pameladegraff
Joined Nov 2009
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pameladegraff's rating
Scenic Joshua tree locations and modern architecture accent Echoes, a stylish supernatural thriller. In yet the latest horror happening featuring, what else, a writer summoning up the occult, independent filmmaker Nils Trim blends stalker elements with phantasmagoria and tribal mythology in this Southwest supernatural whodunit. In it, Anna (Kate French) is an aspiring writer who suffers from a few minor, common psychological issues, such as partially waking from chronic nightmares only to experience ghastly hallucinations while trapped in a state of sleep paralysis. OK, maybe that's not so minor or common.
But heavily medicated Anna has a solution that she thinks will provide good therapy for her condition: spend several days alone, mostly in her underwear, at her boyfriend's curtain-less glass house, It's OK, nobody will see her and fixate upon her -the only other person around for miles is a shadowy, lurking, unshaven man with no fixed address or US citizenship, who's squatting in a decaying trailer a few hundred meters away. There will be plenty of peace and quiet. too. This plot of land, renowned for the perplexing, fatal disappearance of its previous owner, is so isolated from civilization, there's not even any cell phone reception.
Makes sense.
What could possibly go wrong with this idea?
Well, plenty as it turns out, when Anna promptly runs afoul of an apparent wendigo -a particularly malignant one -who fixates upon and sets out to possess her. Plenty of strange occurrences ensue, some of which demand that we accept characters' unlikely choices, and forgive lengthy exposition at the end revealing a complex and melodramatically sensational back-story explanation. But then this is horror, and horror tales and movies often require that we accept melodramatically sensational back-stories, because if we insist upon being too logically demanding and analytic, we might reject the ideas of monsters and ghosts altogether.
So we shall allow Echoes to take its artistic license with the credible, we will enjoy its unusual twists and unpredictable, if not illogical turns, because in addition to having some tense moments which are really scary (an increasingly rare commodity in horror movies), Echoes showcases arresting locations and surreal dream sequences emphasized by striking cinematography.
Viewers may recognize actor Steven Brand, who plays Ana's boyfriend, from The Scorpion King, and the HBO series The Mind of the Married Man, and Kate French from horror movies Sutures and Channeling. Perhaps the most interesting cast members in Echoes however are cute Oxley, the dog who plays Ana's canine companion "Shadow," with almost human expressiveness, and in a sense, the boyfriend's modernist glass house itself, which features prominently in the film and bears a strong resemblance to the historic Stahl House, a Los Angeles landmark used as a location in numerous films, photo-shoots and ads.
But heavily medicated Anna has a solution that she thinks will provide good therapy for her condition: spend several days alone, mostly in her underwear, at her boyfriend's curtain-less glass house, It's OK, nobody will see her and fixate upon her -the only other person around for miles is a shadowy, lurking, unshaven man with no fixed address or US citizenship, who's squatting in a decaying trailer a few hundred meters away. There will be plenty of peace and quiet. too. This plot of land, renowned for the perplexing, fatal disappearance of its previous owner, is so isolated from civilization, there's not even any cell phone reception.
Makes sense.
What could possibly go wrong with this idea?
Well, plenty as it turns out, when Anna promptly runs afoul of an apparent wendigo -a particularly malignant one -who fixates upon and sets out to possess her. Plenty of strange occurrences ensue, some of which demand that we accept characters' unlikely choices, and forgive lengthy exposition at the end revealing a complex and melodramatically sensational back-story explanation. But then this is horror, and horror tales and movies often require that we accept melodramatically sensational back-stories, because if we insist upon being too logically demanding and analytic, we might reject the ideas of monsters and ghosts altogether.
So we shall allow Echoes to take its artistic license with the credible, we will enjoy its unusual twists and unpredictable, if not illogical turns, because in addition to having some tense moments which are really scary (an increasingly rare commodity in horror movies), Echoes showcases arresting locations and surreal dream sequences emphasized by striking cinematography.
Viewers may recognize actor Steven Brand, who plays Ana's boyfriend, from The Scorpion King, and the HBO series The Mind of the Married Man, and Kate French from horror movies Sutures and Channeling. Perhaps the most interesting cast members in Echoes however are cute Oxley, the dog who plays Ana's canine companion "Shadow," with almost human expressiveness, and in a sense, the boyfriend's modernist glass house itself, which features prominently in the film and bears a strong resemblance to the historic Stahl House, a Los Angeles landmark used as a location in numerous films, photo-shoots and ads.
