Weekly Review, pt. 1 -- The darkness within

What is silence? It is often a belated form of knowledge, both restricted and restricting, but it can also be a force of nature and destiny, washing away the safe and the familiar with a single wave. This week, I am examining two very different kinds of cinematic silences and reflecting on their truth, as well as their consequences.  


Silent House (2011) -- Chris Kentis and Laura Lau, who frightened oblivious travelers out of their wits with Open Water, are back with this haunted house shocker. Based on an incident that allegedly took place in 1940s Uruguay, this film turns the genre staple upside down and spins a story full of surprises.

Sarah (Elizabeth Olsen), her father John (Adam Trese) and uncle Peter (Eric Sheffer Stevens) arrive at their lakeside property to fix it up for sale. Soon after Peter leaves to get tools, Sarah starts hearing strange noises around the old house and seeing people that could not possibly be there. When her father is badly injured by invisible attackers, Sarah attempts to find a way to get help, but finds herself unable to leave...

The beauty of Silent House lies in its deceptive simplicity and sense of underlying terror. From the moment Sarah arrives, the house looms like an intrusive entity, disrupting whatever the character's daily routine had been up until that point. It is truly the film's other principal character, lurking and menacing in the foreground of all proceedings. As Kentis and Lau had shown in Open Water, they are the current cinematic masters of minimalist spaces, utilizing light and camera angles rather than computer graphics to convey the essence of dread. Every room in the house is shot as a potential threat, its every nook and cranny brimming with secrets, with the light constantly falling prey to darkness. Much credit goes to Igor Martinovic's gloomy cinematography for giving the film's mysteries a visual identity. Kentis and Lau make good use of the country setting -- a driveway has never been so ominous -- as well as the claustrophobia that Sarah experiences. In this regard, I love the use of the camera flash in a certain sequence and can only imagine the effect that this scene would have when viewed on the big screen. The atmosphere of the piece reminded me of the 1971 gem Let's Scare Jessica to Death, its narrative also teetering between reality and illusion, truth and fiction. Silent House relies on the depiction of spaces that are void of color but offering danger at every turn, and it succeeds in transforming a house from a simple fixer-upper into sheer hell. 

On another note, the one part that felt gratuitous was the prolonged bathroom sequence. The situation had been set up already and there was absolutely no reason why we needed to see any gore or any details in general, for that matter. It felt out of context and did not fit the pace. Instead, I wish we had got to see more interactions between Sarah and Sophia (Julia Taylor Ross), since this relationship needed a richer arc in the story's context. 

As far as the acting goes, the film belongs to Olsen, who perfectly shows Sarah's fear, vulnerability and determination. She carries the tale on her capable shoulders and her final scenes are a sight to behold, to name but one example. Trese is very good as John, particularly in some later scenes, and Taylor Ross shows off different sides of Sophia, Sarah's childhood acquaintance.

Silent House is one of those rare genre pieces that place an emphasis on ambiance, the popularity of which has been eclipsed for a while by the likes of Saw and similar torture fests. Its old school vibe and earnest performances are the elements that earn the film its badge of honor and that make it stand out from a spate of new horror releases. Visit this house, but keep in mind that it can never be a home.

8/10

Perfect Sense (2011) --  Talk about a film that is difficult to process. An original allegory on the meaning of love in a world of nearly literal emptiness, this David McKenzie piece makes for an amazing discussion topic, but fails in terms of any discernible subtlety.

Epidemiologist Susan (Eva Green) and chef Michael (Ewan McGregor) meet at the onset of a global pandemic that is robbing people of their senses. Smell is the first thing to go, then taste, hearing and so on. In the midst of a horrific outbreak, caught up in a corporeal apocalypse that is sure to end the world as they know it, can Susan and Michael's love last, or even count?

I found the film to be a curious balancing act, struggling to achieve equilibrium between its uniqueness and its awkwardness. On to the engaging elements first. The film posits a provocative hypothesis about things that make life worth living, playing like an existentialist primer along the way. What is smell? What is sight? What do we, as humans, end up requiring when our methods of interpreting the universe start crumbling? Can emotions substitute the physical tools that we use to absorb experiences and relate to people? As the film attempts to show, our humanity can be equally measured in the seen and the felt; still, when push comes to shove, it is only the conveyed thought that leaves an imprint. The scene toward the ending showing Susan with her sister illustrates this sentiment especially well, telling us that dialogue is always possible, if far from easy. Furthermore, with all of its faults, this tale is a beautiful metaphor for our view and definition of communication in the second decade of the 21st century. Are all of our senses not being dulled day after day, text after text, beep after beep? Are we not continuously forgetting about needing to talk to people, rather than dispatching yet another electronic missive? Are we not causing this breakdown of faculties ourselves, foolishly wondering what the cause might be and how we should categorize the "disease"? We have been ill for a long time, but have yet to realize it, and the tale asks us to stop and think about our predicament, without even remotely judging our behavior.

Now on to the bad aspects. The main problem with Perfect Sense is the screenplay's utter lack of subtlety. Some might argue that this quality might be elusive, considering the plot, but the film truly hammers the point home. While the dramatic script should have been the film's greatest strength, its blindness to nuances turns it into the film's greatest hindrance. Yes, we know that Michael -- he who needs to sleep alone to get a good night's rest -- will end up being able to sleep next to Susan. Yes, we know that Susan, burned by men and scarred by cynicism, will find The One in -- surprise, surprise -- Michael. Director McKenzie and screenwriter Kim Fupz Aakeson frequently choose to substitute a delicate touch with heavy-handed exchanges and imagery, hoping that we will not notice. Also, while a romcom ending is obviously not the desired conclusion, I sure wish that there was a better resolution to the story, because the proceedings leave the viewer hollow. The narrative asks too many questions and demands that the audience become emotionally invested, without providing a payoff of any kind.

The acting is excellent. As Susan, Green is a picture of angry vulnerability. Her character experiences the deepest emotions under the most impossible of circumstances, simultaneously embracing and rejecting the connection to a man that seems to be her polar opposite. The only facet of her personality that I found unbelievable were her complaints about her love life as the entire planet was falling apart -- priorities, people, priorities. McGregor's character's evolution is more organic, slowly transcending the path from a carefree lothario to a man desperate for a single touch to make him whole. He has some outstanding scenes, namely the one in which Michael starts raging maniacally at Susan under the influence of a symptom, realizing immediately after the rant what he has just lost. Stephen Dillane and Connie Nielsen also offer strong performances as Susan's boss and sister, respectively. Nielsen in particular is tasked with presenting a portrait of warmth, a stark contrast to the detached Susan, and the two actors create interesting scenes between two very different siblings, scenes that grow more poignant as the epidemic spreads.

It has to be said that Perfect Sense does not exactly make perfect sense. As a philosophical commentary, it is capable of provoking endless debate, posing fascinating questions regarding identity and connection. However, as a dramatic piece, it uses its intriguing themes as a soapbox, yelling out its points as loudly as it can. Unable to reconcile its symbolism with its entertainment value, Perfect Sense is not so much a missed opportunity as it is a lost cinematic soul.
  
6/10