The rooms where we sleep
Or attempt to count sheep
Were once home to others whose presence runs deep.
The bodies they wore
May not breathe anymore,
But tormented souls may demand an encore.

These lingerers, led
By the master of dread,
Can pester our peace and plant fears in our head.
May we not forget
He Who makes demons sweat
Is on our side, giving them reason to fret.
___________________

MPAA rating: R

Anyone who’s read my few horror reviews knows that I’m picky about the genre, with a low tolerance for gore and high admiration for developed characters, tension, and atmosphere. The Conjuring fit my tastes perfectly, with an exceptionally creepy story highlighted by strong performances and a positive religious message. The 2016 sequel, also directed by James Wan, may be more of the same, but that’s not a bad thing when it upholds what made the original great.

While the frightening opening involves the infamous Amityville house namedropped at the end of the first film, The Conjuring 2 focuses on the less-known (at least in America) Enfield Poltergeist. The Hodgsons, headed by single mother of four Peggy (Frances O’Connor), seem like a perfectly normal, if struggling, family, and there’s little unusual about their London home, again explored with one of those skillful tracking shots Wan employed to introduce the first film’s haunted house. Before long, though, eleven-year-old Janet (Madison Wolfe) becomes the central target of many otherworldly events, including instances of possession, and paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga) are asked by the Catholic Church to look into it, at their own peril.

As with its predecessor, I suspect the R rating is for sheer intensity because the film relies on mood and suspense far more than violence. A child’s zoetrope about the Crooked Man becomes the haunted object of the week, taking the place of the first film’s music box, and even if it’s not clear who or what the Crooked Man is a manifestation of, he’s an effective boogeyman for a few scenes. A demonic nun is also an unnerving presence throughout, though I’m not a fan of that kind of blasphemous imagery, even if it is explained.

The haunting of the Hodgson home is full of dark tension and jump scares, all well-executed, but it’s not the encroaching evil that sets The Conjuring films apart. As with the first movie, the Warrens are the best thing about this series. In the midst of demonic terror, they are a testament to the conquering power of God and their mutual love, plus a spirit of joy epitomized in a musical scene that becomes an island of light amid the darkness. When Ed converses with an old man’s ghost who speaks through Janet, he refuses to be cowed and sends the ghost shrinking away by confidently extending a crucifix. From their separate conversations with Janet, the Warrens’ devotion to each other is unmistakable, and after the nail-biting finale, this horror movie almost changes genre to end on a rare feel-good romantic note, at Christmastime no less.

With the Hodgsons as the sympathetic victims and the Warrens as the godly defenders, The Conjuring 2 again places its horror movie tropes into the context of spiritual warfare, and as strong as the demons seem, it’s still satisfying to see them banished to hell by the name of Jesus. It’s not surprising that the film takes rampant liberties with the actual story, but I liked how they incorporated some doubt about the authenticity of the haunting, since many skeptics claim that the girls faked the paranormal phenomena. The Conjuring 2 may seem like old hat to horror aficionados, but for me, it’s an example of a trend of spiritually and emotionally mindful horror that Hollywood should keep following.

Best line: (skeptic Anita Gregory) “Last year I was conned by a Welsh family pretending to be possessed by demons. And honestly, I don’t know what was worse: the demons or the people who prey on our willingness to believe in them.”   (Lorraine) “The demons… are worse.”

Rank: List-Worthy (joining the first film)

© 2017 S.G. Liput
501 Followers and Counting!

Here I sit and calmly wait
As others take the stage for now,
The normal ones who dominate
And cast their glares of fear and hate
Because they know my time will come,
No matter what they may allow.

Within our host, I wait my turn,
For others must prepare my way.
I’m just a rumor, no concern,
Until too late, the normals learn
That darkness kept beneath their thumb
Will be set free, and they will pay.
______________

MPAA rating: PG-13

After reaching an atrocious low with The Last Airbender, it seems M. Night Shyamalan has enacted a comeback, a return to the well-crafted psychological thrillers that first made him a household name. Found-footage horror The Visit was an improvement, wringing tension from a low budget, even if the story had holes and strange parts to criticize. And now, Split is another step in the right direction, boasting elements that are deserving of genuine praise, even if it’s not at the same level as Shyamalan’s early work, like Unbreakable.

The captivity thriller seems to be a popular subgenre of late, including 10 Cloverfield Lane, Pet, Berlin Syndrome, and of course, Split (or, as I call it, Sybil meets Psycho). Right from the start, outcast highschooler Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy) is abducted with two of her more popular classmates, Claire (Haley Lu Richardson) and Marcia (Jessica Sula), and they awake in a small locked room. Their kidnapper Kevin Crumb (James McAvoy) acts like different people whenever he interacts with them, and sessions with his understanding psychologist (Betty Buckley) reveal that he actually has 23 separate identities. We only get to see eight at the most, but three in particular have taken control of Kevin and, by kidnapping the girls, are preparing for the arrival of a much more dangerous personality called the Beast.

The best thing about Split is James McAvoy simply because, without his phenomenal acting, the film could collapse under a weaker performance. Whether he’s an OCD-ridden pervert, a threateningly proper matron, or a mischievous little boy named Hedwig, his acting, accent, and body language really sell Kevin’s divided character. He even manages to act as one personality pretending to be another personality. Betty Buckley and Anya Taylor-Joy do fine work as well, with the former convincingly laying out exposition and the latter capturing the fear of trying to keep her wits about her.

Unfortunately, Split’s sad and disturbing narrative makes it a film I’m not likely to see often. Aside from the claustrophobic captivity aspect and tension, which were also well-done in 10 Cloverfield Lane, there were moments that could have benefited from a rewrite or better editing, like the protracted kidnapping scene, which had me thinking “Why doesn’t she dart out the door?” rather than holding me on the edge of my seat. One bizarre dance scene with the Hedwig personality reminded me that, as with The Visit, I don’t think Shyamalan’s attempts at comic relief work as he intends; it’s just a very strange scene, even if it were done by the 9-year-old boy Kevin thinks he is.

My biggest complaint comes toward the end, where the already disturbing storyline turns murderous and goes a bit too far for me and my VC, even if there’s restraint in what is actually shown. I appreciated the semi-twist that made sense for the traumas shared by Kevin and Casey, but the ending doesn’t provide much closure to anyone’s story. Perhaps I’ll appreciate Split more with the arrival of the announced sequel it’s clearly leading into, and I’ll admit I’m more excited for that follow-up than I was about Split.

Even with my objections, Split is a definite step up for Shyamalan, well-acted and taut, and promises even more intriguing things to come. It’s perhaps best thought of as the birth of a supervillain, and while it succeeds in creating a dangerous and conflicted character, I’m more interested in the hero he’ll oppose.

Best line: (9-year-old Hedwig, after awkwardly kissing Casey) “You might be pregnant now.”

Rank: Honorable Mention

© 2017 S.G. Liput
497 Followers and Counting