In this nervous, edgy chiller, TV thespians Hal Ozsan (True Blood) and Nicholle Tom (Gotham, Stalker and the 1990's The Nanny) play Michael and Mary Lane, a yuppie couple in a strained relationship. He's an aspiring writer and she's supporting him. Mary is losing her patience for dealing with Michael's increasingly temperamental artist's personality while Michael, a recently reformed alcoholic, struggles with writer's block. Ordinarily bemused and good-natured when confronted by frustration, Michael's psyche swerves for the worse amid numerous domestic challenges. The situation turns grim when annoying nocturnal hang-up calls complicate Michael and Mary's swelling marital tension.
The calls evolve from apparent pranks into aggressive harassment. One or more disembodied, mostly unintelligible female voices abstrusely mumbles occultist nonsense before concluding with a provocative, "Remember me?" The source of the calls can't be determined. The caller ID displays only the elusive words, "PRIVATE NUMBER."
Fortunately for Michael, Mary hears the calls too -they're not just the product of her stressed husband's imagination. After consulting with the authorities, the couple is nevertheless ready to write off the messages for being the work of a jokester -until unplugging the telephone fails to stop it from ringing.
Circumstances rapidly disintegrate. Mary and Michael descend into an indeterminate and surreal state dominated by ever more abnormal occurrences. The obfuscating presence of silhouetted intruders in their home may or may not be real. Are Michael and Mary suffering a joint delusional breakdown, or are they experiencing supernatural visions? Neither they nor we can be sure, as the duo waivers, then loses their tenuous balance on the threshold between reality and fantasy. Private Number is a nocturnal horror story -most of the action occurs at night within the cloistered, cerulean confines of Mike and Mary's suburban home. False resolutions turn out to be merely dreams. As the edge separating the firmament of certainty from the abyss of bedlam blurs, we're reminded of Irene Trent's (Barbara Stanwyck) ordeal in William Castle's The Night Walker (1964); unable to escape from a perpetual nightmare, she screams over and over, "I can't wake-up!"
Judd Nelson has a role as the local sheriff who inexplicably throws obstacles to the investigation. With The Breakfast Club thirty years distant, a matured Nelson has become ingratiatingly credible in darker roles. He exudes that peculiar Rob Lowe/Robert Downey Jr. screen aura which suggests his character is at best questionable, likely untrustworthy, and certainly sleazy. Tom Sizemore, looking surprisingly fit after spending several years bloated from too many good times, plays Michael's convincingly weathered ex-alcoholic and ex- drug addicted sobriety counselor. It's not a huge stretch for Sizemore, but his portrayal of a character with depth indicates that Sizemore possesses greater theatrical range than he was permitted to exhibit in his many tough guy roles. Private Number's most commanding performances come from relative newcomers to the big screen, television actors Nicholle Tom and Hal Ozsan as Mary and Michael. Tom is well-cast and Ozsan displays commendable versatility when Michael undergoes a dramatic personality shift.
Since it's mentioned early on that Michael suffered a debilitating accident just after meeting Mary, that fact, along with his former alcoholism makes us wonder if Michael had a drunk-driving accident and a victim is the phone-phreaking culprit. When a sleuthing Michael resorts to journalistic instinct to dissect the eerie enigma, we discover ever more likely suspects. Foreshadowing may enable you to deduce who the monster is, yet as Private Number side-winds its serpentine way through Michael and Mary's hallucinatory conundrum, the fun is in the journey.
There's no shortage of horror movies about authors going crazy and summoning up the occult world. Notable examples include The Dark Half (1993) and In The Mouth of Madness (1994). Despite superficial similarities to The Shining and the 2012 movie, Sinister, Private Number manages to be new and different. The film's plot is uncanny and engrossing.
It's effective because writer/director LazRael Lison's unconventional mix of cross-genre story elements makes Private Number an unusual viewing experience. Private Number's offbeat combination of literary conventions shoves viewers off balance and keeps us guessing. The result may confuse and fail to satisfy those who yearn for traditional structure. Yet while Private Number doesn't strive to be an arty movie or to perplex us with an ambiguous open ending, its ambitious weaving of varying cinematic tropes combined with its unsettling, counter-intuitive conclusion will charm fans of those kinds of films.
