The horror genre is no stranger to grief and trauma. In recent years, it feels like each Sundance Film Festival has brought us a new and intense look at these difficult themes through the prism of a classic chiller, with Jennifer Kent's The Babadook and Ari Aster's Hereditary serving as prime examples. Even Netflix hit The Haunting of Hill House has received praise for its depiction of a broken family suffering from traumatic generational pain (I haven't seen the show, so I can't fully comment).
David Gordon Green's Halloween, the long-awaited Blumhouse reboot/legacyquel to the John Carpenter classic, is about those very same ideas. It poses that Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), the sole survivor of Michael Myers' 1978 rampage, never managed to overcome the psychological and emotional torment inflicted on her that night. She began preparing for Myers' return, causing anguish for her daughter and granddaughter along the way.
In theory, this is a fresh new angle on the series, one that adds a degree of poignancy and tragedy to the Strode saga. Green and co-writers Danny McBride and Jeff Fradley do away with the franchise's previous continuity, opting to make this a direct continuation of the 1978 film. Through its rampant self-awareness and acknowledgment of genuine pain, this new Halloween seeks to enhance a formula that has sustained it for so long. As Allyson (Andi Matichak), Laurie's granddaughter, is forced to undergo the same fight for survival that her grandmother experienced so many years ago, you can't help but wonder how the events of this fateful night will linger in her mind. This understanding of trauma and subsequent obsession expands Halloween's reach as a new installment in the franchise; it's no longer an average slasher film, but a comprehensive study of the series itself.
At the same time, these underpinnings complicate the film's other defining feature- extreme, unbelievably gory violence. By and large, the slasher genre derives some degree of voyeuristic pleasure from seeing people die. Sure, everyone wants the killer to be caught and destroyed in the end, but if viewers didn't get some fear or enjoyment out of this violence, the genre wouldn't be nearly so popular.
In true Michael Myers fashion, carnage happens flippantly in Halloween 2018, though it's much more graphic than what came before (the original is noticeably tame from the standpoint of blood). Heads are smashed like pumpkins, teens are impaled and brutalized, Myers nearly rips a man's jaw off his face- it's the kind of gasp-inducing, "Oh, sh*t!"-worthy gore that has always been the slasher's bread and butter. Maybe the extremity is a way of pointing out the serious effects of Myers' killings. Or maybe the film simply has no way of reconciling what it's saying with its actual goals as a horror movie.
It's certainly a provocative conundrum, but I also don't think it's the primary function of Green's new story. Halloween is knowingly a close retread of the original film, recycling an old format with several dozen winks and twists to keep everyone on edge. It's a rebirth of the formula, perhaps best exemplified by the smashed pumpkin that slowly grows back into something fresh and terrifying in the opening credits, a cunning reversal of the original's iconic setup. Green and his team approach it all with a sort of confidence and swagger, one that creeps into hubris as the missteps pile up.
Because even if it is a rejuvenation, the same elements are in place. Myers begins the film in prison, only to escape when he's prodded with his mask by a couple of podcast hosts (Rhian Rees and Jefferson Hall). There's a new psychiatrist (Haluk Bilginer), who tracks Myers' actions in Haddonfield like he's studying a creature in its natural habitat. Michael's rampage is rather random, but he still finds time to kill a few naughty teenagers, of course. And there's a cop (Will Patton) tasked with the case, only this time he has an explicit connection to the events in 1978. The only really novel element in the story is the generational twist, involving Laurie, Karen (Judy Greer), and Allyson.
If it sounds derivative and familiar, well, the film itself is very aware of that. Halloween is as much about trauma as it is about being caught in a prevailing narrative, one that's part destiny and part sheer unluckiness. As a story of legacy, it's as much about the generation of Strode women as it is about the generation of horror fans who grew up watching the series. Green seems to recognize Halloween as the archetypal slasher story, delighting in the necessity of its cyclical repetition over decades. The specifics will change, but the same elements of the tale will always be in place. When Laurie meets Michael's latest psychiatrist, she says "Ah, so you're the new Dr. Loomis," in a sly nod that, yes, you've seen this all before.
But like many legacyquels, the new Halloween loves to mess with its own formula. It's as obsessed with subverting expectations as The Last Jedi was, sometimes in a way that feels more than a little pointless. One random twist has already generated a good bit of controversy, mostly because it's so ultimately inconsequential to the narrative. Other reversals feel necessary and playful- the film seems to love putting Laurie in Michael's shoes and vice versa. Still, I think Green's more meaningless twists work as a rejection of what we've come to expect from a Halloween movie. Just as The Last Jedi toyed with our notion of how exactly the tale of Star Wars would repeat years later, Halloween questions its own determined set of tropes and narratives.
