We believe Cecilia because we are not given another choice. The way in which the tension is built, Adrian’s punching of the passenger door window, the steamy breath rolling behind her in the middle of the night. The medicine bottle she’d left behind. Moss’s performance alone translates everything that Whannell wanted to portray into a living being, into a woman who is desperate to live freely and unafraid.

The lengths that she is willing to go to in order to achieve that offer an unexpected conclusion to ‘The Invisible Man’. But beyond the floating knives and pulled blankets and peculiar whirring and clicking sounds in an apparently empty room, one truth lingers in the audience’s collective mind: how far will one go to escape and survive their relentless abuser? Leigh Whannell answers with superlative writing and direction, putting a fresh new spin on a timeless tale.

Tony award-winning actress and author Tonya Pinkins has written, directed and produced her first feature film, Red Pill. A political thriller, the film was designed as a scary wake-up call that shines a bright light on American politics.

The television, film and Broadway star decided to step behind the camera and use her voice as an artist and storyteller to paint a vivid picture of the grave repercussions that the current political climate in America has on the country’s people.

‘RED PILL’ POSTER. © DAVID REINFELDER

The film features the work of a talented cast and crew, including eight-time Grammy award-winning Latin music star Rubén Blades (Fear the Walking Dead), Catherine Curtain (Orange is the New Black, Stranger Things, Homeland), Kathryn Erbe (Law & Order: Criminal Intent), Tonya Pinkins (Fear The Walking Dead, Madame Secretary), Colby Minifie (The Boys, Fear the Walking Dead), Luba Mason (Person of Interest, NYPD Blue), Jake O’Flaherty (Criminal Minds, Shameless) and Adesola Osakalumi (Sex & The City 2, Ice).

Red Pill is currently in post-production and is set for release this autumn.

For more information, visit: http://redpillmovie2020.com/

What is Red Pill about?

As a plot, it’s about a group of progressives – that would be our blue in America – going to canvas the weekend of the 2020 election and confronting the red opposition that is determined to stop them in their mission.

I made this story because I’ve been watching my country become a dictatorship for a very long time. And I think when you live in New York City, where they just think they run the world, there’s a kind of delusion that people have and so the movie for me is about the disconnect between liberals, the blue, and their believes about themselves as opposed to the people who are the conservatives, the red, who are very committed, very organized, very structured, who know what they want and take action.

Even in the way I wrote it, the red pill women don’t ever speak until the final scene. Whereas the blue people, they’re just always talking, they’ve got theories and they’ve got ideas and then when the violence begins, they don’t know what to do! [laughs] Which is how I see my country right now. Essentially, civil war began in Portland. Our president had US military attack US citizens. It’s already happened and nothing has been done.

At the time that I wrote it, some people thought, ‘Oh, gosh, you’re so far out, Tonya!’ And now we’re kind of there. And so, in a way, there’s this part of me that feels like, ‘I’m making a movie, but we’re living it.’ When I wrote it, I felt that it was coming and I thought, ‘Well, this can be the wakeup call, but it’s too late for a wakeup call.’

© RED PILL MOVIE 2020 LLC

Was the film inspired by the recent developments in American politics or has this story been at the back of your mind for a while now? 

It’s been at the back of my mind since before Obama was elected. Just watching how America’s leaning very far to the right politically. The majority of people in our country want health care for everybody and fair wages, but the people in power don’t want that. And the people who don’t want that have the most money and there’s been a lot of ‘red pilling’ – which my movie is about – of even what we would have thought of as our organizations that uphold equality, like the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union). They were very strongly for this thing called Citizens United, which made money speech. See, I can’t support the ACLU when someone clearly from the other side got into the ACLU and dominated to push that agenda through.

I think that that’s happened in more and more places and I really just feel like I need to get out of the country. So it’s like, ‘Get your movie out. Get out of the country.’ [laughs]

You play the role of Cassandra. Is she the main character in the film? What can you tell us about her?

I think of the film more as an ensemble film.

It’s funny because I was directing and I needed to be over there. I was trying to get my other performances. Cassandra does not have a lot of coverage. She gets like one solo scene really. But Cassandra is the character who keeps saying to her friends, ‘This place is spooky. Let’s go home. Let’s get out of here, it doesn’t feel good.’ And nobody listens and then it’s too late.

Did you write the character specifically for yourself?

I did write her for myself. I’m a Cassandra – I’m always that person who’s warning people and they don’t take things seriously.

TONYA PINKINS. © GREG NANAMURA

Have you always wanted to direct?

I’ve dabbled directing theatre a lot and then I spent the last three years shadowing as a director in television. I made a couple of short films over the years and I’ve loved it every time I did it. But it takes so many people. You need a village to make a film. And after three years of shadowing as a director and having relationships with showrunners, producers and execs, I didn’t feel like I was any closer to getting the opportunity.