The calls evolve from apparent pranks into aggressive harassment. One or more disembodied, mostly unintelligible female voices abstrusely mumbles occultist nonsense before concluding with a provocative, "Remember me?" The source of the calls can't be determined. The caller ID displays only the elusive words, "PRIVATE NUMBER."
Fortunately for Michael, Mary hears the calls too -they're not just the product of her stressed husband's imagination. After consulting with the authorities, the couple is nevertheless ready to write off the messages for being the work of a jokester -until unplugging the telephone fails to stop it from ringing.
Circumstances rapidly disintegrate. Mary and Michael descend into an indeterminate and surreal state dominated by ever more abnormal occurrences. The obfuscating presence of silhouetted intruders in their home may or may not be real. Are Michael and Mary suffering a joint delusional breakdown, or are they experiencing supernatural visions? Neither they nor we can be sure, as the duo waivers, then loses their tenuous balance on the threshold between reality and fantasy. Private Number is a nocturnal horror story -most of the action occurs at night within the cloistered, cerulean confines of Mike and Mary's suburban home. False resolutions turn out to be merely dreams. As the edge separating the firmament of certainty from the abyss of bedlam blurs, we're reminded of Irene Trent's (Barbara Stanwyck) ordeal in William Castle's The Night Walker (1964); unable to escape from a perpetual nightmare, she screams over and over, "I can't wake-up!"
Judd Nelson has a role as the local sheriff who inexplicably throws obstacles to the investigation. With The Breakfast Club thirty years distant, a matured Nelson has become ingratiatingly credible in darker roles. He exudes that peculiar Rob Lowe/Robert Downey Jr. screen aura which suggests his character is at best questionable, likely untrustworthy, and certainly sleazy. Tom Sizemore, looking surprisingly fit after spending several years bloated from too many good times, plays Michael's convincingly weathered ex-alcoholic and ex- drug addicted sobriety counselor. It's not a huge stretch for Sizemore, but his portrayal of a character with depth indicates that Sizemore possesses greater theatrical range than he was permitted to exhibit in his many tough guy roles. Private Number's most commanding performances come from relative newcomers to the big screen, television actors Nicholle Tom and Hal Ozsan as Mary and Michael. Tom is well-cast and Ozsan displays commendable versatility when Michael undergoes a dramatic personality shift.
Since it's mentioned early on that Michael suffered a debilitating accident just after meeting Mary, that fact, along with his former alcoholism makes us wonder if Michael had a drunk-driving accident and a victim is the phone-phreaking culprit. When a sleuthing Michael resorts to journalistic instinct to dissect the eerie enigma, we discover ever more likely suspects. Foreshadowing may enable you to deduce who the monster is, yet as Private Number side-winds its serpentine way through Michael and Mary's hallucinatory conundrum, the fun is in the journey.
There's no shortage of horror movies about authors going crazy and summoning up the occult world. Notable examples include The Dark Half (1993) and In The Mouth of Madness (1994). Despite superficial similarities to The Shining and the 2012 movie, Sinister, Private Number manages to be new and different. The film's plot is uncanny and engrossing.
It's effective because writer/director LazRael Lison's unconventional mix of cross-genre story elements makes Private Number an unusual viewing experience. Private Number's offbeat combination of literary conventions shoves viewers off balance and keeps us guessing. The result may confuse and fail to satisfy those who yearn for traditional structure. Yet while Private Number doesn't strive to be an arty movie or to perplex us with an ambiguous open ending, its ambitious weaving of varying cinematic tropes combined with its unsettling, counter-intuitive conclusion will charm fans of those kinds of films.
This was a Hallmark Hall Of Fame, CBS Production
PLOT: In 1946, a sharp-witted, selfless schoolgirl summons all of her resources to navigate her miserly father's conflicted psyche when a gifted Yule tree stirs a cascade of repressed family issues. Poignant, well-written, and free of cheap clichés and sappiness, it's better than it sounds.
The House Without A Christmas Tree is about the complexity of relationships and the evolution of personal character. Too slow for today's kids, and too somber for merrymakers, this forgotten gem of a film is holiday-suitable for serious drama enthusiasts only.
