All posts by Daniel Bokemper

Horror

Evil Dead Rise (2023)

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Evil Dead Rise reminds us that when it comes to today’s popular horror flicks, fuck them kids.

Failing to follow up on 2013’s re-imagining before now was a cinematic sin. Directed by Lee Cronin (The Hole in the Ground), Rise is a welcome resurrection of the blood-soaked franchise. But a smooth 97-minute runtime, hilariously gory sequences and delightful new Deadites make this return well worth the decade-long wait.

After a few zoomers get scalped, dismembered and read some of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, the film rewinds a day prior to introduce Beth (Lily Sullivan, 2017’s Jungle). The career roadie takes a break from her band’s tour on account of her unexpected pregnancy. Meanwhile, Beth’s sister, Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland, Blood Vessel), struggles with an abrupt separation while raising three kids.

An awkward reunion at Ellie’s apartment is cut short by an earthquake. The high-rise complex’s parking lot splits open, revealing a vault of religious artifacts — including everyone’s favorite flesh-bound tome. Ellie’s son (Morgan Davies, TV’s The Girlfriend Experience) naturally opens the book. One vinyl recording of a curious priest reciting the magical words later, it’s off to the Deadite Derby.

As the first possessed, Ellie takes the lead as the most fucked-up Evil Dead villain yet. (Linda’s a close second; Evil Ash never stood a chance.) Sutherland’s performance is as mesmerizing as it is maniacal. Her zombified zingers are a welcome return to the series’ marquee campiness, even though 2013’s entry was still stellar without it. Murder Mommy takes the depravity a step further as she tortures and even tattoos her children.

Most of the sequences capture the franchise’s frenetic pace despite the new setting. In lieu of a fruit cellar, Ellie spends a chunk of the film stalking the hallway outside her apartment. The unit door’s peephole sets the stage for a vivid bloodbath that makes the most of the movie’s limited budget. Continually, Evil Dead Rise delivers frights that far outclass movies like It Chapter Two, which had over four times the financial backing.

It’s rare that this film stumbles. The final act is just a little too bloated with callbacks — a group recital of “dead by dawn” is more than enough. Perhaps more egregious is when it diffuses its own dread. A portion of the recording reiterating all of the ways one can’t kill a Deadite is almost immediately followed by several scenes of — you guessed it — doing all of the things that definitely don’t kill Deadites. Though Cronin was likely shooting for comedy with a heaping helping of despair, a slight swap of scenes could’ve given the terror that much more bite.

Ultimately, Evil Dead Rise delivers exactly what the franchise’s faithful could hope for. Those unfamiliar with the Book of the Dead will painfully laugh and piss themselves all the same. Even the most reluctant viewer will spend a weeks trying to get the phrase “titty-sucking parasites” out of their head.

Please excuse me — I gotta go call my mom. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Comedy

Beau Is Afraid (2023)

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Beau Is Afraid isn’t somber, subtle or suspenseful. Nor should it be. Described by director Ari Aster (Hereditary) as a “nightmare comedy,” Beau is a bizarre odyssey through a twisted, unempathetic world. It’s also Aster’s most intimate and possibly important film to date.

Joaquin Phoenix (Joker) stars as Beau, a neurotic man living in an apartment on the corner of John Waters’ Desperate Living and John Carpenter’s Escape from New York. While leaving his apartment to visit his mom, Beau immediately loses his keys, luggage and sanity.

Describing much more of the film’s premise will almost certainly diffuse the magic. Instead, enjoy this sequence of events from 10 minutes of the film’s first act:
• A naked Beau rolls around with a sweaty man hiding above his bathtub.
• Beau is then hit by a truck and stabbed multiple times by an equally naked homeless man.
• A recovering Beau heals in the bright pink bedroom of a homophobic slur spewing teenaged girl who gives Sadie Sink’s character in The Whale a run for her money.

Beau’s life isn’t a comedy of errors; it’s a hilarious tragedy of worst-case scenarios. The punchline is often cruelty, and Aster’s sick sense of humor often lands with a few especially fucked-up exceptions.

