For A Few Movies More

Many of the trends previously targeted within the Pet Hates column here at For A Few Movies More have generally been annoyances that most film fans would be able to attest to being aggravated by at some point or another. They’re the universally criticized flaws plaguing enough films that they in themselves have become a collection of tired and frustrating clichés. But once in a while, you come across a personal pet hate that doesn’t just reach inside you and flicks your aggravation switch, but instead twists and turns it until you reach breaking point. But what makes some of these personal cinematic frustrations so unique is that while it’s easy for them to get under your skin, when it comes time to vent about the personal displeasure this certain aspect had upon your movie watching experience, you soon come to the shocking realisation that nobody else shares the same enthusiastic frustration for this particular element as you. In fact, nobody else even appeared to notice it. And no matter how passionately you may try and convince anything with a pair of ears within your vicinity of why exactly this single apparent flaw is so troublesome, all parties are unperturbed and completely dismissive of your apparent wild claims.

The above perfectly sums up my addition to this week’s Pet Hates column, an irritation I’ve carried around during recent years that would vanish if I could just find somebody who shares the same viewpoint as me. It’s a trend being progressively utilised more and more commonly in a wide range of film genres much to my dismay, a thorn in my side that doesn’t precisely ruin any given film, but does still manage to take me out of any movie I’m watching temporarily due to its jarring nature. So what is this ever so mysterious aggravation that has driven me to the brink of mild annoyance? Well in case you somehow missed the giant heading at the top of the page reading Pet Hates – CGI Blood, then drum roll please…. It’s CGI blood!

You know what was funny? A few years ago I was at a small party with some friends, everybody chatting away and drinking on a warm, open-skied, summer night. I was feeling pretty good, drunk yes, but not like I was going to fall into the pool or anything. Speaking of liquid, I did need to pee. The bathroom was inside; I was outside, and herein lay the problem. I excused myself (“I gotta take a piss”) from the intimate balcony setting and headed off with an air of confidence. Funny thing about confidence is you need it to succeed, and succeed meant pick up a girl, but sometimes the only girl interested is Lady Fate. She sees that confidence as a challenge, a chance of some cosmic irony.

BANG!

My forward motion is deflected by an invisible barrier. For a brief moment confusion reigns. Even though the music was hooked up to an iPod jack with a sufficient playlist, I could have sworn I heard the needle scratch off the vinyl, bringing the festivities to a halt. Everybody stopped and looked in my direction. For a brief moment understanding rains. I had walked into a closed glass door. Everybody realised I had walked into a closed glass door. I had never made so many people laugh at once. I laughed with them, tried to shrug it off, slid the door open with feigned comprehension and went to do my business. My night wasn’t ruined, but needless to say I did not pick up any girls.

Now I’m not really your run of the mill horror expert. When it comes to the guts and gore of this primal genre I am more of an “I’ll try anything once” kind of guy. But despite my macho bravado, my steely expression and unflinching exterior, I am actually quite susceptible to it all. I tense up in the tense moments and I cringe up in the cringe moments. Then the movie finishes and the lights come on and I pretend like I was never truly scared. I convince everyone of this fact, not least of all myself and, believing my own hype, I watch the next horror film with eager eyes. So that brings me to last night. I am watching Martyrs, my heart skipping beats, teeth grinding subconsciously, cringe wrinkles forming as I struggle to close my eyes and keep them open at the same time, and me asking myself over and over again: “why do I keep putting myself through this?”

Having said that I now feel it is my duty to try convince you to put yourself through it!

Martyrs begins with a young girl, clearly distressed, running through a dirty industrial area. We learn that she was systematically tortured until she managed to escape her captors. Lucie is taken in at an orphanage where she befriends Anna. The friendship brings some light back to Lucie’s life but she is still constantly haunted by her experience and by a sickly looking creature. The film then takes us 15 years into the future and we find an adult Lucie has not yet rid herself of the traumas of her past. Her demon provokes her into shocking acts to free herself of the pain and it is up to Anna to help her in her darkest moments.