In that way, this is the most challenging Halloween sequel we could ever expect to see. But how does it play as an actual slasher film? Well, it's more of a mixed bag. It's endlessly compelling to watch Green play with our expectations, even though another part of your brain will likely realize that some things aren't quite clicking. For starters, the film is just too long at 106 minutes- a full 15 minutes longer than the original classic. There's an unfortunate excess of characters and subplots, starting with the podcasters who could be excised from the movie completely without any real impact. Each character has their own little motivation or subplot, but there's not enough time to explore it all.
The film also seems to abandon the core story of trauma and pain as it reaches the third act. Once Karen and Allyson realize that Laurie's fears were founded in a terrifying reality, it's like all is forgiven right on the spot. Green stages a few emotional interludes, and then we're back to the action right away. After so much time spent examining the depth of this grief, it's too tidy, too simple. Once again, this is a film stuck between being a conventional horror sequel and something more thoughtful.
It's undeniably frustrating, but the finale is so damn good that I'm almost willing to overlook some of the more egregious flaws. The bloodbath in Haddonfield feels practically routine, like Myers is just going through the motions- because he is. When the action moves to Laurie's fortress, Halloween gains a spark of life, highlighted by a few crowd-pleasing moments and the sort of nerve-jangling tension designed to make your palms sweat. The sequence has already been praised to death in critical circles, so I feel like I'm re-treading familiar ground here. But it's worth emphasizing again- the ending is a knockout.
When you put it all together, you have a good-not-great slasher and a clever deconstruction of what is perhaps THE definitive horror movie. 40 years after the original changed the genre forever, I'll take a mixed bag of fun scares and risky missteps.
But I haven't even mentioned the best part of the whole movie- John Carpenter's haunting new score. Co-written with Cody Carpenter and Daniel A. Davies, the new music is sensational, bringing life to the action even during the most uneven of sequences. Decades later, the master hasn't lost his touch in the slightest. When that ominous themes kicks in, it's impossible not to feel a devilish grin slowly forming on your face. With Green's bold reinvention and Carpenter's thrillingly retro score working together in perfect harmony, Michael's latest killing spree is a memorable night of terror, even if its ambitious concoction of borderline incompatible ideas falls just shy of greatness.
As someone who counts the original Halloween as a formative horror experience, I'll take it.
THE FINAL GRADE: B (7.3/10)
Images: Universal/IMDb
Poster courtesy of Universal
David Gordon Green's Halloween, the long-awaited Blumhouse reboot/legacyquel to the John Carpenter classic, is about those very same ideas. It poses that Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), the sole survivor of Michael Myers' 1978 rampage, never managed to overcome the psychological and emotional torment inflicted on her that night. She began preparing for Myers' return, causing anguish for her daughter and granddaughter along the way.
In theory, this is a fresh new angle on the series, one that adds a degree of poignancy and tragedy to the Strode saga. Green and co-writers Danny McBride and Jeff Fradley do away with the franchise's previous continuity, opting to make this a direct continuation of the 1978 film. Through its rampant self-awareness and acknowledgment of genuine pain, this new Halloween seeks to enhance a formula that has sustained it for so long. As Allyson (Andi Matichak), Laurie's granddaughter, is forced to undergo the same fight for survival that her grandmother experienced so many years ago, you can't help but wonder how the events of this fateful night will linger in her mind. This understanding of trauma and subsequent obsession expands Halloween's reach as a new installment in the franchise; it's no longer an average slasher film, but a comprehensive study of the series itself.
At the same time, these underpinnings complicate the film's other defining feature- extreme, unbelievably gory violence. By and large, the slasher genre derives some degree of voyeuristic pleasure from seeing people die. Sure, everyone wants the killer to be caught and destroyed in the end, but if viewers didn't get some fear or enjoyment out of this violence, the genre wouldn't be nearly so popular.
It's certainly a provocative conundrum, but I also don't think it's the primary function of Green's new story. Halloween is knowingly a close retread of the original film, recycling an old format with several dozen winks and twists to keep everyone on edge. It's a rebirth of the formula, perhaps best exemplified by the smashed pumpkin that slowly grows back into something fresh and terrifying in the opening credits, a cunning reversal of the original's iconic setup. Green and his team approach it all with a sort of confidence and swagger, one that creeps into hubris as the missteps pile up.
