Since The 13 Days of Halloween, my planned denouement of this whole Where the Monsters Go horrorfest, are fast approaching, I tried to compile a list of the thirteen films I'll be reviewing at the end of the month while on the train today.

Ha!

It quickly became apparent that the odds of me whittling down my favorite horror films to a mere 13 were slim to none--a top 25 is a little closer to the mark. Once we get to around the top, oh, seven or so, the rank is pretty clear, but below that tier there's just a mass of movies that I simply love and would love to talk about. And there's other movies that I haven't seen yet but want to, and want to discuss the results of said proposed screenings. What to do?

Well, there's only one thing for a self-respecting former film-studies major horror junkie to do: Start immersion therapy now, and let God sort it all out come the 31st. Let's call it The 13 Days of Halloween: The Director's Cut.



Update: I did it! 13 Days, 13 top horror films: so be it. Stay tuned.


So anyway, Paperhouse. This was the filmic equivalent of a blind date for me: My pal Jason Adams lent me a copy with his personal recommendation attached. Directed by Bernard Rose, this 1988 feature has all the hallmarks of 1980s British genre cinema that I know and love: men in grey suits, pretty-plain women with broad white faces, ethereal synths and strings for the soundtrack, an overall feel of elegant decrepitude. (Think Hellraiser, think the film version of 1984...)

It's a lovely, scary little film, centered on a sick young girl whose dreamlife seems connected to the absent-minded-cum-compulsive sketches she draws in her notebook. Her immersion in this world and her friendship with the young boy she finds there soon come to threaten her health, and perhaps her sanity, in the real world. Like the work of a proto-Shyamalan, Paperhouse is constructed by director Rose at a deliberate pace, with long takes, thoughtful editing, and marvelously immersive sound. The performances are quiet and convincing, particularly those of the two children (Charlotte Burke and Elliot Spiers) and the girl's harried all-but-single mother (Glenne Headly, an actress I could stand to see more of). The scary stuff is not really the point of the film, but when it comes it's off-kilter, disturbing, and intense--thanks in no small part to the film's art direction, which achieves a weird synthesis between Rene Magritte and Edward Hopper.

As Jason says, the Freudian imagery can become a little much at times--lighthouses, blind fathers, parapalegics, dark tunnels, warm baths, the sea, using a soft-serve ice cream machine but then disappointedly sighing "no cones"--and since I'm sure there's a debate to be had as to whether Freud unveiled this symbolic undercurrent to humanity or simply hyped and/or outright invented it, it's tough to say how primal all this is. But it's eerie--uncanny, if you will--and coupled with the surprisingly touching turns the story takes, it gives the film a haunting, poetic feel that I can tell will stick with me.

I see from looking at the IMDB that comparisons to The Ring have been made, and rightly so; this film lacks that one's vicious heart, though, and in this case is the better for it. Paperhouse is a hard film to find, but look around.

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