Object #42 - Doors - Evil Dead (2013)

Dir. Fede Alvarez 

It's Halloween season! Time to break out the horror films. I can't say I'm massively well-versed in the genre, but I do enjoy them if they're done well. I'm missing a lot of the classics like Friday the 13th and the original Dawn of the Dead, but I've caught up lately on the Nightmare on Elm Street films, and I've seen quite a few classics like The Exorcist and The Thing; and the even more vintage Universal monster flicks such as Creature from the Black Lagoon, The Mummy, and Dracula. Honestly, as long as there aren't a bunch of cheap jump-scares, I'll probably enjoy it.

The Evil Dead series has never been serious horror. The first film, released back in 1981, is a lovely bit of cheap-horror that has since solidified the 'teens-in-the-cabin-in-the-woods' mythology of horror, as satirized in, well, Cabin in the Woods. It's not scary-per-se, in fact, a lot of the makeup looks a bit goofy these days, but it's clearly structured like a straight horror film, with a little levity in the dialogue. The second quickly re-caps the plot of the first film before descending (or should that be ascending?) into the best wacky comedy-horror put to film. Army of Darkness is pretty much an action-comedy that just happens to continue from the second film. My point is, the Evil Dead franchise is less about frightening you, and more about having a fun time, it just so happens to involve demonic possession, a rape-tree, and a lot of blood.

The 2013 remake, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the best horror films of the last five years. Now now, don't get me wrong, it doesn't hold a candle to It Follows or The Babadook for actual fright/creep factor, but as we've established, Evil Dead has never been about that. But within the horror genre, it's so damn fun. It's gross, cringe-inducing, funny, and more than anything, visceral. You feel what the characters go though, with every single one taking a hell of a beating, and each one deserving any victory they get. It's remarkably well-shot, well-produced (the cabin is gorgeously constructed), and of course, has great CG/make-up work when everything gets a bit stabby. The only possible mark-down I can give it is a little bit of pacing issues, not the best sign for a 90 minute film, but it is such a bare-bones story in the first place that I cut it some slack. By all other criteria, Evil Dead (2013) is a fine film.

So - doors. The demonic entity awoken by Eric (Lou Taylor Pucci) primarily takes influence by possessing Mia (Jane Levy) and spreading from there. However, I noticed that the only other physical influence it has, beyond spreading biologically through vomit or blood, is by slamming doors shut. It's actually impressive how much it achieves by shutting a few doors. The obvious to note here is the trap-door leading to the Necronomicon book in the basement, which contains the words to awake the demon. This trap-door is pretty iconic for the shot in the first picture, also present in the original film. Mia is thrown into the basement, the trap door shutting her in. 

After Olivia (Jessica Lucas) is infected, becomes possessed, and begins to move towards Eric in the bathroom to kill him, what does the demon do? It shuts the door. It's making sure that no-one will interrupt the murder, and stopping Eric from getting away. Functionally it also remind us of the power it holds. Later, Natalie (Elizabeth Blackmore) sees the trap-door suddenly open, and hears Mia crying, luring her to enter the basement. The demon is clearly having fun with the slow-burn of killing these teenagers, as it has the power to open the trap-door at any time. It relinquishes Mia, having her give an honest performance of fear and confusion, leading Natalie into her domain.

The box-cutter scene happens, and yes, it's gross in all the best ways. After Natalie is rescued from the possessed Mia, David (Shiloh Fernandez) chains it shut. The demons toys with this as it pokes it's head up through the gap in the trap-door, taunting Natalie as she resits infection. Doors then, particularly the trap-door, are important set-ups for different power-struggles between the teens and the demon. 

Later into the film, as David returns to get the keys so that he and the now, demon-free Mia can leave, he is critically wounded by the dead Eric, who he forgot was still in the house and open to possession. What's important however, is that David is now the one who has the power, as he shuts the door, locking Mia out of the house, so that he can now shoot a gasoline can, killing himself, Eric, and burning the cabin. After this then, there is no upper-hand between demon and human. There are no more doors to toy with on either side. The Abomination admittedly is stronger than the regular undead, however Mia evens the score with a chainsaw, and eventually wins out.  

Actually, now I think about it, I could mention the car door of the Jeep. The classic horror-trope of reaching for the keys on the floor, sudden enemy in the window, attack on the the driver does happen here. So that's score-one for demon when it comes to doors. The car is tipped over, crushing Mia's hand and pinning it to the floor, under the door. She struggles, boy does she struggle, tearing her arm away from her hand, giving her the advantage of reaching the chainsaw; (Also, calling back to the original films in an original way, good-going Alvarez!), score-one (and match) to Mia for escaping the hold of the door and being able to end the demon. 

It's basic story-telling at the end of the day I suppose. What do doors do? They stop people from leaving rooms, they are an antagonist in the most basic sense, but when possessed by a demon, they're definitely an antagonist. Why demons don't just possess guns or knives instead of wooden doors I don't know! Actually, yes I do, because that wouldn't be fun, and if there's anything Evil Dead is, it's fun. 

Object #41 - Comb - Three Colours: White (1994)

Dir. Krzysztof Kieslowski

Kieslowski's Three Colours trilogy is some of greatest drama I've seen put to film. With Tokyo Story in the last post, I seem to be gravitating towards human dramas lately! Unfortunately, I fall in with the general opinion that White is the least effective of the three films, with Blue and Red shifting in my estimation depending on my mood, Blue usually wins out though. All three films have a heavy focus on objects as symbols, as well as colour, naturally, and so it felt right to finally add one of them to the blog.