Phoenix carries this three-hour I Think You Should Leave sketch masterfully. He dusts off a bit of the old Freddie Quell for a paradoxically rigid and explosive performance. Doubt, caution and, of course, fear complement the tortured traveler. Beau’s reluctant journey proves there’s no place like home — even when it’s hell.

Beyond the plot’s absurdity, Fiona Crombie’s (The Favourite) production design oozes with detail. Consider Beau’s setting an upgrade from the vivid (albeit rarely seen) interiors of Aster’s Midsommar (minus the runes in favor of misspelled expletives and graffitied dicks, naturally). The film flows into cookie-cutter suburbia, a beautifully animated dream within a dream and, finally, Beau’s mother’s house. Each transition is jarring in all the right places.

Despite being played for excruciatingly painful laughs, Beau also doesn’t shed the pit-in-your-stomach feeling that gave Hereditary its staying power. Even while the film’s universe is built on a general apathy around death, it carries an impact that builds to a dreadful crescendo. Granted, by the end, what few demises remain feel a bit weightless. But that probably comes less so from Aster’s writing of any one scene, and more from the exhaustion of a saga that’s about 15 to 20 minutes too long.

It’ll be years — possibly decades — before folks stop chewing on Beau Is Afraid. It’s everything you could expect from Aster, yet still filled with welcome (and sadistic) surprises. Beau is ultimately a lot of things. “Afraid” barely scratches the surface. —Daniel Bokemper

Opens in theaters Friday.

Horror

Enys Men (2022)

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High-octane folk horror, this ain’t. The hype around more subdued flicks like Skinamarink suggests we may be in for a wave of slow scares drenched in a monstrous molasses. While Mark Jenkin’s Enys Men isn’t an outright bore, it painfully misconstrues meandering for tension building.

On a Cornish island in the early ’70s, Mary Woodvine (2011’s Intruders) plays an unnamed volunteer studying a mysterious flower. Weeks of noting “no change” wear on the woman until time begins to fold in on itself. Chance encounters, stomping nuns, smiling miners and a short-lived romance with a mustached boatman converge in a soft remake of “The Lonesome Death of Jordy Verrill” from George A. Romero’s Creepshow. (Without any lunkheads, unfortunately.)

Shot on 16mm film, two things should be clear about Enys Men before you nod off. First, it obviously looks old. It feels a little less superficial than the digital filter applied to Ti West’s The House of the Devil. Primary colors pop and certain images — like the bright red generator — appropriately remove the dingy coastal town from reality. Second, Jenkin’s camera is crank-operated, so slow pans and dramatic zooms are about the only “special effects” you’ll see.

And for the most part, that’s okay. The director makes up for it with some creative sound design. A rock hurled down a mineshaft ricochets like a marble in a wet pan. Meanwhile, a seagull breaks water to the sound of shattering glass. It’s an intriguing, mind-bending touch, but it doesn’t really cut through the slog.

Arguably, Enys Men is supposed to be sedating and hypnotic. But where Jeanne Dielman (the winner in Sight and Sound’s recent Greatest Films of All Time poll) has a point to its repetitious malaise, Jenkin’s thesis is less clear. Woodvine’s thousand-yard stare helps sell her character’s stasis, and not much else. Ambiguity is priceless in the right story. But here, it’s hard to believe Jenkin knew where he was going until it’s too late. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Thriller

Cocaine Bear (2023)

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Directing the sequel to a film you previously starred in? Makes sense given Pitch Perfect’s formula. How about reviving America’s most recognizable trio of woman super-spies? Sure, singing and espionage go hand in hand. But helming the origin story of one of the weirdest roadside attractions … fuck it, why not?

Elizabeth Banks’ Cocaine Bear is — perhaps needless to say — a strange beast. Imagine if Kangaroo Jack mated with Final Destination, and then the baby blew at least 200 rails. What follows is a mostly fun romp with a few too many storylines that sobers the woodland rage before it really takes off.

