As a lifelong horror fan, I can confidently say that there are two kinds of horror movies that do well at the box office.
The first kind of horror movie delivers on thrills and jump scares. Friends have fun clinging to each other, spilling popcorn and jumping in their seats. Afterward, the group quote lines at each other or mimic trademark gestures or sounds, and Halloween Horror Nights has a new haunted house theme. These movies are certainly effective, but it’s not that hard to leave them at the theater.
Hereditary is the other kind of horror movie.
I don’t mean I’m going to check under my bed for anything scary tonight. I mean something else entirely, and quite honestly I don’t even want to talk about it too much because I want people to experience the film for themselves. But I’m going to talk about it and so of course, spoilers will go below the cut.
Hereditary begins with an obituary. A matriarch has died, and right away Annie (played by Toni Collette) gives a halting but brutally honest eulogy about the complicated relationship she had with her mother. Grandma’s death sets off a chain of events that at first seem normal to a family dealing with grief, but soon even the cracks start to show cracks.
Hereditary is getting mixed reviews, and for good reason: not everyone is going to get it. I don’t say that to sound cool or jaded, I say that because I could hear other moviegoers laughing at certain parts that I found incredibly effective–parts that were almost too effective. This movie upset me quite a bit at times, even though the projector broke two-thirds in and we had to wait half an hour for the staff to fix it.
But when the action started back up, nobody moved or laughed for the rest of the movie.
I can absolutely recommend Hereditary to fans of real, provocative horror. Casual filmgoers might want to wait for home release.
Hola! Work, busy, all the usual excuses for not posting more often. But I’m experimenting with new blog formats and am working on some new stuff for the coming months.
To massively understate, things have been rough. Less so for me personally, but definitely for many of my countrypeople. There’s also the ongoing misery of watching the US’s role on the world stage become that of the buffoon — no, not even the buffoon, it’s that of the village idiot wandering into center stage of an opera, pushing aside sopranos, tenors, and ballet dancers, taking a massive dump, then throwing a tantrum in the orchestra pit when no one cheers.
I’m not some curtain-twitcher on a crusade to make young men pull up their pants; rather, I’m only concerned if there is reason to believe that my house or someone else’s might be struck by a hail of bullets or the flying wreckage of an exploding meth lab. These are valid concerns, given my neighborhood history.
I walked out of work last night at 4:02 PM into a Florida late-winter evening, which means a temperature of 80 degrees F, and so bright your eyeballs fry down to little hard marbles inside your head.
For as long as I can remember I have felt this way – That first blast of light and heat makes me close my eyes, and my first instinct is to literally lay down wherever I am and go to sleep. It’s a strange response, and I didn’t really think about it much until last night. Maybe it’s going from the darkened office environment to the bright outdoors, and my melatonin, seratonin, or dopamine levels are thrown off so something suddenly goes into overdrive and manufactures more of something else. That’s why I drop like a Battle Droid without a Command Ship.
Admittedly, it’s been a tiring week – I’m still investigating why the police were in my neighborhood Sunday night. I’m not some curtain-twitcher on a crusade to make young men pull up their pants; rather, I’m only concerned if there is reason to believe that my house or someone else’s might be struck by a hail of bullets or the flying wreckage of an exploding meth lab. These are valid concerns, given my neighborhood history.
Still working on some upcoming posts, though! Check back next week for posts about my violin and I, and comparing Don Bluth’s classic An American Tale with the bloody, violent BBC America show Copper.
Stay tuned, and have a great week!
*Normally I avoid WebMD because on that site, all roads lead to cancer. Got a headache? Cancer. Got a sore back? Cancer. Did you pull that band-aid off too fast? CANCER. Problems with your transmission? CANCER!!!!!!
Imagine! A guy in his loincloth, eating fish and coconuts. He did wind up having health problems as a result and had to come back to civilization, but still. I LOVE That this happened in the modern age.
[EDIT: Heh, you know you’re burned out when you post an entry to the wrong blog. This entry was supposed to go up on Mudder of Dragons, but I shall leave it here. Let it serve as a reminder to me of what happens when I do too much at once and DON’T double check what I’m doing!]
Trying to remain upright at work, I stumbled across this very excellent article about a man, an atoll, and his cats.
Imagine! A guy in his loincloth, eating fish and coconuts. He did wind up having health problems as a result and had to come back to civilization, but still. I LOVE that this happened in the modern age.
I am working on a big blog post about my book release party, and should have that up later this week. It’ll even have pictures! WOO!
Having my folks stay with me and then having to stand and talk about my book for hours was more tiring than I thought it would be, even though I had a LOT of fun. After my folks left yesterday I spent most of the day in a daze, watching movies (and recovering from the mild hangover), playing with my cat (he’s TOTALLY all better now, thankfully) and eating. Other than doing stuff with the folks in the morning, I only left the house to go for a walk in the evening.
It’s probably being worn out from the party Saturday night that has me wanting to go live on a deserted island (with cats and a loincloth). I love my friends and family and I am hugely appreciative that they came out in support of my weird little habit, but I love silence, too.