If you don't plan on watching White, then watch this video from the sublime Criterion Collection, which acts as a sort of visual guide to the film. It also includes a brief clip of the scene with the comb. Stranded in Paris, penniless, (well, he has a two franc coin, an important object in and of itself) abandoned by his wife (Julie Delpy), Polish-born Karol Karol (Zbigniew Zamachowski) has to sing through a comb to beg for any change the Parisian underground travelers will offer him. Luckily, a fellow Pole, Mikolaj (Janusz Gajos), offers him a plan to return to Poland. 

To be brief, and to quote, Jack Sparrow "complications arose, ensued, were overcome". Karol re-established himself in Poland, and turned to a life of crime. Now don't get the wrong idea from that sentence, it doesn't suddenly turn into a gangster film, but nonetheless, Karol grows through crime with his business partner Mikolaj. Their relationship is a complicated one, with suicide, murder, and soul-searching involved, but all you need to know is that they have a deep history, tracing all the way back to the underground in Paris. 

The moment the comb comes around and serves a greater purpose is around 2/3rds of the way into the film. Karol now uses the comb (it isn't clear if it's the same comb, but it is likely), as, just that,  a comb. He is suited, with slicked-back hair, a man of means. He has risen from that underground and now finds himself in a new high-rise building he's bought thanks to his business dealings. He turns to Mikolaj, pulls out the comb and a handkerchief, and hums the very same tune.  

This moment comes about an hour after the underground scene, after many plot and character developments, but this object, and the world of difference in the context in which it's used, brings us right back to the empty, hopeless world Karol began from. It is a symbol that with the right help, and a bit of luck, a man can make himself anything. 

The theme of the film is equality, as denoted by the colour white, based on the French flag. This taps into that, with every person being equal to make something of themselves, just as they are equal to have some beneficial luck. The equality theme extends to Karol's wish for revenge against his wife, with him wanting to leave her just as alone and hopeless as he was. Does he succeed? Go watch the film and find out!     

Compared to some of the other objects from the entire trilogy, the comb is relatively simple. I like it nonetheless and I'm likely at some point in time to return to the other two films in the trilogy. Honestly, I think the comb is only so simple in the context of the trilogy. Kieslowski is so very good at what he does that he has numerous objects in the same film that act as symbols, have resonance, and this is atop his masterful use of colour (he really does sell the concept of a colour theme for liberte, egalite, and fraternite). These are superb films in every right: cinematography, acting, score, every single aspect of the film is on-point, with a slight script and editing sag in White. As you can tell though, it's still a very subtle and nuanced film, and one that can stand equal with the other two films in the trilogy, which is of course, quite fitting.  

Object #40 - Hand fan - Tokyo Story (1953)

Dir. Yasujiro Ozu 

Ozu's Tokyo Story topped the 2012 Sight and Sound director's poll of the greatest films of all time, and came third in the combined critics and directors poll, behind Vertigo, and Citizen Kane. This is a phenomenally well-regarded film. It gladdens me immensely that a film that only moves the camera once can be so well-regarded by the great directors of the world. This a film that is still. No fancy moving one-shots, no fancy lighting effects, just a camera placed strategically well, and a scene played out by actors. The story is just as simple, two grandparents visit their children and grandchildren for a few days. That's the premise. The only narrative development is that the grandmother, Tomi (Chieko Higashiyama), falls critically ill and dies shortly after their return. 

I've spoken before about how one human moment can redeem a film for me. Tokyo Story, in under two hours, made me mourn the loss of this woman. I genuinely felt a profound sense of loss for the remainder of the film without her. How is this achieved? Human moments, human moments in abundance. I'm actually not going to go into them, because I'd essentially be reading you the script, it's that good. The relationships between the visiting family members will be immediately familiar to anyone who has visited/has been visited by extended family. The reality of the drama is spot-on, and is accurately acted even by the younger actors.

Anyway, I'm blabbing on. The reason I chose the hand fan, or rather fans, from this film is a bit of an obtuse way of discussing how Tomi's death resonates with the audience. Throughout the film, and I really do mean throughout, people use fans to keep themselves cool, naturally. In the beginning of the film, as we are introduced to Tomi and her husband, Shukichi (Chishu Ryu), with them chatting to each other in the gentle, calm way that life partners of a certain age do. No grand gestures of love, the dialogue itself fairly mundane, but it speaks wonders of the deep, deep love the two share. A neighbour walks by the window, and has a brief, neighbourly chat about their going away to visit family in Tokyo. It seems to be a nice routine, and is, again, immediately recognizable to all of us.

Jumping to the end of the film, Shukichi sits in the same room, alone, fanning himself. If you haven't seen the film, then I hope I'm conveying my message here with the structure of this post. For that neighbour, nothing has changed except that Tomi no longer sits with Shukichi. She does know of the death, and sympathizes with Shukichi, but she has no idea of the relationship development Tomi and Shukichi went through with their family in her final days. It's nothing drastic, but it tells us magnitudes about the characters and the family. The most monumental character moment actually occurs due to her death, with Shukichi giving Noriko (Setsuko Hara) Tomi's watch as a memento. He gives this to his daughter-in-law, widowed due to the death of his son, and despite no blood relation, he emphasizes that she was the one who treated the two of them the best during the visit. It's heartrendingly beautiful, and I nearly chose the watch as the object for this reason. I honestly think if I grew up in Japan, where family bonds are so strong, that this moment would be even more powerful. 

So why the fan? Because it's unchanging. People change, people die, people drift from their parents. The fan is a constant in the film despite all the developments that occur. True, there's one less fan in the ending, and true, Shukichi, in his own restrained way is clearly grief-stricken in his discussion with the neighbour: "If I knew things would come to this, I'd have been kinder to her. Living alone like this, the days will get very long". But despite all this change, he still needs to cool himself with a fan, as do others. The fan, to me at least, links the personal story of this family to the wider world of Japan, as well as to the world at large, across time. It's a cliche, but the more things change, the more they stay the same.