Ah, short horror films. Let’s assume that people are still making films about what they’re most afraid of these days; if so, then the Brooklyn Horror Film Festival’s Creeping Terror package brings us remote families, spirit incursions, bodily breakdowns, wicked imposters and a healthy dose of paranoia along the way. All of the titles achieve a great deal in their 15-20 minute running times: this is, and will remain, a formidable format when it comes to focused, innovative storytelling.
First up, Listen to Mother starts out with a brief introduction to trepanning, the procedure by which – from ancient times until relatively recently – people plagued with melancholy would drill holes into their brains. Now, this isn’t some preamble to a piece of pure gore; trepanning was believed to offer a spiritual dimension, literally ‘letting the angels in’. Take what you will from this; we are next introduced to a grieving mother and son, reflecting on the loss of a younger child. Leaving the room, it seems that the mother makes a significant decision about the grief she is suffering. But grief isn’t confined to this family; elsewhere, nearby, a social worker reflects on her own loss. Perhaps it is this which spurs her on, as she investigates the wellbeing of our first family.
Earnest performances underpin this story. It has also balanced its scares with palpable sadness, and this is what brings its story to life; you can genuinely empathise with all of its characters, however flawed or warped their decision-making. My only complaint here would be with some of the dialogue: it was unclear if we were meant to be able to hear all of it or not, but I couldn’t. All in all, though, this is a successful use of the format, with careful pacing and a very humane touch.
Shut, a Dutch film, joins the ranks of the excellent, thought-provoking horrors which have of late explored anxieties around ageing. And, like many of the best of these, it adds the potential for something monstrous, calling into question whether the horrors which unfold are linked purely to ageing, or indicative of more.
Jonas (Sanne den Hartogh) is heading to visit his father Arend (Jack Wouterse). Arend is getting on in years, but he isn’t frail: nonetheless, when Jonas arrives to an empty, dark house, he fears the worst. His sister Liese has been begging her father lately to move somewhere less remote; this disappearance seems to chime with her fears. But Jonas finds Arend out back – hammering a door tightly shut. He’s completely preoccupied with this task, and seems to be afraid; when he finally properly sees that Jonas is there, he seems scared of him, too. But why? Ultimately, Shut manages to sustain its powerful sense of ambivalence, though its tension ebbs and flows nicely, shifting our sympathies around.
OST has some things in common with other, reasonably well-known films. In its central plot focus, it shares some common ground with Berberian Sound System; in its female protagonist who gets drawn into a film – a world within a world – it is a little like Censor. However, all of that being said, OST does more than enough to distinguish itself, messing with horror norms by giving us not a damsel in distress, but a film professional, tasked with composing a score for an upcoming horror film. Jay (Prapamonton Eiamchan) is a perfectionist: she composes, and ditches, several versions of her work, to the despair of the film’s director. However, when she realises that the film itself is playing with aspects of Thai folklore, the project takes on a whole new significance. She has been raised on this lore; she knows that the spirits themselves have exacting standards when it comes to how their stories are told. This is an interesting idea which could be called meta – or, just enjoyed for the ways OST proves able to layer its different elements so successfully.
Tistlebu has a beautiful, if stark Norwegian setting and uses Norwegian actors; it also adds in elements of folkloric beliefs, though whether these have any pedigree beyond the film has not been easy to discover. But in any case, many of the elements explored will feel familiar; this is at heart an eco-horror which uses aspects of folk horror. A young couple, Sanna (Sacha Slengesol Balgobin) and Karl (Sjur Vatne Brean) arrive on a remote sheep farm to help stake out a new pasture for the recently-widowed Anne (Oda Schjøll). They are also tasked with tending something hidden in one of the farm’s outbuildings: it’s called a Tursemorkel, and it’s believed to protect the farm.
Anne shows them what to do; they seem to take these duties on quite readily, though the audience may well start working on their list of questions at this point. Work on the farm goes reasonably happily, at first. The Morkel has a strange influence on both Sanna and on Karl, though, each of whom deal with it independently. There are notable, if dysfunctional sexual overtones attached to the Morkel, but more than that, it begins to change, and to change them. Tistlebu conveys lessons about nature and belonging before it is done, albeit that these lessons end on a slightly odd beat; whilst it still works fine as a short film, here there did feel like there was at least some more still to tell.
Finally, Miltown brings along some familiar faces: if you saw Hellbender a couple of years ago, then you might recognise some members of the Adams Family – its directors and stars. Here, they also play a family, but it’s a move away from the more conventional(ish) occult themes of Hellbender, under the direction of Chris Beyrooty and Connor Martin (who also wrote the Miltown screenplay).
This is a great little excursion into a hell/handcart situation, with engaging twists and turns, flashbacks, and moments of corroborative doubt which cast a shadow over eldest son, Bobby (Henry Lynch). Bobby rushes into the family home one evening, certain that his father cannot be his father; he swears to the rest of the family that this is the case, explaining his reasoning in seemingly convincing detail. But is he right? Miltown throws some sci-fi and good old-fashioned monster film elements into its modest runtime, adds in some humour and even some action sequences, and really does achieve a great deal along the way. It’s fun, but it’s also smart, keeping the audience as confused as scared as our key player, right until the end – when the conclusions we can draw deliver one final blow.