First of all, it’s a privilege to get to shadow. You have to know somebody or get in a program to get even the opportunity so that in and of itself is a big hurdle that a lot of people can’t do. I had the relationships that I had with the directors and showrunners because I’d worked for them as an actor. But even at the end of that, you’re taking a month off your life where you fly yourself to wherever the show is, you’re putting yourself up. Yes, you get to eat on the set but that’s a month when you can’t work on anything else. You’re like being an intern and taking time out of being a self-supporting person in order to get this opportunity.

Having spent about four months over three years doing that, I was like, ‘WOW, I can’t afford to keep doing this and it doesn’t feel like anybody’s going to hire me.’ So I was like, ‘I better just hire myself.’

After having been involved in so many aspects of creating this film, are you considering leaning more towards writing and directing going forward or do you still feel more comfortable in front of the camera and on stage? 

I don’t think I ever need to get in front of the camera or on stage again. I love it on this side. I love being the person who creates opportunities for other people. I’m very happy telling stories. I have a bunch more horror movies I want to make because that’s my favourite genre.

KATHRYN ERBE, TONYA PINKINS AND LUBA MASON IN ‘RED PILL’. © GREG NANAMURA

You’re working with Matthias Gohl on the soundtrack. Can you tell us a bit about the direction you gave him for the music?

He’s going to record a string quartet in Iceland. He’s insisting on that, which is very expensive.

I love strings. I loved what [composer] Arthur Simonini did for ‘Portrait of a Woman on Fire’. I went and listened to some other of his music, particularly this French documentary he did, ‘Le monde sous les bombes, de Guernica à Hiroshima’. I loved that entire documentary score. When we temp-tracked the movie, we used this classical music with a lot of strings.

I like counterpoint. If it’s a scary moment, I like the music to kind of be funny. And I like to give you a big laugh before some really tragic thing is going to happen.

If used properly, art can be a powerful weapon and you’re obviously doing your bit with your new film. But how can we, the people on the other side of the screen, help make a difference?

Great question. I was talking to a friend this morning. We were talking about just what was going on politically. The Guardian wrote an article that Trump is consulting with this guy [John] Yoo, this attorney who drafted the document that gave Bush all of these powers. And he’s known for saying, ‘What do you want to do? We’ll figure out how to make the law do it’. And I started feeling like, ‘Why am I making a movie? A revolution is going to happen.’ And my friend said, ‘Yeah, but artists have always have been at the forefront of every movement. And if we don’t keep making art, then aren’t we letting them win?’

You know, whenever the fascists take over, they kill all the artists because we are so powerful. There’s this sculptor named Egon Weiner and I’m told that he said, ‘The only appropriate response to abuse is creativity.’ So I think that we have to keep creating work that both warns of what may come but also posits what is possible, what can be, better worlds, as well as showing what the possibility of the dystopian world is.

In making this movie, I definitely wanted people to get scared. But not just through the adrenaline of a horror movie but feel like, ‘Is that possible?! I don’t want that to be possible! Let’s do something!’ And trying to put it in an entertaining genre because the working class love horror. And the working class has the power to get out and vote and control what happens in this election. So painting a picture of what might be your worst nightmare. I wanted to have people go, ‘Whoa!’ OK, wake up! [laughs]

CATHERINE CURTIN AND COLBY MINIFIE IN RED PILL. © GREG NANAMURA

Have the recent protests in the US have made any real impact on the current situation in the US?

The uprisings have continued. The mainstream media isn’t covering them, but they are ongoing. That’s why what happened in Portland happened. Because people have been in the streets for fifty-four days. People have been occupying the mayor’s office here in New York. If there were no uprisings that were ongoing, Trump wouldn’t feel that he had to send federal agents into the cities. It has not subsided. It’s just not getting the coverage anymore.

 How have you been keeping yourself busy during the pandemic?

I think that for a lot of people, the pandemic has been a windfall and a gift. It has not been that for the essential workers, for the health care workers, for the grocery store people, for the delivery people. And so this divide is really showing me that we never really had a democracy here. For people who had jobs and lost them, there was this amount of money that they received every week and that was lovely because a lot of people were like, ‘Great! This is more money than I was doing.’ That’s about to end in a week. But all those essential workers and health care workers didn’t get that. And they’ve been risking their lives and they don’t have sick pay and health care and the hospitals don’t have room for them.