This CBS shot-on-video production won a Peabody Award, screenwriter Perry won an Emmy based on the script, and Director Bogart was nominated for a Director's Guild award. After decades in VHS limbo, The House Without A Christmas Tree has finally been released on DVD. The book, one of several by Gaill Rock about her experiences growing up in rustic Nebraska is still in print through Scholastic Press.
COMMENTS: Christmas, at least in its secular context, should be a time reserved for joy, happiness, and letting go of those bugaboos which worry one's conscience the rest of the year. Yet some people just insist on making themselves feel morose for the occasion. Case in point, the popularity of a sappy, cheaply emotionally manipulative Christmas song called "Dear Mr. Jesus," about a little girl who is beaten nearly to death by her abusive foster parents.
This corny, musically saccharin, structurally gimmicky trailer-trash classic, sung by then nine-year old Sharon Batt, a Beale Street-urchin who couldn't carry a tune in a shopping bag, remarkably made the rounds of nearly every US small-market country-music radio station during the late 1980's. Years later, it still rears its ugly head during the Christmas season and is clung to by all those who want to shed a tear while the rest of us rejoice
WHY?
Why do people want to wallow in the sordidness of a maudlin song about a vile tragedy when they could be celebrating the most joyous occasion of the year? For God's sake, whatever happened to jubilant, rum soaked revelers engaging in good cheer over hot toddies on Christmas, while belting out heartfelt renditions of high-spirited ditties such as "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen?"
So it is with great reservation that I recommend the following film. It's a different kind of Christmas movie, with a touching, sometimes sad, poignant chronology, but importantly, it's not maudlin, nor does it make cheap ploys to manipulate our emotions or spark phony sentiment.
What redeems its somewhat somber tone is that the story is so darn well put together and genuine. In fact, it's one of the best Christmas movies I've seen, even though it isn't overflowing with stunts and boisterous good times. This is a thinking person's Christmas story and features believable actors, credible dialogue, and a basic but worthwhile plot that offers a message without an agenda.
The House Without A Christmas Tree is a relic from the early 1970's when a significant number of made-for-television movies still contained elements of real artistry, and had meaningful story lines. The networks were not yet completely afraid to be experimental or to challenge their audiences. The House Without A Christmas Tree is a good example. It's a general-consumption, family-friendly film, yet it also has real depth and offers quality, substantial performances. There's a significant rapport between the superbly well-cast principal actors that is all too absent from today's television productions.
Pensive, sincere, simply but thoughtfully structured, The House Without A Christmas tree is about a little girl in a small Nebraska town in 1946. Ten year old Addie (Lucas) desperately wants a Christmas tree, but her parsimonious, emotionally absent father James (Robards) is a real scrooge about the holidays.
Bitter, stubborn, and perpetually grieving over the untimely death of Addie's mother years before, Addie's daddy doesn't have much enthusiasm for finding or spreading Christmas joy. Worse, he's a dreadful miser, having barely survived the Great Depression. Not only does James have difficulty showing Addie affection, but he has even more trouble opening the purse strings for the holidays. Frugal to the point of night-sweats, James sees a Christmas tree as being merely a frivolous and unnecessary expense.
But when Addie wins a Yule tree in a school contest, she excitedly brings it home to try and sway her father's lack of Christmas spirit. Addie soon learns however that her father's scorn for Christmas is not related to his miserliness after all. The tree turns out to be symbolic of some pretty heavy, repressed emotions regarding Addie's long dead mother. Addie's' relationship with her laconic, seemingly unsentimental father is far more emotionally charged than we -or they ever realized. Put to her ultimate test, will resourceful Addie find a way to help her bah!-humbug! father come to terms with his charred soul in order to save Christmas Future?
Truly solid character development and a well-developed plot distinguish The House Without A Christmas Tree. Despite its heavy focus on childhood, this is not a kid's movie. It's for adults who enjoy films which remind them of what it was like to be a kid. Moreover, the picture's Great Plains setting, as well as its strong essence of family, home and hearth, redemption, and emotional growth make it a prime and nostalgic pick for fans of the similarly-themed and popular Little House On The Prairie books and long-running '70's television series.
PLOT: In 1946, a sharp-witted, selfless schoolgirl summons all of her resources to navigate her miserly father's conflicted psyche when a gifted Yule tree stirs a cascade of repressed family issues. Poignant, well-written, and free of cheap clichés and sappiness, it's better than it sounds.