Because even if it is a rejuvenation, the same elements are in place. Myers begins the film in prison, only to escape when he's prodded with his mask by a couple of podcast hosts (Rhian Rees and Jefferson Hall). There's a new psychiatrist (Haluk Bilginer), who tracks Myers' actions in Haddonfield like he's studying a creature in its natural habitat. Michael's rampage is rather random, but he still finds time to kill a few naughty teenagers, of course. And there's a cop (Will Patton) tasked with the case, only this time he has an explicit connection to the events in 1978. The only really novel element in the story is the generational twist, involving Laurie, Karen (Judy Greer), and Allyson.
If it sounds derivative and familiar, well, the film itself is very aware of that. Halloween is as much about trauma as it is about being caught in a prevailing narrative, one that's part destiny and part sheer unluckiness. As a story of legacy, it's as much about the generation of Strode women as it is about the generation of horror fans who grew up watching the series. Green seems to recognize Halloween as the archetypal slasher story, delighting in the necessity of its cyclical repetition over decades. The specifics will change, but the same elements of the tale will always be in place. When Laurie meets Michael's latest psychiatrist, she says "Ah, so you're the new Dr. Loomis," in a sly nod that, yes, you've seen this all before.
But like many legacyquels, the new Halloween loves to mess with its own formula. It's as obsessed with subverting expectations as The Last Jedi was, sometimes in a way that feels more than a little pointless. One random twist has already generated a good bit of controversy, mostly because it's so ultimately inconsequential to the narrative. Other reversals feel necessary and playful- the film seems to love putting Laurie in Michael's shoes and vice versa. Still, I think Green's more meaningless twists work as a rejection of what we've come to expect from a Halloween movie. Just as The Last Jedi toyed with our notion of how exactly the tale of Star Wars would repeat years later, Halloween questions its own determined set of tropes and narratives.
In that way, this is the most challenging Halloween sequel we could ever expect to see. But how does it play as an actual slasher film? Well, it's more of a mixed bag. It's endlessly compelling to watch Green play with our expectations, even though another part of your brain will likely realize that some things aren't quite clicking. For starters, the film is just too long at 106 minutes- a full 15 minutes longer than the original classic. There's an unfortunate excess of characters and subplots, starting with the podcasters who could be excised from the movie completely without any real impact. Each character has their own little motivation or subplot, but there's not enough time to explore it all.
The film also seems to abandon the core story of trauma and pain as it reaches the third act. Once Karen and Allyson realize that Laurie's fears were founded in a terrifying reality, it's like all is forgiven right on the spot. Green stages a few emotional interludes, and then we're back to the action right away. After so much time spent examining the depth of this grief, it's too tidy, too simple. Once again, this is a film stuck between being a conventional horror sequel and something more thoughtful.
It's undeniably frustrating, but the finale is so damn good that I'm almost willing to overlook some of the more egregious flaws. The bloodbath in Haddonfield feels practically routine, like Myers is just going through the motions- because he is. When the action moves to Laurie's fortress, Halloween gains a spark of life, highlighted by a few crowd-pleasing moments and the sort of nerve-jangling tension designed to make your palms sweat. The sequence has already been praised to death in critical circles, so I feel like I'm re-treading familiar ground here. But it's worth emphasizing again- the ending is a knockout.
When you put it all together, you have a good-not-great slasher and a clever deconstruction of what is perhaps THE definitive horror movie. 40 years after the original changed the genre forever, I'll take a mixed bag of fun scares and risky missteps.
But I haven't even mentioned the best part of the whole movie- John Carpenter's haunting new score. Co-written with Cody Carpenter and Daniel A. Davies, the new music is sensational, bringing life to the action even during the most uneven of sequences. Decades later, the master hasn't lost his touch in the slightest. When that ominous themes kicks in, it's impossible not to feel a devilish grin slowly forming on your face. With Green's bold reinvention and Carpenter's thrillingly retro score working together in perfect harmony, Michael's latest killing spree is a memorable night of terror, even if its ambitious concoction of borderline incompatible ideas falls just shy of greatness.
As someone who counts the original Halloween as a formative horror experience, I'll take it.
THE FINAL GRADE: B (7.3/10)
Images: Universal/IMDb
Poster courtesy of Universal
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