I’m a hermit and I like being alone. I have not suffered during the pandemic. Most of my suffering is just sitting up worrying and watching people being brutalized in the streets. And feeling like, ‘I’m an old woman. What can I do?’ But I really care about the fact that this country is just proving every day that it doesn’t care about any of us. It isn’t about black or white or female or trans. It just doesn’t care about humanity. Property is more important than people. And that’s got to change, whatever it takes. It took a pandemic for people to go, ‘Oh, they really don’t care about me. Revolution – we got to have it.’

TONYA PINKINS. © JAMES ALEXANDER

A lot of artists are struggling during the pandemic because they miss the spotlight, the stage and the applause. What advice would you give them?

I just feel like creativity can be in a lot of different ways. I studied with William Esper as an adult and he would say about actors that, ‘It takes seven years to become an actor. Most people start out wanting attention. And then after you’ve gotten over that, then you can become a real actor.’

I think perhaps this is a time to go inward and figure what it is you really want. Is it attention that you want or do you want to have impact where people are changed by the work that you did, where you’ve touched them in a way that they have to think about their life differently?

Ever since we could walk upright and huddled around the fire for warmth and safety, mankind has imagined all sorts of stories. Most of them revolved around the things we could not fully understand—the stars, the moon and the sun moving across the sky, the violent storms and any natural phenomena that forced us to adapt, to build stronger homes or move to friendlier lands altogether. But the most enduring tales of ours revolved around monsters and other things that go bump in the night.

In many ways, these monsters are just reflections of ourselves, of a darker side of mankind, to be specific. They draw their origins from their makers, and they tend to outlive us all in varied forms of fiction and in different mediums. Of all the creatures that our minds have conjured—werewolves, ogres, snake gods, zombies, ghouls, changelings, dragons and so on, none have been more enduring and more versatile than the vampire.

Gifted with eternal life but forced to live in the shadows of the night and to only drink human blood, the vampire is one of our most recurring fictional motifs. It has been imagined and reimagined, invented and reinvented across different cultures and decades, and it’s not showing any signs of redundancy. We cannot get enough of these beautiful monsters—because they are most appealing in almost every piece of lore out there. They’re known to be seductive and charming, carrying the wisdom of centuries. They’re hedonists, and they are violent. They’ve traded their humanity for immortality, and they’re a treasure trove of stories.

GARY OLDMAN IN ‘DRACULA’ (1992), ©COLUMBIA PICTURES

From the Eastern European folktales, vampires were known as undead creatures that tormented their loved ones, gruesome and portly monsters that brought death and misery wherever they went. It wasn’t until John Polidori’s ‘The Vampyre’, published in 1819, that the monster was revamped into the charismatic and sophisticated figure of modern fiction. Bram Stoker got inspired from the folk tales of Transylvania about Vlad the Impaler and gave humanity ‘Dracula’ in 1897, a masterpiece of gothic fantasy. Many writers and filmmakers have tried their luck at vampire stories over the years since—some flopped and were never heard from again, while others became cult cinema or bestselling novels.

‘THE LOST BOYS'(1987), ©WARNER BROS.

Each time, however, the vampires won because they got to keep living in our collective imagination. Who could forget Joel Schumacher’s ‘The Lost Boys’ (1987), for example? Starring Jason Patric, Corey Haim and Kiefer Sutherland, this cult darling follows the story of two brothers moving into a new town and discovering that the place is overrun with vampires—the gritty, evil and violent type. How about Neil Jordan’s ‘Interview with the Vampire’ (1994), featuring dazzling performances by Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Antonio Banderas and a very young Kirsten Dunst? The screenplay was penned by Anne Rice, author of the same title bestselling novel in ‘The Vampire Chronicles’ series and it offered us a more romantic approach to the legendary creature.

In the 21st century, the vampire was once again reimagined with the ‘Twilight’ saga and ‘The Vampire Diaries’ (2009-2017) TV series, both garnering new generations of fans worldwide. They offered us vampires that could walk in the sunlight and young-adult-oriented romance, putting a new twist on the old monster. There is just something about them that we cannot seem to get enough of across generations.

‘TWILIGHT’ (2008), ©SUMMIT ENTERTAINMENT

As the year 2020 goes full steam ahead, we’re going back to the vampire’s original, grimmer roots. Anne Rice, creator of some of the most beloved undead literary characters, has recently announced that there is an ongoing effort to turn ‘The Vampire Chronicles’ into a TV series. This means we’ll get some fresh versions of Lestat, Marius, Armand and all the other blood-drinking debonair fiends that have become staples of modern fantasy. What makes her published works stand apart from everything else is the unique way in which she combines the lust, the hunger, the violence and the seduction of eternal life, creating larger-than-life characters that stay with us forever, long after we’re done reading the books.