The House Without A Christmas Tree is about the complexity of relationships and the evolution of personal character. Too slow for today's kids, and too somber for merrymakers, this forgotten gem of a film is holiday-suitable for serious drama enthusiasts only.
This CBS shot-on-video production won a Peabody Award, screenwriter Perry won an Emmy based on the script, and Director Bogart was nominated for a Director's Guild award. After decades in VHS limbo, The House Without A Christmas Tree has finally been released on DVD. The book, one of several by Gaill Rock about her experiences growing up in rustic Nebraska is still in print through Scholastic Press.
COMMENTS: Christmas, at least in its secular context, should be a time reserved for joy, happiness, and letting go of those bugaboos which worry one's conscience the rest of the year. Yet some people just insist on making themselves feel morose for the occasion. Case in point, the popularity of a sappy, cheaply emotionally manipulative Christmas song called "Dear Mr. Jesus," about a little girl who is beaten nearly to death by her abusive foster parents.
This corny, musically saccharin, structurally gimmicky trailer-trash classic, sung by then nine-year old Sharon Batt, a Beale Street-urchin who couldn't carry a tune in a shopping bag, remarkably made the rounds of nearly every US small-market country-music radio station during the late 1980's. Years later, it still rears its ugly head during the Christmas season and is clung to by all those who want to shed a tear while the rest of us rejoice
WHY?
Why do people want to wallow in the sordidness of a maudlin song about a vile tragedy when they could be celebrating the most joyous occasion of the year? For God's sake, whatever happened to jubilant, rum soaked revelers engaging in good cheer over hot toddies on Christmas, while belting out heartfelt renditions of high-spirited ditties such as "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen?"
So it is with great reservation that I recommend the following film. It's a different kind of Christmas movie, with a touching, sometimes sad, poignant chronology, but importantly, it's not maudlin, nor does it make cheap ploys to manipulate our emotions or spark phony sentiment.
What redeems its somewhat somber tone is that the story is so darn well put together and genuine. In fact, it's one of the best Christmas movies I've seen, even though it isn't overflowing with stunts and boisterous good times. This is a thinking person's Christmas story and features believable actors, credible dialogue, and a basic but worthwhile plot that offers a message without an agenda.
The House Without A Christmas Tree is a relic from the early 1970's when a significant number of made-for-television movies still contained elements of real artistry, and had meaningful story lines. The networks were not yet completely afraid to be experimental or to challenge their audiences. The House Without A Christmas Tree is a good example. It's a general-consumption, family-friendly film, yet it also has real depth and offers quality, substantial performances. There's a significant rapport between the superbly well-cast principal actors that is all too absent from today's television productions.
Pensive, sincere, simply but thoughtfully structured, The House Without A Christmas tree is about a little girl in a small Nebraska town in 1946. Ten year old Addie (Lucas) desperately wants a Christmas tree, but her parsimonious, emotionally absent father James (Robards) is a real scrooge about the holidays.
Bitter, stubborn, and perpetually grieving over the untimely death of Addie's mother years before, Addie's daddy doesn't have much enthusiasm for finding or spreading Christmas joy. Worse, he's a dreadful miser, having barely survived the Great Depression. Not only does James have difficulty showing Addie affection, but he has even more trouble opening the purse strings for the holidays. Frugal to the point of night-sweats, James sees a Christmas tree as being merely a frivolous and unnecessary expense.
But when Addie wins a Yule tree in a school contest, she excitedly brings it home to try and sway her father's lack of Christmas spirit. Addie soon learns however that her father's scorn for Christmas is not related to his miserliness after all. The tree turns out to be symbolic of some pretty heavy, repressed emotions regarding Addie's long dead mother. Addie's' relationship with her laconic, seemingly unsentimental father is far more emotionally charged than we -or they ever realized. Put to her ultimate test, will resourceful Addie find a way to help her bah!-humbug! father come to terms with his charred soul in order to save Christmas Future?
Truly solid character development and a well-developed plot distinguish The House Without A Christmas Tree. Despite its heavy focus on childhood, this is not a kid's movie. It's for adults who enjoy films which remind them of what it was like to be a kid. Moreover, the picture's Great Plains setting, as well as its strong essence of family, home and hearth, redemption, and emotional growth make it a prime and nostalgic pick for fans of the similarly-themed and popular Little House On The Prairie books and long-running '70's television series.