Martyrs is not a film you will soon forget (though you may wish that you could forget it by the time it finishes). It will lay heavy on your heart and mind with its ability to intrigue you, to keep you guessing until you realise that you never would have guessed correctly. There are moments that are genuinely scary, blatantly shocking, and gory enough to satiate even the hardcore fans. The S-bend curve of the story arc and the sympathetic nature of the main characters keep you tuned in the whole way through, sometimes even against your will. These elements all add up to make a well structured and emotive viewing experience, the only downside is that the emotional climax is exhausting and it is hard to remember the positives by the end of it. So with that being said, I am going to go into more detail to help highlight the brighter side of demons, torture and homicide, I suggest those that haven’t seen the film go hire it and the rest of us will stay on and try salvage some good from the wreckage.

There are many clichés that define the typical horror film. From the reflection in the bathroom mirror to the ‘don’t go in there!’ moments it is nearly impossible to scribble 90 minutes of material without borrowing a few. You just have to look at the latest Scream film to get an entertaining lesson in what to do when it’s all been done. But if there is one recurring moment that is fostering the kind of hatred in me that I have to feed once a day and teach to pee outside (like a pet…) it would be the stupid moment when the victim gains the upper hand over the baddie, by luck or cunning they knock him out with but instead of finishing him off they decide to run away – usually guaranteeing themself more pain and suffering.

Let’s take the case of Wolf Creek – severe spoiler alert. The three tourists meet an odd but friendly man in the outback who gives them a ride when their car breaks down. He invites them to stay at his secluded workshop while he fixes the vehicle. After sipping on the specially prepared water the three tourists fall to sleep. One of the British girls wakes up, gagged and bound in a shed. She manages to free herself and upon searching the abandoned lot she finds her friend being tortured in a cruel act of rape foreplay. After some clever diversion she finds herself knocking the man unconscious with an empty rifle in her hands. The hate and fear that this evil person must inspire in her; the adrenaline coursing her veins. Surely she will want to kill him. She takes a short, awkward backswing, elbows rigid, weight distribution poor. The weapon weakly connects with the soft of his belly. Yep, that should do it. She frees her friend and they run away.

Within the ongoing pet hates column, it is our solemn duty here at For A Few Movies More to pinpoint frustrating decisions and trends adopted by Hollywood, and then bitch about them with utter contempt. That ought to show them who’s boss, right? Well in this instalment, I’m going to set my sights on a trend that has become increasingly popular over the recent years, and continues to ruin any action film it’s implemented in. The frustrating trend I speak of is the ever-so-annoying tendency of filmmakers to attempt to replicate a gritty, realistic feel for a film by shooting it hand-held and in turn, letting the camera shake like crazy all over the place. Thus, rendering it impossible for the audience make out whatever the fuck is happening on screen.

Commonly referred to as ‘shaky cam’, this overused technique is apparently intent on robbing the excitement and fluidity out of any action film it’s utilised in. And just so there’s no confusion, this criticism isn’t directed at the found footage genre of films (i.e. Cloverfield) that also suffers from all sorts of shaky cam problems. It feels appropriate for these films to suffer from a little shake and sway sometimes since they are supposed to have been filmed by bystanders with no prior filmmaking experience. And although they can become disorientating to point of causing motion sickness, I’ll let these issues slide past for now… Instead, the films in question I’m referring to are those slickly produced, big budget Hollywood films, that apparently think that putting a camera in the hands of a guy suffering from an epileptic fit somehow equals exciting camera work.

In Movie Pet Hates I will be bitching about things that I hate in movies. OK, so it sounds really stupid when I put it like that, but so many posts on our site (Guilty Pleasures for example) do already address what we love about them — even against our own better judgement! Half of the Internet is made up of people whining, whinging and complaining about something and everything, so I thought I might as well get in on it too. As Henry Rollins said, “Nothing brings people together more, than mutual hatred.”