CLAES BANG IN ‘DRACULA’ (2020), ©NETFLIX/BBC ONE

And while we’re all gearing up to find out how that particular project will come out, the new year has already given us a bloody delicious surprise, as Netflix dropped a remixed version of the most famous vampire of them all. ‘Dracula’ (2020) is a BBC One TV mini-series created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. The duo have made quite the name for themselves with ‘Sherlock’ (2010-2017) and their take on Dracula is simply fantastic. It would be hard to believe that something new might come out of something so old and with so many existing silver screen adaptations, but Mr Gatiss and Mr Moffat have certainly delivered.

Starring Claes Bang and Dolly Wells, the series takes us from 1897 Transylvania to Victorian London, as the bloodthirsty Count makes his way into a new world. Since Dracula’s arrival to England would mean only death and violence, it’s up to Sister Agatha Van Helsing and a few other good men to stop him. Needless to say, the formula that Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat have come up with for ‘Dracula’ works on different levels.

CLAES BANG AND DOLLY WELLS IN ‘DRACULA’ (2020), ©NETFLIX/BBC ONE

First, the writing is exceptional, which is to be expected from the team that gave us ‘Sherlock’. There is tension and mystery. Stoker’s original story is brought back to life with different elements but without disregarding the darkly absurd core, skilfully spiced with clever and sharp dialogue, heaps of humour and drama, along with plenty of blood and gasp-inducing twists. It is dark and it is funny. It is probably everything Stoker would’ve wanted to see, if he were alive today.

Second, the performances are beyond stellar. Claes Bang, known best for ‘The Girl in the Spider’s Web’ (2018) and ‘Bron/Broen’ (2013), is one of the best versions of Dracula ever made. His smouldering gaze and ruthless wit make him infinitely more appealing than Gary Oldman’s portrayal in ‘Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ (1992) by Francis Ford Coppola, and that is not an easy thing to say… But this newer Dracula is the baddie we can’t help but fall in love with, even if all he brings is gruesome death and eternal misery to his victims.

DOLLY WELLS IN ‘DRACULA’ (2020), ©NETFLIX/BBC ONE

Perhaps the show’s best character and certainly one the greatest to grace the screen in the 21st century is Sister Agatha van Helsing. Her dry wit and fearless heroism make her a downright legendary badass. She is bold and determined, even when her life is no more. One can see why some viewers were less thrilled about the third episode in the series, which no longer features Sister Agatha but one of her distant descendants—unlike a vampire, all good things must come to an end, but Ms Wells delivers as Zoe Helsing, too. Even so, it’s hard to say goodbye to someone as brilliant as Agatha van Helsing, especially considering her incredible onscreen chemistry with Dracula.

Mina, played by Morfydd Clark, plays a lesser role in this story and John Hefferman’s Jonathan Harker is Dracula’s unfortunate victim. Lucy is given a fresh but enticing reality, thanks to Lydia West’s refined and rambunctious performance.

DOLLY WELLS IN ‘DRACULA’ (2020), ©NETFLIX/BBC ONE

Another winning aspect of ‘Dracula’ is its cinematography, where Julian Court of ‘Killing Eve’ (2018-2019) and Tony Slater Ling of ‘Electric Dreams’ (2017) manage to create a truly immersive experience for the viewer. Their effort is amplified by the series’ production design, signed by Arwel Jones, better known for his work on ‘Sherlock’ and ‘Doctor Who’ (2005-2019). The gloom of Dracula’s castle with its labyrinthine corridors where Jonathan Harker gets desperately lost, the passenger ship with its mysteries and dim lights, the apartment where Dracula takes residence while in London with its violet lighting and floor to ceiling window—it all serves as the perfect stage for a new and truly extraordinary rendition of Bram Stoker’s canonical work.

This ‘Dracula’ is all the more intriguing through its split timeline—demanding of the viewers, but offers bountiful rewards at the end of the journey. And while not everyone found the series’ finale palatable, it was a demise most fitting for the story’s fearsome and lonesome fanged villain. More than once along the way, there will be an ‘Oh!’ or an ‘Aha!’ heard from the viewer as the story unfolds across different times. Multiple timelines are never an easy feat, but Mr Gatiss and Mr Moffat eloquently rise to the challenge, without creating confusion but simply enriching the overall mystery vibe that the series conveys.

CLAES BANG AND DOLLY WELLS IN ‘DRACULA’ (2020), ©NETFLIX/BBC ONE

This new take is a much-needed breath of fresh air, making vampires cool again—realistic and gothic, seductive and ultimately dangerous. We all remember Bella Lugosi as Dracula back in 1931. We remember Christopher Lee back in 1958 and Frank Langella in 1979. Gary Oldman’s Count is a precious piece of cinematic history, now. Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Luke Evans have also played him in the ‘Dracula’ (2013-2014) TV series and in ‘Dracula Untold’ (2014). There were many others in-between, including a parody starring Leslie Nielsen. This character has been recycled so many times, it was hard to believe there was anything left to draw from Bram Stoker’s classic novel. However, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat prove that there is.