Cocaine Bear wastes no time getting its truth out of the way. A drug smuggler accidentally plummets to his death while offloading hundreds of ounces of Colombian sugar. Shortly thereafter, a black bear eats it. And thus ends the film’s historical ties. Instead of dying from a massive overdose, the bear (aka “Pablo Escobear”) goes on a daylong rampage that would make Tony Montana jealous.

Meanwhile, a mother tries to find her school-ditching daughter; three delinquents stumble upon a portion of the coke; a grieving widower goes on a recovery mission with his drug-pin father’s muscle; a detective tries to execute the biggest narcotics bust across Tennessee and Georgia; and at least three other tangents too many rounds out this black comedy of errors.

When Cocaine Bear’s at its best, it’s a gorgeous, gory and gag-filled mess. Dismembered legs, tragic timing and a monster coked out of its gourd is hilarious, albeit rarely terrifying. By the time the film’s star crashes into premature hibernation, fatal whoopsies might have a higher body count than the bear itself.

Unfortunately, screenwriter Jimmy Warden’s compulsion to build intrigue through needless characters detracts from what the tagline asked we “get in line” to see. It has as big a cast as It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World with about an eighth of the charm. It’s saved by a few clutch performances, notably comedian Scott Seiss, Margo Martindale and the late, great Ray Liotta.

Cocaine Bear’s first hit is hard to beat, but each subsequent line is met with diminishing returns, save a ridiculous ambulance chase. The film is a reminder, however, that creature features should never take themselves too seriously. Plus, it opens up the door for other insane, drug-induced animals to follow. Ketamine Koala or Shroom Shark, anybody? Hell, Tusko, an elephant that died after being injected with 279mg of LSD in 1962, could very well be Cocaine Bear’s spiritual successor. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Thriller

Knock at the Cabin (2023)

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You’ll be happy to hear Knock at the Cabin isn’t The Happening’s spiritual successor. But it is a prime example of M. Night Shyamalan getting in his own way. Again.

Subtlety, ambiguity and refrain were never the director’s forte, but they didn’t always sabotage his films, either. Here, Shyamalan chips away at an otherwise solid premise courtesy of Knock’s solid source material, Paul Tremblay’s 2018 novel, The Cabin at the End of the World. What’s left isn’t exactly a bad flick, but it’s leagues below what it could’ve been.

It’s easy to dismiss Shyamalan. After all, we’re far removed from what made Unbreakable and Signs endearing. Even so, it’s not unreasonable to hope with the right character, the director still can manage to tug heartstrings between his hallmark twists. Wen, a young girl played by Kristen Cui, could share a cubby with The Sixth Sense’s Cole.

One morning collecting grasshoppers, she’s approached by Leonard, an utter brick shithouse played by Dave Bautista (2021’s Dune). Along with a mismatched trio of colleagues, Leonard forces Wen into her parents’ cabin, trapping the family inside. Once there, Leonard’s group offers them a simple choice: Sacrifice one of themselves to prevent the apocalypse.

Tension builds immediately, and the cinematography does well to make a seemingly cosmic scenario much more intimate. Overall, how the film was shot could’ve been more consistent, but that’s minor. The horrendous news footage, however, can’t be overlooked. These segments are both poorly animated and actively crush the air of doubt that animates the story’s conflict. Shyamalan finds a creative way to nullify that, too, but not before the fake CNN asides do it first.

Pair those with crashing planes on par with Birdemic’s nosediving doves, and it becomes hilariously hard to take Knock seriously. It’s baffling — and frustrating — to see the director deliberately muddle a natural sense of mystique.

This isn’t even considering the inevitable, poorly executed twist. Doubting the power of his symbolism, Shyamalan delivers nothing short of an insult to the audience as character after character painstakingly break down the meaning of their ordeal. Meanwhile, elements that would serve the film’s soft mystery are asides, sometimes brought up once and never to be alluded to again.

Knock at the Cabin is far from Shyamalan’s worst film. What makes it painful is how promising it was. It has all the pieces to match and possibly exceed his best work; if only he didn’t twist his ankle when trying to stick the landing. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.