Consider 2020’s ‘Dracula’ as an homage to all the other Draculas before it. Consider Claes Bang’s Count as an ode to all the other Counts before him. And despite all that, consider it something new and fresh and perfectly capable of standing on its own two feet—proof that the real vampire of Stoker and Rice yarn is the best and most enduring in the genre. It is a reminder that our constant flirting with the idea of immortality on paper and on the screen is, in itself, eternal.

The trouble with Stephen King’s literary works is that, although they’re superb and masterfully written, they’re not so easy to adapt into films. Out of more than seventy attempts, barely a dozen of his novels made a successful leap from the page and onto the screen. It takes more than a skilled team of directors, editors, production designers, cinematographers, and more to make something bearing King’s signature work. A good screenplay is usually the starting point, and if it wobbles before it takes off, chances are that it will disappoint.

Who could ever forget Brian De Palma’s ‘Carrie’ (1978), David Cronenberg’s ‘The Dead Zone’ (1983), Frank Darabont’s ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ (1994) and ‘The Green Mile’ (1999), or Stanley Kubrick’s now-iconic ‘The Shining’ (1980)? What about the more recent ‘It’ (2018) remake by Andy Muskietti or the ‘Mr Mercedes’ (2017) TV series by David E. Kelley? Clearly, it can be done.

CREDIT: PARAMOUNT PICTURES

That being said, ‘Pet Sematary’, the second adaptation of King’s darkest novel, while beautiful in its commercial delivery as a horror-genre darling, fails to deliver the very core of what made the story so enticing, in the first place. 

Perhaps the problem stems from having two directors, one might be tempted to assume. Two visions that maybe matched in pre-production but struggled to stay in perfect synergy along the way. It does feel like there are two movies collaborating and clashing at the same time, made compact over the course of one hour and forty-one minutes. The first wishes to honour Mr King’s novel, while the other tries too hard to please a much wider audience. Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer, both of ‘Starry Eyes’ (2014) fame, took on the challenge to redo ‘Pet Sematary’ after its first cinematic execution in 1989. Some would’ve thought it easy to go above Mary Lambert’s directorial work, but, as this year’s revival proves, it is anything but.

Or maybe the problem is rooted much deeper, in the writing. The screenplay was penned by Jeff Buhler, best known for ‘The Midnight Meat Train’ (2008) and the ‘Nightflyers’ (2018) TV series. The expectations were high for ‘Pet Sematary’, especially since this wasn’t his first foray into novel adaptations—as clearly evidenced by ‘Nightflyers’, which was quite impressively done. But something is missing. ‘Pet Sematary’ is a loving tribute paid to the master of horror, no doubt. It follows most of the original story, but it isn’t enough. There is simply too much plot and very little attention paid to the characters, their relationships, and what makes the viewers suffer when they inevitably die.

Maybe Hollywood is just generally terrible at doing justice to the source material of Stephen King. After all, Mr King cannot be blamed, for his stories are legendary, most of them bestsellers all over the world, forever loved and prized by readers, young and old alike. There is a timelessness to his horror tales, and it does not stem from cheap thrills and sudden scares. It’s the characters. It was always about the characters.

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For those who haven’t read the book, ‘Pet Sematary’ will come across as a decent horror movie with a truly dark and difficult theme. After all, if there’s one thing humans are bad at, it’s dealing with death and its aftermath. ‘Sometimes dead is better’, says Jud Crandall, and that’s what our protagonist, Dr Louis Creed, has trouble with.

‘Pet Sematary’ follows Louis and his family as they move into a new house on the side of a busy Maine road, known to be dangerous because of the many speeding trucks. At the back of the house, a thick forest unravels, complete with a pet cemetery used by the local kids to bury their beloved pets, and an ancient Native American burial ground, hidden farther back. Ellie, Louis and Rachel’s eight-year-old girl, is the beaming object of their affection, followed closely by two-year-old Gage. A Maine coon named Church completes this endearing picture, and it’s the cat’s tragic death that kickstarts the horror of King’s story. We follow Louis as he is first shaken but enticed by what the ‘sour dirt’ does—namely, the ancient burial ground behind the pet cemetery revives the cat. But Church doesn’t come back the same, leaving Louis doubtful as to whether he made the right choice. It’s quite obvious he didn’t.

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Of course, and as expected from a mind like Mr King’s, Louis’s beliefs and strength are put to the test again when Ellie is killed by one of the rolling trucks. His grief makes him do the unthinkable, and the end result is as one would expect: darkness, violence, and terror, with a smidge of old-fashioned horror-trope gore and a plethora of fake-scares. The viewer is dragged through the plot, which is just layer upon layer of tension-building and predictable artifices, all the way to the end, where the concept of ‘Sometimes dead is better’ is brutally replaced with an unnecessary twist.

From a screenwriting point of view, two major changes were made to the original story—in this second version of ‘Pet Sematary’, Ellie is the one who is killed and foolishly resurrected, not Gage. The end is certainly not what Mr King offered to his readers, either. The former was understandable, not only because of the complicated logistics of working with a toddler-zombie, but also because it opened up a realm of possibilities for Ellie’s character, superbly played by Jeté Laurence. The latter, however, has a lot of King fans polarized, and for good reason. We’re all asking the same question: what was the point? What was so underwhelming about the original ending that prompted Jeff Buhler to twist it beyond recognition? Not only is it pointless, but it also defeats the entire theme of the story, which is all about grieving and the unwillingness to accept or deal with death.

Louis and Jud’s relationship is practically ignored. That is probably the screenwriter’s biggest mistake. Without it, even the dynamic between Jud and Ellie is difficult to swallow, much like a bitter pill. The viewer has a hard time accepting Jud’s decision to show Louis where to bury Church, in the first place. The characters are simply spread thin, like butter over too much bread, and it is a shame, because there is still so much potential in this reboot.

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For example, the cinematography is outstanding. Laurie Rose, best known for her work in ‘Peaky Blinders’ (2016), does an exquisite job of playing with tight and wide shots, weaving them into a smooth canvas that commands the viewer’s attention. The characters, whilst lacking in development, are given room to breathe, or suffocated entirely when overcome by crippling fear. The panoramic views of Maine’s countryside are not easily forgotten, either. And let us praise almost every frame of Church, coming across as feral, fearsome, and with an untold plan long before Ellie.

The production design, helmed by Todd Cherniawski, further enhances the cinematography through its costume and set design. Having worked on major projects such as ‘Avatar’ (2009), ‘Star Trek: Discovery’ (2017), and ‘Star Wars: Episode VIII’ (2017), it is no wonder that Cherniawski was able to faithfully reproduce Mr King’s Mainestravaganza in impeccable detail. Every corner of Louis and Jud’s houses is a physical manifestation of the novel. The children’s masks, the way the pet cemetery headstones are displayed, the gritty overall vibe—they all serve to anchor the viewer deep inside the story, filling in for the screenplay’s emotional gaps.

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Another noteworthy aspect of ‘Pet Sematary’ is the sound editing. Crisp and sharp enough to cut through flesh like stretched filament wire, and accompanied by Christopher Young’s skin-prickling score, the sound is a sterling method to deliver good old-fashioned scares, of which there are plenty. While loyal to the thriller and horror genre, it is commanding, cold and in wicked correspondence with the film’s cinematography and design.

Production quality aside, however, what truly carries ‘Pet Sematary’ and stops it from causing too much anger or discomfort to its viewers—many of whom are likely King aficionados, is the actors’ performance. Aside from Jeté Laurence’s portrayal of Ellie, before and after death, Jason Clarke is startling and heart-breaking in his performance. Instrumental as the main protagonist, Clarke’s Louis Creed is a father we can all understand. He’ll do whatever he can to make his daughter happy, to keep her from getting hurt, and, eventually, to send her back where she should’ve never been taken from, to begin with: her grave.

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John Lithgow jumps out with his interpretation of Jud Crandall, a father figure to Louis in the novel but merely an almost-friend in the film. Lithgow’s thespian talents are beyond reproach, and it’s almost gut-wrenching to think of the relationships that could’ve been explored between him, Louis, Ellie, Rachel, and Norma—who doesn’t even get a second’s worth of screen time, since she’s already dead when the movie begins. Even Amy Seimetz’s Rachel Creed feels incomplete, though the directors did spend some precious moments delving into her childhood trauma regarding her sister, Zelda.

The actors were exceptional and crucial pieces to an otherwise lacking story. Unfortunately, they weren’t enough to save ‘Pet Sematary’ from some truly scathing reviews from both critics and viewers. There is only so much a team of film professionals can do, when they have insufficient material to work with. Nevertheless, the final product is good, somewhat superior to the 1989 version, for sure. But it does not hold a candle to the book, and that is the risk that every filmmaker takes when adapting a story for the screen.

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Past the praiseworthy cinematography, production design, sound editing, and the actors’ poignant delivery, ‘Pet Sematary’ feels like forced horror, perhaps too commercial for what the source material intended.

There was too much effort put into making it palatable for a mainstream audience of the aforementioned genre, and not enough attention paid to all the bits and pieces, all the threads and trinkets so carefully sculpted into the original story. 

‘Pet Sematary’ promised a lot, even through its trailer. It didn’t exceed expectations. It didn’t really meet them, either. After two endeavours, one can’t help but wonder: is the novel impossible to adapt into a feature film on a level of, say, ‘Carrie’ or ‘It’, or are we better off thinking that maybe the third time, another thirty years from now, will be a charm?

Following his extraordinary debut, ‘Get Out‘ (2017), which earned him an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay—and well deserved, might I add, Jordan Peele has outdone himself with ‘Us’ (2019). The 40-year-old director recently said that the success he had with his first feature-length film gave him more time and room with his second, and it shows.

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‘Us’ is by all intents and purposes an exquisite work of the horror genre. Its screenplay, production and post-production are all testament to it. While there are noticeable elements of directorial style that Peele also used in ‘Get Out’, the Wilsons’ story manages to stand out on its own, quite beautifully. It follows Adelaide, Gabe, Zora and Jason Wilson as they’re faced with their nightmarish and murderous doppelgangers while vacationing in Santa Cruz. Joining this well-off family of African-Americans are their white and slightly richer friends, the Tylers—Kitty, Josh, and their twin daughters, Becca and Lindsey. 

Beyond this family-holiday-gone-wrong setup and past the pop culture and horror classics references that are masterfully sprinkled throughout the film, a portrait of America itself is painted with elegant, yet striking subtext. It doesn’t take us long to understand Peele’s vision. We see the parallels, and we recognize how the stereotypes were cast aside to make way for fresh, truthful and enticing characters. 

We’re sucked into their race for survival, as they’re faced with themselves. But Red, Abraham, Umbrae and Pluto, the Wilsons’ copies, aren’t monsters. They’re Americans. They say so themselves. Jumping between present day and 1986, Peele does a fantastic job of holding a mirror up to an entire nation. We see the good, the charming, the bad and the terrible.

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But beyond the metaphysics of America so neatly woven into the horror that unfolds over the course of just a little under two hours, lies a story of survival. It gives us people whom we’re naturally inclined to accept as normal and harmless, and it forces them to face one of Peele’s worst nightmares—the darker, savage and demented versions of themselves. Copies that make animal sounds and move like predators in the night. Doubles that seek to consume and destroy their originals, one beat at a time. It is honestly superb.

True to its genre, ‘Us’ doesn’t overdo the horror tropes, though I did find certain moments quite irritating. I’m not a fan of the sudden loud noises that unexpectedly cut through a moment of high-tension silence. While they have the desired effect of startling the audience, they’re short-lived and overdone, particularly in movies that don’t have much else to show for. However, Peele keeps those to a minimum, which is much appreciated and mostly serves the basic purpose of anchoring ‘Us’ into its genre, if nothing else.

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Aiding in the establishment of terror, the score is particularly haunting in the opening scene. It was composed by Michael Abels, also responsible for Peele’s ‘Get Out’. The combination of cold Latin chants and Afro rhythms manages to set the stage for what’s about to happen, along with the expanding shot of white rabbits in their cages. It does the job of sending shivers down this viewer’s spine, for sure. 

But the most fascinating musical contrast was the use of Beach Boys and N.W.A. during the assault on the Tylers’ residence. It starts out with ‘Good Vibrations’, a jolly reprieve from the horrors we just witnessed at the Wilsons’ place, and it quickly descends into stark madness and violence as Kitty, Josh, Becca and Lindsey’s own doppelgangers come out and cut their way into this reality. It’s a cocktail that mixes melancholia with animalistic rage, and one of the film’s highlights.

The sound editing itself is a powerful weapon that Peele uses in telling the story. Every single raindrop, the sharp swish of scissors in the killers’ hands, every step, and every bone crackling—are all individual pieces in the puzzle, which becomes frighteningly clear by the end of the movie. Sound amplifies the experience. It puts the viewer right there, smack in the middle of the Wilsons’ ordeal.

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Even more so, the fluid camera movements and the close character shots further serve to make us participate, whether we want to or not. The choice doesn’t belong to us. We’re drawn along the sandy beaches of Santa Cruz and into the Wilsons’ cosy summer home, at first. We’re hypnotized by young Adelaide’s 1986 incursion into the mirror funhouse as she whistles ‘Itsy-bitsy-spider’, and we’re just as startled as she is when she’s faced with her double from below, and not just another reflection of herself. Later on, we’re unable to take our eyes off adult Adelaide, as she descends into the tunnels to take on her nemesis—herself. 

As an added layer to this work of audio-visual craftsmanship, the production design is, too, deserving of a round of applause. Peele’s directorial vision wouldn’t be complete without the artful and carefully measured visual implements. The set design, in particular, is complicit in everything that happens. It tells its own story, down to the ‘Itsy-bitsy-spider’ in the Wilsons’ present-day summer home. The spaces are used to their maximum potential. They are the cameras’ playground and the actors’ worlds, and they represent the canvas on which ‘Us’ is painted. The colours are compelling, darkened but bold in some instances, brightened but frosted in others.

Everything that Peele uses in the background of this film paints a rich and cohesive picture telling us one thing, and one thing only: There is something wrong here, something that is simply off. What is it? Well, rest assured that the end does not disappoint in delivering the answer.

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As we go deeper into the movie, next, it is worth discussing the actors’ performances, as well. They are visceral and gripping, honest in their form. Lupita Nyong’o splits herself splendidly between Adelaide Wilson and Red, her evil version. She’s graceful and deeply emotional as the woman, the wife, and the mother of two whose sole purpose in the midst of all this is to keep her family safe. She’s almost mechanical and inhuman, devious and soulless as Red, the one leading the revolt and the rise of all doppelgangers from the underground tunnels. It is safe to say, wholeheartedly even, that Lupita Nyong’o carries ‘Us’ from beginning to end with her masterful play.

Not far behind her is Winston Duke, who portrays Gabe, the slightly oblivious husband, and Abraham, the brutal monster that uses animal-like sounds to communicate with other males of his ‘underground’ species. At times, Gabe annoys us as much as he annoys Adelaide. He seems to be completely unaware of what’s about to happen to him or his family—though who could blame him? Besides his wife’s recent hard-to-explain premonitions and without prior knowledge of her childhood experience in the mirror funhouse down by the beach, how can we expect Gabe to react any differently? Granted, he is not the brightest of the Wilsons, clearly evidenced by his decision to confront his family’s doubles in the driveway with a baseball bat, and his desire to settle in the Tylers’ home, dead bodies be damned. But we can’t help but root for Gabe. We even breathe a sigh of relief as we see him survive one scene or another.

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A truly spectacular presence is Elizabeth Moss playing Kitty Tyler. She doesn’t get as much screen time as the others, but she certainly makes her mark through a stirring performance. We feel the unadulterated delight as Dahlia, her mysterious clone, puts on lip gloss for the first time. We witness Dahlia’s unspoken madness as she tries to control the story, to make sure that what she’s doing up here serves its almost-holy purpose. Her dedication is remarkably coherent, despite the savagery.

Let us not ignore Shahadi Wright Joseph and Evan Alex, either. They portray Zora and Jason Wilson, respectively, as well as their evil and downright psychopathic doubles. The children aren’t mere secondary characters pushed to do things in order to advance the plot, like you’d normally see in one too many horror films. They do not exist to warn their parents, to be paralyzed by fear or, worst of all, to be victims. No, they are the young Wilsons, and they fight as hard as their parents against the invading look-alikes. We have the absolute privilege to watch them transform—from innocent and slightly apathetic kids, into unexpected warriors… and killers.

Despite the violence, however, Peele doesn’t let the story get dark beyond redemption. His brave and shameless use of humour, mostly through Gabe Wilson, is a much-needed injection to soothe our stretched nerves as we watch this struggle unfold. The male lead isn’t the fearless hero with a quest. He’s the comic relief. The first character you think will get killed before the movie ends. Like a loyal sidekick, Tim Heidecker’s Josh Tyler is almost as ‘bad’ as Gabe. They make us smile. The dollops of humour relieve the tension, every time, just before we’re plunged into another chapter of the Wilsons’ inferno.

Once you’ve reached the scrolling credits, you understand that ‘Us’ delivered three notable blows throughout its performance. The first, of course, comes when the doppelgangers come into the Wilsons’ home and turn their lives upside down. The second arrives with the realisation that Adelaide and her family aren’t the only ones dealing with killer copies of themselves. The third is the crown jewel, and it comes at the very end, courtesy of Adelaide herself. Rarely do I find myself walking out of a movie and unable to get that ending out of my head. It’s not a feeling I’d want to lose anytime soon.

With a whopping $71 million box office so far, it’s no wonder that ‘Us’ is getting such a buzz. The sudden change of tone in the visual storytelling, from the seemingly happy family with a slightly traumatised mom and a goofy dad to the crippling nightmare of a home invasion. The foreshadowing that is so neatly embedded into the setting and the characters’ words and actions, that you don’t even put two and two together until the very end—as you should. The thoughtful and rigorous process of character development that shows us exactly what we’re capable of, what lengths we’re willing to go to in order to survive and defend ourselves and our loved ones. The execution in its entirety, from page to screen.

All these elements point to one undeniable truth: Jordan Peele’s ‘Us’ delivers as a work of cinematic craftsmanship and horror masterpiece, and then some.